by David Combs
Galen sprang suddenly from the nearby shadows, while Nestor sprang forward to catch Kellen from the other side. Tyrell reached out with his magic to the cobwebs behind the vampire lord. The silken strands pulsed with arcane power as they thickened and stretched towards Ambrose. However, Kellen had not survived for centuries only to be taken so easily. He grabbed the young thief by the wrist and hurled him over the altar into the charging barbarian. Nestor caught his friend, but they crashed into a tangled heap on the cold stone floor. Ambrose snorted in contempt as he ripped through Tyrell’s webs. With a puff of smoke, the magical energy backlashed in a surge of power, staggering the mage.
Kellen brushed the dusty remains of the webs from his shoulders. “I told you before that you have no hope of defeating me. I have killed men far greater than you without even breaking stride. Accept the fact that you are as good as dead, and this all becomes so much simpler.”
Nestor disentangled himself from Galen and resumed his attack stance. “I hate to disappoint you, but we’re still kicking.”
“An unfortunate circumstance that will soon be corrected.” Nestor growled and lunged across the stone altar, the glimmering point of Shadow Reaver arcing towards the vampire lord’s chest. Suddenly, the woman on the altar moved like lightning and grabbed the warrior’s wrist. Shadow Reaver teasingly quivered a hair’s breadth away from Kellen’s breast. Ambrose’s contemptuous laughter echoed throughout the temple.
The girl bared her gleaming fangs in a fierce snarl as she anticipated her first kill. Her eyes blazed with hunger and hatred as she drove her elbow into Nestor’s stomach, and shoved the warrior away from her master. With supernatural agility, the vampiress sprang from the stone altar and landed on her feet with feline grace.
“I would truly love to stay and watch as this child of mine tears you to shreds, my friends, but I have an army to lead against the feeble defenses of the city. I would bid you farewell,” said Kellen as a cruel smile crossed his face,” but I really don’t think that you will.” The vampire lord faded back into the shadows of the alcove behind him and vanished.
Nestor regained his fighting composure and spared a glance at Tyrell. “Any suggestions,” he growled as he held the point of the elvensteel sword pointed at the vampire’s breast. Tyrell looked around frantically for some weakness he might exploit.
“I suppose sweet talk is out of the question,” said Galen. The thief had his sword in hand as he tried to edge around behind the undead woman.
“She’s not really my type,” quipped the barbarian. “This wench strikes me as a bit too cold for my liking.”
A smile flashed across Tyrell’s face. “Then let’s warm her up.” The wizard jumped forward just outside of the vampire’s reach. With a feral growl, she swiped her wicked claws at the mage’s face, but the wizard easily leaned out of harm’s way. Despite her speed and agility, however, the girl lacked Kellen’s centuries of battle training and overextended herself. Tyrell countered her swipe with a thrust of the blazing torch in his hand igniting the girl’s hair into a crown of fire. The wizard forced the inherent magical energy of the flames to burn downwards, and in seconds, the shrieking vampire was wreathed in a shroud of flames.
As her agony and terror paralyzed her, Nestor leaped forward, bringing Shadow Reaver down in a mighty two-handed chop, that cleaved the vampire from her collarbone to her stomach. The blade hummed as it struck the beast, but as it slashed through bone and sinew, the noise rose to a wail that matched that of the dying monster. The sword’s scream died off slowly as the woman’s body crumbled to ashes that drifted to the floor.
“Quite a blade we‘ve found,” said Nestor in quiet awe. He kicked the pile of ashes, and let out a low whistle. Tyrell and Galen ran behind the altar to the alcove where Kellen had stood moments before. The thief‘s trained eyes scanned the stonework.
“Found it,” he said as manipulated a stone projection that caused the crease of a concealed door to pop open.
