Dragon WytchChapter 12
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Blood was pooling in Nicholas’ palm, slowly running in rivulets down his wrist and across the wooden tabletop. He sat in an excellent reproduction of a Louis XXI chair while the elegant period table was slowly stained crimson.
Peter Styverson’s lifeless body lay at his feet. His chest rendered open with a fist-sized hole just under the sternum, his heart dropped haphazardly on the floor before his open, sightless eyes.
Once again Michael had slipped through Nicholas’ fingers, once again a subordinate had not been up to what should have been the simple task of killing Michael Dane.
Rising, Nicholas stretched, walked over to the table he picked up the phone.
”What is his location now?’
‘They just left Heathrow, flight plan shows Tokyo as the final destination.’
‘Onji, damn. All right, get everything packed we leave for Singapore at the earliest opportunity.’
Nicholas slammed the phone onto its cradle.
‘I should have killed you when I had the chance Onji, sealed you in concrete and dumped you in the Sea of Japan.’
Nicholas paced around the room. He had no fear of Onji or of Michael meeting with him. It was simply another inconvenience, which he had little time for.
Nicholas had been psychotic after the death of Ian. To be so close to his goal, of uniting the greatest powers of chaos and order only to have nothing happen was far worse than underestimating the outcome and losing the battle. He was sure the old fool would abide by the ancient rites, take Michael himself to the other clan leaders before giving him the throne. Ian had always been one for pomp and circumstance, just like the rest of his pathetic countryman.
Once Nicholas had recovered his senses he understood that Ian hadn’t given Michael the power, that Michael was not yet ascended. Ian had simply given it back to that winged golden whore of his.
He sent in a strike force, it should have been enough to take out Ian’s security. But that damn Nigel and a larger than expected contingent of Dragon Security personnel had foiled that plan.
And then it happened. As always, when one ascends the ripples of power that such an unholy union creates fanned out, marked only by those just as damned as the newly made chosen.
‘You should have refused Michael, you should have packed your bags and went home.’ Nicholas snarled. There was no sorrow or actual feeling behind Nicholas’ words. They were the solitary ramblings of man consumed by his thirst for power and pain.
The ringing phone broke Nicholas from his ruminations. Walking over to the phone, hand outstretched to grab the receiver, he froze in mid-stride.
Vision blurring, pain searing through his body, a scream started deep in his throat, a wail of pure torment the likes of which few have ever uttered and taken another breath behind. Nicholas convulsed as if being electrocuted for a moment before dropping to the floor, his scream cut short in the physical world as his body gave out against the onslaught of suffering that enfolded him in a straitjacket of agony.
His spirit was not as fortunate as his body.
The shrieking wail of pain and terror continued as that dark, malevolent core of consciousness that encapsulated all that was Nicholas was pulled to a new and most decidedly unwelcome destination.
‘MASTER, PLEASE…’
Nicholas’ cry echoed around the rocky promontory that he now found himself kneeling upon.
Not for the first time, his knees and elbows flared with white-hot pain as they were pulled across the rough stone of the cliff toward its edge.
The gray sky roiled with clouds releasing icy rain that soaked through cloth and skin and bone, wrapping him in a shroud of clammy cloying pain.
From below the edge of the cliff a rumbling akin to thunder began. It cascaded up and over the cliff, buffeting Nicholas like the wind of a thousand hurricanes. The rumbling clarified and gained a rhythm, the rhythm of laughter. Sick and demented in cadence and intent, Nicholas cowered under its power.
‘You Dare Beg Mercy of ME? Foolish child, how is that you are the last of my great line, how is it that one so incompetent could carry my essence within them?’
The earth moved under Nicholas, the rain picking up in intensity, the wind now augmented by some unseen force. Unseen but not unknown. Nicholas knew that wind, tinged with the stench of sulfur and death, it meant that his master wished to look him in the eye.
Nicholas bent his head to the hard wet stone. His forehead pressed so hard against it that deep gouges appeared, blood tinting the rainwater that coursed over his head crimson as it fell to the rough black stone below.
‘Look at me.’
Sirrush’s venomous hiss caused Nicholas’ head to snap up. His eyes locking with those of his master. He was, as always, lost the moment he gazed into their swirling obsidian depths. Now paralyzed like a rat before a cobra, Nicholas could do nothing but stare.
