Robert Doherty

AREA 51

NOSFERATU

PROLOGUE

THE   PRESENT

The Skeleton Coast, West Africa
The room was dimly lit by a single low-wattage bulb set beneath the tattered
shade of an old lamp sitting in the center of the large, oaken table that
dominated the room. The table was oval, stretching ten feet in length and five
in width, and its top was marked and scarred by centuries of use. Four large
wing armchairs were spaced evenly around the table. They were cushioned and
covered in well-worn black leather. The curved outer wall was smoothly cut
sandstone, breached only by a single door made of thick planks of weathered
wood, bound with iron spikes to a diagonal crossbeam.
  Three figures occupied chairs, leaving one empty. There were no papers in
front of them, no laptops, hand-helds, or any other electronic device in the
room other than the single light and a large flat-screen display set in front of
the empty chair, facing the other three. The faces of the three were hidden in
the shadows of their high-backed chairs and the only way for each to determine
who was speaking was from accent and direction.
  "Gentlemen, I welcome you to the Haven." The voice was low yet powerful,
easily carrying from the chair opposite the door across the polished oak
tabletop from the

2

others. The accent was indeterminate, an amalgamation of numerous languages
warped over the ages into speaking English.
  The voice continued. "We have waited a long time, a very long time, for this
day. The Airlia have been defeated by the humans. Both sides. The two alien
leaders, Aspasia and Artad, are dead. Quite remarkable and more fortuitous than
I had ever hoped. They who made us and hate us are gone. It is our time now."
  The man leaned forward, revealing a narrow face, white hair, and dark eyes
with the slightest hint of red in them. When the dim light struck them a certain
way the pupils appeared to be slightly elongated. Despite the white hair, his
skin was smooth and alabaster, as if it had never seen the light of day or the
grim hand of time. He wore a flowing robe of soft gray cloth.
  His voice deepened as he spoke. "I was made Nosferatu in the First Age of
Egypt, before the dawn of history as recorded by the humans, the child of Horus
the Airlia and a human High Consort. I have lived for over ten millennia waiting
for the time when those who made us would be defeated and we would not have to
live in fear of them." He looked around the table. "This is the first time the
three of us have been together in the same place at the same time. I thank you
for answering my summons. With the Airlia gone we are the eldest and most
powerful species on the planet."
  Nosferatu paused, the words sinking into the sandstone, replaced by utter
silence. Nosferatu indicated that the man to the screen's right should speak
next.
  The voice spoke English like a song, the Chinese background unmistakable. "I
am Tian Dao Lin." He leaned forward, revealing Oriental features and a bald,
liver-spotted scalp. He wore a black silk robe with a single red dragon

3

embroidered on each loose sleeve. "I was made underneath the great mountain tomb
Qian-Ling by Artad himself in consort with a sacrificial girl well before even
the dynasty of ShiHuangdi, the first true Emperor of the Middle Kingdom." He
turned toward Nosferatu. "We met many, many years ago, a most fascinating story
that I will tell you if you wish"—he glanced at the third occupant of the room—
"but at another time and place as we are here for business." Tian Dao Lin leaned
back in his seat.
  The third person in the room waited a few seconds before speaking. Then he
stood, a formidable figure, over six and a half feet in height and as erect as a
soldier on parade. His skin was pale, his face perfectly smooth and unlined
except for a single scar down the left side from the edge of the eye to the edge
of his mouth. He had a prominent nose, giving him the appearance of a hunting
hawk. His eyes were slanted, though not as much as Tian Dao Lin's, and his long
red hair flowed over his shoulders. He was dressed in black pants and shirt made
of some soft material that absorbed what little light there was in the room.
  "I too was made by Artad in consort with a human girl, but long after you,
Tian Dao Lin. The name I choose others to know me as now is Adrik. I have—as
have both of you—been called by many other names over the years. I am here to
find out this business that the Eldest, Nosferatu, proposes."
Adrik retook his seat.
  Nosferatu placed his fingers lightly on the edge of the table as if keeping
himself balanced. "As you both know, we have a stronger genetic link with the
humans than with the Airlia. We look like them and can even pass as human. It is
our blood—the Airlia blood that runs through our veins—that makes us different
from humans and has kept us alive through the ages."

4

  Nosferatu continued. "The Airlia are gone. The Ones Who Wait—who were in a way
brethren to us but under the thrall of Artad and manufactured, not bred—are also
gone as far as can be determined. Aspasia's Shadow, who meddled many times with
us, is dead and his guides ineffective since the humans took over and destroyed
the Master Guardian, effectively shutting down all the subordinate Guardian
computers upon which the Guides relied.
"It is a new age."
  Nosferatu paused and looked around the table, waiting. He knew there were
different agendas here and he wanted to know what they were before he got to
his.
  Tian Dao Lin was the first to speak. "A new age, but the humans believe it is
their age now. I do not think they will treat us any better than the Airlia or
their minions did. We may look like them but we are most definitely not the
same. And what we have had to do over the many years to remain alive—while there
are small cults that worship the vampire legend, the majority of humans fear and
despise even our myth. I think their reaction to the reality if it is revealed
will be much more severe and unforgiving."
   "That is why I changed my manner of feeding many years ago," Nosferatu noted.
"I do not kill anymore to get my sustenance."
  Adrik dissented. "We are superior to humans. It is the natural order that we
feed from them. Your distinction means nothing."
   It meant something to the victim, Nosferatu thought, but he didn't give voice
to the words.
  "We have all done well over the years," Tian Dao Lin continued, ignoring the
Russian. "Each of us controls vast wealth and power from the shadows. Why should
we do anything differently?"

5

  "Because the world is a different place now," Nosferatu said. "Even the two of
you acknowledge that by coming to this meeting, something we have never done
before. There are new opportunities now. And new dangers."
   "Why did Vampyr not come here then?" Adrik demanded. "Did you not invite
him?"
"I invited him," Nosferatu replied.
"Then why is he not here?" Adrik asked once more.
  "You seem quite concerned about Vampyr," Nosferatu said. "Do you fear him?"
Adrik leapt to his feet. "I fear no one."
   "Please sit." Nosferatu glanced at the Chinese, who was watching Adrik
closely. "I meant you no disrespect. I am the Eldest and I fear Vampyr. He is
powerful and dangerous."
   "You said new opportunities," Tian Dao Lin said. "Do you mean the Grail and
immortality?"
  "It would be most fortuitous to get the Grail," Nosferatu said. "However, my
sources tell me it was destroyed when the mothership was crashed into the array
on Mars by Dr. Duncan. Whom I met many years ago under a different name."
  "Donnchadh." Adrik spit the name out like a curse. "Lisa Duncan, most
recently. Among the many aliases she used in her reincarnations over the years.
A troublesome human if ever there was one."
  "She freed me from the Airlia long ago," Nosferatu noted.
"For her own reasons, I am sure," Adrik said.
  "But are you certain the Grail was destroyed?" Tian Dao Lin pressed, cutting
off Adrik. "My sources believe the same thing, but I have heard that those from
Area 51 brought some artifacts back from Mars on board Donnchadh's spaceship."

6


   "It is slightly possible," Nosferatu granted, "that they brought the Grail
back, but I very much doubt it."
Tian Dao Lin lapsed into silence, waiting.
  Adrik spoke up. "I agree with Nosferatu, the Eldest, on one key point. I do
not think we will ever be accepted by the humans. Therefore, I propose we do not
ask to be accepted by the humans." He crossed his arms across his chest. "I
propose we rule them."
  There were several moments of silence following Adrik's proposal. Finally,
Nosferatu voiced the objection he knew Tian Dao Lin was thinking. "Ruling would
force us into the open. Even with the great power and influence we have amassed
over the years, we would still be vulnerable. We have all seen great and
powerful rulers over the ages who were destroyed. We have just witnessed the
humans defeat the Airlia, something I would not have thought possible. We should
not underestimate them. And there have been attempts by Undead, particularly
Vampyr, and you"—he stared at Adrik—"to rule before and all have failed."
  "It depends on what you mean by failure," Adrik argued. "I had magnificent
successes in many places. Names I have used are in the human history books as
great leaders."
  "But you could never maintain your kingdoms; nor could Vampyr," Nosferatu
noted.
  "So you say we stay in the shadows still?" Adrik demanded. "Let our fortunes
and fates go with the flow of mankind? At least when the Airlia ruled through
their minions we had some degree of assurance that there would be a world left
for us to live in. Humans, on their own"—he shook his head—"they will destroy
themselves, and us with them. We are wiser, more experienced. It would be in
their interest for us to dictate their course."

7

   "And when we feed?" Tian Dao Lin quietly asked. "If we could have partaken of
the Grail and become immortal without the need to drink blood, then I would say
perhaps we could rule. But without that, do you think the humans would be so
obliging as to give us bodies to feed on?"
  Adrik shrugged. "They could give us their worst criminals—the humans kill
thousands themselves in punishment. Your own China chops off how many heads each
year? And for those who feel the kill is not necessary"—he glanced disdainfully
toward Nosferatu—"there is always a way to get blood without killing."
  "We are only a handful," Tian Dao Lin said. "Even with our money and influence
. . ." He trailed off into silence.
  "Why have you brought us here then?" Adrik demanded of Nosferatu. "Surely you
had a reason."
  Nosferatu nodded. "I had two reasons. I called you here to discuss what we
should do first before we can accomplish anything else, including trying to rule
the humans."
  Nosferatu got to his feet and walked over to an ancient armoire, opening its
wooden doors to reveal a small stainless-steel door. He slid it up and removed
three flasks also made of unmarked steel resting in specially made cradles that
kept the contents warm. He carried them back to the table, placing one in front
of each man before taking his seat with the third. He unscrewed the lid and
lifted it to his lips, tilting the flask and drinking deeply for several seconds
before putting it back on the table. There was a faint trace of red on his lips,
which he dabbed away with a silk handkerchief When he was done his face was
flushed, his eyes glittering with increased power.
  He indicated the other flasks. "It's tested: clean, pure, relatively fresh,
and kept at body temperature. Imbibe, my friends. There is much I have to talk
to you about."

8

  The other two drank and Nosferatu waited until they were done. Then he tapped
the flask. "This is our sustenance and it is our greatest weakness. We are half-
breeds. We have some Airlia blood, but not enough to sustain us without constant
nourishment of human blood for it. We drink human blood because we have to in
order to stay alive."
  "You tell us what we have all known since the beginning," Adrik grumbled.
  "You knew it from the beginning?" Nosferatu challenged him. "I was entombed
for much longer than you by the Airlia Gods themselves, and knew practically
nothing. I've known about the Grail and the promise of immortality from the
beginning, but I didn't know exactly how it gave eternal life. It is only
because the science of the humans has advanced so far that we have an idea of
how we have managed to live so long."
  He placed one finger against the engorged vein on his wrist. "We have a virus
in our blood. An Airlia virus. It helps our cells regenerate when they should
die. However, we're half-breeds. So we don't have enough of the virus for it to
be self-sustaining. Thus, we must"—he reached forward and plinked a fingernail
against the steel flask—"drink human blood to feed and sustain the Airlia virus.
The Grail—if we had it—would purify our blood, injecting the Airlia virus,
making the virus dominant and self-sustaining just as it is—or was—in the Airlia
themselves. We would no longer need to drink human blood for sustenance."
  Nosferatu waited. As he expected, Tian Dao Lin, with his obsession for the
Grail, was the first to grasp the significance of this. "If we had more of the
virus . . ."
   Nosferatu nodded. "If we could somehow—without the lost Grail—cross the
threshold to where the virus is

9

self-sustaining, we   would be, in effect, immortal. We would not need to drink
human blood anymore   and we would have the benefits of the Airlia virus's ability
to replicate, which   means even if killed, we would come back to life as it
quickly regenerated   us."
  "But there are no more Airlia," Tian Dao Lin said. "You started this meeting
saying that. So there is no more virus except what we already have in our
veins."
  Nosferatu shook his head. "The Airlia are gone, but there are sources of
Airlia virus we can recover."
" 'We'?" Adrik repeated. "Why do you need us?"
  A good question, Nosferatu thought. One he knew that Tian Dao Lin was thinking
but had not voiced. "Because we would not be the only ones trying to get this
blood."
  "Vampyr." Tian Dao Lin said it as a statement, not a question.
  Nosferatu pressed a button under the tabletop and the screen came alive with
an image. The man pictured was similar in appearance to Nosferatu, but his hair
was dyed jet-black and he wore a pair of sleek sunglasses that hid his eyes. He
wore an expensive suit of black, with a black shirt and tie completing the
image. He was standing on the wide stairs of some building, perhaps a symphony
hall, looking out over the night crowd.
  "I have known him a long time," Nosferatu said, staring at the screen. "He was
made Vampyr, also in the First Age of Egypt, the son of the Airlia Amun and a
High Consort, along with his twin sister Lilith. She died most horribly at the
hands of the Airlia while Vampyr and I watched. He swore revenge then against
both Airlia and humans, who so blindly followed them and helped kill her."
"He is very powerful," Tian Dao Lin said.
Nosferatu nodded. "He too has gone by many names

10

over the years and has wielded much power from the shadows. We have met several
times, even as allies long ago. But now that the Airlia are gone, I fear what he
will do next."
"You fear or you know?" Tian Dao Lin asked.
  "I have had some reports," Nosferatu acknowledged vaguely. He stared at the
image on the screen. "I have known Vampyr for millennia, from the first day he
swore vengeance, and his rage has not abated over the years, but rather grown.
He has done many terrible things through the ages and"—Nosferatu paused, then
reluctantly continued—"now that the constraint of the Airlia and their minions
is gone the only real threat he has is in this room."
  "So that is why you brought us here," Tian Dao Lin said. "You need allies
against Vampyr."
  "Yes," Nosferatu said, "but also remember that we are sources of the Airlia
virus also, and I have no doubt Vampyr has plans to gather our blood also."
"He would kill his own?" Adrik asked.
  "Vampyr does what he wills, whenever he wants," Nosferatu said. "If he decides
he wants our blood, he will let nothing stand in his way."
  "But you would not take his blood," Tian Dao Lin noted. "So what other sources
of Airlia blood are there?"
   Nosferatu leaned back in his chair. He glanced at Adrik. "As you are well
aware, the SS screened vast amounts of blood in their concentration camps,
searching for any that might be special, although they didn't know exactly what
was special about it. The SS was corrupted by the Mission and Aspasia's Shadow,
who were seeking traces of the Airlia blood as he finally knew why it was
important. He used a blood ceremony for initiation into the SS. During that
ceremony, top members of the SS re-

11

ceived minute portions of the virus, most likely that which Aspasia's Shadow
recovered from the Ones Who Wait, whom he killed.
  "That is why Dr. Von Seeckt, who eventually ended up on the American Majestic-
12 committee, managed to live so long and survive his illness as long as he did.
As did other Nazis who escaped after the war."
  "I know of what you speak," Adrik said. "But I lost track of that blood at the
end of the war. For a while I thought the Mission moved it to South America via
the Odessa link."
  Nosferatu shook his head. "No. The ceremony was held at the SS castle at
Wevelsburg in Bavaria and the blood was stored there. As the Americans closed in
on it at the end of the Second World War, it was your Russians who sent in a
parachute team to recover what they could. They brought everything they found
back to Moscow, including the blood.
  "Not only that," Nosferatu continued, "but a part of Section IV from the KGB—
the Russian equivalent of America's Majestic-12—knew from the Nazi documents
that a particular strain of blood was important and began to see if it could
find more. Deep under Moscow, there is a chamber that contains what Aspasia's
Shadow brought to the SS and what was scavenged out of the concentration camps
by the SS and by the KGB during the Cold War from prisoners at Lubyanka and in
the Gulags. If you agree, it will be your job"—he inclined his head toward
Adrik—"to use your resources to recover this. I believe you have the power to do
it."
  Adrik made no commitment, waiting to see what else the Eldest had to propose.
  "Two." Nosferatu held up another finger. "The Ones Who Wait. They were like
us—half-human, half-Airlia—

12

except cloned. They had some of the virus, which accounted for their extended
lives. I know where we can find some of their bodies. Intact and preserved." He
turned to Tian Dao Lin. "This will be your responsibility, my old friend."
  "And where would I find these preserved bodies?" Tian Dao Lin quietly asked.
  "Mount Everest. Where Merlin took the great sword Excalibur so many years ago.
Several Ones Who Wait were recently sent by Artad to recover the sword and
failed. Their bodies are still up there. Frozen. Three of them."
Tian Dao Lin steepled his fingers as he considered this.
"And the third source?" Adrik asked,
  "That is most important and most difficult to get to," Nosferatu said. "Pure
Airlia blood. Preserved. Waiting to be harvested."
  "Where?"Tian Dao Lin was leaning forward, his interest obvious. Adrik was also
edging forward in his chair.
  Nosferatu pointed up. "The first mothership from Area 51. Aspasia's. The one
the human soldier Turcotte destroyed when Aspasia tried to return to Earth from
Mars aboard his Talon spacecraft."
  "How will one get to that?" Adrik asked. "The American shuttle fleet was
devastated during the recent war and it is not likely they would kindly allow us
to use one anyway. Russia's ability to launch a manned mission into orbit is
practically nonexistent after recent events."
"I have something in the works," Nosferatu said.
  The other two waited. Nosferatu pressed a button. Vampyr's face disappeared
from the computer screen and was replaced by a picture of a stubby, delta wing
craft on top of a large rocket. "The X-Craft," Nosferatu said. "A reusable, two-
man, orbital vehicle. The launch platform is

13

an Ariana 4 rocket. The X-Craft has thrusters for maneuvering in orbit, and it
can land on any landing strip that can take a 747. One of my subsidiaries has
been developing it for over twenty-five years. We've dropped it from altitude—
manned—and successfully landed it. The only thing we haven't done yet is launch
one into orbit."
  Tian Dao Lin frowned. "The Americans only destroyed the mothership a month
ago."
  Nosferatu smiled. "My original plan—before recent events—was eventually to
have a manned mission go to Mars. The X-Craft was the first step to a second
generation of craft built in orbit capable of reaching Mars, landing, and
getting to Aspasia and the other Airlia in deep sleep there at Cydonia." His
eyes shifted to Tian Dao Lin. "Along with a simultaneous expedition into Qian-
Ling to reach and destroy Artad and his followers. I estimated that both
missions would be possible in twenty years and we might be able to defeat the
Airlia while they slept. Recent events have caused me to adjust my plans and my
timetable, with the follow-on objective becoming the number one priority."
  Tian Dao Lin chuckled. "That is why you had me pull strings to get Professor
Che Lu permission to enter Qian-Ling when it had been forbidden for so long. I
knew you had something long-range in mind."
   "I have been planning for thousands of years," Nosferatu said. "But the
technology was never sufficient. However, in the past fifty years or so human
technology has advanced greatly. And the fortuitous events of the past year now
allow us unprecedented opportunity with much less risk much sooner than I had
anticipated."
  "The Airlia who died on the Talons inside the mother-ship's cargo bay would
have bled out into space," Adrik argued.

14

  "Most of their blood, yes," Nosferatu agreed. "However, I have had simulations
and experiments done and they indicate there would be some residual blood left
in the bodies. Not much, but if enough bodies were harvested, there would be a
sufficient supply to make it worth gathering, especially as it would be pure."
   "Even if we recover all this blood, pure and mixed," Adrik asked, "how will
we be able to extract the Airlia virus, then purify our blood with it? How will
we get rid of the human portion of our blood? And the human portion in the Ones
Who Wait and the blood gathered by the SS and KGB?"
  "The Americans have done us a favor in that regard," Nosferatu said. "They
were delving into this very problem at the secret Majestic-12 lab in Dulce, New
Mexico, where the former Nazi, General Hemstadt, was working after the war under
the auspices of Operation Paperclip. One of his projects was perfecting a blood-
purifying device, most likely on orders from Aspasia's Shadow and the Mission
and under the cover of AIDS research.
  "This machine removes all of a person's blood and replaces it with a freezing
solution that cleanses the circulatory system completely. While this is
happening, the body is chilled to keep it viable. Then the machine injects the
new, already warmed blood and the body is brought back to normal temperature.
The entire process lasts only about three minutes. The subject's blood is
replaced one hundred percent."
"Dulce was destroyed," Adrik noted.
  "Recovery of the device will be my task," Nosferatu said flatly.
   "And if we agree to help you and recover all this Airlia blood virus?" Adrik
asked. "What do we do with it?"

15

"I estimate that we will have enough to make four Undead immortals," Nosferatu
said.
"You would give the fourth to Vampyr?" Adrik asked.
"No," Nosferatu said flatly.
  "There are only four Undead still in existence," Adrik said.
"No," Nosferatu said, "there are five."
  Adrik absorbed this startling bit of information with a sharp glance at Tian
Dao Lin.
   "There is another Undead here at the Haven now," Tian Dao Lin said.
"Who is this?" Adrik frowned. "Where is he?"

"She sleeps," Nosferatu said simply.
"Who is she?" Adrik demanded.
"That is not your business," Nosferatu replied.
  "Why not make a deal with Vampyr with the blood for the fourth?" Adrik
suggested.
"As I said, the fourth is accounted for," Nosferatu said.
  Adrik folded his arms. "I will tell you what I believe. I think you knew you
could only recover enough blood for four and you invited Vampyr here first and
when he declined, then you invited me. If Vampyr had accepted, I would have been
the unlucky fifth."
  Nosferatu met the other's gaze and the two stared at each other for a long
minute.
  "What about the Watchers?" Tian Dao Lin asked, an abrupt change in subject.
  "The Watchers are defunct," Nosferatu said, still staring at Adrik.
  "All of them?" Tian Dao Lin pressed. "Including the Watcher-Hunters?"
  Nosferatu shrugged. "There might be some of them left, but they are only a
nuisance. They consider taking a quarter a great success, which is all they have
ever

16

achieved these many years. Any that ever came close to any of us perished."
  "And Vampyr?" Adrik asked. "You said he will be pursuing these same things to
get the blood?"
"Yes," Nosferatu said.
  "That is why you really need us," Adrik said. "To fight Vampyr."
  "Yes," Nosferatu admitted. "With my X-craft, I believe I can recover enough
blood from the Airlia bodies on the mothership to make two of us immortal. So I
could achieve this without the two of you. But I think it would be wise for us
to band together.
   "I can assure you that if Vampyr recovers the Airlia blood, he will not share
it with you," Nosferatu said. "He cares for nothing other than his vengeance.
Without the Airlia and their followers to hold him in check, I fear he will go
after the blood and, in the process, destroy us." Nosferatu stood. "I believe we
are headed for the final confrontation. Please reflect on the situation and let
me know your decision when I return."
   Nosferatu went out through the heavy wooden door, swinging it shut behind
him. He walked down stone steps, deeper into his lair. Nosferatu came to a steel
door. On one side was a retinal scanner and he pressed his eyes to it. When the
computer recognized his pattern, the door's bolts withdrew and it slowly swung
open.
  The room he walked into was a crypt. In the center was a raised platform upon
which rested a black metal tube. Surrounding the tube were dozens of plants and
small trees, a veritable oasis of greenery underground.
  Nosferatu went up to the tube, placing his hands gently on the lid. He leaned
forward until his head was next to the front. Inside was the fourth Undead at
Haven.

17
 "Soon, my love," he whispered. "Soon we will finally be together forever."

Puget Sound, Washington

  The girl had never been in a helicopter before. She was seventeen and had been
working the streets for only a month. So far the experience had been quite
terrible, but things looked like they were taking a change for the better, much
better to judge by the luxurious interior of the aircraft. She had the entire
back to herself, the pilots shielded from her by a dark glass partition. The
windows were also blacked out and it didn't occur to her to wonder why. She was
too interested in the leather captain's chairs, the state-of-the-art stereo
system, and other accoutrements that adorned the passenger compartment.
  The man in the limousine, claiming to represent someone very rich, had picked
her up off the street over four hours earlier, just after dark. Instead of a
hotel, he'd taken her to a clinic, where a silent doctor had examined her. Two
thousand in cash up front had been enough for the girl to allow herself to be
poked and prodded and two samples of her blood taken and tested. Along with the
promise of another eight thousand for the rest of the night if she passed all
the tests.
  Apparently she had, as she was given a pair of expensive slacks, with matching
top, along with low-heeled shoes to put on. Then she was hustled back into the
limousine, driven to the airport, and loaded onto the helicopter. The man who
had picked her up had told her nothing more than the amount she was being paid
when he put her on board and shut the door behind her. She'd felt a moment of
anxiety then, but the wad of cash in her cheap

18

purse, the only thing of hers she still had, had put that feeling at bay. This
was much safer, in her opinion, than the front seat of some of the cars she had
climbed into during the past month.
  The sound of the helicopter's engines picked up slightly and she felt her
stomach flutter as the aircraft descended. It landed with a slight bump. The
door slid open and one of the pilots stood before her, gesturing for her to get
out. She climbed out and was surprised to step into knee-high grass. The pilot
slid the door shut, then climbed back in the front.
  The girl looked around. She was in the middle of a small field, barely big
enough for the helicopter to land in, surrounded by tall trees and the blackness
of the space underneath their branches.
   "Hey!" she called out. She went to the pilot's door and banged on it with an
open palm.
  In response the engines whined and the blades picked up speed, blasting her
with cool night wind. She backed away and held her hand in front of her eyes to
protect them as the helicopter lifted straight up, then disappeared, the sound
slowly fading away.
  After a minute all she could hear was her own rapid breathing as she turned
slowly in a circle, searching for any sign of civilization, a road, a building,
anything. But there were only the trees.
"Hello?" she cried out. "Hello?"
   Silence. Total, absolute silence, which truly frightened her. She'd grown up
on a farm fifty miles outside of Seattle and been out camping with her friends
several times. The girl knew there were always sounds in the forest. Birds.
Insects. Animals. Something was always making some kind of sound. But here there
was nothing, as if there was nothing

19
living within miles other than the vegetation. It was unnatural.
  The girl took a step back, then spun about, fearing someone sneaking up from
behind. The trees were huge. Old forest, hundreds, maybe thousands of years old,
that the environmentalists were always campaigning to save. She had no clue
where she was. They hadn't been in the air that long. Fifteen minutes?
   "Hello?" she cried out, her voice cracking halfway through the word.
"Please."
  The girl took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but succeeded only
in nearly hyperventilating. She went down to her knees, not caring that the
designer slacks she had marveled over not so long ago were getting stained by
the grass. She clasped her hands over her mouth, trying to bring her breathing
under control. After several minutes, somewhat back to normal, she got to her
feet and took a closer look at her surroundings, as much as she could see given
that the moon had not yet risen. She looked up at the small patch of night sky
above, then she looked down.
  The ground sloped, presenting her with a choice. Go up or down? She looked at
the dark wall of forest that surrounded her. Or stay in the clearing until
daylight?
  She started as she realized there was someone standing on the edge of the
clearing to her right. How long had he been there? she wondered as she took
several steps away from him. And why hadn't he answered her calls?
"Hello? Sir?"
   She could make out little detail, but he appeared to be dressed all in black.
Pants, shirt, long, flowing coat. With dark hair and white skin. Very white skin
that almost seemed to shine, as if lit from within. She took another step away
from him.

20

  "Sir? Could you help me? Please?" Was this some sort of bizarre sex game? she
wondered. Was she supposed to do something? The man in the limousine hadn't told
her anything, and neither the doctor nor the pilot had spoken a word. "What do
you want me to do?" she asked.
  The man held up a hand, indicating for her to remain still. The man came
forward until he was less than five feet from her, just out of arm's reach. She
tried to smile and stood slightly straighter, thrusting her chest out. She would
do anything to make it through this night, she told herself. And she silently
promised to get the hell out of Seattle and go back to her hometown on the first
thing moving as soon as she was back in civilization.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked once more.
"Run."
  The voice as much as the word sent a chill up her spine. She had never heard
such a cold voice.
"What?"
  "Run or I will kill you here. You have a chance in the woods." Then he
laughed.
   She turned and sprinted for the forest, losing a shoe in the first five feet
and not even noticing.
  The man remained in the clearing, watching as she disappeared among the thick
tree trunks. He gave her a few minutes, knowing the running would get her heart
pounding and the blood coursing through her veins.
  He cocked his head, listening to her crash through the undergrowth. She was
easy enough to track by sound, even without the benefit of his exaggerated night
vision. He started after her. He silently made his way through the forest,
passing her without being noticed, then moving to a point where she would come
shortly.
  The shock on her face when she bumped into him was exquisite. She gasped,
staggered back, then dashed off in

21

another direction. As she ran off, he put a hand to his jacket and touched where
her sweat and tears had made a small wet spot. He rubbed it with the tip of a
finger, then brought that finger to his nose, inhaling. He smiled at the
familiar scent of human fear.
  He intercepted her five more times over the course of the next three hours.
Sending her blindly off into the forest each time, redirecting her. She was
moving more and more slowly, but still moving. He'd had some just quit. Drop to
the ground and curl in a ball whimpering. Such were almost not worth taking.
Almost.
  An hour before dawn, the girl came out of the forest, emerging onto a
perfectly cut lawn. She fell to her knees as she looked about. The moon was
finally up, and she could see a magnificent house about fifty meters ahead. A
mansion stretching almost a hundred meters left and right, sitting on a
promontory overlooking Puget Sound. She could see the lights of Seattle beyond
the house, on the other side of the water. The Space Needle. Her hometown was
beyond the city, in the mountains. It was a beautiful night, a clear sky, and
she could see the white-topped peaks.
   She scrambled to her feet, crying out for help. She ran toward a wooden door
set at ground level and pounded on it, screaming, looking over her shoulder,
afraid he would appear at the last minute.
  The door swung open and she threw herself into the arms of the figure in the
darkened hallway.
  Then screamed as she recognized her momentary savior as her pursuer.
  He held her tight as she fought to break free with the little energy she had
left. He leaned his head close to hers, his breath on her neck as he whispered
to her, like a lover would.

