His princess lost. That fine young spirited woman. That magnificent heir to the Empire. Gone. Taken by those animals. Subjected to such horrors and degradations. All because of Anhalt's failure. He smelled the blood soaked into his tunic and felt shame in his gut. He had to bite his lip to prevent utter despair from welling. The gash across his face burned. He touched the butt of his revolver.
The colonel quickly shoved down the dishonor. Plenty of time for that later. He had to see through his duty to Prince Simon. He collected a squad of ambulatory men. There were only twelve, but that would have to serve. He couldn't ignore the searing pain in his leg where the vampire had slashed him. He bound the wound as best he could, and it would have to do until the young prince was safe. The colonel gently gathered up the boy in his own red-jacketed arms and started off to the west.
It was hours later when Adele and the swordsman came to the base of a small cliff. Adele couldn't speak; she only slumped beside the kneeling swordsman with loud, painful gasping. Her quivering fingers gripped his cloak, as much for comfort as for physical support. His back stiffened as she dropped next to him. With eyes tearing in the harsh wind, she could barely see the outline of a tiny hovel embedded in the face of the cliff. Immediately she tried to stand. The swordsman grabbed her arm and yanked her down. Too fatigued to respond, her breath hissed through her lips with harsh gasps.
Why was he so unaffected? She could only wonder, and wish she were a man instead of a feeble girl as she lay muffled by her exhaustion. Staring at him through burning eyes, she wondered again why he seemed so familiar.
Then it came to her in a rush. He was the Greyfriar. Like everyone, she'd seen a picture of this man: a blurry photograph of this grey-clad figure standing over vampire cadavers on a cobblestone street. The photo had been smuggled out of the north as proof of rumors that there was an active human resistance inside clan Europe. The Greyfriar's exploits were legendary, but as Adele told Simon, his exploits were so legendary she believed him mythical, the photograph merely fabricated to create hope. The stories, she felt, were born of more than a century of subjugation and frustration, a resurfacing of the legends like Rostam, King Arthur, or Robin Hood. It was an understandable desire for a hero to deliver humanity from horror.
Then he was in her ear, a slow low voice as if it were a mere spirit on the back of a wind.
"I will make sure the way is clear. Stay here."
Adele could do nothing but comply.
He melted away before her eyes, dissolving into the predawn twilight that leaked across the European nightscape. She huddled and tried to hear his passage over her harsh breathing. It took effort, but soon her ragged gasps slowed into rhythmic deep breaths.
Several minutes went by, and the swordsman had not returned. The shadows became large patches of pitch that could hide an army. Adele slid her hand to her scabbard, where her fingers clenched the hilt of her jeweled dagger as she pulled it to her chest for protection. She didn't dare draw it because the glow of the blade might give away her position.
The woods were silent around her. Nothing stirred, not even insects or creatures of the night. Her heart thudded harder against her breastbone, and she struggled to still it. Could the vampires have gotten here before them? Their path had been erratic. No one should have been able to predict or follow their route.
To her left the thicket shifted with a hiss. She spun and her blade struck.
The long steel of a sword pressed her dagger aside. The swordsman eyed the girl, but said nothing and motioned for her.
"Sorry." Adele laughed weakly and lowered her small luminous weapon, slipping it back into its sheath.
The cabin was nestled at the base of the cliff. It was small and sparse, but seemed a godsend. The swordsman opened the rough-hewn door, and they went inside quickly. It was hard to see through the murky gloom that permeated the room. Still, the swordsman moved through the house and its furnishings as if it were his own home.
Adele stumbled against a chair and took it as a sign. She flopped between its cold padded arms, watching the Greyfriar make their meager sanctuary secure. Before she knew it her eyes had closed. She awoke what seemed like seconds later. The cabin was suffused with pale sunlight. She tightened her grip on her dagger.
Her protector wordlessly offered her a meager meal of hardtack. She took it gratefully and choked it down, followed by a few swigs of water from a tin cup.
A nod of his head indicated clean linen and herbal antiseptic on the table. "For your wounds."
Adele's eyebrow rose when he just moved to stand at the window. No offer of assistance came, so she doctored her hands and various other scratches. Perhaps it was more prudent that he keep watch for their enemies.
From his place leaning against the far wall, the swordsman said, "Drink as much as you can while you can, Princess. Our flight took a lot out of you."
"And you too."
His forehead crinkled with what Adele could only perceive as humor. "I ate and drank while you slept. Refresh yourself now. We'll leave soon."
"Leave? Why? We're hidden here." She leaned back in her seat, taking another long draft of water. It had never tasted so good.
"The enemy can find you here," the swordsman pointed out. "Flay is proficient at such things."
"Who?"
"Flay led the vampires who attacked you. The tall female."
"You know it by name?"
Greyfriar hesitated a moment, then nodded. "She is renowned. The most brutal warrior I have ever seen."
"You sound as if you're afraid of this Flay."
"I am."
That admission did little to comfort Adele. "Where will we go now? Back to the ship?"
"No. Toward the nearest human settlement."
"How far will that thing follow us, this Flay? For how long?"
"As long as it takes. She won't dare return to face her master without her prize."
