Chapter Nineteen

Bloodborne Clarity

As the stars faded below the horizon, replaced by a frosty, bright dawn, Manuel and Alyssa joined the throng entering Nomiasaka: the former capital city of the province of Nhelqas on Rhitarr.

The Sithe were set to be executed in a mere twenty minutes. As it turned out, this was a source of excitement for the populous. Even without the countless giddy comments and positive remarks Manuel overheard, the sheer size of the throng was indicative of this excitement.

Personally, all he felt was trepidation. Given the public mood, the chances of his and Alyssa’s actions starting a riot were high. The retribution the gods would bring on him and the rest of The Seven was not a prospect he wanted to speculate on, no matter how often Alyssa claimed she’d reap the consequences. While the Rever-Kaer wouldn’t be present, they would be watching.

Nomiasaka, set upon a steep hill, was a sprawling display of Kaerqan architecture. Like most major settlements on the planet, Nomiasaka was encircled by a towering wall of crude iron. Free of rust, it remained an eyesore, yet undoubtedly provided the city’s inhabitants with the illusion of safety. A moat surrounded the city that could only be crossed by a bronze drawbridge - lowered at present - in the wall’s centre. The other entrance to the city was from the sister hill to the left, where a vast, stone bridge extended outwards from the town located there (named Nomiminor) right into Nomiasaka.

Even from where he walked, the small, countless pinpricks of armoured guards lining every metre of that bridge were visible. He had a sneaking suspicion this bridge would end up as their escape route. The minute they freed the Sithe, the drawbridge they were walking across would slam shut. In light of this speculation, he began scanning the city and planning out a route to the bridge - it never hurt to be prepared, after all.

Inside, the layout was a replica of Sanhain’s on a broader scale. Extensive, even rows of sloped stone buildings extended up the hill, intersected by cobbled roads. No children were running around here. More than once, he watched mothers rushing their children inside, lest they catch a glimpse of the horrors that were to be displayed.

Atop the hill, beyond a large, open portion of grassland separating it from the rest of the buildings, was the Titan’s palace.

This structure was magnificent. A flat, rectangular, marble building so severe in length it would encapsulate six rows of houses without trouble. It seemed to be all windows; not a foot was left without one. Atop the roof of bronze was a winged horse carved from stone, with a Kaerqan on its back holding a spear longer than Manuel was tall. Horse and rider surveyed the city below them, watching with challenging eyes, begging someone to step out of line and grant them permission to spring down from their pedestal and deal out some swift justice.

Manuel’s gaze dropped, an action quickly echoed by his heart. From here, in the lower district of the city, he glimpsed what they were up against. He pulled the cloak on his hood tighter and found himself feeling elated at the presence of the battle-axe he’d strapped to his back earlier.

Before the palace itself was a massive, paved courtyard. In this courtyard, over a thousand soldiers, armoured and armed to the teeth, were stationed, staring out over the gathering crowd, gripping brass lances. It could have been worse – the courtyard was so large it could host a hundred times that number with ease. Thank heavens for small mercies.

The moment he and Alyssa crossed the boundary into the city, Manuel felt his power dampen. A cold sensation spread through his body. Recognising this feeling, he focused on Archaic and tried to teleport there. He couldn’t.

He moved closer to the cloaked Alyssa. She cocked her head, inviting his words.

‘Did you feel that?’

She nodded. ‘I do not know how, but they have blocked our power. Can you still use magic?’

He opened his cloak and summoned the smallest flame into his hand.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, they have blocked our teleportation. Fantastic. At least you have the fire. Either way,’ she sighed. ‘It would appear that we are going to have to fight our way out of here after all.’

‘There’s no way we can resolve this diplomatically, is there?’

She gave a jerk of the head. ‘Have you ever met Sanhiel?’ she whispered. ‘The chances of him relenting are a certain nil.’

‘In that case, I’ve planned our way out.’

She turned and grinned at him. ‘So have I. You think your expertise exceeds mine, do you?’

Beneath Manuel’s hood, a smile spread. It faded as they made their way towards the palace. They passed several large patrols, and when he turned back and checked the wall, he saw that many more guards were stationed there. The odds were stacked against them.

