The Living Night (Book 2) (31 page)

The pilot went on to describe the band of
survivors that huddled in the clearing beyond the wasteland.

“Five of them,”
came
the pilot’s voice. “No, one of ‘
em’s
dead, head cut
off. One of ‘
em’s
holding up the head up to me ... fuck
...”

Then the human’s voice
changed,
became more gruff. “Blackie, are you there?”

“I’m here,” Sarnova replied, realizing what had
just happened.

“Sorry to mess with your pilot’s head,” the
voice said. “Anyway, this is Kharker here, if you didn’t know. Guess
yer
boy’s told you the news by now. I got one of them, Roche.
One of Libertarians is in my hands right now, or at least the important part. Before
I make your pilot lose control of his craft, I better let him have the use of
his mind back. First, I request you send someone to fetch us soon. I doubt
yer
boy’s chopper would carry us, but this headless
Libertarian isn’t going to last much longer in the light of day, if you see
what I mean. And if I put the head back on him, he’ll just kill himself like
the other one did. I’ll put him under the snow temporarily. That’ll help, but I
think the swifter you get us back, the better.”

“Agreed.
And well done, my
friend.”

“I’ll be seeing you.”

“Khark, you still
there?”

“No,” growled the pilot after a moment of
silence, and Sarnova recognized the human’s familiarity with psychic
dominance—and his dislike of it. “He’s out of my head. But he’s right. I can’t
fit all five of them in here. If the Libertarian is that important, I could set
down and take him back in time.”

“No. If he recovered, he’d kill you on your way
back. Just hold your position, apprise us of any further developments. We’ll be
sending out another chopper to collect Lord Kharker’s party.”

Within half an hour, the Libertarian was healed,
drugged, and thrown in the dungeon for questioning.

Kharker was escorted to Sarnova’s chambers,
where he told of the nuclear blast that had killed many Castle soldiers and how
he’d barely survived it. After some brandy, he gladly recounted his battle with
the Libertarian soldiers. However, his jovial façade faded toward the end.

“Jean-Pierre’s dead,” he concluded.

Roche nodded in sympathy,
then
raised a mug.

“To the memory of Jean-Pierre!” declared the
Dark Lord.

Kharker raised his own mug,
then
hesitated. “No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll not believe him gone until I feel his
corpse in my hands. For all I know, D’Aguila lied to his men. Or perhaps that
damned Libertarian was simply trying to get my goat.”

Sarnova noted the determination on his old
friend’s face. Still, there was a great deal of doubt etched into the Hunter’s
gruff features, and Roche knew that, despite his words, Kharker feared the
worst even as he denied it.

“So you’ll not approach Sophia, the albino’s,
ahem, daughter?” Sarnova said. “You’ll not inform her ...?”

“Not until I know for sure. Besides, I shouldn’t
be distracting you with my troubles. For gods’ sakes, you’ve got enough of your
own. Half your air force is gone, and more than half of your
daybeasts
. Compared to that, my troubles are small.” He
raised his mug in a toast of his own. “To the fallen men and women of the
Castle, that their deaths shall be avenged!”

Roche joined him in the toast, glad that Kharker
was strong enough to set his grief aside, but at the same time afraid that the
Hunter’s pride would refuse to admit that his own sorrow was justifiable.

Shortly, Kharker left the Dark Lord for some
much-needed sleep, though Roche doubted that his friend’s slumber would be
restful. Once Kharker had gone, Roche made his way to the dungeon to view the
interrogation of the captured Libertarian. When the lead interrogator saw him
watching, he stopped his grisly business and approached.

“How goes it?” Sarnova demanded.

The flayer beamed. “We’ve learned that Maleasoel
has failed to join the Libertarians. She’s presumed dead—as well as all the
troops she took with her! Fully a third of them
were
at her side and were supposed to rejoin the Libertarians already here with even
greater numbers, but she never showed up.”

“Why?”

“He has no idea, although he suspects Captain
D’Aguila does.”

“D’Aguila?”

“In the wake of Maleasoel’s disappearance, the Captain
has assumed command of the Libertarians.”

Sarnova smiled. “Does our prisoner suspect foul
play?”

