Chapter Five
I turned to the vampires. I was so furious I couldn’t even speak.
The knight with the axe saw my face. A second later he also realized I was wearing an innkeeper’s robe and that he had done something really, really bad.
I marched over to him. He took a few steps back toward the inn, moving away from the car like a toddler who’d broken something and was now trying to distance himself from it. His foot touched the inn’s boundary. A root whipped out of the gloom, grasped the vampire, and yanked him into the ground as if he weighed nothing. One second he was there, the next he vanished.
I glared at the other vampires. “Pick up this car and this man,” I said, forcing the words through my teeth. “Bring them into my driveway undamaged, or I’ll reduce you to bloody spots on this pavement. Now.”
To the right, two points of light announced an approaching vehicle.
“Move!” Arland snarled from somewhere behind the hulking vampires.
Lord Soren, Arland’s uncle, grabbed Officer Marais and sprinted to the inn as fast as his enormous armor would allow. Two vampires grasped the cruiser, lifted it, and carried it onto the driveway. The moment the wheels touched the ground, the cruiser sank into the driveway. The ground gulped it and the car vanished. The vampires streamed into the house.
The lights were almost on us.
I stepped behind the oak. The house shifted, hiding the weapons. George crouched behind a hedge.
At the door Arland barked a short command. The three vampires still outside dropped flat.
A white truck thundered by.
I waited a couple of seconds and nodded to Arland. The knights rose and ducked into the house. George followed. I paused and surveyed the street. It lay empty.
I waited, straining to hear any stray noises.
Nothing.
No sirens, no outraged neighbors racing out of their houses to see what was happening, no shots fired. The dreary weather and the cold night on a regular old Tuesday kept the inhabitants of Avalon subdivision indoors.
Could we have dodged a bullet?
As an innkeeper, I had only two official duties: to safeguard my guests and to keep their existence hidden from the rest of the planet. The vampires knew this. Arland and his uncle, in particular, knew and understood this extremely well. How could they have put the inn in jeopardy?
Cold drizzle sifted from the night sky.
The subdivision remained silent. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked in short plaintive yips, asking to be let inside. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I heard a door swing open. The barking stopped.
I exhaled slowly and went into the inn.
The vampire delegation crowded in my front room.
A huge knight, his hair jet-black, stood chest to chest with Arland, their armor almost touching. Both had their shoulders back, legs planted, their powerful muscles flexed, ready to grip and tear at each other. Their mouths gaped open, fangs on display, their faces contorted with rage. They radiated aggression like two space heaters emitting heat. Everyone else had backed away, giving them room. They were a second away from direct violence, and they were almost exactly the same size and height. It would be bloody and terrible.
No, uh-uh. They would not be having it out in my front room. I snapped my fingers. I didn’t really have to, but I wanted to underscore the point for the rest of the audience. The two vampires sank into the floor up to their waists. I touched my index fingers and moved them apart. The vampires slid away from each other, leaving about five feet of space between them. George walked into this space, leaning on his cane.
“Marshal of House Krahr.” He nodded at Arland. “Marshal of House Vorga.” He nodded at the dark-haired knight. His voice was light and cheerful. “Whose idea was it to come through the front door?”
“Where is my knight?” the Marshal of House Vorga snarled.
I sank him another six inches into the floor.
“I demand…”
Another six inches. He was almost up to his armpits.
The Marshal of House Vorga opened his mouth and clicked it shut.
George turned on his heel. “Marshal of House Sabla, perhaps you would like to clear the air?”
A female knight stepped forward. Long, straight chestnut hair framed her face. “Coordinates were presented to us by the Marshal of Krahr. The Marshal of House Vorga entered them personally.”
“Might I trouble you for those coordinates?” George asked.
She raised her hand. A small display ignited on the inside of her wrist. Alien marks dashed across it in pale red.