“The bastard won’t escape us that easily,” swore Tyrell as he pushed past his friend, and into the sloping tunnel. Galen and Nestor followed close behind with the same grim determination that possessed the wizard. The tunnel twisted back and forth as it led them deeper into the city’s underground, but it ran without any side branches to confuse them. Shortly, the passage opened into a wide chamber where Kellen stood atop of an aged sarcophagus and addressed an assembled host of ragged vampires. Two score men and women knelt before him and swayed in a religious fervor as their master addressed them
“I shall make the first kill, but you shall know the instant that my victim is taken. The moment you sense my victim’s death, carry out your instructions. Go forth from these hidden catacombs and attack Tarnath.” The vampires snarled and howled. “Go forth and feed that your strength may grow.” The ragged group’s snarls rose to growling cheers. “These people are cattle and we are gods before them,” shouted Kellen. “We shall rule this city or see it destroyed by our might!” A deafening roar arose as Kellen looked over his minions. They writhed before him as if he was a snake charmer before a field of serpents.
“This can’t be good,” whispered Galen as he looked past Tyrell’s shoulder.
“Even I don’t like these odds,” growled Nestor. “And I have a terrible feeling that this isn’t the only assemblage Ambrose has in hiding.” The barbarian sheathed Shadow Reaver as it began to hum as if the blade sensed the nature of the force assembled in the room ahead. “He could have a whole damn army down here waiting for a signal to attack. Every location on that list of lairs we found could house groups like this.”
Kellen threw his hands to the ceiling and arched his back. “Let the Night of Terror begin,” he roared. The vampire lord leaped away from the sarcophagus and raced up a stairway at the back of the room that led back into the main sewer tunnels. His worshippers filed in behind him, pressing against one another to get as close as they could to their master, but those at the top of the stair paused to await the signal to charge forth.
Tyrell’s brow knit in concentration. “Kellen said they had to wait for his signal. I have a hunch that if we move fast, we can at least rid the city of this group of them, and possibly get back to the surface in time to warn the city.” He glanced at Nestor. “Are you ready for a fight?”
The barbarian only grinned in response as he once again drew forth the humming elvensteel sword. Without a word, he slipped past the mage and charged the rear rank of the undead. One vampire curiously turned around as he thought he heard a buzzing noise, only to have half of his face removed by a glittering razor of metal.
Nestor let loose with a savage fury, as he hacked and sliced at reaching arms. Vampires on the stair saw the charge of approaching death and leaped over the stair rail to avoid being trapped. Galen and Tyrell desperately swung torches at anything that got too near them. The smell of burned flesh and the piercing wails of dying monsters filled the room.
Nestor took a kick to the ribs that drove him back into the mage. Tyrell caught his staggered friend, but a nearby vampire took advantage of the distraction to snatch the torch away from the wizard. Galen fell back against his comrades and poked his own torch hesitantly at a suddenly encircling mob.
“That didn’t work as well as expected,” the thief said. Nestor regained his stance and looked around at the closing throng. Demonic claws clicked and long bared fangs gnashed, but the remaining undead simply hovered and waited.
“Well we almost got half of them,” said Nestor as he held Shadow Reaver defensively before him.
“It’s the other half that has me worried, Redbeard,” retorted Galen. A daring vampire lashed out and grabbed the torch from Galen. The thief was thrown to the floor by the rough yank, and the monster kicked the fallen man’s ribs twice. Galen felt cold claws play teasingly over his face and throat, yet none pierced his skin. Nestor roared and slashed the face of the beast that loomed over his friend. Tyrell pulled Galen to his feet Nestor held the creatures at bay.
“Kellen hasn’t struck yet. We still have some time. He must have chosen his victim carefully.”
“Well, the suspense is killing me,” growled Galen.
“If he gets where he’s going before we can get out of here, the suspense will be the least of the things killing you.” Nestor’s eyes grew wide and he lunged at Galen. Shadow Reaver passed a hair’s breadth away from the thief’s face as the barbarian skewered a lurking vampire through the eye.
The circle of vampires tightened around the three men. The fiends were intent on making these three enemies of their master suffice as their first kill of the night. Fangs snapped, icy fists clenched, and feral snarls filled the air. The soldiers of the Kellen Ambrose were ready. All they needed was the signal.
For the master demanded the first kill.
