Chapter 47 | Sephania
Sephania
The sight before us is . . . appalling.
We stand at the top of a mountain peak, staring down into the valley of the Faith Ward below.
It’s a green-tinged land with a near-constant fog billowing and creeping through the dilapidated stone buildings, the makeshift hovels, the cracked cobblestone roads.
The lighting makes the very air itself appear poisonous, which it very well could be.
This looks more like a tribal gathering than part of an elaborate cityscape.
Vampires are crawling everywhere. Some of them are literally crawling.
Others are . . . meandering? Loitering? Scuffling?
They’re walking to and fro, often from one side of a street to another, as if following visions in their mind.
No, that can’t be right, because the throng of specimens in front of us, spread across the tapered bowl of the valley, don’t look like they have minds at all.
Garroway and Lukain stand to my left and right. Rirth is slightly back, in front of his Silverknights. Behind us, nearly two hundred battle-ready rebels, eager to raise hell.
I am not one to underestimate my enemies, yet these thin, maladjusted creatures look like they’ll blow away in a strong wind; that they can hardly hold a sword, much less have the wherewithal to attack an opposing force. We’re here to wreak havoc, and I . . . almost feel bad about it.
“What in the Four Corners of the afterworld is wrong with them?” I ask aloud. Turning to Garro, I raise a brow. “Was this what it was like when you came to the Faith Ward with Vallan?”
“Erm, it was not,” Garroway answers, looking equally as puzzled. “Though the bloodsuckers seemed much the same as before. Mindless. Frenzied. Touched. There just weren’t as many of them.”
“What has Valenthia done to them?” I ask.
Lukain says, “She has corroded their minds and turned them into beasts of burden obsessed with the Damned. These creatures are the byproduct of a madwoman inflicting her mad teachings. Probably a healthy bit of drugs involved, I’d imagine. Unholy water, if such a thing exists.”
I cringe. “I suppose we should get to it.” Far past the thick fog, deep into the valley to the north on the fringes of Olhav, rests an ornate cathedral that could be mistaken for the Temple of the True.
Yet even it seems wrong, not well-kept like the True temple, falling apart, peeling and cracking under its own weight and the passage of time.
Its spires rise above the fog and green lanterns that dot the streets.
“That’s our target,” I announce to the fighters behind us, pointing with my sword.
“Valenthia Yurlyth’s keep and church of the Damned. ”
We have many, many streets to sweep through to get to Valenthia’s crumbling abode.
When I glance over my shoulder, I see some of the soldiers look queasy.
Rebellion and conflict is all well and good as an idea, but when faced with the prospect of caving in a vampire’s skull with a shovel, or ripping their heart out as they spew black blood all across your body, the concept is much more terrifying.
Worrying my lip, I look to Lukain. Shockingly, he has a similar affect. As if he’s doubting our move here.
It’s not lost on me that everyone can see the first few streets filled with bloodies, and it doesn’t look fun being down there with them.
Skin is peeling from muscle and bone; staggering steps are taken by the mindless monsters; it’s like these things have nothing better to do than wait for their demise .
. . or wait to inflict death upon others.
I tell Lukain in a low voice, “You want to give a speech to the Grimsons? Rally the troops? Boost morale?”
He clears his throat. “Uh, I suppose. It’s . . . the words aren’t coming to me. Perhaps we should consider this deeper. We’re not even sure Skartovius and Vallan will be able to bring reinforcements to the east and north. We can’t see that far, and—”
I round on him, stealing his gaze with a scowl.
This is no time for weakness. “You hate vampires. You’ve always said it,” I hiss.
“Now there’s an army for you to freely plunge your silver saber into, to raze the damned place to the ground.
And you’re . . . reconsidering? Where’s the Lukain I’ve known all these years?
” The one who killed an innocent slave boy for asking the wrong question—for even bringing up the vampires in Olhav you loathe so badly?
“Where’s your heartlessness, Master Lukain? ”
He blinks, averting his gaze from the rabble below to my angry face. “You’ve changed me, little grimmer.”
“Well it’s time to change back.” I jab with my longsword into the distance. “Imis is down there!”
His voice is hushed. “She’s just one girl, Sephania.”
“SO AM I!”
My sudden scream startles him, quieting the rustling boots and armor behind us. It’s not good for soldiers to watch leadership argue, but it has to be said. It has to be done out in the open.