‘I thought Kaerqans didn’t have many soldiers,’ Manuel whispered. They passed two older males engaged in a drunken squabble outside a tavern. Despite the morning light, the night was yet to end for some.

‘Traditionally, they do not,’ Alyssa replied, scanning every crevice of their surroundings. ‘The Titan of this province, he is… one could label him as paranoid. So, he began a comprehensive training programme to strengthen his forces.’

‘How many?’

She shrugged. ‘Well, their numbers swelled in comparison to the usual rates, but the issue is most Kaerqans lack the physical ability to be soldiers. I hate to criticise my own, but they have a sedentary culture that does not lend itself to warlike beings. So, his army does not exceed more than a couple thousand Kaerqans or so. To my knowledge. He has been forced to supplement the numbers by borrowing Kaerqans from another Titan to the south, where they breed significantly more skilled warriors.’

Manuel went over to the brawling men and separated them. Upon doing so, one swayed, his arm pulled back to punch. Manuel caught him as he passed out. The other looked as though he wanted to protest and continue the duel with Manuel instead, but when he saw his original opponent being lowered to the ground, he thought better of it. With a smug, victorious smirk, he staggered off down the nearest alleyway.

Manuel fell back into step with Alyssa. ‘So, a thousand troops in the courtyard? A further, maybe, two hundred covering our escape?’

Alyssa smirked. ‘Perhaps your talents will prove useful after all.’

‘What of the Sithe? Will they be able to assist in our efforts? Are they competent in combat?’

‘Manuel, they have been imprisoned - they will not have fed for some time, and therefore will be significantly weakened. We will be fortunate if we do not have to carry them out of here.’

Manuel and Alyssa reached a great pair of steel gates which opened onto the courtyard. This area was walled like the city, but this wall was smaller and made of stone as opposed to iron. The crowd filtered in, and Manuel and Alyssa slid their way into the back row of the waiting throng.

Before them, on a raised dais, the Sithe were suspended on wooden gallows, hanging with a length of rope around their necks tying them to the bar above them. They were whiter than sheets of paper and their frames struggled to stay upright.

The fourth Sithe was panicking. Smaller than the other three, but less resigned to their fate, she struggled against her bindings. She didn’t stop until a guard came over with a five-string whip and lashed her back three times. She screamed, but gave up her fight.

The first, on the contrary, was smirking. She was a tall, strong, silver-haired woman with a pretty face - Manuel was now fully supportive of their plan to save them. The other two, dark-skinned and -haired, looked bored. They stared without focus into the crowd.

The golden double doors of the palace swung open and three figures approached. When they reached the dais, Manuel sized them up.

The figure on the left was an older, wingless woman dressed in flowing black robes. A black band nestled across her forehead, disappearing into her silver-blond hair. She was wrinkled, though retained considerable vitality, and her movements were quick and agile like a cat’s. Around the woman’s neck was the same silver pendant with a snake design he’d seen Alyssa’s mother wear. Her violet eyes roved over the crowd; Manuel lowered his head, feeling the woman’s gaze linger on himself and Alyssa for longer than was natural.

In the centre stood a slab of a Kaerqan. His face, the bottom half hidden with a thick, black beard, was hard, scarred, and dark. His neck flowed into a barrel-sized chest; his limbs were tree trunks. He wore a shining, silver and orange suit of armour. On his back hung a battle axe. Despite his anxiety, Manuel’s first thought was, mine’s bigger.

And on the Kaerqan’s right, a fragile, aged Kaerqan male stood. He, like the woman, wore black robes. His hair and bushy eyebrows stood at jaunty angles, giving him the appearance of someone who’d been the unfortunate recipient of an electric shock. His wings and left arm spasmed intermittently, aiding this impression.

‘Who are these?’ Manuel whispered, placing his hand over his mouth.

Alyssa turned her head and whispered in his ear, ‘the big one, that is the Titan of this province. Nhelqas. The woman, that is the Sithe Matron. She is the head of the Baobhan Sith. As for the older Kaerqan, I have never had the displeasure of an introduction.’

Manuel’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘The head of the vampires is here to watch the execution?’

Alyssa mirrored his expression. ‘I-It would seem so.’

