The group watched the last crimson rays of sun squelched behind the horizon as they rode up to the York coast. Off to the left they could clearly see the outlines of buildings, but they felt wary about approaching, due to the shambling figures which weaved their non-living way through the town's streets.
Brenden carefully covered the lens of his spyglass, tucked it back into his pack, and said, ``Gospog.''
Shadoe nodded. ``How many did you see?''
Brenden did some quick mental calculation. ``Not many, if this really was a field. If what I saw at the edge of town was about average, I'd say no more than a couple of hundred.''
``That means,'' frowned Alain, ``that we could be facing a third planting gospog. Uthorion's thirds are tremendous wolflike beasts, metres long.''
``Could be,'' agreed Brenden, ``but if he came in on that shipwreck, there might not have been enough time to grow one.
``Valentine, how long ago did that article say it had been since anyone had heard from Whitby?''
``Six or eight weeks, I think.''
Alice said, ``Well, anything is possible. With what we have faced thusfar, I dare say that one big wolf will not be our biggest problem!''
There was general agreement on that point.
``We need camp,'' said Bubba, ``and food.''
Kickingbird pointed out a decrepit looking structure towards the coast, slightly farther from town than their current position. ``What about that?''
Alain, who had borrowed the Dracula novel from Father Hardy and read it, said, ``I think that place was a holy building. Brenden, Anna, John, might that be the place called Whitby Abbey?''
Anna nodded her head. ``Yeah, that looks like a really early holy building. Nice Romanesque architecture--must've been really something, once.''
Alice said, ``That sounds like a wonderful place to camp.''
Brenden agreed, for good tactical reasons. ``Yeah--the back is close to the cliffside. We only have two real faces to defend.''
Valentine was less enthusiastic, though. ``It looks really close to town.''
In fact, the Abbey sat atop the cliffs right above the town. Brenden shook his head, ``But all the gospog are across the river.'' The Esk split the town in two. Most of what were once residential and commercial buildings sat on the left bank, while the Knights, and the Abbey, were on the right.
The reins urged the tiring mounts to go just a little more. Fifteen minutes later, the generous pace brought them to the foot of the Abbey. A huge, long set of stairs, carved out of the rock, wound its way towards the town, but huge sections of the stairway had been gouged away, leaving the Abbey almost unreachable from the town. This fact did not displease any of them.
The horses were tied up, inside the remains of the building with their reins secured around the lone slabs of carved stone which stood isolated like lonely columns. The soaring facade stood still, and most of the front wall, but the roof, all windows, and most of the back were long fallen and decayed.
One by one the Knights laid out their bedrolls and sleeping gear, took drinks from their well rationed canteens, and prepared to spend one more evening before facing their adversary.
Bubba, John and Valentine were setting up a fire on the worn floor while Brenden and Shadoe planned the watches for the night. Alice looked up into the occasional clear patches in the thickening clouds, fearfully watching the lunar orb in the heavens, staring down at her like a malevolent spirit, with only the barest sliver of black along the edge to stand guard between the moon and her soul.
A chill breeze blew off the North Sea, sending shivers through their bodies, and forcing the nascent, guttering flame to abandon its benevolent luminal duty.
From somewhere across the river, they heard baying.
``Alain?'' asked John, as he saw her peering intently back out over the black landscape. Just then, a low wailing noise reached their ears.
Alain turned to the group. ``Do you see that?'' There was urgency in her voice.
Within moments, everyone was straining to look inland. Thick fog rolled in over the cliffs, seemingly propelled by the sound of the crashing waves below. As their eyes focused more and more intently, the obscuring mist made their efforts more and more useless.
But there was something moving, a slightly darker grey shape against the uniform wall of fog. ``Is it a gospog?'' asked someone.
Lightning flashed high overhead, illuminating the barren, rocky plain for the barest instant. In the foreboding deep was a hunchbacked, misshapen figure, with long, cruelly bent arms trailing the ground.
The thunder peal rolled across the Abbey, hammering home the knowledge that had come simultaneous to them all: this was no gospog.
Stone rang and chipped, sparks flying through the air, as Bubba's ball and chain hammered the ground near the Abbey. The giant bellowed a challenge at the approaching Wraith.
``Merde, I am sick of this place, and this thing. I am damned well going to do something about it!'' A loud click sounded as Valentine pulled the bolt on her sub-machine gun. ``Come here, beast!''
As Valentine shouldered her weapon and fire off a burst, Brenden, John and Anna readied their weapons, confident that the tools of their reality, the reality which they had allowed themselves to forget since leaving the dismal city of London, would bring down this unnatural beast.
Gunfire lit up the Ayslish landscape. The muzzle flashes reflected brightly off the heavy mist, and none of them could tell if their aim were true.
``Hold your fire!'' said Brenden. ``It's still too far away.''