Lukain peers at me with his pale face, the small scar running across his brow, the deeper one lynched across his neck, his gray-red eyes, his effortless facial features twisting with concern. “She is just a girl. You are the universe.”
I clench my jaw. “I know you would burn the world down to save me if I was down there, Lukain. Imis doesn’t have a Skartovius or a Vallan or a Garroway. She has no one. She’s alone, lost, and terrified. Do this for me. Burn the world down for her!”
Lukain does nothing for a moment. His jaw bunches, flexing, unflexing, eyes narrowing. Then his gaze veers from my features to the mob of rebels behind us, lower down on the peak.
He draws his father’s silver saber, an emblem of the Silverknights of old, which makes all of Rirth’s men stiffen and listen closely. Our regiment quiets, staring at him as he steps forward.
“Follow me down into the pits of hell, won’t you?
Don’t be fearful, don’t be stupid, and don’t be a hero.
Stick with the man or woman to your left and right if you get trapped in the fog, and push out of it together.
Listen to your leaders and we will survive this night.
We do this for Nuhav. We spill this blackened blood for the innocents among us, stolen for the last time by vile animals! Tonight, we put those animals down!”
As far as motivational speeches go, I’d put it on a lower rung of the ladder. It’s short and sweet, and at the very least it gets the soldiers cheering.
Swords are drawn from scabbards, Rirth lined up in front of his men. We give each other nods, and he mutters, “See you on the other side, Hellwhore.”
“See you at the cathedral, Captain Rirth. Last one there’s a coward.”
He scoffs, flaring his nostrils at the challenge, tilting a smile at me.
Lukain takes the position to my right, Garroway to my left. We’ve already discussed flanks and charging order and logistics. The last obstacle was getting our boots to slop down the hillside.
With a tiny smirk, Lukain slaps my ass, and I yelp. “You are very persuasive, you know, little grimmer.”
Then we charge like bastards into the green pit of hell.
My longsword slices into the vampiress’ face, disconnecting her jaw and sending it flying.
She looks more skeleton than woman, with drooping, mummified breasts jostling on a naked, slender frame as she careens to the left.
Black sludge oozes from her maw, only the top half of her mouth remaining as she hisses at me and staggers forward.
All these motherfuckers, that’s what they do: They stagger. There seems no rhyme or reason behind their jerky movements, their crowing sounds, their vicious indifference to the battle going on around them.
It’s a pitched, loud, confusing affair. Somewhere in the fog, Rirth and I became unattached. We had been sawing through vampires with expert efficiency to start, but the deeper into the valley city we go, the more alone I feel.
I push back with my boot, putting space between us, knocking her into the green fog. I see her hands and yellow dirt-encrusted nails before anything else, coming right back at me. Sweeping low, I slash across her heel, hamstringing her and sending her flopping face-first onto the cracked cobbles.
Still she comes, crawling, wheezing, bleeding a trail of dark goop in her wake.
Garroway rushes past me, stomping on the vampiress’ neck with a grotesque crunch. She stops moving, crying out in that guttural way but no longer able to use her spine.
Another one is coming in, so I forget about the jawless bitch and spin to meet this one head-on.
Garro is there first, sliding onto his knees, rolling, and coming up ripping his daggers across the beast’s thighs.
Blood spurts and he twirls onto his feet, stabbing viciously into the vampire’s back before it can turn—once, twice, four times in rapid succession.
Somewhere during the fervent slaughter, he digs deep enough into the thing’s lungs to stab at the heart.
The vampire drops immediately, its skin already beginning to peel away from its loose bones and flutter away like an ashen snowfall.
My dhampir mate nods to me, the jovial expression on his face replaced by firmed lips and a menacing scowl. He dashes into the fog and I follow after him, listening closely for where the cries of battle are coming from.
We’ve cleared three streets and made progress. Glancing over my shoulder, I see how distant the hillside looks now—the one we charged down—jutting up past the fog and blocking our escape.
The only way through the Faith Ward is through it. If Skar’s or Vallan’s reinforcements to the east and west are carving their own line into the center where the cathedral lies, then we can use their cleared space for escape if necessary.
So far, the zealous zombies haven’t given much of a fight, however. My arms ache and my legs are sore from so much flexing and jolting at the sight of new enemies spiraling into view through the fog, yet I don’t have a scratch on me.