Nhelqas moved to the front of the dais. The second Sithe aimed a kick at him. It fell short. Expressionless, he took the whip from the soldier and strolled behind the second Sithe. Putting all his strength behind the strikes, he whipped her nine times. She winced, but refused to scream.

Nhelqas handed the whip back to the soldier, rolling his shoulders. He held his arms out wide and addressed the now cheering crowd.

‘My dear people,’ Nhelqas said in a booming voice like an avalanche. ‘Today we witness the end of an era! The Baobhan Sith, who’ve proven a plague, a pestilence, on our land, will trouble us no more after this day!’

He beckoned the Matron forth. Briefly, her eyebrows knotted, but she approached the edge of the dais nonetheless.

‘This is the Matron. She is the head of these savage vampires.’ A chorus of boos and other, more vulgar shouts sprung up. Nhelqas’s mouth twitched and he waited for the ruckus to die down.

‘We have struck an agreement. She, and the rest of her clan, will be allowed to live out their days. They will not feed on us. They will live on animals, and will not birth any more of their kind. The price for this deal?’

Nhelqas turned and held his hand out to the four Sithe. ‘The four responsible for the deaths of our own. Today, they will die. With their deaths, their race will go into exile, and will eventually fade from the annals of history. An unjustifiable transaction for the price of the blood of our own, but… a transaction notwithstanding.’

Each of the thousand guards moved forward as a unit. Ten came away from the organised regiments and stood behind the wooden frame. The four Sithe twisted. The first frowned. The twins in the middle laughed. The fourth began to cry. She did this in silence – her countenance was braced, her limbs stiff. She would not grovel.

Manuel glanced at Alyssa. She was frowning and eyeing Nhelqas. She grabbed Manuel by the arm and together they pushed their way through the crowd.

Nhelqas spun back to the crowd. A fire burned in his eyes. He was grinning. He held the Matron by the wrist; the grip was light, but she regarded it with a frown.

‘But this is not sufficient! This does not fulfil the blood debt they owe our people! The hundreds, thousands, they have massacred, cannot be avenged with the deaths of merely four!’

Alyssa stopped pushing. She stood stock-still, realising what was happening. Then, her efforts doubled.

The Matron, struck with the same enlightenment, attempted to pull away, but Nhelqas strengthened his grip. He turned his manic grin to the Matron. ‘I will not rest until these vermin are expunged from our land! That,’ Nhelqa’s voice dropped; it was audible to all but deathly quiet. ‘Begins now.’

Nhelqas tore a knife from his belt.

He plunged it into the chest of the struggling Matron.

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‘NO!’ the Sithe screamed. The Matron gaped, wearing the expression of someone who’d never anticipated they’d ever feel death’s embrace.

The Matron dropped to the floor.

Alyssa and Manuel sprang from the crowd. They whipped their cloaks off and leapt onto the dais, side by side.

For a split second, everything and everyone froze. Nhelqas wore an expression similar to the Matron. The crowd fell silent. The Sithe stopped screaming and eyed them cautiously, hardly daring to believe they were there as saviours.

Alyssa drew two swords from her back. Manuel took his battleaxe from his.

‘You take the big one,’ Alyssa said.

Manuel grinned and lunged forward, swinging his battleaxe. Nhelqas pulled his axe out and, with a deafening clang, the two blades met in the air.

Nhelqas slashed low and wide, and Manuel darted left. Manuel let his battleaxe trail with him, aiming to slash Nhelqas’s arm. Nhelqas was quick, and leaned back, the battleaxe whistling off to the side. Nhelqas responded by going for a low strike. Manuel jumped over it and lashed out a kick which rocked Nhelqas’s jaw. Nhelqas fell back off the dais into the crowd, which was now so loud that the riot Manuel feared seemed seconds from occurring.

Manuel strode forward towards the old man. He shook his head, held his hands up and scampered back towards the palace. Manuel didn’t pursue. Instead, he went straight to the Sithe. He placed the battleaxe within reach, took a silver knife from his belt and went about hacking at the Sithe’s bindings.