The now quiet muzzles remained carefully aimed at the brutish, deformed monster. ``Why isn't he moving? What's he waiting for?'' asked Val.
For answer, Alice screamed behind them. All eyes turned to see Bubba, a glowering, demonic grin on his face, swing his weapon again and again at the terrified woman, who was scarcely able to keep out of the way.
``Shit!'' said Brenden, ``it's possessed him!''
Shadoe's sword was in her hand, her body between the lady and the giant in one fluid motion. The enraged and uncontrolled giant could not get a solid hit in against the excellently wielded ninjato. Even so, Shadoe's whole body was knocked side to side every time the ball and chain was deflected by her thin blade.
A gunshot sounded, and Bubba howled and clasped his thigh, falling to the ground as Brenden kept the gun aimed to do what was necessary.
The crazed eyes turned on Llewelyn, burning with hate and murder. Brenden's grip faltered, and he staggered backward. But, in that moment, Shadoe pulled the huge chain from the giant's grasp, and Bubba's face went blank just as he fell prone to the ground.
Nervous gunsights looked towards the still unmoving form of the Wraith, while others looked to the momentarily quiescent giant. Bubba's hand moved to his thigh, and then to his head, as he sat slowly upright, looking dazed and confused.
``It wasn't me,'' he murmured. ``Not me.''
Valentine moved to his side, speaking softly to the uncomprehending giant, while she wrapped bandages about the clean wound Brenden had inflicted.
Alain groped in a small pouch, producing shards of metal--not the special ones prepared by David Hardy, though. Those were for a particular target. The elf threw the cloud of metal into the air, and her enchantments propelled them forward into the twisted form standing on the plain.
Suddenly it moved, turning its body towards the Abbey, letting out a horrific roar.
``I think it's charging,'' warned Brenden.
When he heard the automatic gunfire, he was prepared to yell out that it was still too far away, but then he noticed that the Wraith was yet perfectly still, and there were screams behind him. Turning as fast as he could, Brenden was just in time to see the last muzzle flash from Anna's gun. He also saw the spray of blood, Alain's collapsing form, Shadoe falling to the ground, and Bubba lurching precariously to one side.
The weapon was turning towards the prostrate forms of Shadoe and Alain as Bubba lumbered forward. ``We're friends!'' he growled as his fist caught Anna in the back of the head. The woman sprawled forward, her head bouncing off of the rock floor with a dull crack.
John lit a ball of pitch, and it flew at the Wraith, just beginning to move again. The whole plain glowed as the immolating projectile burst explosively into a solid ball of flame, with the Wraith at its centre.
Arthur was at Anna's side, holding her up off the floor, and wiping blood from where the skin across her scalp had split open.
``Here it comes!'' yelled Brenden. As the beast made for the Abbey, with a speed impossible for its decaying flesh, John was forced to dispel the fireball before it was close enough to injure them, as well.
Alain's magickal steel sliced through the dark grey, and orange muzzle flashes cast eerie shadows on the foreboding ruins.
But even before the Knights could judge what affect, if any, they were having against the creature, the hunchbacked shape stopped, and melted into the fog.
The entire group watched helplessly as the Wraith dispersed into its own black mist, lost entirely in the surrounding clouds.
The entire group, except for Arthur and Anna.
It was impossible to tell which sound came first--the blood-curdling shriek; or the deep, hypocritically cultured voice with its laughter, its cackling, of utmost, unbelievable evil.
Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Baron Victor Manwaring stood over the unconscious form of Dame Anna Schaeffer, and the flash of sudden lightning ostentatiously displayed the fresh blood dripping from his malicious fangs.
In that moment, every single Storm Knight knew that, were it his will, the vampyre would have their lives before they could even voice their prayers.
``Oh, my meddlesome little stormers,'' announced Mantooth, his patronising voice lashing out to cow the very walls themselves, ``you have amused me greatly. Little did I think that in extracting my revenge on you--my slow, painful torturous revenge, sucking every ounce of fear from your pathetic mortal bodies--little did I think that I might enjoy your miserable attempts to foil me even half so much as I have!''
The horses bucked and neighed wildly, the reins digging into their flanks in their madness, their hooves chipping as they pounded wildly against the rough rock.
``I will kill you all, and you will all know before your deaths how gravely you erred in choosing to oppose my will. But I will not kill you now, oh no! For that would be too easy! I leave you here to burn yourselves alive with the fear and uncertainty that holds your souls chained to the ground, unmoving and impotent! I leave you now to wallow in the certainty of your own imminent and terrible deaths!
``Oh, how much more you will suffer knowing that you walk voluntarily into the flames of Hell, into the jaws of Victor Manwaring! You shall all be mine!''
