A Journey of Black and Red

The White Cabal council has changed a lot since my first visit. Frost has been replaced by his granddaughter Margaret who has dark hair except for a single white strand near the front. Cornelius, who did not appreciate me much, died during his attempted coup. I almost expected the White Cabal to exile the insurrectionists in a bleeding heart moment, thus creating a hostile faction bent on their destruction. It would have been stupid, of course. The Black Dog was anything but stupid. They were all executed.

Cedric succeeded him as a member of the ‘golden generation’, the one I helped examine. He has grown into a stout bearded man as reliable as his barriers. William is the Black Dog now, and he is present. The head librarian is still a withered old lady while the president is the same fat man waving his gavel around I saw struggle all those years ago. The White Cabal leadership shows a much broader range of ages than before.

I still do not begrudge them their protective measures. They will pretend that they take every precaution against me, and I will pretend that I cannot bypass them. A satisfactory arrangement.

“Ariane of the Nirari, you have the floor.”

“Thank you. Esteemed allies, I have come to share the information we obtained on the ghost killer.”

“Why did you restrain our access to the crime scenes?” Someone interrupts.

I sigh heavily. Those people grant themselves quite a few liberties with respect that I would not tolerate under any other circumstances. Unfortunately, they are useful allies. I am forced to resort to diplomacy.

“Every warden is free to accept or refuse supernatural presence on their territory.”

“So you do not control your own people?”

“Every warden is given a measure of independence. The same autonomy that allowed me to forge an agreement with you…” I reply, letting the implication sink in.

Some lesser mage alliances have been wiped out when they became a nuisance. The White Cabal is a true, genuine danger. They would have been dealt with if it were not for me.

“As I was saying, we have investigated every scene and determined that the same caster was responsible for all of them. It is also the Speaker’s personal conclusion that the culprit was never present, or indeed, near the scene. The murders were committed by a creature.”

“A summon?” William asks, considering.

“So it would seem. The entity carries part of the aura of the caster. We also believe that it is immaterial and invisible.”

“How do you figure?” Cedric asked.

“Witness accounts and the lack of any signs of entry. Some of the trace aura went through walls as well. I have compiled every piece of information we have on this case in a file that will be provided to you as a courtesy.”

“What do you mean, courtesy? You have already resolved the case?”

“No, however we have assessed that the entity steals the caster’s vitality with every casting. The murderer will be killed next summon or the one after that.”

“So… you expect the case to resolve itself?”

“Yes.”

“That is quite irresponsible. What if others use the same means? Have you considered that?”

“We have taken enough measurements to create a locating beacon. However, it would take much effort to build and the Speaker’s time is precious. If other cases arise, we will intervene.”

“Are you not at least a little bit curious?”

I consider my answer for a few seconds. It must convey my meaning clearly.

“With the return of magic and the dramatic increase of mages aware of their own abilities, we expect freak accidents and strange quirks to continue increasing over time. We simply do not have the time or inclination to investigate every unusual matter. We prefer to leave this task to you and your sister organizations.”

And by this I mean the Red Cabal. The Accords’ interests lie in politics and law, not in the miscellaneous and circus shows.

“We simply do not have the manpower to handle every strange occurrence,” I finish.

“Every strange occurrence could lead to world-ending threats.”

“Then feel free to escalate to us. In the meanwhile, you have our report on the situation.”

In truth, we do intend to watch instead of intervening, but Sephare did identify the woman behind the murders by correctly guessing that it was a tale of premeditated vengeance. I would have been surprised that a member of the fairer sex could be responsible for such a wanton massacre when I was a mortal. Now, few things surprise me. One cannot doubt the depth a depravity a woman can sink to after spending five minutes in the company of Melusine.

After our little summoner dies, we will recover her research.

“What of the creature? Is it… a demon?”

Whispers spread around the assembly. Some people watch me in fear.

“I am afraid I cannot comment on matters of religion.”

I shrug helplessly, gathering a few chuckles. Eventually, I am forced to interrupt the muttering.

“There was another issue I wanted to address. I will be leaving my position on an… errand.”

“What sort of errand?” Cedric asks without malice.

“A private matter. It should not take much time. Two, three years at most. I will be replaced by one of my subordinates, Urchin.”

