A bolt of lightning arced from the golden sphere to the spot Aspasia’s Shadow was looking at. It hit with a tremendous explosion and sent a surge of electricity through the ground. Those within fifty meters of the impact point were killed outright by the explosion. Anyone outside of that range but within two hundred meters was electrocuted by the power coursing up from the ground.
Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin watched in amazement as Aspasia’s Shadow shot bolts along the front of the Chinese line, killing hundreds, then thousands. The attack came to a halt, then the troops began to turn and run, unable to face an assault from what appeared to be the Gods themselves.
Aspasia’s Shadow laughed as he continued firing. “Who is the commander of this force?” he demanded.
“An admiral named Cing Ho,” Nosferatu said.
“Do you see him?” As he asked, Aspasia’s Shadow twisted the sword’s handle and they saw a close-up view of a section of the panicked troops, then the view rotated slowly, circling the mountain, pausing when Aspasia’s Shadow realized he had found the command group. A bright red banner fluttered, embroidered with a dragon. In front of it stood Cing Ho, shouting commands, sending couriers off to the troops, trying to keep them from fleeing. As Aspasia’s Shadow zoomed in on the commander, they could see he was holding up a small black sphere in one hand as if presenting it to someone.
“That is not good,” Aspasia’s Shadow murmured.
“That is he,” Nosferatu confirmed. “But beware,” he added.
Aspasia’s Shadow let go of the pommel and turned to Nosferatu. “Beware what?” “Beware what Cing Ho has in his hands.”
“I recognize it,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “It is a command module.” Aspasia’s Shadow looked at them. “What does it have command of?”
Nosferatu smiled for the first time. “Why should we tell you? You plan on killing us, don’t you?”
Aspasia’s Shadow looked back at the image of Cing Ho. The admiral’s forehead was covered in sweat and his hands were shaking. He held the black sphere with both hands and was staring up at the peak of the mountain from which the lightning had come.
Aspasia’s Shadow cursed. “I cannot fire at him—the power surge might activate the sphere. And whatever it controls. Tell me and I will give you what you want. The blood of an Airlia. And I will let you leave here alive. I give you my word on it.”
Nosferatu wasn’t certain how much Aspasia’s Shadow’s word was worth, but he knew there was no choice. He had a feeling no one wanted Cing Ho to activate the black sphere. It was obvious that even the admiral was afraid of what he held. “Before we came here, Cing Ho led an expedition into Africa. Far inland, where a deep valley cuts into the Earth. He went into a cavern, cut out of stone, much like this place. Obviously by the Airlia. At the very bottom, over a flaming chasm, he emplaced a glowing red sphere. It now hangs over that chasm. I believe he can drop the red sphere with the device he holds in his hands.”
Aspasia’s Shadow cursed once more. “Artad! Always a move ahead.” Aspasia’s Shadow shifted the view on the walls to the 360-degree display. Cing Ho had regained control of his forces, but the soldiers were refusing to advance. He still held the command module in his hands. Aspasia’s Shadow looked at Tian Dao Lin. “Do you speak his language?”
“Yes.”
Aspasia’s Shadow reached into a pocket and pulled out a six-inch-long black rod with a green button on one end. He tossed it to Tian Dao Lin. “When you push the green button, your voice will sound as if it comes out of the mountain itself. This Cing Ho will hear you. You will say what I tell you to. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Speaking in Chinese, Tian Dao Lin translated Aspasia’s Shadow’s words into the device and they echoed off the top of the mountain:
“This is the voice of Al-Iblis, ruler of Sinai, descendant of the Gods. The truce has been restored. Return whence you came and never return and I will disband my forces. And I will not seek the weapon beneath Giza if you do not activate what you have emplaced.”
Nosferatu watched the screen. Cing Ho was staring up at the mountain, listening. His troops were cowering, first from the lightning assault and now from the God-like voice speaking their language.
Cing Ho lowered the command sphere and bowed every so slightly in the direction of the mountain, then began issuing orders. The Chinese army started to withdraw.