22

   "I was made Vampyr, in the First Age of Egypt, during the reign of the Gods,
when they walked openly upon the Earth, the son of the God Amun and a human High
Consort. I bring you honor by taking you."
And then he did just that.
Minutes later Vampyr looked down on her pale corpse.
  With one arm he lifted her and carried her a short way down the tunnel to a
two-foot-square iron door set at waist height. He opened the door and threw the
body in, listening to it tumble as it fell down the old mine shaft for over
three hundred feet before landing with a splash in a flooded cavern. He shut the
door.
  Then he made his way farther along the tunnel, stopping at a stainless-steel
door. He placed his forehead against a rubber buffer, pressing his eyes against
the scanners. His retinas were checked. Then he entered a code only he knew on a
numeric keypad, his fingers flying over the keys faster than any human could
ever hope to imitate, entering twenty-seven numbers in the appropriate sequence
in less than four seconds. Last, but not least, he removed what appeared to be
an old-fashioned key from a chain around his neck and inserted it in the
keyhole. While the key looked old, it was state-of-the-art, sending the correct
electrical impulse to the last hold on the door's locks.
  With muted clicks, the fourteen two-inch-thick steel bolts holding the door in
place retracted and the door slowly swung open on powerful hydraulic arms. The
chamber beyond was surrounded by twelve-foot-thick mixed metal/concrete walls.
The builder had assured Vampyr that there was no technology short of a direct
nuclear hit that could get through these walls. It was similar to what lined the
presidential bunker under Blue Mountain in West Virginia. Vampyr had thanked the
builder, then had him killed.

23

  Vampyr walked into the chamber and turned on the low-level lights. The
contents of the chamber were a madman's—or a powerful country's—arsenal. Eight
backpack tactical nuclear weapons rested on a long table. Each was small enough
to fit inside a medium-sized piece of luggage. The American government had never
acknowledged their theft, nor did it have a clue who had stolen them.
  Along one wall was the control console from a missile launch site that he had
appropriated from one that had been shut down in Montana. Scattered around the
island were twelve Peacemaker ICBM rockets in working condition stored in silos,
harvested from the drawdown in the Cold War. The silos were on an old Navy base
that had once existed on the island, and it had cost Vampyr half a billion
dollars to get them into working condition and almost as much to ensure secrecy.
   On each Peacemaker was a strategic nuclear warhead, each powerful enough to
take out a city. He had had them recovered from American nuclear submarines that
had gone down in the oceans, using one of his subsidiary salvage companies. Such
was the bureaucracy of the Pentagon that the twelve weren't even reported as
missing. Located in Puget Sound, he could reach anywhere in the United States
with the missiles. He had a similar compound, staffed with Russian warheads from
their lost submarines, and Russian rockets from their disarming, located just
south of Kiev, with the same capability for all of Russia and Europe. He could
launch those from here.
  Vampyr ran a hand along one of the tactical nuclear warhead's metal housing,
almost the caress of a lover.
  In the middle of the room, however, was the centerpiece of his arsenal. A
triple-enclosed biohazard container. Inside were three different viruses. One
developed

24

by the Russians, one American, and one Japanese. Because of their lethality,
each had scared their creators so much that immediate orders had been issued for
their destruction. By the time the orders were implemented, Vampyr's far-flung
organization had already gathered samples of each. The container was truly
Pandora's box. If opened, it would spread three distinct viruses, each 99.9
percent lethal and highly contagious. One such virus might be contained. There
was the remote possibility two could be. But three? The world would be dead
within two months.
   Money was power, and Vampyr had plenty of that. But this was power also, in a
much different form. The most important power, though, was the ability to be
ruthless, to be able to make the hard decisions. To be able to use these weapons
if necessary. And that was something Vampyr had more of than any creature that
had ever walked the face of the planet.
  Vampyr had been made during the time of the Airlia Gods. He had lived through
the rule of the Shadows, and the time when men thought they ruled but were
actually still being manipulated by the minions of the Airlia. He had fought in
many wars with many different weapons.
  The humans now thought it was truly their time, given that they had defeated
the Airlia. They were wrong. It was his time.
  "It is time for the Fourth Age," Vampyr whispered to himself "The Age of the
Undead."

25
THE PAST

26

27

CHAPTER    I

EGYPT: 8000 B.C.

Before the third age of Egypt which was the rule of the Pharaohs, there was the
Second Age, when the Shadows of the Gods made by the God Horus ruled, and before
that, beyond the borders of what man knew as recorded history, there was the
First Age, when those Gods, known as the Airlia, ruled the humans who lived
along the lush banks of the Nile.
   It was the time of the Gods who came to Egypt from the legendary land of
Atlantis beyond the Middle Sea after the great Atlantean Civil War. It was
fifty-five hundred years before the Great Pyramid would be built by the Pharaoh
Khufu according to the plans handed down by the Gods. For now the Giza Plateau
was graced only by the alien beauty of a magnificent Black Sphinx, over three
hundred feet long with red eyes that glowed as if lit from within. The Black
Sphinx, set deep in a depression carved into the plateau, guarded the main
entrance to the Roads of Rostau. The warren of tunnels and chambers under the
plateau was where the Gods lived, and from which they ruled through the human
high priests, occasionally venturing forth to look out upon their subjects, an
event that was becoming rarer and rarer. There were whispered rumors that the
Gods were growing older, but how could that be, if they were indeed Gods?

28

  Deep under the plateau, along one of the minor branches of the Roads, was a
dead-end corridor with three cells along one side. In the first cell were what
appeared to be a pair of black metal coffins over seven feet in length by three
wide and high. They were not coffins, however, but special prisons, each holding
a body. At the head of each tube was a small glowing panel with a series of
hexagonal sections on which were etched markings in the High Rune language of
the Gods.
  Inside the tube closest to the cell door was a half-man, half-God, whose
existence was one of unending exhaustion and pain. His name was Nosferatu. He
had memories of sunlight and playing in the sand while a woman—his human mother—
stood nearby, keeping a watchful eye on him. He'd even played with true humans,
children of the high priests, who could look forward to serving the Gods as
their parents did. Nosferatu's fate was to be one of service also, but in a much
different way. His memories were of a time so long ago that he often wondered if
the vague memories were not memories at all but instead a dream. Yet he held on
to the concept that he could not dream something he had never seen. He must have
been above ground in the sunlight sometime. He remembered palm trees and the sun
reflecting off a sand dune and even the blue water of the mighty Nile flowing
by. He remembered the stories the high priests told to their children, tales of
Atlantis, the Gods called Airlia, and the great civil war among the Gods that
had destroyed Atlantis. He'd listened to the other children being taught the
language of the Gods and learned as much as he could along with the High Rune
writing.
  It was all for naught, though, because when he'd reached manhood, he'd been
taken from the sunlight and brought below to serve. Three hundred years he'd
been
29

trapped in this tube in this underground cell. Not as a punishment, for he had
done nothing to deserve this fate other than to be born who and what he was, but
to serve the purpose for which he had been conceived: to provide pleasure in a
most strange and twisted way for the Gods.
  And although he had been the first, Nosferatu was no longer alone. There were
four others in tubes in the two adjoining cells whom he could reach with hoarse
whispers. And in the tube across from him in this cell was Nekhbet. His love.
She was the bastard spawn of the God Osiris and a human High Concubine, brought
there over a hundred years before, when Nosferatu was beginning to believe the
world was comprised only of the mute priests who opened the lid and brought him
human blood every new moon and the Gods who came every so often to in turn drain
his blood. Now, once every month he got to sit up when the lid was opened,
chains around his waist keeping him in the tube, and see his love while the mute
priest held the silver flask containing blood just collected from supplicants to
his lips. Even in the dim light and the grave circumstances, every time during
that brief interlude Nosferatu always marveled at her beauty. Alabaster skin,
high cheekbones, black-red eyes, she was tall and willowy, with blazing red hair
flowing over her shoulders like a fiery waterfall. He always believed she
represented the best of human and God.
  Nosferatu's skin was also pale white, his hair bright red. His eyes had a
reddish tint to them and the suggestion of an elongation of the pupil. He was
tall, well over six feet in height, and slender. His skin was stretched tight
over his bones, giving him a skeletal appearance. He was indeed half-man, half-
God, as were his prisoner comrades. Although he had been alive over three
hundred years, he appeared to be in his midthirties, the mixed

30

human/God blood in his veins and the sustenance of human blood allowing him a
vastly longer life span. How long that life span would be he had no idea and he
feared either possibility.
  In the beginning he had tried to count days, a most difficult task since no
sunlight penetrated so far under the Giza Plateau, along the Roads of Rostau
into the realm of the Gods. He'd worked off the opening of the tube and the
blood he was fed once a month, keeping track. But after the number went into the
hundreds, he gave up. What did it matter? Even with the half blood of the Gods
and the constant feeding, he knew he was very slowly getting older and that he
would spend all of his however-long life there.
  He heard the latch securing trie lid slide open and closed his eyes, prepared
for the invasion of torchlight that came with each feeding. He felt the shift in
the air as the lid was swung up.
  "The Gods must die or you will never escape this. You will die a miserable
death after a long and worthless life."
  The words echoed off the stone walls of the chamber and the shocked face of
Nosferatu as he opened his eyes and blinked. Leaning over him was a woman. Only
men whose tongues had been cut out and ears punctured had come to feed him all
these long years, never a woman. She was a human, not a God, dressed in a long
black cloak with silver fringes. She did not wear the signs of the priests. She
had short black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. She was the first human other
than the priests that Nosferatu had seen in over two hundred years. Looking past
her, he could see a man, wearing leather armor and holding a sword, standing in
the corridor, keeping watch. He too had dark hair, but his skin was tanned. He
was peering down the corridor, on guard.
31

   She looked deep into Nosferatu's eyes, then reached up and placed a finger on
his throat, feeling his pulse. She then looked at the shunt in his neck from
which he was drained to feed the Gods and lightly touched it. "You've been used
for a very long time, haven't you?"
  Nosferatu slowly sat up, the belt around his waist chained to the bottom of
the tube keeping the lower half of his body in place. Around each arm and leg
were straps with leads going into the side of the tube. Each time before he went
to sleep, sharp pain came through those leads, causing his muscles to quiver and
work themselves in tiny movements. And each time he came awake to the same pain.
He had little idea how long he slept but he had no doubt it was longer than a
normal night's sleep. There was also a headpiece, shaped like a crown, in the
tube, set in a small recess near the top, but Nosferatu had never had it put on
his head by the priests, so he didn't know its purpose.
He looked over at the other tube in his cell. The woman caught his gaze and went
to it, opening the top and waking the occupant by tapping the appropriate
hexagon on the panel. Nekhbet sat up, blinking. He could see that Nekhbet was
also wondering who this stranger was and what she knew of their situation. The
woman came back over to him, waiting for an answer. He didn't reply, waiting to
see if she would tell him more. He had patience—if there was one thing three
hundred years of imprisonment taught, it was that trait. "You won't last much
longer," the woman finally continued. "You have no choice. If you do not act,
you will eventually die. Each time they drain you, the percentage of their blood
in you is reduced and the human percentage grows. Soon you will no longer be
effective for their needs. Then they will take another human female and

32

make your replacement. They may already have a child, like you were once,
growing up, guarded closely on the surface, ready to come here and be placed in
this tube and drained as needed. They are very good at planning for their own
needs and pleasures."
Nosferatu finally spoke. "How do you know this?"
  "It is their way. They are not Gods, but creatures from"—the woman pointed up.
"From among the stars. They use us—humans—and they use you, half of their blood,
half human. It is hard for me to determine which is the worse of their sins. At
least what they are doing to you is obvious. Their rule of the humans is more
devious, pretending to be that which they aren't." The woman shrugged. "There is
also the possibility that the Gods may decide to go into the long sleep as their
brethren have done in other places, in which case they will kill you and the
others they keep down here, as you will longer be needed."
  Nosferatu tried to grasp the concept, but it had been so long since he'd been
on the surface he could barely remember the sun, never mind the stars. And how
could one be from them? If the Airlia weren't Gods, then what exactly were they?
And what did that make him? And what was this long sleep she spoke of?
  "Why do you want to help us?" Nekhbet asked. "You are human. We aren't. We're
half like them."
  "Because you must hate them as much as I do and more than those above," the
woman replied. "Most humans"—she shook her head—"they are like sheep. Simply
happy their harvest comes in and the Gods make all the decisions for them."
  Nekhbet's lovely voice floated from across the chamber. "You cannot kill the
Gods. They are immortal."
Donnchadh pulled aside her robe, revealing six daggers

33
tucked into her belt. "With these you can. They were made by the Gods themselves
for use against each other."
  Nekhbet still wasn't convinced. "Even if we kill the Gods, the priests will
then slay us, won't they?"
  The woman glanced over her shoulder at Nekhbet. "Not if you are immortal."
  Nosferatu was the first to grasp the significance. "The Grail?"
  The woman nodded. "You kill the Gods. You go into the Black Sphinx and recover
the Grail, which is hidden there, then partake as has been promised by the Gods
since before the beginning of time. You become immortal."
  "Who are you?" Nosferatu demanded, trying to process all that she had said.
  "My name is Donnchadh. My partner"—she looked into the corridor at the
warrior—"and I have fought the Gods in other places. That should be enough for
you. Your enemy is our enemy."
"Your enemies are our parents," Nosferatu noted.
  "One of your parents," Donnchadh corrected, looking him in the eyes. "Your
other parent was human, taken by an Airlia—the Gods—for their pleasure and to
produce you so they can use you for their pleasure also. The Gods deserve
neither your homage nor your respect. They will drain you and kill you without a
second thought once they have a replacement ready or if they no longer desire
the pleasure your blood brings them."
  "How can we do this which you propose?" Nosferatu demanded, rattling the
chains that held the belt at his waist.
  Donnchadh pulled out a three-foot-long piece of black metal. "Tonight. After
the Ceremony of the Solstice. You can follow the Gods who oversee it from the
ceremony to

34

their hidden places along the Roads." She pulled the metal rod out of her belt
and placed the tip inside one of the links of chain that bound him. She raised
an eyebrow. "Do you want your freedom?"
  Nosferatu looked across the way at Nekhbet. Even if this woman lied, even if
this was a trap, he didn't care. If he could simply hold Nekhbet in his arms
after more than a hundred years of yearning, it would be worth it. "Yes."
   Donnchadh twisted the rod and the link slowly gave, then popped open. She
went to work on the other chains and within five minutes Nosferatu was free. He
removed the straps around his arms and a red light flickered on the console but
he ignored it. Grabbing the lid, he pulled himself out of the tube.
  When his feet reached the ground, he took a tentative step and his legs
buckled, tumbling him to the floor. Donnchadh was already at work on Nekhbet's
chains as Nosferatu struggled to his feet. The tube had worked his muscles, but
his body was so unused to moving that he had to put a hand against the wall to
steady himself Driven by a force stronger than gravity he took a step. And then
another. By this time, Nekhbet was free and the woman was helping her out of the
tube. Nosferatu staggered across to Nekhbet and took her in his arms.
  With the touch of her flesh against his, Nosferatu was transported from the
stone chamber that had been his prison for centuries. He wrapped his arms tight
around her slight frame as if their flesh and bones and blood would meld
together and they would become one.
"Are you tired?" Nekhbet whispered.
"Not anymore."
"You are weak, though."
  Nosferatu blinked as she offered her neck to him, the blood pulsing in the
vein, the short tip of the shunt draw-

35
ing him in. He knew he needed the energy, but from Nekhbet?
  Her voice was a seductive whisper. "Take as they take, my love. You are the
Eldest and must lead. You need the strength. I am younger. I can afford to give
it to you. I want to give it to you. It will make us one as nothing else can.
And you must lead us."
  He couldn't stop. His lips curled around the shunt, the one-way valve opening
at the touch of moist flesh on the outside. The first taste of blood was
electrifying, a charge throughout his body that brought every nerve screaming
alive as it coursed through his veins. Decades of exhaustion faded. Her blood,
with its alien component, was so much more than the human blood he was fed each
month.
  The strange woman's voice was an irritating buzz, trying to bring Nosferatu
back to reality. "The ceremony has started above. You do not have much time to
free the others and be ready."
  Nosferatu did not let go of Nekhbet. Minutes of touch could not compare to the
centuries of longing from across the prison chamber. And the blood, the power he
felt pouring into his body from Nekhbet, the pleasure. Is this what he gave to
the Gods? He could almost understand why they kept him there. He forced his eyes
open. He could see her neck so close, the skin white, the beat of the artery so
slow now, her eyes closed. Startled, he released his lips and stepped back.
Nekhbet staggered and would have fallen, but he caught her.
"I am sorry," he whispered. "I took too much."
  Nekhbet shook her head, slowly opening her eyes, but the dark pupils had
difficulty focusing. "It is all right. You need the strength."
   "If you do not act now, you will die," Donnchadh pressed.

36

  Nekhbet let go first, running a hand across Nosferatu's face. "My love, we
must do as she says. It is our only chance. We must free the others."
  Reluctantly, Nosferatu let go of Nekhbet. He followed Donnchadh out into the
corridor, where her partner had already opened the door to the next cell.
"And who are you?" Nosferatu asked him.
  The warrior glanced at him. "My name means nothing to you. Gwalcmai I was
called long ago. I have had other names and will have others in the future."
  Nosferatu and Nekhbet followed Donnchadh into the cell while her partner
remained outside. The twins Vampyr and Lilith were held here. Male and female,
they had been brought into the darkness nearly seventy years before, as best
Nosferatu had been able to determine. Nosferatu watched as the woman opened
their tubes, noting which of the hexagonals she pressed. He shushed the twins'
questions, working swiftly to free them from their chains, and they moved to the
third cell and released Mosegi and Chatha, the youngest of the six, another
male-female pair, chained up and entombed for only about twenty years. There
were six half-breeds in total, one for each of the six Gods who desired the
pleasure of drinking their blood.
  As soon as the last were free of their tubes, the strange woman, Donnchadh,
turned toward the exit to the last cell. "I will leave you to do what you must."
  Nosferatu put a hand out, stopping her. "Tell me more of the Gods. Why do they
need to do this?" He lightly touched the shunt in his neck.
  "As I have said. They do it for pleasure. It is an elixir for them. They
prefer it over pure human blood."
  "That is all?" Nosferatu had always held on to the belief that at least he
served the purpose of keeping the Gods alive.

37

 "Do you not relish the feeding you receive?" Donnchadh asked.
Nosferatu nodded.
  "And was not her"—Donnchadh pointed at Nekhbet—"blood so much more?"
"Yes."
"Then you should understand."
  "We exist only for their pleasure?" Vampyr was holding his twin's arm, keeping
Lilith upright while she learned to use her legs once more.
  "Yes." It was obvious Donnchadh was not interested in talking.
"It is said the Gods are immortal," Nosferatu pressed.
   Gwalcmai was restless in the corridor. "We must hurry."
"In a sense," Donnchadh said, "they are."
   "Then am I immortal?" Nosferatu had shied away from that possibility, knowing
it would mean an eternity chained to the wall.
  Donnchadh shook her head. "No. But if you continue to drink human blood to
feed the alien part of your blood—and don't get drained of any more of the blood
you have—you can live a very, very long time. You can also go into the tube and
use the deep sleep to let time pass without aging." Her eyes grew distant. "I
have seen it before. Where I came from. They did the same to my people."
"Where are you from?" Nosferatu asked.
  Donnchadh shook her head. "You would not understand." She pointed to the end
of the short corridor. "You can go to the right and get out a secret door near
the Nile. The ceremony will start shortly in the Sphinx pit. Wait until the Gods
who will oversee the ceremony appear, then follow them down the main Road of
Rostau."

38

  "But—" Nosferatu wanted to know more but Donnchadh was moving away, then was
gone to the left, her companion with her.
The other five looked at him, waiting.
"Follow me."


   Prostrated before the massive paws of the Black Sphinx were fifty priests,
chanting in an alien tongue the same prayers their ancestors on Atlantis had
sung: "We serve for the promise of eternal life from the Grail. We serve for the
promise of the great truth. We serve as our fathers have served, our father's
fathers, and through the ages from the first days of the rule of the God who
brought us up out of the darkness. We serve because in serving there is the
greater good for all."
  The chanting echoed and looped, reverberating off smooth stone walls
surrounding the Black Sphinx. The Sphinx was over two hundred feet below the
surface of the plateau, reachable only by a set of stairs cut in the stone wall.
Just below the chest of the beast, a dark opening was cut into the rock beneath
the paws, forming one of the entranceways to the sacred Roads, where only the
select high priests were allowed to go.
   Hidden in the shadows along the edge of the depression, amid a pile of
discarded building stone, watching the chanting priests, were a half dozen
figures—Nosferatu and the other five half-breeds. They clutched the sharp
daggers the strange human woman had given them in sweaty hands. It was the
Ceremony of the Summer Solstice, and the priests were thanking the Gods for a
bountiful crop produced by the rich soil along the banks of the Nile and for
keeping away the floods that occasionally ravaged the land.

39

  It had occurred to Nosferatu during his long time underground that humans had
never thought to question the power of the Gods when the floods did come. They
would blame themselves, believing they had transgressed against the Gods in some
manner, and pray even harder. The entire concept of worship and religion was
something he found strange and most convenient for the Airlia. Behind it all was
the tantalizing promise the Airlia had made so long ago on Atlantis—that the
true believers would one day be granted immortality via the Grail. It had not
happened yet, but again, the high priests told the people that was because they
had not believed hard enough and been faithful enough.
  Now the six waited, hunched over among the stones, for the ceremony to be
finished. They were patient because their goal was the ultimate prize, that
which generations of priests such as these had prayed for but which the six of
them had decided to seize this night: eternal life. They had escaped from the
Roads via an entrance on the bank of the Nile and made their way back here under
the cover of darkness. For Nosferatu every breath of the fresh night air was a
revelation, the canopy of stars overhead a wonderment to his eyes. The gifts of
his Airlia genes combined with years of living in the pitch-black of his tube
allowed him to see in the starlight as if it were daylight. He wondered what
else he had gained from the Airlia that made him different from humans.
"Will the Gods be here?" Nosferatu asked.
  "Isis and Osiris have come to give the final blessing every year as long as
any can remember," Vampyr whispered in reply. "I saw them myself at this
ceremony before I was taken below with my sister."
   Isis and Osiris were the two principal Gods. There were four other Airlia—
Horus, Amun, Khons, and Seb—but

40

they appeared even more rarely. It had been many years since all six had been
seen together on the surface. For many years Nosferatu had only been visited by
one of the Gods. When others showed up, perhaps coming out of the deep sleep
that Donnchadh had mentioned, the others like him were made and imprisoned.
Nosferatu's mother had told him that his father was Horus and Nosferatu believed
it to be true because that was the only one of the five that did not take blood
from him during the feedings. In the same manner, Nekhbet's father had never
taken from her.
  The chanting paused as two figures appeared in the dark entryway. They were
tall, thin, and unnaturally proportioned. From the forms it was obvious they
were male and female but as they pulled back their hoods it was also obvious
they were not human. Catlike red eyes peered down at the priests. White
alabaster skin glistened in the glow of the torches. Elongated ears drooped on
either side of their narrow heads. And when the male of the pair raised his
right hand in acknowledgment of the priests' prayers, six long fingers,
festooned with jewels, waved their blessings.
   Nosferatu recognized them from the thousands of times they had come to his
cell and fed from Nekhbet and him. They were Isis and Osiris, the Goddess and
the High Protector of Egypt, who had ruled from beneath the ground for over two
thousand years. Egypt had prospered under their reign, the borders expanding
down the green belt of the Nile and west and east to the edges of the desert. It
was the cradle of civilization, the place where the majority of the survivors of
the fall of Atlantis had been brought by the Gods. Beyond the borders of the
Gods' reign, there were humans, but they lived like animals according to what
the high priests said.

41

  Unseen by Nosferatu's group, the priests, or the Gods, there was a fourth
party in the depression, not far from them. A man named Kajilil, covered with a
gray cloak that blended with the stone, tucked into a slight crack in the rock
wall. He saw the priests, the Gods Isis and Osiris, and the group of six hiding
on the opposite side. He was as still as the rock that surrounded him and as
patient. He was one of the Wedjat, a Watcher, the fifty-second of his line,
sworn to observe the Giza Plateau and the Gods. His line had watched from the
very beginning, when the Gods had first arrived with the survivors of Atlantis.
  When the priests got stiffly to their feet and shuffled away from the Black
Sphinx toward their stone temple near the Nile, the Watcher remained still, eyes
on the small group of half-breeds across the way. Only one man remained in the
open, the high priest, standing in the entranceway to the Roads of Rostau
between the Black Sphinx's paws, waiting for the last of the supplicants to
clear the area. As the high priest turned to follow Isis and Osiris into the
depths, the group sprang into action, Nosferatu in the lead.
  The high priest was reaching for an emblem around his neck to shut the stone
door to the entranceway when Nosferatu leapt at him, dagger point in the lead.
The tip of the blade punctured the side of the high priest's throat, and
Nosferatu pulled the handle hard to the side, severing the man's jugular and
preventing him from crying out a warning to the two Gods who were ahead of him.
  The blood from the high priest's still-beating heart sprayed over Nosferatu,
drenching his face and chest. Nosferatu's tongue snaked out, tasting the blood.
He blinked, staggered, and felt a new surge of power. He leaned forward, mouth
open wide, and drank in the weakening surges of arterial blood until the high
priest

42

died and there was no more. The blood coming from a living human was much more
exhilarating than what he had always been fed secondhand from a flask, but not
quite the same as what Nekhbet had shared with him.
  With his free hand Nosferatu removed the emblem from the high priest's neck.
Etched on it was an image of an eye within a triangle. Nosferatu moved into the
tunnel, Nekhbet right behind him, the other four carefully stepping over the
body of the high priest.
  And behind them, like a shadow, the Watcher followed, keeping low to the
ground and moving silently.
  Nosferatu ran on the balls of his feet, his bare feet making no sound on the
smooth stone. He felt powerful, stronger than he could ever remember feeling. He
caught a glimpse of the tall figures of Isis and Osiris as he came around a bend
in the tunnel and skidded to a halt, trying to control his breathing, sure the
Gods would hear him in pursuit, but they continued around another bend, out of
sight. He glanced over his shoulder. Nekhbet was right behind, and at his
glance, she reached up and touched his shoulder lightly. He felt a wave of
confidence from her touch. If they succeeded tonight, she would be at his side
for eternity.
  When the other four caught up, Nosferatu continued the pursuit, blood-soaked
dagger at the ready. He heard the rumble of a large stone moving and picked up
the pace, knowing the Gods had secret passageways that even the high priests
knew nothing of. Doors that appeared out of solid rock and disappeared just as
quickly.
  He dashed around the bend in the tunnel. A stone was beginning to slide down
at the end of the corridor twenty feet away. Nosferatu was prepared for this. He
dived forward, sliding along the smooth stone, the piece of black metal the
strange woman had carried now in his off-

43
dagger hand. He stuck it in the way of the descending door, one end on the
floor, the other up. The bottom edge hit the metal and the door shuddered for a
moment, pressing hard on the metal, then halted, leaving a gap.
  Nosferatu let out a sigh of relief. Looking under the door he could see the
two flickering shadows of Osiris and Isis on the left side of the wall. And then
they disappeared. He glanced back. Nekhbet was near his feet, the others crowded
behind her, daggers grasped tight in their hands.
  He knew that it was not the time to hesitate. He slid forward, underneath the
door, into the lair of the Gods. Nosferatu 'got to his feet, peering about.
There was light ahead, around a curve to the right, which explained the shadows
he had seen. The only sound was the scrape of cloth on stone as Nekhbet slid
through, then the others. He waited a minute, letting his eyes adjust as much as
possible; but the light hurt, and he kept his eyelids closed to slits to protect
his sensitive pupils.
   Nosferatu began moving down the corridor, dagger held out in front. He
pressed his back against the left-side wall and edged along the corridor, trying
to peer around the bend. The stone walls were cut perfectly smooth, the work of
the Gods, not human hands.
  The priests said the Gods had built the Roads of Rostau in the very beginning
after arriving from beyond the Middle Sea. And that there were six duats
(chambers) where the Gods lived and kept their secret sources of power. Wondrous
things were said to be hidden in the duats of which there were only whispers and
vague memories of an earlier time when the Gods walked the Earth openly and flew
about in the sky in golden round chariots. Now the Gods hid down here, ruling
through the priests, rarely seen, as if they were hiding from something, but
what

44

could Gods be hiding from? Nosferatu often wondered. There was only one answer—
other, more powerful Gods. As a child, he had heard the stories of the Great
Civil War, when God had battled God and Atlantis had been destroyed. To him that
meant one thing—they were vulnerable.
  None of the six noticed the figure that silently followed them. The Watcher
slid under the door, then halted as a hatch on the top of the tunnel slid open.
Kajilil froze, covering himself with the gray cloak, and watched with wide eyes
what came out of the small space and headed down the corridor in pursuit of the
intruders.
  Nosferatu came around a corner and bumped into Osiris, Isis being ahead of her
partner. It was hard to say who was more startled, but Nosferatu was the quicker
to react. He jabbed with the knife, the point puncturing Osiris's chest.
Nosferatu continued his momentum, throwing all his weight behind the shaft of
metal.
   Osiris grabbed Nosferatu's throat with his six-fingered hands, squeezing,
lifting him off the floor with inhuman strength. Nosferatu twisted the blade in
the God's chest, ripping through flesh, piercing the heart. Red eyes went wide
in shock, then life faded from them and Nosferatu was released. Isis finally
reacted, jumping to her partner's defense but she was swarmed by the other five
half-breeds, their daggers rising and falling with the deadly blows they rained
down on her body. Decades, centuries of imprisonment, spewed forth, and over
fifty blows punctured her skin. Blood spattered over all and tongues snaked out,
tasting the God's blood.
  They couldn't help themselves. Their plan disintegrated into a feast of blood
as all six lay atop of the two bodies, licking, tasting, and tearing at exposed
flesh to get

45
to veins. They even suckled at Osiris's corpse, drawing the still blood from him
as best they could.
  And that was when the strange beast Kajilil had seen appear came upon them
from behind.
   Only Nosferatu had enough awareness. He spun about from Osiris's body in time
to see the thing come around the curve. A glowing gold orb, two feet in diameter
with black, pointed legs all around, scuttling along the floor. Mosegi was the
last in the party and the first to die as the strange creature reached him. Two
metal legs, razor-sharp at the tip, struck, punched into Mosegi's chest, and
came out the back. They scissored together and Mosegi's body was sliced in half,
falling to the ground.
  Blood upon blood. Death upon death. Nosferatu sprang to his feet, dagger at
the ready, knowing instinctively it would not stop the beast.
  But something did. The thing poised, two arms up, the sharp ends dripping
Mosegi's blood pointed at Nekhbet, but not striking. Suddenly a bolt of gold hit
Chatha in the chest, knocking her back unconscious. The other four Gods appeared
in the corridor behind the beast, three holding long spears in their hands. The
fourth held a small black sphere with which it controlled the beast. Another
bolt came from the tip of Horus's spear and hit Lilith with the same result.
Vampyr reached for his sister but a bolt of gold struck just in front of him,
causing him to pull back.
  "Come." Nosferatu reached for Nekhbet. Too late, as she was struck and knocked
into him. He and Vampyr pulled her body back along the corridor, away from the
site of the murders. Two of the Gods halted there, checking the bodies, while
the other two pursued. A door rumbled open in the floor in front of Nosferatu
and he almost fell into the black hole that had suddenly appeared. A

46

human hand beckoned. Vampyr slithered into the hole without a moment's
hesitation.
  "Come," a man's voice called as Nosferatu paused, something he would regret
for thousands of years. Horus and Amun arrived, spears ready. Nosferatu dived
into the hole, pulling Nekhbet with him as Horus struck. The spear blade sliced
cleanly through Nekhbet's wrist.
  Nosferatu fell with her severed hand clutched in his, slamming into the
sidewall of the tunnel, tumbling, sliding, the reality of what had just happened
not sinking in until he hit the bottom of a cross tunnel.
   "Come." The same figure was urging him to move. Vampyr was next to the human,
gesturing for Nosferatu to follow.
  Nosferatu remained still, feeling the rapidly cooling flesh clutched in his
hand, his mind replaying what had happened. He scrambled to his feet, looking up
the passageway down which he had slid, reaching up with his free hand to grab
hold of the lip and pull himself in.
  "No," the voice hissed. Vampyr reached up and grabbed Nosferatu around the
waist, stopping him.
  Then Nosferatu heard the clatter of metal on stone and knew the beast was
coming down after them.
   "This way," the man urged, pulling at his arm along with Vampyr. Nosferatu
followed them into a corridor half-filled with water.