Adele gazed at her companion for the first time with real scrutiny. His face and eyes, mainly covered, revealed little. She relied more on his body movement to detect what little emotion she could.
His garb hid most of his details, save his height. He was a very tall man and thin, but made a dashing figure in his peculiar uniform. And though he tried to hide it, there was a noble way about him. Something only a princess would be able to see, despite the fact that he hunched his shoulders or stooped a bit lower when he walked. There remained poise and reserve and a touch of arrogance. Traits she knew too well.
Adele's brain cast about through the various families of noble birth in an effort to place him. She leaned toward him and tried to look into his glasses again, desperate to see something familiar about him.
"You are the Greyfriar, aren't you?"
He glanced quickly at her. "You've heard of me?"
"Of course. Everyone's heard of the Greyfriar, although honestly I thought you were just a fable. You're very famous back home in Equatoria."
The swordsman considered her words. "Do they ... do they make books about me?"
Adele laughed softly. "Oh well, yes, I believe so. You're certainly the talk of the ladies in court. They'll be so jealous of me."
"These books ... have you seen them?"
Adele replied, "Sorry, no. I don't have time for popular reading. The life of a princess, you know. But believe me, you are a great hero to the free humans."
"I see." Greyfriar appeared to smile, although his features were draped, and Adele could hear the pleasure in his voice. But then his tone became sharper. "Your future husband is a great hero too."
This jolted the princess with surprise. "My future husband? How do you know about him?"
"The coming marriage of the Equatorian heir to the greatest American warlord is common news. Even in the north. The vampires fear him, and your union."
Adele felt the first pulse of pride she had ever taken in her Intended. "Well, he is a soldier of note, that's true. It's a rare man who takes the fight to the vampires."
; Greyfriar nodded and turned back to the window without another word.
Had she offended him? Adele wondered suddenly. "Why do you dress like that, so mysteriously?"
The swordsman touched his swathed chin. "To hide myself from my enemies. And from those whom my enemies might exploit."
She couldn't fault that logic, but still she offered quietly, "There's no one here but me. I would keep your secret."
His shoulders bobbed with a bit of mirth as he turned toward her. "You are a hairsbreadth from being captured. It would be foolish to take such a risk."
Her face fell, not only with disappointment but also with fear. "That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence."
He added, "Perhaps someday when the world is not so harried, I may reveal my identity."
Adele drew in a deep breath, but her voice did not crack. "I would like that very much. I owe you a great deal."
Greyfriar said, "Flay's attack was both flawless and uncommonly large. It's been years since I've seen such a gathering. I'd wager she threw five packs into that meat grinder. All after a single prize-you-and she risked much to seize it. The weather was against her, but she attacked anyway. She drove her army where it shouldn't have been. Her losses were great, and she still doesn't have what she desires." He seemed to smile again as he approached Adele to refill her cup.
"But how did you know about the attack?" the princess asked sharply.
"It's my business to know." He tugged gently at his mask to adjust it. "And I tried to prevent this disaster. I sent a warning to the Empire that Flay intended to attack your fleet. My message was lost or ignored."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to doubt you. I'm not blaming you." Adele laid a hand on his. He was chilled. She could feel it even through his glove. It made her guilt even more acute.
He jerked his hand back a bit too abruptly and stepped away. "You have every right to question me. I am nothing but myth and hearsay. I wear a mask to hide my true self."
Why did he wish not to be touched? she wondered in dismay. Was it merely because of her nobility? Was she wrong about his birth? Was he a common man?
Adele said, "My mentor told me once that only a fool would reveal himself to his enemies out of arrogance or for glory's sake. I don't see any of that in you. You want to help push the vermin back, not for accolades and riches, but because you want to see justice done." She rose and stood beside him. "Don't ever doubt that you are appreciated by all humanity."
"Thank you. Now, we should go."
Adele replied quickly, "I still think we should stay here. We're hidden and the house has the mountain at its back. We can defend ourselves here."
Greyfriar paused, studying his charge. "Princess, scent is a vampire's tool. They can smell the blood of their victims from quite a distance. There is no way to mask it. Flay will have hunters on your trail. The only possible safety is to get you beyond her reach."
Adele drew a deep breath and shook her head in apology. "Of course. You're right. I'm just scared. But why should I be? I'm with the Greyfriar. My brother would be jealous...." Her words trailed off as once again little Simon's death became real. For a brief moment she had actually forgotten. But now that she had remembered, the pain was that much more acute.
"Princess, I will see you home. Trust me."
Several seconds went by before Adele nodded with a pale smile. "My life is in your hands."
CHAPTER
N WEARILY REACHED a rocky pinnacle where he saw saw the sun setting behind the distant towers of Marseilles. Airships floated over the city, some small and barely flyable, others fat merchant vessels. Marseilles was one of the richest trading cities on the vampire frontier.
The air was cooling, and Anhalt smelled the sea in the wind. He glanced down at the drawn face of the young prince, who was asleep nestled in his powerful arms. When he attempted to hoist his pack into a more comfortable position, the boy's eyes fluttered open and he looked up groggily at the blood-flecked face of his savior and smiled.