“No. Apparently the Captain was Maleasoel’s
lover.”

“
All the
better reason ...”

The flayer shrugged. “Maybe the Captain killed
her to gain control over the army. It could be. However, this soldier suspects
nothing of the sort. He feels only loyalty to his captain.”

Sarnova sighed, but he was glad that the
Libertarians were not as strong a force as they might have been. On the other
hand, they didn’t really need reinforcements if they had more nuclear weapons
at their disposal. Which lead him to his final, and most important,
question:

“Does he know where the rest of them are?”

The flayer let out a breath. “No. Believe me,
he’s not lying. I have ways of getting at the truth.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“He says that this D’Aguila character
anticipated his raiders might get caught and didn’t tell them where the new
camp was to be set up.”

“Then how were they to get there?”

“They were to meet at a predetermined spot,
where another
lycan
would join them, one who knew
where the camp was. If the
lycan
thought that they
were being monitored by us, he simply wouldn’t approach them. From that point,
if he thought them okay, he would lead them, underground, to the new base.”

Sarnova ground his teeth, trying to keep his expression
as blank as possible. “Keep it up. Maybe he’ll divulge something else.”

The flayer smiled. “Whether he does or not, my
Lord, I assure you that I will indeed keep it up.”

With that, the man went back to his grim but
apparently enjoyable task. Sarnova left the dungeon behind, not even slowing
his step at the sound of the screaming at his back. In his mind, the
Libertarian deserved every single second of it.

*
    
*
    
*

“This
is bullshit,” someone said. “I’m
hungry
.”

Raulf punched him in the face. “Stow your
whining and get back to work.”

Sullenly, the man obeyed, a trickle of blood
staining his chin. Around them the remaining Libertarians were beginning to set
up their new headquarters. It was slow, tentative work, as they had to perform
the project solely from beneath the surface of the new mountain. If even a
portion of the surface snow collapsed, the sun would pour in and many lives
would be lost. They went in slow, carefully measured movements, though not
without some grumbling.

Captain D’Aguila stewed silently. Why hadn’t the
damned dogs returned yet? Something must have gone wrong.

Finally, to the great relief of the Captain,
three werewolves returned—the surviving two that had led the assault and the
one that had guided them to the new camp. At their arrival, relief flooded the
Captain, and he drew them aside for a debriefing.

The two surviving raiders looked haggard due to
their little battle, and D’Aguila was quick to devise several devious punishments
for them. First, they’d come to him wounded, defeated, which bespoke of their
obvious incompetence in hand-to-hand fighting, but, far worse, he’d given a
strict order forbidding them to personally engage any of the Castle soldiers.
They were to shoot the missile, observe its effects, and come straight back to
him. However, when they told him of their foe, the formidable Lord Kharker, he
forgave them their wounds, if nothing else.

“Why did you disobey me and attack the survivors
of the patrol unit?” he demanded. “We have all the inside information we need.”

The leader of the raiding party, long recovered
from the most telling signs of his encounter with Kharker, lowered his eyes to
the snow. “Sir, we didn’t attack them for the sake of battle. We would never
have gone against your wishes that way. But we were
hungry
. Sir, we
haven’t really fed in over a week!”

Slowly, Raulf nodded. “You’re right.” He could
see the visible relief of the two werewolves. “It’s been long since we’ve
tasted the blood and flesh that we need, and I’m pleased with your execution of
my plan.” He sighed, thinking of the spectacle it must have been.

Seeing his wistful look, the leader of the
raiding party grinned. “Ah, my Captain, I wish you could’ve been there! It was
beautiful. Ten of their mightiest attack helicopters destroyed, as well as all
the troops they sent to rout us. It’ll be many years before that place doesn’t
glow in the dark.”

D’Aguila laughed. He had much to be happy about.
However, he also had great problems, the major one being something the werewolf
had just brought up. If he would disobey D’Aguila because of hunger, so might
others.

“You did that part well,” the Captain allowed. “Still,
you disobeyed me and cost me two men—both of which might have been captured by
the enemy.”

“But, sir!
Even if they were captured,
there’s no way their captors could use what they have to say to their
advantage.”