I am quite pleased to see immediate apprehension in most of the people present.

“Much can happen in three years, and with the current rise in integrist sentiments…”

“There will always be a crisis,” I interrupt. “No year passes without a new rising threat. The matter that concerns me cannot be delayed.”

I dismiss several accusations that I am not taking my position seriously, or that the Accords do not value the White Cabal. Urchin can be smooth when he bothers, and he is better at insidious remarks than I am. All will be well. I wait for the council to end outside of the rotunda, reviewing more reports.

Sephare’s intelligence is unambiguous. Bertrand, head of the expansion faction of Mask, has taken over the leadership by allying with the Hastings progenitor. They now control India through local covens and proxies. Weapons and funds are sent to Mexico, which is currently under Mask control.

They are ready to return.

Although we are much stronger than we used to be, Mask will bring many more elites to the fray this time. That is quite fine since I will take the fae blood away from them. Then we will see how they fare without their liquid courage.

Over an hour later, the councillors finally leave and I stand up to intercept one of them.

“Margaret?”

“Hm yes? Is something the matter?”

“There was a private matter I was hoping to discuss with you. It does not concern the Cabal. Rather, it is a spellcaster concern.”

“Oh?”

The woman is wary. We have known each other for quite some time but Margaret is as cautious as her grandfather was daring. She is the only young archmage who is not part of the golden generation group, prefering to keep to her own for reasons I am not quite clear on. Nevertheless, she accepts my request and we soon find ourselves in her personal quarters.

Her favorite color is pale blue. And white.

Perhaps the intense study of a specific branch of magic comes with a measure of distortion, although it might be difficult to measure. Constantine enjoys chains and binding and he is stuck up. I am decent at blood magic and I like blood. Something to explore later, I suppose.

I follow Margaret in her personal office and watch her realize too late that it is covered with confidential reports.

“Should we retire to the salon instead?”

“Hm, yes.”

I follow her yet again to a boudoir, in which I find a coffee table covered in confidential reports, as well as a folded cardigan and an empty cup.

“I take it you do not receive much?” I ask, teasingly.

Margaret glares and blushes at the same time. I give her some time to clean up and sit, making myself comfortable. A distinctively flustered woman sits across from me. I lean forward and suddenly she remembers what I am.

I will never tire of it. The White Cabal knows what I am and what I can do, or rather, they do not but it makes no difference from their perspective. At night, like now, none of them stand a chance. Because of my appearance, they often forget and treat me like any other caster, challenging me on the floor for more precise answers. They lower their defenses. I am a person.

Then we are alone and they remember. I do not completely hide my aura as it would be quite rude, and there is a coldness in there that chills them to their bones if they pay attention. Even Margaret is not immune. For all of her mastery, she is still warm flesh and blood while I am not.

I smile lightly. There is no need to intimidate her.

“I have come bearing a proposal. I wish to perform a trade.”

“A trade?”

“I wish to learn Polaris.”

Margaret scoffs, first dismissive yet soon suspicious. Polaris was Frost’s signature spell, one so powerful it froze the entire arm of the Scourge Hive’s main host. Even Constantine acknowledged the incredible power it took to wield this sorcery without killing everyone around him, a testament to the old codger’s incredible control. I want it.

“I thought you had little affinity for ice.”

“Things have changed.”

Margaret licks her lips, careful in her response. When she speaks, her tone is slow and deliberate.

“Polaris is my grandfather’s legacy and lifework. It is not just extremely complex, it also represents everything he stands for. I do not even allow the White Cabal to access it, though I shared the rest of his spellbook. You cannot possibly think that… my God. What is that?”

While she refused me, I removed a small chest from a bag and placed it on the table, opening it to reveal a frozen ruby shaped like an icicle. Immediately, the temperature drops.

Margaret extends a greedy hand but I seize her wrist before she can touch the object.

“Careful, it will freeze your finger off.”

She blinks, suddenly remembering where we are.

“Where did you find that thing?”

“In the heart of a frozen corpse, one who bore the gift of winter. You will not find a better focus on Earth.”

“Incredible.”

“I will throw in a few shards of eternal ice so you can make yourself a nice gauntlet.”

She stares at me, calculating.

“Can you not make a gauntlet with it?” She asks.

