The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume

by Chad T. Douglas

  Knocking his head on a bedpost, Tom flailed awake and opened his eyes to the inside of Castle Hainburg. He was exactly where he had been when he went to sleep after dinner, in a room at the top of the Second Head—the shorter of the two tallest turrets, named so for looking like the double-headed eagle on their exteriors. In the dark Tom managed to light a candle, and sweeping the room twice, he found that he was alone. One of the high windows was swung open, but Felix had warned him it was loose. Seeing no reason for alarm, Tom shut it and wedged a throwing knife between the window frame and the sill on the hinged side. The room warmed up again, and Tom set down the candle after making one more sweep across the room.

  Because of the terrible weather, Tom and Geoffrey had been committed to Hainburg for three days thus far. Felix needed a clear sky and long line of sight before instructing Thomas on what route to follow into Romania. Thomas had made the best of the inconvenience by speaking with Felix and Geoffrey on every available occasion, getting to know both men. Simultaneously he worked at devising a way to hire Geoffrey without upsetting Felix or tearing Geoffrey away from the place to which he’d come many hundreds of miles from England to study and perfect his craft.

  Tom couldn’t understand why he was having such difficulty warming up. The castle was well insulated against the elements, and the candles in his room were burning strong. When he lay back down so he could smother himself in blankets, he noticed his feet were covered in damp dirt. Annoyed, he wiped them off and avoided getting any more on the clean bed. Suddenly it occurred to him that something was terribly awry. Looking again at the loose window, he saw the same dirt clinging to the sill and scattered on the floor beneath. His dream came back to mind, and it was then he realized it hadn’t been a dream at all. The white uniforms, the violet crystals, the graveyard—something sinister was occurring in the village. Dressing himself and tying his hair, Tom left his room and woke Geoffrey, sleeping lower in the Second Head. The young magescribe, already intrigued by the activity of the White Army, and with no reason to believe Tom hadn’t been able to slip out of the castle under the influence of the dreigher, agreed that Felix should be consulted.

  Meanwhile along the castle walls, the watch was active and alert. Felix’s patrol listened to the forest and valley more closely than usual. A quiet forest was not to be trusted. The owls were not calling to one another, and the insects were silent. No moan of a wolf or chirping of a bat reached their ears. Then one of the soldiers sitting on the parapet felt a vibration coming up the wall. Pushing the others out of his way he walked swiftly to the overlook at the main gate and down toward where the village lay hidden in the dark. He ordered the watch to extinguish the nearby torches, and only then, when his curse adjusted his eyes to the light, did he see the tops of the trees jostling. Something large was moving toward the castle. The next heavy thump was felt by more of the soldiers, and someone was sent to Felix.

  Already awakened by Thomas and Geoffrey, Felix had hurried with them down from the tower to the ground level and out the castle door. They had just entered the bailey, a space of about fifty metres between the castle and the outer walls, when they met the messenger. The four men climbed to the top of the wall, seeing that all the watchtowers were darkened. Every pair of eyes swept the forest. The only disturbance came from one source, the thumping mass that approached from the village. No one spoke. Felix dispatched a party of soldiers into the village to rouse the families and move them into the bailey for safety’s sake.

  “Report!” Felix called up to the watchtowers. Even with their telescoping spyglasses, the soldiers posted in the watchtowers could not distinguish the mass from the dark forest floor.

  “What did you see in the village, Thomas?” asked Geoffrey.

  “I told you. White uniforms and shadows in the graveyard. Oh, and violet crystals as well. The uniforms were wearing them.” Tom never took his gaze away from the source of the thumping. As it neared, the shock became heavier, loosening part of the surrounding cliffs and mountainside, which broke loose and crashed down into the valley.

  “Violet crystals?” repeated Geoffrey. “You didn’t mention that before.”

  “Why, what are they used for?” Tom turned around and looked at Geoffrey curiously. Felix did as well. Some of the soldiers within earshot of the conversation showed their concern by frowning and looking over their shoulders.

