“Rachel!” Kieran shouted down the corridor.
As he got closer to her he noticed she looked very tired and almost upset. Rachel looked at Kieran’s neck and saw the red mark. “What happened to your neck?” she asked.
Kieran automatically placed a hand on the mark. “Nothing,” he lied as his hand trembled to touch it.
Kieran had to tell her now; he could not lie to her as well, he needed to involve someone he trusted. “It’s Kristian,” he whispered. “I think he intends on going after Leceth.”
Rachel went cold all over. “What do you mean? Are you sure? What makes you say that? Have you told anyone?”
“Yes, he told me. Pretty much. I tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen. He is out for revenge. I’ve not told anyone, just you. I get the sense that Kristian wasn’t going to do anything tonight.”
Rachel looked horrified; suddenly becoming tearful, her eyes glistened.
“We can fix this, Rachel, we can!” Kieran consoled. “Even if Kristian wanted to kill Leceth tonight, it would take him over three hours to arrive at Leceth’s house form here. We still have time.”
“No, you don’t understand. I bumped into Kristian about twenty minutes ago and he asked me to teleport him to Bath. He said he has family there. I usually wouldn’t but he practically begged me,” Rachel spoke with a hand over her mouth, cursing herself that she had inadvertently aided Kristian in his deadly plan.
“His family doesn’t live in Bath,” Kieran said, as he grabbed her arm and started to pull her along as he paced down the corridor. “We must tell Jonathon. But first, take me to where you dropped him off, we need to try and stop him. If we can’t find him we will come back and go to Jonathon together.”
“Shouldn’t we tell him straight away?” Rachel whispered.
“No, we need to be sure that we can’t convince him. His future depends on it,” Kieran replied as his pace evolved into a sprint.
…
- Chapter Twenty-Three -
What we Leave Behind
The full moon was fiery red and it lit up the evening beautifully; it was the only source of light illuminating the grounds of the most beautiful house that Kristian had ever laid his eyes upon. He was over the outer wall in moments and soon found himself quickly running in between the trees and bushes within the grounds. It was not long before his back was against the wall of the large stately home. Taking a few steps forward and turning quickly, Kristian scanned the building for a way in; entering the front door was too bold and he wanted something more stealthy.
He noticed an open window on the third floor. The walls to the grand home were too high to climb, but fortunately there was a large oak tree close to the house, and one of the main branches stretched near to the wall. He quickly scaled the tree and was soon crawling across the branch. It was thick and easily took his weight. When he was about halfway along the branch he looked over at the house and realised that he was about as close as he was going to get to the window; he would have to jump the rest.
The window was wide open and the ledge itself protruded far from the wall and looked sturdy. Moving slowly he tried to rise to his feet. His knees trembled slightly, but ignoring the sensation completely, he leapt forward; his body flew considerably far; just making the gap, his chest collided with the ledge. His hands grasped frantically for the wall inside the room, his fingers just finding purchase before he fell.
Kristian pulled himself up and through the window. He was in a large room and the decor reminded him of the main office back at the Order. The room had several cabinets and shelves, which were littered with books. They were similar to the majority of the books in the Great Library, old, thick and treasured. The room was lit by the mottled light of the moon, which passed between the leaves of the large tree.
Walking to the door he stopped to look at several papers laid out on a large desk that consumed one entire wall of the room. The pages were filled with a text that he had never before seen and there was no way of knowing what stories they told. He did not care though, he was there to free Ethalon – Oliver’s Phoenix. That was all he cared about; though revenge, taking care of Leceth, was a notion that lingered at the back of his mind.
Slowly and quietly he moved closer to the door until reaching it, and then placing an ear against it, he listened. Not a whisper could be heard from the other side; he gently opened the door. He peered through to see he was halfway along a long corridor, which was about the length of his entire flat; it was unlit and empty.
Kristian exited the room turning right and stealthily made his way down the corridor. At one end, a large window flooded the corridor with red lunar light, the other led to a large spiral staircase. He was headed to the stairs, he knew exactly where he was going; he had studied the plans for Leceth’s house at the Order, and he knew that there was only one place in which Leceth would keep the urn.
He walked down the stairs with great care; he had not scouted the place at all well and he had no idea if the house was occupied tonight; he had no knowledge of where Leceth and his bodyguards might be. With that in mind, knowing he would have poor reconnaissance, he had with him a large rifle that Zhing had acquired from the Dark Phoenix. He had stolen it from the Order, the inventory number he was searching for whilst conversing with Kieran. He had also brought his Phoenix blade along with him; he knew he could summon it from anywhere, but having it strapped to his back with its comforting weight seemed to imbue him with an added hunger to complete his mission. The only other thing he took from the Order’s armoury was a handgun that was tightly holstered under his jacket. He was not dressed in his Phoenix attire; a new suit was still being made for him after his fight with the Jakyll had all but destroyed his last one.
