Chapter 38 | Sephania
Sephania
The night has turned into a violent mess, the ground slick with blood and mud and screaming faces. We expected nothing less, yet being in the press of battle and a fight for your life is always harder when you’re in the thick of it rather than thinking about it.
I watched the leader of the Gilded Ghosts go down in the first charge out of the mines, an arrow lodged in her throat, blood spurting from her lips and neck. Seeing her limp form get trampled by other miners was even worse. Hopefully she was dead by that point.
Lukain and Skartovius fight near me, which makes me feel safer. Off in the distance, I saw Vallan rip a woman with a bow in half, when she had been ready to shoot me after taking down Kimera. It seems the big brute’s bloodsight is working as intended.
All around us, interfolk who still work the North Mines stand back in disbelief, wielding their pickaxes and shovels in case anyone comes too close to them. They huddle together, groups of scared miners whimpering into the corners of the battlefield.
I briefly see Vall get into a scuffle with Cordea around the other side of the mine’s entrance. I’m left wondering how that’s going when figures take up space all around me and block my view.
I can’t wonder for long, because the wave of bodies turns into a wave of shrieking rebels pushing me forward. I’m forced to go along with them or else risk getting trampled underfoot like Kimera.
Despite being in the open now, out of the caves, I don’t have a lot of room to use my two swords. The ex-miners aren’t natural fighters, and it shows. They stay near each other, shoulder to shoulder, rather than spreading out for tactical advantage.
Due to their closeness, I watch three of them get cut down in rapid succession by a single vampire guard, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m too far, and even as I’m running toward them their limbs are flying off and blood rains as the vampire mows them down.
I crash into the vampire after his deed is finished, slicing into his shoulder and forcing him upright. He spins, slashing at me with a handaxe, and I bob to the left.
He attacks fast, trained for this, and I’m pushed back, catching his blade with my off-hand and turning him aside. His shield rises and there’s no way around it—I have to get to the side of him to have any hope, but there are too many flailing bodies around me.
Gritting my teeth, I propel forward desperately. He hacks at me, baring his fangs, and I notice the badge of the Military Ward on his lapel. One of Barnabac’s men, when he was still alive. Now controlled by Aramastun.
Which means Aramastun has seemingly occupied the silver mines and knows this battle is happening. That doesn’t bode well for us.
As I parry another vicious slash from the vampire, I call over my shoulder. “Ghosts, get to the silver, leave the fighting to us!”
Yes, the vampires have three times the number of me, Vallan, Garroway, Lukain, and Skar. I still feel more comfortable fighting alongside them, outnumbered, than I do in this chaotic melee with no end in sight.
After seeing their comrades promptly cut down, it doesn’t take much coaxing to get the Gilded Ghosts to flee. Long hair whips in the wind and boots scuttle on the grimy ground as they scatter in multiple directions.
A vampire tries to chase down a trio of miners and runs into Skartovius blocking his path. The nobleblood keeps him at bay until the rebels are gone, vying for his defensive fencing posture and utterly frustrating the enraged vampire guard.
I hear a quick clashing of swords, the rasping of steel, then the grunting of pain. When I parry my attacker and glance over, Skar’s sword is sticking out the vampire’s back. My mate slides the limp body—pierced expertly through the chest—off his blade and then comes running toward me.
Skar is coming in from behind my attacker. I realize I don’t need to get to my enemy’s side anymore, I just need to distract him long enough for Skar to get here.
The guard on me swings wildly, feeling the pressure growing around him, and the loss of his soldier friends nearby. We’ve taken this section of the mines and other vampires are retreating or trying to run down the Gilded Ghosts. It’s complete madness.
The short-haired bloodsucker spins his axe and tries to bury it in my chest. I sidestep, lash out with my elbow, and crunch his nose. His head snaps back and before he can recover I cut into his wrist.
The vampire drops his blade but crouches and manages to swoop it up with his good hand in an impressive display before it hits the ground. He uppercuts with the axe and I push both my swords down in an X to meet his attack, finding no time to dodge.
The blow forces my blades apart and I stumble back. He charges in, gleeful death in his red eyes, my guard open and vulnerable—
As spits blood from his open mouth from Skar’s sword sinking into the back of his neck. The vampire croaks, turns to fend off against his new attacker—
Giving me a perfect opening to jam my blade into his back, through his lung, pull out, and then stab him again in the heart. The jarring of his bones against my sword runs through my arms and makes me shiver.
The vampire drops. Skar frowns at me, I blow him a kiss, and then we’re off toward the next pocket of fighting.
Here, Lukain is having it out with two soldiers. A third one lies in a pile of burning flesh and bone, black smoke wafting into the sky from Lukain wounding him with the silver saber. Now he’s in trouble against two other skilled soldiers.
Skar gets to him first, flying in, and I’m right behind—
Before my world tumbles, the sky turns into the ground, and I’m being flung to the side from something unseen crashing into me.
I roll to my feet just as a loud smack cracks the ground where I’d just been. Gasping for breath, agony in my shoulder, I face my new attacker.
He’s using some sort of whip. Its crude leather is racked with tiny spines that look dangerous and would seem particularly bawdy in other circumstances. There’s a small grin on his face, and the vampire is wearing a hood. He’s seemingly come out of nowhere, from behind a tent.
Skar didn’t see me go down. Vallan and Garroway are on the other side of the camp since we’ve moved away from them, and Lukain is also busy.
I’m on my own, and this wildly attractive vampire can’t stop grinning at me.
Behind his hood, strands of salt-and-pepper hair flow to his shoulders.
He’s slender, and the only imperfection I see on his marble face is a deep scar on his left cheek to his chin, similar to Zefyra’s wound.