“Thank you, Lady Isur,” George said. “Let the record show that Arland of Krahr presented the correct set of coordinates to the Houses. Lord Robart, did you enter incorrect coordinates by mistake?”
“We are the knights of the Holy Anocracy,” Lord Robart answered. “We do not slink through the back door. We do not follow the otrokar.”
“I see,” George said. “And you made that decision on your own?”
“I am a Marshal of a Vampire House,” Lord Robart snarled. “I don’t answer to the likes of you.”
George smiled. “Fair enough, although you have already answered my first question, so the impact of your gesture is somewhat diluted. Very well then.” He raised his hand. A scroll appeared in it as if by magic. He let it unroll. A brilliant red symbol of the Holy Pyramid blazed in the middle of it. The vampires knelt as one and I saw Caldenia sitting in a chair at the back wall, sipping her cup of tea, a small amused smile bending her lips.
“This is a holy writ granted to me by Her Brilliance, the Hierophant,” George said.
He had a holy writ from the religious leader of the Holy Cosmic Anocracy. Wow. He’d just unleashed the equivalent of a nuclear bomb.
“This writ grants me the power of life and death over every single one of you,” George said. “I may kill any of you at any time without reason or fear of retribution. To defy me is to defy the Hierophant. Should you choose to do so, you will be excommunicated. Upon your death, your soul will be turned away from Paradise, forced to wander the lifeless, icy plains of Nothing, where no sun shines upon you, no animal crosses your path, and no sound interrupts the silence. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal clear,” Lady Isur said, her head still bowed.
George rolled up the scroll and slid it into his sleeve. “Rise.”
The vampires rose.
George looked at me. “Dina, you may release the Marshals.”
I let the floor push both vampires out and to their feet. Neither of them spoke. The room was absolutely silent. You could hear a pin drop. George had their complete attention.
“This galaxy’s interactions with Earth are governed by a treaty of the Cosmic Senate,” George said. “Lady Dina, what is the most important provision in it?”
“The existence of other intelligent life in the galaxy must remain secret,” I answered.
“What is the punishment for breaking this provision?”
“Banishment,” I said.
Lord Robart locked his teeth.
“Would House Vorga suffer consequences if Lord Robart’s transgression became public?”
“Yes. His House would be dishonored and banned from Earth.”
A couple of vampires winced. Earth was a vital waypoint. Losing access to it meant House Vorga would be severely impaired in their travel. Other Houses would happily take advantage of that.
“Lord Robart of House Vorga,” George said. “I don’t believe in starting peace negotiations with blood. Nor do I feel House Vorga should suffer penalties for what was likely a transgression resulting from pride rather than malice. However, your actions nearly compromised this summit, and atonement must be made for us to proceed. Lady Dina, do you recall the demonstration you provided earlier? If you could open that door one more time, please.”
Making George angry was a really, really bad idea. I faced the far wall and pushed with my magic. The wood fell apart, melting into nothing, revealing the endless amber sea under the purple sky. In the distance ragged, dark crags pierced the water under the broken necklace of red planets. The salty breeze washed over us, and the planet exhaled in my face.
A body sliced through the orange water, thick, scaly, and crowned with a long ridged fin. Its coils kept going and going, sliding and bulging under the surface.
George looked at Lord Robart. “One hour, Marshal. We will postpone formal introductions until your return.”
The vampire raised his head.
If he stepped into that water, his armor would be too heavy. He would be too slow. He would drown. To go into that water at all was suicide.
Lord Robart bared his fangs.
They wore their armor as if it were their second skin. He would never…
Lord Robart unsheathed a short, brutal axe and clasped the House crest on his armor. The black metal fractured, falling off him, leaving him standing in a plain black bodysuit. He stepped out of his boots, primed his axe with a flick of his wrist, and jumped into the water. It came up to his waist.
“Seal the doorway, please,” George said.
I let the wood flow back, hiding the vampire knight from view. We’d need a countdown. I murmured to the inn, and a large digital clock appeared on the wall, counting the seconds down from sixty minutes.
