Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (37 page)

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Courage in
danger is half the battle.

Titus Maccius
Plautus

The dark eyes
of the Martyc smouldered with an emotion she dared not explore and
after he tossed the sword from the fallen Raider to a nearby Oric
he pulled her behind him as he cleared a path towards his Varkja.
The head of security greeted his employer with a nod and did his
best to ignore the mischievous grin of the Elf. While some would
find his rough handling insulting she was enjoying his slight loss
of control. Despite her attempt to keep Dhaigre out of the fray she
knew he would eventually appear and his presence brought her a
security she would never admit to feeling.

She flashed a
glance at the demon—watching him as he organised the Varkja when he
suddenly turned to her with a brusque demand.

“I need the
Oric leader.”

A myriad of
responses flooded through her mind as she considered, absconding,
ignoring, or bringing him a Raider, but a protesting squeal from
Beb had her fill his request. The skirmish was fast becoming a
bloody battle with a new surge of Raiders appearing as soon as
others fell. Vryn waved for the leader of the Runners to join them
and the four put their heads together for a cohesive plan. Zyre
relocated atop the air vent again because she was safe from attack
now that the Raiders knew to leave her alone. From her viewpoint
she could see the Vampires in frantic hand-to-hand fighting as they
guarded the street side of the building. The Oric, using a variety
of interesting human weapons, kept the scourge from continuing past
to the building behind, and the Varkja kept most of the Raiders
from the Oric. Beb was fluttering about annoying Raiders while
catching those of their group that fell over the side, much to the
annoyance of the Vampires who could fall the distance without
harm.

“Get off
me!”

A discourteous
Runner protested as he roughly pushed Beb away from him once his
feet touched the roof. The Pixie fluttered to recover his balance
from the forceful shove and Zyre was stabbed by an unusual
anger—there was always a dresniq—no matter where you were. This
wasn’t a magical world, no magical interests here, so they didn’t
have to stay and only did because of a Martyc too dumb to protect
it.

She left the
vent and shimmered over to accost the Runner. “That not be good and
if you value your head then you apologise.”

The Runner took
one look at the startling sapphire eyes and armed with the
knowledge that the Salvae didn’t protect him apologised to an all
forgiving Beb. She returned to viewing the battle from above, her
startling blue eyes causing any nearby Raider pause while he
carefully avoided anything that resembled attack.

A movement from
the top of the Chambers caught her attention and believing the
Gargoyles were about to demolish a Raider she stood up in interest.
What she saw to her surprise was Florian Ribeni, Vampire fashion
plate and owner of gossip, dropping bricks upon those Raiders who
had made it to the street below. Zyre couldn’t help herself and
dissolved across the roof to watch Florian with interest as he
cursed the interlopers trying to gain access to the roof of his
building.

He gave her a
sarcastic glance. “Not that I have much choice with the Gargoyles
waiting around doing nothing.”

She turned
around, and saw the Gargoyles no longer resembled stone as their
leathery skin shone in the moonlight while their strange pink eyes
gazed at the scene with eerie detachment. She wanted to investigate
them further, but was distracted by Florian throwing the brick
across the street where it hit a Raider attacking an Oric.

“Don’t know why
I bother since all that lot ever do is spy on us.”

Zyre gave him
another brick. “Maybe they be looking for some fashion tips?”

Florian let
loose a string of curses in Giryg, which would have made even a
Pixie blush.

“Speaking of
fashion did you happen to notice my back?”

Zyre peered
behind Florian and the cat fur spread all over his back gave her a
second of pleasure before she tapped her finger gently on his coat
causing the hairs to fall off.

“Tis nothing
there—nothing to be seen.”

Florian paused
in his brick tossing for a second to snarl irately, “So an inch
thick of cat hair is barely noticeable? Wonder how it got on my
brand new jacket?”

The Elf
couldn’t help but appreciate this new active Florian; here he was
tossing bricks at Raiders while still managing to complain about
her lack of appreciation for his style.