Alyssa was surrounded. She’d disposed of the initial ten behind the frame in the time it had taken Manuel to subdue Nhelqas, but the forces behind had substituted them, and then some. Alyssa slashed and hacked with speed and precision, such was her skill, but she was in serious peril of being overwhelmed.

The Sithe came free and sprinted to the Matron. Manuel didn’t know if she was still alive; he didn’t care. He sprinted to Alyssa and, after he took several heads with his battleaxe, he stood back to back with her, troops drawing in on all sides.

‘What took you so long?’ Alyssa said, then laughed.

‘Look, Nhelqas is a lot bigger than these guys, alright?’

‘Yeah, fair enough.’

A soldier lunged at Alyssa’s stomach with his lance. She deflected with her left sword, cut it in half with her right, then used her left to slit the soldier’s throat. Manuel took a hefty swing without aim and claimed six lives in that one action.

Nhelqas bellowed, ‘SHUT THE DRAWBRIDGE! BRING IT DOWN, NOW, NOW!’

How predictable.

Manuel glanced over his shoulder at the Sithe. The twins were attempting to get the Matron to stand and walk with their support. How they expected to get out of this city alive like that was a mystery. Nhelqas was on his feet again and striding towards the Sithe as they struggled, bright red, his movements quickened lurches, his attention laser-focused on the Sithe. One way or another, he was desperate to ensure the execution went through.

‘We need to move, NOW!’

Alyssa kept the fight on behind him, while Manuel cut a path through to the dais. Seconds and many bodies later, a gap burst through the army. Manuel grabbed Alyssa by the wrist and half-dragged her to the Sithe.

When they reached the dais, Alyssa went straight to the Sithe, while Manuel jumped and two-footed Nhelqas in the chest. Nhelqas stumbled back, just managing to keep his feet. Until Manuel lashed another kick into the side of his head; at that, he lost consciousness.

Manuel darted to the women. ‘We cannot take her with us,’ he heard Alyssa growl. ‘It is either her or you. We have to get out of here now.’

The Sithe argued back, but Manuel reached them, said ‘cover me’ to Alyssa and knelt. He picked the Matron up and lifted her over his shoulder, hearing her ragged breathing with ease over the screeching crowd.

‘MOVE!’ Alyssa sprinted to the left, the crowd turning to follow, the soldiers launching their lances. The Sithe picked up fallen lances and ran after Alyssa, staggering. Manuel headed up the rear, his battleaxe still in hand, despite being impossible to swing.

Alyssa stopped. The Sithe almost ran into her. Manuel did run into the back of one of them. Despite the danger, he couldn’t complain about that.

A crowd of twenty angry Kaerqans blocked their way. Their teeth were bared, their hands stretched out before them – they wanted blood.

‘Do not force my hand!’ Alyssa shouted. ‘Move out of the way. NOW.’

The crowd refused to waiver. Alyssa nodded, closed her eyes, and readied her swords. They weren’t needed, it transpired.

The Sithe surged forward. Weak though they were, they slapped down the arms of four Kaerqans. They grabbed them by the backs of their heads and slammed their jaws onto their jugulars.

Everything ceased. Only the Matron’s hitching breaths and the slurping and gulping of the feeding Sithe was audible. The crowd backed away. Alyssa, her expression contorted, lurched to the side. Even the soldiers, Manuel saw in his peripherals, halted their charge.

The Sithe burrowed deeper into the jugulars and blood spurted upwards. The older blond Sithe resurfaced, gasping like a child deprived of water for weeks. Then, she buried her fangs back into the Kaerqan’s neck.

The crowd turned and fled in the other direction in a surge, blocking most of the troops. The surge was so strong and convoluted, none could use their wings - there wasn’t enough space between all the crushing.

The Sithe pulled away from their victims, letting them drop like stones to the floor.

They grinned. Their cheeks had regained their colour, their strides their purpose.

Alyssa spun around. ‘Manuel. Put her down.’ She gestured at the Matron.

‘What? We can’t leave her here!’ the older blond Sithe said. Her teeth were bared and ready to feed again.

Alyssa didn’t respond to her and continued addressing Manuel. ‘She needs to feed. Put her down.’

This shut the older blond Sithe up. She backed away and freed up space beside one of the corpses.

‘Alyssa, we don’t have time.’