George turned to me. “We still have the problem of the car and the police officer.” He gave me a brilliant smile. “This is your area of expertise. The delegation of the Holy Anocracy, my people, and I are at your disposal, my lady. How would you like to handle that?”
#
I turned to Arland. “Marshal, I’ll need your best engineer. The rest of you must go to your quarters.”
“Hardwir, with me,” Arland commanded.
An older, dark-haired vampire shouldered his way to the front of the group.
“I’m coming as well,” Lady Isur announced.
“Rest of you, through the hallway on the left. Go. Do not attempt to leave. The inn won’t permit it.”
The majority of the knights left the room, but five of them remained behind. “We cannot abandon our Marshal,” a female knight said.
Lady Isur glanced at me. “Innkeeper?”
“You may choose two of your number,” I told them. “You can keep watch here. If you attempt to move from this room, you will be detained.”
The female knight and an older, grizzled vampire took up a post by the wall. The rest went to their quarters. Caldenia still sipped her tea, looking perfectly satisfied.
Now I had to fix this nightmare.
“Follow me.” I started down the long hallway.
The stables occupied the northeastern corner of the house, opening into the orchard. From the outside, they would look just like a screened-in porch.
Beast darted back and forth in front of me, scampering in pure excitement. Well, at least someone was having fun.
“I could kill him,” Lady Isur offered.
“That would only make more problems,” Jack said.
“Law enforcement here is very well organized,” Arland said. “If one falls, the rest converge on the area. It would make everything exceptionally difficult.”
The door flew open in front of me and I entered the stables. My hands shook slightly. Too much adrenaline and too much magic expended too quickly. With the guests within the inn, I would rebound, but right now I felt jittery, as if I’d drunk three cups of strong coffee on an empty stomach.
Officer Marais lay on the floor next to his ruined squad car, flanked on both sides by the stalls. A female from Nuan Cee’s clan was quietly distributing feed to the buckets. She saw us and stopped. As I approached, the filaments slid off Marais’s body, leaving the inn’s hard roots anchoring him to the floor. The filaments streamed to me, smoothly reforming into the broom in my hand. The roots gagged Officer Marais’s mouth, but his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He was furious. If he could’ve gotten loose, he would fight all of us for his life.
I glanced at the car. It was even worse than I thought. The axe had gone straight through the hood, slicing through the engine like it was made of Jell-O. I could see the floor through the gap.
The stables were quiet save for the rhythmic chewing coming from the donkey-camels in their stalls.
“I can make it painless,” Lady Isur murmured. “He won’t feel a thing.”
I held up my hand. “Give me the Last Resort.”
The wall of the stables spat out a small syringe. I crouched by Officer Marais and injected the contents into his arm. He glared at me as if he was wishing with every fiber of his being that my head would explode. His face softened. His breathing deepened. His body went slack, his eyes closed, and he slipped into a deep sleep.
“What did you give him?” George asked.
“A tranquilizer.”
“But he will still remember what happened,” Jack said.
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him. “To be believed he will need evidence. We’re going to remove the evidence.”
“This is it?” Lady Isur frowned. “This is the plan?”
“Yes,” I told her. “It has worked many times for many different innkeepers. Sometimes simple plans are the best.” I turned to Arland’s engineer. “Please fix it.”
Hardwir stared at the cruiser. “You want me to fix that?”
“Yes. It must be restored to its original condition, exactly as it was before the blow.”
The dark-haired knight frowned, approached the cruiser, glanced through the gap, and wrenched the hood up. “This is an internal combustion engine.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“This is an abomination against nature.” Hardwir let go of the mangled hood. It fell, broke off, and crashed to the ground. “I won’t do it.”
Arland’s eyes blazed. He gathered himself, somehow turning larger. “What do you mean, you won’t do it?”
