When Qarakh rose that evening, he fed from a short, stocky peasant woman who reminded him somewhat of a Mongol female. He then found Alessandro and told him to select two of the tribe’s best people—men who were not only skilled warriors, but stealthy, cunning and swift—and assign them to spy on Alexander’s camp.
“Make sure to choose men who have demon-strated some measure of self-control,” Qarakh said.
“This is a duty that calls for patience and restraint, not battle fever.” He thought of Arnulf and scowled.
He wanted to ask Alessandro if the Goth had re-t u r n e d re-t o re-t h e c a m p , b u re-t h e d i d n ’ re-t w i s h re-t o demonstrate such personal concern before a subor-dinate, even his second-in-command.
“Right away, my khan.” The Iberian started off, but Qarakh stopped him with a gesture.
“A moment more, Alessandro. Where are my other advisors?” What he really meant was Where is Deverra?
“Wilhelmina is with Eirik Longtooth and Karl the Blue, listening to tales of their battles with the Teutonic Knights, as is Grandfather. Deverra…” He frowned. “I am not certain where she is. The last time I saw her, she was headed in the direction of the woods.” Alessandro didn’t have to say they were the same woods that Arnulf had gone into last night.
“Go select your men.”
Alessandro inclined his head and went off to do as his khan commanded.
Qarakh wanted to go in search of Deverra then, but as khan he had other duties. He needed to ac-knowledge those who had returned in their tribe’s time of need, as well as greet those allies who had likewise answered the call. He spent the next sev-eral hours walking through the camp, speaking with
both tribesmen and allies—even the ghouls and mor-tals. Some were old friends, but most were little more than strangers. Still, he made sure to spend a little time with each and make them feel welcome and appreciated. It was an important task, for he might soon be asking these people—Cainites, ghouls and mortals alike—to follow him into battle, and he needed to strengthen, renew or create bonds with each one of them. Just as a tribe was only as strong as its khan, an army was only as strong as its general.
Midnight came and went without Qarakh see-ing or hearsee-ing anythsee-ing of Deverra. Ordinarily, he might have thought nothing of her absence; he would have assumed she was off conducting one Telyavic rite or another. But these were hardly ordinary times.
If Alexander’s offer of an alliance was only a ruse—
or if the Ventrue had simply changed his mind—he might even now be preparing an attack against the tribe, might have dispatched his own spies or assas-sins. Deverra was a strong woman in more ways than one, and he had no doubt she could handle herself in any situation. But even so…
With a muttered apology, he broke off his con-versation with a Saxon Gangrel chieftain and started walking in the direction of the woods.
“Milord! A word, if you please!”
Qarakh almost didn’t stop—almost, in fact, drew his saber and lopped off the fool’s chattering head—
but then he recognized the voice as belonging to Malachite. He was tempted to keep on going, but he stopped and allowed the Nosferatu to catch up to him.
“My apologies if I am detaining you from an im-portant errand,” Malachite said.
Qarakh tried not to let his impatience show.
“What do you want?”
“To ask if you have come to a decision whether to reveal the details of this monastery.”
Despite his growing concern over Deverra, Qarakh couldn’t help smiling. “You are a most de-termined man, Malachite.”
The Nosferatu’s answering smile was a sad one.
“So it has been said.”
Qarakh was reluctant to tell Malachite of his ex-perience with the mysterious Cainite in the north.
It was all he had to barter with when it came to deal-ing with the scholar, and he didn’t want to sell the information too cheaply.
“I believe I saw you speaking with Alessandro earlier,” Qarakh said.
“ Ye s . H e w a s a s k i n g m e q u e s t i o n s a b o u t Alexander and the army he commands.”
“And did you answer his questions?”
“I did. And before you ask, I did so truthfully.”
“I find it difficult to understand why you would provide such vital information so readily.”
Malachite’s smile was broader this time. “You mean, why would I betray the man I accompanied to Livonia?”
“You must admit it is a pertinent question.”
“Especially from one who wishes to determine whether or not I—and in turn, the information I h a v e g i v e n y o u r s e c o n d - i n - c o m m a n d — c a n b e trusted.” Malachite considered the issue for a mo-ment before continuing. “I suppose that ultimately there is no way I can fully convince you of my sin-cerity—not by words, at any rate. Oh, I could tell you that I hold no love for Alexander, and that I despise the way he poses as a Christian merely to further his own ends. I could also tell you that I be-lieve the world will be a better place when he goes at last to his final reward. But these are precisely the words you would expect to hear from me if I were trying to deceive you. I could ask you to judge me by my bearing and the tone of voice as I spoke, but these can be controlled easily enough—especially after several centuries of experience.
“Therefore, if words will not serve, perhaps ac-tions shall.” Malachite paused, as if wrestling with a difficult decision. “To prove my sincerity to you, Qarakh of Mongolia, Khan of the Livonian tribe, I shall swear a blood oath to you—if you will accept it from me.”
Qarakh was stunned by the Nosferatu’s offer.
Oaths of blood were no light matter among the undead, for they involved literally drinking the blood of the lord sworn to, and Cainite blood could bend the will. Three drinks was said to create an almost permanent bond, but even a single sip was critical.
There was nothing else Malachite could have said or done to convince Qarakh so quickly and com-pletely of how serious he truly was about finding the Dracon.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Qarakh asked.
“For you. For myself. For all Cainites.” A pause.
“But most of all, for the Dream.”
Qarakh nodded. “Very well. I shall consider your offer. If I accept it, I will tell you all I know about these Obertus monks.”