Instead, he was dressed in a sparring outfit covered by a black jacket. It was simply black, with no symbols. The material was cotton-like, ideal for duelling, ideal for espionage.
He arrived at the bottom of the stairwell; he was now at the mouth of a doorway that he knew led into the main entrance hall. He held his body close to the wall, craning his neck to look into the hall. It was large with grand front doors, several ornate staircases protruding from all sides and paintings covering the walls but it was too dark to make out their subjects.
Opposite the main doors, two smaller double doors were the only other entrance on this level. It was through these doors he knew he had to go, where he believed the urn to be. He stepped back and reminded himself that his actions would be for a just cause, and that he was going to fulfill at least half a promise. He glanced down the hall again and not seeing anyone he made a hasty dash for the small doors.
Within seconds he was against them, clutching frantically at the handle; they were locked. He attempted again, shoving his weight against them. Although small, they were thick and would not budge.
He stopped, realising he was making a lot of noise and that there was no getting in this way. He waited for a long minute to see if anybody would come and investigate, but there was nothing, nobody.
Relieved, he thought that he must be incredibly fortunate in choosing this time to complete his mission.
As time ticked on, he was content that he must be alone in the house. He took another look at the door and knew that although he was alone now it may not be long until he wasn’t. He took a single deep breath, held out his hands before him and then suddenly the doors slammed open, hitting the walls, locks broken and metal bent from the force of the solid jade light that ploughed into them.
Jumping through the doorway, he entered another room, resembling the room through which he had entered the house. It had several cabinets filled with books, some were filled with a random assortment of artifacts. Skulls from all manner of creatures filled the largest one and the one next to it contained a variety of weapons. Kristian knew he was in the right place.
He began to carelessly search for the urn, throwing things to the floor and emptying the cabinets, it was satisfying to him. He argued to himself tha
t there was no need to be cautious about accidently breaking the urn during his reckless search, he would have to break it anyway to free the Phoenix.
Ten pleasing minutes of mindless destruction passed and he had made a disaster site out of Leceth’s prized possessions. He paused and looked around in the chaos and found himself becoming frustrated; most of the room was destroyed yet he still had not found the urn. “It has to be here!” he told himself.
He kicked a few things in the air and gave another glance around the room, but it was clear that the urn was not there. There was nowhere else in the room it could be hidden. The plans of the building went through his mind as he aimlessly went from room to room in his mind’s eye, searching for another hiding place for the urn.
He lowered himself to the floor as he tried hard to search his memories for a clue.
Leceth would keep it close to him, it would definitely be in his home. It was more than a guess; he knew it to be true. It was somewhere in the house, he just had to find it.
He scanned the room again, shelf after shelf filled one entire wall and cabinets lined the opposite, now smashed and broken from his cathartic searching.
A third wall had a few cabinets and then the entrance doors. The last wall had a large glass cabinet on one side that had been filled with gems and jewels minutes ago. Next to that cabinet was an empty space, with a strange symbol on the wall, which he hadn’t taken much notice of previously.
An empty space? thought Kristian. He got to his feet and walked over. The symbol was an emblem of some kind, it was made of what looked like shiny silver metal and was protruding slightly. Its design was ugly, the size of an average man’s palm. A circular ring filled with twisted metal, it looked like a letter, it resembled an upside-down letter P.
His hand stroked the emblem, images of death rushed into his head. He flinched, pulling his hand away. It was a weird sensation, almost like using a glimmer stone, it felt like it had memories trapped within.
He slowly lifted his hands again and placed them softly onto the emblem. Screams raged in his ears as images of burning villages, of suffering women and children whose eyes were burnt appeared in his mind. Again, he pulled his hand away, nauseated. He swayed on his feet as an overwhelming feeling washed over him; he took in deep breaths and slowed his heart. He shouldn’t touch it again, it was surrounded by evil. Then he noticed it, the inner part of the symbol was swaying slightly. “It moves,” he uttered.
Reaching out his hand, he attempted to touch the moving symbol. He was instantly whisked away in his mind and found himself in a battlefield, hundreds lying dead around him. People were crawling around him, clutching bleeding limbs. He focused and used all his meditation and concentration training to move the images aside. With his hand against the symbol, he began to turn it. The P within swivelled in its circular holding, as he turned it one hundred and eighty degrees the image broke from his mind and he was back in the room. He shuddered as a large thud rocked the room; the wall in front of him shook as it began to move.
The wall opened onto a secret room; a vault. Lights flickered on revealing a storeroom with treasures that made those in the first room look like cheap knock-offs.
He glared at the wonders that now lay before him; he had only ever seen such striking artifacts before in the Great Library.
A bright ruby-red stone, the size of a fist, rested upon a jacket that was made of scales so thick they must have come from a dragon of sorts.
He glanced around and was suddenly hit by a sense of triumph as he saw the urn resting upon a pillar, illuminated from above, a white light shining directly onto it. It looked exactly like the one he had retrieved from Berlin.
He moved towards it and with his left hand, he reached down and touched the gun that was strapped to his waist.