His voice still ringing in the stones of the Abbey, as though the once holy place had become a musical fork attuned to the purest tone of evil, the vampyre's cape billowed out around him. His form shifted and changed, and a large, engorged bat took wing out across the Whitby plain.
All was very still for many minutes after his departure. There was sobbing, from one, from all, it was impossible to tell. Alice, tears streaming from her eyes, moved to Anna's inert body. Ragged breaths moved seismically through the tortured girl's chest.
Alice quickly fastened a bandage to the two small, dripping holes atop her right jugular vein. The rest were moving now, too, though there were no words to be spoken.
``Here, let me,'' said John, finally, in hushed and trembling voice. He produced herbs of healing from his shaman's pouch, and laid enchantments on the suffering Anna. Her body seemed to calm slightly, and she seemed about to rouse.
Shadoe pointed out, ``She has been unconscious since she was possessed. Someone will have to tell her.''
Alain nodded curtly. ``I will do so.''
By common, wordless consent, the others crossed to the other side of the Abbey, and out onto the desolate plain. Through the haze and mist, they watched the diffuse moonlight's mournful dance with the breaking waves below.
Time refused to make itself known to them, and they knew not how long they remained there, until painful hysterics sounded from behind them, from the building as shattered as their overwhelmed psyches.
Alain's hushed voice could barely be heard, but not understood. After some time, the wailing cries softened into miserable, silent tears. Anxiety was more tangible than the suffocating layers of fog as the hypnotising wave crests forced the watchers to replay the horrible scenes over and over in their minds.
Eventually, silence again prevailed, and Alain quietly approached her pensive comrades. ``She is asleep.''
As they reconvened around the fire, Valentine began to speak. ``We can't do it. We'll never find him, and he'll just keep whittling us down, killing us one by one until we are all insane or dead.''
John's body was still trembling, yet he said, ``But we must. For Anna's sake, for the sake of her body and spirit, we have to defeat him. We may die--but her fate will be much worse if we let him have his way.
``You saw how he looked at her, while he pronounced our dooms. He won't kill Anna. He will take her to be with him.''
Alice broke down into tears, then quickly got up and moved away to be by herself elsewhere in the Abbey. They all recalled what had been revealed by the vampyre atop the great step pyramid in the Forever City--he had ordered the attack that left Alice Hargraves inflicted with lycanthropy, and Captain Reginald Hargraves dead. And he had vowed to take Alice's life personally.
Brenden went to his fiancé, setting a shawl across her trembling shoulders and sitting down next to her.
``Valentine is right, though,'' said Shadoe. ``We cannot defeat what we cannot find. If we are always fighting on his terms, we will not win.''
Bubba pounded his fists together. ``We must find him! There has to be a way!''
They fell silent again, for what seemed an interminably long time. Brenden and Alice soon returned to the group, settling close to the fire.
Ripples of thunder pealed overhead. Suddenly, Alain stood to her feet. ``We will find him!''
Surprised, unbelieving eyes met her pronouncement.
Alain clenched a fist. ``By Dunad and by the god of David Hardy, we will find our tormentor. If my mentor Trellyn has taught me one thing above all else, it is not to rely on the science of magic for all.
``I must use what has been taught me by David.''
Alice gasped, Bubba and Shadoe seemed confused. Brenden had seen Father Hardy employ the grisly arts of the Occult before, and usefully, too. But the risks were tremendous. ``Alain,'' he said, ``to use such powers would not be honourable!''
The snarl of dedication marred the elf's normally beautiful face. With the events of the evening, though, beauty was far less appropriate than strong will.
``Honour be damned if it will not let me help that woman!'' Alain drew her longsword and strode toward the tethered horses.
``Which one of these beasts was ridden by the deceitful monster?'' she asked aggressively, as though challenging her companions not to answer.
Shadoe answered. ``Alain, it was this one, I am certain.''
``Good,'' answered the elf. ``Tie it up over there,'' she said, and pointed to where the Abbey floor was marred with Anna's lifeblood. ``Somebody bring his bedroll there as well.'' Valentine obeyed.
Brenden said, ``Alain, what are you going to do?''
``We will find him, no matter where he moves, no matter where he hides. He rode that horse--it carried him, and it holds the essence of movement for him. He slept on that bedroll--it held him fast in sleep, as any place of haven or refuge will hold him fast in hiding from us. In motion or at rest, these two items know him.''
The bedroll was laid on the floor. Alain laid a five pointed star of burning pitch around it, drawing in wax, around the flames, magickal runes describing the entity known to Ayslish magicians as vampyre.
Seeing the fire, the horse bucked and tore at its tether. Her sword held firmly, Alain approached the cowering, crazed animal. The Knights watched in horror as a flashing upward stroke of Alain's sword cleft the horse's neck. In an instant it fell. Ferocious bolts of lightning speared the dismal sky.
