Chapter Eight #5
“Those layered and twisted relationships,” EJ said, “they’ve now been dismantled?”
“Yes. Thoroughly.”
A paused vid appeared on the screen.
Ravensport stood in a familiar La Destreza stance, a typical Sangre Duello longsword in one hand, and an unusual shortsword in her left.
The sword had two blades, one for a forehand strike and the other for a backhand strike.
Oddly, there was also a short punch-blade at the grip.
It was a dangerous weapon to wield, as the likelihood of self-harm was high.
Sleet beat against the moving vehicle; where it landed now, it clung. Walter adjusted the heat setting to melt it. The higher in elevation the vehicle climbed, the more sleet there was on the road, on the lawns, and coating the bare-branched trees.
Walter seemed to steel himself, his body going into a vampire stillness that was almost statue-like. No breath. No heartbeat. Not the slightest flutter of life. His unblinking eyes were centered on the frozen screen, taking in the paused footage.
“You haven’t seen this?” I asked.
“No.” He took a breath and continued. “Ravensport’s opponent was a skilled warrior in a variety of sword-fighting techniques and a master in several martial arts disciplines.
His name was Yàn Zhao. Zhao was turned in the fifteenth century, a man of Asian descent.
” Walter’s eyes softened and he blinked once.
“He brewed a lovely tea. His blood was potent and acidic, a bit spicy, like a bloody mary, the kind made in Texas, with extra Texas Pete.”
Walter and this man had been…friends. At least.
“Yàn Zhao had never fought an opponent wielding this weapon.” Walter touched the screen.
A bell chimed, signaling the beginning of the match. In three moves, Julietta Ravensport ended the combat.
Her first move was a circular swing of the longsword called the cage of death.
With her second move, she stepped into Yàn Zhao’s guard.
Wove the small triple-bladed weapon in a complex move that cut deep, vaguely in the shape of an ampersand.
She disemboweled Yàn Zhao. What amounted to intestines in a vampire, tumbled out and down.
With her third move, the second one with her longsword, Ravensport stepped to the side and took Yàn Zhao’s head.
I watched Walter as his old friend’s head whirled to the side. Toppled. Landed at his own feet just as his body, perfectly balanced, began to crumple to the ground.
Walter’s voice was coarse when he spoke, as if tears clogged it. “This was the end of my old friend—true death, in combat.” He blinked at tears gathered in his eyes. Grief. Agony.
The short battle began to replay on the screen. Walter leaned close, watching every move.
I didn’t look at the screen. I watched our bodyguard. As his friend’s head fell again, I saw movement in his neck as Walter’s heart beat rapidly, an unaccustomed drumming in his chest.
“Julietta Ravensport will die a painful death,” he said, “along with Willim Yorath.”
I knew what an oath of vengeance looked like, how it burned. The power of magic in the oath.
“Next video,” Walter commanded the system, his heartbeat now gone, his body still as stone.
In it, Julietta Ravensport decapitated a vampire woman I didn’t know. Her secondo, I assumed. The timestamp was one week after the death of Yàn Zhao.
The third video was the duello with the Emperor of Europe, fighting as the vampire primo to the blood clan leader of Clan Yellowrock. Edmund had come to the United States to defend his clan leader, a lowly position, one based on love and chosen family.
The battle took ten seconds. In the first nine seconds, Edmund the First cut her to slivers. Walter’s eyes lit, as if he was pleased with the punishment, though his expression could never be described as a smile.
He said, “I must send Edmund a very pricy gift for the wounds he delivered.”
In the tenth second, the finest swordsman in the world beheaded his opponent, Ravensport. Or almost. She stepped back at the last moment. She fell, her head attached by a sliver of her spine and a bit of tissue.
Edmund’s scions crowded him away and carried him from the field of battle. No one beheaded her fully. Instead, Ravensport’s scions rushed in and took her away as well, carrying her head and body carefully.
“His people were too concerned about the emperor and not enough concerned with the duello. Ravensport disappeared from public view,” Walter said.
“Two years later, she had healed and began to fight her way up the chain of command and into the position of Master of the City of New York. And now she has aligned with Angelina’s ex-husband. ”
“She’s aligned with someone with access to demon containers,” EJ said, “and too many of our enemies.”
I had no doubt that everyone had been informed: the queen, the Emperor of Europe, the Everhart-Trueblood coven, our grandfather Lincoln Shaddock, Vampire Master of the City of Asheville and Surrounding Hunting Territories.
Vampire politics were always layered and compacted. Every step into them could be deadly.
Walter closed the screen.