by Terry Brooks
Charles took the left-hand corridor and continued onward. Beck Almgren followed. The passageway sloped gradually upward, the air growing warmer with each step. Sarcophagi and skeletal remains lay within holes bored into the path’s walls. The dead slept a long slumber here, the catacombs housing some of the most important members of the Catholic Church.
Like other catacombs above, this was a necropolis of history.
It didn’t take long for the Heliwr to come to an open oak door banded in rune-etched iron, the warm glow of light welcoming.
Letting the Dark Thorn vanish, he stepped inside with Beck Almgren.
The room was a simple space, orderly—a reflection of the person who lived in it. Candles chased the shadows and a fire blazed warmth from a hearth in the corner of the room, casting its glow over two plush chairs and a bed pushed up against the wall. Books of various sizes and colors lined the shelves of several bookcases. A Bible as old as any Charles had seen sat upon a pedestal in the middle of the room, open, while the Fionúir Mirror, a talisman the Cardinal Seer used to view Annwn, hung upon one of the walls, the seeing glass shrouded in black velvet, its secrets hidden.
Charles took it all in but was suddenly filled with dismay.
Upon the bed lay Bruno Ricci. Clothes bloodied and torn, the most powerful of the portal knights had taken a beating to protect Rome from the vampires who had entered it. One arm lay crooked, clearly broken; gashes rent his flesh everywhere else, bleeding into new bandages. Smaller abrasions already purpled. He breathed strongly though, his chest rising and falling regularly, giving Charles hope he would recover sooner rather than later.
And Bruno appeared not to have been bitten.
Charles breathed a bit easier then. There were worse fates than defeat, and vampirism was one of them.
Two other men stood at the foot of the bed, looking down on Bruno. Cardinal Seer Donato Javier Ramirez stroked a thinly bearded chin, his body stooped and pate shiny in the candlelight. He lived in the chamber, his role as Seer of the Vigilo keeping him close to the portal. He had lived eight decades and, while blind, had survived countless invasions from Annwn. Charles had befriended him years before, the animosity between the Catholic Church and the pagan-empowered knights holding no influence over the relationship the two men shared.
Beside the Cardinal stood a man who appeared younger than the Seer but was infinitely older. Merle, once known as the ancient wizard Myrddin Emrys, looked upon Bruno with worry, his hair and beard white, and his ever-present pipe held in his right hand. Charles had never seen him in Rome, let alone on Church grounds. Merle was directly responsible for taking control of the portals from the Vigilo centuries earlier and empowering his own knights—those without political or religious gain—with Arthurian relics of old, a last act of magic to balance the various powerful influences in the world.
If Merle risked the ire of the Church by entering the Vatican—powerless as he now was—the situation was dire indeed.
The Cardinal Seer turned toward Charles, his milky eyes seeing more than most.
“Lower your weapon, Captain,” he ordered. “Before yeh doom us all.”
Beck Almgren did so without hesitation but gave Charles a final glance that dared violence of any kind.
“Thank you,” Cardinal Ramirez added.
“It is good to see you well, Cardinal Seer,” Charles greeted, stepping forward to grasp the older man’s hands firmly. He was saddened at the lack of strength in the return grip. “It is unfortunate we have met again under circumstances such as these.”
“Yer role is one of peril. And peril calls it,” the Seer cackled sadly. “The last time was that particularly nasty troll who tore up the Sistine Chapel, was it not? One day, perhaps we will continue our debate on if God created the fey Tuatha de Dannan.”
“It is one I will win yet,” Charles said, smiling. He turned to Merle. “I’m surprised to find you here.”
“I am where I am needed most, always,” Merle said, a twinkle in his light blue eyes. He wore his usual khaki pants and white dress shirt. He raised his pipe and looked toward the Cardinal Seer. “Donato, may I?”
“I prefer not, Myrddin,” the Cardinal said. “Other than my fireplace, ventilation does not come easily down here. My apologies.”
