Come on, Gareth, Adele entreated mutely. Give me a sign. Soon she would have no choice but to activate the rift; her body would be unable to dampen the energies piling inside. She could feel the rift beckoning her, luring her closer. She followed the pulsing line on the floor, struggling to keep her breath even and silent so as not to attract attention. The arched ceiling stretched down the corridor like a multitude of mirror images. She didn’t know exactly where it led, but it was where the line was taking her, deeper into the bowels of the Bastille.
With each step, she felt as if she were wading through a wild river’s cascade. The powers swirled around her legs and chest, pushing her toward the rift. It forced her to lean back or she would stumble forward with the pull of it. Only with great concentration was she able to calm the flow and make the energy slip more peacefully around her. The patterns in the earth shimmered, just as she was shimmering, in a beautiful, hypnotic rhythm.
Something jarred inside, and she knew her last step had placed her over the rift. It was like stepping over an endless expanse. Her stomach dropped. She could see nothing under her but a swirling vortex of energy. Tendrils of pulsating light reached greedily for her. Adele should have been terrified, but she only wanted to sink into the expanse and explore, to surrender herself in the grip of something warm and powerful.
Mamoru’s fervent lessons shouted in her ears. The energies of the earth were terrible things. She could be lost within them.
Her mind snapped back to the present. The power bristled and crackled, sending shocks along her skin. The pain in her body swelled to a crescendo.
“Adele?”
The barely whispered word cut through the storm of sight, scent, and sensation. She opened her eyes. She was standing slumped against a wall inside a large vaulted chamber. Her head lifted, and she saw Gareth just a few feet away, his eyes scanning the corridor, his nostrils flared as he tried to follow her scent.
She pushed off the stone and her hand reached out, but then stopped as she saw the energies swirling like silver smoke around her fingers.
Gareth flinched and then, realizing what he was feeling, jerked toward her, finally focusing on a faint shimmer. “Are you there?”
“Go now!” Her voice sounded deeper, as if resonating. Other vampires in the corridor turned toward the empty space she occupied. They stiffened, sensing the discomfort of the pulsing rift.
Gareth didn’t hesitate, but sprinted out into the nearest passageway, his form a distant blur in seconds. A number of the other vampires started backing away as the energy boiled inside her. Some stood their ground, sensing the danger but also sensing something else that perhaps they could attack.
Adele was counting now, giving Gareth time to get far enough away. She was also watching the approaching vampires as they stalked through the heat searching for the source, hissing and snarling.
“What is that?” one shouted.
“There’s someone here,” another warned.
“Where?”
Adele reached out an arm, and the tendrils coiling around her arched out and encircled the vampires. The vampires screamed an unholy sound as they burned, their flesh consumed by the searing touch of Adele’s focus. The pitch-black passageway glowed as the power within her intensified, sensing release was near. Suddenly chaos reigned as vampires panicked like a swarm of bats fleeing. The grey air outside the fort no doubt darkened with them.
Adele had no choice. With a hard exhale of relief, she released the energy. To her there was no sound, just sensations of white-and-saffron light and overwhelming heat. The rift and the connecting lines flared like lit fuses racing through the Bastille and down the mountain into the city of Grenoble.
The ground beneath her opened its eye and stared at the creatures above it. In its sight, flesh melted, hair burned. Screams echoed everywhere, but Adele heard none of it. Instead she heard and felt the sounds of the Earth, grinding plates, rustling wind, and the rush of heat. The world went whiter than the snow outside and blinded her. A desperate roar filled her ears. She was determined to stay upright, though she had no idea which direction that entailed.
The next thing she knew, someone was grabbing her. Her eyes snapped open as arms wrapped around her. “It’s all right.” The voice was gravelly and deep, unrecognizable to her ears. She struggled to sit up and turn around.
“Just rest.” General Anhalt held her, his forehead bound in a bloody rag.
“Gareth!”
“He’s fine,” Anhalt assured her. “He just can’t come near you yet.”
Adele sank back into Anhalt’s embrace and offered him a tired smile as she reached her hand to touch his temple. Her eyes traveled up and around to plaster walls and a wooden beam ceiling. Not a dirt tunnel in the ground. Not the hard stone walls of the Bastille. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a house in town.” Anhalt settled the limp form of his empress onto a pillow and pulled a heavy blanket over her, immediately reminding her of how cold she had been. She melted into the soft warmth as her sirdar said, “Your Majesty, Grenoble is ours.”
GREYFRIAR PACED OUTSIDE the dilapidated building where Adele was recuperating. There was a distinct barrier that he could not cross. He dared step over the threshold again only to be repelled by a force of heat and pain. He retreated with a low growl.
The windows were without glass, and the Harmattan had boarded them up to protect the interior from the Alpine gales. Even so, he fancied he could still hear her heartbeat, and when the wind blew just right he caught the barest trace of her scent, a kaleidoscope of aromas, some indescribable.
Anhalt had walked inside over an hour ago, and Greyfriar found himself jealous of the man. Of course, the general had every right to sit with Adele; after all, he had been her protector for many years. But Greyfriar envied him because the general could do what he could not at this moment. The ground was still warm and he could feel it sapping his strength the longer he remained, but he didn’t give in to it.