  “They’re used in necromancy,” said Geoffrey quietly. Suddenly it made sense to Tom that his demon had been so attracted to the crystals. Necromancy dealt exclusively in the darker realms of magic—summoning spirits and resurrecting the dead.

  “Giant! Golem!” A soldier suddenly cried from atop the left watchtower. The trees at the edge of the cliffs began to topple over, and a massive dark body hoisted itself up over the rocky outcropping. Several smaller human bodies, dressed in white uniforms, scampered along behind it, dividing into squads and surrounding the castle. Little points of violet light bounced below their necks. The giant among them was at least the height of seven men, and when it took a step the earth shook, forcing the soldiers along the walls to hold on to the crenellations for stability. At its feet there gathered a mob of slow, uncoordinated bodies made of clay and bone. These undead, pulled from the graveyard in the village, marched forward with their open eyes and mouths turned skyward. Felix kept his stance and rallied all his men to the walls. Long-barreled guns were distributed along the watch, and cannons were rolled into place along hoardings on the lower insides of the wall. Along these wooden platforms, the cannons were poked out of openings in the stone, similar to loopholes but modified for artillery.

  “Castle Hainburg!” One of the men in white uniform called to the main gate from the motte grounds outside. The golem ceased its approach, its last step rocking the men on the walls.

  “What is your meaning? What purpose do you have coming here?” Felix called back angrily.

  “Mortal kind is not afraid of you!” The man called back. “You have no place in this world any longer! You will terrify civil society no longer! Surrender these territories or they will be taken by force!”

  “Under whose authority have you come here? I demand you identify yourselves!” Felix was red in the face. He drew his field sword and his men raised their weapons.

  “These territories are harboring an enemy of man, as declared by the Eight, an alliance of mortal powers whose noble duty is the protection of human kind!”

  “The Eight?” Felix repeated quietly. He’d heard that once before during his service in the American colonies. His commanding officer had disappeared after mentioning the Eight to his subordinate officers. Whoever the Eight were, they were dangerous. One of them was English, Felix recalled, but he had never heard his name. If any of the men in his regiment had heard it, they were going to take it to their graves after what happened to their commanding officer. A few of them had returned to Hainburg with Felix, and they were the first to look at him knowingly when the man in the white uniform shouted the ominous number at them from down below.

  “Castle Hainburg is guilty of nothing!” Felix shouted, keeping his composure. “You are far from England! Your superiors have no authority here!” Felix’s talent was nurturing morale, and even then, with an unfamiliar enemy threatening his haven, Felix convinced his men that the fight was already won. They burst from their human skins and became a pack of howling monsters.

  “England! You must be mistaken! Tonight you are at the mercy of Berlin and the legacy of Frederick the Great!” The man in the white uniform turned away, soon replaced by an infantry that encircled the walls. Some were armed with autocasts—prepared, magical weapons—others, sabers and firearms.

  Geoffrey and Thomas had hurried back to the castle directly after the discussion about the crystals. They were returning to the castle walls after retrieving Tom’s magical armaments from his room in the tower. While still far away, they heard the exchange between Felix and the enemy’s commanding officer. Stopping abruptly, Tom tied the Uyl T
alisman around his right arm and a pouch with two jades onto his belt. Opposite the pouch, Brother bounced against his left leg. A great tremor rocked the ground as the giant outside the gates advanced on the castle walls. From below the wall, Tom could already see the Schwarzer Mond firing their weapons and touching matches to cannon. The heavier weapons were to his aid. Moving at a half-run toward the rear gates, he was able to collect twelve armed werewolves who followed him outside and along the walls to the enemy’s flank.

  Without the constant battering of cannon and lead shot keeping them away, the animated dead began to climb the walls surrounding the gates. Most were chopped up by saber once they reached the crenellations, if first their clumsy, frail limbs didn’t fail them. Despite their relative weakness, their numbers were a nuisance, and Felix soon discovered that they could be reanimated again and again by their summoners, even after being cut down.