***
Lorelei sat in the plush chair that had become Galen’s favorite in her home. She absently wondered about her lover and mused about what he might be doing. So many lonely nights had passed since she had last seen him, since he had left on an assignment for Lord Ambrose, and he still hadn’t returned to her door. She chased away her girlish fears. Galen was not only capable of taking care of himself, but he was in the company of two other skilled adventurers who would see her young thief safely through whatever they faced.
She sighed and stretched lazily, extending her feet toward the warm fire. Well, she thought to herself, at least if he’s working for Lord Ambrose, then he is working for a good cause, regardless of whatever else it may be that he is up to. She regarded for a moment the platinum bracelet that the thief had given to her just before he and his companions had left. She smiled at the memory of all of his romantic babble about the purity of the metal being symbolic of the purity of his affection, and the circle being some other symbol of something or another that she couldn’t remember. She’d have to ask him to repeat it all over to her again. It made her feel all warm inside, a feeling which she longed for every time now that her mind dwelt on her young cutpurse.
A knock on the door brought her away from her daydreaming, and she jumped from her chair with hopeful expectations. Galen was the only person who she could imagine calling at this late hour. Lorelei scolded herself to be ladylike and not race to the door. Better to make him think that I didn’t even miss him, she thought. Too eager, and he’ll think he can have whatever he wants from me. She smiled again. Even though he could, of course.
She walked to the door and casually opened it with all of the nonchalance she could muster. The face that stood before her was not at all who she had expected to be there.
Lorelei blushed, and quickly checked her robe to make certain that she wasn’t too revealing. “Forgive me,” she said quickly, “I wasn’t expecting company this evening. Frankly, I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you even knew where I lived. Oh, but where are my manners. Please come in. I had thought that you didn’t need my services for a while.” She paused, nervously regarding her visitor. “Do you have need of me for something tonight?”
Kellen Ambrose smiled as he stepped across the threshold, and entered her room. “Oh, yes, my dear. Tonight I have a very special need of you,” he said with a wicked chuckle as he closed her door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tyrell ducked the wild swipe of a vampire’s talons, driving the end of his torch into the beast‘s stomach. The wizard racked his brain for any solution that might save him and his friends quickly, or else they were surely doomed. He spared a glance around the circle and realized that for one brief moment all of the vampires had paused in their fight. Their gleaming eyes dulled as they looked off into empty space as if they watched the goings on of some faraway place. The moment passed, and the blank stares turned to looks of predatorial glee as undead eyes refocused on the trio. There was no mistaking what had happened.
Kellen had found his victim.
Tyrell snatched a pouch from his waist. “Nestor, push hard for the stairs, now,” screamed the wizard. The warrior slashed the face of an attacker with Shadow Reaver as the mage hurled the leather bag to the floor. A blinding flash of light caused the vampires to shriek and stagger back as the pouch full of flash powder exploded. Tyrell shoved Galen ahead of him while Nestor took advantage of the distraction, and charged for the stairs like a maddened bull. Galen stumbled once, but the thief’s natural grace and agility kept him moving in the right direction.
“This way, lads,” yelled Nestor as his foot touched the bottom stair. The barbarian turned to hold at bay the vampires’ pursuit while Tyrell and Galen raced to the top of the stairs. He took a few tentative swings at a couple of overly bold undead, then bolted up the stairway after his friends. Snarls and howls of rage echoed after him, urging all three men to greater speed. Galen rounded the final landing first and yelped as he saw a wooden panel in front of him. The thief was unable to slow his pace and crashed into the barrier. Rotten wood gave way with a splintering crash as the thief plowed through. He fell into a tumbling roll and came to his feet in time to see Tyrell leap through the opening into the room. Nestor threw himself up the last four steps, guarding the entrance to delay the expected horde.
“They’re coming fast,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Find something to hold them back!” Tyrell looked quickly at their new surroundings. Old wooden crates of musty cloth surrounded the hidden door.
“Throw these in their path. It might slow them down,” cried the wizard as he tumbled a box down the hidden stair. Nestor quickly overturned a couple more into the opening.
