‘Then how do you know? Does your flesh burn? Does your soul cringe? If not, then there is no bar to your presence here. Indeed, I had hoped that a walk through these woods might even soothe your unquiet spirit somewhat.’ Vlad gestured airily about him.
Eldyra stared at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead turned away, hugging herself. Vlad frowned and reached for her. She whirled and slapped his hand aside. She hissed, eyes red and wild. Vlad backed away, hands held out in a pacifying gesture. ‘You have not fed. The beast is harder to control when you are starving.’
‘Blood will never cross my lips,’ she spat.
‘It already has, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this situation, my dear,’ Vlad snarled, letting his own mask slip. ‘And if you continue down this path, you will lose what little sanity remains to you.’ He spread his arms. ‘We do not die of starvation, princess of Tiranoc. We merely shed our skins, like snakes, losing all pretence of humanity. Vargheist,’ he said. He gestured. ‘Too much feeding, the same. Varghulf, then. The beast is always lurking, just below the skin. It rages like a fire, and like a fire, it requires careful tending.’
‘Better to snuff it entirely, then,’ she croaked. She looked down at her hands. ‘I will not be a slave to darkness.’
‘You are not a slave. You are one of night’s dark masters,’ Vlad said. He held out his hand. ‘Take my hand, and I will teach you, as I have taught so many. You have been given a gift, and I would not see it go to waste.’ Eldyra strode past him. He laughed and caught up with her. She needed to be taught, even as Isabella had. As they all did. And he had brought her here, so that she might speak to the only man who might help her learn.
They found Tyrion in a clearing, but he wasn’t alone. The Emperor stood beside him. They were speaking quietly as they watched the burning sky. He held up a hand, and Eldyra halted. Her eyes were fixed on Tyrion, and she trembled slightly. Vlad gestured for her to remain silent. Despite the distance, he could hear their conversation as clearly as if he stood beside them.
‘I see little cause for hope,’ Tyrion said.
‘Meekly spoken, for one who has returned from the dead,’ the Emperor said. Tyrion glared at him. Vlad smiled. A point for the man without a kingdom, he thought.
‘It will take more than clever words to survive the coming doom,’ Tyrion said. ‘Even for you, god-king.’ Vlad blinked. Had that been a turn of phrase? If so, it was surely an odd one. Vlad cocked his head, considering. There was something about the Emperor, it was true… Vlad felt a vague sense of unease whenever he drew too close to the man. As if there were some force within him which threatened the vampire’s very existence. Until now, he’d put it down to the lingering traces of the magic which had reputedly been torn from the Emperor. But what if it were something else?
‘That is why you and I must persuade the others to go to Middenheim,’ the Emperor said. ‘Lileath is right. Archaon must be stopped. At any price.’
‘The city lies many weeks’ march away, through territory swarming with foes. Do you honestly believe that we can prevail against such odds? Even with the aid of our… allies, it will be almost impossible.’
The Emperor grunted. ‘I shall not sit back and wait for death.’
Tyrion was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘No. Nor shall I. To Middenheim we shall go, then. And whatever fate awaits us there.’
‘Not immediately, one hopes,’ Vlad said, smoothly.
Tyrion and the Emperor turned, and Vlad winced. The elf glowed with an internal light that was almost impossible to bear. He heard Eldyra whimper, and clamped a hand on her shoulder. ‘Stand, for his sake, if not your own,’ he murmured. Still clutching her, he bowed low. ‘My Emperor, I have come before you, seeking a boon.’
‘I was under the impression that your master was Nagash,’ the Emperor said, with what might have been a slight smile on his face.
‘Ah, but a man may have many masters,’ Vlad said, straightening. ‘Some, even, by choice.’ He smiled ingratiatingly. ‘I am Elector of Sylvania, am I not? Indeed, I fancy I am the last elector, besides your gentle self, my lord.’ Vlad’s smile turned feral. ‘Aye, if you were to die I would, by default, become emperor, would I not?’
‘No, you would not,’ the Emperor said.
‘No?’
Karl Franz smiled. ‘The emperor must be elected by a majority of electors.’ His smile turned hard and cold. ‘The dead, unfortunately, do not have a vote.’
Vlad frowned. He was about to reply, when Tyrion said, ‘Why are you here, vampire?’
‘I believe you know my companion, O mighty prince,’ Vlad said, stepping aside. Eldyra twitched, as if she might flee.
‘Eldyra,’ Tyrion said, softly. She froze, quivering. She took a hesitant step. Tyrion, his face sad, held out his hand. ‘I feared you dead, sister of my heart.’
‘I am dead,’ she hissed. Her fangs flashed in the moonlight. ‘I died in Sylvania. I failed and died, cousin. And now I pay the price.’
Tyrion said nothing. He merely held out his hand. Eldyra hesitated. Then, she reached out and took his hand. Vlad watched as Tyrion led her off, out of earshot. The Emperor looked at him. The human showed no fear, no disgust. Only curiosity. Vlad was impressed. The Empire had improved the calibre of its aristocracy since he had last walked abroad, he thought. ‘Why did you bring her here?’ Karl Franz asked.
‘What else could I do?’ Vlad said. He shrugged. ‘She is of no use to me as she is. Maybe he can make her see sense.’
‘Meaning to accept her fate,’ the Emperor said, looking at Tyrion and Eldyra. ‘To surrender to the curse which has been thrust upon her. To give herself up, like a lamb to the slaughter.’
‘No,’ Vlad said. ‘To fight. To live!’ He shook his head. ‘We all must make sacrifices if we are to survive. She has only two paths before her – acceptance or madness. And the world is mad enough already.’
‘There are always other paths,’ the Emperor mused. Vlad made to reply, when he heard the sound of a sword being drawn. He turned, and his eyes widened. Eldyra knelt before Tyrion, her head bowed. Tyrion stood over her, sword raised, his face expressionless.
‘No,’ Vlad snarled. He reached for his sword, but froze as he felt the edge of the Emperor’s runefang slide beneath his chin. Karl Franz had drawn the blade so swiftly, so silently, that Vlad hadn’t noticed.
Before he could react, Tyrion’s blade fell. Vlad closed his eyes and looked away. Anger pulsed through him, but he fought it down. He looked up, at the Emperor. ‘Why?’ he growled.
‘She asked me to,’ Tyrion said. Vlad turned to him.
‘You had no right. She was mine,’ Vlad hissed. ‘She was of my blood.’
Tyrion sank down beside the body, which was beginning to smoke and crumble into ash. He drew his fingers through it, and sent it swirling into the air. ‘She was my friend,’ he said, after a moment. ‘How could I refuse her?’ He looked at Vlad, and the vampire turned away, raising his cloak to cover his face as the light seared him. ‘Go now, Vlad von Carstein. You have my thanks, for what it is worth.’
‘I do not require your thanks,’ Vlad spat.
‘You have it, all the same,’ the Emperor said. He sheathed his blade. ‘You will find us in the King’s Glade tomorrow, as ever.’
Vlad backed away. ‘Yes, another day of acrimonious indecision ahead of us. How thrilling.’ He stopped as the Emperor looked at him.
‘No. No, one way or another, tomorrow will see the path ahead made clear. I expect to see you there, Elector of Sylvania.’ The Emperor turned away, and placed his hand on Tyrion’s shoulder.