“I already have gauntlets and they suit me well.”

“I mean for me.”

I tut loudly, closing the treasure’s lid.

“Would you like me to help you dress and pomade your posterior as well while you are at it? Contact the Dvergur. They will build it for you.”

Margaret whines and grumbles, but we both know she is interested.

“If I were to show you how to cast it, you cannot teach it to anyone else.”

“I assure you, my intentions are purely selfish.”

“Good, wait, no, ugh. You didn’t consent!”

“I consent. I will not teach anyone else, nor will I help anyone else develop it through tips or advice.”

“Fine. Just Polaris, not the rest of his library?”

“Just Polaris.”

The truth is that the fae blood did not turn me into a gifted caster. It will take years of effort for me to learn the spell. I am still going through what Sinead and my sire gave me. I have no need to add more situational hexes to my repertory.

“Ugh, the rest of the Cabal will be livid when they learn about it.”

“There is no need for that. It can be our little secret,” I tell her as I lean forward with a gentle smile.

For some reason, it does not comfort her.

***

Ah, the Atlantic ocean, with the fresh wind upon my face and a healthy reserve of good novels, coffee, and some more private reading. I smile and enjoy the speed of the Spirit of Dalton as it cleaves the waters. I even get the immense pleasure of seeing Sinead miffed. Glorious night!

“Must I?” he grumbles, readjusting his hat.

“What is the first rule of the sea?” I bellow, making the Likaean jump and eliciting an immediate, well-rehearsed response from the cabin boy.

“Tricorns are mandatory, except for the chef, ma’am!”

“Indeed.”

“Did you actually make it into a rule? Wait, did you make more rules?” Sinead asks, suddenly suspicious.

I am so glad he asked.

“Boy, what is the third rule of the sea?”

“There are only two types of ships, targets, and targets of opportunity, ma’am!”

“Seventh rule! If it is bearing down on us, what is it?”

“An enemy warship, ma’am!”

“What if it is too small?”

“A boarding craft, ma’am!”

“Smaller?”

“A torpedo, ma’am!”

“Good lad.”

“How many rules have you made?” Sinead asks, somewhat amazed.

“You can join the crew of the Dread Pirate Ariane, Queen of the Sea and find out.”

“Do I also get my cute cabin boy?” he asks with a teasing smile.

“No,” I reply with a toothier one, “you get to be the cabin boy.”

“Touché. Now, are you sure about… your guest?”

“Yes. He defended me against the Order of the Knights. I am certain that he will not begrudge me this little escapade, even though our objective is in Eneru hands. I selected it specifically among the list you provided.”

“Any reason?”

“It belongs to Nina of the Dvor.”

“I have not yet had the privilege of being acquainted.”

“She is a bitch.”

“I see.”

“She tried to bully me and stealing her belongings will bring me great amounts of satisfaction.”

“Understandable.”

“In the meanwhile, you and your merry band of outcasts are going to do something for me.”

Sinead is on guard. In fact, I have not seen him so careful in a long while. Even being shot at by ruffians did not generate this amount of stress. Delightful.

“My Sinead, are the waves not to your liking? Does the Prince of Summer favor small ponds?”

“I have many ways to escape while on land. Here, I am trapped. Are you not concerned?”

“No, I am trapped by the sunlight every dawn. This is a Dvergur-made warship. Whatever it cannot outrun, it can sink. In fact, it can both sink and outrun all but the sturdier ships of the line.”

“Are you done gushing?”

“All of my ship voyages have gone well, while taking the train has led me from disaster to catastrophe.”

I stop, frowning. I have been intercepted twice and derailed once while riding the train. Is it a cursed method of transportation? Perhaps Metis punished me for cheating by calling bad luck upon my unworthy head.

Hmmm.

“I would like to know what, exactly, you intend us to do.”

“Simple.”

I explain in great detail the plan I have in mind, including some of the details I managed to obtain from a French immigrant. The details remain sketchy due to distance but it does not seem to deter Sinead. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

***

It starts as a rumor, then spreads all over the newspaper of Europe in a wave of outrage and awe. Gossips and officers babble and exclaim, baffled by this most peculiar of heists. The mind boggles. Who would commit such a bizarre crime? Who would steal such a curious object?

Why, only the best paramour in the world of course.

