Chapter 54

Sparks flew from the anvil as Lucian hammered out the dents in a damaged iron breastplate. The white-hot metal, which he had heated to incandescence in the nearby forge, was molded by his skillful blows. A pair of long metal tongs held the molten armor in place. Bell-like tones pealed whenever the hammer tapped the thin steel plate welded to the face of a large wrought-iron anvil, which sat atop the stump of a hewn elm tree.

Lucian held the metal firmly against the anvil's horn in order to curve it just so. Singed leather hides enclosed his smithy, the better to shield the rest of the castle from the sparks thrown off by his work. A large barrel of brine waited to cool and temper the metal once he was through pounding it back into shape. Horseshoes were draped over the rim of the tub.

The smell of burning charcoal rose from the glowing forge. Pokers, rakes, shears, and other tools were scattered haphazardly about the shop. Droplets of molten slag cooled upon the rough stone floor. Racks of swords, pikes, halberds, and battle-axes lined the walls. Smoke from the forge escaped through a gap in the smithy's cracked stone roof. A thin layer of soot and ash covered both shop and blacksmith alike. He paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow. No longer a youth, Lucian had grown into a strapping adult whose sooty face now sported a scruffy mustache and beard. Disorderly brown hair fell past his shoulders. A leather vest bared his muscular chest and arms. Sweat glistened upon his sinewy thews, which had been strengthened by years of toil as a blacksmith.

A moon shackle fit uncomfortably around his neck, but he had worn the collar for so long that he barely noticed the vicious silver barbs pricking his throat.

Viktor's brand remained seared onto his right biceps.But it was a charm,his father figure Hadrian would never allow such a mark to be on him

A tankard of lukewarm water slaked his thirst before he turned back to his labors. The work of a blacksmith was never done. Just keeping Viktor and his Death Dealers armed and armored was a never-ending task in its own right; add to that the necessity of maintaining the castle's stock of horseshoes, hinges, barrel hoops, stirrups, nails, thimbles, and the like and there were scarcely enough hours in the day to keep up with his work. Still, he didn't complain. As this was just a cover.

Before he could hammer another blow, however, the unmistakable howl of a werewolf invaded his smithy. Despite himself, the call of the wild stirred something deep and primal within him. Moments later, the clarion call of a blast horn competed with the baying of the wolves. Shouted exclamations and curses sounded from the courtyard outside the smithy. Racing footsteps pounded on weathered brick paving-stones. Lucian froze in place, momentarily riveted by the howls and commotion. Was the castle truly under attack? This was not the first time in recent memory that werewolves had come within sight of the fortress' walls, yet it struck Lucian as extremely unlikely that they actually intended to brave the castle's defenses.

Then he remembered who was riding abroad this night. Lady Sonja! His hammer and tongs clattered to the pavement as he tossed them aside. Moving quickly, he snatched a freshly repaired crossbow from the racks. The cunning weapon boasted three separate bow arms, stacked atop each other, so that it could fire thrice without reloading. He hastily loaded three bolts into the grooves and raced out of the covered smithy into the courtyard beyond. The inner bailey lay between the outer walls and the looming keep, which had been carved from the very face of the mountain, with many ledges, balconies, and levels hewn from solid granite and limestone. To lessen the risk of a catastrophic fire, Lucian's smithy abutted the eastern wall of the castle, safely distant from the keep and stables. A nearby well offered him ready access to fresh water. Pigs squealed loudly in their pens. Glancing quickly at the gatehouse, Lucian saw that the huge oak doors defending the gate were securely closed and bolted. Torches flared atop the watchtowers. Scores of Death Dealers rushed to the castle's defense, while courtiers, craftsmen, grooms, laundresses, and scullions retreated to the safety of the keep. Shouts and screams added to the chaos. A vampire lady-in-waiting sought reassurance from a rushing Death Dealer, who impatiently brushed her aside.

Lycan slaves cowered in the corners of the courtyard, lest they attract the vindictive attention of the intemperate Death Dealers; two hundred years of bondage had not freed the castle's lycan servitors from guilty associations with their more savage brethren. More soldiers poured from the gatehouse atop the outer wall of the fortress. Caught unawares by the emergency, many of them scrambled to don their armor and helmets as they took their positions upon the palisade. Frantic chickens flapped and clucked underfoot. A clamor arose from the stables as agitated horses whinnied and stomped their hooves.