“I won’t do it! I swore an engineer’s oath. I owe obligations to my profession, obligations which bind me to practice my craft with integrity and to preserve the precious nature of the universe.” Hardwir stabbed his gauntleted finger in the direction of the engine. “It poisons the environment, it’s horribly inefficient, and it runs on fossil fuels. It requires a finite, high-pollutant resource to function. What idiot would build an engine based on a nonrenewable resource?”
“I don’t care,” Arland snarled. “You will fix it.”
Hardwir raised his chin. “No, I will not. You’re asking me to repair something that makes toxins and releases them into the environment. If this was an engine of war, it would be outlawed.”
“You swore fealty to me personally. You swore fealty to our House.”
“I am an engineer. I won’t betray myself.”
Arland opened his mouth and said one word. “Ryona.”
Hardwir snarled, baring his teeth.
Arland’s face showed no mercy. “If we don’t fix this, we will be discovered, which means this peace summit will fail. All the sacrifices of your sister on the battlefield will be for nothing.”
Hardwir spun away from him, glared at the exposed engine, and turned back. “No.”
Arland touched his crest. “Odalon? I’m sorry to interrupt your vigil. We need you. It’s an emergency.”
A single word emanated from the crest.
A moment later the inn chimed, announcing a visitor at the back of the orchard. I opened the gates of the stables. A single vampire knight walked through the trees. He was of average vampire height, just over six feet, and lean, almost slender. His skin was the darkest of the vampire genotype, a gray with a blue tint, like the contour feathers of a mature blue heron. His hair fell on his shoulders in a cascade of long thin braids. It must’ve been black at some point, but now it was shot through with gray. Vampires didn’t go gray until well into their seventies, but he didn’t look anywhere close to that. He wore long crimson and silver vestments over his armor, but unlike the single robe of a Catholic priest, his vestments were cut into long ribbons, eight inches wide. They flowed as he moved, streaming from his shoulders like an otherworldly mantle. Watching him approach was surreal.
Arland had called on his Battle Chaplain. They must have a spacecraft in orbit.
The chaplain strode into the stables. His face was completely serene, his eyes calm as he surveyed the cruiser, Officer Marais, and finally us.
Arland stepped closer to him and spoke quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Odalon nodded and turned to Hardwir. “Your concerns do you credit.” His voice was soothing and even, a kind of voice that made you relax almost in spite of yourself.
“I won’t do it,” Hardwir said.
“Walk with me,” Odalon said, his voice an invitation.
The engineer followed him out into the orchard. They stopped by one of the apple trees and spoke quietly.
Arland sighed. “All of this could’ve been avoided.”
Lady Isur shrugged. “If not this, then something else. Robart is going to make the negotiations as painful as possible. You knew that going in.”
Hardwir and the Battle Chaplain walked back.
“Even if I agreed to do this, it wouldn’t work,” Hardwir said. “I would need a molecular synthesizer to repair the parts…”
“They are standard issue on most military vessels,” Lady Isur said.
“I wasn’t finished, Marshal,” Hardwir said. “We have a molecular synthesizer on board, but the repairs must match the wear and tear of the engine. For that I must determine the age and the degradation of the current engine, which means I need an age sequencer and specialized software. We don’t have that. We’re a military vessel, not an archaeological exploration ship.”
The female member of Nuan Cee’s clan cleared her throat. We all looked at her.
“Uncle Nuan Cee has one,” she said. “It’s very complicated. Very expensive. Far beyond my understanding.”
George smiled. “Perhaps I can prevail on esteemed Nuan Cee to let us use it.”
“I’m sure he would,” she said. “For the right price.”
“The right price?” Arland growled. “More like a lung and half a heart. I’ve dealt with him before. He’ll squeeze the last—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I told him.
George and I found the esteemed Nuan Cee in his quarters. He was lounging on the plush furniture by a small indoor fountain. George sketched out the situation.
