Genevieve Undead Part 28

XI.

Following his trail, Genevieve hunted the huntsman.

This had nothing to do with Tybalt.

This hunt was hers.

She imagined the mare's horn gouging against Magnus' ribs, sinking deep into his belly, pulling out his intestines.

And she remembered the cold madness of the Graf Rudiger von Unheimlich.

At this moment, there was no more dangerous beast in the forests than a she-vampire.

Always, she had kept herself apart from the Truly Dead, those vampires who preyed on the living for pleasure. She had listened to them enthuse about their sport and felt superior to the grave-grown things with their foul breath and red eyes, faces set in beast's snarls, clinging to their coffins and catacombs by day, gliding on the winds by night in search of juicy necks, relishing the fear they cast about them like a shroud.

She remembered those she had known: the Tsarina Kattarin, b.l.o.o.d.y tyrant who reigned for centuries, exultant with the blood of her subjects flowing over her body; Wietzak of the World's Edge, a mouthful of teeth like razor-edged pebbles, chewing the flesh of a peasant child; even her father-in-darkness, Chandagnac, dandyish as he dabbed the gore from his lips with a lace handkerchief, old and alone behind his handsome face and manners.

For the first time in nearly seven hundred years, Genevieve Dieudonne understood the righteousness of the red thirst.

She regretted those she had spared: Tybalt, Balthus, Anulka, Otho. She should have gutted them, and drunk the blood fresh from their bellies. She should have drunk an ocean from them.

Rudiger was travelling fast, keeping ahead of her.

She knocked young trees out of her way, enjoying the crack of breaking wood. Birds flew from their falling nests, and small animals scurried out of her way.

'Halt,' a voice said, piercing her red rage, and striking her at the heart.

She stood still, and found herself in a small clearing.

Barely half a dozen yards away, the Graf Rudiger stood, warbow raised, arrow ready.

'Silver head, wooden shaft,' he explained. 'In an instant, it would be through your heart.'

Genevieve relaxed, stretching out her arms, opening her empty hands.

'Normally, I'd tell you to throw down your weapons, but I can hardly expect you to pluck out your teeth and nails.'

Her red rage flared, and she saw Rudiger's face coloured by a b.l.o.o.d.y film. She fought to control herself, to let the killing thirst die.

'That's right,' Rudiger said. 'Get a leash on your temper.'

He gestured with his arrowhead, and Genevieve sank to a crouch. She crossed her legs under her, hands tucked under her bottom.

'That's better.'

Her teeth slipped back, shrinking.

'Tell me, vampire, how much has that grey book-keeper put on my head? How many of his precious crowns will he part with to get his way?'

Genevieve kept quiet.

'Oh yes, I know all about your mission here. Balthus has the soul of a dog, and the loyalties too. I've known from the beginning. Tybalt doesn't understand that there's more to a man than a price.'

Calm in triumph, Rudiger reminded Genevieve of Mornan Tybalt, eyes glittering as a scheme was fulfilled.

'I'd kill him if it would do any good. But once Balthus gives testimony, there wouldn't be any point. The jumped-up clerk's son will be back where he belongs, toiling in some tiny office, struggling for every sc.r.a.p of food, for every tarnished pfennig.'

Could she get to him before his shot her?

'You're better than that, vampire. Tybalt must hold you to some crime to make you his tool.'

Behind Rudiger, in the woods, something large was moving. Genevieve could sense her, could feel her excitement.

'Let's make a truce?'

Rudiger relaxed, and let his arrow slide loose.

Genevieve nodded, needing the time.

'See,' Rudiger said, holding the bow in one hand and the arrow separately. 'No harm.'

He came to her, but not within her arm's reach.

'You're pretty, Genevieve,' he said. 'You remind me'

He extended his arm, and his fingertips touched her cheek. She could grab his arm, maybe tear it off 'No, you're an original,' he said, taking his hand away. 'You're a huntress, like the mare. You'd be good with me. After the hunt, there are other pleasures, rewards'

She felt his l.u.s.t curling out at her. Good. It might blind him.

'Strange to think you're so old. You look so green, so fresh'

He took her and kissed her, rough tongue pressing against her lips. She tasted the blood in his spit, and it was like pepper in her mouth. She did not fight him, but she did not join him.

He let her go.

'Later, we'll raise your enthusiasm. I'm skilled with more than the bow.'

Rudiger stood up.

'First, there's ivory to be had. Come on'

He stepped into the woods, and she got up, ready to follow. She did not know what would happen next.

She had the mare's scent. And so, obviously, did the graf.

XII.

They were back at Khorne's Cleft. On the other side, from which Sylvana had fallen.

For Doremus, this would be a haunted spot now.

By day, it was stranger than it had been at night. The waterfall sparkled, and it was possible to see all manner of colours and lights in the water.

Balthus was down on all fours, smelling the ground. His backbone had lengthened, straining his jerkin, and his ears were pointed, shifting back on his skull.

It seemed only natural. Even Doremus could sense the call of the woods.

He was still seeing things. And hearing them.

The trees whispered, and the rush of the waterfall was a hissing chatter, talking to him, singing him strange music.

It was bewitching.

He felt like sitting down, and listening hard. If he paid attention for long enough, he was sure he could make out what was being said to him.

It was the unicorn blood in him.

Balthus sat up, snorting, slavering. Then, he bounded off into the woods. Doremus should follow him, but he felt a la.s.situde creeping over him. The whisperings held him back.

Balthus was scurrying away.

Doremus followed the guide, trailing after his noise. Balthus was yapping like a hound.

Tonight, he would want to be kennelled with Karl and Franz, leaving the leech alone in his bed.

He found Balthus at the edge of a clearing, pointing. He pressed his back to a tree, and caught his breath.

Something was moving between the trees, something with a silver-white hide that flashed.

Doremus had an arrow ready.

He kicked Balthus, sending him off to the right, hoping to attract the mare's attention. If she charged the guide, Doremus would get a perfect shot. He could take her in the neck, or the eye, or the withers. Then, he could use his knife to finish the job if it needed finishing.

He would prefer a clean kill. It would make his father proud.

The mare came to a halt and raised her head, listening. Doremus knew the true kinship of hunter for prey, and understood her thinking.

She suspected a trap, but was measuring her chances. Was she confident enough to charge anyway?

Balthus barked, and the mare went for him.

The unicorn galloped out of the woods, and exploded, bigger by daylight than Doremus had imagined last night, into the clearing. Doremus stepped out from behind the tree and advanced a few paces, arrow coming up There was a shaking in the ground as the unicorn's hooves struck. Then, the rumbling increased and became a sharp, earthy scream.

The ground was giving way.

Doremus fired, but his arrow shot upwards, skittering above the unicorn's eyes and clanging against her horn as she batted it aside, its force spent.

The earth tipped like an unbalanced stone, and Doremus slid down it. The unicorn lost her footing too, and whinnied a long stream of forest oaths.

Doremus lost his bow and started tearing at the rippling ground, pulling himself out of the subsidence.

The mare, heavier than he and stuck with hooves rather than fingers, just floundered, and sank further.

Turning his head, Doremus saw the unicorn's head shaking, horn waving, as she fell through into the abandoned dwarf tunnel beneath.

He had lost her.

XIII.