Chapter 46 | Skartovius
Skartovius
Sephania seems to have things well-organized, but you can never be too sure. I’m filled with a foreign sense of anxiety as I leave the Firehold. Our battle schemes seem half-baked. I don’t have the heart to tell my little temptress that we need more organizing.
Sometimes, you just have to act. I’m proud of her for taking initiative. Her strategy is sound, even if her tactics are a bit haphazard.
On the other hand, a sneak attack with a large force is not the worst idea.
I have notions of grandeur, certainly—visions of a pitched battle, our rebellious ramshackle army facing off valiantly in the countryside against Aramastun’s chiseled war machine.
Death and blood and screams filling the air as we outmaneuver the Night Judge and win the night.
The truth is much more nuanced. After over a hundred years as a vampire and countless battles, wars, and conflicts, I know war is gritty, dirty, and underhanded. The valiant few do not simply rise up against the wicked masses and prevail. Not unless measures are made to put luck on your side.
Taking out the fringes and supply lines is key.
The Faith Ward tonight, and perhaps the Commerce Ward tomorrow.
Cut off the many-headed hydra of the Three Ministries, starting on the outside, and Aramastun will start to feel the squeeze of pressure to act.
Then, when he is weakened by a loss of allies, he will make mistakes. They always do.
It helps that Aramastun Wyvox is as arrogant as I am. Confidence is key; arrogance leads to even more foolhardy errors in war. Underestimating your enemy—us—is one such mistake I could seem him falling prey to.
This whole demon-vampire connection Sephania spoke of, concerning her missing friend Imis .
. . I’m not sure what to make of it. We haven’t had enough time to mull the theories over, and we certainly haven’t learned enough.
If there’s some validity to Imis’ ravings, that could prove to be a thorn in our asses.
Time will tell.
Once Sephania leaves with the bulk of the Firehold fighters, I’m left with the scraps.
Garroway will be convening with her en route to the Nuhav gate with feckless humans, and Lukain will be beside her the entire time, leading the Grimsons.
That at least is a small relief. I trust my graybird inimitably, even though we no longer have a master-thrall bond, and I’ve even begrudgingly started to trust my dhampir half-brother.
For all the shit I give him, Lukain is a formidable fighter, and he cares for Sephania as much as the rest of us, so he will gladly sacrifice himself to protect her.
My first order of business is throwing a shadow for the younglings Talma and her younger brother Besho to walk through. It’s a feat of concentration and skill that is nearly thwarted by the younger man’s incessant squawking, but it gets done.
I tell the tall sister, “Head straight into the eastern woods. You will find Manor Sirenchis here”—I point on a map I’ve drawn across a table—“hidden among the vines and foliage. Speak with Lady Helget and Demilord Godial. Do not be alarmed by Helget’s newer mates, Eldis and Darrien.
They aren’t as important. Stay there until I come retrieve you, and tell them of our need for assistance in the eastern quadrant of the Faith Ward.
Understood?” I shove the map into her hands.
She firmly knocks her chest with her first, saluting, taking the map. “We won’t fail, Lord Ashfen.”
I quirk a smile at the young human. She can’t be more than eighteen.
She reminds me of Sephania’s grittiness.
Or perhaps it’s the way she refers to me, “Lord Ashfen,” that has me smiling.
I haven’t heard that in a while, and it feels right.
“Then be on your way. Protect your brother.” I nod down to the sword at her hip. “You know how to use that thing?”
“Best swordswoman in the hold, sir.”
Not counting my little temptress, perhaps. “I’m sure you are. Go now.”
I focus on the duo’s shadows, drawing them within my power, twisting the fabric of dark space, and splay them against the wall opposite us. The inky patch shifts and undulates, surprising the humans.
Besho is filled with trepidation. His sister holds his hand tight. She gives me a final nod over her shoulder and walks into the wall, and the two vanish from sight.
My portal closes on this end, at the same time as my eyes close. I open the portal in my mind first, recalling a place in the woods from when we fled through them, near Helget’s estate. Somewhere in the distance, the fabric of black space opens and the duo are spit out.
I’m sweating when Vallan strides into my dwelling. “Silverblood wants you to catapult me to Zefyra.”
“We know where she is?”
“Vaguely.”
“Hmph.” I wipe my brow with my sleeve, nod and start the process of opening another shadow portal. I don’t have to focus as hard on Vall because the location is more general, and no words of encouragement need to be spoken between us. We are brothers-in-arms and understand each other.
