Qarakh understood now that the crossing from life to undeath had been much harder for Aajav. A vampire was forever a creature apart from both the worlds of men and of nature. Denied the light of day, denied mortal food and drink and all the other pleasures that a living body was capable of. For a man like Aajav, his new life in darkness would be a sentence in hell. Aajav had once informed Qarakh that some Cainites—especially those to the West—referred to themselves as the Damned. Now he knew why Aajav had told him this. But a true Mongol warrior would never speak directly of such feelings. It was a warrior’s lot to be strong, to endure, to be a true stoic in every sense of the word.
So if Aajav desired the companionship of the Anda—poor substitute that it might be for what he had enjoyed as a mortal—Qarakh would do whatever he could to help his blood brother obtain it. Even if it meant—
He’d been about to complete his thought with the phrase risking Final Death, but they were within a dozen yards of the stone circle now and the hair on the back of Qarakh’s neck stood up. He realized that his uncompleted thought might end up being not only prophetic, but also one of his last.
“Aajav, something is wrong….” The word died in his throat as Anda warriors began to rise forth from the ground around them. Heads, shoulders, chests, the heads of their mounts…
With a stab of fear, Qarakh realized the Anda had interred themselves with their steeds. Aajav could do this as well, when the need arose. He’d attempted to teach the skill to Qarakh, but he had yet to master it. But as swiftly as the Anda rose from the earth, there was no doubt as to their mastery.
The Anda had set a trap for them, using Aajav’s need to be part of a tribe as bait. He and Qarakh had ridden right into it.
The Anda and their mounts were halfway out of the ground now, and their hands—which no doubt held bows with arrows nocked and ready—were almost free. The Anda had interred themselves in a circle, and they’d waited for their prey to ride into the middle of it before springing their trap. Qarakh and Aajav were surrounded.
Qarakh knew they had only seconds before the Anda attacked. He reached over, grabbed the bridle of Aajav’s pony and turned both of their mounts around. Aajav stood in his saddle, staring blankly at the rising Anda, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
“Tchoo! Tchoo!” Qarakh said, and both steppe ponies took off at a gallop, running through gaps in the circle made by the bodies of the rising Anda and their mounts.
They should’ve interred themselves shoulder to shoulder, Qarakh thought. They must not have had enough warriors to do so. Good. The fewer Anda that pursued them, the better.
Their ponies’ hooves pounded on the plain, and wind lashed their faces. Qarakh turned to Aajav only to see that his blood brother was now sitting in his saddle like a westerner, his hands hanging limply at his sides, the reins of his mount dangling loose.
“But they invited us,” Aajav said, so softly that even with his inhuman hearing Qarakh could barely make it out over the pounding of the steeds’ hooves. “They invited us.” He sounded like a heartbroken child.
“Aajav! Take the reins! If you do not, we shall both die!”
Aajav turned to look at his blood brother, his face a mask of confusion and disappointment. “But they invited us!”
That’s when the Anda, who now rode full out in pursuit, loosed the first of their arrows coated in demon blood.
Qarakh opened his eyes. He withdrew his fingers from the earth and pondered the memory Aajav had stirred within him. That it was intended as a message from his blood brother, Qarakh had no doubt. But as to the meaning of the message…
Then all at once, understanding came to him. Aajav had wanted so desperately to be accepted by the Anda that he had trusted them when he shouldn’t have, and it had almost meant both of their Final Deaths. As it was, Aajav had never fully recovered from the poison the Anda had wounded him with. Or perhaps it hadn’t been the poison so much as the realization that he was doomed to live an unlife forever apart from all the things he had loved as a mortal.
Whichever the case, the memory-vision’s meaning was clear: Aajav had made a mistake in trusting the Anda. It was a mistake he did not wish to see his brother repeat.
Qarakh had promised Deverra that he would come to a decision about allying with Alexander by the next sunset, but he’d come to one now. Like the Anda so many years ago, Alexander of Paris could not be trusted. There would be no alliance—and if that meant war, so be it.
“Thank you, my brother.”
Qarakh stood and walked back toward his horse. He needed to return to the camp. There were still a few hours left until sunrise, and there was much to be done.
In the darkness, Rikard lay upon a wooden table—at least, it felt like a table. He wasn’t sure. It was so hard to think. At first he thought he must be somewhere deep underground, in a cavern perhaps, although the air didn’t feel cool or damp enough, and the sound didn’t echo the way it should have, though since he had never been inside a cave, he was only guessing at this. Besides, why would someone place a table in a cavern? It didn’t make sense. But it was the only explanation he could come up with for why he couldn’t see something. After all, he was a Cainite, and his eyes were capable of—
And then he remembered. He no longer had any eyes.
“Still