‘Look, we’ll cover her! Let her feed!’

Manuel grimaced and put the Matron down next to the corpse, casting his eyes around rapidly to assess any oncoming dangers he was certain would come. Her motions agonising and laggard, she crawled to the corpse. She latched her teeth onto the open neck wound; within seconds, her skin began to regain colour.

Manuel turned away, gripping his battleaxe in both hands. He, Alyssa, and the Sithe formed a semi-circle around the Matron and watched the ensuing chaos.

In their desperation to get away, the crowd fled with such force the army had no chance to get through.

Until Nhelqas issued the unthinkable order.

‘KILL THEM! CUT THEM DOWN! I WANT THOSE VAMPIRES!’

Panic became terror. Terror became chaos. Chaos became slaughter. The soldiers hesitated, and the crowd stopped surging.

The army carried out the order. Citizens, who’d gathered in safety, were cut down and slaughtered. What had been cries of anger turned to shrieks of fear.

‘Oh, shitting hell,’ Alyssa whispered. She and Manuel darted forward.

They were grabbed by the older blond Sithe. ‘Where are you going?! We can’t escape without you!’

Alyssa looked at Manuel. The desperation in her expression was clear, and Manuel knew they were thinking the same thing: Nhelqas had to be brought down, but their escape was of paramount importance.

‘Go,’ Alyssa told him.

‘I’m not leaving you here. You’ll be slaughtered.’

‘Go, now. Leave him to me. Get them out of here.’

Alyssa didn’t give him a chance to respond. She charged off into the crowd, hewing soldiers down left and right, dragging citizens out of their path of brutality.

Manuel groaned. He turned to the Sithe. Behind them, the Matron stood. She was pale and unsteady, clutching at the youngest Sithe, but she could stand. And she was alive. ‘Go, to the wall!’

They sprinted for it. Spears rained on them from above. Manuel skipped up the wall at breakneck speed, using the divets in the stones for support. He clambered on top, and the soldiers charged at him.

He closed his eyes. He imagined he was at home, the sound of the waves crashing on the cliffs filling his mind and centering his focus. He snapped his eyes open and twin columns of flame charged along the wall in either direction.

This had several effects – the guards on the wall were caught in the blaze and roasted to death; those that weren’t caught dove off the wall and met ends through broken necks; the army below stopped again to gaze up at him, as did the crowd, presenting a lull in the slaughter.

This issued Alyssa a clear run at Nhelqas. With everyone distracted, Manuel watched her charge through a gap in the crowd towards the seething Titan.

Manuel didn’t have time to view the rest – the Sithe and the Matron summited the wall. He whipped around and helped them over onto the other side. He followed, and they clambered down as quickly as they could, trying to avoid a catastrophic fall.

Ten feet above the ground, Manuel released his grip, landed, and helped the five women down. They sprinted through the streets and alleyways - empty save for the odd person who hadn’t attended the assassination - in the direction of the bridge.

Minutes later, they arrived at the great gate leading onto the bridge. No soldiers were manning this. Manuel hauled the gates open and allowed the vampires out. He sprinted, hot on their heels. For the second time, he crashed into the back of one as they halted. For the second time, he wasn’t sorry he had done so.

In front of them, they found soldiers waiting and brandishing their spears, arranged in six rows twenty soldiers deep.

The Matron gripped his wrist and grinned. ‘Don’t use your magic. We want to have some entertainment. A smattering of revenge.’

Manuel hesitated. It was a risk - they could be killed. The Sithe’s feral expressions, however, told him this wasn’t likely. He gripped his battle-axe. Together, they charged.

It was a sight to behold, both great and abominable. The Sithe launched through the soldiers, crashing down on their victims. They tore their throats out like chomping into a hamburger. If they were pressed for time, they used their spears in an elegant fashion, dodging swipes and responding with their own lethal slashes. Manuel followed through, claiming the lives of any the Sithe neglected; these were few and far between.

By the time they’d finished, they were wading through a river of blood. Every inch of exposed skin the Sithe and the Matron possessed was smeared in it. They looked deranged, yet in their element. Manuel didn’t share their enthusiasm, but victory was victory.

