A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Kingdom of Hungary, a week later.

The Corbeau moors in the port of Fiume long enough for Sheridan and myself to disembark. The ranger is more than pleased to find solid ground under his feet after a turbulent trip through the Adriatic, and we take a few hours to enjoy the shore. I recognize Italian architecture in the tall buildings lining the seafront, and the Habsburg Empire also makes its presence known.

It takes half an hour for us to be reminded of our status as guests in these parts. We are barely in view of the Cathedral, a squat, circular building, when a tall man in a black uniform accosts us. He has a rotund face that would appear benevolent except for a pair of cold blue eyes. Our auras touch with polite reserve. He is a strong Master.

Fiume is part of the Kingdom of Hungary, and Hungary lies deep within Eneru territory. Both Eneru and Masks currently undergo a period of detente as both carefully monitor the revolutions wracking Europe, so transport should not prove too much of an issue for an independent agent like myself. I still need to behave and keep my identification papers with me at all times.

We walk through the semi-deserted street, only encountering a pair of drunk men wearing a sheepskin and a bell, for some reason. The train station is a single building with a joined roof to protect travelers from the elements. Its quaint nature is made all the more obvious by the imposing convoy currently parked before it.

A massive locomotive lies there, black and shiny like a beetle. Wagons trail behind it in a long procession of grim sheet metal. The windows tower above us. They only reveal embroidered curtains and, here and there, a piece of mahogany ceiling basked in amber light.

He means food, although some prefer to feed during lovemaking.

I decide to give trust that he is honest, and nod in acknowledgement.

“Before we depart…” Lazlo continues in English, now slightly bashful,“I must regretfully ask you to leave your weapons in our custody for the duration of the trip. Except soul weapons, if applicable, of course. Rest assured that this rule extends to every guest and is there for your own safety. Your protection is guaranteed by clan Dvor while you travel with us. I apologize for the disruption.”

I take a good look at our guest and he does something rare; he opens his aura by releasing his control over it. I feel embarrassment. If he is faking, his control matches that of Sinead and I somehow doubt it.

“When in Rome…” he comments stoically.

We climb on the first carriage with the parts of our luggage that contain our gear. The interior is cramped and spartan, with many small cabins stuck to each other. Lazlo leads us to a locker secured behind a steel door.

The entire train is enchanted, I notice, and the armory more than most. I detect nothing intrusive, just reinforcements and alarms.

“If you please,” Lazlo offers with a smile, pointing at a nearby table.

Sheridan and I exchange a glance.

He removes his belt and his personal Colt, still in its holster. I place the knife I always keep on me on the table. Sheridan grabs and deposits his second revolver. I rummage in my bag and place my belt of throwing knives, my short sword, and a secondary dagger. Sheridan drops a massive cutlass that can only be called a knife if a spear can be called a toothpick. I drop two boxes of enchanted ammunition and both halves of my spear. Sheridan reaches in his boot to find one last blade. I place a bandolier of bullets and the needle rifle’s sheath on top of that. Then, two powder charges. I finish with my gauntlet.

We wait.

Lazlo seems a bit at a loss before the arsenal.

“Is… is that all?” he asks in heavily accented English.

“Yep.”

“Yes. Are you quite alright, sir?” I ask.

“Of course, of course. I just did not expect…”

“We had a busy trip,” I suggest helpfully.

“Pirates!” the Ranger entones.

“... amongst other things,” I finish.

The poor Dvor Master finally recovers his phlegm.

“You can rest assured that your belongings will be returned safely at your destination. Oh, and please do not start any wars before the train has had the time to depart for its next destination.”

“Don’t worry pal, we’ve never done anything bigger than a city-wide revolt.”

“I am immensely relieved to hear that,” the train conductor deadpans.

With our host thus appeased, we decide to split up for the night. I pass by the restaurant to find a snack. I manage to invite a dark-haired woman to join me in hesitant German. It turns out that, while they do not expect sex, all donors are ready for this eventuality. I send her on her way without taking advantage of her enthusiastic offer.

