Dark Ages Clan Novel 7꞉ Malkavian by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub
Published: 2013-05-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Anatole and Zoe received the messenger in the small yard outside the Crespin's cellar, soon after waking the night before the second debate. They recognized the Nosferatu—once he revealed himself—as Stephanos, one of Anatole’s acolytes from the refugee camp. He seemed agitated, traveling alone as he was, but he waited quietly for Anatole to speak first.

“What is it? ” the monk asked gently. “I thought you were still in the woods with the rest, Stephanos. ”

“Malachite has sent me, ” Stephanos replied, “to invite you to follow me to him. He has gone back through the city gates to the others, and he has news. He bid me tell you that he would have come in person, but time now presses in upon him more tightly than any tomb or coffin, or even the burning light of day. He has asked that we leave at once. ”

Anatole stood silent for a moment, watching the other squirm nervously, awaiting his reply. Doubtless Malachite would be displeased if they turned him down, but there was so much to do—so many to save—and so little time.

“It is that urgent? ” he asked at last.

“I fear that it is, ” Stephanos replied. “He has not stood still for an instant since rising, and there is—something—in his eyes. I cannot describe it. " He paused for a second, then added, “Will you come? ”

“Of course, ” Anatole said with a nod.

Zoe, who had watched this exchange in silence, was clearly surprised.

“We must hurry, then, " Stephanos said, turning. “I know you will want to return as soon as possible, and the sooner we arrive, the sooner Malachite will speak. ”

The three set off without further conversation, stepping into the city streets and moving quickly. As fast as they were, it would take time, and time was an enemy that even Anatole feared.

♦ * *

They met with more of Malachite’s followers before they reached his camp, and they were led quickly inward, passing several guards and bypassing threats and traps. Malachite was careful. He would not be taken unaware, and he and his followers had been in this camp for a while before Anatole’s arrival.

When they reached the center of the camp, they entered a large tent and found themselves on a stairway carved from the earth and shored up with stone, leading downward. It was the work of many nights, and there was a central chamber beneath, large enough for a good-sized gathering. In the center of the chamber was a squat wooden table, surrounded by rough-hewn seats, some that were logs with planks and branches crossing them, some that were discarded relics of Paris, or other cities along the road. It was not a meeting hall to rival those of Paris or Constantinople, but it would serve.

Malachite was there already, pacing as Stephanos had described. His movements were quick, filled with nervous energy. Anatole stepped around the table and spoke. “Something has happened. ”

“Many things have happened, ” Malachite replied, his gaze snapping up to meet the monk’s, then holding steady.

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