Nuan Cee leaned forward, the glint in his eyes clearly predatory. “The age sequencer is a very delicate piece of equipment. Very expensive. I carry one because people sometimes try to sell me objects and I must ascertain their authenticity. Can you imagine if I sold something that might be a reproduction?” He chortled.
This was going to cost us, I could feel it. “We are in awe of your wisdom,” I said.
“And we count on your generosity,” George said.
“Generosity is a terrible vice,” Nuan Cee said. “But of course, even I am not infallible.” He had us by the throat and he knew it.
I smiled. “You have a vested interest in this summit succeeding. After all, if the war continues, your spaceport on Nexus will be overrun.”
Nuan Cee waved his paws. “We have Turan Adin. Even if the Holy Anocracy and the Hope-Crushing Horde united, we would have nothing to fear.”
Who or what was Turan Adin?
“Still, the war is bad for business. I find myself being inclined to do you this favor.”
I braced myself. There was a but coming.
“But I require a favor in return.”
“Name it,” George said.
“Not from you. From Dina.”
Of course. “How may I help the great Nuan Cee?”
Nuan Cee grinned, showing me small sharp teeth. “I do not know yet. I shall think about it. Normally I would ask for three favors, but out of respect for your parents and the friendship between us, I restrained myself. Do not tell anyone. I do not want to lose face.”
An unspecified favor to Nuan Cee. I would have to be insane to take it. There was no telling what he would ask.
The peace summit had to proceed at all costs. I had no choice. I held out my hand. “Done.”
Nuan Cee laughed, grasped my fingers, and shook. “Delightful. I do so love this Earth custom. Talk to Nuan Sama in the stables. She’s an expert in operating it.”
Of course she was.
We thanked Nuan Cee and made our exit.
“I take it you can’t trust anything they say,” George said.
“It depends. All is fair while they are bargaining, but once they make a deal, they will honor it.” And I had just managed to get myself into a bigger mess.
Five minutes later Hardwir and Nuan Sama walked off toward Nuan’s camouflaged craft in the field. I reached into the car and pulled the SD card out of the dashboard camera.
“The Eye.” I held my hand out. A silver sphere about the size of a lemon rolled out of the new hole in the wall and fell into my palm. I squeezed its sides gently. The sphere clicked, revealing an SD card slot. I slid the card into it and opened my hand. The sphere streaked outside through the open stable door and vanished behind the house.
“What did you tell Hardwir?” Arland asked Odalon.
The Battle Chaplain sighed. “I reminded him that an engineer’s oath also obligated him to give freely of his skill and knowledge for the public good if so required. I cannot think of a greater public good than ending a war that devours lives but brings neither honor, nor glory, nor land. This misery must end, whatever the cost.”
A soft beep echoed through the stables.
“The Marshal of House Vorga has three minutes left.” I hurried back to the front room. The vampires and George chased me. All this running around would be comical if lives and the Gertrude Hunt weren’t at stake.
I walked into the front room. The timer was down to fifteen seconds. The two vampires stood completely still, watching it.
I hoped he was still alive.
The numbers ran down to zero and flashed once. I melted the wall.
The Marshal of House Vorga walked into my front room. He was soaked. Blood dripped from a dozen cuts on his body suit. His right hand gripped his axe. His left carried a three-foot-long monstrous head. It was pale orange, covered with shimmering scales, and looked like something that would be drawn on an antique map with a caption “Here be monsters” underneath.
With a grimace, the Marshal dropped the head and the five-foot-long stump of the neck in the middle of the floor, stepped over it, and looked at George.
“The Office of Arbitration is satisfied,” George said.
Lord Robart turned toward the hallway. The two vampires picked up his armor and followed him without a word.
“What do you want us to do with the head?” Orro asked from the kitchen doorway.
The Marshal paused. “Do whatever you will.”
They turned into the hallway leading to the vampire quarters.
“I think it’s time I retired as well,” Lady Isur said. “Arbitrator, Innkeeper, Marshal, Your Grace, please excuse me. I must make myself presentable before the opening ceremony.”