***

The Spirit of Dalton (mark three) moors in the port of Trieste on November 12th, 1870, under a Maltese flag. This time, I enjoy the city’s neo-classical and baroque architecture as I stroll through the Austrian quarter. I take a midnight walk on the Piazza Grande and enjoy this extraordinary sea-front square. I draw the Dolomite Mountains from the Piazza Venezia as they disappear under low clouds charged with snow. I sup on a drunken sailor. Ah, to tour the world free of concerns. That would be the life. Perhaps one day when the list of people who want me dead has considerably shortened, I shall indulge. Alas, the holiday must soon end. The three Likaeans who will be my accomplices and I travel north under disguise.

I have to grant it to Sinead: he is an extraordinary guide. Where I before enjoyed the administrative and logistical power of the vampire alliances, here my comfort comes from the man’s incredible charisma. There is no paperwork he cannot obtain, no frontier guard he cannot coddle or bribe. I do not even have to resort to charm once during the entire trip. In fact, there is little for me to do except keeping a disguise and enjoying my evenings. We frequently invite ourselves to parties and events. Sinead even wins a poetry contest with a raunchy sonnet about a Russian maid and a train driver in some border town. Although I expected cloaks and daggers, it turns out that I spend most of the trip with brush and canvas. A pleasant development.

We arrive at Torran’s castle one fine autumn night, finding it empty. The forests around Errenstadt have put on their fiery fall dresses. His manor juts over the sea of reds and browns in all its pale glory. I do find his Servant Nadia present, and she welcomes me with guarded respect. When I expose my idea, her pleasure and amusement reflect mine, and we soon free a rarely used reception room on the first floor for our little project. The prize of the theft is brought and reassembled there to everyone’s merriment, despite the engineering challenge it poses. Besides Sinead, Makyas of the court of Keyhole is also present, as well as a Likaean I had never met from the Court of Shadows. He is a strange man with a hooked nose, very tall and painfully thin, who answers to ‘Mr. Elusive’. I forget about his existence if he has not manifested himself in a while. The worst thing is that it is not an attack on my mind. He merely fails to make an impression.

I find it aggravating.

Nevertheless, the trio of fae has retreated to the village and its inn while I remain sole guest at the castle. As for Sivaya, she will not take part in the heist. She remains a researcher with little taste for the violent and the noisy. Her loss.

On the night Torran returns, I wait for him in the room and hail as soon as his thunderous aura returns. I find the annoyance in his powerful presence titillating, especially when it turns to eagerness and curiosity when he identifies my own. His steps lead him to the room I occupy, then to my gift. His eyes find me, then find the prize and his face turns into a beautiful ‘o’ of surprise.

It is not every day one floors a lord. Torran grips the wall with a hand, stumbling. He shakes a finger at my loot.

“You… you! It was you! The entirety of Europe talks about it! It was you! It was you? You stole it for me? The Grand Organ of Amiens Cathedral?”

“Tada! You always said it was wasted on the mortals. So, I gift it to you instead.”

He has not quite recovered. I am filled with an immense amount of pride.

“By the Eye! My star! HOW!”

“A falsified repair order, an impersonated crew. The middle of the week. A deflowered nun.”

“It’s the most beautiful instrument I have ever beheld…”

Torran lurches to the seat and almost collapses on it. He runs his long fingers over the keys with amorous jealousy. He slowly places his hand in the proper place and pushes down softly.

The organ sings.

With religious attention, my lover places his feet on the pedal while he delicately pulls and pushes knobs on the side, apparently designed to produce various effects. When he is done, the first bars of Bach’s Tocatta and Fugue in D minor fill the valley. I smile gently. He can be so old-fashioned, sometimes.

I watch in silence as he plays, fingers closed, swaying with the rhythm. He is so alive right now. In fact, two bloody tears fall down his cheek.

“Drink them, my star. For you.”

I oblige and lean forward. It tastes a little salty and a little bloody and it transports what passes for my soul until my black heart beats again and my lungs gulp the air. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I vibrate with every note, feeling the echo of his pleasure down my spine. He is happy. Genuinely, truly, unambiguously happy. His fingers now dance over the ivory keys like the steps of ballerinas, then they press down imperiously, then they jump and stab down like dueling swords as the music requires. Seconds turn to minutes then to hours as he explores his gift. I place my head over his shoulder and I let him. Hours later, we walk in silence to the balcony and watch the night die, then retire to his room for a tender tryst.

