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“Sir, they claim to need medical attention,” Stringer said.
Draven did not turn to look at his first officer. He studied the people below. They clustered around a person on a makeshift stretcher, constructed from tree branches and canvas. As far as distractions went, it was a good one. One man had a badly broken leg, the white bone protruding. His face was pale and glossy with a cold sweat. Draven could smell death on the man, even from a distance.
He said nothing, his arms folded behind his back, and Stringer knew better than to interrupt while the vampire lord made his decision. That was one of the things he liked most about Stringer. The man was loyal, obedient, and did not hound Draven for constant conversation. What was there to say? New arrivals always needed medical attention. They often suffered from parasites, malnourishment, and various broken bones. Life in the West Lands was hard. He could not stress that enough. Humanity was an infection, and the planet actively tried to remove that infection.
Why were people surprised when the planet’s immune system did what it was meant to do?
Humans thought they would change Nexus. Tame it. Such arrogance.
Draven tightened his grip on the stone, his fingers digging into old grooves.
Long ago, the arrogant human military carved this fortress out of the mountain. They designed the entrance with a series of gates and the long tunnel that led to the fortress above and the research facility below. Not many people knew of the abandoned laboratories under the stone. Draven made sure of it. Plenty of people knew about the vampire’s fortress perched high on the mountain. It was a beacon. He also made sure of that.
His gaze swept over the five figures again, taking into consideration their soddy gear and lean faces. They looked hungry. They looked desperate. It was very convincing. He had to be certain the new arrivals were who they claimed to be, people of no consequence, seeking refuge. The military tried to sneak in spies, but Draven always found them out. They had a certain stink about them.
Draven turned to his first officer. “Captain Stringer, what happened to your face?”
Stringer touched his face, confused. “Nothing.”
“Exactly. Your eye is whole.” Draven had many resources, many relics from an age of wonder, but he had been helpless to prevent cancer from taking Stringer’s eye. The best treatment had been to cut it out before it spread and replace it with glass.
Stringer touched his cheek. “You’re thinking of my father, sir.”
“Your father.”
“Yes. I’m Wallace Stringer.” The man flushed red in the face, clearly embarrassed to have to correct Draven.
It was maddening, the way the world parted around him like he was a stone in a river. Or snow settling on a mountain fortress, buried under time. Without an anchor, he felt himself erode.
Draven stepped back from the window and straightened his shoulders. If his voice was colder than normal, Stringer did not comment. “Forgive me, Stringer. When you are my age, time is slippery.”
“It’s not a bother, sir. Father would be pleased you thought of him.”
The use of the past tense did not go unnoticed. Draven wondered how many years had passed since the elder Stringer’s death but refrained. Such questions unnerved those around him. At least Draven had not mistaken the young man for someone gone more than a century.
“Their boots,” Draven said, already turning his back to the window. “The new arrivals have military-issued gear. Eliminate them.”
He walked away, confident that his soldiers would carry out the order.
Charlotte
Boxon
Vervain Hall
“What are you doing?” Jase Parkell stood in the doorway of the library, his hat in his hand.
“Packing.” Charlotte held two books and debated which pile they belonged in. Several piles were scattered across the library’s floor. “While this looks chaotic, I assure you that I have a system.”
“I should hope so,” he said, sounding like he disbelieved her.
Honestly. Charlotte was an academic, albeit one in exile. Organizing her reading material should not have been so complicated.
“I will be gone for some time. I require entertainment. Lionel, for all his faults, had excellent tastes for a good story.” Lionel certainly told a good story, after all.
“So many?”
“Well, of course,” she said. His comment baffled her. “The vampire Draven might have a library, but he will hardly have the latest books, fresh from shops in Founding. And I find nothing more frustrating than to open a book and find I do not like it for whatever reason. Can you imagine lugging a book across the West Lands only to discover that I dislike the premise? Thus, I am sorting the collection. That stack is the books I already know I will enjoy.” She pointed to a short stack on a table. “Books that seem interesting, but I am uncertain about. That one by the bookshelf is the No, Absolutely Nots.” She pointed to the largest stack. “See, it’s all quite rational.”