She gave him an
impish grin. “Dunno, maybe to do with ashes. Anyway, all this
exercise gets rid of Raiders and made cat hair vanish!”

Florian twisted
his neck in an attempt to look over his shoulder and by the time he
straightened up the Elf was back across the street on top of the
air vent. She caught sight of Beb fluttering in midair with an Oric
in both hands, holding them just out of reach of a frustrated
Raider who leapt forward in an attempt to jab the struggling
humans. Zyre smiled at the progress of Raider across the roof until
his last angry leap found him plunging down over the side of the
building to meet the brick attack of Florian. Without even
realising she scanned the melee for the Martyc and saw Vryn with a
sword in each hand his dark brow furrowed in concentration as he
dealt with two Raiders at the same time. She noted the third Raider
creeping up from behind, looking for an opportunity to strike the
busily engaged Martyc. In a flash, before the thought reached her
conscious mind, she found herself behind Dhaigre with her hand flat
against his back as she employed the Vesi.

The Raiders
quailed at the sight of their swords clattering to the ground and
fled the area as fast as they could, but magic was magic, and
according to the Seal of Sere they had just attacked an Elf. She
turned the trio into dust with a blast causing the demon to scowl
at her with displeasure.

“Your aid is
not required, save your strength.”

His command
fell upon deaf ears as the unrepentant Elf twitched her nose in
mischief.

“Yes I be
required for who else would save you from Raiders?”

“Zyre!”

She couldn’t
help but smile at his reaction because while she would shout at the
thought of needing his protection it wasn’t an unacceptable notion.
The demon would not allow the moment to rest and tried to assert
his authority over her.

“I don’t need
your protection. I’ve fought Raiders many times.”

She would have
enjoyed tormenting him further, but a strange creaking caught her
attention. The rest of the rooftop was far too busy engaged in the
business of killing each other to notice the sound. She skipped
across the roof managing to trip a few Raiders that were ganging up
on an Oric, smile at Beb drinking gin while sitting on a recently
tasered Raider, and wave merrily to Florian as he threw bricks
across the street.

Reaching the
side of the building Zyre peered over to watch the fighting in the
street. The sirens that threatened to interrupt them no longer
echoed in the distance as if they had already reached their
destination. The creaking noise started again and she saw the
unique sight of several Aegai entering the street with large
wheelbarrows. A Raider made the unfortunate decision to attack what
appeared to be a lumbering unarmed creature; only to have his head
manually removed in seconds before the dust of his remains joined
the swirl leaving the building. The Aegai might be slow witted, but
they were slow witted giants quite capable of the defining
brutality of the demonic universe. The Aegai picked up the fallen
Oric and carried them back into the safety of the Chambers. A flood
of beings, even more ungainly than the Raiders, had her turn to
watch the sudden influx of Verkja and she assumed they had been
released by the Vampires. She wondered why they bothered because
Verkja were the worst at battle, worse than even Florian, and they
were wearing ridiculous outfits that showed the strange garish
tattoos all over their bodies instead of protecting their vitals.
She watched them turn to dust nearly as quickly as they arrived for
the more experienced Raiders easily cut through the swathe of
bodies that did little more than block the way forward.

The Oric leader
appeared beside the Elf and she could feel his consternation at
watching Aegai carry off his men, but Zyre knew their actions were
to protect the Veil because dead and badly injured bodies raised
questions.

She patted him
on his back. “Don’t worry they will be returned later.”

The Oric
grimaced, “Yes, but in what condition?”