“This isn’t going to slow them for long. With their strength, all it will do is irritate them that much more.”
“But maybe it will buy us enough time to think of something else.” A hiss echoed from the dark stairwell and Nestor saw the first telltale glow of a vampire’s eyes. He raised Shadow Reaver in a salute and kissed the blade. Tyrell shuddered as he recalled the barbarian people’s custom of kissing their weapons before they entered their final battle.
The stairwell was cluttered now with broken crates and piles of cloth. Galen reappeared suddenly, rolling a barrel in front of him. He smiled as he came to a stop before his friends.
“I think this may be just what we were looking for.” He kicked the barrel through the opening, and the cask shattered as it struck the stone wall. A sickeningly sweet smell filled the corridor, and a splash of thick, syrupy fluid struck Nestor’s boot.
“OK, Redbeard,” said the thief. “Hold them on the landing just long enough for me to get this lit. When I tell you, get the hell out of there.” The thief pulled a rag and his flint and steel out of a pouch. Nestor jumped back into the hole and kicked an advancing vampire in the face, knocking it and several of its fellows back to the next landing.
Tyrell watched as Galen ignited the rag, and wrapped it around the blade of a throwing dagger. “You’d better stand back,” said the younger man to the wizard. “Nestor, get back now!” The thief whipped the flaming blade past Nestor’s head as the warrior made a hasty retreat to the doorway. The missile glanced off the wall and landed on the soaked pile of cloth.
Flames roared to life, and the resulting explosion threw the barbarian to the ground. Shrieks filled the tunnel as the undead caught in the blast burned and flailed into other vampires who strayed too close. Tyrell smashed one burning fiend in the teeth with a broken board and knocked it back into the inferno.
Galen pulled the warrior back to his feet, and Nestor noticed that his boot was aflame where the strange liquid had splattered him. He stamped out the fire and glared at the thief. “What in Alhambra’s Hells was that stuff?”
“Vanasian siege oil. An old guild master of mine received a barrel of it once. He eventually blew himself up experimenting with it and nearly burned down the guild hall. It’s pretty potent stuff, and I’m actually amazed that someone had a bar
rel of it just lying around.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Kellen had stashed it here in the event that he needed to cover his tracks,” said Tyrell.
Galen shrugged and looked back into the raging inferno on the stairwell. “Could be. At any rate, those flames will burn hot enough and long enough that any of those bastards that survived the blast won’t be able to come up behind us from that direction for a good long while.” The thief clapped the barbarian on his smoldering shoulder. Nestor winced and gave the younger man a shove.
“Excellent,” said Tyrell. “Let’s get moving and find Kellen. Somehow, I can sense that his vampire army will be fairly helpless if we can stop him.” The other two nodded in agreement, and Nestor threw wide the heavy warehouse door. The salty smell of the waterfront drove back the fumes from the oily smoke and cooled their sweaty brows. A sudden scream tore through the night air, spurring the men forward. They had to prevent the citizens of Tarnath from being overwhelmed by the vampire army of Kellen Ambrose. As they dashed into the darkened city streets, a moment of singular purpose crossed the face of each companion.
It was time to bring their business with the vampire lord to its conclusion.
***
Knarya rallied his men against an almost hopeless assault. Vampires poured forth from the sewers, springing from the shadowy doorways of abandoned buildings. All around him, his soldiers died as they fought the vicious horde capable of rending a man to pieces with bare hands. Maces and swords caused minor damage that healed almost before a backswing could even be brought to bear. Despite their courage, Knarya’s troops had done little more than draw the fiends’ attacks away from the citizenry, and on to the city guards.
“Damn Kellen Ambrose for this mess,” swore the Captain. A young lieutenant who fought beside him nodded quickly. “If I ever get my hands around that noble bastard’s neck, I promise that, vampire or not, he will regret ever crossing my path.” The younger officer struggled to hold at bay a young sailor whose bared fangs gleamed white in the moonlight. Knarya shoved his junior man aside and brought his own blade in a savage arc that whistled with the promise of cleaving the head of any who were so unfortunate as to be under the stroke.