“None to give,” Merle said a bit sadly, pocketing the pipe.
“He should not be here,” Beck Almgren growled lowly, clearly annoyed by the ancient wizard.
“Captain, yeh are new to yer role and have much to learn,” Cardinal Ramirez chastised, ignoring the man’s irritation. “Heliwr Charles Ardall is one of the bravest men I have met. He has carried the Dark Thorn now for several years and does so with conviction and wisdom.” The Seer paused. “Charles, the Vigilo is largely absent from Rome at this time, the other seven Cardinals attending their flocks. Only the Pope is within Vatican City.”
“Has he been notified?” Charles asked.
“His Excellency has not, nor should he be,” the Cardinal said. He narrowed blind eyes at the captain, preemptively silencing him. “I speak with God’s love, but Pope Urban has a tendency to be rash when affairs of Annwn arise.”
“You wish this taken care more discreetly then,” Charles affirmed.
“Just so.”
Beck Almgren mumbled darkly under his breath.
“How is Bruno?” the Heliwr asked, looking at the bedridden knight.
Merle took a deep breath. “He lives. He is a tough man with a hard spirit. Even with the healing draught I gave him, he will awaken soon, I think.”
“Who…or what…did this to him?”
“Before he called yeh to Rome, Bruno confided that a vampire of extraordinary power led the warriors in the catacombs,” Cardinal Ramirez said. “The creatures that lay dead before the portal? They are but toddlers to this monster. I think his wounds are evidence of that.”
Charles took note of the damage done to Bruno, a resolute pit of anger growing within. Vampires were dangerous, but not normally to the knights who warded the seven fixed entrances into Annwn. The guardians carried weapons imbued with fey magic and most knew spells from Merle to keep safe. The vampire who had overpowered Bruno had to be ancient and strong beyond recall.
The Heliwr found one aspect strange though. If a vampire had overcome Bruno, why did the knight still live? Especially without having been bitten and turned?
“Did anything else get past him?” Charles asked.
“Two or three others,” Merle said. “You will need Berrytrill to keep you safe.”
“Speaking of, where is yer guide, Charles?” Cardinal Ramirez asked. “I have not heard a whisper of his wings on the air since yeh entered.”
Charles removed the cloak he wore. He would look out of place if his pursuit took him topside into Vatican City anyway. Before he finished folding it, Berrytrill flew free like a sparrow released, the fairy hovering in midair, his wings a blur and his twig arms folded crossly as if to defend himself.
“We waste time, Charles,” the fey creature said.
“There he is,” the Seer said, smiling.
“Get that abomination out of here!” Beck Almgren snarled.
“He is only a fairy, my able companion and guide. He will remain, whether you like it or not, Captain,” Charles said pointedly. “You have my word that he will cause you no harm nor be observed by Rome’s denizens.”
“Cardinal Seer Ramirez, you have gone too far!” the captain grated. “To welcome such a creature onto holy ground is a sin beyond a sin. It is my duty to keep that creature out of Rome! If that thing gets near me, I’ll—”
“Do what, asssqueak?” Berrytrill sniffed. “Why I would want to sully my royal person with the likes of you is quite beyond my understanding.”
Beck Almgren reddened. “You little vermin—”
“Enough of this,” Merle cut in. The room went silent. “Ancient arguments and animosities do not serve us this day. An emissary of the Swiss Guard returns bearing news for all to hear.�
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To this, a guard stormed into the room, bowing quickly. “Captain, we have it cornered!”
“Where?”
“It’s in the Vatican Secret Archives.”
“Whatever for?” Captain Almgren questioned. “What would it want with archaic writings and crumbling parchment?”
“Knowledge,” Merle said.
“How do you know that?” the captain asked.
“If I traveled from one world to another at great risk to visit a library, I’d be after information,” Merle said darkly. He looked to Charles. “And only one of us can assure the vampire is still there.”
