by Greg Cox
To Kraven, Ordoghaz offered sanctuary of a sort, but only if he moved swiftly enough. He limped through the snow toward the forbidding stone gates, drawn by the lights shining from the mansion’s narrow lancet windows. I must reach the crypt before Selene, he thought desperately. She cannot be allowed to rouse Marcus and plead her case. Kraven knew his punishment would be severe if the dreaded Elder ever learned of his alliance with Lucian.
Kraven had seen better nights. Every inch of his fine silk garments and elegant jewelry was coated with blood, muck, and snow. The dark fabric was soaked completely through; had he been human, he would have succumbed to hypothermia by now. His shoulder-length black locks were plastered to his skull. His aristocratic face was taut and drawn. A burning pain in his right leg reminded him of Lucian’s dying blow, when the lycan commander had stabbed him with that damned spring-loaded blade of his!
At least that bastard is dead for good, Kraven thought, although that came as scant comfort at the moment. I should have killed him ages ago.
Just like I always claimed to have done.
After centuries of plotting and scheming, everything had gone wrong. By now, Kraven had hoped to be the undisputed leader of the coven, having conspired with Lucian to overthrow the Elders and bring an end to the eternal war between their two species. Kraven had expected to be hailed as a hero and peacemaker; instead he had found himself on the run after Selene had exposed his treachery to Viktor. Forced to seek refuge with Lucian in the lycan’s squalid underground warren, he had barely survived the final battle between Viktor’s Death Dealers and Lucian’s lycan army. Only by scurrying away like a rat through the sewers had he been able to escape the underworld in one piece—but not before watching from the shadows as Selene executed Viktor with his own sword!
Bile rose in his throat as he thought of Selene. This was all her fault, she and that freakish hybrid lover of hers! Hidden from sight, he had witnessed the obscene abomination Michael Corvin had become, making Selene’s obvious affection for him all the more appalling. Kraven had long lusted after Selene’s svelte body, but now he craved only her complete and total annihilation. She will pay for rejecting me, he vowed, and bringing all my plans to ruin!
To his relief, the limestone gates opened automatically at his approach. Viktor, one hundred years out-of-date at the time of his premature Awakening, had clearly neglected to revoke Kraven’s electronic security clearance. Thank the dark gods for small favors, he thought. He was in no condition to climb over the spiked fence.
A long, paved driveway led to the mansion’s front entrance, beyond a sculpted marble fountain. With the temperature well below freezing, the fountain’s water display had been shut off. Plumes of churning white water no longer reached toward the sky.
Kraven staggered up the marble steps in front of the mansion. He pounded loudly on the heavy oaken doors barring his way. “Open up!” he shouted to whoever might be on the other side of the door. With luck, most of the Death Dealers had joined Selene and Viktor on their ill-fated sorties into the underworld. Hopefully, that left his own private security force in control of the mansion. “Let me in, goddammit!”
The huge double doors swung open. A large, stocky vampire peered out at him. Kraven recognized the face of Miklos, one of Soren’s thuggish underlings. He stared at Kraven as though he barely recognized his leader through all the blood and gunk. “Regent?”
Kraven was in no mood to explain his filthy appearance. He shoved his way past Miklos into the mansion’s sumptuous foyer. Antique tapestries and oil paintings decorated the polished oak-paneled walls. Marble tiles stretched across the floor to where a majestic grand stairway ascended toward the upper stories of Ordoghaz. A spectacular crystal chandelier hung above the foyer. Compared to the lycans’ fetid ratholes, the mansion’s richly appointed interior struck Kraven as more palatial than ever. He brushed the snow from his head and shoulders, glad to be out of the blizzard at last.
