Fire and Death
Vlad stared after him, his face pale and his eyes wide and glistening. Myra grabbed his forearm. “Come. He’ll be fine. You said it yourself, he is very capable.”
“He is.” A small smile appeared on his lips. “Thank you, Myra. You are wise for your age.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” she said, scowling. “I still hate you. I just didn’t think Tristan should pay for your sins.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Come, the bridge is still far away, and we need to hike up the hill.”
They stepped through the carnage, and Myra’s heart sank as she looked at the bodies littering the ground. The ravens had torn out eyes and flesh from some, and vampires had drunk what was left of others. Small, scattered battles still raged here and there, but the dead bodies painted a clear picture—while both sides had suffered many casualties, the humans and Ila’s vampires had incurred greater losses.
Their enemies were winning, and they would wipe them all out unless Tristan destroyed the Wizard first. But how could he? Surely the vampires expected someone would try that and would have armies all the way to the Peak. He had to sneak through them all… or fight his way through them all, all by himself.
Vlad pushed her aside, and an arrow swished past her ear, making her hair fly. A vampire lunged at them, and the Prince swung his blades, the blow aimed to cut their attacker in two at the waist. But their enemy blocked it and thrust a long knife, targeting the Prince’s upper leg. Vlad raised his knee, the move fast and sharp, knocking the knife out of the vampire’s hand. The Prince dropped his blades and grabbed his assailant by the shoulder, pulling him forward. He bared his teeth, vicious and angry, and buried them deep in the other vampire’s throat.
Three more vampires approached from behind, and Myra turned to face them, raising her gun. She fired a shot at the first, aiming at the center of mass. The bullet passed through the vampire’s upper arm, and he lunged forward, jumping and landing on top of Myra, knocking her to the ground. She screamed, and Vlad let go of his victim, pulled a stake out of a dead body and plunged it straight into her attacker’s heart.
The Prince knelt to grab Myra’s gun and fired shots at the two approaching vampires, the bullets going through their foreheads, leaving bloodied holes in their heads. One wavered on her feet, and the other collapsed to his knees. Vlad reached them and cut off their heads in clean, powerful strokes.
He returned to Myra and pulled her up. “Come. We are almost there.” His eyes darted around. “Everyone here knows me, and seems to know I was involved with you and Ila. Perhaps they expect a reward if they defeat me, but they also know that if they try, they are unlikely to survive.” He threw a glance at the vampires he had just killed. “Let us hope this knowledge will stop more from trying.”
Myra followed his gaze. “It hasn’t stopped anyone so far.”
He snorted. “Believe me, our attackers could have been many more.” They reached the suspension bridge, and he turned back to give her a hand. “You don’t have a fear of heights, do you? Poor Tristan does. It was a pain to get him across.”
Myra took his hand. “How can he have a fear of heights? He won’t even die if he falls.”
Vlad stepped on the bridge and grabbed the rope railing. “This type of fear is never rational or easy to control. Here.” He handed her back the gun. “We are vulnerable while on the bridge. Be prepared.”
She took it, glaring. How was she supposed to hold on to the wildly rocking bridge and hold her gun ready at the same time? Her stomach twisted as the bridge moved underneath her feet. Far below was the valley, littered with bodies and blood. A raven circled above them, cawing, its dark eyes fixed on her. Was it waiting for her death, so it would have another feast?
Every step made the bridge swing wider, blood and death becoming a blur far below. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a vampire stepping at the end of the bridge and rushing towards them, his feet flying over the ropes and wooden planks as if it was solid ground. Bile rose from her stomach up to her throat, and she choked. Shaking, she raised her gun and fired a shot. She could not see where the bullet flew, but the vampire never slowed down or hesitated.
Vlad pushed her in front of him, closer to the other edge. He bent down, and Myra watched in horror as he tore off a plank. As if this thing isn’t insanely unstable already. He broke the plank again to sharpen the edge and ran towards their attacker, plunging the wood into his heart.
“What were you saying about no one attacking us because they’re scared of you?” Myra asked, clutching at the rope in one hand and still holding the gun in the other.
He returned to her in the blink of an eye and grabbed her arm. “Honestly, they are fewer than I expected. I must have underestimated my reputation.”
She snorted and allowed him to lead her on. “I have yet to see you underestimate yourself.” The next step took her to solid ground, and her knees gave in.
Vlad looked towards the opposite edge. “From here, we can easily guard the bridge and keep an eye out for any vampires crawling up the cliff or coming from the gorge. This should be one of the safest places.”
Really? Myra looked around. Bodies littered the ground, vampires and humans. Perhaps they had tried to retreat and had escaped the butchery of the Peak and the valley below, but had never reached safety.
She recognized Alex, lying facedown with arms outstretched, covered in so much blood that she could not say if he was dead or simply badly hurt. She vowed that once this was over, she would check on him. If he still lived, she would make sure he recovered.
Myra raised her gun, but the bridge was eerily empty, safe for a crow perched on the rope railing. The mists embraced it from all sides, and it swung slowly left and right.
“How well can you see the other side?” the Prince asked. “I have forgotten what it is like to have human sight.”
“I can see the fighting,” she said. “I can distinguish the vampires close to the bridge, but the ones up the hill are faceless to me. I only recognize the ones with strange clothes or hair. I…” She paused before answering the question that was surely on his mind. “I can’t see Tristan.”
“Neither can I,” he said softly.
Three vampires walked on the bridge, and Myra fired a shot. She hit one, but the other two advanced, unperturbed. With shaking hands, she tried to reload her gun as fast as possible, but this was a skill she had never mastered.
The first vampire stepped on solid ground and swung her blade. Vlad blocked the blow with one sword and cut off her head with the other in a single clean strike. The other vampire cried and lunged at them, his eyes blazing and his face twisted in rage.