“Still, you committed a high crime. Have no
fear, though. Your treason will only make the rest of us stronger.”

“Sir, I’m afraid ... I don’t know what you mean ...”

“I don’t know how far two scrawny shades like
yourselves
can be stretched among a hundred and fifty, but
it’s better than nothing.”

With that, the Captain’s biggest problem was
solved. A half hour later, his stomach full, he set about the completion of his
new headquarters. And, every now and then, to the companionable laughter of
those about him, he’d release a loud belch.

*
    
*
    
*

Several
miles away, deep in the icy ravine, Jean-Pierre began to stir. At first, he could
only move his legs, and he realized that his upper torso was embedded in the
cold hard mud of the river floor. Slowly, gingerly, he extracted himself from the
grip of the tenacious ground and let himself drift upward. He floated up about
ten feet until he hit the sheet of ice that covered the shallow river. He tried
to strike at the thick, almost translucent wall, but his limbs were weak and
the attempt unsuccessful.

I need time
. Healing would take
even longer, though, in the glaring light of the sun that waited just beyond
the ice above.

The albino shoved himself off and let the
currents carry him slowly along the river, ever closer to the Castle just a few
long miles away.

Chapter 16

When
Danielle woke up the next dusk, she found herself in her own bed, the covers
carefully tucked in about her. Sophia had done this, she realized, though the ghensiv
was nowhere in sight. Maybe the albino’s daughter was more friend than comrade,
after all. Then again, maybe the Ice Queen hadn’t liked Danielle taking up half
the floor.

Danielle struggled to sit up, but her head
reeled with the effort. She let herself fall back to the pillow, where she
began plotting her next course of action. First, she had to get up. That was
important. Then she had to find Harry and tell him that Ruegger was here. She
still couldn’t believe that Harry had slept with Cloire, but she wouldn’t hold
that against him. Danielle smiled to imagine herself with Ruegger, once he’d
been freed. The sight of him had quickened the hunger in her loins.

The second after she had this thought her eyes
locked onto the dart-shredded publicity photo of Junger and Jagoda. Without
warning, bile shot up her throat; it was all she could do to stumble to the
restroom in time.

Done, she wiped off her face and smashed a fist
against the floor.

“Bastards,” she said. “Maybe you didn’t do it to
my body, but you sure enough did it to my mind.”

After she’d showered, shaved her legs, brushed
her teeth and smoked the first cigarette of the evening, she dressed and
ventured downstairs to the little café, where she had a big cup of coffee.

God, she was glad Ruegger was here, but she was
so angry at Kharker for his betrayal and at the Balaklava
for their very existence that she couldn’t think straight. The worst part,
though, was there wasn’t much she could do about it. How could she free
Ruegger?

*
    
*
    
*

In
the kitchen of Cloire’s small room, Harry, always full of surprises, was
whipping up some omelets for the two of them, while the she-wolf watched with
sleepy eyes. She’d been fond of the mortal since the night she had first
captured him, and even in those early days had fostered thoughts of corrupting
him.

Corrupting and killing were two of her favorite
pastimes, and she saw Harry as a perfect opportunity to warp the agents of good.
She’d allowed herself to spend time with him, which she greatly enjoyed, all
the while plotting to violate him in some way. But as the days passed, she
realized that this had just been a pretense, an excuse to get close to the man.
Now she was beginning to realize that she’d let the pretense slip away. She had
grown too close to this mortal for her own good.

Smiling and wearing only his boxers, he brought
her an omelet on a hot plate and plopped down beside her on the bed.

“Good,” she said after the first bite.

“My wife taught me how to cook.” She could see
that, even after all these years, the thought of her still pained him. To
lighten the mood, he patted his belly and said, “Much to my detriment, as you
can see.”

She chuckled. “You look just fine to me, lover.”

Carefully, so as not to spill the food onto the
bedcovers, they started to kiss—when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” she said, her free hand reaching
for one of the pistols she kept on the nightstand.

“Loirot.”

“Go away. I’m busy.”

“This is important,”
came
the reply, and this time it wasn’t Loirot’s voice. It was Kilian’s.

