The growls became joyful whines as the wolves bounded forward, eager to greet their master. Qarakh raised his right hand to his mouth and bit through the veins on the back, just below the knuckles. He lowered his hand, and the two ghouls who guarded the resting place of his blood brother lapped up as much vitae at they could before the wound healed.
When he had finished feeding the wolves, Qarakh scratched them behind the ears, first the male, then the female. From her scent, he knew that the female was gravid with pups. Once they were born he would have to destroy them; he couldn’t afford to have one of Aajav’s guardians become distracted by the needs of younglings.
“And how is Aajav tonight? Has my brother and sire been behaving himself?”
The wolves’ only response was to wag their tails, but then they would have done so no matter what Qarakh said. He continued toward the hill, the wolves padding alongside. When he reached the base of the hill, he ordered them to stay. The wolves whined in protest, but they did as their master commanded, circling three times before lying down, heads on paws, tails tucked beneath them.
Qarakh climbed to the top of the hill, then sat cross-legged, hands on his knees, facing the south. As always when he came here, he was struck by how peaceful a location this was: trees all around, but none so close or so tall as to block the view of the night sky, and less than a quarter of a mile away was a small stream. Water was sacred to Mongols—streams, rivers, lakes and oceans were passageways for spirits traveling between the worlds. All together, it made for an appropriate place for his brother.
“I hope you are well, Aajav. It was been too long since we last spoke, and much has happened.” Precisely how long it had been, Qarakh wasn’t certain. The Mongolian people didn’t keep track of time the same way Europeans did, and the passage of the days, weeks, months and years had meant even less to him since his Embrace. “I have seen many things in my travels, and I am eager to tell you of them, but first I must speak of the tribe and of a prince named Alexander.”
He told Aajav of all that had happened since his return to the tribe—Deverra’s warning, Marques’s capture and execution, and his inner circle’s speculations on Alexander’s motives for coming to Livonia. He also spoke of Rikard’s negligence during sentry duty and the bloody lesson it had earned him.
“In many ways, it is Rikard who concerns me most. Not merely him, but what his level of preparedness and dedication tells me about the readiness of the tribe to engage in battle. Alessandro, Arnulf and Wilhelmina are all skilled warriors, and though Deverra is a shaman, her mystic powers would be an asset in a fight. Grandfather likes to present the appearance of an aged elder, but that is only a mask: His experience and cunning make him a most deadly opponent. But the majority of the tribe is made up of ghouls and thralls, and the other night-walkers are mostly untested—and many of them are wanderers who aren’t currently in range of the camp. None were trained warriors before joining the tribe, and while Alessandro has done well teaching them, they still have much to learn. Should Alexander attack the campsite, I fear that we will be unable to defend ourselves against him.”
He paused, as if giving Aajav an opportunity to answer, though he knew his brother-cum-sire could not. Aajav lay interred in the hill’s soil, swaddled in darkness, deep in the torpid slumber caused by terrible wounds. He’d slumbered for years now, and according to Deverra, he might well remain in that deathlike state for decades longer—or more. Many times had the shaman attempted to use her magic to revive Aajav, but so far with little success. Still, her spells had managed to accomplish one thing….
Qarakh put his fingers into his mouth and bit down to the bone. He then pushed his fingers into the ground directly above where Aajav lay and allowed his blood to soak into earth that had been infused with Telyavic enchantments. He closed his eyes and concentrated, as Deverra had taught him, and reached out with his mind.
Aajav?
At first he felt nothing, and he began to fear that Deverra’s spell had finally run its course, but then the first tentative tendrils of thought extended toward him, and he knew that the priestess’s magic remained as potent as ever.
Though he didn’t need to breathe, he nevertheless let out a sigh of relief and waited for whatever message Aajav might have for him.
The night presented a dizzying array of sights, sounds and scents more intoxicating than qumis could ever be. Qarakh—newly Embraced—thought he could spend eternity exploring this new world and never grow tired of it—especially if he could continue to explore it with his brother.
“What is wrong with you, Qarakh? You run as gracefully as a mare about to give birth!” Aajav laughed as he put on a burst of speed and flew across the plain, his feet barely touching the ground.
Qarakh tried to concentrate on moving like Aajav, but his legs felt heavy and clumsy, not much different than they had when he was mortal. Aajav had told him numerous times that he was yet an infant to this new life in darkness and should be patient while he adjusted. But even after the strange apprenticeship of having been Aajav’s ghoul, this new state—being a true night-walker—was like being a baby again: learning how to eat, how to sleep, how to use his newfound abilities. For a warrior such as Qarakh, who was used to being master of both his body and his environment, the frustration was