Now set up, I decide to visit the salon. Time to greet the locals.

I flash my aura to announce my presence and enter a narrow but long boudoir cluttered with couches, seats, and pillows. Warm yellow lights bathe the red upholstery. The place is gaudy, too much for my taste, and yet there is no denying that it feels welcoming.

Two vampires await politely as I step in.

I can never get tired of how poised we appear, and how predatory we really are. The two ladies sit daintily at the edge of puffy little seats around a tiny coffee table containing two books and a small bell. Their postures are straight and elegant and their smiles flawless, but their immobility reflects their true nature. I see it in the depths of their mirthless eyes. This is their territory I am intruding on, and we must reach an understanding first and foremost. I am almost certain that I can kill them if it comes to this, but it will not. I am their guest here, for they are Dvor and we are on Dvor territory.

I can be polite when I want.

And so, I smile pleasantly, and curtsey low enough to convey sincere respect.

Viktoriya is a dark-haired beauty. She has the appearance of a very young, voluptuous maid with an honest sort of charm. Meanwhile, Jence appears slightly older, around twenty, and has an ethereal, delicate presence. Her skin is extremely pale, and she averts her blue eyes delicately when I turn to inspect her.

I take a seat. If the customs here are the same, Viktoriya will decide the direction of the conversation.

The blonde Courtier sputters and lowers her head in embarrassment.

I try to remain calm when I see the lady’s inquisitive eyes, but they, of course, narrow with interest.

Dammit. I would have blushed if it were possible.

“Ahem,” I interrupt, a bit put off.

I tense, but then I feel it at the edge of my perception. Someone is coming, a master judging by the aura. Viktoriya smiles knowingly when my eyes drift to the side. Now, she knows how far I can detect things, although she cannot do much with this information. It annoys me that she reads me so easily. Fortunately, she does not appear hostile.

The man who knocks politely and enters is quite easy on the eye. He has sandy hair and very light blue eyes that give him an angelic aura. The power of a master emanates from him in controlled waves. Jence’s own quivers with excitement and we all politely pretend not to have noticed.

Sleek bastard.

Jence’s aura betrays her annoyance. I hold back a smirk.

We spend a pleasant time listening to Karoly’s recounting of his experience in the Ottoman Empire. He is a fine storyteller who wields light sarcasm as well as descriptive prose. Even I, who consider him with distrust, have to admit that he possesses a sharp mind and an unusual outlook, one that he must have developed over years of travel. He apparently struggles to find a place to settle and call his own, a peculiarity for a Dvor. Most are sired already attached to a land. I wonder what happened.

We walk up through the now-moving train. It rides pleasantly and smoothly with a soothing ‘kacha kacha’ sound as regular as a clock. Outside, the mountainous countryside beckons, with its ancient farmhouses hidden in craggy valleys.

The old matriarch dismisses my concern with a wave of her hand.

We sit in the restaurant wagon even if Viktoriya is not thirsty to begin with. I use the opportunity to order coffee to the lady’s surprise. The human staff does not react, leading me to deduce that they played host to Hastings vampires before.

Most of us American rulers agree that we will be at war with the European factions at some point in the near future. It would be a waste of time to establish a good relationship now.

Her smile turns predatory.

The dour train conductor turns out to be a fine conversationalist, with a dry humor and pleasant deadpan deliveries.

And so on.

At some point, Viktoriya asks me what my first years as a fledgeling were like. Seeing that most of it is public knowledge anyway, I share my experience with them, omitting anything that concerns the Likaean or Loth’s more sensitive topics.Viktoriya immediately picks up on my grief when I mention Dalton.

The Dvor lady and I exchange a glance. She allows me to touch a peculiar element of her aura and I recognize something there, a sort of... looseness. As if some chain had been broken. She almost turned feral too. We are marked, for better and for worse.

I smile and nod at her, appreciative of her sharing the experience, then realize that Lazlo is still here. He politely inspects my cup of coffee, thus giving us a moment of privacy that I appreciate.