"How do you feel?" Anhalt asked.
"Okay, I guess," the prince replied thickly.
Anhalt pinched the boy's calf between his thumb and forefinger. "Do you feel this?"
"Feel what?"
The colonel didn't answer.
"Where are we going?" Simon asked.
"I'm taking you to the free city at Marseilles. They'll get word to the Empire ... to your father."
"Where is the rest of the White Guard?"
How could he tell the boy that most of them were dead? "Some are here beside you. The others are dealing with the remaining vampires."
Simon narrowed his eyes angrily. "The White Guard will handle them! They won the Battle of Cape Town!"
Anhalt fumed again at the stupidity of the court sending both heirs so close to the frontier.
Simon breathed out sharply through his nose. "What will they do to Adele?"
Anhalt's mouth was a hard slit as he crushed his emotions again. "Nothing. I'll get her back."
"You will?"
"Yes, Your Highness." The soldier started off again toward Marseilles over rocky ground. His legs ached, but he forced himself onward. He did not take his eyes off the path as he muttered, "Or die trying."
Prince Simon felt enormous strength in this man's arms. He had been carried by servants and tutors, and even once, at the earliest tip of his memory, by his father, but none of them had radiated this same unbending support. It was like resting in the saddle of a steady horse or in the limb of a favorite tree. He heard the comforting squeak of leather from scabbards and holsters as the soldiers ran. Simon wanted to reach out and touch Colonel Anhalt's face despite the blood of battle dried hard on his cheek, but he knew true warriors would not permit such things.
Several farmers, returning to town from their fields and orchards, some on foot, some riding in an oxcart, spotted the approaching soldiers. They exchanged confused glances but waved and waited, offering them room in the cart. Anhalt accepted but kept Simon in his arms.
The farmers offered Anhalt wine. He declined, but handed the bottle to Simon. The boy turned it up greedily, spilling red liquid down his chin. It was warm, but good; stronger but not as sweet as the diluted date palm wine he drank at home. When Anhalt finally pulled the bottle away, Simon heard the farmers laughing. He sneered at them and prepared to shout a reprimand, but the soldier touched Simon on the face with his gloved hand, shaking his head once. These were not people who needed to know royalty rode with them. Soon the farmers stopped laughing and offered Simon blocks of delicious cheese and some bread.
"Vampires? In force near our city?" The face of Mayor Comblain of Marseilles was red with consternation. "Monsieur le Colonel, are you sure?"
Anhalt nodded with assurance. The councilmen and civic leaders simmered with concerned murmuring and arguments. They were dressed in bourgeois finery, top hats, pearl grey spats, most with beards and great muttonchop sideburns. The opulent Second Empire architecture surrounded them, remnants of a time when humans on the continent had only themselves to fight.
The mayor, an overworked and underqualified official, stood wearily. He was marked as a leader only by his conspicuous red sash and spray of flowers on the front of his top hat. He raised his hands for quiet. "Please, messieurs, please. Let's remain calm. Vampires are not new in this vicinity. We are prepared. I shall call out the militia immediately." His ruddy face quivered as he turned to Colonel Anhalt, who sat ramrod straight in a chair on the dais. "This is most troubling. We haven't had such a major attack in many years."
The imperial commander raised his hand slightly. As the room quieted, he stood with a painful slowness, purposefully exuding a sense of calm, a stillness that these people craved. He said in excellent French, "The vampire army has retreated north. They had a mission, and the mission is complete. These were not winter raiders. I fully agree that it would be wise to alert your citizens. And send word to the outlying towns and villages to be on watch. There may be stragglers in the area ov
er the next week or two."
"Colonel Anhalt," boomed a voice from the floor, "what was the purpose of these vampires?" The voice belonged to a large and loud prominent trader. The room grew relatively silent out of respect for the mercantile colossus, who stroked his gigantic mustache and tugged on the gold chain of his watch that emerged with playful impertinence from the pocket of his silk waistcoat. He ostentatiously twisted small knobs on his intricate watch, consulting its complex readout.
The soldier waited until everyone had turned their eyes from the large man back to him. Once he had retaken the center of attention and authority, he said, "They attacked an imperial fleet."
The room erupted in rambunctious dismay. Mayor Comblain flushed even brighter red, his mouth gaping as if verging on apoplexy. "They attacked imperials? Openly! How outrageous! How horrible! If they dare that, what's to stop them from ravaging our city? Is it war now? Which clan is responsible? Geneva? Paris? What should we do?"
"Colonel," the rotund merchant shouted, "do you know the names of the ships damaged in the battle?" He owned the vast majority of the shipping into Marseilles from the imperial depots in Alexandria, Cyprus, and Malta. The thought that his goods were left scattered across the countryside by vampires who cared nothing for a man's hard work terrified him. He clicked over the display on his watch again, checking the list of his convoys that may have been in the area at the time.
Anhalt squeezed his eyes tight out of exhaustion. The stench of sweat and fear in this chamber was giving him a headache. He again raised a hand for quiet while the mayor prattled orders to his secretary about conscripting more men into the militia and enforcing war emergency orders on local manufacturers.
The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith Page 4