Strife Among Vampires

Before Louis could answer, a powerful current of air swept past him. A black hurricane lifted the vampire high into the air, then hurled him against the walnut-paneled wall. The wood shattered and caved in beneath the vampire's body. Almost at the same moment, before Amon could react, a sharp cane thrust toward his throat—the faintly gleaming silver tip pierced that pale throat, but the newcomer was slightly startled, for he had met almost no resistance when he struck. The illusion vanished before him in an instant. One hand still gripping the cane, half suspended in midair, he drew the rapier at his side with the other, just as it collided with Amon's claws.

"This is rather surprising," said Amon, who had somehow appeared hanging upside down from the ceiling. "You, too, have moments so lacking in grace."

The newcomer did not answer. He coldly withdrew his cane, and in the next instant, the two nonhumans began fighting swiftly within the king's bedchamber. Though the chamber was not small, both Amon and the stranger were lean figures over six feet tall, so it could almost be said that they fought one another around the king—not only with rapier and cane, but also with fangs and claws. The candles went out once more. Moonlight flickered in and out. Louis's eyes could not catch their forms at all; only during the occasional pauses could he tell which of them held the advantage. Though the newcomer had weapons in hand, the king could see that he was holding back considerably. He had not come to kill Amon or teach him a painful lesson, but merely to drive him away. Amon, however, was clearly more frenzied—or rather, once he began fighting, it was as if he could not control himself at all. His shadow surged and heaved, one after another, as though something wished to crawl out from within it.

Amon noticed it as well. He suddenly ceased all movement and allowed the cane to pierce his shoulder. Standing straight, he looked regretfully at Louis. "It seems we can only wait until our next meeting, Your Majesty," he said. He took a step back and raised both hands. With a bang, the heavy black iron-framed glass window flew inward. The cold night wind rushed in with the fog. Louis instinctively looked outside, and in that instant, Amon transformed into hundreds of tiny bats and flew out in a fluttering swarm.

The equally unfamiliar gentleman did not stop him. Only after Amon had vanished completely did he walk over and, like a human, shut the window with his own hands and light the candles. When their light illuminated the room, Louis discovered that it looked as though two elephants had wrestled there. More than one section of wall paneling had caved in, the wallpaper was torn, the furniture stood crooked, and glass lay shattered. The ornaments and clothes within had been flung out. The bedposts, together with the curtains, had collapsed dejectedly onto the bed, covering it with dust and debris just as the carpet was covered.

The sight left one speechless. Louis looked around. Only a clean circle about three feet in diameter remained around him. He truly did not know whether he ought to praise the nonhumans for their steady hands and keen eyes. "I suppose I should thank you, sir," the king said. "But I do not yet know your name."

"I would like to say that my name is of no importance," the gentleman said, "but I do not wish to deceive you. That would be disrespectful to you. I am Theoderic, Your Majesty, and the head of the Ventrue."

"Theoderic? That is not a common name," Louis said slowly. "It once belonged to a king."

"If you are asking whether I once wore a crown." Theoderic, head of the Ventrue—a vampire—said, "Yes. I was indeed once a king."

"But I have heard that the inner world and the outer world are separate," Louis said. "Has someone lied to me, or is there another reason?"

Theoderic took two steps forward. He wore a black coat like that of a grave and solemn minister, and his handsome face bore a trace of gloom.

Theoderic had once been a king of the Merovingian Dynasty, the first dynasty of the Frankish Kingdom. It was precisely because of this that he had always retained a faint, intangible connection to the French royal house. For some reason, Louis felt that his eyes held a measure of appraisal. "Your Majesty, first of all," he explained, "this law, even if only unwritten, can be traced back only to around the tenth century. Yet even if it were written upon parchment, printed on wooden boards, or etched into bronze plates, there would always be rebels in the inner world who disregarded the law. You may know that King John Lackland of England was turned into a werewolf in 1216—and the relationship between the inner world and the outer world is not stable either... I mean..."

"I think I understand what you mean," Louis said. He knew a joke had long circulated in Paris: during the reign of Louis XIII, some ministers, unable to endure the king's harshness, complained to Cardinal Richelieu. Richelieu bluntly replied that they could bully him back once the king was young.

Clearly, the inner world and the outer world were the same. When royal power in the outer world was strong, the inner world would lie low and obey its so-called laws. But if royal power in the outer world grew weak, then the nonhumans of the inner world would likewise reveal their ambitions. Still, considering that Charles I, king of England, had already been beheaded by a mob, Louis was not all that surprised.

"Then what have you come here for?" Louis asked. He did not believe that the head of the Ventrue had merely happened to pass by and suddenly felt inclined to perform a good deed.

"The ideals of the Ventrue and the Tzimisce differ," Theoderic said. "They crave chaos, while the Ventrue require order."

The answer drew an indescribable smile from the king. "I fear you will be disappointed," he said. "Paris's peace will soon cease to exist."

Louis's prediction was swiftly fulfilled.

After Prince of Condé, Conti, and the Duke of Longueville were arrested, Queen Mother Anne issued expulsion orders to Prince of Condé's mother, wife, and sister, the Duchess of Longueville, exiling them from Paris. But Prince of Condé's mother, the old lady, not only defiantly refused to leave Paris, but also submitted a petition to the High Court under the escort of a group of soldiers—the contents need not be described. Prince of Condé's wife and sister swiftly fled to Bordeaux, where Duke of La Rochefoucauld and Duke of Bouillon received them. It was said that the moment they saw the two noble ladies, they began shouting slogans against the royal family and invited the princess and duchess to shout along with them.

And on the streets of Paris, processions of rioters once again filled the streets and alleys. The citizens shouted, demanding the immediate release of Prince of Condé, Conti, and the Duke of Longueville.