By Anne Fraser and Barbara Zuchegna
With assistance from Sharon Pickrel and Jean Lamb
Copyright 1999

Chapter Nineteen

Adrian made his way swiftly up through the winding stairways and corridors to the roof of the palace. A dozen times he convinced a pair of guards he was not there, and a dozen times they accepted that he was not. On the roof, at the small housing that covered the stairwell, he casually broke the lock on the door and convinced a half dozen teams of guards that he had not stepped out onto the roof. They looked away, momentarily confused, and forgot the door that had opened and closed behind him.

Adrian slipped across the roof, soundless, in full view and totally unseen because none of the guards, with his suggestion in their minds, would look his way. The roof was primarily a series of interconnected open squares, to allow for the gardens below, and he ran lightly through the maze-like layout to the northeast corner of the building, the rear, where an accident of the placement of the spotlights below and the slight out-thrust of the cornerstones made a small shaft of darkness against the side of the building. Here, he drew the coil of rope, with its evenly spaced knots, from his shoulder and let one end fall over the parapet.

He felt Richard's weight on the rope at once, and held it in place with easy strength as Richard came hand over hand up to the parapet. As soon as Richard's hands appeared, and his grip was secure, Adrian pulled the rope up, coiled it hurriedly, and slipped it up over his arm to his shoulder again. Turning his back on Richard, who hung helplessly by his hands, Adrian went to the only pair of guards who were close enough to matter, stepped in front of them, and allowed them to see him. For just a moment, there was total shock in their eyes, but before they could unlimber their rifles, he said, "Forget." His eyes glowed in the darkness, and the guards froze in place. "There is nothing unusual here for you to see. Walk your regular route and do not look back. There is nothing here."

He stepped back and, looking confused, frowning, each unable to bring himself to mention his peculiar feeling to his fellow, the two guards walked away, ignoring Richard, who came up over the parapet now and stood, waiting, while Adrian raced across toward the other pair of guards who would be able to see the route Richard would follow from the corner of the roof to the stairwell.

He did the same thing to them, while Richard ran lightly past him and disappeared into the housing over the stairwell. As soon as he had finished with the guards and sent them walking away, Adrian followed.

Richard's teeth flashed through the darkness inside the housing, and his small laugh was delighted. "That," he said, "is a valuable talent, my friend."

"I've often found it so," Adrian agreed. "Wait, Richard. Let me go first. There are guards at the bottom of the stairs."

He didn't mess around with these two. As Richard reached the bottom of the stairs, Adrian was tossing the two limp bodies into the darkness of the stairwell. Richard stepped over them carefully. "Dead?"

"Asleep." Adrian was standing quite still, his senses reaching outward. His face became tense. "Richard, there are vampires here tonight."

They had emerged into a broad corridor, walls and floor cut from rose-veined marble, polished to a soft sheen. "How many?" Richard asked.

Adrian hesitated. "Only two...I think. It's difficult...no, at least three." His eyes came back to Richard's. "They're not reaching out. They don't sense my presence yet. But they will if I get close enough, or if they reach out, seeking me."

Richard's hand rested, briefly reassuring, on his shoulder. "We'll deal with it if and when we must. Which way?"

Adrian indicated their direction with his eyes and, swift and silent, they moved together down the corridor.

They had chosen to enter the palace from above because this second floor area was less well-guarded than the main floor, but even so, they encountered occasional teams of guards as they moved from one section of the palace to another, where doors were set into the corridors, and each time, Adrian was easily able to overpower their minds and convince them they had not seen what was right before their eyes. He made Richard as invisible, in a way, as himself. So long as they did not have to face a larger group, they would have no problem.

Eventually, they reached the stairs leading down into the central gardens, and here, again, Adrian went down first to scout out the locations of the guards he had seen patrolling here the night before, and to immobilize those who would be a problem in leading Richard out into the open. Getting to Zanjani's private apartments would be easier this way, down into the gardens and then up the stairs on the far side. Even with the patrols, there were far fewer guards out here than they would have encountered inside.

