The Dragon's Blood (Part 37)
In which Brian Wylde makes a move...
37
Michael Bishop’s house was up a hill. It was the original building in Roanoke, housing both Bishop and John White himself during the initial settlement. It was situated higher than all others and was the only building in all the colony that could be seen from anywhere on it.
Bishop himself rarely came out. He maintained near constant communion with his Lord and master, the creature all others called Cocheta. He only ventured out to feed and to pass along instructions to his lieutenants, namely Wylde and Viccars.
Wylde had lieutenants of his own, Thomas Phevens and Henry Rufoote, large brutish warriors, thugs in his employ since long before their transformations. They stood a few paces back from Wylde when Bishop opened the door to his home.
“What is it, Wylde? Our master wishes not to be disturbed.” He told the haggard looking Vampyr.
Wylde sneered and wasted no time.
“He would be wise to listen to me now, Governor, there is news. Let me in and I will tell him.”
It had been quite some time since Bishop had allowed another into his home. Not since the Cocheta’s arrival and there was good reason for that.
“No,” he shook his bearded head. “Absolutely not, Wylde. How many times must I illustrate this for you? The Cocheta wishes to commune with I and I alone. None have been allowed to enter here since his arrival. You know this more than any other.”
Wylde had been expecting that, his grinned widened nonetheless, his manic eyeballs reflecting the silver moon’s light. He looked like a wolf ready to pounce.
Bishop forgot himself and took a step back and away, cursing immediately afterward. That had been foolish.
“Why, Governor Bishop?” Wylde, ever the opportunist, picked up on the weakness and like the wolf he was he did pounce. “Do you worry that your position be so flimsy that you may lose it with but a few words from me?”
As if by cue, his two henchmen took a few steps forward, flanking him threateningly.
“Let me in, old man. This is something the Cocheta should hear from the mouth of one who was there.”
Before Bishop could reply, before he could tear the head off the impudent little fool, the ground shook and the voice of their master spoke to him through it, drowning his outrage with all encompassing fear. He worshipped their master, held immense gratitude for the gift he’d given them, but neither gratitude nor love was the prime connection he shared with the Cocheta. What he truly felt for him was fear.
And now Brian Wylde and his two friends would understand that. Now they, like himself, would understand the true meaning of that word.
And so instead of the violence he’d been about to visit on the trio of idiots, Michael Bishop only smiled, flashing his fangs beneath his wild gray beard and stepped out of the way.
He did take some pleasure at seeing Wylde’s feverish eyes darting this way and that at what they’d all felt and heard.
“Count yourselves fortunate then, Brian Wylde. For you are the first to be granted audience with our master since his arrival in Roanoke.”
They entered slowly and cautiously now, all three of them, their bluster forgotten.
End Part 37
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