She handed her plate to Harry in order to free
up both hands. “You might want to wait in the bathroom until this is over,” she
whispered.

“No,” he said. “My place is with you. Besides, I’m
a pretty good shot myself.”

He retrieved his own large gun from the opposite
nightstand, the one loaded with silver bullets.

“Come in, already,” Cloire said to the door.

Loirot, Kilian, and Byron entered, looking on in
mild surprise as their leader, her breasts exposed, and her mortal lover
steadied their weapons.

“Cloire ...” began Byron, his surprise absolute.

“State your business,” she said. “Then leave.
I’ve got a breakfast to eat.”

Kilian stepped forward. “We’ve come to devise a
plan, Cloire. We can’t stay here forever, and we’ve all heard the rumors that the
Libertarians have arrived. Not only that, but that they’ve done Roche Sarnova
some damage.”

Cloire shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything. I’ve
been here enjoying myself.
Until now.”

“Well, if you’d been up and about like the rest
of us, you would’ve heard the rumors.”

She nodded impatiently. “Get on with it,” she
commanded.

“Cloire, we want to know what your intentions
are.”

She smiled wickedly. “Well, they’re not
honorable, if that’s what you mean.”

“
Cloire
.
We need answers, and we need them soon. Byron and I have
set aside our differences, and Loirot is with us. We’ve decided to leave this
place, and were hoping that you would join us ...” He waved his hand in the
direction of Harry.
“Without him.”

Silently, she cursed herself. This had been
bound to happen sooner or later, but she’d hoped that by the time this
encounter cropped up, she would have something planned to say. She had a plan
for everything, except this. How the hell was she supposed to get herself out
of this situation? She certainly didn’t want to lose her crew. Then again, they
were often more trouble than they were worth. Add to that the fact that they no
longer had a
boss, that
Vistrot was gone forever, and
they were pretty much screwed, as far as she was concerned.

Sneering, she said, “If you left here, where
would you go? Not back to New York.”

“No,” Byron said. “Amelia hasn’t sent word to
us, although we’ve tried to establish a link with her several times. We can’t
be assured of a good reception there, and until we can, we’ve got to find
something else. We were thinking of Lereba. In the wake of the recent disaster
there, we figure many crime lords could benefit from our services.”

“You’re kidding. Why the hell would we want to
relocate to
Morocco
,
for gods’ sakes? Have you lost your minds? I can see why you want me back.”

“Then where would you have us go?” Loirot said.

She laughed. “Well, if he still lives, I’m sure
Hauswell would welcome our loyalty. We might have to break the ice first, prove
ourselves, but with him scrambling to put his kingdom back together, he
couldn’t really refuse.”

Loirot’s smile nearly took in his ears, and he
turned to his two companions to judge their reactions. They seemed to reach an
agreement and turned back to the she-wolf with pleased, though wary, looks.

“So you’ll join us?” Kilian said.

She paused. She could feel Harry beside her,
sense his trepidation, and tried to force herself into her former state of
detachment. To her half-hearted fury, it would not come. Slowly, she raised her
eyes to meet Kilian’s.

“If I go, so does Harry.”

After a few moments of reflection, Kilian nodded
reluctantly. “If that’s the way you want it, we won’t object.” He turned to
Harry, and his next words didn’t surprise Cloire. “Mortal,” he said, “will you
Turn
?”

Harry looked all about him, apparently at a
loss, but then his eyes glowed hotly. With more grit than Cloire had expected, he
said, “No.”

Kilian turned his gaze back to Cloire. “So
you’ll come,” he said, but it was more a question than a statement.

Cloire frowned. “I … don’t know.” Her bluntness
surprised even herself.

Almost as if he’d expected as much, Kilian
nodded casually. “We’ll give you a day to make up your mind. Tomorrow night,
say midnight, we’ll come back here and see where you stand.”

“Sounds like a showdown.”

“No, Cloire. If we must part ways, we will do so
amiably. Despite everything that’s happened recently, we wish you no harm. As
long as you return the favor, we’re even.”