Although it was nearly dawn, the entire mansion was still wide-awake. Undead gentlemen and ladies, stylishly attired in shades of red and black, came pouring out of the adjacent parlor in response to his arrival. More of the mansion’s residents rushed down the stairs, having not yet retired for the morning. No Death Dealers these, the milling vampires were instead sophisticates and dilettantes, much like Kraven himself, who preferred to spend their immortality in various hedonistic pursuits, as opposed to never-ending battles against the lycan hordes. Many of them still clutched crystal goblets filled with spiced blood cocktails. Tonight, however, the vampires’ habitually jaded faces bore expressions of fear and concern. Desperate for news from the front, they pelted Kraven with anxious questions: Was Lucian still alive? Had the lycans been destroyed? Where were Viktor and the others? Was it true that Amelia had been assassinated by the lycans? What had become of Kahn, and Soren, and Selene…?
As far as Kraven knew, he was the only vampire to emerge from the underworld alive. Not counting Selene, of course. But he had better things to do than waste time answering the questions of these worthless parasites. Glancing over the throng in the foyer, he was grateful to spy no trace of that amorous servant girl Erika. Was she sulking in her room, or had she fled the mansion altogether after he had slammed the car door in her face during his last escape? No matter, he thought, just so long as she is gone. The last thing he needed right now was that lovesick blond trollop clinging to him.
His mind raced frantically, considering his options. With Viktor and Amelia both deceased, there was still a chance to turn matters to his advantage. All I need to do is destroy Marcus, he reasoned, while the Elder is still asleep and vulnerable. Then the coven will be mine to command.
That still left Selene to deal with, alas. No doubt she would try to expose his perfidy to the rest of the coven, but it would be her word against his. And who would the other vampires believe, Viktor’s chosen regent—or a coldhearted bitch who had willingly chosen to consort with a lycan? Kraven felt certain that he could turn the coven against Selene. Politics was not exactly the female Death Dealer’s forte.
Ignoring the sycophants and sybarites flocking around him pleading for reassurance, he nodded at Miklos. “Gather the men,” he ordered him curtly. Now that he was back in familiar surroundings, some of his former self-confidence reasserted itself. Not for the first time, he congratulated himself for having had the foresight to assemble his own security team, independent of Selene and the other Death Dealers. “Tell them to meet me outside the crypt at once!”
“Yes, regent!” Miklos replied. He hastened to carry out Kraven’s instructions. “As you command!”
Kraven was pleased by the vampire’s obedience. Perhaps this Miklos would make a serviceable replacement for Soren, whom Kraven assumed to have perished in the underworld. I will need a new enforcer, he thought, once I have regained control of the coven.
First things first, however. He still had an Elder to kill.
Kraven took a few minutes to wipe the blood and dirt from his face, then made his way down to the security booth outside the Elders’ crypt, in the mansion’s lowest sub-basement. Closed-circuit television screens monitored the interior of the crypt, as well as the grounds outside the mansion. Thankfully, it had required little effort to persuade the throng of feckless hangers-on to remain upstairs; even at the best of times, few of the mansion’s occupants chose to venture this near the Elders’ somber resting place.
Miklos had assembled a four-man strike team. Grim-faced, the vampire guards cradled Uzis against the front of their black leather dusters. Kraven gladly accepted an extra rifle from Miklos, having discarded his experimental silver-nitrate gun after running out of ammo during his escape from the underworld. It felt good to be armed once more.
He pressed a button on the control panel and the entrance to the crypt slid open. Despite his newly acquired bodyguards, he hesitated upon the threshold, daunted by the enormity of the task ahead. Killing an Elder, even in his sleep, was no small matter; he still found it
hard to accept that Selene had actually defeated Viktor in combat, even though he had witnessed the warlord’s death with his own eyes.
If she can do it, so can I.
He reminded himself that Marcus was surely weakened by over two hundred years of hibernation. Even Viktor had required several hours to recover from his recent Awakening, before embarking on his raid into the underworld. If all went well, Marcus would be dead before he even realized what was happening.
Or so Kraven hoped.
Dimly lit and cavernous, the crypt was the slowly beating heart of Ordoghaz. Granite steps led down to the sunken lower level, where three burnished bronze disks were embedded in the stone floor. A concentric pattern of overlapping Celtic runes surrounded the circular hatches, each of which was engraved with a single letter: A for Amelia, V for Viktor, and M for Marcus.