I decide to share some of my hunts with Loth and Dalton to lift the mood.The tale of our attack on the Ascendency compound and the flaming pigs disaster that ensued leads them to share their own calamitous outings. Lazlo accidentally rammed the train into a poultry car. The staff could still find the odd feather three weeks after. Viktoriya had to distract a local master as part of an investigation. She ended up as the referee and announcer in a naked battle where contestants had to wrestle in a mud pool. I end up smiling at those tales of shame and depravity.

We retire shortly before dawn. I realize that I had spent a pleasant moment, and offer both Lazlo and Viktoriya to contact me if they visit America. I know that we will end up on opposite sides of a war before this happens. It matters little. We have centuries.

Hopefully.

I make contact with Sheridan after. The man blushes when he sees me and I realize that he also made use of the offered company. Said company made him take a bath, for which I am grateful.

“Not staying pure until marriage, I take it.”

“I, hm, it would have been rude to refuse.”

“But of course.”

We left Zagreb behind the night before. It takes little time before the train stops at a sleepy village on the border with Austria, our destination. We step down to a breathtaking mountainous vista of tall pines, snow-capped distant peaks and vampires.

The streets are deserted. Houses here are large, with walls painted white and roofs of brown wood still close to the ground. They are squat and must get snowed in during winter, but staying close to the ground means that they will be easier to keep warm. I can spot light through windows, but no one is about. Dogs bark a street away.

The vampires are two women, Dvor masters of middling talent. They wear rich dresses and costly jewelry, looking out of place in that remote area. No coats, and no luggage.

The pair looks condescending. Smirks adorn their carmine lips. They look like two smug teachers who caught the class clown red-handed. I hate them already, but it would be rude to refuse and I cannot insult another one of Torran’s guests.

I realize that I will have to carry my own or leave it here.

This will not look good.

And then, a group of men emerges from the still waiting train. They grab my belongings and make to follow, faces grim.

I catch Lazlo through a window. He winks. I smile in return.

I turn again to find the two hags slightly put off. No doubt that this was intentional on their part. I find their level of pettiness truly staggering.

We move in silence. I am studiously ignored and use the opportunity to inspect my surroundings. We head towards the only tall building in this hamlet besides the church. The absence of people can only mean one thing. They know. Otherwise, no self-respecting gossip would ignore two women in lavish clothes escorting one in sensible travel gear through their land. The Dvor form the core of the Eneru faction, I remember, I just did not expect them to extend their reach so far out. The village cannot be home to a permanent vampire due to its small population. Their influence reaches even here.

I know that our presence will be revealed to mankind sooner rather than later. I wonder if we could first become an open secret, a presence known to a significant portion of the population, and then make our presence official? It seems to work here.

We enter our destination, which turns out to be an inn. No staff comes to greet us, though a fire burns in the hearth and lanterns and candles provide ample light. I direct the trio to deposit my belongings near the entrance and thank them for their assistance. They lift their hats and depart without hurry. Sheridan makes his way to the bar and helps himself to a beer, his scowl a clear indication of what he thinks of our games.

I climb the stairs up to the second floor, one ‘companion’ before and one behind as if they were leading me to the gallows. They even display the proper, solemn countenance.

The second floor is right below the rafters. Some doors led to rooms, no doubt. It left most of the space free for a large table next to which three more vampires now sit.

Two of them turn out to be masters, bringing the total to four, a show of force for the lady enthroned in their midst. My guides step up quickly to take prepared seats. I am left with the remaining spot, the one with its back to the door. The one opposite the five others. One more petty insult.

She is beautiful in a very distant sort of way. She was turned in her thirties, I think. Her heart-shape face is full, and her lips pink and plump. She has this unmistakable charm of the femme fatale, the consumate demoiselle of the court whose velvety eyes hide a thousand secrets. Her aura tastes of scheme and hidden sin.

The lady brushes an errant strand of raven hair with a dainty finger. She opens her mouth to speak as I sit.