She agreed to the terms. Without another word,
the three remaining members of Jean-Pierre’s death-squad left the room. She
replaced her weapons on the nightstand and turned to Harry, who had similarly
disarmed himself and was playing with the remains of an omelet on his plate; it
had cooled considerably.

“Well?” she asked, and noted the grimace he was
trying to hide.

“It’s your call,” he said. “But if you go, I
won’t. I’ve come to feel ... strongly, about you, but I’m not going to live my
life with a bunch of killers.”

“Harry,” she said, softly. “
I’m
a killer.”

Looking extremely uncomfortable, he said
nothing, but his wince was all the answer she needed.

“If we stayed together,” she said, “would you
want me to stop killing?”

“Yes. Or, at least, do like Ruegger and Danielle
do. Just eat the bad guys.
That I could live with.”

Unexpectedly, that brought a smile to her lips.
Harry wouldn’t sacrifice his own moral principals and would try to force them
upon her, but he was honest about it, and unapologetic. She respected that, but
she didn’t know if she could alter her dark side and was afraid that, in the
end, she would disappoint Harry by killing an innocent and he would either
leave her or kill her. On the other hand, she didn’t really want to start over
with the death-squad. She wanted a new chapter in her life to begin, and she
wanted Harry by her side while she went on the journey.

At last, she took his hand in hers. “Lover, I’ve
got a lot to think about. Besides, you’ve got something to do. I’d forgotten,
but last night Danielle came in here and demanded to talk to you.”

“About what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know,
hon
,
but I’ll let you look into it yourself.”

“And you?”

For a moment, she felt tears burn behind her
eyes, trying to get out.
Decisions,
decisions.
Then the crisis passed and she shoved him toward the
door.

“Go,” she said. “When you return, maybe I’ll
have some answers for you.”

*
    
*
    
*

“How
shall we attack the stronghold?” Colonel Zan asked for the second time, meaning
a newly discovered bastion of Subaire’s forces in London.

“Swiftly,” Roche Sarnova replied.

“But the strategy?”

Sarnova smiled, knowing that the officers in the
War Room would not like what he had to say. “Let the General on scene decide
the strategy. Too long have we been issuing orders and attack plans from
afar.
Let the leaders of the front lines decide the best
course of action.”

Zan stared at him, disbelieving.

“There are spies among us,” Roche said. “We all
know this. Every time we issue an order to a commander on the front lines,
Subaire’s able to counter it. Why?
Because one of us, or more
than one, is telling her.
From here on out, I’ll lead the war in a different
direction. I will lead by
not
leading. If I tell the good general how to best assault Subaire’s stronghold,
word will find its way to Subaire and the general’s assault will be repelled.
We’ve seen this over and over. So, Colonel Zan, I advise you to tell the
general that it is up to him how best to proceed. Of all of us, he’s in the
best position to decide strategy anyway.”

“He lacks perspective,” countered Zan.

Roche shrugged. “If we give him an order, he’ll
be lacking a head. So go, Colonel, tell him to proceed as he sees fit.”

The room stirred, and Sarnova relished the
horror of his people’s reactions. How many of them were spies?
None, perhaps.
Or many.
All he knew
was that, for the sake of his shuddering empire, he must put a stop to all the
intrigue.

Sarnova stood, and the din of the room calmed.

Off to the side, Colonel De Soto growled, and
Sarnova spun on him. “You have something to say, Colonel?”

Quick to respond to the challenge, De Soto nodded. “You’re
making a grave mistake, my lord. This is not a sound strategy.”

“Col. De Soto, if you disagree, then fine, but I
will not change my mind. Put the word out, all of you. Tell the men on the
front lines that they’re better off on their own. Tell them to do as they think
best. We’ll give it a few
days,
see if the new tactic
pays off. If it doesn’t, we’ll revert to more direct commands. If I hear that
any of you are going against these new instructions, I’ll have you put to death
on the instant. Is that understood?”

Roche Sarnova swept from the room and returned
to his quarters for a drink of coffee before his next task—to oversee the first
series of chess matches to determine his heir—and was not surprised to find
Ambassador Mauchlery waiting for him. However, the Ambassador seemed surprised
to find Roche smiling.