“Of course,” George said.
Arland grimaced. “I suppose it’s best I go as well. By your leave.”
The two Marshals departed.
Orro stalked out of the kitchen and grabbed the head with his long claws.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to cook that,” I said.
“Of course I’m going to cook it.” He waved the head around for emphasis. “Might I remind you that you’re on a limited budget?”
“What if it’s poisonous?” Jack asked.
“Preposterous!” Orro growled. “This is clearly a Morean water drake.”
He tucked the severed head under his arm and walked into the kitchen, dragging the neck across the floor behind him.
“I shall have to make some preparations as well,” George said. He and Jack left the room.
My legs gave out and I collapsed into a chair. Beast leaped into my lap.
Caldenia looked at me across the room. “So much excitement, and the peace talks haven’t even started.”
I groaned and put my hands over my face.
#
George wore soft charcoal trousers. Supple boots made of dark gray leather with a hint of blue hugged his feet and lower calves. His shirt was pale cream, and his dark blue vest was embroidered with a dazzling silver pattern too complicated to untangle at first glance. His long golden blond hair was brushed back from his face and caught at the nape of his neck in a ponytail. He leaned on his walking stick and his limp was back, but as he stood at the rear of the grand ballroom, he looked like an ageless prince from some hopelessly romantic fairy tale.
His brother stood on his right, wrapped in layers of brown leather. I could see no weapons, although he must’ve had some stashed somewhere. His auburn hair was slightly disheveled. George emanated an almost fragile elegance, but Jack was completely relaxed, his posture lazy and his face distant, as if he had absolutely no interest in what was about to happen and couldn’t be bothered to pay attention.
They looked nothing alike, but I was absolutely sure they were brothers. I’d never seen two people so skilled at pretending to be the exact opposite of themselves.
Gaston had parked himself on Jack’s right. Of the three, he seemed to be the only one being himself, which meant he stood there like a short but immovable mountain and scowled. I chose a place to the left of George and off to the side. I wasn’t really part of the ceremonies, but I was the host of this insane gathering, and the members of the delegations would need to know my face. I’d opted for a simple robe. I’d also turned my broom into a staff for the occasion. The staff could become a spear on very short notice. Not that I would need it, but you never knew.
Behind us a long table waited, ready for the heads of the delegations to discuss the possibility of peace. Right now the prospect seemed rather remote, but the peace talks themselves weren’t my problem. Keeping the peace was.
I glanced up. At the opposite wall Caldenia sat in a royal box, about thirty feet up. Her Grace wore a copper-colored gown with an elaborate lace pattern and sipped wine from a glass. Beast sat next to her. Until I had a better idea of the participants in the summit, I wanted Caldenia off the main floor. Her Grace could take care of herself, but I’d told Beast to stay with her as an extra precaution.
George glanced at the electronic clock in the wall above the door. “We may begin.”
I nodded and murmured, “Lights.”
Bright light bathed the ballroom floor.
“Release the Holy Anocracy.”
The doors on the left side of the grand ballroom swung open. A huge vampire stepped out, dressed in blood armor. Enormous even by vampire standards, he carried the standard of the Holy Anocracy, black fangs on a red banner. He faced us and planted the banner into the floor, holding it with his left hand. Music blasted from hidden speakers, an epic march, relentless, unhurried, and unstoppable. Images slid along the walls of the ballroom: an armored vampire tearing into a centipede-like creature five times her size; two vampires locked in mortal combat, fangs bared; a vampire with a House standard atop a mountain of corpses, bellowing in rage. This was the Holy Anocracy’s “We Are Scary Badasses” reel. The same images were being streamed to the otrokar and Merchant quarters.