As soon as he was certain it was safe, when he had sent two different teams of guards heading off in two different directions with the certain knowledge in their minds that there was nothing to see behind them, Adrian made a quick gesture with his hand and Richard came running quickly down the stairs to follow him. They ran silently past the long, narrow pools with their lightly spraying fountains, past the ranked rows of roses, their scent heavy in the warm night air, past the smaller, still ponds where the swans huddled on the shore, sleeping, with their heads bent back under their wings in the starlight, ignoring their passage, and finally to the sheltered colonnade on the far side. There was another door here, another lock to be broken, and they hurried a short way down another marble corridor toward another flight of rising stairs.

At the top of these, another pair of guards became convinced that nothing unusual was occurring and resumed their stolid sentry positions, their minds wandering far from the palace. Adrian led Richard quickly down a short length of corridor and around a corner and hissed urgently, "Stay here!" as he launched himself, too quickly for Richard to see, at the pair of guards who were stationed immediately outside the Ayatollah's own apartment.

Richard came running as soon as he saw the guards fall. They lay utterly still, their necks twisted at impossible angles. Richard lifted his eyes, questioningly, to Adrian's, and saw the reddish tinge flaring there. "They were stationed here last night," Adrian said briefly, his voice very low. "They finished what their sack of shit employer started with that girl."

Richard didn't say anything. The door was ajar, as it had been last night, and he bent to help Adrian drag the bodies into the room beyond. Hopefully, if anyone noticed their absence from the corridor, it would be assumed that they had been called inside by the Ayatollah.

They were in a small, foyer-like anteroom, off which a number of doors opened. Adrian indicated Zanjani's bedchamber with a curt gesture, but it wasn't really necessary. The noises that emerged through the open door were indication enough.

The Ayatollah Ashraf Zanjani labored contently between the wide-spread thighs of the twelve-year-old girl whose wrists were tied with silken bonds to the headboard of his massive brass bed. He was neither greatly aroused nor greatly disappointed; he had broken her maidenhead with a spiked dildo to make her slick enough with blood to accept his manhood, and she was tight enough to give him gentle waves of pleasure that were not so intense as to force him to ejaculate too quickly. She was a girl of a prosperous local family, and when rumors of her exceptional beauty had reached him and he sent his mortal police to "arrest" her, her family had dared to hide her from him. He had sent his Exalted enforcers for her that very night, last night, and when they had killed her parents, her siblings had been quick to surrender her.

He was pleased with her; his harem attendants had bathed her and scented her with jasmine, and she had not resisted him as he sucked her budding breasts and played with his dildo. She had not made the abominable shrieking noises so many of them did, so he had not been forced to gag her, to distort the lovely little face with its huge black eyes. And if the grunting noises she made now, with each thrust into her body, were unattractive, at least they were not ear-splitting. He could make allowances for the annoyance, as he was not unaware that his great weight was difficult for her small body to support. His knives lay on the bedside table, cleaned and honed and ready for use, but he was pleased with her, and he was considering keeping her for a while. He had no other at the moment who was quite so deliciously small...

He was a happy man, enjoying an evening of quiet pleasures, and he did not hear or in any other manner detect the gross invasion of his home and his privacy that was taking place at the door of his bedchamber.

Richard and Adrian stepped over the bodies and moved through the antechamber. When they observed what, precisely, the Ayatollah was doing, a light flicked on in both pairs of eyes. It was a fell, dangerous light; the sort of light that beckoned sailors onto the rocks or crazed Ayatollahs to their deaths.

"He's mine," Adrian hissed, and Richard did not argue. One does not argue with a vampire whose fangs are showing and whose eyes resemble two lumps of coal... if the coal has been heated to nova temperature. "There are vampires near," Adrian continued, in a voice that could not have been heard more than two footsteps away. It was pitched for Richard's ears only. Pity Jake couldn't have come; they wouldn't need the risk of being overheard talking at all. "Be prepared."

Richard nodded and loosened the automatic in its holster. There was no need for him to say anything at all, so he remained silent. But he did touch Adrian, briefly, on the shoulder, a comradely touch to convey concern and support.