There’s an eerie silver glow to his eyes which throws me off-guard at first. They’re inviting eyes, entrancing.
“You must be the Bitch-Queen herself. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he purrs in a voice like thick syrup, before giving me a small nod. He cracks his whip and reels back. “Apologies there’s no time to chat.”
“Who the fuck are you, bloodsucker?” I snarl.
He doesn’t answer, opting to snap the whip at me instead. I’m not used to fighting against a mid-ranged weapon like this, so unpredictable and seemingly chaotic.
This man has complete control over it. When I slap my blade sidelong to cut the strand of spiky leather away from me, a simple twist of his slender wrist coils the tail around my shortsword.
My eyes bulge and his grin widens. He yanks back—
I’m forced forward a few feet before I make the wise decision to release my hold on the sword.
By then it’s too late—
The whip snaps again and bites into my forearm like a lightning bolt, flinging my sword high into the air at the same time. I hiss, pulling back, and see a dozen small pinpricks beading with blood on my arm.
It stings more than it hurts.
Rather than ruminate over the blood trickling down my arm, spiraling between my fingers, I rush the vampire while he stands there gloating. He pushes back on his feet effortlessly. Around him, bodies swarm into view from around other tents, swift and ghost-footed.
The broad brims of their tricorn hats are the first thing I notice from the newcomers.
Fuck. “Aramastun’s judgemen!” I scream to anyone around me who can hear. “Ghosts, get out of here!”
My opponent rushes forward, now that I’m panicked. Surprisingly, the judgemen spread out away from us, darting toward other pockets of battle behind me. A couple go to meet Skartovius and Lukain, who have just noticed me and the elegant vampire I’m fighting against.
It’s that split second of hesitation that costs me—my distraction as seeing Skar’s eyes widen, the nobleblood rushing to meet me in combat.
The silver-eyed bloodsucker in front of me slips beneath my guard, jamming the handle of his whip against my side. I let out an oof and stumble back—
Catching another crack of the whip against my other arm, dotting it with nettling pricks that smart and make me peel my lip back in frustration. The whip comes away dripping with blood. Dripping with Loreblood.
“That should do it,” the vampire smirks as I backpedal to regroup.
“W-What—”
He turns and sprints away, his preternatural speed something I could never catch up to. Winding around tent flaps and makeshift aisles created by the copse of hovels around us, he vanishes into the dust storm swelling across the North Mines.
There’s a whistle a second later. Judgemen begin to depart, dancing away from their attackers, spinning away blades with their curved swords, and dispersing into the night.
“Don’t give chase!” Lukain cries, noticing some uppity Gilded Ghosts trying to run down the retreating soldiers. “It will only lead to your deaths!”
I watch after the silver-eyed vampire until he’s no longer in sight. There’s no way I’m chasing that fucker with his persnickety whip and the way he uses it.
I wring my wrist and hand out, seething as the stinging in both forearms becomes worse. My breath rattles in my throat and I stare out—
Jolting when Skar’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Temptress, are you all right?” He stares directly into my face, and must see the distraught expression there, because he looks frightened for me.
“Y-Yes. I’m fine, Skar. Just a couple pinpricks.”
The nobleblood grunts and takes me by the hand. “Come, love, the Ghosts have procured the silver. It’s time to escape back into the tunnels.”
I nod, following him blindly. I swoop my discarded shortsword off the ground and sweep my gaze around the camp.
Smoke and small fires billow in pockets of the field.
Dust hangs thick and choking in the air.
I trip over a limp form and stagger sideways when I recognize jet-black hair poking out from the crater in the ground where a head should be.
Seems Cordea didn’t fare too well against her old foreman.
It’s a shame, because at one point, I kind of liked the stone-cold bitch and the jibing we would get into.
She reminded me of me. Now her chest is caved in, her heart is missing, the rest of her is in utter ruin, and I don’t think she’ll be walking this one off.
Miners decide to flee with us, hugging their pickaxes tight. Vampire guards stationed here—but evidently not part of the judgemen contingent—see the judgemen fleeing and decide it’s in their best interest, too. Before I can breathe, everyone’s running in opposite directions—
Which causes me to run shoulder-first into a slight figure. She bounces off me with a yelp, and a reflection in her face catches the moonlight.
Glass spectacles hang slightly askew off a thin bridge of a nose. A young face, a boyish body, and wide, very wide eyes behind those spectacles. “Sephania!”
My head reels at the sudden recognition. “Imis?!”
The girl runs at me and wraps her arms around my larger frame. She buries her head against me, I can already hear the tears springing from her eyes “Oh thank the True. I’ve been looking for you.”
“What? Where have you been?”
“I returned to Nuhav after discovering something of importance, Seph. I was rounded up at the southern gate trying to get in, bought by some slick, gaudy interfolk vampire looking for assistants.”
Overliege Liolen, I think.
I pull Imis to arm’s length so I can hear her better. “What have you discovered? Why have you been looking for me, Imis?” My voice is harried, raspy.
“Sephania, let’s go!” Skar hisses behind me at the mouth of the cave.
“To warn you, old friend.” She looks up. Tears sparkle in her magnified eyes. “I read something in a tome. I believe Aramastun Wyvox has tainted blood in his lineage, Sephania. The Night Judge cannot gain access to your Loreblood, whatever happens!”
My heart freezes and my lips part.
“That should do it.” The words from my recent fight, crooning and giddy from the silver-eyed whipper.
I glance down at my arms, at the mottled flesh and beaded needling caused by that whip . . . and my blood dripping from the spikes of the lash as he pulled it back.
“Great.” I groan, feeling suddenly cold and shivery. I stare off into the distance where the hooded vampire ran. “Because I think he just fucking did.”