Alain collected the hot, spilling blood and poured it until the bedroll was soaked, and would hold no more. Then she gutted the dead animal, pulling its entrails out with her own bare hands, laying them on the saturated roll.
The others sat on the ground, unable to tear their eyes from this grisly display. Alain fired a torch, watching it burn high and strong. She plunged this into the flammable straw mat, and the stench of burning blood and viscera filled the air.
Alain knelt next to the gruesome pyre, holding her hands palm down over the flaming guts. The flames licked at her flesh.
She called out loud, as though invoking some powerful, long forgotten god. ``Now these flames taste the flesh than knows his flesh, the straw that held his flesh; these flames burn with the essence of him our tormentor, the knowledge of him, of his movements and his stillness.
``And now I will become one with these flames, and I will have this knowledge! Power of heat and light, holder of the truth of our enemy, enlighten me now!
``Where is to be found the vampyre, Victor Manwaring?''
Alain curled her hands into fists, plunging them into the flames. A scream was torn from her body, and by the distorting light of the fire, the group watched her hands burn black, then burn to the bone.
The elf screamed and wailed again, her face contorted with pain and agony, sweat streaming from her forehead.
A third scream was ripped violently from Alain's raw throat, and she fell backwards from the flames, thrown by some unseen force, her hands buried in her abdomen, her body hunched around the destroyed appendages.
Unlike any natural flame, the burning entrails exploded in a final cloud of fire, sending a roiling ball of orange hell up into the miserable night sky.
Brenden and the others charged to Alain's side, past the smoking remains of the Occult ritual. They rolled Alain over onto her back, and Shadoe prepared heavy bandages to wrap the elf's mangled hands.
But they were whole--without burn, without redness, and unwarmed. The Knights heaved a mutual gasp and backed slightly away. Alain blinked several times and forced herself to her elbows.
Brenden was the first to speak. ``Alain, are you alright? What happened?''
Alain's voice rasped out a reply, as one hand pointed out over the town.
``That way, about half a day's ride.''
Then the elf lapsed into oblivion.''
Monday, 13 July, 1991:
The blood-red summer sun had weakly crawled its way above the horizon, buried the previous night before final death, and now trying to correct that mistake.
The eight horses were led in a wide berth around the infested town. Alain's spyglass was carefully trained at the receding town, watching for any sign of impending trouble.
They needed to ford the River Esk--the bridges were all near town, and no one recalled having seen any other crossings on the ride up. The Esk used not to be an imposing feature in the north York countryside, but the return of light had shown clearly where the swollen waters had spread and carved their way underneath the town. Collapsed and shattered buildings stuck out of the river at crazy angles, like the last signal of a drowning man.
Alain dropped the spyglass from her eye with a look of despair on her face, hefted it once more, then handed the glass to Alice.
``Alice,'' said the elf, ``would you please look to the side of town along the river, and tell me what you see?''
Alice took the glass, dreading what she might find. There, around the edge of town, like watching sentinels, were solitary gospogs wielding short-barrelled, wide-muzzled black powder rifles.
``Oh, heavens!'' she wailed. ``Brenden, those gospog have blunderbusses!''
Mixed in with the shambling forms in the town were indeed some of the Gaunt Man's gospog of the second planting. Alice had fallen before one of those terrible guns once, and almost died. Manwaring had brought them to the Forever City before their previous encounter with the vampyre.
Alain shuddered, and mused aloud. ``What manner of gospog would be harvested from a mixed field of these and Uthorion's gospogs?''
No one offered a response. No one wanted a response, but their imaginations were all too willing to provide several.
The town was long out of view, and the sun significantly higher, though not yet overhead, when the group reined in their mounts.
Alain said, ``We are moving no nearer. If we hope to arrive before nightfall, we must cross now.''
Shadoe protested, ``But there is no ford! The horses cannot wade this, nor can we make the journey before dusk without them.''
Alain said, ``We will go over, then. Brenden will agree that flight is an agreeable mode of travel.''
Llewelyn nodded at that. ``It has been tremendously useful several times before.''
In an eyeblink, Alain was hovering above her horse. The beast had not even noticed at first, so smooth had been the transition.
``Gather close, and tie yourselves together,'' ordered Alain.
They stood in a circle, fastened together after having tied their mounts to a withered looking tree. Alain lowered herself down to the middle of the group, then, all eight clasped together, wind rushed up to loft them into the air.
Moments later, they were safe on the opposite bank, untying themselves. Alain returned, to land squarely in the saddle of her horse.
Coaxing and soothing, stroking the frightened animal's flank and neck, the pair lifted into the air, and moved slowly across the rushing river.
Soon two, three, and then a handful of the horses were across, being fed and watered and calmed, while Alain returned for another trip.
