Chapter 33~~Wild Spirit, Destroyer & Preserver
Chapter 33~~ Wherein, our hero draws upon his past to preserve his own and Lord William's life.
Wild Spirit, Destroyer, and Preserver
Wellesley taught his soldiers well during the Peninsular War-there is no shame in a strategic retreat. Outnumbered, out gunned--find a way out, go quickly then rally a fierce counter-attack.
Xander did exactly that, blocking the door, skinning out the window and down a trellis to the courtyard below and headed for the barns.
The stables, though, were ablaze with light and the ominous silhouette of the Watcher was outlined in the doorway.
Apparently Lady Darla had made good on her threats and was even now preparing her own retreat to Paris. Smoke’s fleet-footed aid was lost to him, leaving him with only his own wits to save him. Few places would give him refuge, the closest being his cousin’s vicarage.
The moon hung white and full amidst roiling dark clouds and thick snowflakes blew past him in the darkness. A snowstorm before dawn would help to cover his tracks, he prayed. The frost-covered ground shone in the pale moonlight, revealing the path through the woods. He glanced once back at the dark house. He was of no help to William, weak and mortal, as a hostage in that damnable place. He drew in a breath and rallied his spirits. Counter-attack. I need someone who knows what they are and is willing to risk everything against Angelus. There was only one person he could think of---Mr. Giles.
He trotted through the silent woods, deeper into the gloom, stopping occasionally to listen for pursuit. Deep in the scrub, a hare squealed in fear while a fox yipped in triumph. Xander shivered in commiseration and loped faster down the path.
“Less than a mile or so to go. Watch your step and listen,” his muttered thoughts accompanied his swift, silent passage into the night-dark forest. He paused in a small clearing, certain he’d heard a dog howling somewhere nearby. Vampires don’t need tracking dogs, but that dammed watcher might. It howled again, closer.
He stepped up his pace, wading upstream through the freezing water of a little brook hoping to divert the pursuing beasts. Coursing me like a bloody fox, he thought, setting their hounds on me. I survived the march to Corunna…the guerillas… the bloody French…I can do this. I’m close now… Just a bit further and then…
He stepped back onto the shore and turned toward the path again, but a sudden clatter in the bushes startled him. Xander turned, but instead ran directly into Wesley Wyndam-Price. His skull bloomed with a sudden pain and he heard a chuckling laugh as his face met the ground.
“Not so clever, are now ya soldier-boy.”
Blackness overtook him as the grinning Watcher stooped to slam his musket-stock into Xander’s skull again.
Some time had passed, when he awoke to find himself trussed like a Sunday roast, propped against a tree in the clearing. His feet slid in the muddy ground while he scrambled to regain his footing and free his hands, but Wyndam-Price had been clever and the knots were far too tight. The Watcher stood in the clearing, staring into the blackness, waiting patiently.
The moonlight outlined an eerie figure on the other side of the clearing. A dark woman draped in a diaphanous robe seemed to float ghostlike across the uneven ground, her eyes glittering with madness. Xander knew he was facing his death and raised his chin defiantly as Drusilla began to sing a lullaby.
I left my darling lying here,
A lying here, a lying here,
She drew nearer, her golden eyes drawing him in relentlessly as her icy hands wove an eccentric design in the air. He felt as though he were floating, listening to her as though from a far distance, snared in a blissful dream.
I left my darling lying here,
To go and gather blackberries.
He surrendered to her inexorable advance, his body lax in the binding rope.
I found the trail of the mountain mist,
The mountain mist, the mountain mist
I found the trail of the mountain mist,
But ne'er a trace of baby, O!
Drusilla sang, soft and soothing, “You stole away my sweetheart…my promised one…my own true knight. And not a trace of him is left for me. Your eyes have seen the future, soldier, but your path lies empty as the grave.”
She drew close; close enough that Xander could feel her cold, cold hands as they caressed his throat. “Sweet, sweet William belongs to me and ne’er shall he leave me, ever, even in death.”
She brought her sharp nail along his throat, drawing a black line of blood with it, “Soldier, traveler, wanderer along the dark paths, “ she crooned, licking the blood from her nails.
She pulled away, considering him for a moment, “You’re ill, poor boy. Dying by inches. Someone else has stolen away your spirit---someone who doesn’t belong here.” Drusilla tilted her head and peered into his bewildered eyes.
He stared at her dumbly, unable to comprehend anything beyond his own inescapable doom, his head pounding with pain as he struggled to stay conscious.
.
As though from some remote distance, he heard Wyndam-Price’s musket blast and a colossal roar followed by with an inhuman shriek.
Drusilla leapt to her feet with a gasping scream and turned, allowing Xander’s stupefied eyes to witness a great shaggy creature slashing the hapless Wyndam-Price to pieces. The vampire screamed in rage and attempted to pull the beast from her minion, but his blood sprayed in red gouts from the wounds inflicted by the beast.
It leapt for her throat as well, rending her gauzy robes to shreds and clawing her white flesh to bloody ribbons. She screamed again and fled, leaving her Watcher dying in the pale moonlight.
Xander was ill with horror and fresh waves of pain nearly blinded him.
The vast furry head turned and stared at him, its eyes as bloody red as the froth on its dripping jaws. It rose from its haunches and shambled toward him, giving Xander only a bare second to offer up a prayer for a quick death.
It loomed over him, then sank to its haunches like an immense dog and cocked its head inquisitively, ears twitching nervously and long red tongue lolling from the cavern of its mouth. The beast inhaled deeply, snuffling his hair and running a long wet tongue over his bloodied throat and Xander passed, at last, into the healing darkness.