Myra finally managed to reload and fired another shot. The bullet grazed their attacker’s arm, and Vlad used that distraction to plunge one sword through his chest and behead him with the other.
“Tristan is probably too high up by now,” said Myra. “That’s why we can’t see him. Or he may be on the other side of the hill. Or behind a rock. Or inside a cave.”
“Or dead,” Vlad whispered.
Myra shuddered. She could not dwell on that right now. So many had died—Lidia, Thomas, Estella, Andre, Grandma Pia, Leo, possibly Alex too, and she had neither heard nor seen Zack after the attack.
“What about Armida?” she asked. “Where is she?”
“She joined us in the fight,” the Prince said. “We lost each other in the beginning. I do not know where she is.”
Myra stole a glance at him. He was pale but stone-faced, his lips set in a thin line. “Vlad,” she said. “You don’t need to stay here with me. Go and look for them.”
“You cannot guard the bridge on your own, and there might be vampires back at the camp,” he said. “I will stay for as long as you need my protection.”
“Why?” she snapped. “Are you worried about honor? You have none.”
“Call it ‘friendship,’ then,” he said as he dispatched another attacker who had crossed the bridge.
“Friendship?” She snorted. “We are not friends.”
“You may not care about me,” he said calmly, “but you care about Tristan. That is enough for me.”
“I don’t care about you? That’s a mild way to put it. I wish you dead. How much clearer do you want me to be?”
“Why don’t you kill me, then?” he challenged. “You have a gun. Shoot me. Depower me. And then finish it.” He handed her a stake.
“Don’t tempt me.” She reloaded her gun.
“Why not?”
“Tristan is fond of you, for reasons I don’t entirely understand,” she said. “He has suffered enough. I wouldn’t cause him more pain.”
He laughed. “So you don’t hate me so much after all? Not enough to hurt Tristan? I think this can be the foundation of a beautiful friendship.”
“I’m afraid ‘not enough hate’ is the closest thing to a friendship you’ll ever get from me,” she said. “You’re a monster, Vladimir. I hate you, but I don’t hate Tristan and Armida. If you think they need your help, go.”
He shook his head, staring empty-eyed at the Peak. “They do not need me. They have not needed me for a long time now. I have been stifling them, holding them back, like a mother hen refusing to let go.”
She fired a shot at a vampire close to the bridge. “Oh, come on. Enough with the self-pity. You know very well they still need you. You’ve given them a lot, and you keep giving every single night. Yes, they don’t need you to protect them and guide them by the hand, but they need you to be there, to be a part of their lives.”
As do I. She but her lip, wondering where the strange thought had come from. For a brief moment, she wondered what her life would be like without the Prince in it. He had taught her how to write better and had opened her mind to new horizons. He had shown her art, culture, and history… and then he had killed Thomas.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Thank you.”
Myra cursed herself. She had not wanted to comfort him. “Don’t thank me just yet,” she said.
Suddenly, the ground shook with a roar, wailing like a wounded beast. Gravel rolled down the Peak, and then stones. Rocks and dead bodies mixed into a horrific avalanche that slid down the slope, devouring the living fighters, vampires and humans alike. A flock of black ravens rose up, cawing, harsh and ugly, but the avalanche caught some of them, adding their dark bodies to its deadly mass. A lone dead tree, dry and gnarled, broke off and slid down.
A large crack spread down the hill, and a piece of rock broke loose and slid down, squashing a group of fighters underneath like a stone pestle crushing garlic in a mortar.
Myra’s gaze turned upwards, to the Wizard… or to where the Wizard was supposed to be. Fire rose to the sky, the high flames licking greedily, looking for someone to devour. Black smoke stretched up, dancing with the mists, and a large vulture emerged from it all, as if birthed by this unholy kiss.
Red tendrils shot through the black sky above, pulsing like swollen veins. Myra looked at Vlad. His eyes, wide and red-rimmed, stared at the rising flames. She knew his thoughts without him speaking them. Tristan had done this. And now, Tristan is in there.
Myra knew that, in theory, it could have been any of Ila’s vampires who had done it. But who would have the strength? It had to be Tristan, and now Tristan was caught up in that mess of fire and rocks. And the Wizard was gone.
Gone. Just like that. So many years of darkness, so many tears, so much pain, so much suffering, over something so small, something so easily destroyed. The Wizard had been powerful, and it had given power to anyone who controlled it. It had given the Prince the power to rule over the world, to hold the lives of every single human in his hands, as if they were mere pawns for him to play with. But it had shown him that the taste of power was bitter, and if he wished to rule, he had to swallow down the bile.
There was nothing to control the weather now. Perhaps it would take a few hours for the clouds to disperse, and it could be days, even months, before the weather came back into balance. But it was over. They had won. So many had died, but they had won.
“You should go,” she said. “Tristan needs you more than I do.”
He stared forward, his lips pressed together. She was sure he wanted to run and dive into this hell of sliding rocks and bodies and hungry flames. “Seriously. Go.” Perhaps no more attackers would come. Her gaze wandered across the bridge.
She froze. There he was, smug, and annoying, and repulsive as ever. Yong stood on the other side, looking at them. Myra’s gaze darkened as she remembered what he had done to Leo, and without thinking, she fired a shot.
He was far away, and her bullet barely scratched his shoulder. He grinned at her and raised a large compound bow. The vampire fired an arrow, and Myra tried to follow its path, but it was so fast. A drop of rain fell on her cheek, and a heart-wrenching scream pierced the mists from somewhere far away.
Myra’s feet were heavy as lead, and she was not fast enough to support Vlad as he fell with a surprised look in his eyes. All she could do was stand there, frozen to the spot, staring wide-eyed at the wooden shaft sticking straight from the vampire’s heart.