A large fallen branch was being washed down the river as Alain and the sixth horse relinquished contact with the earth. Alain moved slowly and carefully, mindful of the rough, uneven water below.
Then the branch was sucked down, and speared back through the river's surface, splintering against a boulder with a tremendous crash. The horse instinctively tried to buck, and Alain could not help but let the reins slip. As the elf's magickal aura withdrew, the stricken equine fell squealing into the rushing waters, drawn under and never more to be seen.
Cursing her ill-fortune, Alain forced down her frustration and returned for the last two.
When all remaining were together at last on the western bank, one thing remained to be decided.
Bubba shrugged. ``I'll walk.''
With some sort of miraculous guidance, the sun was still halfway between overhead and the western horizon when a tremendous stone wall hove into view.
Alain pointed with certainty. ``He is in there.''
Valentine shivered. ``Are you sure he's not beyond.''
With a shake of her long white hair, Alain said, ``I feel how close he is. He is just beyond that wall.''
They found a copse of gnarled, black trees, devoid of foliage despite the summer month, standing just beyond the wall. The mounts were tied, loosely, and left with food and water.
``But if we don't return,'' asked Alice, ``should we at least make sure the horses can run away?''
Brenden nodded. ``She's right--if we do come back, I don't think I'll care whether we have horses here or not.''
The reins were untied, the saddles stripped, and the provisions left on the ground. Bubba hefted Shadoe part way up the wall, then the agile ninja scaled to the top, drove pitons, and lowered ropes down both sides.
And then they were inside.
The cold, impersonal embrace of fear met them within. They were no longer in Aysle--Manwaring had brought the Hellish reality of his home with him.
The yard was tremendous. The manour house, at its centre, stood almost half a mile distant. And roaming the grounds were gospog, first- and second-planting, from both High Lords.
Firearms were readied and aimed. They moved out smartly toward what appeared to be a portcullis, the only entrance to be seen. The dark, dull sun hovered over the house like a beacon of danger.
With fierce determination, the gunners dropped one after another of the hideous plant zombies, splattering their juices on the parched, cracked dirt. And, as each fell, their confidence strengthened. They had come this far. They would succeed.
A pack of wolf-gospogs gathered ahead of them. Alain reached into a specially sealed bag, and produced a handful of metal shavings, sprinkled with a slight bit of damp soil. After all, 'Arthur' had led them to the coffin. Certainly, the earth within it would not have been of any meaning to Victor Manwaring.
The shards took flight, and the monsters died.
By the time they had reached the gate, more than a score of plant-like corpses dotted the ground. Bubba moved forward to rip the portcullis from the wall, but Shadoe held up her hand. ``Wait!''
Those that were not keeping gospogs at bay turned eyes to the Japanese girl. ``Do we wish to announce our presence this early? Maybe we can sneak in.''
Peering through the iron bars, Alice noticed the lever for the gate. Shadoe stepped towards the bars. ``I can fit through, and raise the barricade.''
Shadoe turned sideways, contorted her body, and crawled up between two of the iron railings. Soon she was clinging to the inside of the gate, and she slowly, carefully pointed one foot to the floor and began to let herself down.
At the moment her foot touched the floor, the area where the other seven stood seemed darker, Shadoe stumbled gracelessly, and the four marksmen were confused.
The gospog at which Brenden had been aiming, the closest one, faltered, as did Brenden as his legs suddenly felt tired. But the other creatures, the ones in the background, seemed to have suddenly shifted positions.
Then he noticed the darkness, and saw that they all stood within the long, stretched shadow of the house, falling to the east onto, and even over, the main wall.
Understanding sprouted like a weed within them, blossoming to restore the seeds of fear and doubt within them.
``Oh, dear God,'' muttered Alice.
``A ward!'' gasped Alain. ``How much time has passed?''
John gauged the shadow of a gospog standing away from the house. ``It is almost sunset. The shadow of the western wall is just passing the front of the building.''
Hopes disintegrated in the failing light. Anxiety filled Alice, like an animal bursting to be let out--for such was her condition.
``A fucking ward!'' screamed Brenden, almost hysterical. ``Alain, where is he?''
Alain blinked, forced concentration, and said, ``Ahead, and down. There must be a cellar.''
``A crypt,'' whispered Alice. ``Alain, tell me when he's near, so I can...prepare myself.''
``Of course, Alice.''
``Hurry up!'' yelled Valentine. ``The gospog are going to attack!''
They quickly moved through the now half raised gate, then Bubba pulled it back down, broke the chains, and tore a chunk of rock from the walls to wedge the portcullis shut. A wall of undead plant crashed into the bars, clawing the air inside with frantic grasps.
The Knights moved down the hall. It was straight, almost fifty feet long. It ended against twin oaken doors, carved with all manner of demon and foul spirit. Even the gold work had been beaten and shaped into images of pain and torture.