The terrifying footage kept coming. A citadel of the Crimson Cathedral, unbelievable in its size; endless rows of vampires poised before boarding a spacecraft; a vampire woman in the flowing robes of a Hierophant dashing up the spine of an enormous creature, leaping straight up and slicing into its neck. An image of a small group of vampires in bloodstained armor appeared on the wall, calmly, methodically cutting their way through ranks of maddened otrokars. The Horde crashed against them again and again like an enraged sea against rocks, and fell back, bloodied and helpless. The message couldn’t be clearer. The otrokar were wild undisciplined savages and hundreds of them were no match for the six vampires.
Nice. How to ruin the peace talks in two minutes or less. That had to be some sort of record.
George sighed quietly.
The images stopped and blossomed into one enormous picture that took up all three walls: the seven planets of the Holy Anocracy. As the image came into focus, the rest of the vampire knights marched out in three distinct groups, one for each house. They reached the standard-bearer and froze.
Three faces appeared against the starry expanse of space, one per each wall: the severe face of the Warlord, a middle-aged vampire with jet-black hair on the right; the serene face of the female Hierophant on the left; and an old vampire in the middle. His hair was pure white, his skin wrinkled, and his eyes probing. He looked ancient, like the space behind him. It had to be Justice, the chief judge of the Holy Anocracy’s highest court.
The vampires roared in unison. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
The vampire delegation turned as one and formed a line on the left side of the grand ballroom, the three Marshals and the standard-bearer closest to us.
“We’re ready for the otrokars,” George murmured to me.
“Release the Horde,” I whispered.
The heavy door clanged open on the right and the otrokars emerged, Khanum in the lead and her son close behind. Three giant otrokars followed, each bigger than anything the vampires could throw at them, the rest of the delegation at their heels. They didn’t walk, they stalked like great predatory cats, emerald, sapphire, and ruby highlights playing on their chitin armor, their ceremonial kilts falling in long plaits on one side. An ear-piercing whistle rang through the grand ballroom and broke into a wild melody, full of pipes and a quick drumbeat. The walls ignited again, now bright with the endless plains of Otroka, the Horde’s home planet. A group of otrokars rode through yellow grass on odd mounts with reddish fur, hoofed feet, and canid heads. The image fractured and exploded into a mountain landscape filled with crags and fissures. The hard ground bristled with metal spikes, each supporting a severed vampire head.
The faces of the knights to my left were completely blank.
The puddles of vampire blood at the bases of the metal spikes trembled. The ground shuddered. A dull roar, like the sound of a distant waterfall, filled the air. The camera panned upward, showing a glimpse of a valley beyond the heads. An ocean of otrokars filled it, too many to count, a horde running at full speed, howling like wolves, the impact of their steps shaking the ground. They swept past the camera, bodies flashing by it. A muscular otrokar appeared on the screen, his face savage with fury. He swung a long sword, the muscles on his forearm flexing as he slashed, and the image turned black.
Okay. They weren’t called the Hope-Crushing Horde for nothing.
The music kept going. The image on the wall transformed into the shield of the Horde backlit by flames. The Khanum moved aside, the otrokars parted, and one of them stepped forward. He was of average height and slight build, small enough to pass for a human. His black hair was cut short. The otrokar shrugged off his armor, letting it fall to the floor. Every muscle on his torso stood out. He wasn’t beefy like a bodybuilder, but he was cut with superhuman precision. His stomach looked hard enough to shatter a staff if someone hit him with one. The otrokar pulled two long dark blades from the sheaths on his hips.
The Khanum clapped in rhythm with the music, and the otrokars followed her lead. The swordsman in the center spun in place, warming up. We were about to be treated to show-and-tell.
Another otrokar brought a basket filled with small green apple-like fruit to the Khanum. She picked one and hurled it at the swordsman. He moved at the last second, catching the fruit on the flat of his left blade, tossed it to his right then back again with superhuman dexterity. The otrokars kept clapping. The swordsman tossed the fruit up. His sword flashed and the fruit fell to the floor, cut in half.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Jack said quietly.
