Shadow Phantoms Read online

  In other words; cowards.

  Magic made us better, stronger, more powerful than those around us. If that did not make us fit to rule over the common man then what did?

  But that logic seemed lost on the followers who flocked to Pagan’s cause, and he became the charismatic figurehead of the rebellion against the King’s Alliance. I had only seen him once, and then from a distance, but I knew I would recognize him if I saw him again. When I saw him again…

  As my army descended, a violent wind sprung up in the little bay. In a cyclone, it gathered the smoke of my fireball and blew it back into the faces of the troops who lined the cliff tops, making them choke and forcing them to stop their barrage. The wind whipped around again, this time targeting the soldiers climbing down the cliff walls, hurling them against the rock. It tossed them from side to side as they clung to their ropes in desperation.

  Craning over the side of the cliff, I strove to see the mage (or ‘warlock’ as they would call themselves) who was doing this. It surely had to be Pagan.

  Pagan and his inner circle were followers of the wild magic, the magic of nature. To them, magic was not something to be harnessed, it was something to be coaxed and channeled. They borrowed power rather than amassed it. This meant none of them would ever be as powerful a magic user as I was. But it also meant a single spell from one of them, if they could briefly ride the unbroken stallion of the wild magic, could be devastating, because it was the undiluted force of natural sorcery. It took skill to accomplish, and nature was unreliable and could let you down, but Pagan was known to be a master. He was a dangerous man, and as long as he was alive, my power base and the King’s Alliance itself, was insecure.

  “Get down there!” I roared at my men. They needed to be reminded that however dangerous it might be down there, they would be in far more danger from me if they did not do as I demanded.

  I turned to one of my commanders. “How do we get down?”

  “High Mage?” The man looked taken aback.

  “Are you deaf or stupid? I need to get down there!”

  The commander rallied. “The castle path, High Mage. We can get down that way.”

  “Gather a squad and follow me.” I strode towards the path with my personal guard falling in behind me. If Pagan wanted to hide behind spells, then I would go to him and fight him the old-fashioned way; one on one. I would kill him with my bare hands if I had to. There was part of me that reveled in that idea; magic was a wonder, and the power I possessed seethed gloriously within me as if I contained an ocean of it, but from time to time it was good to get down and dirty. I would beat the arrogance out of Pagan. That said, I probably would not have been quite so keen to face him without a squad at my back.

  As we reached the steep path, worn into the rocks by centuries of feet, I glanced down to the bay and the pleasing chaos of the camp. I couldn’t see any of the Templar boats yet, but they were sure to have been stashed somewhere. Time to cut off that escape route as well.

  This time, the fire ball I conjured was bright blue, and I threw it up into the night sky where it could be seen for miles around. Within moments, sleek speedboats, belonging to me, were dashing across the waves, weaving about each other, patrolling the waters of the bay and edging closer. They were all loaded with my men.

  The Templars escape to the south, across the water, was cut off, and if they tried to run to the north side of the promontory, they would find more boats there, filling the bay on the far side between Tintagel and Barra’s Nose.

  There was nowhere left for them to escape.

  “Take as many as you can alive!” I yelled as I picked up the pace, eager to join the fight. I could taste blood on the air and my old warrior instincts kicked in. Power can give a man a thrill, but even the vast power I now wielded as High Mage and Lord of the King’s Alliance couldn’t match the thrill of combat.

  With my men at my back, I charged into the fray and was instantly met by one of the Templar rushing towards me, flinging an ineffectual spell. I caught it and flicked it back at him with my own sting added to its glowing center. The pulse of energy eviscerated the man where he stood and I found myself laughing at the sight. Of course, I was the one who said ‘Take them alive’, but in the heat of battle it was easy to get carried away. Fun, too.

  “High Mage!” A shouted warning from my commander alerted me to a man swinging a blade at my head. I ducked and rolled along the rocky ground, springing back up to meet the man as I drew a sword of my own. It was enchanted; lighter than it looked, sharp enough to slice the air itself. But if my attacker was scared, he did not show it; he threw himself at me, deftly avoiding my sword and swinging for me again.

  I was grateful that in my years as a leader I had not let my training slip and was fast enough on my feet to counter. Our swords clashed and the adrenalin within me peaked as we parried briefly. He was a skilled fighter—Pagan clearly taught his people more than just magic—it was tempting to string out the fight, to enjoy it more, but I had business to attend to. The man gasped as I slashed across his hand and his sword fell to the stones with a clatter. Before he could ask for mercy, my blade slit his throat.

  Not even waiting for his body to crumple before me, I wheeled about in search of my next opponent. Why had I abstained from the battlefield for so long? This was heaven.

  It was also victory.

  We had taken them completely by surprise, and while Pagan’s magic had made our initial attack troublesome, our sheer weight of numbers had, as I’d predicted, made the difference. For every man of mine they struck down, five were there to take his place. Already, Templar prisoners were being led away from the battlefield, struggling in their bonds, and the rocky beach was strewn with Templar dead. It was only a matter of time now.

  “To the boats!”

