Mortality: The Story of Mortanius

Chapter Forty-Six

It took less than two days for the news of William’s death to spread all the way across Nosgoth. From the mountains in the north all the way to the coast in the south, from the small village to the largest city, it was the news on everyone’s lips. William, the young and noble ruler of the province of Winterheim, had been brutally slain by a vampire assassin.

Mortanius sent messages to the other Guardians, but it was Moebius that he most of all wanted to speak with. The twinge of psychic pain he felt on his trip back from the Lake of Tears had almost certainly come from Moebius. He had been convinced that William would be the first true King of Nosgoth. News of William’s death would be sure to hit him hard.

A huge memorial service was to be held in Winterheim, and the roads north were packed with pilgrims and dignitaries coming to pay their respects. Mortanius and Moebius were traveling separately, but they arranged to meet in a tavern in a small town called Delspire, about half a days’ carriage ride from Winterheim.

Moebius had never been a very emotional person, and he loathed public displays of affection, but when Mortanius met with him he wrapped his old friend in a solid embrace.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Moebius. This has been a shock to all of us.”

Moebius looked weary but otherwise okay. The spark in his eyes was still there, although perhaps dimmed somewhat. He patted Mortanius on the shoulder and directed him to a booth at the tavern. “Thank you. It’s been … a difficult few days. I’ve been communicating magically with Delvinius since … since William died. Winterheim is in chaos, as you might imagine.”

They both sat down and a waitress came over. Moebius ordered wine and food and brusquely waved the woman away.

“William had a sister, correct? Can she take the throne?” Mortanius asked.

“I suppose, but she’s never been involved in government affairs. Right now Delvinius is trying to organize the search for someone to take over, but it’s hopelessly complicated. There’s over twenty different family members making a claim, and other nobles already vying for control. I can already see Valmar licking his lips in anticipation.”

Mortanius rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “What a disaster for them. For everyone in Winterheim.” He sighed and finally built up the courage to ask what was on his mind. “And the assassin? They haven’t found any trace of him?”

“None at all.”

“Are they certain that it was a vampire?” Mortanius asked, still trying to make some kind of sense out of what had happened. “How could they know for sure?”

“Ask the witnesses,” Moebius said bitterly. “There are enough of them.”

“Witnesses?”

“It happened in the rear courtyard of Winterheim Castle, right after William had dinner with his family. At least twenty people saw the fight. They say it was a vampire and that’s enough evidence for me. The assassin’s skin was white like paper, they said. Some of them saw his fangs when he bared his teeth.”

Mortanius had trouble believing it. Not that a vampire was capable of cold-blooded murder, that was easy to believe. But why would they do it? Why would a vampire seek to murder William? He’d never done anything to invoke the anger of Vorador’s followers. As far as Mortanius knew, William had never even spoken negatively about vampires at all. Few of them chose to dwell in the north, and so they were less of a public threat than the provinces farther south.

It was absolutely insane that a vampire would assassinate a beloved leader like William. Vorador would have to know that such a killing would make the public rise against vampires, just as his murder of the Circle had done four centuries before. And to do it publicly, with witnesses all around, simply beggared belief.

“How the bastard got away, nobody has any idea,” Moebius said. “They chased him into the woods and tracked him to William’s riding fields, but they lost him. Even their hunting dogs couldn’t find a scent of the killer. It was as if he just vanished into thin air.”

“I’ve heard rumors that some vampires have strange powers. Maybe he did simply vanish. We never found a trace of Vorador either.”

“I don’t believe in rumors,” Moebius muttered. “He used magic to get away, that’s all it is. A flight spell or something like that.”

The waitress brought over two plates of steaming beef and gravy, and a young serving boy gave them a bottle of wine and two glasses. Mortanius poured drinks but neither of them touched their meal just yet.

“And no one has any idea why a vampire would target William?” he asked as he pushed the cork back into the bottle. “I mean, there has to be some reason. Unless it was some kind of personal vendetta, but I can’t see how that’s possible.”