Dawn found Nosferatu and Vampyr hidden on the Giza Plateau along with the
strange man who had so far only identified himself as a Wedjat, whatever that
was. The word meant "eye" in the ancient tongue. They were located to the south
of the Black Sphinx depression, amid a pile of large granite blocks,
47

each marked for placement in the construction of a temple dedicated to the
worship of Isis. By climbing on top of several blocks and sliding into the
hidden place between two of them, they were able to observe the depression in
which the Black Sphinx sat. Throughout the night, criers had gone through the
surrounding villages, ordering all to be present around the Sphinx at first
light.
  Nosferatu had Nekhbet's severed hand, swathed in linen, in a small leather
pouch tied off at his waist. In order to protect his eyes from the morning
light, he had wrapped a length of cloth around his head, leaving only the
slightest of slits through which to peer. He and Vampyr had spent the night with
the Wedjat, huddled in a small hut along the banks of the river, near where they
had exited from the Roads. The man had offered no reason for saving them and
Nosferatu had not asked, his thoughts on Nekhbet and what the morning would
bring.
  As dawn approached, both Nosferatu and Vampyr found themselves forced to tear
strips from their cloaks and wrap them around their faces, covering their
sensitive skin and eyes to protect them from the rays of the sun.
  The sun slowly rose over the horizon, revealing two six-foot-high X's of wood
that had been rigged by the priests on top of the head of the Black Sphinx.
Behind them stood one of the black tubes, its front open. Surrounding the Black
Sphinx along the top edge of the depression were thousands of Egyptians, all
within hailing distance. The nearest were less than fifty feet in front of their
concealed location, all staring in the same direction, into the depression.
   Looking at the arrangement, Nosferatu didn't want to make the effort to
deduce what the setup on top of the Black Sphinx might mean. He'd experienced
three

48

hundred years of imprisonment and abuse by the Gods. He knew that day would
bring worse.
  Vampyr turned to the Wedjat. "You have told us you are a Wedjat, but little
else. What is your name?"
  "I am called Kajilil."The Wedjat was a small man, with skin burned brown and
leathery by the sun. He wore a gray cloak pulled tight around his body. Lines
radiated in the skin around his eyes as if they had been shot like marbles into
his head.
"What is a Wedjat?" Vampyr asked.
"A Watcher."
"And what is a Watcher?" Vampyr pressed.
  Kajilil stroked his short beard as he considered the question. "We are an
ancient order. Formed after the destruction of Atlantis. The first Watchers were
ex-high priests of the Airlia who realized they had been betrayed. They vowed to
monitor the two sides of the Airlia civil war."
"Why did you save us?" Nosferatu asked.
  "Because Donnchadh—the woman—interfered. I am trying to set things right, but
I fear regardless of what we do, there will be change."
"Who is she?"
   "I do not know for sure. I have heard rumors. She, and her partner, the
warrior, Gwalcmai, hate the Gods. Some say the two of them have walked the Earth
since the time of Atlantis, subverting the Gods. That is difficult for me to
believe, as they are human, or at least appear human, as do you. But some say
they helped start the Great Civil War among the Gods that destroyed Atlantis."
Kajilil smiled wryly. "Some say anything. That is why it is best just to watch
and record."
   "But you saved us," Nosferatu pressed. Vampyr was watching the Black Sphinx,
searching for any sign of his sister, but also listening closely.

49

  "To try to restore the balance, as I said," Kajilil said. "She interfered and
I have tried to set things right. Although"—he shrugged once more—"who knows
what right is? I have often thought about that. What if her actions are what was
supposed to happen? It has occurred to me at times that doing nothing, as my
Watcher creed decrees, affects things as much as doing something. That is why I
acted when I saw you enter the Roads."
   Nosferatu understood little of what the man was saying and he could tell that
Vampyr didn't either. The burning issue remained: What did the Airlia Gods have
planned for those they had captured?
  Kajilil reached into his robe and pulled out a short metal tube, which he
raised to one eye and peered through.
"What is that?" Nosferatu asked.
  "It is something that was taken from Atlantis," Kajilil said. "Ship captains
who sailed for the Airlia used them to see far over the water." He offered the
device to Nosferatu, who brought it up and peered through the layer of cloth
covering his eye into the end of the tube. He was stunned suddenly to see
everything much closer and pulled it away from his eye, blinking, reassured to
find he was still at the same distance and had not been magically transported to
the Black Sphinx. He tentatively raised the tube and looked through it once
more. He could see the lips of the priests move as they prayed.
"Men used this?" he asked Kajilil.
  The Watcher nodded. "A gift from the Gods. In the old days when the Gods ruled
openly."
   Nosferatu had more questions to ask but the stone door between the paws of
the Black Sphinx slid open and a phalanx of priests appeared, the three bound
prisoners in their midst. In the front were Chatha and Lilith chained

50

together. And behind them was Nekhbet, wrapped in loops of metal. All three were
being held up by priests, and through Kajilil's device Nosferatu could see that
they had been drained of their blood just short of death. Nekhbet's severed
wrist was bound in dirty linen.
  Nosferatu began to rise, but Kajilil's hand was on his arm, holding him down.
"It is futile," Kajilil said. "You would be cut down before you even got close."
   "What are they going to do?" Nosferatu demanded, as the priests and prisoners
made their way up a hastily constructed wooden ramp to the top of the Black
Sphinx.

"We must watch and see," Kajilil said.
  Vampyr demanded the looking device and Nosferatu reluctantly gave it to him,
wincing at Vampyr's curse when he saw his twin, Lilith, bound in chains and
drained.
  A hush rolled over the crowd as the four remaining Gods appeared. All the
humans except the high priests and prisoners dropped to their knees, heads
bowed. The Gods were wrapped in black robes with hoods drawn close around their
faces. Nosferatu realized their garb was not to hide themselves, but as he and
Vampyr had done, to protect the Gods' eyes and skin from the sunlight. The
Airlia slowly walked up the ramp to the top of the Sphinx, towering over the
surrounding priests and guards.
   One of the four stepped forward, turned to the high priest and nodded. The
priest began to chant out in a loud voice that carried clearly to all in view.
  "Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price
of disobedience."
  The high priest paused as Chatha and Lilith were brought forward to the two
wooden X's. Their robes were ripped off, leaving their pale skin exposed. They
were pressed spread-eagle to the wooden beams, blink-

51

ing rapidly and painfully in the bright morning light, heads turning to and fro
as if in search of their immediate future. Priests went to work, dipping leather
straps in buckets of water and wrapping them around the limbs, working from the
hands and feet inward. Each strap was an inch wide and spaced about two inches
apart, leaving pale white flesh exposed between. The priests slowly continued
until the arms and legs were encased up to the armpits and groin in strips of
wet leather.
  When they were done, once more the high priest chanted. "Behold the price of
rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price of disobedience."
Then there was silence.
"What are they doing?" Vampyr demanded.
  "I do not know," Kajilil said. He had taken the looking device back and was
peering through it. "I have never seen this before."
  The sun was rising behind them and had just struck the top of the Sphinx and
the captives. Nosferatu narrowed the open strip in the cloth around his head. He
shifted his gaze from Chatha and Lilith to Nekhbet. He could see how close she
was to death. They had drained her even after he had taken his fill the previous
night. And she had lost much blood from her wrist.
  A moan escaped Chatha's lips, carrying through the dry air. At first Nosferatu
could not tell what caused her to cry out in pain. He assumed it was the sun
striking skin and eyes that had not known daylight in many, many years. He took
the looking device from Kajilil and peered through it. He noticed that the
fingers on Chatha's right hand were twitching uncontrollably. She cried out once
more. The other hand was also twitching. Then Nosferatu saw the devilment the
Gods had concocted and he cursed them. The leather was drying, and in doing so,
contracting,

52

pressing into the flesh. The straps were drying in the order they had been put
on, from the outer ends of the limbs inward. Cutting off circulation, and
pressing into the skin.
  Nosferatu realized it was also the most devious and terrible torture that
could have been devised for the state the two half-breeds were in, the bands
forcing what little blood they had left into the centers of their bodies and
keeping them alive, stopping the flow to the limbs bit by bit, while cutting
into the flesh with inexorable pain.
  Both were crying out by then, the screams forced from them by the waves of
pain reverberating through their bodies.
"We must do something," Vampyr hissed.
  Nosferatu agreed with the emotion but he knew Kajilil was right. "There is
nothing we can do."
  "My sister," Vampyr whispered in despair. "They will pay. The Gods and the
humans. They will pay for this."
  Vampyr rose and began to run forward toward the Black Sphinx. Nosferatu leapt
up and chased him down, covering the distance between them in an instant. He
wrapped his arms around the younger Undead, dragging him to the ground. Vampyr
thrashed to and fro in his grasp. The fight was over when Kajilil rapped a stone
on the side of Vampyr's head, knocking him unconscious. They dragged Vampyr back
to their observation post. Nosferatu tied Vampyr's hands behind his back and
bound his legs tightly together, then returned his attention to the top of the
Black Sphinx.
  The high priest stepped between the two crosses, spreading his arms to
encompass both. "Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal.
Behold the price of disobedience."
  The torture went on to the point where even watching was practically
unbearable. Both women's bodies were vi-

53

brating so violently that the sound of their backs hitting the wood as they
spasmed in pain was clearly audible despite the screams. The bones in their legs
and arms snapped, the sounds echoing across the gathered crowd. The humans
gathered round looked on with perverted fascination.
  Chatha died first, at least an hour after the last bands cut off all blood
flow to her crushed limbs. The sun was nearly vertical overhead indicating she
had lived for almost five hours under the torture. And Lilith was still alive,
although her screams were more muted, her throat parched and worn from the
effort.
  What would they do to Nekhbet? Nosferatu wondered. There was not a third cross
on the Sphinx's head, only the empty black tube.
  Lilith finally raised her head and blindly looked to the sky as she cried out,
"My brother. Avenge me." Then at last she died with a whimper.
  At her voice Vampyr rose out of his unconscious stupor, eyes blinking, great
pain etched on his face. "My sister." Vampyr hunched over in pain for his twin,
bound fists clenched as he felt her death to the core of his being.
  One of the Gods gestured and the high priest went over and leaned close to the
God, listening. Then the high priest went between the two bodies. "There are two
others like these out there. Two who have betrayed the Gods. If they do not make
themselves known, a worse fate will be their last companion's fate throughout
the ages." At that, the high priest pointed at Nekhbet.
  Two priests grabbed her arms and pulled her back, placing her inside the open
black sarcophagus. A belt was placed around her waist and she was chained to the
interior. One of the Gods went over to her, placing the bands with leads around
her arms and legs. The God reached in

54

and took the crown out of its slot, settling it on top of Nekhbet's head.
Peering through the cylinder, Nosferatu could see that there were also wires
running from the crown back to the tube. Done, the God stepped away.
  Over a hundred years. That was how long Nekhbet and Nosferatu had shared the
same cell and fate. They had talked at every opportunity. At first of reality,
but then they had begun inventing new worlds, imaginary places to which they
could disappear together.
  "She will suffer the living sleep," the high priest called out. "Trapped in
this, unable to die, unable to sleep, unable to move. Aware all the time. Unless
you show yourself."
  Kajilil placed a hand on Nosferatu's shoulder. "If you show yourself, both of
you will suffer the same fate as your two comrades. And they will kill her too.
She is only alive because you and your comrade are free."
  Nosferatu stared through the looking tube, focusing on Nekhbet's face. He had
been alone for a hundred years before they brought her in. What they were
condemning her to was even more cruel than the past had been. They were keeping
her alive to draw him in. He knew that and he knew it would work. But not then.
And not on their terms.
   Patience. It was the one thing that Gods had forced upon him.
  Nekhbet turned her head slightly so that her eyes were dead on with his, as if
she could know where he was and could see him. She smiled and shook her head
ever so slightly.
  The top of the tube was swung shut, enclosing Nekhbet. Nosferatu stared
through the looking tube as the God went to the panel and long fingers tapped on
it. Through his despair, Nosferatu tried to memorize the pattern.

55

  Before returning to his place at the front, the high priest again went to one
of the Gods and listened. "Hear this, traitors and murderers. You will be
tracked down. And you will suffer an even more horrible fate."
  A phalanx of guards surrounded the tube, which remained on top of the Black
Sphinx, a beacon to draw Nosferatu in. The high priests followed by the Gods,
slowly walked down the ramp and into the darkness of the Roads of Rostau.
  Vampyr twisted his head toward Nosferatu. "I will never forgive you for
today."
  "You would be dead if you had gone down there," Nosferatu argued.
  "I would rather have died trying to save her," Vampyr said.
  To that Nosferatu had no answer. For a long time they sat in the dark shadows,
stunned and overwhelmed by what they had witnessed.
  Kajilil's voice broke the silence. "Perhaps, when things have changed, as they
will with time, you may return. But for now, I think it is best that you both
leave Egypt and go as far away as possible." He took two large leather pouches
that jingled slightly and handed one each to Nosferatu and Vampyr. "Take this
gold. Go across the sands to the east until you reach the Red Sea. There you
will be able to hire a boat to take you far away."
"There is no 'perhaps,'" Nosferatu said. "I will be back."
  "But not soon," Kajilil said, the words both a statement and a warning.
  Nosferatu knew Kajilil's words were true. It would be a long time before he
could come back to claim Nekhbet.
  "Can you get me into the Roads this evening?"     "You cannot rescue her,"
Kajilil said. "She will be

56

guarded. You saw one of the creatures the Gods use to guard the Roads. There are
others."
  "I know that," Nosferatu said. "Can you get me back to the chamber in which I
was held? It is empty now. The Gods will not expect me to return."
Kajilil frowned. "Why?"
  "If I am to wait a long time, I need to do to myself as they have done to her.
I will need my own black tube so I can use the deep sleep."
  "Mine too," Vampyr said. "I will bide my time. But I swear revenge for my
sister." Vampyr stared at Nosferatu with half-lidded eyes, his lips still
covered with the dried blood they had tasted on the Roads of Rostau.
  Kajilil considered their request and nodded. "Tonight. Then you both must
leave. They will be looking for you."
  Nosferatu's eyes were on the Black Sphinx. "There will come a day when they
will no longer rule." He tapped his chest. "Then I will be back for my love."
  Vampyr glared down at the site of his sister's death. "This is the Third Age.
The Age of Man." He tapped his chest. "Someday it will be our age. The Fourth
Age. The time of the Undead."
57

CHAPTER     2

THE   RED   SEA: 8000 B.C.

The reed ship was at the mercy of the winds and Nosferatu could not help but
give a cold smile as the sailors prayed out loud each morning to the Gods of
Egypt to help them in their travels. He did not think the Airlia Gods would
help, even if it were in their power to do so. However, most days the prayers
seemed to work, as a steady wind blew from the north, pushing the forty-foot
boat southward, the coast always visible to the right. In two days' time they
made it out of the Red Sea and into the Gulf of Aden. Another three days saw
them round the horn of Somalia and sail into the Indian Ocean, still staying
close to the coast of Africa.
  Nosferatu spent his days inside the black tube that Kajilil had helped him
steal from the Roads of Rostau. It was covered by a small thatch hut he had had
the sailors construct in the middle of the boat. He had examined the crown but
made no use of it. The same with the glowing panel of hexagonals. He had no clue
what powered it, but there was writing in the Runic language of the Gods on each
hex. When they had gone down into the tunnels, they'd found the three cells
empty except for the tubes. Lifting one, they found the metal surprisingly
light. Kajilil had given them gray cloaks that he said would hide them from the
metal spider/but the creature had not appeared.

58

As Nosferatu had speculated, no one would have expected them to return to the
scene of their imprisonment.
  Vampyr and he wordlessly parted near the Watcher's hut, on the edge of the
Nile. Vampyr slipped off into the dark, moving north along the west bank of the
Nile, while Nosferatu climbed on board a raft provided by Kajilil and forded the
river. Nosferatu knew that the other Undead was full of rage at both the Airlia
and their human subjects and he feared for what Vampyr might do. He thought it
highly possible that Vampyr would be captured by the Airlia in his quest for
vengeance and be killed as horribly as his sister had been.
  Once across the Nile Nosferatu had to wrap the tube in heavy cloths and have
it dragged behind a pair of camels to cross the desert from the Nile to the Red
Sea. The desert people—the Bedu—who had done this for him had asked no questions
and made no protest about traveling only at night. They'd taken the gold payment
Nosferatu had offered and disappeared into the desert as soon as he reached the
coast. When he reached the Red Sea, Nosferatu had hired his boat. The crew
worshipped the Egyptian Gods for lack of anything else, but they were from a
tribe that lived along the coast of the Red Sea and knew nothing of the Airlia
or the high priests along the Nile.
  Nosferatu's thoughts swirled around Nekhbet and his last sight of her as the
lid of the tube had closed. She had smiled and shaken her head. The high priest
had said she would stay awake and alive forever in her metal prison. He knew
that as long as the Gods ruled in Egypt he would not be able to save her. His
last vision of the Black Sphinx confirmed that her tube was still resting on top
of the large lion head, the bait for the Airlia trap for him. He

59

wondered how long they would keep her there before taking her back underground.
He would have to wait. Even the Watcher Kajilil had said change would come. When
it did, Nosferatu knew he would return and rescue her. Until then he had to stay
alive.
  On the third day on board they all saw a golden disk flying low over the sands
to the west. The crew threw themselves to the deck and prayed loudly. Nosferatu
knew the Airlia were searching for him and Vampyr. He stayed inside the tube,
hidden from sight as the disk flew overhead, hovering for a few moments before
moving on.
  Twice more in the following week they saw the disk in the distance, and each
time Nosferatu crawled into the tube.
  At night he paced along the deck, stepping over the sleeping forms of the half
dozen men he had paid to take him away from Egypt. They tied up to shore every
evening and occasionally Nosferatu ventured inland. The hunger grew in him and
he knew that he would have to feed in order to maintain his age and strength.

  He took his first kill after almost a month and a half at sea when he could
hold the hunger at bay no longer and feared he would lose control and attack one
of the crew. As they went south the shoreline had changed from desert to lush
jungle. They had tied up to a tree near the mouth of a small river. The crew had
refilled the water caskets by traveling up the river just before darkness fell,
hurrying back, frightened of the strange noises that roared and bellowed out of
the lush greenness. Nosferatu found the sounds intriguing—a siren's song of
violence and death beckoning him to its darkness.
  Nosferatu left the boat and waded ashore. He entered the dark jungle, and was
immediately swallowed up into its blackness. He could see well in the darkness,
having

60

inherited the Airlia predisposition for lower levels of light. Indeed, he had
found that the sun greatly hurt his eyes and he also had to protect his skin
from the burning rays during the day as his flesh had no tolerance of its touch.
  Nosferatu moved through the jungle, at one with the other creatures. In the
limited light his eyes perceived the spectrum of colors and he marveled at the
lush greenness all around him. Even the arable land next to the Nile had never
produced color as vivid as this. And the bounty of life in the jungle—he could
hear it everywhere.
  Nosferatu also began to discover that he had other abilities beyond that of
his superb night vision, thanks to his Airlia genes and blood. He could run
swiftly, as fast as a deer—something he discovered while crossing a small
clearing where he came across several of the creatures. He ran one down,
startling himself as much as his prey.
  Realizing he didn't know the extent of his capabilities, he spent a little
time testing his body.
  He discovered he could jump almost twenty feet straight up and land upright on
a branch. With his bare hands he could break an eight-inch-thick piece of wood.
When the feat left a scratch in his palm, he watched with amazement as it healed
within the hour.
  He became so caught up in exploring his newfound abilities, he almost forgot
his hunger—almost, but not quite. After an hour following the bank of the stream
inland, he came upon a clearing in which there were a dozen huts surrounded by a
thorn thicket through which there was but a single opening blocked by a crude
wooden gate. Nosferatu stood still, waiting and watching, until he saw movement.
A young boy with skin as dark as the night and a spear in his hand was slowly
walking in a circle just inside the wall of thorns, peering out at the sur-

61
rounding jungle with wide eyes at the sudden silence that had descended at
Nosferatu's approach. Nosferatu felt the blood fever come over him, remembering
what it had felt like to taste of the priest at the base of the Black Sphinx.
The blood he'd been fed by the high priests had always been cold and thick, an
hour or two removed from the draining. Fresh blood, pumping straight out of the
vein, that was a very different thing.
  Nosferatu waited until the boy was on the far side, then he moved forward. He
lightly jumped over the thorn fence. He crouched down, hidden in the shadows as
the boy came round once more. Nosferatu leapt up, jumping straight for the boy,
clamping one hand over his mouth and shoving the spear away with the other while
his mouth fastened on the thin neck, teeth tearing into the flesh. He was
rewarded with a spray of blood, which strengthened him. The boy's struggles were
futile as Nosferatu drained him.
  Distantly Nosferatu could hear a dog barking in alarm but he kept his mouth
tight to the torn vein, allowing the blood to pulse in, the boy's wildly beating
heart aiding in the feeding. When he heard voices crying out, only then did
Nosferatu look up from his victim. A half dozen warriors, spears in their hands
surrounded him. They stepped back in shock as he lifted his blood-soaked, pale
white face from the body. His glittering eyes and alien white skin made him
appear a demon. Nosferatu laughed, lifting the body over his head and throwing
it at the men. They jumped out of the way and he leapt back over the thorn
barricade and sprinted off into the jungle before they could attack him.
  Before dawn Nosferatu had cleaned up and was back on the boat.
The kill lasted him well over a month before he felt

62

the urge again. By that time they had made their way farther down the coast of
Africa than any of the crew had ever been. They had passed a place where two
tall white-capped mountains beckoned in the distance and the land changed from
jungle to open plains reaching the shoreline. Nosferatu heard the men muttering
about turning around, about going back; but he pressed them to continue on,
giving them more gold, a fortune that would mean none would ever have to work
again.
  Unable to find anything on land as they passed an arid stretch of coastline,
three weeks later, Nosferatu's second kill was one of the sailors. He took the
poor man in the night, silencing him, pulling him off the ship and onto land,
where he drained the man's blood and hid the body. In the morning there was
panic and consternation among the survivors about the sudden and silent
disappearance of their comrade. Nosferatu said nothing, only pointing to the
south before retiring with his gold to the tube, making sure he locked it from
the inside as he knew they were considering killing him and taking the gold. The
man had been the one who had been the most insistent that they turn back, so the
consensus among the others was that he had jumped ship and was trying to make
his way back by land.
  After two more weeks they rounded a storm-lashed cape and began moving north.
Nosferatu realized they must be on the other side of the continent in which
Egypt rested. Was he far enough away from the Airlia to be safe for a while?
   He killed a second crewmember not long after they began moving north. The
remaining four were panic-stricken and superstitious. They spent that entire day
in the rear, muttering among themselves as the boat made its way north. The
shoreline had also turned forbidding.

63

The land was edged with cliffs, rocky and barren. The men were running low on
food and water but they pressed forward for another week. Nosferatu knew he had
gone as far as he could without feeding again. He took a third that night,
draining him, then sliding the body overboard, where sharks immediately took it
into the depths.
  Sated with blood, he climbed into his tube just before dawn, and sealed the
lid against intrusion. As always he fell into an uneasy slumber, dreams of
Nekhbet mixed with nightmares of darkness and confinement.
  He woke when his forehead slammed against the top of the lid. Disoriented for
a moment, he pressed against the metal sides of the tube to steady himself. The
tube rolled one way, paused, then the other. The action didn't stop.
  They'd thrown him overboard, Nosferatu realized with a rush of panic. He
cursed at this unexpected turn of events. He'd counted on their fear to keep
them in place and knew now that he had miscalculated. He held steady against the
sway of the tube to the waves. He knew if he opened the lid, water would pour in
and the tube would be lost, leaving him adrift in the shark-infested water.
He waited.
   It was unlike his previous time in the tube underneath the Giza Plateau.
Worse, much worse, as the days and nights went by. Then he had had the monthly
feedings and the presence of Nekhbet. Here he suffered in darkness, enclosed,
growing weaker as the strength of the feeding from the last sailor faded. And
his strength was worn down further as he fought against the external motion of
the tube to avoid being injured.
   Several times he spent hours fighting severe motion, the tube sometimes
rolling over completely. He had to

64

assume that those were periods when he rode out storms. At times he would sleep,
more a lapse into exhausted unconsciousness, always broken by a slam to one side
or the other of the tube.
  Never did he despair. Never was he tempted to unlatch the lid and let the
ocean in to finish his agony.
  Foremost in his mind was Nekhbet, his last vision of her. He could endure a
thousand storms before he would let go of that vision, before he would abandon
her to an eternity of empty life in her tube.
  Nosferatu woke with a start as he was once more slammed against the right side
of the tube. He braced himself, ready for the inevitable roll to the other side,
but there was only stillness. He waited, not even daring to breathe. Total,
complete stillness. He had almost forgotten what it was like.
  Nosferatu took a deep breath, ignoring the overwhelming stench from inside the
tube. He reached to the inner latch and pressed on it. The lid cracked open and
a surge of water poured in, causing him to panic for a second before the inflow
suddenly ceased. Then another splash of water, a wave. He almost slammed the lid
shut, but the tube wasn't moving. Of that he was certain. And it was night
outside. Through the slight opening he could see stars on the horizon.
Nosferatu swung the lid wide open and sat up.
  The tube was on the surf line along a rocky coast. Cliffs towered over a thin
sliver of pebble shore. Gingerly, Nosferatu climbed out of the tube, his feet
touching solid ground for the first time in over a month. He pulled the tube
inland, making sure it was above the surf line. Then he looked about. There was
not a single hint of vegetation, just bare, forbidding rock. And no sign of
animal life, not even birds overhead.

65

  Nosferatu glanced up at the cliffs. There was a tinge of light—dawn was
coming. He summoned up what little energy he had left. First, he cleaned out the
interior of the tube with seawater. Then he pulled the tube across the narrow
beach and wedged it in a crack in the cliff face. He piled up smaller rocks in
front, hiding it from the sight of anyone passing on the ocean. He placed his
hands over the control panel, reading what he could make out and remembering as
best he could the sequence the God had set on Nekhbet's. With shaking hands he
tapped out a code. The panel flashed and he crawled inside, putting the bands on
his legs and arms before setting the crown on his head.
  He had just completed this when he felt darkness overwhelm him.

THE GIZA PLATEAU: 8000 B.C.

