Of Scallywags and Sorcery

An Invitation and An Incapacitation

***

I pull Queen Cleopatra out of a flying boulder's path and away from a collapsing column. She smoothes her tunic, looking out at her night-soaked kingdom.

Famine and Pestilence torment the land, withering crops, drowning the people in disease.

The servants at the hall's entrance collapse, hacking as sores scatter across their bodies, shrieking as the pustules burst. Pestilence gallops past them on his white horse, his sickening green cloak billowing behind him.

The fruits on the silver trays grow mouldy as Famine and his black steed canter by, as silent and deadly as Pestilence.

War laughs as he chucks boulders with his bare hands, striking down several people with one. Their injuries rip screams from their throats, but they don't die.

Until they do.

The night darkens. The fruits disintegrate. So do Pestilence's victims at the front of the hall.

Death brushes past me, dark enough to be lost in the night, cold enough to raise goosebumps along my arms.

The Four Horsemen are here, but my saviours aren't, and I'm out of options.

I drag Queen Cleopatra behind me. We crouch behind a table toppled by War's aim and stare out at the battlefield that is the banquet hall.

I bite my lip. I should be stopping this, but those I requested help from have ignored me.

Who can blame them? Why would immortal, powerful beings like them respond to the pleas of a pirate queen who is secretly a teenager from another time?

I curse myself. I had options, and I chose wrong.

Pestilence sees me cowering behind the table. He turns his horse in my and Queen Cleopatra's direction. My heart jumps into my throat at the sight of the painful, poisonous death staring me down.

Three corners of the night tear away, fluttering to the ground.
Three bats for the three requests for help I sent this morning.

The Horsemen turn in the direction of the newcomers.

The first bat elongates into a slender, elegant woman. Her blonde hair is as pale as the moon. She wears an evening dress and stilettos to battle, as ferocious as the dagger she twirls in her bony fingers.

"Carmilla," I gasp.

The second bat widens into a man with close-cropped black hair and shoulders spanning between two columns. A longsword dangles from his hand. The blade's width and the handle's ornate filigree make it look heavy, but he carries it with ease.

"Lord Ruthven," I murmur.

The last bat swells into a man with dark hair falling to his chin. His black clothing hides him in the night, but his white skin separates him from it. He smoothes his red velvet cloak.

"Dracula," I breathe.

I invited the vampires because they're the world's best chance of defeating the Four Horsemen, but I wasn't prepared for their raw power to render me speechless.

Carmilla smiles at Lord Ruthven. "Tell Vlad I hope he's well."

Dracula scowls. "Tell Carmilla I hope she is not."

Carmilla's deep, rumbling laugh prickles at my skin. "It was just one town that I annexed years ago. You can't still be angry."

Dracula snarls at her, but Lord Ruthven holds them apart.

"Look at you, fighting like fledglings. We came here to eliminate the Horsemen because they threaten our world. Leave this petty squabble for another time."

Dracula glares at Carmilla. She smiles. He might've attacked her if it wasn't for Lord Ruthven holding them apart, and the Horseman who steps forward.

His eyes blaze red. His whole being is black, his skin fluttering about his body like fabric from a skeleton.

Maybe that's what Death is, just an ivory frame. Maybe that's why he's immune to the terrible gift he bestows upon others. He's as dead as the power flowing from him.

Carmilla grins, her teeth flashing in the night.

Four horsemen, three vampires. I'd say they're evenly matched, but I have been wrong before.

"Old friends," Carmilla hisses.

"Old foes," War bellows behind the silent, menacing Death, spurring his stallion forward.

Carmilla knocks the sword from his hand. She yanks him off his horse. Without the magnificent red beast, War quivers.

Carmilla is a vampire. She can smell blood, and worse, she can smell fear.

She presses her stiletto down. It passes through War's leather soldier's boots, impaling his foot. He screams as Carmilla withdraws her bloody heel. She smiles as she slices her silver dagger across his throat with beautiful, terrifying grace, and he melts into mist.

Famine and Pestilence exchange a nod and run at Lord Ruthven. From behind the fallen table, I watch the vampire dodge the arrows Pestilence fires and the scales Famine swings at him. His quick eyes study their forms and fighting styles.

He grips his sword with both hands and spins so quickly that my eyes can't follow him. I only see him stop as two torsos hit the ground while two sets of legs still straddle horses running in confused circles before they all dissolve into nothing.

I shudder as Dracula and Death face each other, both deathless, both deadly, both carrying the world's fate.

Dracula growls. With a swish of his cloak, he tackles Death from his pale horse. They fall to the ground, grappling. Death turns to black mist between Dracula's fingers and reforms a step away, cocking his head as he studies the vampire in his quiet way.

Dracula hisses. "You will never outmatch me, Death." He runs at Death faster than the Horseman can fade away. With his long, talon-like nails, he tears the Horseman into black ribbons that float in the air like smoke.

The vampires admire their handiwork. They exchange nods and disappear, leaving behind only the repercussions of their presence.

I know Death isn't dead. War will rise again. Famine and Pestilence may take time to reform, but they will return. Despite that knowledge, I close my eyes and drink in the sunlight as dawn splits ancient Egypt's sky for the first time in days.