Captain Sandor barked commands at his troops. Frustrated by the disorder blocking his path, Lucian sprang over the heads of startled knights and civilians. Lycan strength and agility propelled him from ledge to ledge as he traversed the crowded courtyard in a matter of moments. A single bound carried him from the floor of the bailey to the roof of the dovecote. A final leap catapulted him onto the ramparts overlooking the rocky plain at the base of the mountain. Unnoticed amidst the tumult, he slid into place at an archer's port between two dense stone merlons. All around him, zealous Death Dealers manned the massive ballistas deployed atop the battlements. Each siege bow required two soldiers to operate and was mounted upon a swiveling base that could be rotated in any direction. Bolts the size of lances waited to be launched at an enemy to devastating effect. Large mechanical windlasses were employed to draw back the taut cables attached to the bow arms. In times of war, the ballistas could impale dozens of attacking soldiers at once, or perhaps bring down a catapult or siege tower. They'd killed more than a few werewolves, as well. Lucian hefted his own crossbow. Although only a fraction of the size of the enormous siege weapons, it might suffice if his aim was true. He held his breath as his keen senses probed the fog-shrouded darkness stretching before him. Was that the thunder of hooves he heard in the distance, above the cacophonous baying of the wolves?

He prayed that the racing steed still bore its illustrious rider toward safety. Fighting an urge to leap from the parapet to see for himself, he focused intently on the sound of the oncoming hooves. His finger tightened on the trigger of the crossbow. Where are you, milady?

An endless moment later, his patience was rewarded by the sight of a solitary horsewoman galloping out of the mist. A gasp of relief escaped his lips as he saw that she seemed to be in one piece, at least for the moment. Her steed was obviously straining, though. Lather soaked its quivering flanks and he could hear the horse's labored breathing even from half a mile away. Steam jetted from the charger's nostrils. Lucian had shod Hecate himself and he could only hope that the panting horse would not throw a shoe before it reached the castle's looming gates. If it even got that far. Horrified cries came from the knights upon the walls as three snarling werewolves burst from the fog in pursuit of the horsewoman and her faltering steed. Bounding across the plain, their blazing eyes burning through the fog, the hungry beasts quickly ate up the distance separating them from their intended prey. It was obvious to all who watched that they would surely bring down the fleeing rider at any moment. Sonja brandished a crimson sword above her head, suggesting that she had already drawn blood from her voracious foes, but could she stand alone against the entire pack? Lucian doubted it. Careful, he cautioned himself as he took aim with the crossbow.

The rear of the stock pressed against his cheek. He squinted down the length of the weapon as he tried to catch a wolf in his sights. The last thing he wanted to do was hit Sonja by mistake; Viktor would not be amused if someone slew his daughter while trying to save her. There was little room for error here…. He clicked the trigger twice and the top two bolts shot from the crossbow.

The missiles whistled past Sonja, barely missing her head, to strike the first two werewolves in the throats even as they sprang at the imperiled noblewoman. They tumbled head over heels across the rocky soil while Sonja raced her gasping steed up the steep path leading to the castle's front gate. She was almost there, but there was still one more werewolf hot on her heels. "The gates!" an imperious voice cried out. Lucian glanced behind him to see Viktor standing upon a balcony overlooking the castle's walls. Tanis, his ubiquitous scribe, lurked behind him, clinging to the shelter of a carved stone archway.

The Elder's voice held equal quantities of fear and anger yelled"Open the gates, you fools!"

Lucian silently cursed the idiots who had not yet hastened to clear the way for Sonja. Had they been willing to risk the Elder's only heir just to keep the doors barred against the werewolves without? Chains clanked loudly as the drawbridge began to be hastily lowered into place. Creaking gears inside the gatehouse turned to raise the iron-studded portcullis guarding the gate. Tardy Death Dealers rushed to draw back the large steel bolt securing the final pair of heavy oaken portals. Mist infiltrated the courtyard as a narrow crack opened between the ponderous doors. Finally! Lucian thought.