  Vampyr cut the soldier's throat with one smooth slice of the dagger. He
grabbed the stunned man, pulling the open wound to his mouth, and drank as much
blood as his engorged body would take. The soldier was the third he had taken in
as many nights. He did not need the blood. They were Egyptian, serving the Gods,
and this was vengeance, though he was sure none but the dead would know who was
wreaking it.
  Vampyr had demurred when Nosferatu had said they should travel south, into the
unknown lands. He knew the Eldest was going to hide and bide his time. Vampyr
did not want to hide. He wanted blood and vengeance and he planned to stay close
to Egypt.
  The men he took were those who wandered out of the fort in the evening into
the local village, seeking wine and

66

women. He slid the body of the most recent victim off the edge of the dock, into
the dark water of the Nile. He knew there was already a level of unease in the
fort from the two missing men and a third's disappearing would bring some sort
of reaction.
  Three soldiers from the army of an empire. Poor vengeance indeed, Vampyr
thought bitterly to himself as he strode along the wooden dock toward the small
boat that held his tube.
  Once on deck, he paused and stood still, feeling the cool breeze blow over his
skin. It was as if there were a hole in his chest, and all the blood he took
could never be enough to fill it. Lilith had always been there, for over a
hundred years. They had been together in the womb. Played together along the
banks of the Nile as children, not knowing the fate that awaited them.
  Shortly after the twins reached adulthood, the high priests had taken them and
dragged them into the Roads, entombing them in adjacent tubes. Even in their
imprisonment, they had still had each other. When Lilith died on the cross he
had felt the connection with her inside his mind give way. It was as if together
they had been one complete person and balanced each other—Lilith the light, and
he the darkness.
  A horn call rang out plaintively from the fort. When Vampyr looked landward,
he could see a group of soldiers carrying torches issue forth from the gates of
the fort into the village. Too many for him to fight.
  He heard the slap of oars in the water and Vampyr looked upriver to see a boat
floating with the current, about thirty feet away. A man wearing a black robe
stood in the prow, staring at him. Eight men with drawn bows stood along the
center of the boat, their weapons aimed at

67


Vampyr. Four other men rowed, bringing the boat closer to his.
  Vampyr took a step backward as the prow of the other boat touched his and two
of the men reached out to secure the two together. The man in the cloak climbed
on board Vampyr's boat. Vampyr drew his dagger. The stranger drew a sword that
glittered in the starlight, but he did not immediately attack, nor did the
bowmen fire.
"Who are you?" Vampyr demanded.
"I am a Shadow of those you hate. Aspasia's Shadow."
  Vampyr tightened the grip on his dagger. "What is a Shadow?"
  The man drew back his hood, revealing a thin, pale face and dark eyes. With
his free hand he pointed at his head. "I carry the memories of Aspasia, Lord of
the Gods." He laughed. "At least one side of the so-called Gods. I am his
Shadow. I have received a message from the Guardian that there has been trouble
in the Roads of Rostau and I believe I have just found the source of that
trouble. I have been looking for you for a while now."
  Aspasia's Shadow glanced past Nosferatu at the Giza Plateau. "But." He let
that word hang in the air for a few moments. "You killed Isis and Osiris?"
  Vampyr stood taller. "Yes." He expected the other man to attack, but Aspasia's
Shadow seemed to be thinking.
  "Interesting," Aspasia's Shadow said. "Two of the six who hide in the Roads
dead. They were supposed to be caretakers only, not set themselves up once more
as Gods. Perhaps they will have learned their lesson."
"And what is your task?" Vampyr asked.
   "A caretaker also, in my own way. To maintain the truce while the Gods sleep.
To win for my side if the opportunity presents itself." Aspasia's Shadow
shrugged.

68


"I'm a backup, an afterthought. I must say, though, that's better than what you
are."
  Aspasia's Shadow put the point of his sword into the wood and leaned on the
pommel as he considered Vampyr. The bowmen, however, did not relax the tension
on their strings and the barbed points of their arrows were aimed directly at
Vampyr's chest.
  Vampyr could hear the soldiers searching along the riverbank, growing closer;
but Aspasia's Shadow did not seem concerned.
  "You're just another piece on the board," Aspasia's Shadow said. He cocked his
head, staring at Vampyr. "You burn with hatred. I can feel it. This should be
interesting." He pointed downriver, toward the Middle Sea. "Go. Take your hatred
and leave this place. Nurse it. The time of the Gods will be over here someday."
He leaned over and looked under the thin wooden deck and saw the black tube. "As
you know, you can sleep without dreaming or thinking for a long time using that.
I would recommend you go far away and go into the deep sleep for a long time.
Then awaken and see what has changed in the world."
"How do I do that?" Vampyr asked.
  Aspasia's Shadow climbed down belowdecks and tapped something into the command
panel.
  Vampyr watched his movements carefully. "How do I know you aren't setting that
to kill me? Or put me to sleep forever?"
  "You don't," Aspasia's Shadow said. "But the Airlia move very slowly. If you
want to scavenge about this world for millennia, waiting for things to change,
be my guest. Things will change over time, but slowly. The deep sleep, which I
use myself, is a way to 'speed' the process. And it keeps you from aging during
the time you sleep."
"Why should you care about what I do?" Vampyr de-

69
manded, still holding the bloodstained dagger tightly in his hand.
   "It is a game," Aspasia's Shadow said. "As I said, you're just another piece
on the board, making things interesting. I may have Aspasia's memories, but I
have lived a long time since they were imprinted on me. I do not necessarily
have the same motivations or goals anymore."
"What is your goal?"
   "That is none of your business." Aspasia's Shadow waved his hands wide.
"There is an entire world out there. Take your hatred and lust into it. Make the
world a more interesting place to watch. We will meet again."
  With that, Aspasia's Shadow sheathed his sword and walked onto the dock,
heading toward the soldiers. Vampyr watched him for a few seconds, then looked
at the other boat. The bowmen still had their weapons aimed at him. Vampyr
untied the rope holding his boat to the dock. The Nile's current grabbed hold
and took him and the boat with it, heading toward the Middle Sea.

70

CHAPTER   3


THE SKELETON COAST: 1450 B.C.

Nekhbet was dead. Nosferatu screamed, the cry echoed back to him by the metal
lid just in front of his face. She was just a skeleton lying inside of her tube,
her flesh long since consumed by the ages. Her red hair crowned a skull, empty
eye sockets leading into an empty cranium. Completely panic-stricken in the
confinement and absolute darkness, he flailed his arms, smacking into the sides
of the tube.
A dream. A nightmare.
  Nosferatu fought to bring his mind and heart under control. He reached for the
inner latch and pressed on it. He screamed, this time from pain, as a searing
bolt of sunlight poured into the opening. Blindly he reached up and slammed the
lid shut, the pain in his eyes unbearable.
  Nosferatu waited for darkness, the ache in his eyes slowly fading. While he
waited he inventoried his body. He was weak, very weak. It was an effort to lift
his hand. Running his fingers over his body, he realized he was little more than
skin stretched over bone. He needed to feed. Desperately.
  He removed the crown from his head and the leads from his arms and legs. He
reached up and pressed the latch, carefully pushing up the lid so only the
tiniest of cracks appeared. Blessed darkness. He didn't have the

71


strength to throw the lid all the way open. He pushed it up enough to slither
out of the tube, onto the pebble beach, letting the lid slam shut behind him. He
lay there for a few minutes, gathering his strength. It was warm on the pebbles
as the heat from the day dissipated upward.
  The desolation of the area he had hidden in had kept him safe for all the
years he had been in the tube, but it worked against him now. Nosferatu looked
about. He saw a bird fly by high overhead, but other than that no sign of life
along the shore. He knew he didn't have the energy to climb the cliff and search
farther inland, and given the desolation of the shore, he didn't suspect farther
inland would yield much.
  Nosferatu lay on his back listening to the surf and staring up at the stars.
Is this how it would end? He cursed himself for not thinking things through when
he entered the tube. But how could he have changed anything? How long had he
slept? He'd set the tube for 650 years as best he could read the High Rune
figures on the hexagonals— an amount of time he felt was sufficient to check to
see if the Airlia still ruled in Egypt.
  Nosferatu's nostrils flared as they caught a whiff of something. He sniffed.
Blood. Not human. Not anything he had ever smelled before. But close in some way
to human. He turned his head from side to side, trying to determine from which
direction the scent came.
The sea.
  Nosferatu frowned. Blood in the water. He crawled to the water's edge. A wave
splashed cold water into his face, but he continued until he floated in the
ocean. He lifted his head and sniffed. The blood was ahead. Again, not human,
but close. Similar.
  He kicked weakly, pushing himself forward. A swell sprayed water into his
mouth and he tasted the faintest

72


trace of blood. Indeed not human but mammal. Close enough in his desperate
situation. He pressed on.
  Nosferatu cried out as something brushed along underneath him. He looked down
and saw a long gray form. A dorsal fin passed by his left side. Shark. Yes, they
would be drawn to blood too, he realized, remembering dumping the bodies off the
boat on the way there. Or had they caused the blood? he wondered. He was closer
to the blood. His entire body felt it.
  Something bumped into him on the right and he instinctively pushed away before
he realized whatever he had hit wasn't moving. He edged closer. A dolphin. Its
belly ripped open. Then he heard it and saw it all around him. The feeding
frenzy as sharks tore into a pod of dolphins. The ripping of flesh. The squeals
of the dolphins as they fought back and tried to protect their young from the
marauders.
  Nosferatu didn't care about the sharks that surrounded him. He pressed
forward, holding tight to the corpse. With trembling hands he ripped into the
flesh above the water, exposing a vein. Blood seeped out and he fastened his
mouth onto it, drinking the trickle.
   Something hit his legs but he ignored it, his entire being focused on drawing
the blood in. He felt strength slowly spread through his body but the flow came
to a halt. Nosferatu let go of the body and turned seaward, toward the worst of
the savagery. He saw another corpse and swam to it, repeating the process. A
shark took a chunk out of the body he was feeding on and he ignored it. He
repeated this four times, growing stronger with each feeding.
  The sharks also ignored him, perhaps satisfied with their meal of dolphin, or
perhaps knowing on some primordial level that Nosferatu was kin, a hunter like
them,

73


drawn to the blood. Or, perhaps, sensing that he was something that they had
never encountered and avoiding the unknown.
  Nosferatu turned for shore, full of dolphin blood and feeling stronger but
ill. He swam to the beach, staggering to his feet. The current along the shore
had pressed him northward from where he had launched. He turned south and
walked, heading back toward his tube.
  Suddenly, he fell to his knees and vomited a mixture of dolphin blood and
seawater. He felt woozy, both from the gorging after so long a fast and the
difference in blood type. He knew he needed human blood. He was stronger, but
could not survive for long like this.
  He reached his tube and crawled into it, his stomach protesting, his head
pounding. He'd drunk so much to gain so little.
  Nosferatu spent the next day in his tube, planning. That evening he exited the
tube and climbed the cliff to the top. Looking inland all he saw was rocky
desert extending to the horizon. He doubted that anyone lived within hundreds of
miles. Could he cross the desert to inhabited land before running out of energy?
Nosferatu stood for a long time, peering inland. Then he turned to the sea. He
could see for miles along the barren coast in either direction.
  At the very least he knew there was life in the water. Enough to keep him
alive.
  He turned back toward the land, looking to the northeast, his focus drawn that
way as if there were a beacon over the horizon. He knew that was where Egypt
lay. And Nekhbet waited. Staying alive wasn't good enough. He had to get
stronger so he could travel. He stayed on top of the cliff the entire night and
when the first sign of dawn appeared in the east, he climbed down and entered
his tube.

74


  The next evening he did the same, but now he simply sat on the cliff, peering
first one way, then the other along the coast, waiting. That went on for three
complete cycles of the moon.
  His patience was rewarded in the fourth month. Right after dark, as soon as he
reached the top of the cliff, far to the north he spotted a small glowing spot
on the shoreline. He knew immediately what it was—a lantern aboard a ship
beached for the night. Nosferatu made his way in that direction along the top of
the high cliff
  It took over four hours before he was above the light. A wooden ship was drawn
up on the shore, the flickering lantern hung on a short mast. The ship was about
fifteen feet long, open-topped, with one bench across the center and a long oar
extending to each side. At the rear, the handle for the rudder swept inboard.
Nosferatu counted three people—two sleeping in the front of the ship and one
standing guard next to the mast.
  Nosferatu moved south about two hundred yards until he reached a cleft in the
rock face. He climbed down to the shore and considered his options. His heart
was racing, not so much from the descent, but from the nearness of human blood.
He could literally smell the people nearby. He crept closer but paused as the
guard woke one of the sleeping figures.
  The two switched places, the guard wrapping himself in a blanket and lying
under the bench. The newly woken man leaned the sword against the mast and
climbed off the boat and walked stiffly toward the cliff. Nosferatu began moving
again, closing the gap. The new guard was urinating onto the pebbles when
Nosferatu came upon him from behind. His hand clamped over the man's mouth,
stifling any cry, and he wrapped his other arm around the man's body, pinning
his arms to his sides. Nosferatu's

75


head darted forward, mouth open, and he sank his teeth into the man's neck,
tearing at the flesh.
   Blood. Human blood. As the man's struggles grew weaker, Nosferatu grew
stronger from the blood surging into his mouth. He completely drained the man in
less than a minute.
  Nosferatu slowly let go of the body, lowering it to the ground. He turned
toward the boat and considered the two sleeping men. His lust for blood was
strong and the urge to take another victim almost made him go forward, but he
held back. He needed them. As they would need him.
  Nosferatu took the body and threw it over one shoulder. He made his way south.
He crammed the body into a split in the cliff wall, covering it with rocks so it
couldn't be seen. Then he went to his tube and covered it completely. He took a
piece of cloth and wrapped it around his head, covering his eyes with a double
layer. Then he waited for dawn.
  When the sun came up, light penetrated the cloth, but it was filtered enough
for him to be able to see shapes and forms without pain. The boat did not appear
until almost noon. Nosferatu assumed the two survivors had spent the morning
searching in vain for their missing comrade. He waved as the boat grew closer
and he could see the two sailors arguing, already jittery from the unexplained
disappearance of one of their own and having difficulty handling the boat
lacking one man. Nosferatu reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of
gold coin and waved it, the sun reflecting off the precious metal.
  Greed overcame fear and the men drew the boat in closer, calling out in a
strange tongue. Nosferatu simply shook the gold, then pointed at himself and the
tube, then at their boat, then to the south. There was no mistaking

76


his desire. He pantomimed rowing, and that really got their attention as the
boat needed three men to move if the wind failed them, as it often would along
this coast— two men on the oars and one on the rudder.
  The two sailors brought the boat to a halt about fifty feet from shore, still
arguing. Nosferatu waited. Greed and reality won as he suspected it would. The
boat came closer to shore and he waded out to it. The sailors were obviously
asking him questions but he ignored them, waving a hand in front of where his
mouth was and shaking his head. He also pointed at his eyes, then at the sun,
shaking his head more vigorously.
  Then they pushed the boat back out into the swell, raised the short sail, and
began heading south, one of them manning the rudder, the other sitting on the
bench next to the left oar. Nosferatu sat next to the right oar, but for now no
rowing was needed. Nosferatu's eyes ached even though the turban wrapped around
his head blocked most of the sunlight. He wanted to hide under one of the
benches and sleep, but he knew it was too soon, the sailors too jittery, to do
this now.
  He pretended to sleep that night and the next day spent the time on the middle
bench, suffering the sunlight that forced its way through the cloth. Not long
after dawn they were becalmed and Nosferatu joined the other sailor in rowing.
It was agony but he continued in this way for eight days as they made their way
south. During that time he listened to the two sailors talk, picking up words
and phrases. He learned they were from a land far to the north, above the
opening to the Inner Sea along which Egypt lay, a country which they had never
heard of.
  They'd been blown far out to sea during a storm. It had taken them over a week
to make it back into sight of land and when they tried to make their way north
along the

77
west coast of Africa both the current and wind defeated them. They'd then made
the difficult decision to go with the flow and head south.
  Sketching with a piece of charcoal on the deck, Nosferatu drew for them a
rough representation of the continent as he remembered it. He drew a line around
the southern tip and up to the north. Lying, he indicated there was a way to
sail up the Red Sea and into the Middle Sea on which they had come, not that
they needed convincing as they had already given up on going back up the west
coast even before they met him.
  Two cycles of the moon after getting on board the boat, they passed the
southern tip of Africa and began making their way northward. Nosferatu pretended
to eat the scant food they offered him, but slipped it overboard when they
weren't watching. Nosferatu's eyes had adjusted slightly to the sun, but he
still kept them covered with the cloth. He felt the hunger inside growing. The
land grew more lush as they made their way up the coast and one day the sailors
proposed stopping to hunt. Nosferatu begged off, letting them go inland with
their bows and knives. Once they were out of sight, he also left the boat,
taking a different direction.
  He had to travel far to find a village, arriving just before dark. He waited
until the middle of the night before striking, taking down a warrior who came
out to investigate when the dogs barked at Nosferatu's approach.
  Nosferatu came back to the boat just before dawn to find his two comrades with
fresh kill and full of fear over his disappearance. He explained nothing,
keeping to his silence, even though he understood their language well now.
  Thus they continued. He killed and fed on humans five more times before they
rounded the horn of Somalia

78


and entered the Red Sea. After such a long sleep and a long journey, even
Nosferatu began to become anxious. He was nearing Nekhbet. When he saw the sands
of the Arabian Desert to his left, he knew it was time to leave the boat.
  He departed one night, leaving the two sailors alive, even though he had the
hunger. As he crossed the desert between the Red Sea and the Nile he slept
during the day, covering himself with sand to protect his eyes and skin from the
sun and moving at night. The third night he fed on a lone Bedouin. The next
night he spotted a camp of Bedouins, probably the group from which his earlier
victim had wandered.
  Nosferatu was stopped by a guard as he approached the cluster of tents. He
greeted the guard in the same manner he had all he met that he did not feed on—
with a hand raised, holding gold.
  The negotiations with the Bedouin chief were fast and simple. Nosferatu hired
a half dozen of the desert warriors for a full moon of service. No questions
were asked about what tasks were to be fulfilled or destinations. Along with the
six desert dwellers and their mounts, he also hired four extra camels. The next
evening, right after nightfall, they left the camp and headed west.
  On the fifth day the lead Bedouin in his group indicated they were near the
Nile.
  The moon was three-quarters full as Nosferatu climbed up the steep slope of a
large dune and caught his first glimpse of the heart of Egypt since he'd left.
He was staggered by what he saw. A massive pyramid built of stone and almost
five hundred feet high capped the Giza Plateau. It was flanked by two other
pyramids almost as large. In front of the Great Pyramid, where the Black Sphinx
had once lain in a depression, the ground had
79


been covered and there was a similar sphinx made of stone with a painted face.
Between the paws of the stone sphinx was a statue that Nosferatu recognized: It
was of Horus. A temple had been built in front of the large pyramid, with a long
causeway connecting the two. To the north, along the river, there was the glow
of a huge city.
  The six Bedouins stood behind him, swords in hand, awaiting his commands.
  Nosferatu stood still, taking in the changes, particularly the pyramids. There
were piles of stone at the base of the Great Pyramid, as if it were not
complete, or perhaps, Nosferatu mused, there had once been a facing on it that
had been stripped off for some reason. So much change in 650 years. It was quite
incredible considering how little change had occurred during his time imprisoned
along the Roads of Rostau.
  The real issue, though, was who ruled now? The sailors had been able to tell
him nothing of Egypt, their home being far to the west along the Inner Sea. They
had talked of an island kingdom ruled by a fearsome lord in the Middle Sea but
it had meant nothing to Nosferatu.
  Even in the deep desert, what happened in Egypt mattered nothing to the
Bedouins, who stayed away from the Nile and the rule of law there. To them it
was a place to avoid.
  Nosferatu could see people on the plateau, even though it was the middle of
the night. Soldiers on guard. Priests scurrying about. There were ships moving
on the Nile, carrying grain and other cargo.
  Nosferatu rode down the far side of the dune and to the Nile, where he spurred
his camel into water and crossed over, followed by his small party. On the east
bank, Nosferatu skirted the large temple, where armored

80


guards stood watch. He moved to the place he remembered, the secret riverbank
entry to the Roads of Rostau.
   He was surprised to find that the entryway was submerged, the level of the
river obviously having risen over the years. Nosferatu considered the change for
a few moments, then made a decision. He needed information before he took
precipitous action. He left four of the warriors with the camels, hidden among
some massive building blocks. He took the remaining two Bedouins with him
farther along the riverbank.
  The small stone hut was still there, huddled among dozens of others. The mark
was still in place above the entryway, faded with time, but visible to those who
knew to look for it. Nosferatu didn't bother knocking. He pushed aside the cloth
hanging in the doorway and entered without knocking, the two Bedouins right
behind.
  There were four people inside. A man and a woman sharing a pallet to his left;
a young girl sleeping on another slightly raised platform to the right, and a
young boy sleeping on the floor directly ahead. Nosferatu was across the room in
three steps. He snatched up the boy, hooking an arm around his neck and pressing
a blade against the flesh.
  The other three in the room were awakened by the noise. The man held his wife
back as she lunged for the boy whom Nosferatu held.
  "You are the Watcher?" Nosferatu asked. "The Wedjat?"
  The man was blinking sleep out of his eyes, fear slowly taking its place. "I
am Kajihi."
"The Watcher?"
"How do you know—"
"Tell me what you have seen," Nosferatu said.
"What? Who are you?"

81


  Nosferatu tightened his grip on the boy's neck, eliciting a yelp of pain. "I
ask the questions."
  "May they leave?" Kajihi asked, indicating his wife and daughter. "They will
go to a friend's. We cannot go to the Pharaoh's guards, as you may know, if you
know I am a Watcher."
" 'Pharaoh? " The word was unfamiliar to Nosferatu.
"He who rules here."
  Interesting, Nosferatu thought. That was not the name of one of the four
remaining Gods. Of course, that might be what one of them was called now. "A
man? Or a God?"
  Kajihi shrugged, relaxing slightly as he realized his intruder was interested
in information. "He appears to be the former. Although there are some who claim
he is a God. But each Pharaoh has died after a normal life span, so if they are
Gods, they only enjoy the benefits in the afterlife. The Pharaoh before this one
caught the water fever just like a man and died shortly afterward, just like a
man."
"How many Pharaohs have there been?"
  "The Great Pharaoh Tuthmosis, son of Amenophis, is the seventy-fourth Pharaoh
to rule and the fourth of the Eighteenth Dynasty."
  Seventy-four, Nosferatu thought with a shock as he did the math. Thousands of
years of human rule given their life span. Nosferatu felt a chill of unease.
"And the Gods? Where have they gone?"
"Who are you?"
  Nosferatu nodded, indicating for the two females to leave. Then he let go of
the boy. "Go with them," he ordered. He took a seat, indicating that Kajihi
should do the

82


same. The Bedouins flanked Kajihi, their swords at the ready, their faces
unreadable. "My name is Nosferatu."
  Kajihi's eyes widened. "You are the Undead. I was told of you by my father who
was told in turn by his father and down the line for many, many years. I thought
you were just a myth."
   "I have been away for a while," Nosferatu said. "Many years as you note. When
I last saw the plateau, there was only the Black Sphinx."
  "The Black Sphinx!" Kajihi was astounded. "The Black Sphinx is only spoken of
in whispers. Some say it never was. Some say perhaps the Great Sphinx that is on
the plateau was once painted black and gave rise to the legend."
  "There was a Black Sphinx and it was not made of stone but of some metal,"
Nosferatu confirmed, remembering Lilith's and Chatha's horrible deaths atop the
structure. "Most noble and imposing, much more than the stone image that sits on
top of it now."
"You are indeed from the First Age then."
  Nosferatu spread his hands, indicating he had no clue. "What age is this?"
  "The Eighteenth Dynasty of the Third Age of Egypt. The Age of the Rule of the
Pharaohs. The First Age is spoken of as legend. The Age when the Airlia Gods
themselves ruled."
  Nosferatu nodded. "Yes, they ruled. I saw them myself. I killed one of them
with these hands. So much for Gods. Who ruled in the Second Age?"
  "The Shadows of the Gods made in the image of Horus."
  Nosferatu knew Horus well, one of the six Airlia Gods, and his father. "And
what are Shadows?"
"Men who have minds of the Gods and are constantly

83


reborn. They are long gone although I have heard there is one who still wanders
the world, the Shadow of the God Aspasia, made to do his bidding while the God
himself sleeps."
  That made little sense to Nosferatu. "And now a man rules here?"
"Yes."
"What happened to the Gods?"
  "Some say they are still in the Roads of Rostau. Others say they've gone far
away. No one really knows. Not even the high priests, although they pretend to
know. Often they will point up to the sky, as if that is where the Gods have
gone."
  Or where they came from, Nosferatu thought, remembering what the strange
woman, Donnchadh, had told him when she freed him. "And the Shadows?"
  "Gone also, although, as I said, there is rumor that the Shadow of the great
god Aspasia is across the Red Sea in the wasteland of the Sinai. That he has
been there since the beginning of time. Waiting."
Nosferatu understood waiting. "Waiting for what?"
"No one knows."
   Gods, then Shadows, and now men. Nosferatu felt a surge of fear and hope.
Time had worked in his favor, but how much time? More than 650 years, that was
certain. "How long has it been since the First Age?" He had an idea how long the
humans had ruled here, but none about the Shadows of Horus.
  Kajihi spread his hands. "Over six thousand years according to the records
kept here by my family."
  Six thousand. Nosferatu felt as if he'd been hit in the chest. He'd been off
by about a factor of ten when he'd set the tube to wake him. A slight
miscalculation in terms of pressing the hexes, a massive one in terms of time.
Was

84


Nekhbet still alive? Was the influence of the Airlia Gods now little more than a
representation in a human called a Pharaoh?
  Nosferatu pointed at Kajihi. "You will take me to the Roads of Rostau. There
is something I must get."
   "The Roads are guarded. The Gods may be gone, but there are others about who
do their bidding. The Ones Who Wait. Guides. They keep the Atlantean truce. They
will not allow any disturbance of the truce."
  The world had indeed changed, Nosferatu thought. Six thousand years. If
Nekhbet was still living, was she sane? Could anyone survive that long in the
state they had put her with their mind intact? "Who are the Ones Who Wait? And
these Guides?"
  "The Ones Who Wait are like you, if what I was told about you is true. Half-
human, half-God. They serve the God Artad. I have never seen one, but my order
reports they are active. The Guides serve the God Aspasia. They are human but
they obey with more vigor and blind obedience than even the high priests. And as
I said, there is a belief that Aspasia's Shadow is nearby and can also control
the Guides. It is said he is a fearsome creature with little love for any other
living thing."
  Nosferatu rubbed his head. Even when hidden, the long hand of the Airlia Gods
still reached out and affected things. "Can you get me into the Roads?"
   "It is dangerous. And it is against my charter as a Watcher."
   "Your ancestor took me into the Roads a very long time ago," Nosferatu said.
"He thought it was part of doing his duty." He waited as Kajihi wrestled with
the problem. "Let me be more blunt. If you do not take me, I will kill you and
your family, then there will be no more Watcher here. How will that fulfill your
charter?"

85


"What is it you need from the Roads?"
"My love."
Kajihi frowned. "I do not understand."
   "My betrothed. She is buried there. I promised her I would return and I have.
And I am late. Very late. Taking me to the Roads will not upset the balance of
anything." Nosferatu rose to his feet, towering over the Watcher. "I have had
great patience, suffered much, and traveled far, but my patience is wearing
thin. Take me where I want to go. Now."
  Kajihi had jumped to his feet and he stepped back in fear as Nosferatu came
forward. The two Bedouin warriors closed in on either side of the Watcher.
  "The Roads are dangerous," Kajihi sputtered. "I have only been down there a
few times. I do not know if I can find—"
  "I'll find her. You just get me in there. One entry I knew of is now
underwater. The one along the Nile. The other was at the base of the Black
Sphinx. Is there another way in?"
  Kajihi nodded. "Yes. There are several. There is an entry at the base of the
stone sphinx behind the statue of Horus, but I cannot enter there. Also one
through the Great Pyramid."
"Can you get in that entrance?"
Kajihi nodded.
  "Take me. Now. No more words, Watcher. I have no more patience. If you do not
take me, I will kill you. And your family."
  Kajihi stood still for several moments, then seemed to diminish in size as his
shoulders slumped. He grabbed a gray cloak and tossed it to Nosferatu before
throwing one over his own shoulders. Then he got one for each of the Bedouins.
"Put these on and follow me."