Damn him, Adrian thought. He felt better for that gesture, and cursed himself for this need for approval, something he had cursed many, many times. Then he turned his attention to the Ayatollah.

Zanjani was still unaware of his danger. He was reaching climax now, the girl's tiny body under him threatening to rupture under the force of his movements. Oh, this was delightful, pity you couldn't replace their little hymens once you'd done this. The deflowering was always so sweet, and someone as young and tight as this was a true treasure. He would have to have the guards kidnap him more twelve year-olds. He never heard the silent footfall of the vampire behind him until something rounded, with sharp points, was inserted about an inch into his anus.

His own spiked dildo. With a squeak of pain and surprise, Zanjani lost all interest in the girl. His withered member flopped out of her, followed by a flow of blood. He turned his head, very carefully, to observe a slender, beautiful man firmly gripping the other end of the dildo. Zanjani did not like the look in this man's eyes, one bit. It was a look that said the man would take great pleasure in inserting the horrible thing all the way, not caring what he ripped in the process.

Zanjani spoke in Farsi, asking what had happened to his guards. The beautiful man pushed the dildo another half inch or so.

"English, my dear Ayatollah," he purred. "Speak English, or this goes another inch. Doesn't feel so good to be on the receiving end, does it?"

"I ... I speak English," Zanjani said hurriedly. He could feel the spikes on the dildo tearing delicate flesh, and it hurt incredibly to have something up there. While he'd experimented with men, he hadn't done so for many years, and he'd usually been the one doing the screwing. Certainly he'd never had a large spiked sex toy jammed, with no foreplay, up his ass.

"I thought you might," said the deadly young man with the toy in question. "Your guards are out of action, I'm afraid. It's just you, and I, and my friend here," he nodded to Richard, "and your little toys. Move away from the girl."

Zanjani obeyed, gingerly, every movement tearing new tissue and threatening to impale him on the damned dildo. He sidled over as far away as he could from the girl, who seemed to have fainted or to be otherwise incapacitated.

"Now," said Adrian, "you are going to tell me a little bedtime story. This is boring," he said, dismissively yanking the dildo out with no regard to how much damage it did on the way. Zanjani cried out. "So you cannot take your own methods, hm?" Adrian casually studied the array of weapons. "Richard, I greatly anticipate the sudden arrival of stalwart companions of our lowly Ayatollah," he said, as if discussing the weather.

A vampire burst into the room, drawn by the scent of blood, and the aura of pain and fear. The night creature stood and stared at the scene that met his eyes; a strange vampire leaning over the Ayatollah, knife in hand, while another strange man, mortal, watched and a little girl slept apparently unaware of all of this. While the vampire was still assessing this, Richard borrowed T'beth's crossbow and fired a wooden bolt from it with pinpoint accuracy. The vampire fell with a quarrel in his heart.

"Quieter that way," Richard explained, pulling the second-hand corpse out of sight with the dead guards. "He might have screamed had I used silver."

Adrian nodded and turned back to Zanjani, who had taken advantage of the momentary distraction to try to escape. Adrian reached out and grabbed him by the nearest handy hunk of flesh, which happened to be the part formerly kicked by T'beth.

Zanjani whimpered. The grip on his genitals was far too tight, and not at all erotic. Visions of vise grips danced in his head.

"One scream," Adrian warned him, but without raising his voice or changing his casual tone, "and I rip them off. Am I understood?"

Zanjani nodded. Frantically. He knew now that his tormentor was a vampire. Adrian's fangs were out and his eyes were glowing.

"Now, for that story," the vampire purred. "You will tell me about a lady. A lady with the combined beauty of Africa and Iran, a lady with a warrior's heart and training, a lady hunter with silver chains binding her."

"She hurt me," said Zanjani. "She paid for it. She is dead."

A gentle twist and Zanjani's mouth popped open.

"Ah, ah," Adrian waggled a finger at him. "No screaming, or off they come. You'd have to be a eunuch in your own harem, and you'd hate that. She isn't dead, Zanjani. Your pet enforcers wouldn't kill her, would they?"

