The Rift Walker

by Clay Griffith

  In the arena below lay Adele, bathed in a pool of stark white light. She was naked, but partially covered by a blood-soaked sheet. Her soft body rested on a hard, cold table as men and women in gowns, their heads and faces covered, moved around her. Arms reached quickly across her torso for instruments and gauze. A heavyset man took a long, thin piece of metal and reached over the helpless girl, inserting the tool into a raw gash in her chest. He did it without hesitation or concern, as if it were a normal activity.

  Greyfriar gripped the rail as his breath rushed out. The smell of Adele's blood washed over him in a great offensive blast. It had no nuance or spice; instead, it was blunt, sour, and overwhelming. It had no life. He also smelled other blood blended with hers, cold and flat with no sense of person.

  “Adele,” Greyfriar moaned. He staggered back onto a bench and dropped his head, unable to watch her poor form being abused.

  General Anhalt stood rigid, staring at his princess. He studied the doctors and nurses and watched the facile hands of the surgeon. He noted the glass jars of dark red blood as the doctors struggled to pump new life into the girl who had nearly bled to death on the floor of the crypt.

  The surgeon lifted the tool out of the young woman while a nurse snipped a thread. The nurse whispered, and the surgeon glanced over his shoulder at Anhalt and Greyfriar. He said to the man beside him, “Doctor Kemal, begin to close, if you please. I will return shortly.” Then he stepped from the girl's motionless body and approached Anhalt.

  He yanked his bloody mask down to reveal the mustached face of an older man, jowly and ruddy. Sweat beads dribbled along his forehead as he nodded at General Anhalt. “Sir. Surgery is nearly completed.”

  “Will she live?” Greyfriar asked quickly, surging up to the rail. Instantly, he caught a whiff of the acrid flavor coming off the doctor that he associated with Mamoru and Adele when they were in their practices. The swordsman almost turned his head away in annoyance.

  Anhalt extended a hand toward the perspiring doctor. “This is Sir Godfrey Randolph, one of the finest surgeons in the Empire. He was fortunately summoned by Mamoru.”

  “Doctor Randolph? The vampire anatomist?” Greyfriar asked, but a flurry of activity around Adele took his attention off the surgeon and back to the helpless girl across the room. Another doctor was sliding a long, curved needle into her flesh, closing one of the wounds. Adele had done much the same thing to Gareth in Scotland after his fight with the hunters, but he didn't feel it. She must. He cringed as the needle poked through her pale skin.

  “Yes,” Sir Godfrey replied with surprise. “I have written studies on vampire anatomy.” The old gentleman noticed the swordsman was no longer listening to him, but he continued to stare at the Greyfriar with such intensity that Anhalt wondered if he realized the truth. Then the surgeon regarded the general with a slight smile of embarrassment. “I regret to tell you that Her Highness's wounds are dire. The knife came very close to severing major blood vessels. We've had to give her a great deal of blood.” He glanced quickly at Greyfriar and then away.

  “If you will speak plainly, Doctor, what are her chances for survival?” Anhalt's voice caught as he asked the question.

  Sir Godfrey knitted his eyebrows in confusion. “Oh, she'll survive. Did I lead you to believe otherwise?”

  The two men at the rail came forward, eyes wide.

  “She will?” Greyfriar cried.

  “You were so dour,” Anhalt added. “Her wounds. The damage. The blood.”

  “Gentleman, please, I am a marvelous surgeon.” Sir Godfrey laughed. “I don't lose patients. Certainly not the future empress. Her Highness will recover fully with time and care.”

  “Thank God.” Anhalt leaned heavily on the wooden rail with his hands clasped together. “Thank God.” Then the general straightened with an ecstatic smile so rare to his face, and wiped his brow. He turned and extended his hand to Greyfriar. The swordsman looked at the offered hand for a second, then grasped it. They clutched each other's arms and the two laughed loudly.

  The surgeon said, “We will keep her under very close attention for several days, I assure you. But I have every reason to expect the best. She's a strong young woman.”

  Greyfriar was silent for a moment, but then he nodded and turned to Anhalt. “Shall we see what the teacher has uncovered? I would welcome the opportunity to find any who were involved in this event.”