Charles nodded and called the Dark Thorn. Magic infused the room. Moving to a rarely used corner, the Heliwr brought the staff up and stabbed it into Italy. Although fashioned from the Holy Thorn at Glastonbury Abbey in England, the butt of the Dark Thorn entered the rock easily, the magic pushing aside the physical boundaries of stone even as it connected with the world. Bringing his will to bear, Charles focused on his quarry, seeking what was hidden. It did not take long. The magic snaked upward from the Seer’s quarters, into the catacombs, to the surface of the Vatican grounds.
It ended within one of the buildings to the north of St. Peter’s Basilica.
There Charles would find the creature.
“I have my way,” he said.
“Is he in the Vatican Secret Archives still?” Cardinal Ramirez asked.
“He is.”
“What will you do?” Beck Almgren questioned Charles.
“What I must,” Charles said. With a hint of a smile, he added, “Talk first, I would think. Ask him to return to Annwn. If that fails and he won’t, I will…improvise.”
“One more thing, Captain Almgren,” the guard said. “It’s taken three prisoners. Cardinal Archivist Cesare Farina and two of his night interns.”
“That makes things more dangerous,” Cardinal Ramirez said.
“I say again,” Beck Almgren pushed. “The Pope must be told.”
“And he shall be, due to where this vampire has gone,” the Cardinal Seer said impatiently. “Our Eminence is willful, though, and sometimes it is our role to protect him—even from himself. If this vampire has designs to kill him, we must take all caution possible to prevent that. That means keeping him from knowing. Keeping them separate. If Our Eminence knows, he will confront this vampire directly. And we know not if that is exactly what the vampire wants.” The Seer paused. “The better question is, what is it hoping to discover in the library?”
Charles straightened. “That is what I intend to find out.”
“Captain Almgren, I have ordered the Swiss Guard to surround the room—and not to enter,” the guard said.
“You will have to wield your power with care, Heliwr,” Beck Almgren added, giving Charles a dark look. “The Secret Archives is a sealed area, holding some of the most precious parts of the Catholic Church’s history. Violence of any kind could damage that history.”
“Noted, Captain,” the knight said.
“We must speak, Charles,” Merle said, moving away from the others.
Charles frowned but followed the old wizard toward the burning hearth. The Churchmen let them go, although Captain Almgren stared after with daggers for eyes.
Merle turned his back on the others and stepped close.
“You must be careful, Charles,” he said.
“I know that, Merle.”
“You don’t understand,” the wizard said, his blue eyes intense. “You are to be a father. With that comes a responsibility just as great as that which brought you to Rome. Do not underestimate this vampire. It is imperative you survive this day and many afterward. I know I criticized you when you wedded, even more so when I learned of the conception. But that is past. The future holds more than you know.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Charles said, grinning. “I’d think you are apologizing and now happy I am having a child.”
“The future calls upon that scion, Charles,” Merle said seriously.
Charles became just as serious. Merle always knew more than he let on. The wizard had been alive since the fifth century, his demon ancestry slowing his aging but his early baptism making him an instrument of good. With his unique lineage came the ability to see aspects of the future. He described it as seeing probability, with some future lines more prevalent in his sight—and therefore more likely to occur. The lines were rarely certain, leaving Merle cautious and the portal knights nervous more often than not.
For Merle to suddenly warn Charles meant the once confidante of Arthur the Eld was not entirely sure of the outcome this hunt would have.
Uncertainty filled him like ice.
“I will remain here, for a time anyway,” Merle said, eyeing the knight on the bed. “Bruno needs his arm set. Best to do that now before he wakes from the draught I gave him. That kind of pain is not pleasant while awake.”
Charles nodded soberly. Merle turned to the fairy.
“Keep him safe, Berrytrill. That is your task.”
“I will, Myrddin,” the guide said earnestly.
Unsure of what had just happened and not having the time to mull on it yet, Charles turned back to the Seer and captain. “With the portal knight bedridden, I think it best the Captain of the Vatican Swiss Guard watch the entrance into Annwn and ensure nothing else comes through.”