• • •
Aspasia shadow led them along a corridor inside the Jabal Mosa complex. He did not seem particularly upset by what had just occurred. “Stroke. Counterstroke. So it has been for millennia. So it will continue until both sides awaken and finish this damn war.”
“What weapon is buried under Giza along the Roads?” Nosferatu asked.
Aspasia’s Shadow laughed. “It is none of your concern, half-breed.” He opened a door and they walked into a chamber filled with a half dozen black Airlia tubes. He went to the closest one and laid a pale hand on the top. “Horus’s body is within. As I told you, he is dead, but I have kept the corpse in stasis.” He went over to the side of the room and opened a black box, retrieving a syringe and two glass flasks.
Nosferatu felt the pang of hunger, even though he had fed just two nights earlier. Aspasia’s Shadow swung up the lid of the tube, revealing an Airlia body inside. Nosferatu recognized Horus and was suddenly flooded with memories—of being a child playing in the sand under the bright sun; of being trapped and bled for centuries; of his fellow half-breeds being killed; of Nekhbet imprisoned on the top of the Black Sphinx.
Aspasia’s Shadow slid the syringe into Horus’s neck. Dark red blood, almost black, slowly flowed along the tube into the first flask. “Unlike human blood,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, “because of what it contains, Airlia blood remains viable even if the body is dead. You can take this with you.” He finished filling the first small flask, then did the second. He glanced at Tian Dao Lin. “I suppose you desire some too?”
Tian Dao Lin nodded. “Get another flask.”
Tian Dao Lin did as ordered and Aspasia’s Shadow filled it. Then he removed the syringe and he returned it to the case. Aspasia’s Shadow shut the lid and put the flasks in a wooden case, which he handed to one of the silent Bedouins.
He led them out of the room, along the tunnels to the surface. Once they exited the interior of the mountain, Aspasia’s Shadow took the case from the Bedouin and gave it to Nosferatu. “Take these and go. Do not ever return here.”
Crete: A.D. 1425
Eleven hundred years. Vampyr had originally considered setting the tube for an even thousand, but decided to throw in the extra hundred years just in case. It had been long enough. His hands were back, all the way to the tips of his fingers, the skin smooth and flawless. He held them in front of his face, marveling at the feeling, at being able to grasp things. It was amazing how something he had taken for granted for so long had become so important.
It was time to venture out into the world once more, to inflict pain and suffering on those who had done the same to him so many times in the past.
First, though, he would try once more to rule an empire. He had learned a bitter lesson about power from his time with the Spartans.
Crete was too isolated. The first thing he would do, after feeding, was buy transport off the island to find a fertile land for his terror.
CHAPTER 11
Transyvlvania: A.D. 1462
“That is Aspasia’s Shadow,” Nosferatu said as he pointed across the field behind the center front of the Turkish army. He was standing next to Vampyr in the center of the Hungarian force that faced the Turks.
Vampyr was dressed head to toe in black armor, with a full visor helmet on. Strapped to his side was his Spartan xithos. Nosferatu had learned in the month he had been in Transylvania that this was how Vampyr always appeared in daylight, which, along with certain brutal practices, had led to his reputation as prince of darkness. Nosferatu himself wore a gray hooded cloak and a face mask to protect his skin and eyes.
It was early morning and the Turkish army commanded by Aspasia’s Shadow had been approaching since dawn.
For thirty-seven years Nosferatu had nursed his anger toward Aspasia’s Shadow. After leaving Mount Sinai, Nosferatu had split from Tian Dao Lin. His Chinese friend had headed west to link up with what remained of Cing Ho’s fleet and go back to China. Nosferatu had journeyed from the Sinai into deepest Africa to recover Nekhbet’s tube from the Mountains of the Moon, a most arduous journey. But all had been for naught when he opened Nekhbet’s tube, brought her awake, and gave her the blood that Aspasia’s Shadow had given him. It had had little effect and she’d been drawn and tired, aging almost in front of Nosferatu’s eyes. They realized he’d been duped by Aspasia’s Shadow and given human blood instead of Airlia. Together they’d made the difficult decision once more to put her to sleep in the tube and leave her on the mountain.