The Khanum took a handful of fruit and passed the basket to her left. Dagorkun grabbed several and handed the basket to the next person. The Khanum gave a short whistle and the otrokars pelted the swordsman with apples. He spun like a dervish, dancing across the floor and slicing. The apples dropped to the ground, cut. Not a single fruit hit him.
“He might be a challenge,” George said. His lips barely moved. If I weren’t standing next to him, I wouldn’t know he had spoken. “One on one, I can take care of it.”
The swordsman spun, faster and faster, lithe, flexible, strong. A faint orange luminescence coated his blades. They began to glow.
George’s eyes narrowed.
The swordsman stopped, swords raised at his sides like wings of a bird about to take flight.
The otrokars parted, revealing a female otrokar holding what looked like a machine gun. Oh no you don’t.
She put the gun to her shoulder and fired.
I jerked my magic. Transparent walls shot out of the floor, shielding the vampires and us.
The stream of bullets hit the swordsman. He swung his blades, too fast to see, so fast they turned into arcs of orange light. Breath caught in my throat.
The gun clicked empty. A staccato of light knocks echoed through the grand ballroom—the last of the bullets clattering to the floor. The swordsman stopped moving. Sweat sheathed his torso. No wounds marked his body. The bullets, each sliced in half, lay in a horseshoe around him.
Unbelievable.
The otrokars bellowed in approval. The Khanum smiled broadly, winked at the vampires, and led her people to the right side of the grand ballroom, forming an identical line.
I exhaled and let the floor swallow the bullets and the mutilated fruit.
“We’re going to need help,” Jack said, his face grim.
George didn’t answer. “The Merchants, please.”
I opened the front doors. The Nuan Cee clan had to come from the front, because their quarters opened in the back wall, so I had made another hallway just for that purpose. The doors swung open, revealing Cookie. He was wearing a bright turquoise apron and carrying a basket. A fast, intricate melody filled the room. Cookie skipped forward in time with the music, like a human child on the last day of school, dipped his hand into the basket, and tossed a handful of gold and jewels into the air. Behind him four foxes in diaphanous blue veils embroidered with gold danced forward, gold bracelets and hoops tinkling on their wrists and ears. Then came the older members of the clan, swaying in step to the music: three steps forward, one step back, turn, and repeat. One carried a glittering cage with a beautiful blue bird in it. The second brandished a jeweled sword as big as himself. The third spun around, revealing spiderweb-thin layers of glowing fabric.
Cookie threw more gold, hopping back and forth between the lines of otrokar and vampires. One of the otrokars reached for a bright red jewel the size of a walnut by his foot. The older warrior next to him growled and the younger man stopped.
“To take their gold is to become their slave,” the vampire next to me said softly.
The foxes kept coming, each display of wealth more ostentatious than the last. The palanquin with Nuan Cee’s grandmother followed, floating in midair all by itself, and finally Nuan Cee himself, sitting cross-legged on his own palanquin, which was covered in shimmering silk dotted with piles of gems and plush pillows, and showing his sharp, even teeth in a bright smile.
The procession ended and the Merchants formed the third line, closing the square. The music died.
George’s voice rang in the sudden quiet. “Welcome! The summit is now in session.”
He stepped aside, inviting the gathering to the table with an elegant sweep of his hand.
The leaders of the three factions moved to the long table. George and Jack followed. Everyone took their seats. I raised a transparent soundproof wall, sealing the table and its occupants from the rest of the guests. They were still plainly visible, but not a single sound escaped.
The otrokars, vampires, and the Merchants looked at me expectantly.
I raised my hand. The floor opened and Orro and three large tables, already set, rose into the room from below. Each table offered beautifully cut fruit on large white plates, baskets of bread, rice, sliced meat, bowls of soup, and as a centerpiece, a delicate, translucent flower the size of a watermelon, made of tiny individual slices of some pale meat.
The soup smelled heavenly.
“Evening’s refreshments!” Orro called out. “Morean water drake sashimi with fruit and grains!”