  The cry rang out, bell-like and clear, above the noise of battle and the roar of magic. Instantly, I sought the speaker, and there, through the smoke, in amongst the thick of the fighting and yet somehow still standing clear from it, a man stood alone.

  “To the boats!”

  As he called out again, the man turned and I saw the face beneath the hood. It was a face I had only seen once before, but not one that was easy to forget. Even at this distance and in the darkness, I could make out the green eyes by the light of the fires that raged in what was left of the Templar camp. Surrounding the eyes, was a blue tattoo of interwoven Celtic knots, like a burglar’s mask.

  Pagan.

  “There he is! Get him!”

  My response was not as dignified as I would have wanted it to be, but Pagan clearly had an escape plan, and if he got away, then all of this was for nothing. With a few words of power, I threw up an aura of fire about me, blazing like a second skin, and began to shoulder and shove my way through the fighting throng, burning any who got in my way.

  I had to reach him.

  But what boats was he talking about? I had seen no boats.

  The Templars were starting to back off now, trying to follow their leader’s instructions, but struggling to disengage with their attackers. That was all to the good; if I read my man right, then Pagan was not the type to leave his people behind. He was the sort of man willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of his followers, regardless of how feeble and futile a gesture it was.

  “He’s there!” I roared again. “Close in! Don’t let him get away!”

  If Pagan heard me—and he surely must have—then he showed no fear. Arrogant puppy—I would make him regret it. In my dungeons he would come to fear me so much, just the sound of my tread would make him wet himself.

  “To the boats!”

  What boats?!

  Then I saw them. Behind Pagan, out in the bay, the sea water was bubbling and rippling. Moments later, speed boats emerged from beneath the waves, the water sloughing off them like water off a duck’s back, so the boats themselves were dry as bone. He had kept them hidden there, encased in bubbles of magic.

  Clever bastard.

&
nbsp; But it wouldn’t do him any good. His men wouldn’t be able to get to the boats as long as they were fighting mine and my own boats were out in the bay. We had him from both sides. Pagan was finished.

  What a glorious realization that was.

  I should have known better than to crow over a victory not yet earned. Pagan’s cloak billowed about him as he swept his arms in a complicated gesture as if he were gathering up the world. He threw his hands out in front of him and from them streamed a thick, cloying blanket of fog that was more like smoke, viscous and choking. It obscured sight completely and seemed to stick to our skin, so thick, you had to press through it.

  “To the boats!”

  “Fuck!” I shrieked to my men. “Don’t let them get away!”

  Pagan’s voice still rang out over the increasing confusion while my own seemed lost in the fog. There was chaos around me. No one dared to make a strike because they could not see who they were fighting and would likely end up running through one of their own. The Templar were now in full retreat, rushing for the boats. Would my own be able to stop them? Not in this fog they wouldn’t; the Templar would sneak through the barricade and out to safety. I could hear the engines starting, and the fury that raged within me gave me strength.

  I let out a scream as the aura of flame that burnt around me expanded, bursting out to burn away the fog. But Pagan’s magic was strong—the wild magic of nature always is—the fog seemed to roll back in over me, smothering my incandescence. I continued to yell and to blaze for as long as I could hold the power, but in the end it was too much for me, and I collapsed to my knees, the fire dying, my breath coming in ragged gasps. All my power was burnt away, but the rage still roiled within.

  Damn the bastard!

  We had won a famous victory, taken prisoners, killed many of his men. But without Pagan himself, it was all for nothing. His charisma meant people flocked to him even though they knew the danger. He led by force of charisma, while High Mage Duine could only do so by fear. As long as a man like that was out there, turning people against me, plotting my destruction, then I would not be able to consolidate my position and bring all magic users under my control.

  My only consolation was that, while Pagan had escaped, I knew I had hurt him and that he would mourn his dead.

  The fog rolled away, revealing the boats of my men still floating there. On land, where I still knelt, was carnage. Around me was a circle of scorched rock and burned bodies where my anger had incinerated living and dead alike, including many of my own men.

  As the scene became clear, the soldiers of the King’s Alliance looked at their High Mage in fear. It would not affect their loyalty. Yes, I had burnt their friends and comrades, but I would burn them just as quickly if they disobeyed me.

  I stared out to sea.

  He would be mine.

  One day.

  SIX

  SINJIN

  This was something you did not see every day, something even I had not seen in a very long time. By virtue of my years, I had of course seen ships in full sail with the wind at their back. It was an impressive sight, and while the arrival of steam ships had been exciting at the time, looking back, I did miss the romantic grandeur of the wooden clipper ships.

  And now, here was one approaching the fleet of the Vampire Coalition, dwarfed by my cruise liners, and yet still the most impressive ship there simply because it looked good. Clipper ships had class.

  It was approaching by night, which suggested a vampire to me, but other than that, I had no idea who might be on board. Whoever they were, they knew how to travel in style; the sails were black, the figurehead was a vampiric mermaid and flaming torches were mounted along the guard rails, making the ship look as if it was crossing the river Styx into Hades.

  “May I?” I held out my hand for the binoculars and the Carpathia’s Captain (human of course, so he could also work by day) passed them over.