Previous chapters: spander
Wild Spirit, Destroyer, and Preserver
Wellesley taught his soldiers well during the Peninsular War-there is no shame in a strategic retreat. Outnumbered, out gunned--find a way out, go quickly then rally a fierce counter-attack.
Xander did exactly that, blocking the door, skinning out the window and down a trellis to the courtyard below and headed for the barns.
The stables, though, were ablaze with light and the ominous silhouette of the Watcher was outlined in the doorway.
Apparently Lady Darla had made good on her threats and was even now preparing her own retreat to Paris. Smoke’s fleet-footed aid was lost to him, leaving him with only his own wits to save him. Few places would give him refuge, the closest being his cousin’s vicarage.
The moon hung white and full amidst roiling dark clouds and thick snowflakes blew past him in the darkness. A snowstorm before dawn would help to cover his tracks, he prayed. The frost-covered ground shone in the pale moonlight, revealing the path through the woods. He glanced once back at the dark house. He was of no help to William, weak and mortal, as a hostage in that damnable place. He drew in a breath and rallied his spirits. Counter-attack. I need someone who knows what they are and is willing to risk everything against Angelus. There was only one person he could think of---Mr. Giles.
He trotted through the silent woods, deeper into the gloom, stopping occasionally to listen for pursuit. Deep in the scrub, a hare squealed in fear while a fox yipped in triumph. Xander shivered in commiseration and loped faster down the path.
“Less than a mile or so to go. Watch your step and listen,” his muttered thoughts accompanied his swift, silent passage into the night-dark forest. He paused in a small clearing, certain he’d heard a dog howling somewhere nearby. Vampires don’t need tracking dogs, but that dammed watcher might. It howled again, closer.
He stepped up his pace, wading upstream through the freezing water of a little brook hoping to divert the pursuing beasts. Coursing me like a bloody fox, he thought, setting their hounds on me. I survived the march to Corunna…the guerillas… the bloody French…I can do this. I’m close now… Just a bit further and then…
He stepped back onto the shore and turned toward the path again, but a sudden clatter in the bushes startled him. Xander turned, but instead ran directly into Wesley Wyndam-Price. His skull bloomed with a sudden pain and he heard a chuckling laugh as his face met the ground.
“Not so clever, are now ya soldier-boy.”
Blackness overtook him as the grinning Watcher stooped to slam his musket-stock into Xander’s skull again.
Some time had passed, when he awoke to find himself trussed like a Sunday roast, propped against a tree in the clearing. His feet slid in the muddy ground while he scrambled to regain his footing and free his hands, but Wyndam-Price had been clever and the knots were far too tight. The Watcher stood in the clearing, staring into the blackness, waiting patiently.
The moonlight outlined an eerie figure on the other side of the clearing. A dark woman draped in a diaphanous robe seemed to float ghostlike across the uneven ground, her eyes glittering with madness. Xander knew he was facing his death and raised his chin defiantly as Drusilla began to sing a lullaby.
I left my darling lying here,
A lying here, a lying here,
She drew nearer, her golden eyes drawing him in relentlessly as her icy hands wove an eccentric design in the air. He felt as though he were floating, listening to her as though from a far distance, snared in a blissful dream.
I left my darling lying here,
To go and gather blackberries.
He surrendered to her inexorable advance, his body lax in the binding rope.
I found the trail of the mountain mist,
The mountain mist, the mountain mist
I found the trail of the mountain mist,
But ne'er a trace of baby, O!
Drusilla sang, soft and soothing, “You stole away my sweetheart…my promised one…my own true knight. And not a trace of him is left for me. Your eyes have seen the future, soldier, but your path lies empty as the grave.”
She drew close; close enough that Xander could feel her cold, cold hands as they caressed his throat. “Sweet, sweet William belongs to me and ne’er shall he leave me, ever, even in death.”
She brought her sharp nail along his throat, drawing a black line of blood with it, “Soldier, traveler, wanderer along the dark paths, “ she crooned, licking the blood from her nails.
She pulled away, considering him for a moment, “You’re ill, poor boy. Dying by inches. Someone else has stolen away your spirit---someone who doesn’t belong here.” Drusilla tilted her head and peered into his bewildered eyes.
He stared at her dumbly, unable to comprehend anything beyond his own inescapable doom, his head pounding with pain as he struggled to stay conscious.
.
As though from some remote distance, he heard Wyndam-Price’s musket blast and a colossal roar followed by with an inhuman shriek.
Drusilla leapt to her feet with a gasping scream and turned, allowing Xander’s stupefied eyes to witness a great shaggy creature slashing the hapless Wyndam-Price to pieces. The vampire screamed in rage and attempted to pull the beast from her minion, but his blood sprayed in red gouts from the wounds inflicted by the beast.
It leapt for her throat as well, rending her gauzy robes to shreds and clawing her white flesh to bloody ribbons. She screamed again and fled, leaving her Watcher dying in the pale moonlight.
Xander was ill with horror and fresh waves of pain nearly blinded him.
The vast furry head turned and stared at him, its eyes as bloody red as the froth on its dripping jaws. It rose from its haunches and shambled toward him, giving Xander only a bare second to offer up a prayer for a quick death.
It loomed over him, then sank to its haunches like an immense dog and cocked its head inquisitively, ears twitching nervously and long red tongue lolling from the cavern of its mouth. The beast inhaled deeply, snuffling his hair and running a long wet tongue over his bloodied throat and Xander passed, at last, into the healing darkness.
Previous chapters: spander