Seeking revenge, Nosferatu had heard rumors of a dark lord gaining power in Hungary and he’d guessed that Vampyr was the subject of the rumors. Listening to people speak in port cities he learned that a prince called Vlad Tepes had establish a strong domain in the midst of much political turmoil in Eastern Europe. He’d united many of the warring factions, extending his power from Transylvania over most of Hungary. Nosferatu had traveled there, throwing himself on the mercy of his old comrade, seeking an alliance against Aspasia’s Shadow.
In his loneliness after so many centuries Vampyr had welcomed Nosferatu into his castle at Tirgoviste. As Nosferatu had hoped, the combined threat of two Undead together in one place and Vampyr’s growing power had drawn Aspasia’s Shadow’s attention. Unfortunately, they had not expected such a massive and swift response. The Turks Aspasia’s Shadow had under his command outnumbered the Hungarian army three to one and Nosferatu could sense the uneasiness among Vampyr’s troops.
“Lord Vlad Tepes.” Vampyr’s commanding general went to one knee in front of him, calling him by the name he had assumed since working his way into a position of power in Transylvania. Translated, the name meant Vlad the Impaler. The Turks called him Kaziglu Bey, the Impaler Prince.
“Yes?”
They were deployed on the east side of the Danube, blocking the Turkish army’s invasion route into the heart of Hungary. Initial intelligence reports had not indicated that the opposing army was as large as what was currently deployed in front of them, but Nosferatu knew that Aspasia’s Shadow had unnatural ways of recruiting soldiers to his cause. The two armies were drawn up parallel to each other on a large two-mile-wide field that sloped from rough hills in the east to the broad Danube in the west. To the rear of the Hungarian army was a narrow pass, less than a hundred meters wide.
“We cannot hold this line,” the general said, keeping his eyes downcast. “You can hold it until you die,” Vampyr corrected him. Nosferatu noted movement near Aspasia’s Shadow, then a flag of truce was displayed on a long spear.
“Look.” Nosferatu tapped Vampyr on the shoulder. “We should go discuss the matter with my old friend.”
Vampyr spurred his horse and galloped down the small hillock on which he had set his command group, Nosferatu following. Soldiers leapt to get out of their way as they raced forward. Aspasia’s Shadow came from the Turkish lines, dressed in the fine armor expected of a high prince. They met halfway between the two lines.
“Does the sunlight hurt?” Aspasia’s Shadow greeted them as he lifted his own helmet visor, revealing his pale face.
“Only if I allow it to,” Nosferatu replied. Neither he nor Vampyr lifted their visors, as was the custom during a parley.
Aspasia’s Shadow looked past them, taking in the Hungarian forces. “You cannot hold against me.”
“How many of your men are Guides?” Nosferatu asked. “How many have you corrupted?”
Aspasia’s Shadow laughed. “Just my primary commanders. And speaking of corrupting”—he looked at Vampyr—“your manner of rule is quite notorious.”
“I rule through fear,” Vampyr acknowledged. “It is what works best.”
Nosferatu had heard rumors of Vampyr’s brutality, but having only been there a short time, he had yet to see it firsthand. The stories he’d heard seemed so outrageous that he dismissed most as having to do with the fact that Vampyr fed off live victims brought to his castle.
“You have been building up your strength for over a decade,” Vampyr continued. “All of Eastern Europe knows you plan to move north and west to conquer.”
“You know that the Grail is no longer hidden in the Roads of Rostau?” Aspasia’s Shadow asked, a surprising twist to the conversation.
Nosferatu shrugged. “Some say it is in England, where you fought Artad’s Shadow so many years ago. Others say the Watchers have hidden it. I have even heard the Watchers took it back to Giza. Another tale says that the one called Merlin carried it far to the east, into the high mountains so no man could get to it.”
“I think it is in England,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “So I decided to go there.”
“With an army at your back?” Vampyr asked.
“Better than going alone,” Aspasia’s Shadow said with a smile. “You betrayed me,” Nosferatu said.
“Surprise, surprise.” Aspasia’s Shadow laughed. “And how is your love Nekhbet doing?”
“You did not give me the blood of an Airlia. You switched it. You gave me human blood. It did nothing for her. When I brought her awake, she was weakened and sick, not alive as she should have been.”