I ask, “You have explosives?”
“What do you think, brother?” He pats his bulky leather armor in various spots.
“Hopefully they won’t be needed.”
“I’m hoping they are.”
I smile. “Of course you are, savage.” Before drawing the portal for Vallan to shadowwalk through, I pat him hard on the shoulder. “Don’t get yourself killed, brother.”
Then I send him off toward the eastern flank, not far from Manor Marquin. From there, I know he’ll be able to locate Zeyfra amid Aramastun’s army, or he’ll die trying.
Finally, I have myself to worry about. My incorrigible, infuriating mistress wants me to go to the Commerce Ward and commission Liolen Sesk. I know that won’t work, but I’ve agreed to do it anyway.
I could walk there to save my energy, what’s the point though? By this time, Sephania is likely halfway across Nuhav. Soon she’ll reach the base of the Olhavian Peaks, and I can’t be by her side soon enough.
I can only shadowwalk to places I’ve been before—locations I can see in my mind’s eye.
My portals are stronger, more efficient, and use less of my willpower the closer they are to Sephania.
Luckily, I’ve dealt with Liolen Sesk personally, been in their throne room, and heard unholy things coming from that room.
So I throw a third shadow, squeezing my power and capability to the brink, and march through it without a second thought.
I emerge with my sword drawn, stepping out of the wall where a mercenary’s shadow flickers against torchlight.
The edge of my blade lands gently on the guard’s neck from behind, and he stiffens. “Easy.”
The guard inhales sharply, hand going to their sword hilt.
“Not smart,” I warn in a low hiss. “I’m not here to disrupt. I’m simply here for a meeting with the Gilded Liege. I have an appointment.”
“Liolen is not currently present, Lord Skartovius Ashfen.” The voice comes from behind me rather than the guard.
I don’t dare look over my shoulder and give this bastard a chance to draw their weapon, but I don’t need to, because I recognize the voice.
Palacia steps out from the elegantly carved doors of Liolen’s primary chamber. The vampirex saunters over, smiles up at the guard. “Do not be alarmed by Lord Ashfen’s brash tactics, Konim. He’s harmless.”
I choke a laugh. “Yes. Harmless, Konim.” Slowly, I tilt my blade off his neck.
“Please leave us the room,” Palacia orders, and Konim’s throat bobs as he swallows, glances back at me in fear, and then marches off with a rattle down the hall.
When Palacia and I are alone, I sheathe my blade. “That was easier than I expected. Is Liolen truly gone?”
“Yes. They are currently preoccupied with other mistresses and misters in another wing of Fort Flittus. My time with the liege comes later in the night.”
There’s something off-putting about Palacia’s placid expression. She never seems surprised, or excited, or angry. Just flat. It’s been that way since she turned.
Liolen has the interfolk girl trussed up like a noblewoman hog, wrapped in fine silks and elegant robes and pink rouge on her cheeks that just looks .
. . wrong. Like dressing a toy doll. Palacia looks much better and more natural in leathers, a tunic, and nothing flashy.
Or nothing at all, if it was Sephania’s suggestion.
I’ll always feel a hint of jealousy and envy for this short, disaffected little pixie gnome girl, but there’s no time to air my grievances right now. “Liolen’s in another wing? The guard you sent off is probably on his way to them right now. We likely don’t have long.”
“No, likely not. I’m assuming you come with a message from Sephania?”
“We’re attacking the Faith Ward. She wanted to request Liolen’s mercenaries to aid us.”
Palacia tilts her head. Those big blue-red eyes bore into me. It’s the most emotion you’ll get out of the girl. “Sephania wants a Minister to raise arms against another Minister?”
“I told her it wouldn’t happen.”
“No, it won’t. Not in the open like that, no matter how much Liolen reviles Valenthia Yurlyth.
” I think she’s going to leave it there, and that this time has been wasted, but then she lets out a small hum, showing she’s thinking deeper on the matter.
“I have an idea that might be as useful, however.”
I’m all ears.
“I can keep Liolen busy,” she says, and I don’t want to question how she’ll do that. I already know. “All evening, if need be. Keep his eyes off eastern Olhav.”
“Quite good. Do you think there’s a chance Liolen raises arms against us?” I’m asking a lot here, trying to pull confidential answers out of Palacia. I figure it will show how much of an ally she really is.