Before he could take the gun out, his attention was diverted away by another object sitting on the pillar next to the one that held the urn. A dark glass ball rested upon a golden ring; inside the ball, a flame flickered.
All thoughts of the urn left his mind as he was transfixed by the ball. A voice echoed in his mind in a language he had never heard, but the meaning was clear. He found himself moving towards the globe; he did not want to, but he could not stop himself. The flames seemed to grow larger the closer he got.
Inches away from it, his fingers trembled, he wasn’t sure why but he felt the urge to touch it. Not more than a second away from touching it, a clatter sounded from behind him and he was immediately brought back to reality. Clenching his fists, he turned around.
“Quite the mess,” Leceth’s cold voice drenched the room as he clambered over his belongings, which were now lying as debris on the floor. Kristian’s hand moved for his gun and he simultaneously turned back to the urn, but could do nothing as he watched it rapidly disappear into a smoky fog. The fog floated through the air and into Leceth’s hand, which he held out to his side. The smoke lingered around his palm and then condensed back into the urn.
How? Kristian considered. A vampire cannot wield magic.
“I’m sorry boy, but this is worth a lot and they are not easily replaced,” Leceth sniggered in his phony arrogant voice.
Kristian took the handgun from the holster on his left side and aimed it at the vampire, so fast he couldn’t react. Leceth’s face showed a hint of worry as Kristian pulled the trigger. The urn exploded into pieces and a brilliant, bright red flash filled the entire house. The bloody remains of Oliver’s heart dropped to the floor mixed with shards of pottery.
Kristian repositioned the gun at Leceth and emptied the barrel into him. Leceth fell to the floor, blood saturated his clothing. Leceth slumped back, lifeless. Kristian walked past him and threw the empty gun down. He knew that Leceth was not dead, but the view was satisfying.
Walking through the front door, three vampires stood in complete shock as their eyes fell upon Leceth’s body and then on to Kristian. They suddenly charged at him, he took the rifle from his back and aimed it at them. With a grimace, Kristian fired the rifle’s toxic poison into each of them; they fell in turn, each with a cry of pure agony.
As he watched with great pleasure at the vampire’s writhing and screaming, he then turned his attention to Leceth’s body. His mouth widened as panic stabbed deep in his stomach. Leceth was not there! He turned to look for him, but to his surprise, the vampire was already behind him. Leceth’s hand gripped the rifle in Kristian’s hand and pushed it up into his face, tore it from his hands and threw it to one side.
Kristian stumbled back, blood filled his mouth.
“I really didn’t think you were going to cause me this much trouble, boy!” Leceth shouted.
Kristian was overwhelmed with fear as the thought that he was going to die soon flooded his mind. With that, Kristian leapt to his feet, spat out a mouthful of blood and darted to the front door. Leceth flicked his wrist and the doors slammed shut in Kristian’s face, he was trapped. Kristian turned quickly, placing his back against the panels.
Raising his palms, he sent a large bolt of green energy at Leceth. It slammed into a crisp white field, emanating from Leceth’s open palm. Kristian was puzzled; How the hell can a vampire use magic? he thought.
Leceth sniggered again in his condescending manner as he noticed Kristian’s confusion.
“When you are as old as I am, you learn how to bend the rules,” Leceth sneered, then closed his palm, pulled back his left hand, placed his right over it and then quietly disappeared into thin air.
Kristian could hear footsteps but they were hard to make out over the sound of his pounding heart; Leceth was still here. Moving evasively from side to side, he tried to avoid the now invisible Leceth. His view of the room lurched as he was thrown into the air. He realised that Leceth had just hit him, his face began to hurt.
Colliding with the floor, Kristian let out a yelp. He pulled himself to his feet as Leceth reappeared in front of the main doors. “I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Leceth spoke slowly and with a sinister
grin on his face. “How would you like to die, boy?”
Hearing but not answering, Kristian simply took his Phoenix sword from his back and held it out towards Leceth.
“A sword duel! You gravely underestimate me, boy!” with that Leceth vanished again.
Kristian pivoted on his right foot, he held the blade at chest height and swung it to deter Leceth from coming any closer. A cackle from behind him made him turn and look into the room he had ransacked earlier.
Leceth stood there, boldly, with a sword in his hands. It was similar in shape and size to a Phoenix blade. “You are not going to die quickly, I can promise you that,” as Leceth spoke he leapt towards Kristian.
Their blades collided, sending sparks into the air. Each attacked and defended, both moving fast on their feet; they were evenly matched.
Leceth was more skilled with his blade, it seemed weightless in his hands, but Kristian was faster, his every move quicker than Leceth’s.
The duel carried them around the room as they moved over the remains of the vampires that Kristian had killed moments before. The stench of their foul vampire remains filled the air and made Kristian feel sick, which he tried to ignore as he concentrated on countering Leceth’s powerful onslaught.
The Phoenix Chronicles: Alone in the Light (Book ONE) Page 35