There was no time to enjoy their success. He urged the Sithe onward and they all sprinted the remaining length of the bridge for Nomiminor. What Manuel wouldn’t have given for them to have had wings in this situation.

They barged through the gate at the other end of the bridge and into Nomiminor. There were two guards, one on either side of the door, awaiting their arrival. They weren’t there for long. The twins sprinted out first and jammed their guillotine-sharp fingernails into the guards’ throats.

The town was deserted. His guess was the citizens here, too, had been caught in the crossfire, that most of them had been in the crowd he and Alyssa entered the city with.

Alyssa.

Manuel stopped before the gate and the Sithe twisted to him. ‘Come on!’ the older blond said. ‘We need to go! They’ll be on us in no time!’

He went through the gate and felt the cold feeling dissipate. He could teleport.

‘Quickly! Everyone join hands!’

The Matron grimaced. ‘Why on earth would I want to-’

‘JUST JOIN HANDS!’

The five vampires shared quizzical looks and joined hands. Manuel strode over and grabbed the younger blond’s.

They were in the Seven’s meeting room at the Archaic Mansion.

Tristan, Malik and Kyra were seated at the table. Tristan raised an eyebrow and ran his tongue along his lower lip at the twins. Malik jumped up in shock, and Kyra squealed.

‘No time to explain,’ Manuel said, trying to catch his breath between words. ‘Look after these women until I return. This one,’ he pointed at the Matron. ‘Has a wound that needs treating immediately.’ He turned back to the Sithe, who watched the others open-mouthed.

‘You stay here. I will be back and when the Matron is treated, I will take you all home. Don’t cause any trouble.’

Manuel disappeared, reappearing back in Nomiminor, the bridge entrance before him. Taking no time to breathe, he darted along the bridge, a single thought in his mind.

He sprang through the gate on the other side. He twigged to the fact there were no soldiers out here; this didn’t put him at ease. The discomfort increased as he charged through the town. There were no souls anywhere.

When he reached the courtyard, he saw why.

The scene was silent as the grave. The remainder of the crowd was on their knees. He strutted through them, his battleaxe in hand, with no resistance. No one bothered to look at him.

The soldiers stood in rows in front of the crowd. Manuel barged through. They didn’t try to stop him. The city had succumbed to a collective state of shock.

Manuel breached the final line of soldiers and he opened his mouth, but sound wouldn’t come.

Alyssa stood above Nhelqas on the dais, her sword at his neck. She was covered from head to toe in deep, prominent gashes. Her skin was drenched in her own blood and that of others. Her eyes - bloodshot, purple, and puffy - drifted in and out of focus, and her hair was plastered to her skull, sticky and red.

Her sword never wavered.

Nhelqas didn’t appear much better off. He stared up at Alyssa through blood streaming from a large gash above his brow. He made no effort to wipe the blood off.

‘You kill me, they’ll find you,’ Nhelqas growled.

Alyssa sighed, breathless, and wiped her forehead. ‘I am counting on it. You massacred your people. I strongly doubt that they will judge you kindly. I doubt they shall care that I claimed your life.’

‘We’ll see, shan’t we?’ Nhelqas’s grin brimmed with a venomous excitement. ‘Let me ask you this - are you any better than I? Look at all the dead. Not all of those were my work. Were the warriors you laid waste to any less innocent than the civilians I massacred?’

‘I am not here to debate wartime philosophy.’ She took a deep breath. She pulled her sword arm back. She swung downwards.

Nhelqas’s head rolled across the dais.

A single person began clapping, each strike separated by multiple seconds. Then, a second person joined in. A third, now. The pace increased. The next thing Manuel knew, the whole throng, soldiers and citizens alike, applauded. The old man who’d fled Manuel came out of the palace.

Manuel ignored him and went to Alyssa. She looked at him and approached him, too. A few feet from him, she stumbled and fell, with a tiny, exhausted ‘oh’. He caught her before she hit the floor.

‘You came back for me,’ Alyssa mumbled against his chest, gripping his shoulders.

‘Of course I did,’ he said. He slipped his left arm beneath her knees and his right beneath her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck before slipping from consciousness. He lifted her and walked away from the courtyard. The crowd parted for them, applauding Alyssa.