04 - Rise of the Lycans by Greg Cox - (ebook by Undead)

away in high dudgeon. He barked
furiously at the milling slaves, who were doing their best to keep to the
shadows. Lucian wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught a few furtive looks of admiration from his fellow lycans.
    “What are you looking at, you worthless curs!” Kosta raged. He cracked his
whip above their heads. “Back to work!”

 
 
Chapter Four
     
     
    As was tradition, the High Council had convened in the crypt of the Elders,
above the buried tombs of Marcus and Amelia. Viktor presided over the session
from an imposing granite throne. An ornate capital V was inscribed on the high
stone back of the throne. Stone-faced Death Dealers, as well as lycan sentries
in leather armor, stood stiffly around the perimeter of the mausoleum, as
immobile as the marble columns supporting the domed ceiling. The highborn lords
and ladies of the Council were seated facing the throne in two rows of six
chairs each. Embroidered pillows cushioned their high-backed seats. Burning
torches and braziers cast dancing shadows upon the somber gray walls. Mosaic
tiles, running around the base of the dome, depicted the history of the coven.
Capering skeletons symbolized the fearsome plague that had given birth to the immortals, while
subsequent panels celebrated the rise of the vampires, the capture of William,
and the ongoing war against the werewolves. Tanis stood beside Viktor,
transcribing the proceedings for posterity. His quill pen scratched against an
unrolled parchment. Looking out over the crypt, Viktor was irked to see that one
of the council members’ seats was conspicuously empty.
    Damn that girl, he thought impatiently. Where in perdition is she now?
    To add to his displeasure, Coloman had the floor:
    “The matter before the Council is simple,” the troublesome boyar declared
from the center of the mausoleum. “We are under attack. Six times in half as
many weeks, William’s kind have reached our very walls.” He paused to let that
ominous figure sink into the minds of his peers. “What mayhem would follow if
just one of them got past our defenses?”
    Hushed gasps and murmurs emerged from the Council as they envisioned that
appalling prospect. Not all of the castle’s diverse inhabitants were seasoned
warriors, after all; many of the more refined council members and their families
would stand no chance against an invading werewolf. Coloman smirked in
satisfaction at the audience’s response. He clearly felt that he had made his
point.
    Viktor was not amused.
    “Your… fear… is misplaced.” His acerbic tone called Coloman’s
courage into question. Viktor gestured at the lycan guards posted around the
chamber. Handpicked for their loyalty and intimidating stature, the sentries had been armed with swords and lances. “Are we not protected,
even during the daylight hours, by an army of immortals?”
    Coloman bristled at the implication that he was a coward. “Superbly, milord.
However, the nobles of this region are not. And, as I have often pointed out,
they are the grass on which we graze.”
    A well-preserved vampire lady, Orsova by name, rose from her seat to join
Coloman before the throne. Her silver hair was bound up in a bun. A black satin
corset cinched her waist. A diamond choker adorned her swanlike neck, while her
jeweled bracelets were fashioned in the shape of glittering cobwebs. “If we
cannot protect our human vassals, it makes us look weak.”
    Viktor’s eyes flared dangerously. Orsova was also one of Marcus’ creatures,
so there was little love lost between her and Viktor. Rumor had it that,
perversely, she enjoyed the taste of her own blood as it circulated through the
veins of her various nubile maidservants. Viktor’s sharpened nails scraped
against the carved stone armrests of his throne. “And how exactly would you
project strength?”
    “As our Death Dealers patrol the countryside by night,” Coloman proposed,
having plainly anticipated Viktor’s challenge,