Chapter 1669: Blood Harvest (Part One)

"Since I can consider even a Great Witch as a candidate, there may be a more perfect option to choose..."

Shubnalu’s words formed a sharp, icy crystal in Answaen’s heart, but she nodded her acceptance anyway. Whatever conclusion he’d arrived at, whichever of the Great Witches he felt might be worthy of a place in his Preserve, the decision had nothing to do with her. It was already enough that she had a place at his side for eternity.

Over the centuries, her Master’s Preserve had expanded several times, and at times, things he’d chosen to Preserve were lost as they revealed their hidden flaws and succumbed to the ravages of time. She, however, was still here, and she would remain that way until time itself ended or her Master left this world behind for whatever awaited beyond the edge of the Abyss.

"When you leave," Shubnalu continued as he started mixing a dark green with earthy brown, roughing in the shapes of trees on the steep hills he’d painted. "Send word to Satyrus to await me in Thousand Spires. Domnola should await me at the Tangled Tower, and Ishme should await me at Crystal Lake."

"You intend to walk the world again, Master?" Answaen said, unable to suppress a surge of pale blue surprise from rippling across her horn or creeping into her voice. "Forgive me, Master," she added quickly. "It, it’s been some time since you last left home."

"A century or so," Shubnalu acknowledged. "Long enough, it seems, for weeds to grow where they shouldn’t, and rot to spread beyond its limits. You needn’t concern yourself with my movements," he chided as his brush returned to the reds, oranges and yellows.

"Only concern yourself with results," the Fangs of Death commanded. "Little Nyrielle and her pet witches must be brought here within a year, and the Vale of Mists must fall," he said. "I’ll handle the Emperor and the rest of the matters to the south myself."

"Master, there’s no sign that Makya has broken the accord," Answaen said. "His domain hasn’t extended beyond the Thousand Spires. He’s made no move to bring clans or nations under his sway beyond the borders you drew for him. Why trouble him now? Within a decade or two, three at most, time alone should remove him from the world and a new Emperor will rise in his place..."

"I left something useful in his care," Shubnalu said, as though it explained the strangeness of his intentions. "The time has come to make use of it. If he cooperates, he can sit upon his throne of stone until time takes him. And if he doesn’t. Then Satyrus can take his place in the Thousand Spires."

"Either way, I’ll have what I require," he concluded as his brush began to dance among the trees, spreading brilliant yellow, ruddy orange, and deep crimson flames among the trees he’d painted.

A world on fire.

"Bring in Hamdi," Shubnalu said, glancing only briefly in the direction of the pine box outside his studio. "I would have a few words with him."

"He may require your aid to speak," Answaen warned as she turned to retrieve the pine box from the corridor.

The chains wrapped around the box fell to the floor with a heavy -CLANK- as Answaen removed the block of eternal ice she’d used to secure the lock. The metal of the lock itself shattered with a high-pitched -CLINK- as she tapped it with the tip of a claw, releasing the box’s prisoner for the first time since Nyrielle had condemned him to lie at the top of the Tangled Tower, exposed to wind and rain and sun as the wood warped and gaps appeared between the planks.

Hamdi himself was a pathetic remnant of the powerful lupine vampire he’d once been. Much of his black fur had been burned away, and his flesh was covered with both old and new burns. In many places, brilliant white bone peeked out from tormented, burned flesh. The muscles that had once rippled with strength beneath his skin had withered away to nearly nothing, leaving him looking like a sack of scorched skin stretched over sharp bones.

The Conquest Rings that Hamdi wore in his ears, each one commemorating a triumph over another Eldritch Lord or High Lord, made a mockery of his current state, serving only to emphasize how far the mighty High Lord of the Tangled Tower had fallen.

"Little Nyrielle did this to him?" Shubnalu said, circling around the barely breathing vampire, evaluating the ruins of his flesh the same way he would have once evaluated Nyrielle’s paintings.

"Is she putting on an act of anger for her progeny, or trying to send a message to the rest of Bardas’s line?" he wondered as he reached out to prod one of the more painful-looking wounds across Hamdi’s chest with a finger.

"No matter," Shubnalu said as he raised his right hand, pressing it to Hamdi’s chest. At the moment, Answaen’s master wore only a few of his jewels, but the silvery rings on his fingers were studded with more than a dozen crimson crystals, each one refined from the blood of those Shubnalu considered powerful enough to preserve, and one of those crystals glowed a brilliant crimson as the ancient vampire drew on its power.

"Sanguine Restoration," Shubnalu said softly as he allowed the rich, concentrated energy of blood he’d harvested long ago to spill into Hamdi’s chest.

The burns faded away first as the Fangs of Death stimulated Hamdi’s own ability to heal, providing the rich, nourishing energy he’d been denied for the long months that he’d been sealed away. Soon, the lupine vampire began to resemble a starved, shaved dog with patches of fur here and there that looked like they’d been missed by a groomer’s shears.

If he’d wished to, Shubnalu could have kept going, spending more and more of the energy he’d spent centuries collecting in order to restore Hamdi to the powerful predator he’d once been, but the instant he saw motion behind the lids of Hamdi’s eyes, he stopped, withdrawing his hand and the power that flowed from his rings.

"Hello, Hamdi," Shubnalu said as the High Lord’s golden eyes opened for the first time in months. "I have questions for you..."