Rift Walker, The (Vampire Empire, Book 2)

by Clay Griffith

  Anhalt said, “He is the right hand of Merikani Clark.”

  Several of the Dyula turned their heads to look intently at the American for the first time. There was some relieved laughter and friendly smiles, and their worry suddenly turned to confidence and expectation. Stoddard didn't speak, but he felt a sense of pride that his commander's name carried such weight, even out here. He hoped to live up to their expectations.

  A loud jangling of bells filled the air, and the soldiers turned to see several Dyula leading horses. Arabians. Stoddard gasped at the beauty of the animals with their muscles twitching, their heads up and eyes bright. Blacks. Greys. He slid from the camel awkwardly without waiting for the beast to lower itself to his knees.

  “These animals are magnificent.”

  Askiya laughed at Stoddard's awe. “You ride, Merikani?”

  “I do.” The American stared at the horses as the archers mounted. A Dyula handed him the reins of a dappled grey stallion. “I trained with cavalry.”

  Askiya outlined the plan. He believed he knew where the vampires were hidden; he had seen this type of landscape many times. Rocky outcroppings straddled the caravan route where the creatures liked to shelter. The footmen, with Askiya in command, would move in, hoping to lure the vampires into the open. Failing that, they would find the creatures' pits and dig them out. Then the mounted archers would charge down to support the fight. Any creatures that tried to float away or attack the caravan would be picked off by the long guns.

  That was the plan, at least. With vampires, there were countless things that could go wrong. The humans had no idea how many of the creatures were hidden in the rocks. They had no idea how hungry and desperate the things were. Plus, it was cold and dark, the two elements where vampires thrived.

  Askiya gave a sharp whistle and his units moved out. Stoddard saluted Anhalt as he wheeled his mount and cantered off with the horsemen. The Gurkha fell in with the praying Dyula footmen trotting down the trail toward the rock formations. He drew his Fahrenheit saber and wished he knew a prayer to say, but he had never learned one.

  Fifty yards from the rock face, Askiya halted to study the terrain. He conferred with several of his men with much pointing and gesturing. Then he returned to Anhalt's side.

  “I see five holes that would suit them, Monsieur Colonel.”

  “So only five vampires?”

  “No. Five holes. Could be many inside the holes. And there could be more dwellings besides the five. I've never seen more than twenty in a nest like this. But who can say this time?” The Dyula eyed the Fahrenheit blade with a grunt of approval. “Nice sword. Don't die, Monsieur, okay?”

  “I'll do my best.”

  Whispering prayers, the Dyula footmen moved into the nest. Axemen went straight for the holes that were surrounded by sand piles. One man took up a position by each hole as the other warriors waited nearby with weapons in hand. When Askiya snapped his fingers, the men plunged axes into the narrow pits. They jabbed deep into the ground, twisting the long-handled cleavers with great effort.

  One man shouted and started to pull back on his axe when he was yanked to the ground, and his head and shoulders sank into the soft sand. Dyula fighters raced to his side and seized his waist, dragging him out in a rush of sand, a ghostly white figure clutching his head. Multiple axes crashed onto the vampire, slicing flesh and breaking bones. The creature hissed and fought even as it was being dismembered.

  Anhalt heard noise at his feet. Pale arms reached from the sandy ground. He struck the vampire a deep blow into the shoulder with his glowing saber, cutting through the breastbone and into the rib cage, leaving scorched flesh behind thanks to the chemical burn of the Fahrenheit blade. He fired his revolver into the thing's gnashing teeth, and several deadly Dyula axes sliced past him to shatter the creature into bloody bits.

  The warriors turned in slow circles, waiting for more djinn. The men who were probing the pits with their axes continued to dig. Minutes passed with no response. Weapons went to shoulders and prayers ceased. Only Askiya continued his low chant, searching the ground with unsure eyes. This was wrong. There couldn't be only two.

  In the distance, Major Stoddard slapped the neck of his stallion. A cold wind ruffled the horse's mane. He scanned the sky for telltale blue shadows passing in front of the stars.

  “Keep your eyes down, Merikani,” instructed one of his companions astride a jet-black steed. “Djinns come from the ground.”