86


  They left the hut and made their way to the large temple built along the shore
of the Nile. Just before the temple, Kajihi turned to the left and moved toward
the Great Pyramid, creeping in the shadow of a long stone causeway that
connected the two. They reached the large pile of limestone rubble at the base
of the massive pyramid.
  Briefly Nosferatu wondered what had become of Vampyr. Was he still alive after
so many years? And if so, where had he made his lair? Did his anger and hatred
still burn so brightly?
  "What happened here?" Nosferatu asked, as Kajihi paused.
  "According to Watcher records, shortly after the Great Pharaoh Khufu had the
pyramid built, he had the smooth limestone facing that had been put on it ripped
off. He also killed everyone who had ever been inside, sacrificing them to the
Gods."
   "That makes no sense—to destroy what you have just built."
  Kajihi shrugged. "Such is the way of Gods and Pharaohs. It is not for men to
understand." He pointed toward a dark opening about fifty feet up the pyramid.
"There."
"Are there no guards?"
   "Not outside. There is no need. Fear keeps people out. There are guards of a
sort on the inside, though, for those who would be foolish enough to overcome
their fear. Do as I do and we may survive."
  Nosferatu remembered the strange metal spider that had killed Mosegi. His hand
strayed to the knife at his belt although he knew it would do little good
against the creature. When he had entered so many years ago for his tube,
Kajilil had told him the gray cloak would help hide

87


him from the creature so he had to assume that was still true.
  Kajihi clambered up the large stone blocks toward the opening, Nosferatu and
the two Bedouins following. He could see clearly in the darkness, but his senses
were picking up something beyond what was visible.
Nekhbet.
  He felt her nearby presence as something palpable, emanating from the ground.
She was alive. Of that at least, he had no doubt. They entered the tunnel and
the presence grew stronger. The air was still and dry as they descended into the
Great Pyramid.
  He could hear Kajihi counting to himself. After perhaps a quarter mile the
Watcher abruptly halted. He placed his ring on a spot on the smooth rock wall
and a door appeared. "Hurry," Kajihi hissed.
  They passed through the door and Kajihi shut it behind them. "You are now in
the Roads," he informed them.
  Nosferatu slowly turned, facing one way in the stone corridor, then the other.
He had no doubt about which way to go. "This way."
  The other three followed as Nosferatu led them deeper along the Roads. They
came to a juncture and Nosferatu unhesitatingly turned to the right. Nekhbet was
close, very close. Nosferatu felt as if his chest would explode his heart was
beating so wildly.
  They turned another corner and he recognized the hallway through which he and
his five companions had escaped so many years ago. He broke into a run, the
others hustling to keep up when Kajihi suddenly halted and hissed a warning.
  Nosferatu almost ignored the Watcher, but he forced himself to halt. Kajihi
tapped his ear, indicating for him to

88


listen. Nosferatu cocked his head. Metal on stone. Coming closer. Kajihi lay
down, pressing against one side of the wall and throwing his cloak over his
body, indicating that they should do the same. Nosferatu forced himself to the
stone floor, draping the gray cloak over his body.
  The sound grew closer, moving more slowly. Nosferatu could visualize the
golden orb and black metal legs. His body tightened as the sound grew much
closer. It was next to them, then passing. The sound faded slowly and Nosferatu
twitched, anxious to move. He pulled aside the cloak and started to get to his
feet, but Kajihi reached out and grabbed him, shaking his head.
  Reluctantly Nosferatu once more buried himself under the cloak and waited.
Minutes of silence passed. Then he heard it once more. Metal legs on stone
walls. Coming their way. The creature came back down the corridor and passed
once more.
  As soon as the sound faded, Nosferatu was on his feet. There was no holding
him back. He ran down the tunnel and skidded to a halt outside the metal bars of
the cell. The gate was open and he pushed it aside, stepping in. One black tube
rested on a slab in his old cell, covered with millennia of dust. Sometime in
the past seven thousand years they'd moved Nekhbet back here.
  Nosferatu ran his hands lightly over the lid as if he could feel her flesh
instead of cold metal. Kajihi and the two Bedouins came into the cell and
watched him quietly, sensing the emotion pouring off of him. Nosferatu went to
the top of the tube and delicately wiped the dust from the glowing control
panel.
"We must hurry," Kajihi whispered.
  Much as he desired to open the tube and see his love, Nosferatu knew the
Watcher was right. Plus, dawn was not far off. He gestured and the two Bedouins
grabbed

89


hold of the ends. They lifted the tube off the platform. Kajihi was back in the
corridor, leading the way out. Nosferatu brought up the rear, his eyes on the
tube.
  They exited the Great Pyramid just as the first reddish hint of dawn was
showing in the east. Nosferatu lent a hand getting the tube down the giant
blocks of the pyramid to the surface of the plateau. They scurried along in the
concealment of the stone causeway until they reached the large pile of stone
blocks where the other four Bedouins waited.
  Nosferatu had them lash the tube to the two spare camels, protecting the end
still on the ground with a piece of heavy cloth. He turned to Kajihi, anxious to
be into the desert before the sun cleared the horizon. "Go back to your
Watching."


KNOSSOS, CRETE: 1450 B.C.


Seven girls and seven boys. Virgins all.
  The ship from Athens delivered the yearly tribute to the long stone dock that
extended from the port city of Iraklion into the harbor. Soldiers flanked the
chained youths and escorted them along the dock to the waiting wagons. They were
loaded on board and the small convoy made its way through the town, flickering
torches in the lead soldiers' hands lighting the way. Even though it was early
evening, not a person was about and store windows were shuttered. No one wanted
to gaze upon the doomed youths, for it was said the very sight of them brought
ill fortune.
  The wagons rolled into the hills, approaching the capital palace of Knossos.
It was a sign of the king's power that the palace was not surrounded by
defensive walls. The

90


Minoan Navy ruled the waves for many miles about Crete and any enemy would have
to get through that powerful force before it could even approach the island.
   On top of the tallest tower in the palace, a dark figure stood, gazing down
at the slowly approaching lights. To all he ruled, he was known as King Minos,
who held sway over Crete, and many of the surrounding Cycladic Islands. There
were those who said he was the son of Zeus and the Princess Europa. There were
none alive on the island who remembered when he had taken power, and the
whispers passed down said he had been in the palace for over 350 years. Some
said even longer. Thus the rumors of a God as his father.
Of course, it was true to an extent.
  Vampyr pulled back the hood covering his head and looked up at the stars. He
felt the lust for blood rising as the caravan carrying the tribute from Athens
came closer. He had learned to be careful over the years, to hide his feeding
from people. He took only one victim a month, in the secrecy of the Labyrinth he
had had built underneath the palace, away from the prying eyes of others. The
extra two he took on special occasions—one was the anniversary of Lilith's
death. The other was the anniversary of the date he had become king of Crete
over 350 years earlier.
  He had come there over five hundred years ago. After leaving Egypt with his
tube and Aspasia's Shadow's admonition, he had traveled about the edge of the
Mediterranean for two hundred years. He'd even gone inland, traveling into the
Black Sea and northward into Russia, spending many years exploring. He'd seen
much and learned much, but his hatred had not abated in the slightest.
  Finally, growing weary, he'd taken Aspasia's Shadow's advice and hidden his
tube in a cave along the coast of

91


Greece and climbed inside, going into the deep sleep. He'd awoken five hundred
years earlier. He'd traveled back to Egypt, where he learned that the Airlia had
disappeared and that Shadows had ruled. Then even the Shadows had given way to
men. He made plans to enter the Roads of Rostau and search out the four
surviving Airlia to slay them—if that was indeed where they slept—but Aspasia's
Shadow had appeared and Vampyr had been forced to leave his ancient land and go
back to wandering.
  He'd killed many humans over those years, many for sustenance and many more
for vengeance.
  He'd eventually realized that he needed power and leverage in the world of men
if he was ever going to strike back at the Gods and destroy Aspasia's Shadow.
He'd traveled to this island, where he slowly began taking command. First one
village, then another. Banding together disparate groups until finally the
island was one kingdom.
  He ruled through fear, which he had found to be the strongest of human
emotions. The slightest transgression against his reign was punished with
torture, then death. He had had every man who worked on the Labyrinth underneath
the palace executed after its completion so that none knew its secret ways but
he. The fate of the youths who were sent into its depths every year was the
subject of much conjecture among the populace. Some said a monster, half-man,
half-beast, lived under the palace and fed on the flesh of the youths. Close,
Vampyr mused as he watched the convoy approach. It was a rumor he did nothing to
contradict. A king who held sway over monsters was a powerful king indeed.
  Vampyr estimated that he needed forty more years of conquest and expansion
before his kingdom would be

92


powerful enough to challenge Egypt. While a long time for a human, it was but a
moment for Vampyr.
  The convoy had entered the palace and passed from sight below. Vampyr left the
turret and made his way down the stairs that wound around the interior of the
tower. He passed through ground level and continued to the roads he'd had built
underneath. Vampyr moved through rough, rock-hewn corridors, the workmanship
shoddy compared to that of the Roads of Rostau.
  The hunger grew in Vampyr as he got closer to the Labyrinth. He knew his
soldiers had already pushed the youths into the antechamber, which opened onto
four doorways. Each doorway led into the Labyrinth, but the youths didn't know
that. And each doorway opened inward but there was no handle on the other side.
For the first fifty years or so, Vampyr had watched the antechamber through a
peephole, interested to see how the youths would react. They always ended up
taking the doors. Sometimes all fourteen would go through the same one;
sometimes the group would splinter. But they all ended up in the Labyrinth.
  There were places in the Labyrinth where food would be lowered daily, allowing
the youths to feed. There were also two wells. And once a month Vampyr would
hunt, taking a tender, young neck and the fresh blood. One by one they would
fall to him while those that survived grew ever more frantic.
None had ever escaped.
Tonight he would take the first.
  Vampyr moved to a large stone inset in at the end of the corridor. Putting his
hand in the right spot, he pushed and the balanced rock turned, opening up a
slight space on the left. Vampyr slid through, closing the rock behind him. He
was in the Labyrinth.

93


Vampyr stood perfectly still, listening.
  There was a strange noise, one he had not heard before. From beneath him. From
the earth itself.
  Vampyr staggered as the stone floor shifted under his feet. A tremendous roar
filled the air. Vampyr looked up in time to see a large stone come crashing down
on him.

94

CHAPTER   4


AFRICA:   1450   B.C.


Nekhbet Nosferatu sensed her presence in the tube being dragged behind the two
camels as strongly as he felt the sun beating down on the cloth wrapped around
his body to protect his skin and eyes. They pushed on, into the Great Desert,
leaving Giza behind. The Bedouins were keeping a southerly course, the Nile far
off to their left, the Great Desert extending in all other directions. One
Bedouin followed behind the party with a palm branch, sweeping away their
tracks.
Kajihi had said nothing as Nosferatu and his Bedouins headed to the southwest,
into the desert. As soon as they were out of sight he hurried back to his hut.
His wife and children were still gone and would stay away until he sent for
them. He pulled out a piece of thick papyrus paper. He wrote, telling of
Nosferatu's visit. He rolled the papyrus and stuffed it into a piece of bamboo,
sealing each end with wax that he imprinted with the Watcher crest from his
ring. He then placed the tube on top of four others, his reports of activity in
Egypt for the past fifteen years. Soon it would be time to forward them to
England, to Watcher headquarters.
As he tied the tubes together he sensed a presence. He
95


looked up to see a man—no, not a man—a creature in human form standing over him.
He knew who it was even though they had never met before.
   Kajihi bowed his head, refusing to meet the stare of the other.
"Kajihi, the Watcher, the Wedjat."
Kajihi nodded. "Aspasia's Shadow."
  "You have had a visitor." Aspasia's Shadow sat down cross-legged on the dirt
floor. He looked very much like Nosferatu, tall, thin, with an evil grin. The
major difference was that Aspasia's Shadow had jet-black hair instead of red.
"How did you know?"
"Someone has been in the Roads of Rostau with you."
Kajihi nodded.
"Who?"

"Nosferatu."
  "Ah, so the legend is true. I remember when Isis and Osiris were killed. Two
of the brood who committed the crime escaped. I've met one several times.
Vampyr. But that was a, very long time ago," he added, almost to himself. "What
did Nosferatu want?"
"He took a black tube. He said his love was in it."
  Aspasia's Shadow nodded. "Nekhbet. Where did he go?"
"Into the desert to the south and west."
"Interesting."
  Kajihi kept his eyes downcast, hoping the creature would leave, also knowing
it was just as likely that Aspasia's Shadow would kill him.
  "What did you write?" Aspasia's Shadow indicated the tubes.
"A report of recent events."
"That will be so useful," Aspasia's Shadow said with a

96


laugh.   The smile disappeared and Aspasia's Shadow leaned over Kajihi. "Watcher."
Kajihi   reluctantly looked up. "Yes?"
  "The   Roads of Rostau are not for you or the Undead. Do you understand?"
"Yes."   But Aspasia's Shadow was gone.



To the southwest, the last things on
Nosferatu's mind were Watchers, reports, or Aspasia's Shadow. The sun was well
over the horizon, shooting beams of light across the desert. He wrapped another
turban around his face, further protecting his skin and eyes. They rode through
the day, putting distance between them and Giza. By noon, Nosferatu had triple-
wrapped his head, practically cutting out all light, allowing himself to be led
by the Bedouins deeper into the desert known as the Great Sand Sea. When he
questioned them about how far it was to the other side, they always shook their
heads and indicated the next destination was an oasis they knew of. Beyond that,
they didn't say anything. He realized their concept of travel was much different
than his and he didn't know enough of their language to make himself understood.
  As the day wore on, Nosferatu rode in a daze, directly behind Nekhbet's tube.
He had no doubt she was in there and that she was alive, although he had little
clue as to what condition he would find her in when he opened the tube.
  At his urging they rode straight through the night and finally halted just
before the next dawn at the small oasis. Nosferatu felt the hunger, but he knew
he needed the aid of the Bedouins more than he needed to feed. The desert people
were a strange race, having nothing to do with

97


Egypt or the Gods, or, now, the Pharaohs, preferring to live in a land where
survival was an everyday struggle. To them, distance and time all related to
water holes like this.
  As the sun rose, Nosferatu lay next to Nekhbet's tube, covering himself with
blankets despite the heat. He placed both hands against the side of the tube.
Surprisingly, the metal was cool. He slowly fell into unconsciousness, the
effort of the last few days and the growing hunger forcing his mind and body to
retreat into itself.
  He woke at dusk. He pushed aside the blankets and unwrapped the turbans from
his head. It was cool, the sand giving up the day's heat, a light breeze blowing
in from the deep desert. The Bedouins were cooking a meal on the other side of
the small water hole, ignoring Nosferatu and the tube. When complete darkness
fell, Nosferatu went to the head of the tube. The control panel was alive with a
glow that grew brighter as the sky grew darker.
   Nosferatu's hands trembled. From hunger, from anticipation. He tried to
control the shake, but couldn't. He knew he should wait. Opening the tube there
and then would do no good. They must get across the desert. But she was there,
so close, only the lid between the two of them after so many years apart, after
so many years so close.
  He tapped on the hexes. With a hiss, the lid cracked open and slowly swung up.
   She was as beautiful as the first time he had seen her brought into the cell
under the Giza Plateau. Long flowing red hair splayed about her head. Smooth
white skin stretched over high cheekbones. Red eyebrows cut across her lower
forehead above her closed eyes. She was swathed in the same white robe he had
seen her entombed in. Her pale lips were slightly parted, revealing perfect
white teeth.

98


   Nosferatu placed his hand on her forehead, just below the metal band. Her
skin was cool to his touch. He moved his hand to just over her mouth. He felt
nothing. There was no rise or fall to her chest, but he knew she was alive. The
metal crown was still set on her head and he carefully reached in and removed
it.
  He knew how to bring her to full life. In the same way she had given him power
so long ago.
  But he was weak. He had the hunger. He looked up, across the water hole at the
half dozen Bedouins. A muscle on the side of his face twitched. His heart was
racing. He ran his fingers over Nekhbet's face, marveling at the smoothness, the
coolness, longing for the heat he had imagined for so long, that they had
discussed for centuries.
  He knew better. Patience had been chained into him. To act just then would be
a mistake.
  Nosferatu stepped away from the tube. He began walking around the water hole.
All six of the Bedouins stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Despite
his weakened state, the presence of Nekhbet gave him power unlike any he had
ever known, even when he had drunk from Osiris himself. The six blades, the
blades with which they had killed Osiris, were strung about his belt.
   One of the Bedouins, the leader, was the first to realize the danger, drawing
his scimitar. The blade didn't even clear the scabbard as Nosferatu drew and
threw the first dagger, the blade hitting the leader's neck square on. The man
staggered back, hands grasping at the handle. Nosferatu threw the second blade
with his other hand as he pulled the third. Four of the Bedouins were down
before they could mount a defense. The last two had their swords out as he threw
the fifth dagger.

99


The man blocked the oncoming missile and charged Nosferatu.
The sixth ran away.
  Nosferatu dodged the man's wild strike, stepped in close, and wrapped the
Bedouin in his arms. He clamped down on the man's neck, tearing through flesh to
blood. As it had always been, the struggle was one-sided as Nosferatu gained
strength and his victim lost it. Out of the corner of his eye, even as he drank,
Nosferatu watched the sixth man running—keeping track. The Bedouin tried to leap
onto one of the camels, but his fear made the animal skittish and he was unable
to mount it.
  Nosferatu drank, knowing he needed to break free and capture the last man.
Love won out against hunger and he threw the victim from him and ran toward the
sixth man, who was by then running up the side of a dune. With the energy from
drinking, Nosferatu easily caught him and dragged him down. The man fought, but
a blow to the side of his head rendered him unconscious.
  Nosferatu dragged the man back to the side of Nekhbet's tube. He lifted the
Bedouin and slid him into the tube next to his love. With a dagger, he punctured
the man's neck, quickly sliding a finger in to keep the blood from spurting out.
He dropped the dagger and turned Nekhbet's head toward the man.
  He waited, letting a little blood seep out. The first sign of life was a
slight flare of her nostrils. The head moved ever so slightly the mouth opening.
Her eyes were still closed but she could scent the blood, feel its proximity. As
her open mouth closed on the wound, Nosferatu removed his hand, letting the life
force flow forth.
  Nekhbet drained the man in less than a minute. Nosferatu marveled to see the
glow come to her cheeks, her chest begin to rise and fall with steady breaths.
Her

100


eyes flashed open, fixing on his. She smiled, red-stained lips parting to reveal
crimson-covered teeth. He leaned over and kissed her, blood on blood.



Eight das. And still no end in sight to the desert. Nosferatu looked over the
moonlit sand, the same view they'd had every night since he'd brought Nekhbet
back. She was at his side on one of the camels, another two animals behind them,
dragging her tube. He knew she was weakening. He cursed himself for not keeping
more of the Bedouins alive so they could feed again. He had anticipated being
out of the desert in a day or two and able to hunt. But there was nothing out to
hunt. The only living thing he'd seen since leaving the site of the massacre was
a lone bird far off in the distance one evening.
  His mind was feverish with hunger. He had to fight to convince himself that
they were actually moving forward and not simply marching in the same spot night
after night. He kept them oriented by the position of the stars, steadily moving
to the south. How long could such desolation go on? He knew the Nile was to the
east. Where there was water there would be people to feed on. But Egypt's reign
extended far down that strip of water and the long hand of the Airlia Gods
reached down the blue waterway also.
  The days, though, were bliss. Lying next to Nekhbet in her tube, talking,
touching, and feeling each other's closeness. Even the intense heat blazing into
the tube was tolerable to be close to his love.
  But if they did not feed soon, he knew they would run out of energy and be
consumed by the desert.
"Feed from me and go on."
Nosferatu was startled by Nekhbet's words. They

101


didn't just intrude on his dark thoughts, the words assaulted his mind. "Never
again."
  Nekhbet brought her breast next to his and reached out, touching his arm. "You
freed me from the living sleep. That is love enough."
  Nosferatu had not wanted to know about the years she had been in the tube and
she had said nothing yet. "Was it bad?"
  "I could only lie there and think. I could not move even though twice every
twenty-four hours the wraps on my body did as they had done when we were
imprisoned together, working my muscles—it was the only way I knew the passage
of time.
   "At first I thought I would go mad. But then I started remembering all we had
talked of. And I thought of those conversations." She smiled. "And then I kept
them going. I would try to think of what you would say. And then I would reply.
We had the most wonderful talks. I would also invent places. That we would visit
together. Beautiful places."
  Nosferatu was silent. His time in the tube before his escape had been horrible
indeed, but at least he had been able to sleep almost half the time. And he
could always look forward to the daily feeding when he would see Nekhbet. She
had had nothing to look forward to and been unable to sleep for over six
thousand years. A time he had spent in darkness and ignorance. He spurred the
camel.
   "We will make it out of this desert together. I promise you that."
  Nekhbet smiled sadly once more, but her head was shaking ever so slightly.
"You do not believe me. You saved me from something worse than death. I would
welcome becoming part of the desert. And I have had the last seven nights and
days with you. That is worth a lifetime."

102


  "We will go forward together or perish together," Nosferatu said simply.
  But on the next night he knew it would be their last. They were expending too
much energy with nothing to replenish their stores. Perhaps they could go into
Nekhbet's tube and set the device to put them to sleep for a millennium or two
and hope the land had changed by then. But there was only one crown in there and
one set of wraps.
   "Feed on me, then put me into the deep sleep in my tube," Nekhbet said. "It
is the only way we will manage it."
  Just before dawn he draped cloths over the tube to protect it from the direct
rays of the sun and climbed inside with Nekhbet. They passed the day holding
each other and whispering of a future in a land that was green and full of life,
one where they did not have to worry about the Airlia Gods swooping down out of
the sky and destroying them.
  As the temperature went down in the tube, they knew darkness was not far off.
And that Nekhbet did not have the strength to ride on. He sensed she would not
even have the energy to lift herself out of the tube.
   "We must have a plan for the future," Nekhbet finally said.
   "We have been talking—" Nosferatu began, but she hushed him with a light
touch of her finger on his lips.
  "We have been fantasizing. The real world is much harsher. You have told me
there are those out there who would kill us. The Ones Who Wait. Guides. Even the
Gods who made us and hate us lurk somewhere, I am sure. I've waited long enough.
I want to sleep. To truly rest. To wait for the time when we can be free. And
there is this also—-" She halted.
"What?" Nosferatu prompted.

103


  "I have been drained far too many times," Nekhbet said. "Without the blood of
the Gods, like we took from Osiris, I have aged. Not as fast as a human, but
faster than you, my love."

   "I do not know where the Gods are," Nosferatu said, understanding what she
was saying.
  "I know. That will be your task. If you love me, you will take responsibility.
You will be the one who watches and waits to bring me back when we can have a
life together and when I can drink from a God."
  Nosferatu knew she was right. His plan had been shortsighted. If they were to
have a life together, he would have to envision time much differently. He held
her tightly, wasting precious hours of darkness.
   She gingerly unwrapped his arms from around her body and whispered, "Now.
Drink from me one last time."
"You said—"
   "One last time," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It will not
matter since I will go into deep sleep, but it will give you the strength you
need, and it is the closest we can be."
  He pulled aside the cloth from around her neck and touched the shunt with his
lips. The first trickle of blood sent a surge of energy into his body. He only
took a little, enough to keep him going for another couple of days, then he
stopped. He climbed out of the tube and looked down on Nekhbet. Her eyes were
half-closed and unfocused, her skin pale. He prepared her, putting the wraps on
her legs and arms.
  With the stars shining down on him, Nosferatu stood over the tube. "Good-bye,
my love. I will awaken you when we can freely walk the world together."
  Nekhbet's lips twitched in a weak smile. She didn't even have the energy to
speak. Nosferatu slowly closed

104


the lid. Then he went to the control panel. He touched the hexes, directing the
alien technology of the tube to put her into the deep sleep he'd been in.
  He attached the tube to the ropes connected to the camels' saddles. Then he
mounted his own camel and continued the trek south. He felt the isolation of the
desert, the utter loneliness. Nekhbet's aura was so muted he could hardly sense
her.
  By dawn, nothing had changed. Nosferatu slept next to the tube, covered in
robes. As soon as the sun began to set, he rose and resumed the journey. Just
after midnight he rode to the top of a high dune and paused as he peered to the
south. There appeared to be a silver mist on the horizon. He didn't know what it
was, but it wasn't the same view he'd had for the past ten nights. Any change
had to be for the better.
  He pushed the mounts forward, the two camels dragging the tube struggling to
keep up with him. After an hour the mist seemed no closer, and Nosferatu began
to fear it was an illusion. Even after several more hours the silver apparition
still hovered over the horizon, but lower and closer, he saw a dark line on the
ground. Just before dawn the line was close and he knew it indicated vegetation—
the edge of the desert. And where there was plant life there would be people.
And where there were people, there would be blood.


KNOSSOS,   CRETE: 1450 B.C.


  It was completely dark. As black as the inside of his tube. Vampyr turned his
head to and fro, trying to find any light, while his hands explored the large
stone that lay across his thighs, pinning him in place. How long had he

105


been unconscious? He had no idea, but the hunger was gnawing at him.
  He tried with all his superhuman might to move the stone off his legs but to
no avail. His legs didn't feel injured, but he couldn't move them. After several
more attempts to free himself, he laid his head back on the stone floor and
closed his eyes.
  Vampyr had no idea how long he stayed like that, trapped in his own Labyrinth.
Days at least. Perhaps a week. The hunger grew stronger with each hour that
passed. He tried several times to free himself, each attempt draining him of
energy.
   Sometimes he thought he heard voices, but in his weakened state he wasn't
sure if they were real or delusions. His soldiers didn't know where he was and,
even if they did, he knew they would not come for him. Ruling by fear had its
disadvantages.
  There was a noise and Vampyr turned his head, straining to hear. Something was
moving in the dark, coming slowly closer. He heard voices and now he was sure
they were real. Young voices, speaking Greek.
"Help me," Vampyr cried out in the same language.
There was total silence in response.
   "I know the way out," Vampyr yelled. "If you help me, I will get you out of
here."
  Vampyr couldn't make out the whispered words the youths exchanged. He knew
they had to be hungry and scared. He sniffed, picking up their scent. He felt
the hunger surge, but he fought to control it.
"Who are you?" a fearful voice queried.
   "A caretaker of the tunnels," Vampyr lied. "I know the passages. I will help
you escape."
  There was more whispering and Vampyr reined in his impatience. What choice did
they think they had even to

106


be discussing it? One of the youths was crying, a girl, and someone hushed her
angrily.
  A decision apparently made, he could hear the youths making their way toward
him in the darkness. He called out several times so they could find him. He
directed them to the stone across his thighs. With their help, he was able to
push it off. He staggered to his feet. He knew the exit from the Labyrinth was
right behind him.
  The blood scent of the fourteen youths all around him was overpowering.
  Vampyr reached out and grabbed the closest, a young girl. He wrapped one hand
over her mouth while he tore into her neck with his teeth. He savored the blood
flowing into his mouth even as he heard the leader of the youths just a few feet
away demand he show them the way out. Vampyr slowly backed up, the girl in his
arms, unseen in the darkness. His back hit the swinging stone and he passed
through into the tunnel beyond.
  He pressed the stone shut while he finished draining the girl. He lowered her
body to the floor and turned, making his way back the way he had come so many
days before. The torches that lined the corridor had burned out and he picked
his way carefully, several times having to step over stones knocked loose by the
earthquake.
  After several minutes he saw a glimmer of light ahead and knew he was
approaching ground level. The light grew stronger and he reached the wooden door
leading to the palace. The frame around the door had buckled and he could see
starlight through the cracks. With a mighty shove, he yanked it open and walked
into the courtyard.
  The palace was destroyed. What had taken over seventy-five years to build had
been destroyed.
  Vampyr slowly turned, taking in the ruins. He sniffed the air and his nose
confirmed what he had suspected—

107


not only was the palace destroyed, it was abandoned. Centuries of work building
an empire undone in one moment.
  Vampyr wandered through the remnants of his once magnificent palace. There
were bodies here and there, some killed by the earthquake, others in the
fighting afterward. The palace had been looted and stripped bare— even his
throne had been stolen.
  Vampyr went behind the throne room, to a secret passageway hidden by a
rotating stone similar to the one leading to the Labyrinth. He passed through,
then down a set of stone stairs to a thick wooden door, which he unlocked with a
key hanging from a chain around his neck. He entered, locking the door behind
him. Inside the chamber, set on a stone pedestal, was his black tube. He crawled
into it, pulling the lid shut.
Vampyr slept for fourteen straight days, recovering.
  On the fifteenth night, he arose. He left his lair and went back to the
Labyrinth to feed. Catching another of the youths was easy, as they were slowly
starving to death. Sated from the two feedings in two weeks, Vampyr went back to
the surface to ponder his future, leaving the twelve surviving Greek youths
trapped in the Labyrinth without a thought.
  The tall tower had been destroyed in the earthquake. He sat on the pile of
rubble that was all that was left of it and looked about. He could see smoke
from fires slowly rising into the air. He had kept a tight leash on the people
of Crete for over a century. He was enough of a realist to understand that leash
could not be put back on.
  He went below the palace to his hidden tube chamber. He barred the door and
climbed inside. He set the control panel as he had watched Aspasia's Shadow do,
except adjusting the time for a shorter amount. Then he shut the lid on his
ruined empire.
108


AFRICA:   1450   B.C.


  Nosferatu had been forced to leave Nekhbet's tube for three days while he
ranged the edge of the jungle in search of blood. On the third night he came
upon a small hunting party and turned the tables on them over the course of the
next two nights, taking down four of their number, a pair each night, to feed
on.
   Gorged, he returned to where he'd left Nekhbet's tube. He knew he could wake
her and feed her human blood, but then they would be back where they were
before. She would still age more rapidly than Nosferatu because she'd been more
completely drained of her original half-Airlia blood more than he. He needed the
blood of the Gods, and that was not possible just then.
  The camels had refused to go forward shortly after entering the jungle.
Nosferatu had been forced to release them so they could go back to their beloved
desert. He slept next to the tube that day, robes and blankets covering him, the
noise of the daytime jungle all around. When darkness fell he packed up all he
had, tying everything to the top of the tube. Then he grabbed hold of the
harness, looping the straps over his shoulders, and leaned into it.
  Nosferatu made it a half mile into the jungle that first night.
  The second night he did slightly better, covering almost a mile.
  The third night he quickly fed, got back in harness, and pushed forward into
deepest, darkest Africa for another mile.
   And so he moved south, pulling his love behind him, blazing a narrow trail
through the thick jungle.
  After a month he passed along a ridgeline and an opening in the jungle gave
him a view of the land to the south.

