The Kingmakers(20)
Adele stayed motionless as Gareth strode toward the vampires. They quickly stood to challenge him. Gareth didn’t even pause. He moved in a blur, leaping at them with claws extended. The first slash took out the thin vampire, the youngest and the most agile, who fell into the old vampire and together they tumbled to the ground. The heavyset one rose hissing, throwing his large frame at Gareth. The vampire prince sidestepped quickly, lightened his density and stepped up into the air. As the vampire stumbled under him, Gareth dropped heavily, taking him to the ground.
Gareth’s arm drove downward toward the weakest point on the spine and snapped it. The vampire flopped once with a scream and lay immobile, though his eyes were wide open. He still had a voice and was screeching in terror until Gareth silenced him with another slash of his terrible claws. More blood stained the white ground.
Adele was distracted by Gareth’s sudden violence, so she didn’t see the elder vampire surging at him until it was too late. Gareth was borne to the ground in a flurry of snow. The older vampire’s arm slashed downward, but Gareth blocked it. A well-aimed kick sent his opponent flying backward. Immediately and without quarter, Gareth followed and the two vampires exchanged blows, each one expertly blocked and parried.
Gareth saw an opening and slipped in, coming into close quarters, and used that position to rip out his opponent’s throat. The elder vampire fell limp into Gareth’s arms.
He swung the old man’s legs up and carried him to where he had been sitting. Gently he laid the vampire on the ground, almost reverently, adjusting his arms over his chest. He stayed down on one knee for a moment. “He fought well. I was sorry to kill him.” Then he stood, walking over to a mound of clean snow, and wiped the gore from his face.
It took a moment to find her voice, but then Adele asked, “Are you hurt?”
“None of this blood is mine.” Gareth’s eyes searched for her and then settled on her shimmering form. He smiled crookedly, and then turned around and strode through the gate. Adele waited a few seconds and then entered enemy-held Grenoble.
Sunlight glinted off the steel figures marching steadily on Grenoble. The Katangans encased in the metal frames pounded the hard icy ground of No-Man’s-Land, spikes on the bottoms of their feet dug deep and gripped tight, giving them purchase. The steaming metal men formed a broad wedge aimed at the wall of the town, with the mass of the Equatorian army shuffling behind.
Anhalt rode a dappled mare in the gap between the infantry and the steel front. The horse was sure-footed even in the churned frozen ground left by the heavy Galahads, and she did not shy from the rumbling, clanking tanks. It was the rattle of Anhalt’s scabbard that made her prance in frenzied excitement, anticipating battle. The general twisted in the saddle to observe his army, grunting with satisfaction. The advancing force included every man who wasn’t manning the cannons or part of a skeleton crew in the trenches to guard their rear. Every scrap of armor and ammunition had been served out. If this assault failed, there would be no way to defend from the vampire counterattack. If Adele lost her mad endeavor, the campaign would end here on the frozen field outside Grenoble.
The vampires swarmed in a large black cloud over the city like an ominous storm. With every minute, more drifted in from all directions to join the flock. The more that gathered, the better for the empress, Anhalt thought.
The general was surprised that the vampires hadn’t yet engaged. Perhaps the Galahads had made the creatures cautious; the new weapons, no doubt, perplexed them.
The mass of airborne vampires undulated like a single entity, causing the rank-and-file troopers to pause and tremble, but officers shouted encouragement, bolstering flagging determination, reminding them of their duty to the Empire, to their comrades, and to themselves. The men marching nearest Anhalt gripped their weapons tightly, and every once in a while he would see a man flex his fingers to keep them limber in the frigid morning air. The rumor that the empress had delivered a secret weapon did something to strengthen weak backbones and faltering hearts.
The spearhead of Galahads reached the ready point one mile from Grenoble’s ancient wall. They halted with a squeal and a burst of steam.
Anhalt spurred his mount toward the front infantry. He felt the air spark with the anticipation of battle. Company commanders yelled orders, echoed by sergeants. Formations shaped up, presenting modern rifles along with tried-and-true sharpened steel, bayonets and long savage pikes, almost like musket squares of the sixteenth century.
The bagpipes of the Twenty-fifth Lost Highlanders blared to Anhalt’s left. They all claimed some Scottish ancestry and therefore seemed unnaturally eager to be heading north to reclaim their mythic homeland. The sirdar cared little for restoring ancient titles or lands, but if such beliefs helped drive some of his men, he would gladly use them.