  Stoddard's gaze dropped. He heard a scream and a pistol shot in the night. All the horsemen tightened their fingers on the reins, waiting for the general eruption of battle—their cue to charge into the fray some three hundred yards away. Then there was quiet. Some of the riders murmured to each other with relieved laughter. An easy fight this time.

  Then Stoddard saw numerous blue figures rising from the ground, the sand pouring off them. They weren't inside the rock nest at all, but in the open desert. And they were preparing to take Askiya's men unaware.

  Stoddard drew his saber in a metallic song. “Follow me! Charge!”

  The other horsemen were surprised by the Merikani, but kicked their mounts into a gallop. Soon, they too could see the enemy in the open desert, silhouetted against the dark desert skyline. Nearly twenty djinns crouched there, some already rushing for the footmen, others turning toward the onrushing cavalry. The Dyula shouted loud prayers and sent up silent arrows. The shafts tore into bodies, wrenching screams of pain from typically stoic vampires. Stoddard slammed his mount into several vampires and began slashing with his sword.

  The horsemen galloped through the mob of djinns, turning in their saddles to keep up a murderous rate of fire even as they passed. Arrows punched the slim creatures and spun them in circles, knocking them to the sandy ground. When they rose, another arrow would knock them over again. A few of the things managed to rise into the air.

  Stoddard wheeled his mount with his knees, slashing and firing at the ghouls around him. He felt pressure on his right thigh and saw a vampire pincushioned with arrows clinging to his leg. Stoddard shot the creature in the snarling face. Then a body slammed against him and he lost one of his stirrups. His horse reared and the American cartwheeled hard to the ground.

  Stoddard scrambled to his feet, swinging his saber. He heard the pop of a gunshot and something tumbled past him. A figure appeared, holding a glowing beam of red. Anhalt. They stood back-to-back, watching the vampires circle. Askiya leapt toward them, swinging his battle-ax through the trunk of a djinn and coming to rest on one knee.

  Askiya ran the palm of his hand along the blade of his axe, leaving a bloody gash. He placed the hand to his mouth for a few seconds, then sprayed bloody spittle high into the air. The creatures all turned to face them, swaying and snapping. The three humans raised their weapons for the assault.

  In the desert beyond the snarling mob, Anhalt saw the rest of the foot soldiers trotting slowing toward them. “Your fellows seem to be taking their time.”

  Askiya said, “They don't want to be here for this.”

  “For what?”

  Stoddard shouted, “For this!”

  The three men felt the ground shudder, and suddenly they were helpless among a thundering charge. They felt the rush and power of horses pounding past, hooves exploding sand into the air. All the ghouls disappeared under the dark wave of horseflesh.

  When the torrent of beasts passed, Askiya yelled a war cry and sprang to dispatch the crumpled vampires struggling to rise. With axes flashing, the footmen raced to the fray. Anhalt checked above, but saw the archers were already raking the few vampires who were floating away. Stoddard slashed and shot, kicking battered vampires to the ground and executing them.

  Finally, when the battle was done, Askiya's men gathered, crushed, and hacked djinns. While many of the creatures were still alive, they were too damaged to fight. The Dyulas dismembered every ghoul until they were irretrievably dead.

  It seemed an easy enough fight until Anhalt counted. Seventeen
vampires dead and perhaps three escaped. Eleven humans were dead, and out of forty Dyula mercenaries equipped with weapons and horses, many were wounded. Seeing again the danger of vampires, even these nearly feral types, reminded Anhalt how difficult this coming war would be. So many men would be lost.

  Anhalt found Stoddard back at the caravan, applying a field dressing to his leg. “Well done, Major. Most impressive horsemanship.”

  Stoddard smiled sheepishly. “Right up to the point I was dismounted. By all rights, I should be dead.”

  “But you're not. How's the leg?”

  “Not bad. Few scratches.” He slapped his thigh with a wince. “These Dyula fellows had pretty good success with prayer and magic arrows. You think we should look into that sort of thing?”