The Ayatollah's eyes widened, and Adrian could read the astonishment in his mind. Though this was a mind he did not want to explore; there were minotaurs in that labyrinth. If he could get Zanjani to tell them what they needed to know without resorting to mind control, so much the better. It was far more satisfying this way, and Adrian had seen that the Ayatollah had strong shields. Break those, and he risked breaking the man's mind all together ... and that was too close to bringing back some really painful memories. He put the thought firmly out of his own mind.

"See, I know quite a bit already," Adrian said, giving his handful of Ayatollah jewels another little twist. That had to be incredibly painful. Indeed, Zanjani squeaked again. "So, she is alive, and your enforcers are keeping her somewhere. Tell me where."

Zanjani gathered the nerve to spit in his tormentor's face. Adrian slashed out at the handful he held with his free hand, but his nails were now talons. Blood started to flow.

"Do you want me to use the dildo again?" Adrian asked, shaking his prisoner. He threw Zanjani down on the bed. "You may be twice my size, in height and width, anyway," he snorted, "but I am ten times stronger than you. Let's see, what other little toys do we have? Oh, this looks a good one." A long, thin-bladed knife gravitated to Adrian's hand. He gently, almost lovingly, slid it in where the dildo had been. "If I go in deep enough, I think I might hit your brains," he said, tapping the blade. "Where is T'beth being held?"

"Only my enforcers know!" Zanjani panted.

The knife came out, and went back on the tray. Adrian picked up a thicker one, a bone-slicer. "Try again," he said, putting the blade over the knuckle on Zanjani's right index finger. "You lose a finger for every wrong answer."

He did not feel that he was reducing himself to the same level as the Ayatollah. For one thing, he wasn't human, the same standards didn't apply. And Zanjani had killed and tortured hundreds of people, maybe thousands. He had dozens of women held against their will and forced to perform for him in this slaughterhouse of a bedroom. He controlled the surrounding area with a fist so heavy that it made iron look like silk, and he used vampires to enforce his sadistic rule and to frighten the populace into serfdom. He deserved everything he got. This was one time when Adrian felt that torture was justified. He firmly shut out mental pictures of a castle keep in France and a young baron in chains...

"The enforcers..." Zanjani began, and nearly fainted when Adrian casually cut off his index finger.

"One finger for each lie," Adrian reminded him. "You have only ten fingers. Then ask yourself what is next. Where is T'beth?"

"You did not let me finish!" the Ayatollah protested, watching as his finger rolled away. The pain was sickening, but something this vampire was doing to him was preventing him from seeking escape in unconsciousness or even shock. His blood vessels in the stub sealed shut to prevent him from bleeding to death, but Zanjani knew, suddenly, that he would not leave this room alive anyway.

"Finish, then," Adrian suggested. He gave every appearance of enjoying this, but it appalled him inwardly. Any taste for torture he might have once entertained had long since vanished. But they needed information, and Zanjani's was one of those rare minds not susceptible to vampiric influence other than very basic suggestions. That was undoubtedly why the enforcers tolerated this fool; they couldn't control him and he made things easy enough for them that they wouldn't want to kill him or turn him.

Adrian felt he had a lot to say to the local head vampire.

"The enforcers," Zanjani gasped, "took her to the fortress."

The knife was positioned over another joint. "And that would be... where?"

"Northeast, northeast!" Zanjani pissed himself as the knife cut to the bone. "Twenty miles or so, near the Pakistani border. In Khelat. Please, I am telling the truth!"

"How many guard her?"

"I don't know!" Zanjani was crying now, great blubbery tears that dripped off his beard. "They would not kill her, even though she deserved to die for what she did to me. No woman has ever dared!"

"No man has ever dared to try to take T'beth against her will," Adrian said with a twisted smile. "You're lucky all she did was kick you there." He nodded over at Richard. "Guards coming, and the other vampires are starting to realize something's up. We might have to fight our way out." He casually gagged Zanjani and they all froze, waiting for the guards. But the guards passed the bedroom without looking in, apparently reluctant to view their employer at his games. Still, Adrian could feel the other vampires in the palace, and they were beginning to search for the source of the disturbance they felt. They didn't have much time.