  Anhalt's hand went to his saber. “Quite.”

  Mamoru crept along the shadowy wall of the imperial crypt. He held a stick of incense that gave off a thin line of smoke. He moved the joss stick slowly up and down close to the marble wall from top to bottom and then stepped aside a few inches to repeat the process. Greyfriar and General Anhalt stood near the door as motionless as possible, just as Mamoru had instructed.

  The samurai had told them that the tiny crystal from Selkirk's boot had almost certainly come from Alexandria itself, but from the city's subsurface close to the harbor. He did not detail how he had acquired this information, but he surmised the assassin had spent time in catacombs near the palace. And since there was no possible entry to the imperial crypt from outside without being noticed, due to the locked door and proliferation of soldiers around the palace, there was necessarily a secret entrance into the tomb from those catacombs. Mamoru knew that Alexandria was honeycombed with tunnels and cisterns, although he was unaware of any connected to the crypt. However, it must be there, and he would find the telltale draft that would betray the opening.

  Mamoru moved the incense stick with painstaking slowness, watching for a shift in the smoke trail. It took an hour to complete all four walls of the tomb. Then he turned and began to eye the many sarcophagi in the crypt. He decided to begin with the massive tomb of the first Equatorian emperor, Simon I. Dropping to his knees, he held the incense close to where the sarcophagus met the stone floor.

  The smoke twisted into a curl.

  Mamoru froze and pulled the incense back to let the smoke straighten. When he brought it back, the smoke trail broke again.

  “Here. Somewhere around this crypt. There must still be a passage into an underground catacomb. Lord Kelvin's government supposedly sealed them all, but perhaps they missed one. There must be a switch and a counterweight here somewhere. Search for a trigger of some sort.”

  The imperious statue of Simon I in his marble robes of state glared down at them. The old emperor seemed quite unhappy and unpleasant, as history indicated he was. Indeed, he had been a man willing to spill blood to define his own empire of chaos in the wake of the Great Killing.

  “So,” General Anhalt said to the samurai as he and Greyfriar prodded the sarcophagus, “there's a secret passage in Alexandria that you don't know?”

  “I'm as shocked as you,” Mamoru replied. “Built into the imperial crypt. A lovely touch.”

  “I have an idea.” Anhalt climbed on top of the tomb and stood next to the stone emperor. “His Majesty Simon the First supposedly died of a seizure.”

  “Supposedly?” Mamoru asked as he puzzled over some ornate carving.

  “It is said within knowledgeable circles that he was stabbed in the eye by the wife of an Armenian general whom the emperor had put to death. Apparently, he rather fancied this general's wife.” Anhalt put his hand on the angry marble face. “His left eye, I believe.” His finger poked Emperor Simon in the left eye and there was an audible click. The general laughed as the crypt shifted on its base.

  Mamoru and Greyfriar put their shoulders against the tomb and shoved while Anhalt leapt off. The massive structure pivoted easily to reveal a rectangular opening with carved steps going down into the dark earth.

  Greyfriar said, “I can go first. I need no light.”

  Mamoru held up a chemical torch. “We have mastered the dark too.”

  “You'll give us away.”

  “I shouldn't care to be at your mercy in the darkness.”

  “Enough,” Anhalt exhaled in exasperation. “Prince Gareth, scout ahe
ad. Do not go too far or you may become lost.”

  Greyfriar descended quickly before Mamoru could argue. The stone stairs dropped fifteen feet into a tunnel carved out of the rock. It was high enough to stand, but narrow. He moved along the rough passage, stopping at intervals to listen and sniff the air. There were no branch tunnels, so he continued for several minutes without pause. Then a sweet scent reached him; it was strong and artificial like perfume, but there was also a faintly human smell underneath it. He crept forward carefully until he finally reached a blank wall. The cloyingly sweet smell was coming from the other side of the slab, as was the faint sound of music.

  Greyfriar returned to the crypt and motioned them forward, explaining what he'd found. Mamoru flicked on the torch, adjusted his beloved katana, which he had retrieved from Kelvin's office after his return to Alexandria, and indicated that Greyfriar should take the lead. The three men moved quickly through the tunnel. Neither human smelled anything but musty rock, and certainly they heard no music.