109


Nosferatu came to a halt, staring at the vista. Mountains with their peaks
covered in white clouds filled the southern horizon. He realized they were what
he had seen from the desert so long ago.
  Nosferatu looked left and right. The mountains stretched in both directions.
He assumed there was a way around, and his inclination was to the right, to the
west, as he needed to get to that coast eventually. But how far would it be to
get around the range? Would there be more desert? Nosferatu stepped back,
releasing the pressure from the harness. He had calluses on his shoulder where
the leather bands had rubbed for so long. His body was hard, all muscle.
  It had been four days since he'd fed, and he was burning energy at a high
rate. He realized he would never be able to pull Nekhbet's tube across another
desert, even a small one. The mountains ahead promised to be an extremely
difficult endeavor.
  And what did it matter, he realized, if he did get her to the Skeleton Coast?
So they could sleep next to each other every day, while he waited for the time
to bring her back?
  Nosferatu looked at the peaks. He focused on the center one, a mountain
slightly apart from the others. Leaning into the straps, he headed toward it.
  He reached the base in a week, surprised to find himself in the midst of swamp
and marshes. He splashed his way through, the going actually easier where he
could partially float the tube. Then he reached a place where the watery
landscape gave way as the ground sloped up. He began the arduous task of pulling
the tube upslope. He wondered if the peaks were the source of the Nile as
streams splashed down the rocky terrain around him. It was certainly the
strangest place he'd ever been. At one

110


point he passed through a bizarre level on the slopes where monstrous plants
grew among the rocks, some over ten or twenty times the normal size. Nosferatu
picked up a sense of the primeval about the place, as if it had been forgotten
in some hole in time, while the world around it had progressed.
  After ten days, most of the vegetation fell behind as he passed above the tree
line. The terrain now was the exact opposite of what it had been. A few bushes
struggled to grow, clinging to wind-scoured rocks. He was in the mist now, able
to see only a short distance ahead. Several times he had to retreat and try to
find a different way as he ran into slopes that were too steep to pull the tube
up.
  Twice he had to abandon Nekhbet's tube and make the climb down to the more
temperate zone to hunt the villagers who lived at the base of the mountains.
Each feeding cost him a four-day round-trip and almost wasn't worth the effort
by the time he climbed back up.
  Soon he was in snow, the whiteness blinding as he pulled the tube upward.
Finally, he could go no farther. There was no trail and he would have to climb
hand over hand to go higher. Nosferatu rested the next day, then spent the
evening searching the mountainside.
   On the third night, he found a small cave, more a crack in the side of the
mighty mountain that extended about twelve feet in, but was only waist high. The
fourth night he moved Nekhbet's tube into the cave, shoving it ahead of him
until it touched the end.
  He spent the next day sitting cross-legged at the foot of the tube, swathed in
robes and cloaks taken from victims to protect him from both the cold and the
white mist light. He was tired and the hunger was strong. But he did not want to
leave. Though he had slept for thousands of years and some things had changed,
the world still was

111

not a safe place for Nekhbet and him. How many more years would have to pass
before he came back and recovered and revived her so they could walk the world
together?
  Nosferatu felt the cold hand of loneliness begin to grip his heart.
  He spent another day and night and the following day at the foot of her tube
until finally he knew the time had come. He leaned over and placed his hands on
the cold metal. His lips lightly touched the smooth surface with a last kiss,
then he slid out of the hole and began piling rocks in it, covering the tube.
When he was done, there was no sign of the hole, just a small clutter of rocks
along the side of the mountain.
  "I will return," he whispered. Then Nosferatu turned and headed downslope,
leaving his love behind on the mountainside.

112

CHAPTER   5


EGYPT:    671   B.C.
Vampyr watched the plumes of gray smoke rise in the night air. The horizon in
the direction of the Giza Plateau glowed blood-red from the hundreds of fires
the invaders had set. Even at this distance he could hear the cries of the
wounded and the pleas of prisoners prior to summary execution by the invading
Assyrians.
The Third Age of Egypt was over.
  Vampyr knew there were battles raging in other places throughout the kingdom.
The third Pharaoh of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty, Taharqa, still had forces under
his command and was slowly giving way to the south, continuing a war that had
been going on for fifty years and ranged in scope from Palestine to Ethiopia.
Chaos was rampant, and the opportunity for which Vampyr had waited so long
finally presented itself.
   He moved quickly, running across the desert sands toward the east and the
plateau. He'd followed the western flank of the Assyrian Army, staying far out
in the desert, as it closed on Giza. He hoped in all the turmoil to steer clear
of Aspasia's Shadow if he was about.
  As he crested a dune, Vampyr saw the plateau. The three pyramids were
silhouetted by flames from the wooden temples and other structures that dotted

113


the area. Vampyr headed directly for the river area, but the Watcher's hut was
empty. Hiding, Vampyr had no doubt. He grabbed a gray cloak from a peg near the
door and left the hut, throwing the Watcher's cloak over his shoulders.
  Vampyr ran to the edge of the Nile, moving along until he saw an old weather-
and waterworn stone pillar. Vampyr looked around and spotted a large rock. He
picked it up and grasped to it his chest. Then he jumped into the river.
  The weight of the stone quickly pulled him under. Even in the dark water he
could see relatively well and he spotted the opening for the Roads of Rostau. He
let go of the stone and pulled himself toward the opening, only to find that the
water of the Nile was streaming into the opening with such force, that he was
immediately sucked in. He was pushed along with the current, tumbling against
the smooth stone walls.
  Vampyr spread his arms and legs wide, pressing against the walls of the
tunnel. His left hand slipped into a side opening and his fingers clawed at the
edge, grabbing hold and bringing him to a halt. It took all of his strength to
pull himself into the side opening against the force of the current. He was in
another tunnel, one where the water was still. Lungs bursting, Vampyr swam
forward, not sure at all what direction he was going in.
  He popped to the surface, gasping for air, looking about. There was a ledge
about two feet above his head where the tunnel he was in opened up. He realized
he had diverted into a shaft that went upward and he must have achieved the
surface level of the Nile. He reached up and pulled himself into the chamber.
There was a minute bit of light given off by a thin strip that ran around the
top edge of the chamber, not enough for a

114


human to pick up, but enough for Vampyr's half-alien eyes to see his
surroundings. The chamber was twenty feet square with a door in one wall.
Dripping, Vampyr went to the door and walked into a corridor. He sniffed and
picked up the faint scent of humans. He turned in their direction.
  He found the Watcher and his family camped inside the Great Pyramid entrance
to the roads, a stone guarding the outside opening. They were huddled in the
darkness and did not see or hear him approaching. He saw an old man, an old
woman, and two grown sons. He had no desire to negotiate. He walked right up to
the family, grabbed the old man, and tore his throat out.
   Screams echoed in the darkness as one of the sons tried to light a torch and
the mother and other son yelled for the father. When the torch came alive, it
revealed Vampyr holding the eldest male in his arms, drained of blood and life.
Vampyr threw the body to the floor and glared at the three survivors.
  "I will kill all of you unless you take me where I want to go."
  The son with the torch had a dagger in his other hand and charged Vampyr with
a yell. Moving faster than the young man could have anticipated, Vampyr snatched
the dagger from his attacker's hand. Vampyr hit the young man in the chest with
an open palm, sending him tumbling back, the torch flying from his hand. In the
flickering light, Vampyr took a threatening step forward. He pointed at the one
who had held the torch.
  The young man got to his feet. "You are one of the creatures. The Undead." He
looked at his father's body. "He warned me about you." He turned to his mother
and brother. "Stay here. I will be back."
The old woman took no notice, throwing herself on

115


the body of her slain husband and letting loose with an ululating wail that
echoed down the tunnel. The younger brother went to console his mother.
  "Your name?" Vampyr asked as he nudged the older brother away from the
spectacle and into the Roads.
"Kajin of the line of Kaji the Watcher."
  "You people are like rats," Vampyr said, as they continued, the mother's cries
chasing them.
  "And what do you consider yourself?" Kajin demanded.
  Vampyr did not answer. "I want to know where the Gods sleep. And where the
Grail is kept."
  "You cannot get to the Grail," Kajin said. "The key was taken away from here a
long time ago. And where the Gods • sleep is guarded by a terrible creature. You
cannot enter."
"Take me to the Grail first anyway."
  Kajin shrugged. They wove their way deeper into the rock, Kajin counting steps
and intersections to himself. Finally, he halted and turned to what appeared to
be a blank wall. He placed a medallion that hung around his neck against a point
on the wall. The outline of a doorway appeared and the door slid open.
  Kajin and Vampyr walked in. Vampyr halted on a narrow ledge overlooking a huge
cavern. Light that hurt Vampyr's eyes reflected down from a five-meter orb
overhead. The far end of the cavern was a half mile away and the walls, which
Vampyr recognized, were curved. When last he had seen them, they had been open
to the light of the sun and stars. A hundred feet below was something else
Vampyr had last seen under an open sky: the Black Sphinx.
  "The Hall of Records," Kajin said. "The Grail is within. The Ark and sword,
though, are gone."
"The Ark? What sword? Who took them?"

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  "When the Israelites rebelled, a woman and man came here. They knew the
tunnels. They were able to get into the Black Sphinx, as they had their own key
with them. They took the Ark and the Grail, and the great sword Excalibur, and
left, joining the Israelites in their Exodus. Forty years later, one of my order
came here with the Grail and put it back inside. Then he left with the key and
went far away. I do not know any more than that."
  Vampyr had never heard of this Ark or the sword Excalibur. He suspected the
man and woman who had come here were the same that had freed him so many years
ago—Donnchadh and Gwalcmai. Troublemakers. Trying to upset the order of things,
something Vampyr could understand quite well. The woman had said she hated the
Airlia Gods, and that was also something Vampyr felt a kinship to.
   Stairs cut out of the rock itself led down to the floor on which the Sphinx
rested. Its paws extended almost sixty feet in front of the head, which rose
seventy feet above the floor. The body stretched one hundred and eighty feet
back from the head, making the whole thing almost three hundred feet long.
Between the paws was a statue about three yards tall, which Vampyr recognized—a
statue of Horus, one of the six original Airlia.
   "You have no idea where your order hid the key?" To have the Grail so close
yet be unable to get to it grated on him.
"None. He who took it never returned."
  Vampyr cursed. He believed the Watcher, as it was what he would have done.
"Take me to where they sleep."
"It is guarded."
"Take me there."
"You will not—"

117


"Now."
  Kajin's shoulders slumped in resignation. He led the way, moving through the
tunnels. Three times he opened hidden doors. They were going deeper into the
Roads than Vampyr had ever been.
  Kajin paused. "The way beyond is guarded by the golden spider. We can use the
cloaks to hide from it, but if we move, it will come to us."
"How far is it to where they sleep?" Vampyr asked.
  "The corridor beyond goes straight for twenty feet, then splits into two
branches. The Gods sleep to the right. To the left is another duat, directly
underneath the Great Pyramid."
"What is in that duat?"
  "A horrible weapon that my father said could destroy the entire plateau."
  "Is there another door to the chamber where the Gods sleep?"
"No. This is the last door."
  "You will open this door, then you will go to the left, toward the weapon,"
Vampyr said. "If you do that, I will let your brother and mother live."
  Comprehension came over Kajin's face in a cascade of emotion. Fear, anger,
then resignation. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because you have no choice."
  Kajin put the medallion to the wall and another hidden door appeared and slid
open.
"Go," Vampyr ordered.
  Kajin took a deep breath, pulled his gray cloak tight about his body, then
entered. Vampyr watched him as he went straight, then turned left. Vampyr
remained perfectly still, and his patience was rewarded as the strange glowing
gold creature with black metal legs

118
appeared, scuttling across the intersection from right to left.
  Vampyr then sprinted into the lowest level. He turned right and the tunnel
descended. He saw a red glow ahead and skidded to a halt when he came into a
large chamber. There were six platforms on which rested black tubes. Vampyr ran
to the closest. The lights on the control panel were dark. He realized this tube
had been either Isis's or Osiris's and was empty. He moved to the next. Also
dark.
  The third was lit. Vampyr tapped in the commands shutting the tube down. The
screen went dark. He moved to the next three, doing the same thing.
  A scream echoed into the chamber from the corridor outside.
  Vampyr saw a rack of six spears, the ones the Gods had used against him and
the others so long ago. He grabbed one on his way out of the chamber. He ran up
the tunnel but just before he reached the intersection the golden spider
appeared, blood dripping from two of its metal legs. Vampyr leveled the spear
and slid his finger into an indentation on the grip. He pressed it and a golden
bolt came out of the end of the spear and hit the orb. The creature was knocked
back several feet and Vampyr fired again, smashing it against the walls. The
legs gave way and it fell to the ground, inert.
  Vampyr stepped over it to the intersection. He paused. Kajin had said there
was a powerful weapon in the other duat. Vampyr knew there were other Gods,
sleeping in other places. The high priests had been certain of that and
Aspasia's Shadow had confirmed it. A powerful weapon could be useful.
It could also be dangerous.
  Time was pressing. Vampyr headed for the surface, arriving at the place where
he had left the Watcher family, not

119


surprised to find they had fled and left the outer door open. He exited onto the
side of the Great Pyramid. Dawn was not far off and he had a feeling Aspasia's
Shadow wasn't either.
  Turning to the west, Vampyr fled into the desert, heading for the spot where
he had left his tube.


MOUNT SINAI, ARABIAN
PENINSULA:   671   B.C.


  It wasn't the tallest peak in the region, a mountain to the southeast being a
few hundred feet taller, but it dominated the terrain all around. The locals
called it Jabal Mosa for the Hebrew leader who had brought his people here on
their Exodus from captivity in Egypt on the way to Israel. Of course, if one
drew a straight line from Egypt to Israel, Jabal Mosa was not anywhere close to
being on that line.
  Even before the Israelites came to the foot of the mountain, the place was one
of reverence for the people of the desert. They worshipped the moon God, Sin,
for whom the entire peninsula was named, but the mountain was one they feared
and avoided. There was always a cloud around the top of the peak, even on the
clearest day, a most unnatural thing.
  There was rumor of a creature, who might be a god but looked like a man, named
Al-Iblis, who haunted the mountain and the surrounding area and who traveled to
Egypt and other distant lands on occasion. This legend stretched so far back in
time, that none had heard of a time when the shadow of Al-Iblis did not stretch
over the desert.
  Deep inside Jabal Mosa, which the Christians would not rename Mount Sinai for
several centuries, Aspasia's Shadow had cultivated his persona as Al-Iblis among
the

120


people of the desert for centuries. He had no Airlia blood running through his
veins and thus was required every normal life span to return to Mount Sinai to
have a new body regenerated and his memories and personality implanted into the
new clone, much as he had been "born" with Aspasia's memory and personality so
many years before.
  He carried these memories in a small device that hung on a chain around his
neck in the form of two hands outstretched in prayer. It was called a ka and he
kept it as updated as possible. Against the unlikely event he died while away
from Mount Sinai, a fresh body was always ready in the regeneration tube and the
memories through his last visit were in the Guardian computer. If he did not
return by a specified year, the memories would be implanted, the body brought up
to speed, and Aspasia's Shadow would live once more, lacking only the most
recent memories since the last update.
  As alarms sounded and the Guardian informed him of the trouble in Egypt—that
someone had penetrated the Roads of Rostau—Aspasia's Shadow had other matters on
his mind. He had just returned from a foray into the Mediterranean to assess the
burgeoning civilization in Greece. He was impressed with what the humans were
accomplishing, but they were millennia away from being a threat to Aspasia, who
was his charge. However, the journey had taken a toll on his body and a fall
from a horse while traversing Anatolia, which would later become Turkey, had
wrenched his back, leaving him in agonizing pain.
  Aspasia's Shadow walked up to the Guardian computer—a golden pyramid buried
deep in a chamber inside the mountain—and sat in a chair just in front of the
ten-foot-high object. A golden glow came out of the

121


Guardian and encompassed him. His body hurt, not only from the bad back but also
from the arthritis that often plagued a human body beginning to succumb to age.
He was immediately updated on the situation in Egypt from the various
surveillance devices hidden there by the Airlia.
  Great changes had occurred while he had been away and Aspasia's Shadow slowly
reviewed them.
  The Assyrians had overthrown the Pharaoh and held sway in the land. And Vampyr
had infiltrated the Roads and shut down the tubes of the four remaining Airlia.
Aspasia's Shadow was not surprised by that. He knew the power of vengeance and
he had let Vampyr live this long, expecting such an outcome sooner or later. The
six Airlia who had been left in Egypt had overstepped the mandate given them by
Aspasia prior to his departure to Mars with the rest of his followers to go into
the deep sleep. They were supposed to set up a civilization with instructions to
get the Great Pyramid built as a signal into space, not set themselves up as
Gods. The last four had finally gone into the deep sleep—following two thousand
years of rule— after the Undead had rebelled and killed Isis and Osiris.
  The pyramid plan had failed. It had been built by one of the Pharaohs
according to the plans passed down, but rather than signaling more Airlia, it
had drawn in the Ancient Enemy of the Airlia, a spacefaring race known as the
Swarm. The Airlia had immediately ordered the smooth limestone facing of the
massive pyramid—which sent a massive radar signature out into space—to be torn
off and the plan abandoned. Thus there was no longer a need for the four Airlia
who slept beneath Giza and Aspasia's Shadow felt no great loss at their deaths.
  Aspasia's Shadow had been imprinted with Aspasia's memories and personalities,
but layered on top of them

122


were millennia of his own experience as a human on Earth. He was no longer that
which he had been set up to be. He had awareness, a dangerous thing to give to
something that is just supposed to be a tool. He knew that he existed simply to
serve a purpose and that once that purpose was fulfilled and Aspasia came out of
the deep sleep on Mars and returned—or Artad came out of his deep sleep under
Qian-Ling in China—that the war would be renewed, one side would win, and he
would no longer be needed regardless of which side won.
  If Artad won, Aspasia's Shadow knew he was doomed. But in a strange way, he
had enough of Aspasia's personality to know that even if his side won, he was
also doomed. Aspasia would not allow a creature that held so much of his essence
to live. Either way, the future was bleak if left to run its obvious course.
That was one of the reasons he had not bothered to track down either of the
surviving Undead. They were a wild card that not only made things more
interesting, but added potential allies, depending on how the future developed.
One thing he could count on was their hatred of the Airlia.
  With a sigh of pain, Aspasia's Shadow left the Guardian chamber. He went down
a stone passageway to another chamber. Inside, a body floated in a large vat of
green fluid, a black tube pumping air into the mouth, thence to the lungs. The
head was shaved and covered by a skullcap, with several dozens leads running
from it to a main line connected to the command console. The body's eyes were
open but showed no sign of intelligence. Next to the vat was a black tube,
similar in size and shape to the sleep tubes used by the Undead.
It was time to pass on.
  Aspasia's Shadow went to the control console and put his hands over the
backlit hexagonal display. Quickly he

123


tapped out a sequence, just as he had done hundreds of times in the past. The
lid to the black tube swung up, revealing a contoured interior designed to fit
his body.
  Aspasia's Shadow removed the ka from around his neck and slid it, two arms
forward, into the small holes on the right side of the console. It fit tightly
and a small six-sided section next to it glowed orange, indicating it was in
place.
  Aspasia's Shadow went to the black tube. He stripped naked and lay down
inside. The lid lowered onto him, trapping him in utter darkness. A few probes
lightly touched his head, injecting painkillers. There were several minutes of
stillness as the top of his head became numb. Then nanoprobes slid out of the
lining of the tube into his brain, tapping into the needed sections for update.
  His memories and experiences since the last download were transferred to the
ka and the probes withdrew. Aspasia's Shadow took a shallow breath, never
prepared for what came next, because he didn't know what it was going to be
like. It was the one memory that was never transferred.
   Out of small pockets in the lining of the tube, black particles, the size of
grains of sand, were expelled onto his naked skin.
  He screamed helplessly into the darkness of the tube as the particles
dissolved flesh, muscle, and bone from the outside inward, triggering every pain
response the body had. The only positive aspect was that it lasted for barely
five seconds before the body was gone.
  The console hummed as the data in the ka was integrated with the basic profile
of Aspasia, then sent to the figure in the glass tube through the line, into the
wires and thus to the brain. The imprinting took slightly over a minute. The
probes were withdrawn from the figure's head.

124


  The eyes blinked, awareness filling them as Aspasia's Shadow came to life once
more. The green fluid drained, leaving Aspasia's Shadow lying on the tube's
floor, trying to get oriented. The tube slid up and he tentatively stepped out.
He wiped himself off with a towel, then pulled on the garments that had been
left by his previous incarnation.
  Dressed, he paused, staring at the black tube that had held his former self. A
shiver passed through him, knowing that he would bring this body to that tube
sometime in the future. Already, the green vat was humming, beginning work on
the next clone to await his presence. Despite being in a body that was the
equivalent of a very healthy twenty-year-old, Aspasia's Shadow felt weary.
  With great effort, Aspasia's Shadow went back to the Guardian chamber and sat
in his throne in front of the golden pyramid. He accessed the computer's
database.
  Egypt was a mess. He'd known that before he'd regenerated.
  The Airlia base at Cydonia on Mars was secure and all was well, according to
data relayed from the Guardian on the Red Planet.
  And Artad? What of him? It had been a while since Aspasia's Shadow had checked
on the other side's leader in the civil war. All seemed quiet and Aspasia's
Shadow knew that it was very doubtful that Artad would break the truce without
something dramatic changing and so far nothing like that had occurred.
  Still. He would have to send a probe in that direction soon. Of course, for
Aspasia's Shadow, who thought in terms of centuries and millennia, the term
"soon" was relative. At that moment, all he wanted to do was sleep.

125

QIAN-LING, CHINA: 634 B.C.


  A cold wind blew from the western desert, scouring the side of the three-
thousand-foot-high hill. There was no doubt the formation was not natural, as
the slopes in all directions were uniform and nothing grew on the wind-blasted
dirt that covered the mound. It was a desolate place, normally empty of life and
avoided by those who lived nearby.
  There was one human currently in the area, though. A woman, heavy with child,
staggered into the wind, holding a tattered cloak tight around her swollen body.
She had one hand cradled underneath her belly, the other , holding a small flask
made of black metal that had not come from the Earth. Her teeth chattered in the
chill and her exposed skin was growing numb.
  She went downslope, following the power of gravity. She had no destination in
mind even though her village was to the north, about fifteen miles away. She
knew she would not be welcome if she showed up there and she doubted if she
could make it that far in her condition.
   She was cursed and had been sent out into the wilderness to die along with
what she bore inside her. She reached the base of the mound and peered about in
the dark. A black line ahead indicated trees lining a riverbank and she
staggered forward, heading for the water. She tripped over something and fell
hard, cutting her cheek. She blinked in the moonlight, not quite believing what
her eyes showed her as the cause of both her fall and the cut. A pile of bones.
  The woman realized then that this was the remains of another like her, another
sent out into the desolate land to die.
She did not want to die. A cry of pain and anguish

126


escaped her lips as she got to her feet. She was only seventeen and had been a
virgin nine months earlier when she had been chosen by her village to be their
yearly sacrifice to the Gods of Qian-Ling. The choice had not upset her, as no
one could remember a year when the Gods had taken the offering. Usually the
chosen was taken to a spot a quarter of the way up the mound and tied loosely to
a stake. Two days later, the priests would come back, and untie the girl, and
take her back to the village—the duty done, the gesture made.
  No one knew when the tradition had been started but it had seemed best to
continue it. The girl had not been overly concerned when chosen; indeed she had
felt she was being honored, as those girls who had been chosen in previous years
had always returned to the village to acclaim. She'd walked in the middle of the
processional to Qian-Ling and allowed the rope to be lightly tied around her
waist and watched her people disappear to the north. Her greatest concern had
been spending two nights alone on the mound.
  That changed the first night when she heard a rumbling noise and the ground
shook. She tried to untie the rope, but the knot was too complicated. Then a man
had appeared in the darkness, holding a long spear. He'd cut the rope where it
was attached to the stake and pulled her with him, taking her into an opening on
the side of the mound, which sealed behind them.
  The horrors that had happened after that she had blotted from her mind. One
hand was still cradled under her swollen belly, while the other crept to her
neck, to the shunt that had been put in place there.
   She reached the line of trees and stopped, seeing in the starlight that the
ground dropped off abruptly. With difficulty, she slid down the steep stream
bank. There was a

127


slight shoal consisting of small pebbles between the bank and the water. Ice
framed both sides of the flowing water, leaving a free-flowing center channel.
The stream was not deep, a few inches at best.
  The girl slumped back against the dirt bank, exhausted. Looking up, she could
see stars and remembered her grandfather pointing out the various animals formed
by the twinkling lights.
   She cried out as a place deep inside her mind remembered the touch of six-
fingered hands on her body while red cat eyes peered at her. She stopped her
mind from going further along that thread of thought.
   Pain ran through her body, focusing her brain on the situation at hand. She
whimpered as a contraction rippled through her. Despite the cold air, sweat
began to run down her face and along her body.
  The girl cried out for her mother. The only answer was the howl of the wind.
  She had witnessed numerous births in the village, but there had always been a
midwife present to supervise and assist. Pain consumed her and she pressed back
against the bank of the stream, her sweat merging with the dirt into mud.
  When the child came it was as if it were ripping its way out of her body with
single-minded determination. Her screams echoed up out of the streambed and
across the plain to the mound.
  After ten minutes the baby was out and she used what little strength she had
left to wrap it in the rag that had covered her body. Naked, she instinctively
curled her body around the infant to keep it warm.
  She gazed at the child her body protected. It was not crying, nor had it made
any noise, but its chest rose and fell as it breathed, indicating it was alive.
Its eyes met her

128


gaze and she was startled to see a thin sheen of red covering the black pupils.
The child leaned into her body, taking her warmth.
   She barely noticed when it opened its mouth and tiny teeth tore into her
throat.

129

CHAPTER   6


AFRICA:   355   B.C.


Nosferatu was better prepared this time, having learned his lesson on the last
awakening. Instead of leaving the tube and blundering forth, he left the lid to
the tube slightly cracked each night and lay still, conserving energy, until he
caught the scent of something alive. He slid out of the tube and found several
birds resting on the cliff. He refreshed himself as best he could, experiencing
again the nausea from imbibing nonhuman blood.
   Strengthened, but hardly satisfied, he made his way north along the coast,
knowing he could not attempt the interior of Africa in his present condition. He
had barely made it back to the Skeleton Coast alive after leaving Nekhbet in her
mountain crypt. Between the mountains and the west coast had been mile after
mile of desert, then thick jungle, then, as he neared the coast, desolate, rock-
strewn desert once more.
  He'd set the tube for approximately one thousand years, yet he noted nothing
had changed in the immediate area as he went along the coast. It was the perfect
place for him to rest undisturbed, but because of its ruggedness, a hard one in
which to find people to feed on.
   He saw no ships sailing along the coast. Finally, the land began to turn
green and he encountered his first

130


village. He took two that night, a couple who had escaped into the jungle to
copulate. Refreshed he moved more quickly and soon reached the point where an
enormous river cut the coast, pouring a wide swath of brown, muddy water into
the ocean. Nosferatu could barely see to the other side in the moonlight and
wasn't certain whether what he saw was the riverbank or the shore of an island
in the river's mouth.
  The Congo made the Nile's flow look like a trickle. Still, Nosferatu felt a
pang of longing for the blue water of the river in Egypt. He had a sudden vision
of a dark-haired woman holding him, looking down at him, smiling. He was small,
tiny, a baby. But he knew she loved him. But that, like so much of his life, was
just a memory now.
  Even animals had others like them. Nosferatu was perhaps the most isolated
being on the planet. Nekhbet was in the deep sleep in the cave on the
mountaintop. Vampyr might be out there somewhere, but Nosferatu didn't know
where the other Undead was.
  Nosferatu growled. A bird fluttered out of a nearby tree in fright. All had
been stolen from him. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. Blood. Human
blood. To his right, upriver. He turned in that direction, moving through the
jungle like a ghost, able to see clearly even under the thickest canopy that
blocked out all starlight and moonlight.
  He came upon a village. A thicket of thorn bushes surrounded the perimeter; a
single entrance with only one branch and a youth with a spear barred the way.
Nosferatu ran forward, leapt the thicket, and was on the young warrior in a
flash. His teeth ripped through the tender flesh, bringing forth a gush of
blood. Even as the artery continued to spurt red sustenance, he lifted

131


his face and glared about. Another warrior was coming, spear leveled. Nosferatu
jumped up, knocked aside the warrior's thrust, and jumped on the man's back,
teeth sinking into the throat, ripping and tearing. The warrior screamed, then
the sound died as Nosferatu tore in farther, his teeth cutting through the man's
windpipe.
  He threw the warrior from him and bellowed out a challenge, his face and chest
covered in blood. He could see faces appear in the doorways of huts. Men staring
with wide eyes. Women fluttering behind them, yelling at their children to hide
from the demon that had invaded their village.
  "Come," he screamed, throwing his arms wide, exposing his chest. "Come and get
me." He didn't even realize he was speaking in the language of the Gods and that
none could understand his words, although his intent was clear.
  None rose to the challenge. All remained indoors, weapons at the ready,
watching Nosferatu's rage spill out in screams and curses.
   Sanity slowly returned as his throat knotted up in pain from the yelling.
Backing up, Nosferatu left the village and disappeared into the darkness. He
found a small cave along the riverbank and slid into it, covering himself with
leaves and bushes for the coming day.

  He lay there as the sun made its way overhead, occasionally slipping into an
uneasy sleep. Each time he woke, he was shaking and sweating. As darkness fell,
he left the hasty lair and searched for a way to cross the river. When he
approached the village he'd attacked the previous evening, he could see numerous
warriors manning the perimeter and a large fire stoked up just inside the thorn
barrier. He circumambulated the village and came upon

132


several dugout canoes pulled up on the riverbank. He took one and shoved it into
the dark brown water. Snatching up the paddle, he began to stroke, blinking
sweat out of his eyes.
  After several minutes he realized that while he was indeed making it across
the river, the strong current was also carrying him from left to right.
Nosferatu tried to pull harder but was seized by muscle spasms that almost
caused him to drop the paddle. Every muscle and joint in his body ached and his
forehead felt as if it were on fire. He feared that one of those he had fed upon
had been ill and he had drawn in the sickness. He wiped a shaking hand across
his face, trying to clear the sweat pouring into his eyes.
  When he could see again, he realized the current would win.   He would be swept
into the ocean long before he reached the far bank. He looked   over his shoulder
and realized the bank he had left from was also out of reach.   He was too sick to
care. He put the paddle down and curled up in a tight ball on   the rough wood
bottom of the canoe.


Nosferatu woke in greater pain and discomfort than when he'd passed out. The
first rays of the sun were slashing across the edge of the canoe just above him
and he couldn't open his eyes to their brightness. He heard no sound of land—no
winds in trees, no cries of bird or animal, just the sound of water against the
outside of the canoe.
  Nosferatu could feel the heat of the sun closing on him, edging down the
inside of the canoe. He knew he had no choice. He grabbed one side of the canoe
and rolled, bringing it down over him as he fell into the water.