Nina’s eyes rest on the table, which was made with cutlery and plates. I grab a cup and fill it with lukewarm liquid from a nearby pot. The tea is horrible, but only I can drink it. I then slowly remove my cloak and hang it on my chair.

This was one of Sinead’s lessons in dealing with sly remarks and innuendos. The most basic answer is to request explanations. Experienced pricks will find workarounds, especially if they are in a position of authority, but it will break their rhythm and ruin their game. I use that method now.

She summoned nothing, but it would be rude to interrupt and correct her, and she would ask me to stay silent. It would lead to an immediate argument, and I would rather hear what she has to say. I sip on the tea with an eyebrow raised.

Silence and pointed looks. I wait. I sip more tea. Our auras are calm so far, a tribute to our collective control.

My immediate answer ruffles their feathers. They did not expect a candid answer, maybe?

We do not move now. Our assembly might well be statues. Nina stood in her anger, though I suspect most of it is acting, and stares down at me.

Bullshit. Torran hates politics.

Heh.

Somehow, it…

Hold on.

I close my eyes and push the irritating voice into the background. I end up in the core of my mental palace and rush outside. Rooms and mazes blur as I reach the border of my domain.

There, at the wall of thorns, lilac-colored limbs of smoke snake their way through my defenses. Subtle. But not subtle enough.

I change the nature of the border, imagine the thorns turning thirsty. From passive and hard, they turn fluid. Questing. The smoke breaks. Some of it retreats.

I open my eyes to see the master on the left flinch, one with short blonde hair and a soft face. She withdraws her hand from the table.

Five auras jump on mine to suppress it, and it works. I feel my presence crushed and a weight settle on my shoulder. I still manage to stand up to my full height with effort. Another attack. Rage pulses softly in my chest. It burns brighter with each moment.

That stops them.

That gets me a few hisses. Nina is next to speak.

More stunned silence. Clearly, they did not expect that, and I wonder why? Have the Devourers lost their reputation?”

I drain the glass of tea and place it back on the table. Sephare spoiled me. This tea is a tragedy.

I sashay out before she gets the chance to remember that she can set the date of the duel.

I barely have to come downstairs when something happens that makes me smile. The ground rumbles. I move out and stare in the street.

Torran gallops into the city atop his massive Nightmare, Krowar, with his aura deployed and thunder on his brow. He looks regal in a tailored rider outfit in dark leather and a strange high hat. His long grey hair is held in a tight braid.

I smile like an idiot when I see him and, since I am alone, I jump and wave in excitement. The tenderness in his gaze leaves me breathless, but soon his attention returns to the door as Lady Nina and her entourage make their way out. His grey eyes gain the intensity of a hawk, and his demeanor turns positively glacial.

I have no reason to defend them.

Torran’s aura washes over us, smashing over any defenses like a midnight tide. The barking dogs in the neighboring houses whimper and become silent. The wind dies down. Even the fluttering candles diminish. The impact extends to every aspect of reality, including the ground beneath my feet.

The stress on the prompt is unmistakable, as is the underlying threat. Torran has reached his limit.

Nina huffs, and turns around with the dignity she can muster.

But, I have not had my due yet.

A challenge started must be finished.

Aaaarrrrggg if he asks like that.

He had better compensate me!

I sulk a bit, but soon I forget all about it and jump on Torran when the hags are gone. I reveal my aura to him, to let him see how happy I am. I am probably as joyful as a vampire can be. His laugh is deep and full of mirth.

He appears surprised.

He does not appear to be jesting.

I hear a nearby gallop.

The proud pony herself rounds a corner at full speed, then prances around. She bumps my chest with her head, causing me to laugh.

We do so. Krowar, his Nightmare, moves with absolute surety. Torran’s aura seems to smooth the passage wherever we go, through narrow mountain trails and deep pine forests. We ride for an hour until we stop by a crystalline spring in a lonely valley.

I cross my arms, quite proud of myself.

Ooooh I would blush if I still could. Torran only smiles.