  Mamoru pressed on the stone slab and whispered, “Simple counterweight. A push and we are inside.”

  They filled their hands with weapons, and Anhalt nodded in the torchlight. Mamoru pushed, and the slab swung open with a flood of light, and they rushed into a spacious chamber. Countless rows of candles burned throughout the room, giving off rich, sweet scents that crowded Greyfriar's senses. The shadowy walls were covered in red-and-white tinted murals, while upright sarcophagi surrounded the perimeter, their round, beige Hellenistic faces staring with blank eyes. In the center sat a man at a large, modern desk next to a lantern that cast a yellow glow over stacks of paperwork. Next to the desk was a small table with a phonograph playing sad music.

  “Stand where you are!” General Anhalt pointed his revolver at the figure at the desk.

  The man looked up in alarm and jumped to his feet.

  “Lord Kelvin?” Anhalt said incredulously.

  “Don't shoot.” Kelvin raised his hands, staring from the pistol to the blue-robed samurai and Greyfriar on either side. “What is this?” He looked with confusion over his shoulder toward an open doorway on the other side of the chamber.

  General Anhalt moved steadily closer to Lord Kelvin. The former prime minister had virtually disappeared since Adele's return several weeks before. “Your Lordship, this is a rather peculiar place for a man such as yourself.”

  The politician smiled nervously. “Gentlemen, I can surmise why you are here since that passage leads only to the imperial crypt. However, if you allow me to explain, I believe you will understand the overwhelming danger to the Empire that we are facing.”

  Lord Kelvin reached for a desk drawer, causing pistols to click with thumbed hammers, while Mamoru moved like lightning to the desk, halting only a few feet from the man, his katana raised at throat level.

  The wide-eyed politician froze. “Please, I am not drawing a weapon. I'm not an idiot. I fully realize my difficult situation here. I can tell you that I only did what was necessary to protect Equatoria, but I worry that the princess will not look so favorably on my efforts. I am, of course, willing to make you three very rich. All I require in return is for you to turn your backs for a few moments.”

  “Kill him,” Greyfriar said.

  Anhalt's eyes narrowed to slits. “Your Lordship, did you have a role in the attempted assassination of Princess Adele?”

  Mamoru asked Lord Kelvin, without lowering his sword, “What is your connection to Selkirk?”

  “Who?” Kelvin snapped his fingers. “Ah. That rather drab fellow with the knife and the blank stare.” The politician tugged on the cuffs of his coat with remarkable placidity, given his predicament. “Selkirk was the choice of my partner.”

  “Your partner?” Mamoru snapped. “Who is that?”

  Kelvin suddenly smiled with raised eyebrows. “Why, here she is.”

  A blur swept through the chamber, and General Anhalt was slammed off his feet. A slender figure whirled, and Kelvin's massive desk rose into the air and smashed against Mamoru. The samurai yelled in surprise and pain as his katana pirouetted through the air and he crashed into a wooden sarcophagus against the wall.

  “Flay!” Greyfriar shouted as the war chief streaked for him. He threw his pistol aside and engaged her with his blade, blocking her claws just inches from his throat.

  She hissed in the ecstasy of battle as she dropped and swiped again and again. Greyfriar parried her strikes with his sword and furious kicks to her wrists and forearms. Then Flay sprang, spun, and landed behind him. He barely turned in time to keep his spine from being shredded. Flay darted about, dodging and attacking. She was fresh and well fed; Gareth had not eaten fully in weeks. Her claws hit faster and deeper as he weakened, ripping his tunic and gouging his flesh with bloody slashes. Then she stopped dead and stared at him. She smelled the air. She smelled his blood and her eyes widened.

  “Gareth?” she said with disbelief.

  Greyfriar found the strength to lunge and send the rapier toward her heart. But even stunned by the most unbelievable of realizations, she twisted slightly so the long blade penetrated just under her arm. Flay ignored the sword and seized Greyfriar by the wrist and elbow and, with a scream of fury, broke his arm. His fingers numbed on the sword's pommel and his arm dropped.