133


He popped his head up under the security of the canoe and slowly treaded water.
  It was a very long day. Several times, Nosferatu felt something brush by his
legs and feet; but he kept his eyes shut, for even the sun reflected through the
ocean water was too much for his delicate pupils. As soon as the sun set, he
righted the canoe and collapsed inside it, his legs quivering from the day.
Sitting up, he peered about but saw only ocean in all directions. He had no clue
which way to head to try to get back to land.


Nosferatu lay on his back and watched the stars wheel by overhead, conserving
his energy. He realized it was the first time he had ever really looked at the
stars—strange, given he was a creature of the night. But then he had spent the
time of darkness either hunting or traveling, not contemplating the little
points of light overhead. When he had been a child it was whispered the stars
were where the Gods came from. And then Donnchadh had told him the same thing.
How could that be? he wondered. How could they come from such small places? Of
course, if the points of light were far away, then he imagined they might be
very large.
  Nosferatu cursed both the Gods and the stars as the sky above him began to
brighten, indicating another day's beginning. He waited until the last moment
before rolling the canoe over and entering the water.
  As the day progressed, he contemplated simply letting go and sinking into the
dark depths. All that kept his grip on the edge of the canoe and his legs slowly
moving to keep his head above water was the image of Nekhbet.
  By the eighth day even that image had faded. He was only aware of exhaustion,
wetness, and despair. That night

134


he sat in the canoe and looked about. Stars and sea were the only things
visible.
  The Gods had given him life for their own selfish purposes. For over three
hundred years, they had consumed his life for their pleasure. Since then he had
been hiding, running, like a frightened child, for thousands of years.
Why?
  What was the overall purpose of life? The goal of the Gods? Why did they treat
other living beings as they did?
   Nosferatu blinked. There was a glow on the horizon behind him. He stared at
it for almost a minute, then picked up the paddle and began to stroke. For a
little while he thought his eyes were fooling him as the glow faded, but then it
became brighter. Soon he could see flames shooting into the sky, then the
shoreline. A fire was raging in the tall grass, coming closer to the shore.
Nosferatu could see herds of animals running, trying to escape the flames. And
on the shoreline, bands of humans waiting for the kill.
Nosferatu felt the pull of the hunger.



Nosferatu had fed well the previous night. He strode north along the beach,
miles flowing past in the darkness. It appeared that he had come back to land
farther up the coast from where he'd been pushed out to sea. Instead of jungle,
lush grassland stretched out to the interior of the continent. Several times he
saw villages ahead and made slight detours to pass around them and their barking
dogs unless he had to feed.
  He continued up the coast like this for almost a full moon, feeding twice
more. The grassland began to give way to rocks and desert, and early one
evening, shortly after he set out, he saw a two-story stone tower on a finger

135


of land enclosing a small natural harbor. Several boats were anchored in the
cove. They were of a type he had never seen, with an upthrust, curved prow and a
tall mast in its center. They were made of wood planks, not reeds, and as large
as the barges that hauled stone on the Nile, but sleeker.
  There was light in the windows in both levels of the tower and Nosferatu could
see a pair of guards with bows on the top. As he got closer he could see that
there were several stone-and-wood buildings at the base of the tower. Soon he
could hear voices coming from one of the buildings. Nosferatu halted and
contemplated the situation. He was hungry, but not desperate. And these men had
ships. Pulling his cloak tight around his lean body, he walked forward.
   One of the guards spotted him and called out a warning. Nosferatu halted and
held up both hands, empty palms out. Several men scrambled out of the building
and came up to him, swords drawn. They spoke in a strange tongue, but once
again, the universal language worked as Nosferatu drew out several gold pieces
from his purse and offered them.
  The men took him into the building and offered him food and drink, which he
made a pretense of consuming. What did catch his attention, however, was a piece
of hide staked to one wall. A map was drawn on it. Seeing his interest, one of
the men walked him toward it.
  The man pointed at a spot near the bottom of the map, then pointed down at the
ground, indicating that was where they were currently located. Nosferatu put his
finger on the spot, then ran it up along the coast, around through a narrow
strait and into the Middle Sea, along the coast until he reached what he knew
was the Nile. Then he pointed at himself.

136


  The man nodded. He pointed to a spot above Egypt along the eastern edge of the
Mediterranean, then at himself. "Phoenicia."
  Nosferatu had never heard of the country, but he knew much had changed while
he slept. How much, he hoped to find out. Jingling his purse, he indicated
himself once more, then Egypt.
  The man frowned and called out to one of the others. The man who came over was
weathered by the sea and old. He had a scar running down one side of his face,
disappearing into the collar of his dirty shirt. The first man pointed at Egypt,
then said something as he indicated Nosferatu.
  The old man shook his head and spit. He pointed to a land on the north side of
the sea, west of Egypt's location. Apparently that was where he was going,
Nosferatu realized, as the two men argued some more. It was closer than he was
now. Nosferatu opened his purse and paid the old man.


GREECE:   354   B.C.


While the legend was that the Three Hundred had died to the last man in the
Gates of Fire at Thermopylae in 480 B.C., the real number was actually 299.
Three hundred Spartans had indeed marched with King Leonidas against King Xerxes
and met his massive Persian army of 150,000 men in battle in the narrow pass.
The Spartans had held for four days, allowing the rest of the city-states of
Greece to mobilize and eventually defeat the invaders. It was an event
celebrated in song and onstage across Greece, no place more so than in Sparta.
There was one who knew the truth of the Three Hun-

137


dred. One who still walked the face of the Earth over 125 years after the famous
battle. He was the Three Hundredth, and he was not a man. He stood on the parade
field of Sparta, just as he had so many years ago, and watched as the army
mustered for battle, just as it had so many years ago, and so many times since.
  Vampyr had fought at Thermopylae as long as possible, before slipping away
into the night, leaving his comrades to be massacred to the last man. Even now,
years later, he saw no point to the famous last stand. Yes, it eventually led to
victory for the allied Greek cities, but not long after, those same city-states
had fallen once more into battle among themselves in the First and then Second
Peloponnesian War. Men who had fought side by side against the Persians were
within a few years lining up against each other in mortal combat.
  Such was the folly of humans, and such folly was fodder for one who lived on
hatred and blood.
  Vampyr remained in Sparta because it was the first place he felt at home among
the humans. The rest of Greece viewed Sparta as a bizarre enigma. While the arts
were celebrated elsewhere, only martial prowess was rewarded in Sparta. The
entire city-state was set up to support the army. From 404-371 B.C. Sparta had
ruled most of Greece, despite being heavily outnumbered and never being able to
field more than ten thousand men. The strain of this rule, though, had taken its
toll, and over the past fifteen years, the kingdom had relinquished much
territory back to the locals.
   Sparta was located in the southwest, connected to the rest of Greece by a
narrow isthmus. Vampyr had wandered there after being able to stow away on a
ship leaving Crete over a thousand years earlier. He'd hidden his tube in a cave
on the southern shore of Peloponnese and

138


gone into the deep sleep for over five hundred years, hoping to have enough time
pass for his rule in Crete to be recalled only as legend.
  When he awoke he traveled around Greece, taking in the burgeoning
civilization, before settling in Sparta. At first he did so out of black humor,
as the people there claimed to be descended from Lacedaemon, a son of the god
Zeus. Also, he was able to feed with relative impunity because of the way the
classes were stratified. There were the Spartiates, who could fight and vote;
the Perioikoi, or freemen, who did not have the vote but were graciously allowed
to fight and die for the state; and the helots, who—while technically not
slaves—were only slighter better off than if they had been, and on whom Vampyr
could feed relatively unnoticed.
  Three lochoi of Spartan warriors were lined up in formation in front of the
Hellenion—the temple—preparing to depart for war against Pylos on the western
coast of Peloponnesia. It was just before dawn. Vampyr had fought in so many
campaigns he actually had no clue what real or imagined cause was behind the
upcoming battle. He had changed his identity six times over the centuries,
earning his way each time into the ranks of the knights through feats of arms,
rather than by family as most did.
  The squires and battle train had departed before dawn, as they rated no fond
farewell. The families of the knights who made up the ranks of the lochoi stood
in the shadow of the temple, stoically keeping tears at bay. The boys of the
agoge—training barracks—not old enough to come on the campaign, stood in their
own formation watching their fathers, older brothers, and uncles prepare to
leave.
  The commander of the expedition, Acton, turned for the road leading west and
the women began to sing a

139


hymn to the god of battle. Row after row of Spartans stepped from the grass
field onto the dirt road and headed to the west.
  Battle. Vampyr had grown to love it over the years. He'd honed his skills
until he was the most feared warrior in Sparta, and thus in all of Greece. That
combined with his inherent abilities made him practically invincible and his
leaders were inclined to grant him latitude regarding his strange behavior. He
was never around during the day unless there was to be a battle, and then he was
completely garbed in armor from head to toe, with a cloth wrapped across his
eyes to guard them from the light. He'd explained that he had a defect which did
not allow him to expose any part of his skin or his eyes to the light, and such
was his prowess with arms that the other Spartans gladly allowed him this
idiosyncrasy.
  So as the sun began to rise in the east, Vampyr slipped away from the column
and disappeared into the forest along the side of the road.

ATHENS:   354   B.C.


  It was the easiest journey Nosferatu had made so far even though it took the
better part of six months. The Phoenician's ship had a lower deck, where
Nosferatu could sleep in darkness. The large sails and the skill with which the
crew maneuvered the ship moved them up the coast at a faster pace than anything
Nosferatu had experienced before. They even sailed at night, stopping only about
every eight days at another outpost like the one at which Nosferatu had met
them. They would refill their water casks, load fresh food, and spend a day
resting. Then set out again.

140
  Nosferatu realized the outposts were spaced that way for a reason, indicating
a sophisticated trading system. He would feed just prior to departure, taking
someone from the outpost and hiding the body so that it couldn't be found.
Usually they left before the loss was even discovered, although twice a search
was instigated before they set sail. The second time, Nosferatu knew the
Phoenician captain was suspicious, but a few more pieces of gold ensured his
continued presence on the ship.
   Still Nosferatu slept lightly during the days, anxious that the crew might
turn on him at any time. He found he could maintain a half-sleeping, half-waking
posture during the day, so that the approach of anyone would bring him to full
awareness. They passed from the Atlantic into the Mediterranean after a month's
journey and he could sense the relief of the crew to be in more familiar waters.
He also began to understand some of what they said and learned they were a
people who sailed not only south along Africa, but north along Atlantic coast of
Europe. Their ships had been crisscrossing the Mediterranean pursuing trade for
hundreds of years and they had colonized both the northern shores of Africa and
eastern Spain from their homeland in Palestine.
  The most interesting news was that Egypt was now ruled by the Persians, the
last Pharaoh having been defeated in battle just a few years earlier. Nosferatu
had never heard of the Persians, but he had the ship's captain point out the
Persian Empire on the map and show him where its capital was.
  If foreigners ruled in Egypt, was it safe for him to venture there? Would he
be able to get to the Grail and take it to Nekhbet? Where were the four
remaining Airlia?
  The Phoenicians had Gods they worshipped, with names Nosferatu did not
recognize; but they were not the

141


same as the Gods he had known in Egypt. Every morning the crew knelt in front of
several small idols placed in the bow of the ship. They prayed for fair weather
and a wind at their backs and for safety from the wiles of the sea. Nosferatu
didn't understand praying to an object. What power could a piece of stone hold?
At least the Gods who had ruled Egypt had been real.
  After several days of sailing with no shore in sight—another advancement over
Nosferatu's last voyage—they made landfall at a port city called Selinus on an
island the locals called Sicily. Things had changed, he realized as he roamed
the city at night, looking for a victim to sate his hunger, yet in many ways,
they had remained the same. There were new empires and gods, but people and
technology seemed to be basically unaltered. In fact, other than their having
the sailing ships, Nosferatu judged the Phoenicians to be inferior to the
Egyptian culture he had known. And they knew nothing of history. Their societal
memory only went back a few generations. He had heard no mention of Atlantis or
the Great Civil War among the Gods.
  Nosferatu spent the week the ship stayed in Selinus feeding and listening. He
heard nothing of the Airlia, the Ones Who Wait, the Guides, or anything else to
do with the Gods from the stars and their minions. Perhaps the world was free of
them? Nosferatu could wonder and hope.
  They sailed from Selinus, around the foot of Italy, to the ship's final
destination, Athens, one of the main city-states of the most powerful empire in
the Mediterranean, according to what Nosferatu had picked up from the
conversations he listened in on. From what he had learned he knew he could find
another ship to take him from Athens to Egypt. He stayed belowdecks after they
docked in
142


Piraeus, the port city of Athens, waiting for nightfall. By the time he departed
the ship, the cargo had been unloaded and the crew was gone, off to the local
taverns to celebrate the successful completion of their long journey and the
surprising and pleasant addition of Nosferatu's gold.
  Athens was very different from Selinus. Nosferatu wandered the streets of the
city, impressed with the architecture, but even more so with the discourse in
the various public meeting places sprinkled throughout the city. He spent
several weeks simply soaking in the conversation, learning the language. There
was a difference to the people here, something Nosferatu sensed even before he
understood the words.
  It took him a few evenings before it suddenly came to him what was different
about these people from what he had known in Egypt. Here they had a sense of the
future.
  In Egypt, life had been cyclical. There was little sense of time because all
things repeated themselves and there was no progress. Here life was linear.
Ideas were discussed and argued about. People were asking why, something that
had been frowned upon in Nosferatu's Egypt. He wondered if it were the absence
of the Gods and the high priests that allowed this freedom of thought. The
Greeks had Gods, many of them, but they appeared to be more a theory than a
reality. Something people even argued about along with everything else. In Egypt
the price for doubting the Airlia Gods or the high priests had been death.
  Nosferatu fed well, taking those who also walked the night, usually thieves
and prostitutes who worked near the docks of Piraeus, and who would not be
missed. He was feeling stronger and more confident that he could re-

143


turn to Egypt and rescue Nekhbet when he heard a word as he was passing a group
of men gathered on stone steps in front of a temple that froze him in his
tracks.
Atlantis.
  The sun had set only an hour previously, but Nosferatu had already fed, taking
a young man who had tried to rob him as he walked a back alley after rising from
his hiding place underneath a wharf. Nosferatu edged closer to the group. The
man at the center had white hair and a long beard. He had a scroll in his hand.
  "You speak of the Flood of Deukalion and Pyrrha, Solon," the old man read,
"but I tell you they pale in comparison to that which destroyed Atlantis. There
have been and will be many destroyers of mankind, the greatest two of which are
fire and water."
  The old man looked past the group at Nosferatu, who was now along the outer
circle of men listening. Nosferatu was startled by the sharpness of the glance
and almost stepped back, but held his ground, interested to hear what the old
man had to read. This was also something that was new, the only other written
language Nosferatu had seen before being the High Runes of the Airlia.
  "Many are the truths and great are the achievement of the Greeks," the old man
continued. "However, there is one accomplishment that is rarely spoken of, and
that many think is a myth. A long time ago, before the time when the Dorians
came to this land, our ancestors fought a great battle against a host that came
from beyond the sea, from beyond the Pillars of Heracles, and were led by Gods
themselves.
  "Beyond the Pillars there was an island larger than Libya and Asia put
together. On this island was a confederation of powerful kings who ruled not
only that island but many other lands. The empire of Atlantis stretched

144


through the Pillars of Heracles to Libya as far as Egypt, and Europe as far as
Tyrrhenia, but in a noble battle we stopped them from extending their rule here
to Greece.
  "Not long after, there was a great earthquake which caused the sea to swallow
the island of Atlantis up in its entirety so that it disappeared from the face
of the Earth."
  The last part agreed with what Nosferatu had learned as a child, but the bit
about the Greeks defeating the Airlia and their Atlantean human forces, he
thought, wasn't very likely. He checked that thought. If the battle had taken
place during the Airlia civil war, then it was possible that the Greeks had had
the assistance of Artad and his forces. Even the priests had known few details
of the Great Civil War.
  "You, stranger." The old man startled Nosferatu by pointing directly at him.
"What do you know of these things?"
"Why do ask me?" Nosferatu replied.
"I have seen your kind before."
  Nosferatu felt a chill pass through his body. "What do you mean my kind?"
  "Tall. White skin like the finest marble. And most important your eyes, my
friend, they speak of having seen much, as did he to whom I talked."
"Did this man, who you think is my kin, have a name?"
  "He called himself a Shadow of Aspasia, whatever that might mean."
  Nosferatu remembered Kajilil speaking of the creature, a creation of Aspasia,
the Airlia commander. "When did you speak with him?"
"So you know him?" the old man asked in reply.
"I have heard of him, but I do not know him."
  "He was here two days ago. I have met him several times. We have had the most
interesting conversations."

145


Nosferatu felt the hope of the past few weeks collapse.
  "So what do you know of Atlantis, my friend?" the old man pressed.
  "Nothing," Nosferatu muttered as he turned and slipped away into the darkness.
He wandered the streets of Athens, wondering what he should do next. If
Aspasia's Shadow is here in Athens, who is in Egypt, in the Roads of Rostau?
Where are the Gods?
  He sensed more than saw the blade coming at him. Reacting, Nosferatu jumped to
the side, the knife slicing the air where a split second ago his throat had
been. The attacker followed through on the strike, wheeling, bringing the blade
to bear once more. Nosferatu retreated, but his back hit the wall of a building
and his attacker maneuvered to trap him.
  "Who are you?" Nosferatu demanded, holding his hands up in front of himself in
a defensive posture. He felt as if he were looking into a mirror—a tall man
wrapped in a dark cloak with pale skin and red hair. The eyes, though, caught
his attention. Red and elongated like a cat's. "Aspasia's Shadow?"
  In reply the man thrust with the dagger. At the same moment there was a flash
of metal coming down from the right, smoothly slicing through the man's arm,
severing it at the elbow. The hand holding the dagger fell to the stone street.
Nosferatu watched with wide eyes as the sword cut back, piercing his attacker's
chest. The man collapsed to the ground as Nosferatu turned to face the wielder
of the sword.
   "I am Aspasia's Shadow," the man said. He wiped the blood off the sword,
using the dead man's cloak. "This is a One Who Waits." Aspasia's Shadow reached
inside the dead man's tunic and removed a small object from a chain around his
neck. Nosferatu had seen such a shape

146


before—the ka, two hands without a torso raised as in prayer. Aspasia's Shadow
put it inside a pocket and in turn pulled out a small glass vial filled with
what appeared to be black sand. He unscrewed the lid, then shook the black
powder over the body. Immediately the flesh began to disappear as if the sand
were eating it. Within ten seconds there was only the empty clothing lying in
the street.
Aspasia's Shadow stood. "You are Nosferatu."
   It was not a question, so Nosferatu remained silent as Aspasia's Shadow
sheathed his sword.
   "Come." Aspasia's Shadow did not bother to look over his shoulder as he
headed down the alley. Nosferatu paused to retrieve the assassin's dagger, then
followed.
  After a little way around the base of the Acropolis, Aspasia's Shadow passed
between two statues, literally into the base of the hill on which the Parthenon
stood. Nosferatu followed him down worn stone steps. They paused at the bottom,
where a wooden door made of scarred beams barred the way. Aspasia's Shadow did
something that Nosferatu couldn't quite see and the door smoothly swung open.
  The two entered and the door swung shut behind them. Nosferatu could see quite
well in the dark, but he winced when Aspasia's Shadow lit a lantern. Shading his
eyes, he followed the other along a tunnel cut through the stone of the
Acropolis.
  "This tunnel was made by some of the first people who lived here," Aspasia's
Shadow said, his first words in a while. "They must have put a fort on the top
of this hill, then cut this tunnel as an escape route, or perhaps a way to get
water. Who knows? It must have taken them many years. I imagine it took
generations of these people chipping away at the stone with their simple tools.
Humans

147


are a most strange species. Most of the time their attention span is that of any
animal, short. But then they do something like this. Most strange."
  They turned a corner and entered a chamber containing a table, some chairs,
and a bed. Aspasia's Shadow put the lantern on the table. He glanced at
Nosferatu. "Does this hurt your eyes?"
"Yes."
  Aspasia's Shadow made no effort to turn the lamp down. He sat in a chair and
leaned back, putting his boots up on the table. Nosferatu took the seat across
from him, one hand on the dagger hidden under his cloak, the other shading his
eyes.
  "I should kill you for slaying Isis and Osiris," Aspasia's Shadow said. "If I
were true to the persona that was implanted in me so many years ago when I was
made by Aspasia. It was Aspasia who left Isis and Osiris, his lieutenants, in
charge in Egypt." Aspasia's Shadow sighed. "But much has happened in the years
since then. I have walked this planet longer than you. And I assume you have
slept some of those years in the tube—something I have done also on occasion. I
have been reborn many, many times. My memory and my experience grow even as I
switch from one body to the next."
Nosferatu remained silent, his hand still on the dagger.
  "I met Osiris and Isis and the other four several times. They always treated
me with contempt because I was a Shadow, and human in form. When I heard Isis
and Osiris had been killed I did not shed any tears."
  "Where did they go?" Nosferatu asked. "The four who lived?"
  "Why do you want to know?" Aspasia's Shadow did not wait for an answer. "Where
is your love? Nekhbet, the one you stole from the Roads?"

148


  Nosferatu remained silent. Aspasia's Shadow laced his fingers together on his
lap and regarded Nosferatu for several moments, as if pondering a problem. "She
sleeps, doesn't she? Or else you would be with her. And you seek something.
Blood. Airlia blood. The human blood keeps you alive, allows you to maintain,
but you need Airlia blood for her, don't you?"
  Nosferatu realized he was dealing with the only other being on the planet,
besides the Gods, who had lived longer than he and had more experience. Plus,
Aspasia's Shadow had inherited Aspasia's knowledge along with his own
experience.
  "Or more likely, you desire the Grail," Aspasia's Shadow said. "Wouldn't we
all?" He sighed. "But the key to the Hall of Records, where it is kept, had been
hidden well by the Watchers. Even I don't know where it is now. Plus, I have had
to put aside that temptation because activating the Grail would bring both Artad
and Aspasia after me. It is the one thing that is forbidden even to me."
  Still Nosferatu remained silent. It occurred to him that Aspasia's Shadow was
bored. More than bored, Nosferatu realized. Aspasia's Shadow was lonely, a
feeling that Nosferatu could certainly understand.
  "I've met Vampyr, your brother in blood," Aspasia's Shadow continued. He
seemed disappointed that Nosferatu still made no reply. "He, at least, makes the
world an interesting place. He had a kingdom. On an island south of here. He was
getting quite powerful and earning quite a fearsome reputation. I feared I might
have to take action, but the planet itself brought his plans, quite literally,
to ruin."
  Nosferatu had no idea what Aspasia's Shadow was referring to.
"He did take his revenge though," Aspasia's Shadow

149


said. "You asked about the other four Airlia who dwelt in the Roads. Vampyr
killed them. They are dead in their tubes."
  His father was dead. Nosferatu felt neither elation nor sadness. He thought
back to his proud boast to Kajilil about there being a time for the Undead to
rule. He looked at the creature across from him and realized this war would
never end. Power was a dangerous thing. The only reason Aspasia's Shadow did not
kill him was because he posed little threat. Nosferatu shook his head, trying to
clear the flurry of thoughts that Aspasia's Shadow's words crowded into his
mind.
  Aspasia's Shadow mistook the gesture. "You do not believe me?"
  "I believe you," Nosferatu said. "Vampyr vowed vengeance many years ago. I am
surprised it took him so long."
  "It took him so long because I stopped him all the times before," Aspasia's
Shadow said.
"And why not this time?"
  "I was tired. And I cannot be everywhere. Vampyr chose a time when the kingdom
in Egypt was in disarray."
"Where is Vampyr now?"
"Not far away."
"Where?"
  "To the south. He has spent the last two centuries fighting. Spilling blood.
And drinking it, of course. He revels in it. It keeps his mind from other
things."
  From the reality of being alone for centuries, Nosferatu thought. He realized
that the three of them had that one thing very much in common.
"Why did you save me?" Nosferatu asked.
  "I know where you can find Airlia blood. And you are free to take it if you
can."

150


"Where?"
Aspasia's Shadow pointed to his left. "China."
  Nosferatu had never heard of the place. "And where is that?"
   "To the east. Very far to the east. Farther than any here have ever
traveled." Aspasia's Shadow leaned back in his seat and regarded Nosferatu with
hooded eyes. "I will do you a favor, my Undead friend, if you will do one for
me."
"And that is?"
"Kill Artad and his Kortad. You can have their blood."
"By myself?"
  "No, you would need an army to do this. They are asleep, in a mountain tomb
called Qian-Ling in the land called China."
Nosferatu spread his hands. "I have no army."
  "Not to worry," Aspasia's Shadow said. "I've prepared one. And I've prepared
their leader. He is but a boy now, but eventually, with my help, he will go far.
Perhaps he may even reach China."
"What is his name?"
  "Alexander, son of Philip, from a small state north of here called Macedonia."


GREECE:   354   B.C.


  Vampyr wrapped the cloth around his head, covering his skin and eyes. The
material was blood-red and he could see through it in daylight, which was less
than a half hour away. The effect was terrifying, but it did have its
disadvantages. The warrior with the red face had become a legend in the area
around Sparta, and sometimes Vampyr had a difficult time finding enemies to
engage during battle.

151


  It had been a long march to Pylos. Wandering the camp at night and listening,
Vampyr had learned that this expedition had nothing to do with politics. It was
purely for economic reasons. The three lochoi were being rented out to another
city-state, Pirgos, in conflict with Pylos.
Fighting for money.
  Vampyr looked to the right of the three Spartan units. The local militia from
Pirgos was forming in uneven ranks to help support what they had paid the
Spartans to lead. In reality, Vampyr knew they were there to loot the city once
the Spartans defeated their enemy.
  Dawn was not far off and with it death. Vampyr could smell the fear in the
air. Even from some of the Spartans, as well trained as they were in the art of
logophobia—the discipline of conquering fear and controlling one's body—were
giving off a palpable aura.
  They had reason, of course, to be scared. Every battle hinged on uncertainty.
It was also not so much a matter of killing the enemy as breaking their spirit
and these foes would be defending their homes and families, a circumstance that
made for the most desperate fighting.
   Overall, though, the Spartans were calm. Vampyr had gone through their
training as an adult, a most unusual thing, as Spartan boys were sent from their
homes to an agoge—training barracks—at age seven. He had been sponsored by one
of the leading knights in the city after saving the man's life in battle and
asking only this favor of him. On the first day some of the older boys had made
fun of the man among them, but Vampyr had quelled that quickly and brutally by
killing the leader of the bullies. In the strange way of the Spartans, he was
not punished for doing so, but praised and accepted.
The training had been worth it. Despite his Airlia

152


blood, Vampyr was still predominantly human and he had realized long ago that
that part of his being required discipline and training in order to survive over
the years.
  The focus of Spartan training was more than just martial prowess. It
encompassed the body and mind, with a specific emphasis on the science of fear.
Initially, the trainees were taught to control their muscles when every instinct
they had screamed to do other than that which they were ordered to. They
participated in exercises where they had to stand perfectly still and
blindfolded while instructors walked among the ranks, unexpectedly striking out
with a wooden stake. In this manner the muscles were disciplined against their
natural fleeing instincts. A man thus trained held a great advantage in combat
over one who did not possess this capability.
  Looking out from the plain they were on, Vampyr could see the walled city of
Pylos,which was their objective. The ground rose in a gentle slope up to the
walls. Not favorable terrain for an assault.
   Muffled orders were being issued and the lines were being formed. The
Spartans would be out in front, the local Pirgosian militia sliding over to take
a position behind them. Vampyr felt quite ready to spill some blood. He had not
fed in over eight weeks while on the march. It was a deprivation he suffered
deliberately to build his lust for the coming battle.
  As the main line formed, a skirmish line of Rangers— Skiritai—began to move
out on the flanks like the horns of a bull. Vampyr had seen this tactic used
again and again, and it rarely failed to work. He knew the Spartan commander did
not want to lay siege to the town. It would be time-consuming and difficult,
requiring the construction of siege machines followed by a dangerous assault
against a fortified position. Spartans fought best in the open ground.