The stark reality of Sirrush’s form would have caused even the strongest of people to simply let slip their hold on reality. His enormous black body, covered with glittering scales looked as though it was made of black ice. The intermittent flashes of lightning reflected across their wet surface like deep scars that shone for an instant only to be swallowed by the inky blackness the next.
Onyx teeth the length of short swords curled haphazardly out of his mouth. Small pools of poisonous ichor pooling below them, he stood sneering at his groveling minion.
Sirrush’s voice was low and dangerous as he spoke to Nicholas.
‘How many times Nicholas? How many opportunities did you lose to end her line? End her arrogance? End my own pain at her very existence? Was it six or seven? Your failures mount up so quickly that it is hard for me to keep count. Why have I been cursed for almost three centuries with such a loathsome acolyte as you? What deity must I suckle and subjugate myself to that I may finally be rid of you?’
Sirrush shuffled closer to Nicholas’ prone form. He could feel the earth tremble with each grating step his master took.
‘Ian is no more my lord, I bathed my flesh in his blood, tasted his coppery essence in my throat. Michael is lucky, he will not escape me. Soon our place as rulers will be assured. The planet will weep to its very foundations at our coming.’
Nicholas had recovered somewhat, knowing that only by standing up to his master could he hope to avoid further more degrading and painful punishment.
‘Our place, our coming.’
An ebon claw flashed out, tearing a deep livid gash diagonally from Nicholas’ neck to his lower back. Nicholas’ screams were drowned out by Sirrush’s roar of anger.
‘Never dare place yourself at my side fool. Under my claw, begging for scraps from my table, like the foolish peasant you were born to be. That is your station, never forget that.’
Nicholas could no longer keep to his knees. Blood coursed out of the long gaping wound to his back as he toppled over, curling into a fetal like repose.
‘For … forgive me … master.’
Nicholas had no more strength to speak, he felt his life force ebbing away in the face of his masters’ wrath. He felt his masters hot bile drip slowly onto his cheek. Looking up he found ancient fangs only inches from his face. He did not pull back, he held his place as best he could as his master spoke one last time.
‘Kill him Nicholas, rip his heart from his chest, feel the last pulse of humanity’s hope beat its last against your palm. When this is done, perhaps forgiveness I shall deign to provide. Until then, understand that I shall accept no more mistakes, no more missed opportunities. Your eternal soul dangles over an endless abyss Nicholas, do not force me to cut the tenuous thread which sustains you.’
Nicholas could hear rock fracture as Sirrush beat his wings, lifting off from the clif
f. His battered body was rocked by the force of the wind beating down on him, giving his masters bulk purchase in the air. He did not look up to watch as Sirrush circled above him, did not see his master power through the air like a great shadowed demon toward the ruins farther up the hillside. He did not have to. This place was seared into his memory. Branded there so many centuries ago. For now he simply wailed as the pain from his masters poisoned talons seared through his body, understanding that soon enough they would be burnt away, leaving a new scar, a new reminder of what it meant to serve instead of lead.
In a croaking voice that broke with every syllable Nicholas spat out his own curse at his lord.
‘Soon you old villain, soon you will know this same pain and a thousand times more. Over an age, or hundred ages you shall come to know pain and subservience. A thousand damnations I owe you, I shall repay them … tenfold.’
Nicholas slipped into unconsciousness. His soul temporarily trapped between the dreaming hell of Sirrush’s creation and his true physical form. He wandered here, where memories are tangible and have fangs of there own.
…
The bellowing call of Hans’ deep tenor rolled through the apartment like a crashing wave.
Nicholas opened and then quickly closed his eyes when he realized that the sun was still up. It had been four years since Nicholas had seen Hans.
After leaving the farm in the south of France where his training had begun, Nicholas and Hans traveled north again. Through France and Belgium until finally passing into Germany.
Nicholas was struck by just how different the places and people seemed as they had traveled. He made mention of it to Hans as they passed through the black forest about a days ride from their final destination, Berlin.
‘The people of Germany seem much … harsher … than those we encountered in France or Belgium. Even the Russians that I knew were seemingly more open than these tight lipped Norse.’