The plaques marked the individual tombs of the Elders, only one of which was still occupied. In theory, Marcus still slumbered in his buried sarcophagus, blissfully ignorant of the cataclysmic events that had rocked the coven over the last few nights. If Kraven had his way, the last of the Elders would never rise again.
A line from Macbeth flashed through his brain: If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly. Kraven had attended the play’s premiere in London four hundred years ago and recognized just how apt the quotation was. Macbeth had also murdered a monarch in his sleep, so as to fulfill his vaulting ambition. Kraven could only hope that his own grab for power ended less tragically. Macbeth was a mere mortal, he recalled, and fictional to boot.
Swallowing hard, he screwed his courage to the sticking place and gestured toward the doorway. “Go on,” he ordered the guards impatiently, not about to go first. “Let’s get this over with.”
Flashlight beams raked through the gloom as the other men preceded him into the crypt. Kraven descended the granite steps behind them, feeling the temperature drop a couple degrees with every step. His nerves were strung so tightly he feared they would snap before he reached the bottom of the steps. A funereal hush enveloped the ancient crypt, broken only by the footsteps of Kraven and his entourage. His undead heart was beating a mile a minute.
Just stick to the plan, he reminded himself. Everything is under control….
A lifeless body lay sprawled upon the bottom floor of the crypt, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle. A weathered, middle-aged profile was pressed against the marble tiles. Owlish eyes stared blankly into the void. The man’s dingy brown coat was streaked with blood. Dead for hours, the discarded corpse had already begun to stink.
Gagging at the stench, Kraven recognized Singe, a lycan scientist who had formerly labored in Lucian’s service. Selene had captured Singe and “persuaded” him to reveal to Viktor the existence of Kraven’s secret alliance with Lucian, forcing Kraven to flee the mansion with all due speed. Singe had still been alive when last Kraven had seen him. He wondered briefly who had actually killed the worthless lycan, Selene or Viktor?
What does it matter? he decided. The loose-lipped scientist had already caused enough trouble. I only regret that I can’t kill the bastard myself.
A river of blood had flowed from the lycan’s crushed skull, pooling and coagulating atop the engraved bronze hatches. Dark, clotted gore defiled the raised letter M on Marcus’ plaque. The smell of congealed lycan blood turned Kraven’s stomach.
He pointed at the hatch. “Open it.”
“Yes, regent.” Miklos himself knelt beside Marcus’ hatch. Heedless of the sticky black goo, he inserted his beefy fingers into the cold metal grooves surrounding the M. Ancient gears, untouched for over two centuries, resisted his efforts at first, but then an inner disk rotated beneath his fingers, activating the dormant locking mechanism. Miklos rose and stepped aside as the intricate designs adorning the hatch began to shift of their own accord. Kraven heard the muted rumble of a hidden clockwork apparatus slowly coming back to life. The circular plaque sank into the floor, then split apart into four wedge-shaped segments that retracted from sight, exposing the top of the steel sarcophagus below. Another M, illuminated in lapis lazuli, confirmed that Marcus dwelt within.
But not for much longer, Kraven vowed. He fully intended to incinerate the Elder’s remains until naught but ashes were left behind. “Ready your weapons!” he informed the guards. Tonight a new era begins in the history of the coven. The era of Kraven the Supreme…
The crypt itself seemed to shudder as a harsh grinding noise suddenly came from below. Kraven’s eyes widened in alarm. He had attended numerous Awakenings in his time and they had never produced such a clangor. Instead of operating smoothly, as it had down through the centuries, the ancient apparatus sounded as though it was tearing itself apart. Steel ground loudly against stone, producing a discordant clamor that caused several of Kraven’s guards to place their hands over their ears. They looked in confusion to Kraven, who was no less dumbfounded than they. His jaw dropped.
Something’s wrong, he realized. Horribly wrong.
A look of utter dread washed over his face as the ornate sarcophagus lurched upward from beneath the floor. The empty coffin was torn to shreds, as though Marcus had literally clawed his way out of the metal tomb!