  Tom and his squad transformed and hit the first unsuspecting group of soldiers stealthily, sweeping wide around and behind their line of view and then bringing down most of them in single blows. Each bunch they encountered was small in number, and Tom guessed they had some tactical purpose. What, he did not know, but he routed them knowing he’d rather not find out and deal with them before the situation at the main gates worsened. As the werewolves rounded the outer wall and neared the enemy’s primary force, Tom caught sight of violet crystals. A total of five necromancers were controlling the golem that had recovered from losing its feet and was again threatening the gates.

  “Wait,” Tom ordered his squad, leading them into the cover of darkness beneath the wall and out of direct sight. He needed an overwhelming distraction in order to get close to the necromancers without leading the werewolves into a shower of what he was more than certain would be deadly silver shot.

  The enemy’s commanding officer paced back and forth a safe distance from the main gates, waiting for the golem to breach the wall before sending his infantry in for the kill. As he shouted orders, a swift wind picked up, and a wad of mud slapped him in the face, most of it filling his mouth and gagging him. Coughing and swearing, he turned and spat the putty out and scraped it from his tongue with two fingers, looking all around angrily for the source of the missile. Just as he saw Thomas Crowe rounding the castle wall with a band of slobbering werewolves, a furious gale threw another stinging blob of mud into his face, the weight of which threw him off balance and off his feet. The infantry were struck by the same hailstorm of dirt and rocks, blinding them as they tried to turn away and shield themselves with their hands. The obnoxious blast was so intense that the entire army’s advance drifted away from the gates, and the soldiers’ organization disintegrated. In moments the invading force was floundering around like beached fish, squirming in the mud and altogether confused. When the commanding officer stood again, the Schwarzer Mond were charging his ranks from the main gate and from both flanks. Felix, rushing him from behind, roared and drew his saber, striking the muddy ground as he rolled out of reach.

  “That will teach you to wear your delicates to battle!” Tom yelled over the blast of cannon and wind. His squad swept through the enemy’s lines and trimmed them down in a flurry of claws and teeth. The burdensome mud clinging to their arms and legs disadvantaged the enemy just enough for the Schwarzer Mond to find the vulnerable areas of their armored uniforms. As his squad rushed ahead, Tom’s focus weakened. The Uyl Talisman rattled loudly and the dreigher pressed against the backs of his eyes. Unable to restrain himself, Tom took much less pity on his next several victims. The enemy soldiers who challenged him, instead of receiving clean thrusts and slices from Brother, were met with brutal chops and excessive strikes to the most painful places on their bodies. A few of them pleaded with Tom as he carved away at them, but the demon inside heard none of it, and struck at their babbling mouths viciously with Brother’s edge.

  Just when the dreigher had taken complete control, it was evicted by a huge force that struck Tom in the stomach, throwing him across the castle grounds. He sank into the mud and skipped across the wet ground, like a smooth rock bouncing across a pond. Struggling to breathe, Tom staggered to his feet only to throw himself back to the ground as the golem came at him with a follow-up swing of its arm. Throwing its rocky fist wide, it stumbled to a sloppy halt under its own weight. Tom lifted his head and wiped the mud from his cheek as a cannon ball buzzed over his head and punched the golem in the neck, saving Tom from another pummeling. Acting quickly, Tom got to his feet and sucked shallow breaths through his teeth, unable to transform and run from the golem. Luckily, its focus had shifted to the Schwarzer Mond attacking its controllers, who were retreating to the forest.

  “Easy, Thomas,” Geoffrey said, slapping a hand on Tom’s back. “They’ll handle the rest. Felix is very impressed. Come, let’s get inside the gates.” With a hand under Tom’s elbow, Geoffrey navigated him around the muddy bodies of the slain and back inside Hainburg. Behind them, a climactic tremor signaled the golem’s last tumble as the fleeing necromancers were cut down. Whoops of triumph came from the Schwarzer Mond high on the walls and down in the valley. Just as Tom thought about needing clean clothes, it began to rain again.