“For someone as old as you are,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, “you are rather naive.”
Vampyr held his horse in place with some effort. “The Eldest has always been love-struck. But now you deal with me.”
Once more Aspasia’s Shadow looked past them at the army. “You will not hold me.”
“Perhaps,” Vampyr said. “We shall see.”
“Then I suppose we will have to fight,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “I’ve let you live too long anyway.”
“So be it,” Vampyr said. He turned his horse and as he did so, he signaled to his general. Nosferatu turned to follow and saw that the front of the Hungarian army began to fall back, the rear echelons having already been pulled back as they talked to Aspasia’s Shadow.
With great haste, the Hungarians retreated, catching the Turks by surprise. By the time Aspasia’s Shadow fully realized what was happening—that Vampyr was not going to do battle with him here—the bulk of the army was through the pass. Vampyr left a special unit to hold the pass as long as possible, five hundred knights whose families he held hostage in his castle. Nosferatu listened as Vampyr promised the knights if they held the pass to the last man, slowing down the Turks, he would free their families. If any of them retreated, he promised that not only would the coward die, but so would his family. It put chains of fear into the five hundred and they turned to face the Turks with the frenzy of the doomed.
Vampyr led his remaining army north, burning everything they passed, leaving nothing, not even a blade of grass for Aspasia’s Shadow’s horses to feed on.
Reaching Tirgoviste, Nosferatu was stunned by what Vampyr had prepared and he realized the stories he had heard were true.
On the large plain in front of the castle was a man-made forest. Over twenty thousand eight-foot-high stakes had been driven into the ground. The upright end of each wooden pole was sharpened to a point. At Vampyr’s signal, Turkish prisoners captured in previous battles were driven from their holding pens onto the plain. Working efficiently, apparently having had considerable practice, teams of soldiers used a rolling crane to lift a prisoner by his tied hands.
They then threw a loop over each ankle as he cleared the ground. The crane was turned until the prisoner was positioned directly over one of the poles. With a soldier on each ankle lariat pulling to either side and down, the prisoner was lowered, impaled on the stake until it was far enough into his body that he could not get off. The ropes were released and they moved on to the next prisoner. They could impale a man every mi
nute and there were over twenty crews at work.
The screams began and did not stop.
“What are you doing?” Nosferatu demanded.
“You are indeed a fool,” Vampyr snapped. “Aspasia’s Shadow is right. I am amazed that you have lasted this long. How do you think I keep these people under control?” He did not wait for an answer. “Fear. It is the primary motivation of humans. It is how the Airlia ruled in Egypt.” He gestured. “A man can last up to six days impaled, depending on the angle the pole makes on its way through the body as gravity slowly pulls him down.”
Vampyr leaned close to Nosferatu. “And the smell of the blood. It is so sweet. I have found traces of the Airlia God blood once in a while. Very faint, but every so often there is some. I drink from those.”
Nosferatu wondered if his old comrade had lost his mind, having lived so long. Vampyr had not spoken of the time after leaving Egypt so many years ago or how he had survived. Nosferatu knew how heavy the weight of the years could be on the mind. He had not shared with Vampyr his own adventures or what had happened to him under Qian-Ling. Most especially, he had not told the other about Nekhbet and where she was hidden.
It took twenty-four hours for all twenty thousand prisoners to be impaled. The screams of the dying echoed off the walls of Vampyr’s castle, reaching down to the cell where Nosferatu tried to get some sleep during the day.
The Turkish army arrived on the third day. They heard the screams before they crested a hill and saw what was causing it. The sight that greeted them was more horrific than any had ever seen.
And stalking among the stakes was Vampyr, sniffing, searching for any pole with blood soaking down it that contained even the least part of the Airlia virus. In over twenty years of impalement, he had found four people with very faint traces. He’d had them immediately removed from the stake and brought into the castle, where he drank their blood.
Nosferatu stood on one of the turrets of the castle and watched, his desire for vengeance lost amid the horror he was witnessing. He realized that Vampyr was no better than Aspasia’s Shadow or even the Airlia.
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