"We'll find the fortress," Adrian said. "Tell me what you've done with the Exalted Ones from Sa'idi." He held the knife now to Zanjani's precious family jewels. "What makes them sleep, as if drugged?"

"There is a plant, it grows in the mountains," Zanjani said, voice creeping higher up the register as Adrian's knife pricked his privates. "It is called scarlet crowfoot*. When you distill the leaves, it makes a juice that makes you feel better. Like wine, only even better. Happy, yes?" His English was rapidly deteriorating. "I gave some in wine to Bahram Bakhtiar. It was accident, I swear it, and he fell down in coma."

"And this Bahram Bakhtiar, he is a vampire? The head vampire?"

"Yes, yes," Zanjani gabbled, watching Adrian's knife. "His children, his followers, they were unhappy. They fed him blood from one of my women. She had drunk the juice, and Bahram was better. He had to drink whole woman to come back from sleep, but he was better. They found only the blood of those who have drunk much juice will bring back vampire from sleep of scarlet crowfoot. And juice must have time to get into blood, yes?"

Adrian glanced at Richard to see if the king had understood this. Richard nodded, and Adrian twisted the knife, just a little. More urine leaked out of Zanjani, and Adrian wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Is there anything else at all you can think of that will be useful? The layout of this fortress, for example?"

"I have never been there!" Zanjani protested, and he smelt of the truth as well as his own bodily wastes.

"Richard, anything else you care to ask?" Adrian wondered.

"No," Richard replied. "I believe we are out of time."

"Very well." Adrian bent down to Zanjani's groin. Ignoring the Ayatollah's stinking output, he put his lips to the great vein there. And bit. And drank, drank that devil dry. Zanjani's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing stopped. Adrian raised his head and used a bit of the bedspread to wipe his lips. "Faugh," was his only comment. "Richard, take the girl, we're getting her out of here."

Their eyes locked for the barest instant; if Richard was surprised at the order, or at the tone of Adrian's voice, he gave no sign of it. He knew Adrian could not walk away and leave a second child to be slaughtered here, and that if they must fight, it was better for Adrian's hands to be free than his own. Without a word, Richard bundled the girl into the bloodied bedspread and threw her slight body unceremoniously over his shoulder.

(*Scarlet crowfoot is a real plant, an alpine plant that does grow in the Iranian mountains. It is highly doubtful if it has the properties attributed to it herein. As an alpine plant, its role in the ecological niche is more likely to just sit there, looking pretty, until either someone writes a maudlin song about it or else a goat eats it. Life's tough for alpine plants.)

With the girl slung over his shoulder, Richard had both hands free to use the crossbow, and a ready supply of wooden quarrels. He also had his knife and the gun loaded with silver bullets. He sincerely hoped no harm came to the crossbow; T'beth would undoubtedly take a dim view of anyone harming what was obviously an expensive, custom-made weapon.

Adrian had both hands free, and he had his gun, his knife, a couple of wooden stakes stashed away in those nice big pockets Banana Republic puts everywhere on their clothes. The coiled rope was slung on his back, and he had all his vampiric strength and powers, now augmented by an intake of fresh blood.

The three of them, if you count the unconscious child in Richard's arms, slipped out of the Ayatollah's bedroom and into the corridor on the second floor of the palace.

"We'll have to try for the basement," Adrian said, his trained actor's voice pitched for Richard's ears only. "You can't go down the rope carrying the girl." He gasped involuntarily as an unexpected wave of nausea washed over him and leaned against the wall, fighting for control.

Richard didn't waste time asking Adrian what was wrong. It was obvious what ailed the vampire--he was having a reaction to drinking Zanjani's blood, the blood of a scarlet crowfoot addict. There was absolutely nothing Richard could do to help Adrian, though it was uncomfortable to simply stand and watch as the vampire fought against the wave of weakness and nausea. Richard stood guard as Adrian threw up in a corner.

The vampire straightened up and wiped his mouth. "Faugh," he said again. "Trouble coming." He loosened his gun in its holster. "You can't miss with the Silver Bullet," he quipped, but his voice was shaky.

"Steady," Richard said simply.