“No, not personal. Not directly, at least.” Moebius sighed and took a drink. “There are some other … details that may shed light on the issue. But I’m not sure I like the conclusions.”

“What do you mean?”

Moebius looked around the tavern at the crowd, and then set his elbows on the table and spoke in a lower voice. “The assassin wielded a huge curved sword … that looked almost exactly like the one William had.”

“What?” Mortanius choked out.

“Witnesses said it was the same sword, down to the skull in the handle. When William tried to defend himself, the swords clashed and William’s sword shattered.”

Mortanius couldn’t even wrap his head around what Moebius was telling him. “Shattered? How could the sword shatter?”

“Like a piece of glass. It broke into several pieces. That’s what they said. Then the assassin slew William and ran off. He didn’t try to kill anyone else, not even the guards who went after him.”

“This makes no sense. It couldn’t be the same sword.”

“There must have been more than one. The one we found in the lake wasn’t the same one that Janos had. For all we know, the vampires made hundreds of them. Maybe they used them in their war against that other ancient race.”

“No, that can’t be.”

“Why not? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

It took all of Mortanius’s self-control not to stupidly blurt out what he knew of the hylden. So far, no one knew about the hylden except Mortanius and Azimuth. They hadn’t told any of the other Guardians yet. Mortanius wanted to, but Azimuth convinced him to keep the discovery between the two of them for a little while. But now Mortanius had the urge to tell Moebius everything, about Azimuth’s Dimensionscope, about their communication with the hylden, about the new murals at the vampire temple, all of it.

But it was too difficult of a subject, too hard for him to try to explain. Right now, the death of William was more important than what he and Azimuth had discovered. For now, it would remain a secret between them, but Mortanius knew he would have to tell Moebius about it eventually.

Shaking away his distraction, he said, “Do you think that the assassin was after the sword?”

“I gave it to him,” Moebius said, his voice tight. “I thought it was a weapon fit for a King. But somehow, Vorador found out about it. The sword must have had some special meaning, or maybe some significance we know nothing about. Vorador sent the assassin to kill William and destroy the sword. If I hadn’t given it to him ...”

Moebius put his hands over his eyes, and for a brief moment, Mortanius thought he was going to see Moebius cry, something that he had never seen before and didn’t believe possible. But after a few breaths, Moebius lowered his hands, and his eyes held no tears, only a cold, familiar rage.

“Vorador has preyed on mankind for a thousand years, but this time he’s gone too far,” he said, and he wasn’t really speaking to Mortanius anymore, he was just thinking out loud. “The people of Nosgoth won’t stand for this. Vorador doesn’t know what he’s unleashed. Nosgoth will rise up against the half-breeds like never before.”

“We thought that the last time,” Mortanius said carefully.

Moebius shook his head. “The Slaughter of the Circle was different. The Guardians are respected and honored, but we aren’t leaders or rulers. We’re just a group of powerful and mysterious wizards that the common people of Nosgoth know very little about. The Slaughter was a terrible crime, but many thought that we brought it upon ourselves by slaying Janos.”

Mortanius could not deny that was true. He had heard variations of that opinion many times over the years. “But William never did anything to the vampires,” he said.

Moebius raised his glass to his lips and took another drink. “William was innocent. He was beloved by his people. You saw it yourself, how they adored him. His death is a tragedy. Rulers all over Nosgoth view the assassination as a direct assault on their own sovereignty. If Vorador can have William assassinated, who might be next?”

“By the Pillars, this could turn into all-out war with the vampires.”

“Yes,” Moebius said, and there was an eagerness in his tone, a passion that hundreds of years had not dulled. “Yes, and this time, we’ll destroy them all.”

The tragic irony was not lost on Mortanius. Moebius had yearned for an opportunity to once again raise a crusade against the half-breeds, and now he had one. But it came at a cost that even Moebius would have been unwilling to pay. Was his dream of exterminating the half-breeds worth the life of a man such as William?

Mortanius looked down at his dinner. He didn’t have much of an appetite.

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