  Anhalt handed his canteen to the American and chuckled without much humor. “If prayer helps a soldier fight, I'm for it. Magic arrows I have less confidence in. I'll still put my faith in repeating rifles and incendiaries when I can get them.” He caught the canteen as it was tossed back, then took a drink. “You'll have a painful ride to the next oasis. I'd like to let you recover for a bit, but we do need to get back to Alexandria to confer with our respective commands.”

  “I've had worse.” Stoddard stood with a wince. “You know, after the wedding, we'll practically be in-laws.”

  The Gurkha laughed loudly. “You'll be a fine addition to the family. Come, I'll get you cola nut to chew. It'll deaden the pain. And I've something a bit stronger than water to drink.”

  Anhalt put an arm under Stoddard's shoulder, and together they hobbled under the starlight.

  ADELE'S WEDDING DAY dawned clear and cool.

  She studied herself in a long mirror. Her wedding gown was made of the most luxurious white satin and silk. The beading was a mix of pearls and opals, diagonal bands filled with close floral ornamentation. Every few strands there lay a black pearl like a soft shadow. Her bodice was set with pale precious gemstones, and Persian silk of the barest rose laced her waist, accenting her trim figure. Her veil was so thin she could barely see the weave even as it was draped over her face. Long strands of silver chains curved around her head, each peak attached to a large diamond in her tiara.

  Adele wondered what Gareth would think of the gown. He had never seen her in anything but well-used travel clothes or northern homespun. He would be shocked by this vision. She smiled at the thought of the amazed look on his face.

  As she ran her hand down the gown, it felt strange. Opulent and beautiful, but not a part of her. Adele had always imagined she'd be wed in her mother's wedding gown, but she had also imagined herself marrying someone she actually loved. To wear her mother's dress for Senator Clark would leave a bitter taste in her mouth, and she had adamantly refused. She'd be damned if she'd soil the memory of her mother.

  The princess's chambers were crowded with people and the sound of pneumatic messages flying about the palace. Handmaidens bustled around her, attending to details that she cared little about. It was only when her chief maid, Zarina, tried to remove Pet for fear of getting cat hair on the gown that Adele responded, showing her displeasure. Zarina complied reluctantly. Adele stroked the sleek cat's fur as he reposed on her dresser. If it meant making Clark displeased with her, she'd roll in cat hair right before the ceremony.

  Zarina's eyes brimmed with happy tears as she looked at Adele in the mirror. “You look so beautiful, Your Highness. Senator Clark will be so very pleased.”

  “I am not really interested in pleasing the man,” Adele remarked blandly.

  Zarina's expression fell. She had been with Adele since infancy, and in her eyes, as well as in the eyes of all Alexandria, her princess was about to be married. Naturally, the maid was excited and happy. Adele didn't want to dampen the woman's spirits.

  Reaching around, despite the sharp bite of the stays on the tight corset, Adele laid a gentle hand on Zarina's arm. “My father will be very proud of all your hard work. Your diligence to my elegance is to be commended. I feel very beautiful and regal today.”

  Zarina smiled warmly, brimming tears falling in gratitude.

  Simon sat on the floor nearby, reading a dime novel called Greyfriar Wins the Day. Pet wandered to the boy, trying to attract his attention by pawing the pages. Simon glanced up at his sister. “You're always regal, Adele. Not that stupid Senator Clark cares.”

  “Simon, hush. You must promise to be civil to the senator today.” Still, Adele was warmed by her brother's words.

  “Why should I be civil? Because you're marrying him?”

  “Mostly. Also because I ask it of you.”

  He shrugged and turned his attention back to his book and the cat.

  Dangling from the mirror was her amulet, the one Mamoru had given her. She had intended to wear it during the ceremony, but had changed her mind when Simon appeared at her door, escaping from his own wedding preparations. Now she lifted the necklace from its place.

  “Simon, I have a favor to ask you.”

  He looked up eagerly. “Sure! You need me to start a commotion during the wedding ceremony?”

  “No!” she exclaimed through a bright grin. “I need you to keep something for me. Guard it with your life.”

  Now he was curious. “What is it?”

  She showed him the amulet and his eyes widened. “It's a special stone.”

  “What do you mean?” Simon's eyes studied it as she placed it into his open palm.

