“We must hurry,” Kajihi whispered.
Much as he desired to open the tube and see his love, Nosferatu knew the Watcher was right. Plus, dawn was not far off. He gestured and the two Bedouins grabbed hold of the ends. They lifted the tube off the platform. Kajihi was back in the corridor, leading the way out. Nosferatu brought up the rear, his eyes on the tube.
They exited the Great Pyramid just as the first reddish hint of dawn was showing in the east. Nosferatu lent a hand getting the tube down the giant blocks of the pyramid to the surface of the plateau. They scurried along in the concealment of the stone causeway until they reached the large pile of stone blocks where the other four Bedouins waited.
Nosferatu had them lash the tube to the two spare camels, protecting the end still on the ground with a piece of heavy cloth. He turned to Kajihi, anxious to be into the desert before the sun cleared the horizon. “Go back to your Watching.”
Seven girls and seven boys. Virgins all.
The ship from Athens delivered the yearly tribute to the long stone dock that extended from the port city of Iraklion into the harbor. Soldiers flanked the chained youths and escorted them along the dock to the waiting wagons. They were loaded on board and the small convoy made its way through the town, flickering torches in the lead soldiers’ hands lighting the way. Even though it was early evening, not a person was about and store windows were shuttered. No one wanted to gaze upon the doomed youths, for it was said the very sight of them brought ill fortune.
The wagons rolled into the hills, approaching the capital palace of Knossos. It was a sign of the king’s power that the palace was not surrounded by defensive walls. The Minoan Navy ruled the waves for many miles about Crete and any enemy would have to get through that powerful force before it could even approach the island.
On top of the tallest tower in the palace, a dark figure stood, gazing down at the slowly approaching lights. To all he ruled, he was known as King Minos, who held sway over Crete, and many of the surrounding Cycladic Islands. There were those who said he was the son of Zeus and the Princess Europa. There were none alive on the island who remembered when he had taken power, and the whispers passed down said he had been in the palace for over 350 years. Some said even longer. Thus the rumors of a God as his father.
Of course, it was true to an extent.
Vampyr pulled back the hood covering his head and looked up at the stars. He felt the lust for blood rising as the caravan carrying the tribute from Athens came closer. He had learned to be careful over the years, to hide his feeding from people. He took only one victim a month, in the secrecy of the Labyrinth he had had built underneath the palace, away from the prying eyes of others. The extra two he took on special occasions — one was the anniversary of Lilith’s death. The other was the anniversary of the date he had become king of Crete over 350 years earlier.
He had come there over five hundred years ago. After leaving Egypt with his tube and Aspasia’s Shadow’s admonition, he had traveled about the edge of the Mediterranean for two hundred years. He’d even gone inland, traveling into the Black Sea and northward into Russia, spending many years exploring. He’d seen much and learned much, but his hatred had not abated in the slightest.
Finally, growing weary, he’d taken Aspasia’s Shadow’s advice and hidden his tube in a cave along the coast of Greece and climbed inside, going into the deep sleep. He’d awoken five hundred years earlier. He’d traveled back to Egypt, where he learned that the Airlia had disappeared and that Shadows had ruled. Then even the Shadows had given way to men. He made plans to enter the Roads of Rostau and search out the four surviving Airlia to slay them — if that was indeed where they slept — but Aspasia’s Shadow had appeared and Vampyr had been forced to leave his ancient land and go back to wandering.
He’d killed many humans over those years, many for sustenance and many more for vengeance.
He’d eventually realized that he needed power and leverage in the world of men if he was ever going to strike back at the Gods and destroy Aspasia’s Shadow. He’d traveled to this island, where he slowly began taking command. First one village, then another. Banding together disparate groups until finally the island was one kingdom.
He ruled through fear, which he had found to be the strongest of human emotions. The slightest transgression against his reign was punished with torture, then death. He had had every man who worked on the Labyrinth underneath the palace executed after its completion so that none knew its secret ways but he. The fate of the youths who were sent into its depths every year was the subject of much conjecture among the populace. Some said a monster, half-man, half-beast, lived under the palace and fed on the flesh of the youths. Close, Vampyr mused as he watched the convoy approach. It was a rumor he did nothing to contradict. A king who held sway over monsters was a powerful king indeed.
Vampyr estimated that he needed forty more years of conquest and expansion before his kingdom would be powerful enough to challenge Egypt. While a long time for a human, it was but a moment for Vampyr.
The convoy had entered the palace and passed from sight below. Vampyr left the turret and made his way down the stairs that wound around the interior of the tower. He passed through ground level and continued to the roads he’d had built underneath. Vampyr moved through rough, rock-hewn corridors, the workmanship shoddy compared to that of the Roads of Rostau.
The hunger grew in Vampyr as he got closer to the Labyrinth. He knew his soldiers had already pushed the youths into the antechamber, which opened onto four doorways. Each doorway led into the Labyrinth, but the youths didn’t know that. And each doorway opened inward but there was no handle on the other side. For the first fifty years or so, Vampyr had watched the antechamber through a peephole, interested to see how the youths would react. They always ended up taking the doors. Sometimes all fourteen would go through the same one; sometimes the group would splinter. But they all ended up in the Labyrinth.
There were places in the Labyrinth where food would be lowered daily, allowing the youths to feed. There were also two wells. And once a month Vampyr would hunt, taking a tender, young neck and the fresh blood. One by one they would fall to him while those that survived grew ever more frantic.
None had ever escaped.
Tonight he would take the first.
Vampyr moved to a large stone inset in at the end of the corridor. Putting his hand in the right spot, he pushed and the balanced rock turned, opening up a slight space on the left. Vampyr slid through, closing the rock behind him. He was in the Labyrinth.
Vampyr stood perfectly still, listening.
There was a strange noise, one he had not heard before. From beneath him. From the earth itself.
Vampyr staggered as the stone floor shifted under his feet. A tremendous roar filled the air. Vampyr looked up in time to see a large stone come crashing down on him.
CHAPTER 4
Nekhbet. Nosferatu sensed her presence in the tube being dragged behind the two camels as strongly as he felt the sun beating down on the cloth wrapped around his body to protect his skin and eyes. They pushed on, into the Great Desert, leaving Giza behind. The Bedouins were keeping a southerly course, the Nile far off to their left, the Great Desert extending in all other directions. One Bedouin followed behind the party with a palm branch, sweeping away their tracks.