Shadoe took the liberty of saying the obvious, after they stood unmoving for some moments. ``We must enter.''
``It must be trapped,'' said Alain.
John countered, ``It's our only way in.''
``Where's the trap?'' asked Brenden. ``The door? The handle? The floor? There's no way we can be sure. Let's just get this over with.''
Brenden moved forward and touched the door handle. Painful white light exploded from the carvings, washing down the hall, momentarily blinding them all. But the blindness was not to be noticed.
Bubba fell to the ground, cowering and whimpering. Alice clutched at her cross, incoherent disjoint prayers coming from her lips. Brenden and John dropped their weapons and raced back down the hallway, screaming for their lives. Valentine and Anna were shivering and crying, as though the executioner's axe were cocked over their necks at that very moment. Shadoe stood frozen and unmoving, eyes and mouth agape, attention forced on the demonic carvings as though those teeth and claws were ready to rip her apart.
There was no more confidence; there was no longer even the possibility of a quick death. There was only fear. They could not win. Even after the hysterics were spent, even after some semblance of composure, the eight figures that walked through the doorway knew that they were fulfilling the vampyre's prophecy: into the flames of Hell, into the jaws of the vampyre.
Only one thought urged them on. Better to fight and die now than to be broken and destroyed one by one in their cowardice.
Beyond the cursed doors was an entranceway, probably once in a grand Victorian style. Now it was mostly bare, strewn with cobwebs, and smelling of the charnel house. Unsteady looking stairs beckoned the unwary into the dimly lit upper floor.
``Where is he?'' asked Anna flatly.
``Down, still down,'' answered Alain.
``Then we have to find a way down,'' said Brenden. He gestured to John and Alain. ``Come with me,'' he said, and pointed to the lefthand room. ``Bubba, stay here with Anna. And everyone else take the other side.''
As Brenden crossed the threshold into some sort of parlour, and was able to see the far end of the room, his stomach recoiled, forcing bile into his throat.
Manwaring obviously had read more than fictional accounts of Vlad Dracula, the Impaler.
Decorating (in some sick sense of the word) the trophy wall were some of the former citizens of Whitby. They had been gruesomely tortured and mutilated, and mounted to the walls and floor in various methods using long, metal, javelin-like spikes.
John was coughing, trying to control his nausea, and Alain held her nose and mouth in her hands. ``Let's get out of here,'' Brenden barely managed to say.
Shadoe, Valentine and Alice had found a similar display in their room.
A third archway opened from the west end of the foyer, underneath the second half of the stairway which was perpendicular to the section below the landing.
``Let's try that way,'' suggested Valentine. They all agreed.
The room beyond was the kitchen, and was mostly empty. There were no signs of the Baron's new-found 'art' there.
Anna concentrated for several seconds, seemingly lost in thought, until a small blue ball of light appeared in the air before her. She, too, had learned some magick, and the little ball could help her find anything relatively closeby.
``Uh, Anna,'' said Brenden.
``It will just show us the way down,'' said Anna, also remembering the occasion the spell had been used to track a person--who had been given plenty of notice of the Knights' presence when a little blue ball appeared at his ankles.
The tracker spell moved quickly and directly to one of the large fireplaces and hovered there, until Anna allowed it to be dispelled.
Brenden and John moved the log stand and the wood away, revealing a trap door hidden in the floor beneath. Imagining what new infernal snare this portal might contain, Brenden ordered, ``Everybody get out of this room.''
Reluctantly, they did so. Brenden only allowed himself to be alone that long because Alain could warn him if the vampyre were near. Of course, there were still a Wraith and a shadow demon somewhere, perhaps just waiting to gut him if he opened the panel.
With trembling hand, he moved the mechanism, and the door dropped down. Nothing else happened.
Back together, they considered that Bubba would not fit through the hole.
The giant's rumbling voice replied, ``I will make bigger hole.''
Alice stepped demurely out of view, and let slip the beast, feeling its anger and violence subdue her own personality. The wolf was strong tonight, and she knew that there were only a few rays of sunlight left holding the full moon at bay.
Brenden felt a horrific thrill shoot through his body as the wolf padded up to his side. Almost, it had seemed one of the Ayslish gospogs.
Rock cracked and turned to powder as Bubba dropped his feet down the hole, then pushed off of the chimney to force his body through. Almost immediately, the wolf leapt down the hole, and Brenden followed.
The group had formed a circle in the dark corridor underneath before Anna and Valentine descended within it.
Alain lit a torch, preparing to use another of her spells: Flame Strike, it was called, and with it she could call forth destruction from any open flame. Brenden found, to his great surprise, that his flashlight worked, and that he had thought to use it. Anna and Valentine copied Brenden, and taped their lights to their gun barrels.
``Where?'' asked Brenden.