‘My people are … stoic Nicholas. Life has not been easy for my country. We stand it seems always at a crossroads. But you will never find a more loyal people. And don’t let their stolid veneer fool you. We are a people of great appetites. We do not shy away from what must be done, both as a nation and as individuals. If there is something we want, something that intrigues us we shall go to great lengths to pursue it.’
‘The French as a people are weak, you will find yourself one or two in your travels who are worth knowing, but as a whole they are a people bereft of honor. They are most content when left to pursue whatever indulgence suits their fancy at the time. You never need worry about facing a Frenchman in fight, give them a two minute head start and never shall they trouble you again.’
Interestingly enough, Nicholas held this statement to be true until the late 1800’s when a Frenchman through valor and sheer force of will came within a hairs breath of ending Nicholas’ life. Never again would he discount a Frenchman’s courage or desire.
‘The Russians, now they as people have great strength, but they see themselves as beneath the other powers of Europe. Of course the Royal’s looked to elevate their people but it is an impossible task when the bulk of a countries people are little more than beasts of burden. You can yolk that strength in the future Nicholas, use it for your own ends.’
‘As for the rest, well I shall let you decide as you meet them. It is time for your formal education to begin. When we get to Berlin you will be enrolled in the university. Reading, writing, mathematics, music, art and military history will be your courses of study. I expect you to take your studies very seriously Nicholas. You know the consequences if you should do less than your best, and if your best should be less than perfection.’
Nicholas shuddered at the remembrance of his time in the barn learning the lessons of pain and truth. He had no doubts that he would apply himself to whatever task Hans gave him.
Now, four years later Nicholas was a different person. He had excelled in his studies at the university of Berlin. Over the last four years he had come to call Berlin home. He was mesmerized by the diversity offered to those of means, which, thanks to Hans he definitely was.
Nicholas had been set up in his own apartment just a few minutes walk from the university. That coupled with a generous monthly allowance drawn from a local banking establishment, he was soon known in all of the right social circles.
Nicholas was scheduled to graduate the next day, his studies completed. He had wondered what would come next and when Hans would make an appearance. It seemed today was the day.
Throwing his feet over the edge of the bed, the cold wood of the floor a striking counter to the warmth of his bed, Nicholas, with squinty eyes pulled on a pair of breaches before turning to his bedmate.
Elizabeth was British, the daughter of gentrified lord in the highlands of Scotland her pale skin and flaming red hair had drawn Nicholas to her like a moth to a flame. It took very little time for Lizzy, as he liked to call her, to fall on her back and spread her legs and give up her maidenhead to the handsome young man.
Giving the exposed alabaster cheek of her ass a quick slap, his whispered admonition was given with grave sincerity.
‘Stay quiet, and stay here, Lizzy.’
She had turned to yell at him for the slap, upon seeing the stern look in his eye she thought better of it and simply nodded, pulling the blankets up over her exposed flesh and head.
Nicholas strode from the room, closing the door behind him before calling out.
‘Welcome, Hans, it has been too long.’
He was unprepared for the attack, even if he had been so, it would have mattered little. The rage Hans was in was something akin to a force of nature. The beating lasted only a moment before Nicholas found himself looking up at Hans from the floor as his vision tunneled. His last glimpse before darkness took him was of Hans opening the door to his bedroom.
Cold water splashed over his body, shocking him back to consciousness. On instinct he rose to a crouch looking around like a feral cat trying to find their prey. His body tensed and froze as he found Hans standing behind a chair. The chair holding a bound and beaten Lizzy.
Nicholas’ scream was primal as he leapt toward Hans, his intent to kill him clearly reflected in his eyes and actions.
‘STOP.’
Hans’ yell would have gone unheeded had not a knife appeared at Lizzy throat in the instant it was given.
‘You have learned nothing these past four years. I blame myself, I should have taken a more active roll. I thought the lesson had been learned those years ago on the farm, it seems I was gravely mistaken.
Fingers curling in Lizzy’s tangled and matted hair, Hans pulled her head back. Closer now, Nicholas could see that one of her eyes was closed completely, the other soon to follow. Livid welts covered every inch of her exposed skin, which was coated in a thin sheen of sweat and blood, vomit and urine.
‘You have feelings for this.’ Hans punctuated the statement with a quick slap to the girls face eliciting a soulful moan from the half conscious Lizzy.