But could Sonja make it to the gateway before the final werewolf ripped her to shreds? Lucian strained to get the remaining beast in his sights, but the crafty wolf zigzagged back and forth behind Hecate, making a clean shot difficult. Lucian's mouth went dry as he waited anxiously for his shot. He had only one bolt left. If he missed, there would no time to reload. And if he hit Sonja or her horse by accident… He didn't even want to think about that. Light spilled from the open gate onto the drawbridge. Hecate's hooves tore up the gravelly road, spewing a cloud of dust in her wake. Her face hidden behind her crested metal helmet, Sonja spurred the horse toward sanctuary. Her midnight cloak hung in shreds from her steel-plated shoulders. The bloody sword was poised and ready. Sensing that its prey was on the verge of escape, the final werewolf let out a deafening roar and leapt through the air at the endangered horsewoman. Serrated fangs gleamed within its gaping jaws. Lucian squeezed the trigger.

Cheers erupted from the ramparts and balconies as Sonja galloped through the half-open gates. Right behind her, the airborne wolf took a silver bolt to the skull. It slammed headfirst into drawbridge and skidded through the gate before coming to a rest inside the courtyard. Alarmed Death Dealers charged toward the felled beast, their swords and battle-axes raised high, but there was no need.

Lucian felt slightly bad about the human,who was unable to revert back.

His crude leather boots touched down onto the courtyard as he dropped fifty feet to land before the open gate. He looked quickly to see if any more beasts were coming, but it appeared that he had indeed slain the last of the pack. Guards hurried to close the doors and bolt them securely once more. He heard the portcullis being lowered back into place. A horn informed all within earshot that Castle Corvinus was secure once more. The crisis was over. Sonja pulled back on her reins, bringing Hecate to a halt only a few feet away from Lucian. He stared up at the imposing armored warrior upon the black steed. Her blade and plate armor were splattered with crimson, but she appeared personally unharmed. A molded steel breastplate fit her shapely torso to perfection. A diagonal sash stretched across her chest, holding onto the tattered remains of her cloak. Fierce azure eyes peered out from behind her masklike helmet. He heard her breathing hard. She reached up and removed the helmet, exposing a face of exquisite beauty. Lustrous dark brown hair, the color of stained walnut, framed her elegant features. Her pale white skin was as smooth and flawless as polished alabaster. Her fiery eyes burned like sapphires. The delicate points of her incisors peeked out from beneath her ruby lips. The excitement of her close brush with death added a rosy flush to her cheeks as she gazed down at Lucian with icy disdain.

Hadrian watching this from a distance thought"Well,she is playing her part really well."

A crowd of soldiers, servants, and courtiers gathered around them, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves. "Have you nothing better to do, blacksmith," she asked coolly, "than play with weapons of war?" She casually lobbed the gore-smeared sword at him, much to the amusement of the vampires in the vicinity, who chuckled at her quip. Her azure eyes gradually faded back to their customary shade of chestnut brown. "At least make yourself useful." He plucked the blade from the air, holding her look as long as he dared. The hubbub of voices muted as the crowd parted to admit Viktor and his retinue. A phalanx of Death Dealers followed after the lord of the castle. Lucian was careful to stay out of their way.

Viktor chided his daughter "A little gratitude,"

to the one who saved your life."

While Sonja burned him with a look and replied"I needed no saving."

Lucian and Hadrian had single thought"She even fooled the great Viktor."

Viktor took her so called defiance in stride, perhaps attributing her attitude to wounded pride. He was known to be indulgent of his headstrong daughter, at least to a degree. Letting the matter drop, he turned his attention to the slain werewolf instead. Striding over to the corpse, he yanked the crossbow bolt from its deceptively human-looking skull. Bits of bloody brain tissue clung to the quarrel's silver point. He toyed with the missile as he turned toward Lucian. His face bore a quizzical expression and asked"Tell me, Lucian,Does it burden your heart to kill your own kind?"

Lucian was trained to control his emotion by Hadrian,so he doesn't let Viktor know about his disgust or anger for him."Not at all," the blacksmith insisted.He kept his tone suitably respectful. "They're mindless beasts, milord. No brethren of mine."

Lucian saw his father figure glare at Viktor from the side, but seems to have held it in.