Worth it.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. After a night of fun comes the inevitable questions? What am I doing here, and why have I returned to Europe secretly and very, very illegally?

Indeed, the existence of traveling papers only protects me insofar as I notify the concerned faction in advance that I will visit their land. Unfortunately, it would be foolish of me to do so seeing as I intend to rob them of their strategic assets and — if Sinead delivers — start a war.

Torran is understandably unamused when I inform him that I am here for covert reasons. I do not share the details with him so he can maintain plausible deniability, which means that from his perspective I am being most unwise.

“You are playing a dangerous game, my star. Eneru and Mask are old lovers and old rivals. We know each other inside out from locations to finance to manpower. You are a child joining a bridge table among old friends. You will be eaten alive.”

“I am not working alone.”

“Then I would like to meet those accomplices of yours.”

I hesitate, but Torran leans towards me.

“Those who helped you steal the organ?”

“The very same.”

“I know they are here, in the village.”

“Well…”

“What are you not telling me?”

“WELL…”

“You brought another lover on my land?”

“That would be a terrible faux-pas.”

I have grown used to the fact that vampires see relationships as fleeting things. I meet Torran once every blue moon and do not expect him to stay celibate. Vampire couples do not move together, do not create families together, and we have no legal stake in the whole process. One can hardly be blamed for not promising themselves to each other ‘until death do us part’ when it could happen in three centuries. Even the crustiest immortal can change quite a bit in that time frame. We are also fundamentally selfish creatures driven by instinct. Regardless, there are still customs one should observe as a sign of respect. We do not bring a lover on our paramour’s territory. It is simply not done.

“No, the reality is other but, to reveal it, I will require an oath.”

Torran appears surprised and perhaps a little offended.

“You do not trust me with this information?”

“You will understand my caution if you agree to keep their identity secret.”

“Are they rogues?”

“No. I would never partner with rogues, Torran.”

“Then I swear to keep their presence and identity secret.”

I have no obligation to let Torran know, and yet could I truly distrust someone who went against the knights to save my life?

Never, I owe him too much. And he swore.

“It would be better to show you.”

***

The introduction between Torran and the fae is glacial. More specifically, Torran ignores Makyas and Mr. Elusive to focus on Sinead with raptor-like intensity. Similarly, the Prince of Summer stands with the poise of a duellist, right foot slightly forward. The pair glare at each other for a few seconds in the deserted inn’s room.

Mr Elusive scurries away. Makyas winks. His lips form the words ‘drama queen’. A complete fabrication.

“My, what delicious guests.”

“Torran. Play nice please,” I whisper, but he pays no heed.

“Charming little hamlet you have here. Very pastoral,” Sinead replies.

The two men glare holes into each other.

“Are you two done? What is going on? Alright, you have met each other, now let’s go, Torran.”

I drag my lover outside, feeling quite awkward about the whole affair.

“He is not my lover,” I assure the old lord.

“Does he know that?”

“You know that anything between the two of us would result in his death.”

“And that would be for the best.”

Torran stops me.

“You are an adult, my star, even by vampire standards, so I will not patronize you. I will, however, tell you this. You are playing an even more dangerous game than I assumed. If you get caught, do not bring your pursuers here if they are Eneru, because as much as I love you, I have no esteem for your comrades and am bound by previous agreements.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now, let us retire to my armory, just in case there is something there you could find useful.”

Ah, he still cares.

***

The time for planning has come.

“Our target is one of three blood fortresses the Eneru possess in Europe. The holding facilities are located in the Hohenwald basin in the Austrian Alps, a small depression surrounded by mountains on all sides but one. All of the surrounding hamlets are fully under Eneru control, and all travelers will be reported to local enforcers as soon as they are spotted. As such, we will need to make our approach in secrecy. As for the fortress itself, we have limited information.”

I watch Sinead place his fists on the table in an unusual display of vulnerability.