Malachite stiffened suddenly, but didn’t say any-thing. He then bowed from the waist. “I thank you, great khan.” The Nosferatu straightened, turned and silently moved off, his robed body seeming to blend into the night itself. Qarakh had a difficult time keeping his eyes focused on the scholar’s retreating form. If Malachite was this difficult to track when he was merely walking, how much harder would it be if he were trying to move without being seen or heard? With the blood gifts of his clan, Malachite m i g h t h a v e e a s i l y c h o s e n t o s l i p a w a y f r o m Alexander’s camp and follow Qarakh and Deverra back to their tribe without being detected. Once there, he could have spied on anyone, gathering in-telligence for Alexander or simply picking up hints to the location of this Archbishop Nikita.
But he hadn’t. He had openly asked to accom-pany Deverra and him, and he had made his request
for information clearly and directly, and he had now offered to swear a binding oath. It was possible of course that all of this was part of some greater de-ception, but Qarakh’s instincts told him that the Nosferatu was a man of honor and could be trusted.
Qarakh would have to think hard upon Malachite’s offer, but right now he wanted—no, needed—to find Deverra.
He continued walking away from the camp and within moments had reached the edge of the woods.
He paused and sniffed the air. Once more he caught the scent of rain coming: a lot of it, within the next few days, perhaps sooner. But beneath that smell he picked up Deverra’s scent and—much fainter—
Arnulf ’s. Deverra had come this way, probably to engage in one of her clan’s rituals, just as he had guessed. Ultimately, he found her in one of the groves she tended. She was easy to trace by the intoxicat-ing scent of her blood, which she was spillintoxicat-ing on the soil.
“Why do you weaken yourself?” he asked in way of greeting.
She looked up, unsurprised. “Because I am still y o u r s h a m a n , a n d m o r e . I f t h e a l l i a n c e w i t h Alexander doesn’t come to pass, we will need all the help we can get to defeat him. This rite and others will help, but my hope is that he is sincere in his intention to ally with us.”
“So you trust the Ventrue, then?”
“No, but I do believe that he may well be my people’s best chance for long-term survival—if he what he told us is true.”
“If. You are willing to risk much on such a small word.”
“The Telyavs are my people. They either fol-lowed me here or have accepted my blood in their veins. I am their leader, and I would risk anything for them.”
“You are also a member of the tribe, and my sha-man. Would you risk the tribe’s existence in order to ensure your clan’s?”
If she were upset by the implied accusation in his question, she gave no sign. “Of course not, but when you have two strong and equal loyalties, yostoi isn’t always easy to achieve.”
Qarakh smiled grimly. “No matter the circum-stances, balance is never easy to achieve. That is what makes it worth fighting so hard for.”
Deverra took a step closer to him, and Qarakh had to resist the urge to pull away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be physically close to her but that Deverra wanted it so much. They were Cainites, what mortals called vampires. Undead creatures that could not love in the ways of human men and women, no matter how much they might wish to. Still, he didn’t step back.
“Have you made a decision yet? About an alli-ance with Alexander?”
Qarakh had not, but he wondered what she would do if he decided against it. Would she, as a member of the tribe, accept the ruling of her khan, or would she, as high priestess of the Telyavs, decide to oppose him for the good of her faith? It was a ques-tion he did not want to ask because he did not want an answer.
“I am still considering the matter,” he said. “I shall decide by the next sunset.”
“Then I shall wait as patiently as I can.”
Sensing the issue was settled for now, Qarakh knelt and wiped his saber on the grass before stand-ing and sheathstand-ing it. “I should return to the camp.”
Deverra grinned. “Afraid people will notice we’re both missing and start to gossip?”
Qarakh frowned in mock irritation. “No, but given the current uncertainty, it would be better if neither of us were gone too long. If nothing else, Alessandro would begin to get nervous.”
She laughed. “He would at that! But you go on ahead. I must finish this rite and then I will be back.
It’s a simple ritual that should take less than an hour.”
“Very well. But stay alert. There’s no telling who or what else might be roaming the woods this night.”
“Surely nothing as dangerous as you or I,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye.
“Even so…”
She nodded. “I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” He turned to go, then paused. “You said you were my shaman and more. What does that mean?”
Deverra cast her gaze downward, suddenly un-comfortable. “There is a bond between us, Qarakh.
Like two wolves in a pack that are united by deep understanding, by… love.”
Not knowing how to react, Qarakh nodded once, turned and started walking back to the campsite, try-ing to hurry without looktry-ing like he was trytry-ing to hurry.
***
Deverra watched Qarakh leave. Curse him for asking that! And curse her for answering him like that! What did the undead know of love?
You could have used another word, she told her-self. But you didn’t.
Aloud, she said, “It’s just a word.”
Is it?
“What if—”
What if what? He didn’t want to know? He was un-happy you used the word? That he thinks you foolish for claiming a relationship with him that can’t exist?
“Yes.”
Do not attempt to fool yourself. You chose that word for one reason: Not because it is true, but because you hope it will become true.
Deverra had no rebuttal to that thought. How could she argue with the truth?
She looked down at the pool of her blood rap-idly coagulating on the ground. There was somewhere
she had to go, someone else she had to speak with, and she would prefer that Qarakh not know about it. Not until he needed to—if he ever did. But if the alliance with Alexander failed to come to fruition, and the tribe went to war with the Ventrue’s army, they would need help if they were to have any hope of emerging victorious. And Deverra could think of only one other place to go.
The Grove of Shadows.