  Now that I could see the crew on deck, it became clear they were indeed vampires, which meant the ship would only be able to travel by night. That was old school and then some. Through the binoculars I sought out the flag.

  “Hmm.”

  “Something wrong, Mr. Sinclair?” Though I was no doubt entitled to some grandiose title as founder and ruler of the Vampire Coalition, I preferred to remain just Sinjin Sinclair, Master Vampire. By this point in my life the name itself carried more weight than any made up title ever could.

  “The flag is familiar to me.” It was a two-headed bat on a field of red. Somewhat ‘on the nose’ I had always thought.

  “You know who it is?” asked the captain.

  “Perhaps,” I acknowledged. “Then again, perhaps not. I was under the impression the owner of that coat of arms was dead. More so,” I added, since being dead on this boat was the normal condition.

  “Should I send out a tug to meet it?”

  I shook my head as I continued to look through the binoculars. “There would seem to be no need, they are lowering a rowing boat. Put down the ladder.” I returned the binoculars. “Then let us go and meet them.”

  It was only at times like this, when there was something that approached official business, that I realized how alone I was. This was not necessarily a bad thing; for most of my existence I had been alone by choice and in many ways I preferred it. Friends can be a thorny problem for a vampire, or for any species with a long lifespan—in the end, they all leave you.

  It may have been in the back of my head when I formed the Coalition that, since we were all vampires together, there would be better opportunities for making friends who would not die so precipitately. But it had not happened that way. Perhaps it was because I was the boss, perhaps it was because I showed less enthusiasm for certain indoor sports and other debauchery that was the main preoccupation of my fellows, or perhaps it was simply that I radiated an aura of wanting to be alone. It was probably that last one.

  In general, it did not bother me, but at times like this it was hard not to let my mind stray back to more convivial times. If a visiting dignitary had arrived at Kinloch Kirk, back when it was the seat of the Underworld’s ruling queen, then the whole council would have been there to meet them. Queen Jolie and her husband, Randall the Dull, the Fae Mathilda, the witch Mercedes, Odran the Fae King, werewolves, vampires, elementals and so on. But in the fleet, there was only me.

  First up the ladder that had been put down over the side were a pair of vampires whose every movement screamed ‘bodyguards’. One was male, the other female but they had a similarity about them that suggested sibling, possibly even twins. Clad in ankle-length leather, like a pair of walking stereotypes, they stood to either side of the ladder, glancing furtively from side to side, alert to any possible danger. The next face I saw, coming up over the liner’s rail, was one I identified with the flag, but one I had not expected to ever see again.

  “Laucian,” I breathed, surprised all the way to my marrow.

  “Sinjin.”

  Laucian’s voice was deep and rolling, with a hint of non-specific eastern European to the accent. He was tall and handsome, dark-haired and pale skinned, his eyes red rimmed and so dark, they were almost black. He wore an impeccably tailored suit that had last been fashionable during the reign of Queen Victoria, with an opera cape draped over it, and had a flamboyant cravat of blood red at his throat.

  “I thought you were dead.”

  Perhaps not the friendliest welcome I could have picked, but I was genuinely surprised to see him. I was also surprised to find that I was glad to see him. Laucian and I had never been, as they say, simpatico. His version of vampirism was not so much old school as old fashioned; he still dwelt in the castle he had inherited from the vampire who had turned him, centuries since. He favored virginal young ladies on which to feed, preferably dressed in low cut, billowing night dresses. He believed in the dignity of vampirism. All of which should explain why he also disliked me.

  I suppose you could say I was the nouveau riche to his establishe
d gentility.

  But he was a Master Vampire, and the relief I felt in discovering I was not the only one, took me quite unawares.

  “Rumors of my death,” Laucian gave a light wave of his hand, “etc, etc. Word got about and it suited me for people to believe it. Times have been…”

  He trailed off, but I nodded in understanding. I knew as well as anyone what times had been. While Laucian had not been a natural subject of the Underworld—seeing vampires as something apart from the other races—he had recognized the job Jolie had done in bringing peace, and he was in favor of it. To Laucian, vampires were not a war-like people, we did not care for power or profit, and fighting for such was crass. It was easy for someone like him, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, to believe such things, but they were laudable beliefs, none the less.

  “Why are you revealing yourself now?” I asked. “Have you grown bored with that odious cave of yours you call a castle? Perhaps you have decided to join contemporary society?”

  Laucian glared at me. He was quite good at glaring.

  “For one thing, I was curious to see this ‘Vampire Coalition’ of yours.” I could actually hear the inverted commas he placed around the name.

  “I trust it meets with your complete disapproval.”

  He gave a little shrug. “I have only hearsay by which to judge. But if half of what I hear is true, then it sounds like a disgusting degradation of everything our once noble species stood for.”

  “Oh, bother,” I said and sighed. I had hoped not to find myself in a squabble with a disagreeable creature, but the situation was what it was. “I imagine all you have heard is true and yet you have not heard the half of it. Would you like the tour? I do not imagine we shall have to look far to find some degradation for which you can disapprove.”