  “The Eight,” Felix said, sighing wearily, “Are responsible for what has happened to every vanished clan for the past decade. I have no doubt, now. Who are they? I do not know.” Felix, Geoffrey and Tom sat around one end of the great table in the dining hall, alone. After the bodies on the grounds outside the walls had been disposed of or buried, in the case of werewolf deaths, most of the Schwarzer Mond had gone to their families or back to their watch posts. Tom spilled over the arms of his chair as if he were melting.

  “You said you know one of them is English.” Tom spoke in a half-caring tone, tired and sore. “Do you know who?”

  “No,” replied Felix.

  “What does this all mean?” asked Geoffrey. His worried expressions were almost comical, Tom thought. During the battle, Geoffrey had been knocked in the head by the rear end of a cannon after falling over and trying to stand up again as it was fired. Now his head was wrapped in such a way that one eye was covered and his glasses sat skewed across his nose.

  “War,” answered Felix plainly. His white-gloved knuckles tapped the table like two metronomes. They still showed bloody stains and soil. With a groan, Felix removed his helmet and scratched his head.

  “In other words, nothing new,” said Tom sarcastically. The three men sat in silence, each staring at the table in front of him, at some moments thoughtless and at others distractedly occupied.

  “The Helvetii need to know what has happened. Tomorrow, I think, it would be wise for you to continue on to the East, Captain Crowe.” When Felix said this, Geoffrey nodded in agreement. His glasses slid off his face, and he caught them before they fell to the floor. A soldier burst into the hall and Geoffrey immediately dropped them again.

  “Two strangers at the gate!” The soldier stopped with a jolt and addressed Felix loudly from the other end of the table.

  “Who?” Felix was annoyed.

  “One is a vampire! The other is a glowing woman!”

  “Vampire? How many … Did you … say glowing?” Felix squinted and raised an eyebrow. So did Thomas.

  “One vampire, sir. Not threatening, but the woman refuses to stop glowing until she is allowed in. It’s upsetting the watch, sir.”

  “We should go have a word with them. They might be here for me,” said Thomas without any further explanation. With a groan he stood. Felix and Geoffrey followed him and the soldier outside.

  The Eight were as much a mystery to me decades ago as they are to this day. I do know more than I did when I saw their forces for the first time in Austria, and it has been invaluable in understanding what has happened since their first appearance in Europe. The details that concern this story are not important yet, but other things must be addressed.

  The octet of individuals who called themselves the Eight were so unknown at the time of their pri
mary operations, they mayn’t have been real at all. In the beginning I thought they were the ghosts of paranoia—things manifested in the minds of mankind during times of uncertainty and change. This is not the case, as will be revealed soon, but a younger me did not believe that eight individuals were capable of changing the world uncontested.

  After the events that unfolded at Hainburg, it was not difficult to figure out that one or more of the Eight was in Berlin. It would seem reasonable, even now, because the philosophical movement of the age had begun under Frederick the Great, and Berlin was the cradle of this philosophy. The Enlightenment sparked a change in European thought, and this change drove scholars in many different directions. Scientists began to question what had never been questioned. Methods and customs were attacked, adjusted, even discarded by the minds that opened to possibility and shut their eyes to the past. In some circumstances, this age improved greatly upon society’s stumbling blocks and transgressions against itself, but it also fostered fervor in some that burned aggressively for opportunity and change. This would result in a sense of reason so callous and purist in nature that progress would mean hostile neglect for, or violence against, anything deemed “backward” or “illogical.”

  One important item in the list of things “illogical” was fear of immortals. Suddenly, man discovered that things once unquestioned are only frightening when not properly understood. This realization led to the assumption that knowledge was an antidote for fear, and since fear was looked upon as an obstacle between science and progress, it was assaulted headlong in every literal sense. The Eight, whoever they are or were, no doubt were strong believers in progress at whatever cost to those who weren’t as interested as they. I should also acknowledge that, though their agenda appears simple, the depths of the Eight themselves are difficult to fathom. I say this because the Eight’s modus operandi strove to benefit human kind, but at least two of the Eight, if not more, were immortal.