Finally, the sirdar exited the building. Anhalt glanced at Greyfriar with a tinge of sympathy. The general walked over to stand beside the agitated swordsman and remarked, “The empress is fine, just worn out, as you can imagine. She’ll be as good as new in another day or so. You should get some sleep.”
“I’ll stay.”
“You’ve been here for more than a day already. You look a wreck. Even someone of your constitution can’t keep this up forever. You shouldn’t even be near here. Go get some rest. I’ll need you both at your best soon enough. When was the last time you fed?” Anhalt paused. “I mean ate.”
Greyfriar’s weary expression hardened. He didn’t realize his limitations showed.
Anhalt coughed and pressed on, his voice low. “There are countless refugees about. We still haven’t rounded up everyone. Surely someone will permit you…”
“It is too much of a risk to feed here with your troops about.”
“Then go elsewhere. Adele will be here when you get back. Perhaps by then you can walk straight in instead of hovering out here like some wraith.”
Greyfriar straightened with embarrassment, but then nodded. Anhalt had never laid down any ground rules on how he procured his meals, so long as it never came to the sirdar’s attention, meaning feeding from someone inside the main camp. Greyfriar was always as discreet as possible.
“Our rear lines are secure for now,” Anhalt said. “You must know the region well enough. You operated here, didn’t you?”
“Of course. I met Adele in the Rhone Valley.” Greyfriar said nothing more as memories stirred. He listened for any sign of Adele’s recovery, but she blatantly refused him. He took a last step toward her only to be thrust back. Finally he turned away. Anhalt laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder before the swordsman strode into the drifting snow.
Hours later Greyfriar hovered over the deserted town of Riez. The fields lay frozen and wasted, overgrown with the remnants of weeds and thistle. The tools of the farmers lay where they had fallen mo
nths ago. Every window was unlit, and there was no smell of smoke. The town was as dead as the night he had left it nearly a year ago. He pulled the cloth from his face and removed his reflective glasses.
Greyfriar had brought Adele here to take refuge after Flay’s packs had brought down the imperial flagship, Ptolemy. The townsfolk had trusted him, trusted the hero, and he had failed them. Failed Adele. Flay had slaughtered the entire town just to get the princess. Greyfriar had saved no one that day.
It seemed that he barely saved anyone lately. This war was made for what he had been centuries before. A monster, hungry for blood and glory. It was easy to kill. There was no finesse, no quarter given, merely violent death. The Greyfriar was not created for that. He wondered if saving a relative handful over the years justified all the effort. Maybe the costume offered hope to some, but he sensed the futility of a thin cape and simple sword when faced with the multitudes lost every day.
It was Adele who was made for modern times. There was no pretense in her. She was a true leader, capable of inspiring her people on the one hand and engaging in harsh political warfare on the other. Her nation moved as she did. She held great forces and huge populations in her hand, not simply a sword.
Gareth pushed open the broken door of the tavern where he had spent many nights with a simple farmer named Shepherd, who had been the closest thing Greyfriar had to a friend in this town. The farmer had welcomed them into Riez without fear, eager to help the fleeing couple that night. It had been his last act of kindness. Shepherd had no idea that he died helping a vampire.
Gareth slowly wound the cloth around his face to hide his features. He didn’t feel right to be in Riez as Gareth. And he wasn’t even sure Greyfriar deserved to be here either.
He lifted into the sterile, frozen night sky and headed back toward the camp without feeding.
The first thing Adele realized when she woke was that someone held her. For a split second she thought she had merely dozed off and Anhalt was still in the room only hours after the event, but then she recognized the powerful steel arms of Greyfriar. Her breath left her in a contented sigh.
“Adele,” he called to her softly.
“Mmm,” she said, not yet ready to stir and leave the sanctuary of his embrace. “I was dreaming.”
His lips brushed the top of her head. “About what?”
“We had a cabin in the woods, and the fields outside were full of flowers. So many colors it was like an artist’s palette.”
“Like the hills of Corran in summer blanketed with violets. It sounds nice.”
“It was.”
“What were we doing?”
“We were raising mountain goats.”
Greyfriar grimaced. “I hate goats.”
Adele smiled against his chest, her eyes half-open as she played idly with the brass buttons on his jacket. “What do you have against goats?”
“They smell and they eat anything they find. It isn’t natural.”
Her humor only increased. “Do I detect some traumatic goat incident in your past? Did a goat attack you?”
“What? No. Although one of the goats belonging to Old Thomas in New Town ate my scarf once.”
Her laugh was boisterous. “Do tell!”
“No. I’ve said too much already.”
“I’m not sure I believe your whole goat story.”
“That’s probably wise of you.”
The war intruded just then with shouts and a jarring crash. Adele tried feebly to rise, but Greyfriar tightened his hold, easily able to prevent her.
“Rest,” he urged.
“How bad was the battle? How many men did we lose? Where’s General Anhalt? I need to hear reports.”
“We won the battle, because of you. Don’t worry about reports just yet. Everyone is gone from the building. It’s just the two of us. Another hour or so won’t matter.” His hand brushed the damp strands from her cheek. “Stay here with me.”