“Sound reasoning,” Cardinal Ramirez admitted.
“I will return,” Charles said simply.
The others nodded. Charles and Berrytrill left the room, knowing the eyes of the Vigilo watched him leave. Such meetings, though rare, always left him annoyed. Add what Merle had shared, and anger seethed just below the surface. At least none of the other Vigilo members were in Rome. Throw in the confusion of having a child on the way, and Charles now questioned whether or not he had made the right choice in accepting his knighthood.
“I am still amazed by the friendship you have built with the Seer,” Berrytrill cut through the knight’s dark thoughts, flying slightly ahead as they made their way quickly through the catacombs. “Given the hatred the Church has for your kind, especially.”
“My kind?” Charles grunted. “Well, sometimes the enemy of your enemy is your friend. And once you look past the ideology that separates us, we want the same thing. It helps that he is a bit more…philosophical…about life and God. He is not as extremist as most in the Vigilo. Probably stems from being forced to view all sides.”
“He would never do anything to harm you?” the fairy asked.
“He wouldn’t,” the Heliwr said. “Now, the Captain of the Swiss Guard, I don’t trust.”
“That tittweak smelled of wanton power.”
Charles said nothing more, thinking on what had just happened. Berrytrill gave the knight a frown but flew ahead. Climbing up through the catacombs, the Dark Thorn held before him, Charles cursed the situation. Myrddin Emrys. Some days, the knight reviled the name. For the wizard to share his concern and the truth so openly meant his auguries were nearly split. The day could be won; the day could be lost with his death. There was no way of knowing which.
That wasn’t what bothered Charles though. He had accepted his knighthood and its danger. His wife knew the risks as well. The unborn child she carried did not, though, and the fact that Merle had already seen a future where that child played an integral part in the wizard’s machinations left Charles more than unsettled. It left him frightened—and angry—of what else he didn’t know.
Could he fulfill his duty as Heliwr safely? Ensure his child had a father? And teach that child to be wary of Merle? Or was it time to step down from his role as the unfettered knight?
No answers were forthcoming.
Eventually Charles came to a fork in the tunnel. Berrytrill, guiding the Heliwr, nodded and flew ahead. Charles knew the subterranean depths better than most alive and had been here twice before on hunt. His guide had too. The first time, a leprechaun had managed to trick Bruno and invaded the Vatican just to
drink ale on Church grounds—an outrageous blasphemy to the Vigilo but great fun for the fey creature. During the second incursion, a troll with fists the size of cinder blocks had battled its way destructively upward into the Sistine Chapel.
Both times, Charles had saved the Vatican and kept his world ignorant about the Tuatha de Dannan. That was the role Merle had bequeathed him.
Now something far more dangerous called his attention.
He had taken several different passages, following the path the Dark Thorn had shown him, when his sixth sense blared in warning.
“Wait!” Berrytrill screamed at the same time.
The warnings came too late.
Behind large sarcophagi interred in the walls, two vampires leapt from the shadows upon Charles, teeth bared and powerful grips forcing him down.
The knight barely had time to react. The magic of the Dark Thorn burst from him like a solar flare, driven by the adrenaline of fear and surprise, the power from two worlds infusing his entire being. The white fire flung the vampires aside like rag dolls, slamming both against the tunnel walls. They did not stay down long. Even as Charles fought to regain his balance to counter the threat, they were already on him again, one trying to gain his neck through sheer force and the other attempting to wrest the Dark Thorn from his grip.
Even with the staff’s power lending him more than mortal strength, the vampires were stronger, stronger than anything Charles had encountered. He had become the prey.
All would have been lost if not for Berrytrill. The fairy zoomed out of the darkness, yelling the battle cry of his clan. He attacked the vampire grappling for Charles’s neck, ripping dust out of the tiny pouch on his back and throwing it upon the undead horror.