For a brief second, despite their horrendous situation, despite the torture and death he had just dealt out, despite his internal discomfort, a spark of the usual Adrian danced in the vampire's teal eyes. "Stiff upper lip, eh what?" he retorted in a jolly old Pickwickian accent that was probably totally lost on Richard. "Mustn't let the side down, old boy, steady on. What ho." Dropping that tone, he grunted, in pure American/Canadian, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Was there an answering spark in Richard's eyes? "I'm with you all the way on that," came the reply. He shifted the girl more securely in his arms and followed the vampire to the nearest stairs down.

There was another vampire waiting on the other side of the door. He leapt, without warning, right for Adrian, having sensed this intruder into the Ayatollah's realm. The smaller vampire grunted under the impact, but rolled away from his attacker and came up holding his knife.

The Iranian vampire laughed and said something in his own language that didn't require any translation. He thought that Adrian was pathetic, attacking him with only a knife. But then the other vampire caught the scent of silver, and spun on his heels to flee from this mad kindred who used the deadly metal. Too late, for Adrian was on him and the silver-coated blade was slicing through his neck. Blood spurted and the vampire screamed, scarlet froth boiling out of his open lips. He fell, taking Adrian down with him, thrashing as the deadly silver kept the throat wound from closing, the vital blood pumping out the measure of his unnatural life.

Adrian rolled out from under the corpse of a corpse. "You were right," he said conversationally as he and Richard, the girl still over the king's shoulders, pounded down the stairs. "They do scream."

Richard saved his breath. He had a feeling he was going to need it. He settled the girl more firmly and stayed right behind Adrian. Anything could be on the other side of that basement door. Adrian kicked it open unceremoniously, sending the human guard there flying. A crossbow bolt proved as fatal for humans as it did for vampires; they could no longer afford to leave the guards alive in their wake. Still without speaking, the vampire and the former king crossed the basement, treating every step of the way as hostile territory.

"We're being followed," Adrian sotto voced at Richard as they neared their goal--the same door Adrian had come in by the previous night. The door to the outside. The guarded door to the outside, but guarded by humans. Hopefully.

Richard was far too well war-trained to turn and try to look behind them. "Vampire?" he asked.

Adrian nodded. Richard loosened the gun in his holster; he had no time to seek and load another wooden quarrel for the crossbow. If it came to gunfire, the guards outside would hear, but there was probably no helping that.

"When I tell you," Adrian continued in that same low tone, "be ready to drop, turn and fire." He realized that he, a lowly whoreson, was giving orders to a king. And that the king wasn't questioning his right to do so. Not even being courteous about it, simply nodding his understanding. Hot damn. Of course, if he tried this in any situation other than one like this, where he was the expert, Richard would have his ears pinned back...

He could feel the vampire who was coming up behind them. She--yes, that mind had a feminine feel to it--was making not the slightest sound, hardly even the displacement of air as she moved. She was almost as good as T'beth; apparently this region bred its female vampires to prove Kipling's axiom. But she had either forgotten or was deliberately ignoring the fact that the "you don't see me, I'm not here, go about your business" mind whammy didn't work with other vampires. He could feel her mind, and that told him where she was in relation to himself and Richard. She was planning on having a little hemoglobin a la king, and she was gaining on Richard.

"Now!" Adrian's voice was a whipcrack.

Richard moved fast, impossibly so for a mere mortal. He dropped to a crouch, had the girl off his shoulders, pulled his gun out of the holster and fired four shots straight into the female vampire's chest. At least one of them must have hit the heart, she dropped with only a squeak.

"You did not say," Richard admonished his companion as he once more slung the unconscious girl over his shoulder, "that it was a woman."

"Didn't want you going all sentimental on me," Adrian replied, leading the way up to the back door.

The two guards there, aroused by gunfire, were child's play after two vampires. Adrian left them lying where they fell, necks at angles that ruled out any hope of recovery.

As they raced for the ATV, Adrian stopped a moment to look back at the residence of the late Ayatollah. Lights were coming on as the discovery of so many bodies, including that of the Big Bad Guy, were discovered.

"Guess I'll never get to play The Palace again," the actor mourned.