She didn’t have the strength to fight him, but it was impossible not to listen to the cries of pain and strife echoing from outside.
Greyfriar’s deep voice urged her to focus on him. “Ask me any question you like. What would you like to know about me?”
Adele shook her head, and even that took too much effort. “I don’t know,” she whispered, finding it difficult to drown out the exterior sounds. Finally, she asked, “Tell me about your mother? What was she like?”
“Like me,” Greyfriar related softly. “My hair is black like hers. She was regal and spoke her mind often. At least what I can remember of her. I was very young when she died.”
“I lost my mother when I was thirteen. She died giving birth to Simon.”
“I know.” He smoothed her furrowed brow with light fingers. “My father often spoke to me of my mother. I know her more from his tales of bliss than from any of my own recollections. I was a very rambunctious child, always exploring. I rarely stayed at home, much to their chagrin.”
“So your father and mother loved each other?” The concept of love among vampires amazed Adele. She was likely the only human who believed in it.
“My father loved her in a way I’ve never seen since. After she died, he took another queen who was Cesare’s mother. A political arrangement. She was cold and wary of us, rightly so. Then after Cesare killed her, my father remained alone to this day. He’s never again had the heart to seek solace in another.”
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Eleanor.”
Another sound intruded from outside, the low wail of a man’s sobbing. It carried past them and slowly disappeared into the distance. Adele tensed and Greyfriar quickly kneaded her aching muscles with his long fingers. She eased back against him almost against her will.
Greyfriar’s voice was a bit louder. “My father said she was attracted to charismatic and tenacious warriors.”
“Like himself.”
“He was that without doubt.”
Adele sank into the radiating relief of his touch. “What would your father think of me?”
“Well, if I brought you home, family meals might be a bit awkward, but I think he would admire you as a queen and a woman. Despite your inconvenient humanity.” Greyfriar was silent a moment, looking into Adele’s eyes. “I can say for certain that if you were a vampire, he would welcome you into the family with great enthusiasm.”
“And then we could be king and queen of Britain.” With those murmured words, Adele drifted into sleep once more, too tired to keep her eyes open.
“Yes. I suppose we could,” Greyfriar replied
However, the respite could only last for the hours that she was asleep. The aftermath of the battle for Grenoble was as horrible as anything she had seen among the vampires. In the next few days, as she lay on her own bed in the secluded room, she heard the constant cries of pain and loss for hours. Whenever Greyfriar was at her side, wrapping her in his embrace, she tried to block out the horror. But soon she realized she couldn’t, or more importantly, shouldn’t. The thought of all the men who sacrificed everything convinced her that she needed to see them, talk to them, and thank them.
Eventually, Adele recovered enough of her strength to visit the makeshift medical ward housed in a long stone building where the battalion medical officer and his aide worked day after day to keep the wounded alive. The toll had been heavy, almost a third of the division dead or wounded, but the operation had succeeded. According to scouts and supply ships moving in from the coast, the entire valley was free of vampires.
The nervous and exhausted doctor met Adele and Greyfriar at the front door of the surgery. Captain Shirazi and the Harmattan took position outside, and after much to-do, the doctor escorted the couple to the first ward. Greyfriar held the door open for Adele as she entered, enduring a scowl from an orderly standing there to do the same. Taking a deep breath to steel herself against what she might see, she strode forward with Greyfriar behind her.
Thirty cots lined each side of the long room.
Adele walked up boldly to the first wounded man, a youngster of about twenty. Then she remembered she was the same age; she felt years beyond it. No doubt so did he. With a brave smile, she greeted him. His forearm was wrapped in clean, white linen, and a bandage on his right cheek had slipped a little, revealing a deep gash, crudely stitched.
“Hello,” Adele said.
“Your Majesty?” The boy’s face flushed pink and he struggled to sit up, his eyes flicking to the famed Greyfriar and then back to his empress.
“Be still,” she urged him. “What’s your name?”
“Massud. Private Massud, ma’am.”
“Well, Private Massud, I’ve come to thank you for your service to the Empire.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Are you in much pain?”
“I’m feeling fine, ma’am.”
“You were with the Thirty-sixth Fighting Lancers.”
The young man nodded and then quickly realized his lapse in manners. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You fought well, I’m told.”
“Thank you, ma’am. We all did. What’s left of us.”
Adele paused. “Is there anything I can get for you?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps a note to your family?”
He nodded, and Adele took out pen and paper from her coat pocket. “What would you like to tell them?”
“That I’m alive. No, that I’m well. Wouldn’t want my mother to worry.”
“Of course. And their address?” When he gave it, Adele took the note and put it in her pocket. “I will make sure this gets to her so she doesn’t worry. I will tell her you fought bravely.”
His eyes were glistening. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
She patted his hand gently and rose. Greyfriar fell into step next to her as they moved to the next patient. She wasn’t sure if the men appreciated her gesture or not, or viewed it as artificial politics, but she only felt that it was important to do so. It was little enough and far from saintly in her mind. Again she glanced at the foot of the bed before speaking to the man with a thin mustache. Both his legs were elevated and in casts.
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