‘The wolf does not feel for the sheep Nicholas, it does not lay with them simply for the pleasure of it, it feels nothing in it’s soul for it other than as a means to feed its hunger.’
‘I could have made you watch, could have had your eyelids pulled tight so you could witness her degradation. However, this I think a much more meaningful lesson, one that will hopefully last longer than your previous one.’
In a flash Hans moved from behind Lizzy to behind Nicholas. In the next instant the six-inch stiletto found its way to Nicholas’ palm.
Nicholas could feel her warm breath on his cheek as Hans pushed them both forward, hand coiled around hi
s own like an iron strap. Her eye flared open and she looked at him. Or, more accurately, looked through him. As he watched the light in her eyes burn bright and then begin to dim, Nicholas felt her warm blood course around his hand, which held the dagger firmly in her chest. Through the blade he could feel the tremulous last beats of her heart around the cold steel, which throbbed dimly in his hand.
‘Sheep Nicholas, that is all they are. Here to provide sustenance, be it of body, mind or soul, but nothing more than that. We are better than them in every way, never forget that.’
Hans’ voice echoed in his ears as Lizzy’s eye froze open, its stare now fixed in eternity and seared into Nicholas’ make up. Those eyes would visit him in his nightmares for centuries to come. In that moment he knew only blinding rage at Hans for having the audacity to take something that was his.
Pulling the dagger free of Lizzy, Nicholas jerked from Hans’ grasp. Whirling he faced his mentor, his eyes burning red with rage.
‘You think your ready pup? Ready to take on the mantle, ready to best me. Be sure Nicholas, you will only get one chance, and the road you are about to step on has only one end, your death or mine. I suggest you be very certain of your destination.’
Hans’ words were calm. Metered and measured in such a way that they sent up danger signals immediately inside Nicholas’ psyche.
‘I can’t win today.’
With the thought came the understanding and feeling of it as well.
Nicholas dropped the dagger to the floor, turning away from Hans who stood tense watching him. Nicholas’ gaze fell briefly on Lizzy’s lifeless form as he walked emotionless to the balcony. A blood red sunset met his gaze, fitting for both the end of this day, and the beginning of his lessons to come.
…
Nicholas had not spoken a word to Hans since the events of the prior day. Where once Nicholas had feared and held a modicum of respect for him, now there was only contempt, the desire for his slow and painful death. But now was not the time, so Nicholas tolerated his presence, understanding that the righteous old bastards’ time would come.
For the years in between now and that moment when Nicholas looked into Hans’ cold sightless eyes, he would wait, he would be patient, he would learn.
On the carriage ride to Nicholas’ graduation ceremony he broke his silence with Hans.
‘So what is next Hans? Now that this part of my training is complete, what new lessons are there to be learned?’
Hans smiled a wicked smile before answering.
‘How to kill Nicholas, how to kill is the next lesson.’
Hans’ words echoed in Nicholas’ mind as the graduation ceremony progressed. Those getting top honors were put off till last, meaning that Nicholas was the final graduate to receive his awards. Standing on the small stage as the faculty fawned over him, the image of sheep came strong to his mind. ‘Perhaps Hans isn’t all wrong about them.’
His thought was tinged by the memory of Lizzy’s eyes looking through him in their last gaze. Walking off the stage to be greeted by his classmates the thought thankfully fled for the moment.
Two days later Hans and Nicholas rode hard heading north into the Alps. Hans had not been forth coming about where or with whom his next training would take place. Nicholas knew better than to waste his breath asking. He had packed his clothing into two bags that would be slung over the back of his horse and stepped out his front door. Riding away from Berlin he had no great sorrow in the leaving of it. He was more focused, more intent on what lay ahead, and the goal that lay at its conclusion.
…
‘Ah, new meat for the grinder.’
Carl Schroeder looked at the dark haired boy. He was surprised that he found no fear in the young mans eyes. Most of the young men who found their way to his little band of mercenaries were as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rockers.
‘Herr Schroeder, it is good to see you again my old friend.’
‘Friend, hmm, interesting that he would call me such. Not long ago we were at each others throats, only chance saved one of us from dieing at the others hand.’
Kaidence
- 09.12.2020
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