Alain pointed ahead and to the right, though the corridor went straight for as long as their light showed. The walls were black and wet, and the floor of sweet smelling, rich earth--rich with the dead and decaying.
``He's moving!'' yelled Alain, and they had not even noticed the speeding bat until, barely before them, forming it seemed out of the darkness itself, he stood.
The laugh battered at their ears. ``You come to finish the game, stormers? Were you brave enough to get this far, or just too cowardly to try and save yourselves?''
Even as a wolf, Alice felt it. He wanted her. He wanted her dead.
Bubba howled and grabbed at the ceiling, cleaving his hands into the bare rock to haul himself away, while Valentine ran screaming the opposite way down the corridor.
Shadoe stood forth, sword at the ready. Manwaring grinned, showing her the fangs that would tear the life from her body, and moved to attack with blinding speed.
With all her training and expertise, the ninja's sword could not find a target. With a loud thud, Shadoe was flung to the wall, a bare trickle of blood showing through her nightsuit, an insult telling her that the vampyre didn't need to kill her yet.
Manwaring ignored Shadoe, turning towards the rest of the group. What he met was Brenden's outstretched arm, and the cross it wielded at the unholy creature's face.
With a hiss of absolute, venomous hatred, the vampyre huddled away from the small piece of metal. The wolf leapt high in the air, arcing over John and Alain. She almost landed squarely atop the Baron, but at the last, he spun around, ducking under his cape which flapped deceptively in the air, drawing John's aim from its true target. The wild bullet ricochetted harmlessly down the corridor.
Manwaring was suddenly standing again, and his claws lashed out at the werewolf. Alice boxed at his hands with her front paws, but the monster was too agile, and the wolf was pummelled, saved only by the arcane enchantments that protected her feral form.
Mantooth turned and launched into the air, alighting behind Anna and the elf.
But the form that the two turned to face did not look like Victor Manwaring. Arthur Dalming's soft, smiling face looked back at them.
``Dearest Anna, swear your love to me.'' He held out a hand. ``Come, be with me, always.''
Anna's face was a mask of misery and torment, yet her feet began to move, carrying her towards him. ``Arthur,'' she mewed.
Alain held out an arm to block her. ``No, Anna! It's Manwaring! He'll kill you!''
Anna stopped in her tracks, eyes still fixed on Arthur, on Arthur's shape, inner eye fixed on all of the hopes she had associated with him. Tears streamed down her cheeks, tears of confusion, anger, and shame. Never before had her comrades seen such complete and utter misery as tore at Anna right then.
Then the vampyre was in his own form again, stepping close to her, holding out his hand, which still dripped with Shadoe's blood, to her.
``Yes, Anna,'' he said. ``It is Victor. I am the one you love. You feel it now. You feel the blood in your veins burning for you to be at my side!'' And at the last word, Manwaring plunged his bloody hand into the flame of Alain's torch.
As Shadoe's blood began to sizzle and burn from his hand, Anna screamed in agony, throwing herself to the ground and clawing at every part of her body. Wailing cries filled the corridor, echoing off the walls like the screams of the damned.
Brenden fired off three shots from his Magnum, hitting Manwaring squarely. The vampyre turned towards him and smiled. The claws moved faster than Death's scythe and Brenden was lying on the ground breathless and bleeding.
Mantooth closed in on his prone form, but with a howl of fury, the wolf was between them, snapping and slashing at the monster. John unloaded bullets into the vampyre's back, which did absolutely nothing. After several seconds, the two combatants separated.
The wolf looked bedraggled, and blood stained her hide. One of her ears looked bent and broken. But, Victor, too, showed several gashes along his tall body, and there might even have been blood from him, too.
Manwaring threw his cape dramatically about, catching the attention of the five left around him. His stentorian voice slammed at the walls and at their bodies, and he lavished upon each word.
``You Will All DIE!!!''
As they fell over themselves, trying to seek distance from this horrible entity, Manwaring turned quickly and scooped up Anna's inert body in his arms. His feet left the floor, and he flew down the hallway, past the edge of their light.
Brenden's head pounded, and so did his heart. ``Valentine! Bubba!''
``Here,'' said a weak female voice from the blackness behind them.
Alain shook some coherence into her head, and regained her feet. ``He is not the only one with such abilities!'' she proclaimed.
Shadoe stood near her. ``Take me!''
Once again, Alain was airborne, shooting down along the black wall with Shadoe at her side.
Several hundred feet along, just as a side passage was coming into view, Alain saw flickering light from the connecting corridor.
Victor Manwaring appeared, holding a torch in his hand. ``Elf,'' he said, ``you amuse me. I hope I enjoy your death.''
The vampyre's hand went into the flame, and pain blinded Alain. She crashed into the floor, Shadoe barely rolling free.