But how? Kraven thought. Why? The Elder should have been dreaming in silence, dead to the world. What had roused him from two centuries of unbroken slumber?
An awful suspicion came over him. He shot a worried glance at the body of the dead lycan, lying only a few yards away. His eyes traced the stream of dried blood flowing from Singe’s corpse to the empty shaft that had been concealed beneath the bronze M. Crimson stains could be seen within the mangled wreckage of the sarcophagus.
Singe’s blood! he realized in horror. Beneath his sodden garments, a cold sweat broke out over his body. The lycan’s blood must have awakened Marcus!
A dry, raspy sound emerged from the murky shaft. Unseen lungs wheezed noisily.
Marcus?
Kraven backed away from the shaft. Every instinct in his body urged him to bolt for the stairs and leave the accursed crypt behind, but he was hesitant to flee so blatantly in front of his few remaining acolytes. He needed to put on a show of strength if he ever hoped to regain his former position in the coven.
I should have never returned to this goddamn house! he thought bitterly. Eternal exile was sounding more and more appealing. I had an entire planet to hide in!
Suddenly, the very floor of the crypt shook beneath him. A tremendous pounding came from below, as though something—or someone—beneath the stone floor was striving to break free. The tremors threw Kraven and the other vampires off-balance. Kraven stumbled and nearly fell. His hand reached out to steady himself, coming to rest against the twisted iron frame of the sarcophagus. One foot landed in the pool of congealed blood around Singe’s corpse. The sticky gore clung to the sole of his shoe.
Fear showed on the faces of his men. Like Kraven, they looked about them anxiously, their fingers on the triggers of their automatic rifles. They shifted uneasily on their feet, trying to keep their balance despite the gargantuan blows shaking the floor of the crypt. Naturally pale faces turned even more ashen.
“May the Elders preserve us!” Miklos exclaimed. The other men muttered in agreement.
Not bloody likely, Kraven thought. There was only one Elder left, and he did not appear to be in a benevolent mood. Kraven’s confidence deserted him and he opened his mouth to order an immediate retreat. We have to get out of here… now!
But before he could take another step toward the exit, a shadowy figure erupted from the floor. The force of the explosion threw him backward, onto the floor. Chunks of shattered stone and tile rained down on him like shrapnel. He cried out in pain as the jagged fragments pelted his face and body, slicing through silk and flesh alike. Fresh blood streamed onto the ruptured floor. His Uzi slipped from his fingers.
No! he thought hysterically. This can’t be happening!
Blood from a scalp wound ran down his face
, obscuring his vision. Dazed, he blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the chaotic scene unfolding around him. Automatic weapons fired wildly, their muzzle flares creating a strobe effect that disoriented Kraven even further. All he caught were fragmentary impressions of a dark figure laying waste to his men.
An inhuman growl echoed throughout the crypt, audible even over the blare of the rifles. The hellish noise sounded like a cross between a wolf’s howl and the screech of an enraged vampire bat.
Leathery black skin flashed across his field of vision at preternatural speed. Gleaming black eyes shone like polished obsidian.
Gunfire chipped away at venerable stone walls, but failed to stop the creature loose in the devastated crypt. Dust and pulverized stone went flying. Powdered debris filled the air. The acrid odor of cordite invaded Kraven’s nostrils, overpowering the stench from the dead lycan. Smoke rose from the barrels of the unleashed Uzis.
A rifle was snatched right out of a soldier’s grip, only seconds before the hapless vampire was catapulted into the nearest wall with enough force to crack the ancient stones. His body slid to the floor, where it collapsed into a heap.
Bloodstained talons raked across another vampire’s face. Blood gushed between his fingers as he clutched his mutilated countenance.
Panicky shouts gave way to bloodcurdling screams. Kraven listened with alarm as, one by one, the guards’ rifles clattered to the floor. A peculiar flapping noise reached his ears.
Immortal bones snapped like twigs.
Bright arterial blood sprayed like a fountain from a headless body.
