He led them out of the room, along the tunnels to the surface. Once they exited the interior of the mountain, Aspasia’s Shadow took the case from the Bedouin and gave it to Nosferatu. “Take these and go. Do not ever return here.”
Eleven hundred years. Vampyr had originally considered setting the tube for an even thousand, but decided to throw in the extra hundred years just in case. It had been long enough. His hands were back, all the way to the tips of his fingers, the skin smooth and flawless. He held them in front of his face, marveling at the feeling, at being able to grasp things. It was amazing how something he had taken for granted for so long had become so important.
It was time to venture out into the world once more, to inflict pain and suffering on those who had done the same to him so many times in the past.
First, though, he would try once more to rule an empire. He had learned a bitter lesson about power from his time with the Spartans.
Crete was too isolated. The first thing he would do, after feeding, was buy transport off the island to find a fertile land for his terror.
CHAPTER 11
“That is Aspasia’s Shadow,” Nosferatu said as he pointed across the field behind the center front of the Turkish army. He was standing next to Vampyr in the center of the Hungarian force that faced the Turks.
Vampyr was dressed head to toe in black armor, with a full visor helmet on. Strapped to his side was his Spartan xithos. Nosferatu had learned in the month he had been in Transylvania that this was how Vampyr always appeared in daylight, which, along with certain brutal practices, had led to his reputation as prince of darkness. Nosferatu himself wore a gray hooded cloak and a face mask to protect his skin and eyes. It was early morning and the Turkish army commanded by Aspasia’s Shadow had been approaching since dawn.
For thirty-seven years Nosferatu had nursed his anger toward Aspasia’s Shadow. After leaving Mount Sinai, Nosferatu had split from Tian Dao Lin. His Chinese friend had headed west to link up with what remained of Cing Ho’s fleet and go back to China. Nosferatu had journeyed from the Sinai into deepest Africa to recover Nekhbet’s tube from the Mountains of the Moon, a most arduous journey. But all had been for naught when he opened Nekhbet’s tube, brought her awake, and gave her the blood that Aspasia’s Shadow had given him. It had had little effect and she’d been drawn and tired, aging almost in front of Nosferatu’s eyes. They realized he’d been duped by Aspasia’s Shadow and given human blood instead of Airlia. Together they’d made the difficult decision once more to put her to sleep in the tube and leave her on the mountain.
Seeking revenge, Nosferatu had heard rumors of a dark lord gaining power in Hungary and he’d guessed that Vampyr was the subject of the rumors. Listening to people speak in port cities he learned that a prince called Vlad Tepes had establish a strong domain in the midst of much political turmoil in Eastern Europe. He’d united many of the warring factions, extending his power from Transylvania over most of Hungary. Nosferatu had traveled there, throwing himself on the mercy of his old comrade, seeking an alliance against Aspasia’s Shadow.
In his loneliness after so many centuries Vampyr had welcomed Nosferatu into his castle at Tirgoviste. As Nosferatu had hoped, the combined threat of two Undead together in one place and Vampyr’s growing power had drawn Aspasia’s Shadow’s attention. Unfortunately, they had not expected such a massive and swift response. The Turks Aspasia’s Shadow had under his command outnumbered the Hungarian army three to one and Nosferatu could sense the uneasiness among Vampyr’s troops.
“Lord Vlad Tepes.” Vampyr’s commanding general went to one knee in front of him, calling him by the name he had assumed since working his way into a position of power in Transylvania. Translated, the name meant Vlad the Impaler. The Turks called him Kaziglu Bey, the Impaler Prince.
“Yes?”
They were deployed on the east side of the Danube, blocking the Turkish army’s invasion route into the heart of Hungary. Initial intelligence reports had not indicated that the opposing army was as large as what was currently deployed in front of them, but Nosferatu knew that Aspasia’s Shadow had unnatural ways of recruiting soldiers to his cause. The two armies were drawn up parallel to each other on a large two-mile-wide field that sloped from rough hills in the east to the broad Danube in the west. To the rear of the Hungarian army was a narrow pass, less than a hundred meters wide.
“We cannot hold this line,” the general said, keeping his eyes downcast. “You can hold it until you die,” Vampyr corrected him. Nosferatu noted movement near Aspasia’s Shadow, then a flag of truce was displayed on a long spear.
“Look.” Nosferatu tapped Vampyr on the shoulder. “We should go discuss the matter with my old friend.”
Vampyr spurred his horse and galloped down the small hillock on which he had set his command group, Nosferatu following. Soldiers leapt to get out of their way as they raced forward. Aspasia’s Shadow came from the Turkish lines, dressed in the fine armor expected of a high prince. They met halfway between the two lines.
“Does the sunlight hurt?” Aspasia’s Shadow greeted them as he lifted his own helmet visor, revealing his pale face.
“Only if I allow it to,” Nosferatu replied. Neither he nor Vampyr lifted their visors, as was the custom during a parley.
Aspasia’s Shadow looked past them, taking in the Hungarian forces. “You cannot hold against me.”
“How many of your men are Guides?” Nosferatu asked. “How many have you corrupted?”
Aspasia’s Shadow laughed. “Just my primary commanders. And speaking of corrupting”—he looked at Vampyr—“your manner of rule is quite notorious.”
“I rule through fear,” Vampyr acknowledged. “It is what works best.”
Nosferatu had heard rumors of Vampyr’s brutality, but having only been there a short time, he had yet to see it firsthand. The stories he’d heard seemed so outrageous that he dismissed most as having to do with the fact that Vampyr fed off live victims brought to his castle.
“You have been building up your strength for over a decade,” Vampyr continued. “All of Eastern Europe knows you plan to move north and west to conquer.”
“You know that the Grail is no longer hidden in the Roads of Rostau?” Aspasia’s Shadow asked, a surprising twist to the conversation.
Nosferatu shrugged. “Some say it is in England, where you fought Artad’s Shadow so many years ago. Others say the Watchers have hidden it. I have even heard the Watchers took it back to Giza. Another tale says that the one called Merlin carried it far to the east, into the high mountains so no man could get to it.”
“I think it is in England,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “So I decided to go there.”
“With an army at your back?” Vampyr asked.
“Better than going alone,” Aspasia’s Shadow said with a smile. “You betrayed me,” Nosferatu said.
“Surprise, surprise.” Aspasia’s Shadow laughed. “And how is your love Nekhbet doing?”
“You did not give me the blood of an Airlia. You switched it. You gave me human blood. It did nothing for her. When I brought her awake, she was weakened and sick, not alive as she should have been.”
“For someone as old as you are,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, “you are rather naive.”
Vampyr held his horse in place with some effort. “The Eldest has always been love-struck. But now you deal with me.”