Alain writhed in torment, unable to see, but more than able to feel her own blood burning her alive. The red haze before her eyes began to shade to black, and Alain knew that unconsciousness would be but a short precursor to death. In the haze of agony, she thought she saw her god.
``Dunad! Grant me that I might stand until the last! Let me not fall until my ashen legs cannot support me!''
The pain did not ease, but, incredibly, the inability did. Alain's mind was suddenly clear, and her vision unobscured. She had very little time in which to do anything, but she had to try.
The inspiration she had was almost instantaneous, and she knew the risk, but it was well founded. This spell of Manwaring's was most likely based on the knowledge of folk; if she cast a stronger spell on herself, she might be saved.
But she knew no powerful folk spells! Therefore, she would create one. Once again, Alain let the dark powers of the Occult flow through her, and the power was strong in this, Manwaring's demesne.
Grabbing her torch from the ground, Alain called on the Occult, and cried out, ``Amuse me, Manwaring! Wallow in your own torment, devil!'', and shoved her hand into the flame.
Manwaring screamed, in pain and surprise, and staggered on his feet. Slowly, the pain subsided from Alain's body. The elf fell to the floor panting as the vampyre moved back down the other passage, and, even despite what she had just accomplished, she had never felt so little in control of herself and her surroundings.
Alain had no idea how long it was before the others were around her, helping her to her feet, giving her water. Bubba and Valentine were there, too. Their fear was not so great since the vampyre had disappeared from sight.
They all knew that they had to go save Anna, yet no one moved, none spoke. They had all been soundly humiliated and beaten, and nothing more could they do. They had lost.
Brenden fell to his knees in anguish and despair, leaning against the wall to hide his sobbing. Then he ripped his backpack from its place and threw it to the ground in front of him, and practically tore it open to produce something that was inside.
He knew it had power; he had seen Father Hardy pray with it; and, somehow, there was reassurance in being near it, and he needed that reassurance now. Maybe it was the Cup of Christ, the sacred Grail, and that He was somehow attuned to its bearer. But, if He could hear at all, then that was the only hope any of them had right now.
Brenden held the Possibility Chalice before him, and cried out to the ceiling. ``Dear God, help us now! Grant us the strength to continue, for Anna's sake! ``
As he clutched the golden Chalice before him, holding its red and blue swirled gems against his chest, something too long absent seeped into him: confidence.
The tears in his eyes turned to joy as he saw the faces of his companions. There was confidence there.
None of them had fought well before; none of them had done that of which he was capable. No longer thus! They would face down the monster, and they would do what they must, and they would do all that they could.
``Let's go,'' said Alain, and charged down the hall, all of them following.
The interior chamber was lit by torchlight. Two coffins sat atop a stone altar in the center of the circular room. Anna lay in one of them, blood visible near her neck.
Standing over her was Victor Manwaring, who turned quickly to face his returning adversaries.
Yet how astounded he was to see the set and determined looks upon their faces. Brenden stepped forward. ``Now it's your turn, you son of a bitch. God is with us!''
Valentine peeled off to one side and loosed a long stream of bullets, aiming carefully so as not to hit Anna. The vampyre dodged and weaved away from most of them.
The wolf made a bounding leap, tackling the undead fiend. Her claws swiped ferociously, battering at her target's defenses. Manwaring threw her aside, rising to his feet to be met by flying pieces of metal. John picked up the spent shell casing from the floor and magickally hurled them at Manwaring.
Alain, with time left before her magickal flight dissipated, was next to Anna in an instant, hovering over her with her sword.
But Victor paid the elf nor his claimed bride any attention. The monster was closing in on Shadoe, getting close enough to prevent Valentine from shooting.
Shadoe fell back from Manwaring's vicious attacks, but held her own long enough for the wolf to join the fray again, striking ferociously at Mantooth's side.
Now Manwaring laid about him frantically, with the wolf on one side and Shadoe reengaging him on the other.
Alain stepped forward, while John tended to Anna.
``Manwaring, am I amusing you now?'' mocked the elf, drawing his attention completely towards her. With a ferocious snarl, Manwaring raised his bloody talons, ready to remove the elf's throat in one clean strike.
Alain held firm, hoping that her death would give the others time to drive home their attacks.
But death did not come.
A flash of light arced through the room, seemingly right before Alain's eyes, and she thought for a moment that that was her death. But then the vampyre's body was collapsing to the floor, and the head of Victor Manwaring, his face still contorted in expectation of the deathstroke he was about to deliver, was rotating slowly as it hovered momentarily in the air, separated from his body.
As the fanged orb fell to the ground, it landed in a pile of ashes where its body had previously fallen.
Standing behind the decaying pile stood Brenden, holding at his side a mystical Sunblade from the Nile Empire, with a slight smear of pale blood across its glowing surface.