  “Mamoru gave it to me. It comes from a far-off place. A land of ice and snow. Will you safeguard it for me?”

  “Of course!” He slipped it over his head and its long chain slipped inside the collar of his suit.

  “Your Highness, stand still please.”

  Drawing in a sigh, Adele's gaze lingered a moment on her brother while countless hands pressed against her, pulling her body this way and that. She gave in to the ministrations, letting her mind wander to happier days. Simon's small, thin novella lay on the floor. She leaned down and retrieved it, and her fingers brushed over the cover, tracing the illustration of the tall man in grey. She wondered if news of her wedding day had reached him in Edinburgh, or wherever he might be. Even separated, their pain must be the same.

  A quiet knock at the door made her stiffen.

  It was time.

  “Enter,” she commanded, handing the dime novel back to Simon.

  Colonel Anhalt stood in the doorway, resplendent in his finest dress uniform, the heavy wool neat and brightly colored red and white. Six members of her White Guard stood at attention behind him, waiting to escort her to the magnificent Suez Hall.

  “Your Highness.” Anhalt bowed deeply, his eyes on the floor.

  Adele tucked the playbill from Desire in the Dead North, which she'd brought with her, into the sleeve of her dress. She would carry it with her as she was wed. Perhaps Gareth's strength would see her through this ordeal.

  Turning, she faced her royal guard. “I'm ready.” Servants darted in to rearrange the long train so the princess would not be encumbered by it.

  Anhalt straightened and stood transfixed by the magnificent sight of his charge, so very much a mature woman in place of the young girl he had known. He had no recourse but to drop to one knee before her. The rest of the room followed his lead. “You are a reflection of your mother. I am honored, Your Highness.”

  In a cacophony of silk, Adele stepped up to Anhalt, laying a hand on his epauletted shoulder, urging him to stand. Her cheeks flushed, feeling silly and inadequate of such reverence. Compared to many in the court, Anhalt's respect was genuine, and it moved her always. “Colonel, rise, please. It is merely the dress that has mesmerized you so. If it were up to me, I'd be wed in my traveling clothes. I suppose the world is waiting for me now.”

  “When you are ready, Your Highness. Not before.”

  The word “never” almost crossed her lips, but she refrained. It would do no good to reiterate her feelings on the matter. She had shouted it to the heavens to no avail. There was no
stopping the wedding now.

  Adele twisted back to her brother. “Simon. Leave the cat and go. You have to enter with the family. You're the Prince of Bengal, after all.”

  The boy extracted the sacred medal proclaiming his royal title from the claws of the cat and started out with a huff. Adele stopped him, brushed the dust off his crimson silk jacket, and kissed him on top of his head.

  He said, “So the next time I see you, you'll be married?”

  “Apparently.”

  Simon jammed his turban on his head. “Sorry.”

  “Me too. Off you go. Find your secretary and get in the right place.”

  Colonel Anhalt saluted the lad. As Simon passed, the White Guard parted with a clash of swords and rifles, much to the boy's delight.

  Zarina fussed with the drape of Adele's train as another servant applied henna to her lips. Despite the heaviness of her regalia, Adele stood straight, her long neck giving her some added height. Every bride wanted to look this magnificent. Of course most brides would want to look so for their husbands to be. All but Adele.

  Turning away from her own haunted eyes, she nodded to Colonel Anhalt. “Let's get this done.”

  Anhalt spun on his heel to precede her to the waiting escort. Zarina arranged Adele's long train again before grabbing the massive bouquet from the table.

  It was a long march through the palace to the Suez Hall, and each step closer made Adele's stomach knot. The guards marched stiffly around her, their swords held tightly before their faces. Her newly reformed White Guard stood with her no matter the peril, she thought with a trace of amusement. Her lips quirked a bit and she drew in a deep breath, at least as much as possible given the tightness of the corset encasing her ribs. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck. She just wanted the day over, as well as the night.

  More furrows marred her brow at the thought of being alone in a room with Clark. Her mouth drew into a harsh line, sweeping aside the humor of just a moment before. Despite what Clark believed, he would not make the decisions in the bedroom or anywhere else. That was fact. She had faced and defeated more horrific things than him.