His query
remained unanswered for the wind had sighed in her ears bringing
the weight of a dark presence to invade her mind. She looked
expectantly across at the Martyc as his broad shoulders heaved his
heavy sword about while his immaculate uniform became coated in a
mist of blood, only for it to disappear seconds later into dust. He
was a powerful figure cutting a path across the throng of Raiders
and for a moment, an unfamiliar emotion filled her while she stared
as if seeing Vryn for the first time. She couldn’t remember him
being that tall or seeing his handsome face dark with such intense
concentration. She wondered to herself since when were Martycs
handsome—she couldn’t recall. He moved with the lithe grace of an
athlete and well versed in technique he kept the Raiders at bay. He
suddenly looked across into her eyes as if her interest had become
a tangible filament joining their minds. The battle raged around
her as cautious Raiders avoided swinging their swords too close to
where she stood. The Martyc pushed down two that approached him,
then as if compelled stopped fighting to return to her gaze across
the battle zone. Dust swirled, blood spilled to the ground, dead
fell, shouts filled the air, and they stood apart from every
universe but their own until the Varkja pulled Vryn back from a
swipe made in his direction.

Their
connection now broken had her return to the bleak weight saturating
the air as it compressed while the oppression of black emotion
swaddled her. She returned to the air vent and traced the path of
violent hatred to a roof behind the Raiders. Here she saw a cloaked
figure in the shadows unnoticed by those who were frantically
occupied elsewhere while attempting to survive. To a creature whose
existence was woven into the tapestry of her surroundings this
presence was overwhelming. It was not curiosity to discover the
identity of the dark watcher that had her move for she was not one
to confront, because anything ominous usually had to annoy her
first to get her attention. She didn’t want to dissolve across to
the rooftop because she already knew the identity of the one whose
hatred was so great it tainted the world surrounding them. However,
the figure was not focussed upon the Elf but the Martyc and this
was something that drew the attention of Zyre.

Now Vryn
Dhaigre might be a powerful being whose obsession for her was a
nuisance, his attempts to isolate her was annoying, but the right
to bring trouble into his world was hers and not some invasive,
rude, rogue being. The emotion that flooded her was as foreign as
her reaction and the Elf that shimmered across the roof was not one
that knew what drove her at that moment.

Zyre appeared
before the cloaked woman, who showed little surprise at her sudden
appearance because it seemed that nothing much would startle Taryst
Janeb. The Elf refrained from her usual merry greeting and if the
Martyc interacted with magical beings she would recognise sapphire
blue eyes as a very explicit warning. Martyc women were more
striking than beautiful with a haughty composure both compelling
and unfriendly and borne of arrogance from the Empire. Taryst stood
a good human six feet tall; her glossy black hair fell in waves
down her back, her fathomless dark eyes revealing little emotion as
she surveyed the creature before her calmly. The Elf could see the
Martyc was wearing Raider battle gear under her cloak, and standing
several inches shorter than her adversary Zyre considered her
options at that moment.

As if reading
her mind Taryst gave a sardonic smile while she addressed the Elf.
“I offer no threat to you, so the Seal will not apply here.”

Logic annoyed
magical creatures overall and nothing could instil an urge for
violence more than when faced with a being determined to use it to
restrain. Zyre’s eyes glowed as she weighed her chances of breaking
the Seal and to her satisfaction, she saw a shadow cross the face
of the demon. The subtle fear of magical lunacy was enough to
settle the Elf into a response that didn’t involve using the
Salvae.

“You bring
death to a world I occupy, you stand where I stand, and that could
be enough threat.”

“Not your world
though is it? Just a place you are doing Elf mischief and I
seriously doubt the spell can differentiate the fine details—it is
either threat or no threat.”

Taryst looked
back towards Vryn as if in dismissal of the Elf, but Zyre was
having none of it. She didn’t like the Raiders, she didn’t like
watching others die, and she especially didn’t like this woman
looking at Vryn with her cold black eyes. Once again the unfamiliar
emotion crossed into her and she played with various scenarios for
as strong as the Martyc might be the Elf could still dissolve her
back to the doorway. The problem was that Zyre didn’t know how many
Raiders were on world and if they would break the Veil without
their leader. She was not great at strategy so settled for verbal
accusation.

“You bring
Raiders here and they attack not one, but two magical. We don’t
bother over Martyc sulks though when they cause us grief perhaps
tis time for Cartoc.”