  Flay clawed the cloth from Greyfriar's head and gasped at Gareth's exposed face. “What are you doing? What are you playing at?”

  “Not playing.” Gareth buried his teeth in her throat.

  Flay shrieked and reached around his back with both hands to tear viciously across his shoulders, nearly laying bone bare. Gareth still ripped into her throat, using his sound hand to seize her long braid and pull her head back. She dug her claws into his face and pushed him away, losing flesh and tendons from her throat in the process.

  Flay staggered back, glaring at the prince's savage face smeared with blood. It was a Gareth she hadn't seen since the Great Killing, when he was one of their people's greatest warriors.

  Flay rasped, “Why, Gareth? Why are you pretending to be the Greyfriar?”

  “I am Greyfriar.” He dropped to one knee as blood dripped from him.

  “I don't understand.”

  “Give me a second and I'll enlighten you.”

  Lord Kelvin came out of a shadowy alcove where he had taken refuge. “Don't talk to him! Kill him!” He grabbed Flay by the arm, indicating the battered Anhalt and Mamoru, who both struggled to rise to their feet. “Finish them all. They know everything.”

  Flay shrugged off Kelvin's grip and, with a growl, plunged her clawed hand into his abdomen. He looked at the vampire as she pulled out a chunk of dripping flesh. The former prime minister made a palsied attempt to button his jacket properly over his bleeding, open gut before falling over dead.

  She kicked his twitching body. “Prince Cesare has no further need of your services, Mr. Prime Minister.” She pulled Greyfriar's sword from her side and tossed it aside.

  “Come.” Gareth rose unsteadily to his feet, gripping a sarcophagus for support. “Let's finish this.”

  “I'm already finished here, Gareth.” Flay pressed a hand against her bleeding, savaged throat. She wasn't standing as straight as she had before.

  “Do you really think Cesare will believe you? That the worthless Prince Gareth is the Greyfriar?”

  Flay edged toward the passage. “I've learned much from your brother. I'm playing a different game now. And you've just become part of it. When I call you, Gareth, I advise you to come. Otherwise, I will slaughter your precious herd in Edinburgh.”

  “You don't dare.”

  “If Cesare finds out that you are the Greyfriar, I won't be able to stop him. You will be the greatest traitor to our kind in history.”

  “What would you have of me?” Gareth staggered forward, trying to impress Flay with how brutalized he was and how incapable he was of continuing with combat. Flay was an unpredictable mass of savagery and emotion, and he could not let her leave this chamber.
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  “In due time.” Flay smiled. “When it suits me.”

  He prepared to strike. Suddenly, a burst of heat pierced him. His immediate thought was that Adele was present, but then he saw the bleeding Mamoru crouched in darkness next to a desiccated mummy. The priest hunched over several crystals in an intricate pattern in the dust, waving his hands over them.

  Flay hissed and streaked for the open doorway.

  “No!” Gareth yelled. He started to pursue her, but a scorching wave slammed against his raw back and sent him toppling against the wall with a scream of pain. Flay slipped from sight while Gareth burned helplessly. He looked back at Mamoru, furious at the teacher's ill-timed attempt on Flay.

  The samurai's intense eyes were locked on him, and Gareth realized it had not been an attempt on Flay.

  A booted foot swept in front of Mamoru, sending the crystals flying, and Gareth felt an instant drop in the wave of heat. A battered General Anhalt lowered his Fahrenheit saber in front of Mamoru, its glow deepening the lines and deadly intent on both of their faces.

  “I warn you,” the general said to the samurai. “Stop what you're doing.”

  Mamoru glared up at Anhalt, contemplating how fast he could move. Finally, he exhaled and slumped to the floor. “Dear God, General, if only you knew what you've done.”

  VOICES AWAKENED ADELE from a drowsy slumber. She should have felt terrible, but pain-killing drugs left her pleasantly numb instead. By the time she dragged her eyes fully open, Greyfriar stood inside the door, cowled behind his scarf but clearly agitated. Adele cautiously raised herself up farther on the mountain of pillows behind her head and asked groggily, “Trouble?”