“I have observed the place myself during an extremely risky trek three years ago. There is a single approach to the fortress on an exposed path filled with runes, guards, and defensive constructs. By observing the comings and goings of convoys, I have determined that access to the fortress is scheduled well in advance, with plenty of seals and permissions. I believe we will not be able to pass as reinforcements. Their security is top-notch for such a lowly realm. Our best chance is to scale the mountain from the back, which will pose problems of their own. There are defensive measures there of a nature I do not know, then the scaling itself on an ice-encrusted wall. After we manage to get in, our objective is three-fold.”

Sinead unfolds a parchment. A spell emerges from its depth, deploying over the table in a shower of lights. A miniature, ghostly fortress now stands before us in ethereal blue lights. I study the construct with interest. The body of the fortress was built on rock hanging over a forest of pine trees. The only path leads to a barbican, then over a chasm into a narrow inner court. The main keep is a rectangle, blockish and ominous edifice of large stones. A small flower garden on the balcony overlooking the court provides the only concession to life I can see. Even the windows are designed not to let anyone larger than a child pass. As for the roof, it appears to be well-patrolled and locked tight.

“How did you get a view of the roof?” I ask.

“I climbed the mountain and used binoculars,” Sinead replies.

I must admit to some surprise, as I had never seen Sinead so serious even once in my life. Even his usual quips have disappeared. The man before me is focused and determined. The only Likaean influence remaining comes from the magic he uses to let us see our target.

“As I said, the objective is three-fold. First, we must recover the Soul of the Storm from the keep’s guardian golem. We need this, for it is one of the only stones in the world that can contain the energies of the ritual. The others are just as protected as this one, and if the vampires discover that we are after them, our task will only become more difficult.”

A stone appears in front of us. It is black and carved into a teardrop with white lines crossing it like thunderbolts on a midnight sky. Pretty, I suppose, and quite powerful.

“I have prepared this approximation based on the memories of one of the guards who saw it. We will first work on obtaining it from the golem bay, near the entrance.”

A red dot appears at the base of the main structure.

“Our second objective is to recover the documents showing the current distribution and locations of the captive fae. It will allow us to start the war.”

“How?” I ask, surprised.

“Eneru has broken the treaty that ended the last war. I am going to provide Mask with an opportunity they cannot ignore.”

“Are you certain?”

“Trust me, poppet, I was pitting powerful idiots against each other long before you were born. It will work. As for the third objective, it is optional: the rescue of the imprisoned Likaeans. As much as I dislike leaving them in the hands of their torturers, saving our kin is not a priority. We already have enough resources to complete the ritual. I would go so far as to say that we should not free them unless we are already noticed, and need a distraction. As for how they are guarded, the sentry I interrogated did not know. We only have limited information about the inside, which gives us far too many points of failure. Nevertheless, the attack remains our best option. There are some things I was about to learn and it relates to the staff and alarms.”

“Can we expect vampires?”

“Yes, in fact there will be at least one, a master with a strong tendency for corporal punishment. The sentry hinted that he thought the man was insane. Besides that, there could be visiting Eneru, come to replace their blood vials. Unfortunately, we have no way to find out in advance.”

“What about regular troops?”

“About twenty soldiers, twelve staff members, and five mages including one whose only role is to call for help if the alarm rings.”

“We should eliminate the messenger if we get the chance,” I say.

“Yes. In fact, if the alarm triggers and he calls for reinforcement, we must abandon the plan and flee as fast as we can because all of Eneru will come for us.”

“Security features?”

“Many, many wards. Fortunately, the staff often changes so everyone carries keys tuned to the defenses, allowing free passage between the different rooms. We will have to… liberate them. As for the golem, they are an unknown.”

“I will handle it,” I say with confidence.

“As much as possible, we should complete the first objective before being spotted or all is lost.”

“The lack of intelligence on the inside presents many unknowns,” I comment, concerned. “Any chance for a diversion?”

“It will be worse. You are not facing mortals, Ariane. The fortress will go on high alert at the first irregularity. You can also expect the soldiers not to take any chances. If they spot something unusual, they will trigger the alert first and investigate later. There will be no room for mistakes. For now, I would like everyone to discuss possible plans and options. Ariane, you had something for us?”

With a nod, I reach under that table for one of my special chests. The interior reveals quite a few goodies I have made and acquired over the years. I have built most of them myself.

“Very well gentlemen. Shall we?”