153


  Vampyr took his place in the center of the Spartan line, directly behind the
commander, Acton. It was lighter now, and even the humans around Vampyr could
see the city and the men manning the walls. The sun's light was amplified by a
red glow as the Skiritai began to set fire to the homes and businesses that
surrounded the walled part of the city. Crops also began to burn. The people
might be safe inside, but their homes and livelihoods were mostly outside and
being destroyed while they watched.
  It only took fifteen minutes, before the gates of the city swung open and the
Pylosian troops poured through. There was no hesitation on Acton's part. He
immediately gave the order to advance and the Spartans moved out into the field
toward the city at a quick pace as the Pylosians tried to get into formation.
  The Spartans were in perfect alignment as they moved, their spears held
upright. If one stood to the side and looked along the line, it would appear as
if there were only one spear at the end in each rank, so perfect was their
training. In contrast, the spears of the first rank of Pylosian troops to form
trembled and shook as if in a storm.
  Vampyr could hear the Pylosian officers screaming commands, trying to get
their men into proper formation. He knew it was already too late. The front rank
of enemy troops could see the Spartans coming and began to shift without even
realizing it, each man moving slightly to his right, trying to get closer to the
protection of the shield of the man on that side. To add to their disarray, the
Skiritai began to fire their bows, sending arrows high into the air, coming down
in the half-formed enemy ranks.
  Just as intimidating as the sight of the red-cloaked lines approaching was the
sound the Spartans made, their

154


oxhide sandals hitting the ground in unison with each step, the ground
practically trembling at their approach. The cadence was 120 paces per minute,
beaten into each Spartan at the agoge and practiced constantly.
   Less than a quarter mile from the Pylosian lines, Acton yelled the order to
change from quick time to charge. Spears snapped in one precise movement from
vertical to horizontal and shields jammed tighter together, presenting a solid
wall as the Spartans broke into a controlled run at 180 steps per minute. Vampyr
adjusted slightly as Acton fell back into position next to him on his right, a
position of honor for Vampyr as his shield protected the commander.
  The Pylosian lines had never completely formed, and what little order there
was began to break in the face of the bristling juggernaut heading toward them.
Some in the rear tried to run and were cut down by officers stationed there
specifically for just that event.
  Vampyr felt the bloodlust and had to use all the discipline he had learned in
the agoge not to sprint ahead of the rank of Spartans. He gripped his spear
shaft tighter as they closed on the enemy line. The Spartans smashed into the
Pylosians with a thunderous sound of spearpoint on metal and flesh. This was
immediately followed by the screams of dying and wounded.
  With their eight-foot spears, the Spartans were able to use their first three
ranks to attack the Pylosians. As soon as a spear became caught in the flesh or
shield of an enemy warrior and could not be pulled back, each Spartan would draw
his xithos—a short sword designed for jabbing rather than slashing.
  The Pylosian line broke and the slaughter began. Vampyr had run his spear
through not only the warrior directly in front of him, but also into the man
behind

155


him, spitting the two on its wooden haft, leaving them both writhing on the
ground. He drew his sword and leapt forward, giving up his position in the
Spartan line. The Pylosians were fleeing and thus making themselves more
vulnerable to attack due to the lack of armor on their backs. Vampyr jabbed
once, twice, then a third time and three men went down at his feet. He whirled,
and even though the sword was a jabbing weapon, he put such power behind the
stroke that his xithos beheaded a fourth Pylosian. For the first time Vampyr
halted, watching the blood pulse up from the still-beating heart in the headless
torso, which remained upright for several seconds, before slowly tumbling over.
  That man's blood mixed with that of the other casualties along with urine from
bladders emptied from fright and the spasms of death. The ground was turning
into a horrible quagmire, but the Spartans relentlessly pressed forward,
continuing to slay and advance.
  The Pylosians began to surrender and beg for mercy. Vampyr gave no quarter,
slaying those with weapons in their hands and those who held them empty in the
air. Those who had hired the Spartans now surged forward, slaying those who
surrendered. Vampyr continued his own murderous spree toward the gates of the
city. He saw the enemy commander, tears streaming down his face, as he screamed
futile orders at the warriors fleeing by him, trying to make a last stand before
the open city gates, knowing there would be no safety inside.
  Vampyr was soaked in blood, the cloth wrapped around his face tantalizing him
with the taste as the red nectar he craved seeped through. He bounded up to the
enemy commander. He parried the other's thrust, knocking the sword from the
defeated leader's hands. Vampyr dropped his own sword and grabbed the man's
throat

156


with both hands, squeezing until the other passed out. Then he dragged him into
the gates of the city and through the door of the nearest building, where he
ripped the man's throat open and drank his fill.
He was not sated.
  The screams of women and children now filled the air as the Pirgosians moved
into the city, raping, killing, and stealing. The Spartans remained outside,
content with the gold they had been paid and not wanting to lose any more men to
desperate last stands inside the city.
  Vampyr was the exception as he kicked open doors, searching. He found a woman
huddled with two young children. He killed the mother quickly by breaking her
neck, then drank from the children until their small hearts stopped beating. He
emerged from the house, wrapping the cloth around his face. In his engorged
pleasure he did not see a shadowy figure in armor watching him.
He could not wait for the next battle.
  He walked out of the city. He could see that the Spartans had pulled back,
tending to their few dead and wounded. He also saw that a man on a horse, a
messenger from Sparta, was next to Acton, talking to him. Vampyr made his way
over. There was indeed news.
  A council had been held at Corinth. A treaty had been signed by
representatives from practically every city-state, including Pylos and Pirgos,
to unite under a young warrior-king from the north named Alexander. Sparta had
also agreed to the pact and would send four lochoi to support the new king's
proposed assault against the Persians.
  Vampyr wanted to laugh at the folly of humans. Every man who had died that day
was one less the Greeks could send against the Persians. And all three forces
were now allies.

157
  A campaign to the east. Vampyr nodded. Something to occupy the next decade or
so. He needed to stay busy.
  As Vampyr turned away from Acton and the messenger, he sensed movement behind
and whirled, a split second too late, and the flat side of a xithos slammed into
his temple, just below the brim of his helmet.
Vampyr crumpled to the ground unconscious.


It was night when Vampyr awoke. He was on his back and when he tried to move,
ropes around his chest, legs, and arms, kept him in place. There were torches
flickering all about him and when he turned his head, he could see Acton and the
other senior knights of the expedition staring at him. He was on one of the
field tables used by the surgeons to work on the wounded.
  "What are you doing?" Vampyr demanded. "I am a warrior of the first rank."
  Acton stepped forward. "I do not know who—or what—you are. But I saw what you
did with those two children in the town. And I—we all—have heard the stories
about you. That you do not age. That you never expose yourself to the light of
day. That you drink blood, something I now know to be true, having seen it with
my own eyes."
  "So?" Vampyr spit, the glob landing just in front of the Spartan commander. "I
am the most feared warrior in all of Sparta, in all of Greece. What does it
matter if I drink blood when we spill gallons every day?"
  "There are the matters of honor and the code of a warrior," Acton said.
  Vampyr laughed. "Honor? What honor is there in fighting against a city one
day, then marching arm in arm


158


with the same people you were just fighting against, to fight against some other
city or empire? I have seen nothing of honor among you."
   "There is the honor of following orders. Of being true to those who are your
comrades. You can barely restrain yourself to stay in the shield wall and when
we make contact with the enemy line you always break formation and battle on
your own. I gave you the position at my side not out of honor, as it should be,
but because I did not want to expose anyone else to your recklessness and
disregard for your fellow warriors."
  "I slay more enemy than any five of you combined," Vampyr boasted, glaring at
the knights.
  "If it was just about slaying," Acton said, "then butchers would reap many
honors."
  Vampyr snarled, trying with all his might to rise, but there were numerous
ropes wrapped around his body, and all he could achieve was lifting his head.
"You fools. What do you think you're doing? Are you going to kill me?"
   "There would be no honor in that," Acton said. "And you have fought for
Sparta for as long as any can remember."
   "You have no idea what I have done for Sparta," Vampyr shouted. "I was one of
the Three Hundred. I stood with Leonidas in the Gates of Fire."
  Acton took a step back, startled by these words. "That cannot be. That was
many lifetimes ago. No man can be alive from then."
Vampyr said nothing.
  "You are not a man, are you?" Acton finally asked. He turned to his left and
gestured. A man stepped out of the darkness into the torchlight. An old man with
long white hair, leaning heavily on a cane, dressed in a long black robe

159
that was worn and dirty. "It is as you said,' Acton said to the newcomer. "He is
not human."
"Who is this?" Vampyr demanded.
  "My name is Tyrn," the old man said, speaking Greek with a strange accent. "I
have traveled long and far to come here. I am of the Wedjat."
  Vampyr was surprised for the first time in many centuries and it showed on his
face.
  The old man nodded. "You know the word from the ancient tongue and you know
what it means."
Vampyr remained silent.
  Tyrn looked at Acton. "He has walked the Earth much longer than Sparta has
existed. He is one of the Undead. I have read of his kind in the records of my
order. They are a blasphemy of mankind."
  There was murmuring from the ranks of the knights at these words.
"He lies," Vampyr said.
   "He does not lie," Acton said simply. "He said you drink blood and that has
long been the rumor in the agoge. I followed you into the town and saw you do
exactly that with my own eyes. He says you have lived a very long time. And you
yourself said you were at the Battle of Thermopylae, something impossible for
any man still alive."
  "He must be killed," Tyrn said. "He is an affront to mankind."
  "Easy, old man," Acton said, putting a hand on Tyrn's shoulder. "He is a
Spartan. He earned that, regardless of where he came from or even what he is."
  "Let me go and I will leave Sparta," Vampyr said. "I am done with people's
petty squabbles anyway."
  Acton held up his xithos. "As you learned in the agoge, a sword has two edges.
Because you earned being

160


a Spartan, I will not kill you. But, I cannot allow you to leave being what you
are and having learned what we taught you. If you leave Sparta, you must leave
behind what Sparta gave you."
   "And how do you propose to do that?" Vampyr demanded.
  Acton walked up to the field table. He slid his xithos into its scabbard, and
then held a hand out to his rear. A knight came walking up with a bloodstained
axe in his hands.
  "What are you going to do?" Vampyr demanded, straining against the ropes with
all his might.
  "I am taking back what Sparta has given you as best as I can," Acton said. He
raised the axe over his head. It came down in a straight and accurate blow,
slicing into Vampyr's right arm midway between wrist and elbow, severing the end
of the limb. Vampyr's right hand flopped off the table, the fingers still
twitching.
  Vampyr gritted his teeth and glared at Acton, holding back the scream of pain
by virtue of the very training Acton was trying to undo. Blood spurted from the
stump, pulsing onto the table and ground. The Spartan commander walked around
the surgeon's table to the other side. Lifted the axe. And swung it down,
severing the left hand at exactly the same point.
Vampyr screamed.
  Two surgeons rushed forth, wearing leather gloves to hold red hot irons they
had just pulled from a fire. They pressed the glowing metal against the forearm
stumps. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, along with Vampyr's screams.
He didn't even notice the Watcher Tyrn gingerly gathering his two severed hands
and sprinkling them with black powder from a vial. Both appendages withered away
at the touch of the mysterious powder.

161

The surgeons cauterized the wounds, then bound tight leather strips around the
upper arms, further stemming the flow of blood to the severed limbs. All Vampyr
knew was pain, radiating up both arms, into his core, then circling, mixing with
his hatred into a black cauldron that would never know peace and solace.

162
CHAPTER   7


GREECE:   335   B.C.


For Nosferatu the decision to follow the course of action proposed by Aspasia's
Shadow was not a difficult one to make. If he could somehow find more of the
Gods, he might be able to get some of their blood and take it back to Nekhbet.
That he was being played by Aspasia's Shadow he had no doubt, but one could
always try to change the rules of the game.
  Nosferatu had traversed Africa on foot and sailed around it by boat, both
astounding feats. But China was a different matter. No one in Greece had ever
heard of such a place and Aspasia's Shadow had laughed when Nosferatu had asked
where the land lay. "To the east. Far to the east," had been his answer, before
letting Nosferatu know it was time for him to leave.
  While no one knew where China was, everyone now knew of Macedonia and the boy-
king from that province; Nosferatu had a hard time getting anyone to talk of
anything else. But the more he heard, the more interested he became in
Alexander, son of Philip II, king of Macedonia, and Olympias, a princess of
Epirus. Besides what Aspasia's Shadow had said, Nosferatu knew that to go east
would be more than a matter of pointing his face in that direction and walking.
The Persian Empire, the most recent conqueror of Egypt, lay that way

163


and it was not fond of strangers passing through. He would need help and it made
sense to seek out the most powerful ally available.
   Nosferatu was impressed by what he heard. Tutored by Aristotle, who was held
in great esteem among the intelligentsia in Athens, Alexander was now king of
Macedonia to the north of Greece as a result of the assassination of his father
the previous summer. In one short year, surrounded by enemies in his own kingdom
and those surrounding him, Alexander had brutally exerted his will, executing
any who stood in his way.
   His power was so great that a Greek congress of states gathering at Corinth
had elected him commander of their latest campaign against the Persians, during
which he had attacked to the east as far as the Danube River, a fact that
certainly intrigued Nosferatu. While conducting that campaign, Alexander had
been brought close to disaster at home when Thebes revolted. Yet he'd returned
from defeating the Persians and in one week razed the city of Thebes to the
ground and sold its population into slavery, an action that caught the attention
of the rest of the Greek states not yet allied with him.
   The previous year Alexander had gone after the Persians once more, crossing
the Hellespont, the water barrier dividing east and west Anatolia, to the east.
Alexander attacked a superior force of over 40,000 mercenaries and, according to
the tales, totally defeated it while losing only 110 men.
   Alexander was currently camped across the Hellespont and the rumor was that
he was preparing a further expedition to the east against the Persian main army
under King Darius III. With a letter of introduction from Aspasia's Shadow,
Nosferatu took leave of the city

164


of Athens and headed north to link up with Alexander and his army.
   Beyond all the legends that were growing up about the boy-king, Nosferatu
also knew something none of the Greeks and Macedonians who followed him did: He
was a Guide, programmed by Aspasia's Shadow using the Guardian computer inside
of Mount Sinai.


It took only the letter from Aspasia's Shadow with the proper code word that had
been imprinted in Alexander for Nosferatu to gain access to Alexander's court.
However, to work his way into the inner circle of advisers took two years. There
were many who did not trust him, a man whom they only saw at night, but
Alexander the King was not only programmed to accept him, but learned to
appreciate Nosferatu's counsel. Nosferatu knew patience, a trait he found many
mortals did not appreciate. Most important, though, were his forays, when he
would disappear for weeks at a time, ranging ahead of the army, hiding during
the day, and scouting at night, moving like a ghost and seeing what others
couldn't. He would return to the king's tent and brief the king and his staff on
the terrain and enemy ahead with an accuracy that astounded all.
  Nosferatu knew he could travel more quickly on his own, but he stayed with
Alexander because he saw great possibilities and because he knew Aspasia's
Shadow was right. The king had his sights set high, much higher than any around
him realized, except for Nosferatu, to whom he would confide his dreams of
conquest late at night. That those dreams had been implanted, Alexander had no
clue, nor did Nosferatu see any reason to enlighten him.

165


  The Persian king, Darius, had retreated to Babylon while Alexander continued
to the east and south. Nosferatu cautioned the king that he was leaving his left
flank open, but Alexander was more concerned with liberating all the towns along
the coast of the Mediterranean and bringing them into the Greek fold. Nosferatu
realized that even though Aspasia's Shadow had imprinted a strong desire into
Alexander, the young man still retained a large degree of freedom in his
decision making. More of the game, Nosferatu mused.
  Thus it was that in September of 333, Darius made a bold move from Babylon,
marched hard to the west into the rear of the Greek army, and cut Alexander's
supply line along the coast. The first notice of this disaster they had was when
those hospital cases they'd left behind appeared, wandering up the supply road,
their hands amputated, the wounds sealed with pitch, babbling of the mighty
Persian army they'd been given a tour of after having their appendages removed.
  This was when Nosferatu saw the unique nature of the man, which he had sensed
from their first meeting as Aspasia's Shadow obviously had also, expand to take
control over an army. Cut off, exhausted from hard marching, drenched by
torrential rains, and greatly outnumbered by the Persians to their rear, somehow
Alexander managed to infuse his fighters with a sense of optimism.
  Alexander personally led the charge against the Persian lines, heading
straight for Darius's golden chariot. The Greeks and Macedonians broke through
and Darius fled, so frightened that he left his mother, wife, and children
behind to be taken hostage.
  While his generals urged him to pursue Darius and finish off the Persians once
and for all, Nosferatu had

166


different advice, given the new state of affairs. Thus, Alexander marched south,
capturing Tyre after a siege, then into Gaza to take advantage of the sudden
power vacuum in Egypt. In short order, Alexander controlled the entire
Mediterranean seacoast from Greece around to Egypt.


The night of the army's triumphant entry into Egypt, Nosferatu went to the Giza
Plateau in the darkness. Alexander and his army remained at the mouth of the
Nile, where he was to found the city named after him.
  There was panic in nearby Cairo over the defeat of the Persians and the lack
of any Pharaoh to fill the void. Nosferatu cared nothing for that. He went to
the bank of the Nile, to the same hut he had visited so many years before. How
better to learn what was new than to ask those whose job it was to watch?
  When he kicked the door open, Nosferatu was not surprised to see a wizened old
man sitting on a straw mat, whittling away at a stick. The man looked up at the
sudden intrusion, but didn't stop whittling.
"You are a Watcher, a Wedjat?" Nosferatu demanded.
   "I am of the order," the man affirmed. "I am a Watcher. And I am not involved
in your war."
"Your name?"
"Does it matter?"
"No. But your name anyway."
"Kajik."
"Do you know who I am?"
   The man's eyes narrowed. "You appear to be a One Who Waits. As I said, I only
watch. You have no reason to do me harm."

167


  Nosferatu laughed. "I am not one of them. My name is Nosferatu."
  Kajik nodded, still without any sign of panic or fear. "I have heard of you.
From my father. The Undead one who killed a God. Who came here and took his love
away many years ago."
"You do not seem surprised to see me."
  "Much has happened in my life," Kajik said. "It would take a lot to surprise
me. I have seen the rule of two Pharaohs and three Persian kings. I have had six
of my seven sons forced into armies—the army of whoever was ruling at the time—
and die in battles against foes whom they had no reason to fight. I have seen my
wife die of grief."
  "And the seventh son?" Nosferatu asked. "The next Watcher of Giza?"
  "Hidden away. I have taught him what he needs to know and when I am gone he
will take over. But for now, I am the Watcher of Giza. I do not fear you nor do
I fear death, for I have done my duty."
"I have not come here to kill you, old man."
  Kajik shrugged. "So you say. Do you know some of my order now hunt your kind?"
"What do you mean?"
  "There are those in my order who see your kind as an abomination that should
not be allowed to walk the Earth. So they hunt you."
"I thought you were just supposed to watch?"
   "That is our mandate, but some have grown weary of just watching. They search
things out."
  Nosferatu laughed. "It would be most unfortunate for any of these Watcher-
Hunters to find me. For them, not me."
   "Perhaps that is what Vampyr thought until Tyrn, what you call a Watcher-
Hunter, found him in Greece."

168


  Nosferatu leaned forward. "What of Vampyr? What happened?"
   "He fought among the Spartans for many years. Rumors of a very strange man
among the Greeks began to grow and were passed on by members of my orders to our
headquarters. Then Tyrn began the long search. He caught up to Vampyr in Greece
while the Spartans were conducting a campaign against another city and convinced
the Spartans to turn on him."
  "Vampyr's dead?" Nosferatu could not believe such a thing after so many years.
He remembered Aspasia's Shadow speaking of Vampyr fighting to the south.
   "The Spartans would not allow Tyrn to kill him. But they cut off his hands
and set him off into the wilderness with no clothing or supplies. That was years
ago. I think he would have died by now."
  Not Vampyr, Nosferatu thought. "His hatred is too strong for him to die."
  Kajik shrugged once more. "I tell you only what I know. There is much in the
world I do not know."
"Vampyr killed the four remaining Airlia Gods here?"
Kajik nodded while continuing to whittle.
"Tell me something, Watcher."
Kajik stopped whittling and waited.
  "You know what happened to Vampyr. Your order exists around the world."
  "My order has people in many places," Kajik confirmed.
  "What of the other Airlia Gods?" Nosferatu asked. "Where are they?"
  Kajik carefully put the stick on the floor, then looked up at Nosferatu. "Why
do you want to know?"
"You don't serve them, correct?"
"We will never serve them," Kajik said.

169


"Then what is the purpose of your order?"
  There was a long silence in the hut, before Kajik spoke once more. "It is our
mandate to watch."
"Who gave the mandate?"
  "At the First Gathering, after the fall of Atlantis, those who were there gave
it."
"Men. Like you?"
  "Yes. Priests who had escaped Atlantis and who would not serve the Gods ever
again after the great betrayal."
  Nosferatu thought back to his childhood and the First Age. "Those at that
First Gathering had been abandoned by the Gods. Other priests were chosen, many
brought here to serve. Maybe to other places. But not those who formed your
order. Have you ever considered that?"
"What difference does it make?"
"It means your order was founded out of bitterness."
"So?"
"What is born in hatred is doomed to fail."
  "Who are you to say that?" Kajik demanded. "Why do you think those like Tyrn
hunt you? Are you any better than the Gods?"
  Nosferatu squatted so he was at eye level with the man. "Yes. Because over the
years I have learned much. I just want to be able to live in peace. And have my
love live. That is all most people ask, isn't it? But as long as the Gods exist,
that can never be.
  "So I ask you once again, Watcher, what is the purpose of your order?"
Nosferatu did not wait for an answer. "I will tell you why you only watch. Fear.
Your ancestors— those who founded your order—knew they could not fight the
Airlia Gods, so they decided only to watch. It was a decision based on fear.
They should have decided to fight them."
Kajik's dark eyes stared at Nosferatu, whatever

170


thoughts he had to what he was hearing hidden behind them. "Fight and die?"
   "This"—Nosferatu waved his hand about the hut—"is living? I have been here
before. Nothing has changed here. But the world out there"—he pointed out the
door of the hut—"is changing."
"What do you want from me?"
  "I have been told that some of the Airlia—those led by Artad, along with him—
sleep in a place called China. Is this so?"
"Yes."
  "Do you know where exactly? I was told a place called Qian-Ling but that means
nothing to me."
"He sleeps underneath a mountain made by men."
"Like the pyramid?"
"That I do not know."
  "What else do you know about Artad's sleeping place?"
   "A Watcher-Hunter passed through here during the time of my grandfather. He
was looking for more information on you and others like you. He told my
grandfather there is rumor of Undead near where Artad sleeps."
  Nosferatu had never considered that there would be others besides Vampyr. He
was still, assimilating this startling news for several moments. Then he asked,
"Where is Aspasia?"
Kajik simply pointed up.
"What does that mean?"
  "He is not on this planet. He is sleeping among the stars."
  Nosferatu slid his legs out from under him and sat down, feeling the weariness
of the years he had already lived. Aspasia was inaccessible. It was as likely
that Artad was too, even though he was in the place called China.

171


But that there might be other Undead there gave him hope of perhaps enlisting
some allies, in addition to Alexander and his army. Aspasia's Shadow's plan
might simply be a distraction, another role of the dice; but that didn't mean
Nosferatu couldn't turn it to his own advantage.
  Nosferatu took leave of Kajik and returned to the army. Alexander led the army
north and east out of Egypt and toward Babylon. They crossed the Tigris and the
Euphrates and met Darius once more in battle at Gaugamela. Once more Alexander
was victorious and once more Darius fled, although this time he escaped
Alexander but not death as he was slain by two of his own generals.
  Nosferatu found that following an army on the march made for excellent feeding
because of the number of camp followers, on whom no one kept a close eye.
However, he was still dismayed at the slowness of the advance. It was four years
since he'd left Greece with Alexander and they were still within the known
world. He spent many of his nights wandering local villages and cities trying to
learn more of the world to the east and listening for any mention of the land of
China and of other Undead. But nothing.
  At his urging Alexander moved forward in the winter of 331, an unheard-of
thing, and captured the Persian capital of Persepolis. He burned the city,
ending the Persian Empire.
  With access to the Persian court records, Nosferatu found the first mention of
a land that might be China. Far to the east and north of a huge mountain range.
There were drawings of flying dragons and other odd beasts and tales of a
strange people with yellow skin and slanted eyes. He was discouraged to see the
distances drawn on

172


the maps and the number of kingdoms still between him and his objective.
  Alexander didn't care. They finished the winter outside the sacked remains of
the Persian capital as his emissaries went to all the surrounding kingdoms and
demanded tribute lest they face destruction. By winter's end his domain
stretched from Greece to Afghanistan to Turkistan to Carthage. He was
essentially the ruler of the known world.
  It was to the unknown world, however, that Aspasia's Shadow's imprinting and
Nosferatu's urging pushed him. Any other ruler at such a young age would have
been content to govern and reap the rewards of his hard labor. But Alexander was
not the ruler of his own mind.
  In 326 he crossed the Indus River and invaded the Punjab.
  Nosferatu could finally see the high mountains to the north, apparently
impassable, blocking him—and Alexander's army—from the goal of China and Qian-
Ling.
  At that point what Nosferatu had long feared finally happened, the army
rebelled. They had been away from home and loved ones for almost a decade in an
age when the average life span was barely three decades. They refused to
continue and no amount of coaxing or threats by Alexander could make them go a
step farther.
  Nosferatu stood on the bank of the Indus and watched as the hastily
constructed fleet of Alexander set sail, to go downriver and then into the
Indian Ocean and on to the Persian Gulf and eventually home.
  He did not join them. He turned his face to the north and headed toward the
white peaks that seemed to touch the ceiling of the sky. He would try to reach
Qian-Ling on his own.

173


CRETE:   331   B.C.


   Nosferatu, who knew Vampyr well, was right. Vampyr's hatred had kept him
alive when the Spartans had sent him out of their camp, naked, handless, without
any supplies, and frighteningly depleted of blood. All he had was his xithos,
which Acton had hung around his neck on a scabbard, saying he had earned the
weapon.
  Vampyr had staggered through the forest, weaving his way among the trees. A
wounded animal, simply seeking some place to hide. The first day he'd burrowed
under the previous winter's leaves, his body wracked with pain, real and phantom
from where his hands ought to be. How could flesh that was not there cause pain?
he'd wondered in bewilderment.
  He had judged the humans wrongly, he'd realized those first weeks after he was
maimed. They were more cunning and determined than he had imagined. He promised
himself he would never underestimate them again.
  It took all he had learned over the many years and the training of the
Spartans for him to survive his wounds and the handicap of not having hands. He
fed on children, the old, the weak, those he could overpower most easily. And he
made his way south, knowing he needed to get back to his tube, to go into the
deep sleep. It took him two years to cross southern Greece. Then another year
before he managed to make his way on board a ship to Crete.
  He found the island fragmented, the kingdom he had once ruled a distant memory
that most believed never really existed. He went to the ruins of his old palace,
to the hidden chamber behind the throne room. Using a

174


stick gripped between his teeth, he set the controls, and then crawled in,
managing with great difficulty to put the leads around his arms and legs. Then
he went into the deep sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of revenge.

175

CHAPTER   8


CHINA: 325 B.C.

Nosferatu walked among the stone people, a shadow in the darkness. The statues
that lined the dirt road on either side glared down on him, their faces forever
set in anger. They were a warning, a silent message sent to those in the area to
stay away from the mountain to which the road led.
  Nosferatu could see the peak looming directly ahead, the destination that
Aspasia's Shadow had told him to seek so many years and miles ago. Nosferatu had
gone north out of India and skirted the foothills of the Himalayas, following
them around to the west, as the few locals he talked to late at night
recommended. He'd crossed hills and vast deserts, sometimes going for long
periods without feeding until finally the massive mountains were to his right
and he was moving east once more. He came upon a well-worn trading route, one
that would not be called the Silk Road for hundreds of years, but was already in
use by intrepid souls willing to attempt the dangerous journey.
  He fed upon stragglers and upon those who wandered too far from nightly
encampments. His primary impression of China was one of vastness. Seemingly
endless deserts rimmed by mountains. He heard there was an ocean to the east,
but very far away.

176


  The Silk Road ended at the city of Xian, which those he had talked to around
the fire in encampments had told him to seek. A local warlord ruled in Xian and
there appeared to be no centralized government, indicating to Nosferatu that the
word "China" was merely a geographical, rather than political, term. He'd spent
several weeks in Xian, listening at night to words spoken in darkened taverns,
learning the language and feeding to rebuild his strength after his long,
arduous journey.
  Few spoke of Qian-Ling and then only in whispers. There were supposed to be
evil demons around the mountain protecting it, and if one did get past the
demons, the story was that those who went in never came out. It was not very
much different than what was spoken of the Giza Plateau. When the moon was
darkest he departed Xian for Qian-Ling.
   Nosferatu paused between the statues and looked up. Three thousand feet high,
the mountain was much larger than the great pyramid he had seen in Egypt. It was
perfectly shaped, its rounded shoulders graced with terraces filled with plants
and trees leading to a rounded top.
  Nosferatu sensed movement in the darkness. He made himself as still as the
statues. There was someone out there, stalking him. He'd been hunted before, by
humans when he had stayed too long in one place and fed too often. They never
stood a chance of capturing him in the dark and he always made sure to hide well
during the day. But this was different. His pursuer wasn't a clumsy group armed
with swords and carrying torches.
  Nosferatu moved quickly to one side of the road and hid next to one of the
statues. He turned his head slowly, peering about, while also listening closely.
He heard a slight rustle of cloth to his right front. There. Also in the darker
place at the base of a statue was a figure. Staring

177


back at him. Nosferatu realized with a start that the other could see him just
as well in the dark. He knew then that he had found another like him, another
Undead.
  Then he realized there was more than one. He turned his head to the left and
saw another figure. Slowly turning in a circle, Nosferatu saw that he was
surrounded by half a dozen silent figures, all of whom held weapons, short
swords carried at the ready.
  How had they encircled him so easily? He should have heard them well before
they got close. Turning swiftly, Nosferatu bounded up into the air, alighting
atop a statue and looking down at the encircling group. He leapt from the top of
the statue to the next, landing hard and grabbing hold to keep from falling off.
   He was surprised to see that the circle had moved and was gathered around the
base of this statue, keeping a careful distance, but all eyes upon him.
  Nosferatu held up both hands, empty palms out to show he was not armed. The
circle didn't respond, simply staying in place, staring. The tableau remained
frozen, as if they were statues also, for over ten minutes, then two of those
who had trapped him moved apart and another, taller figure, walked between them
and up to the statue on which Nosferatu was perched, halting about five meters
away. Nosferatu still had his empty hands held up and this new figure mimicked
him, doing the same. He appeared to be a man, of above average height for the
people of the area, with long dark hair, wearing loose-fitting black pants and
shirt of the shiny material Nosferatu had seen others in this land wear, a
fabric the locals called silk.
  Nosferatu jumped down onto the road and the man held his place. Now that he
was closer, Nosferatu could see him clearly in the moonlight.

178


  It was the eyes that told him he was indeed looking at one of his own kind.
They were dark and deep and he could sense as much as see a tint of redness in
them. Nosferatu felt no fear. Indeed after so many years, he felt a desire to
speak with someone who shared his fate.
  "Where are you from?" the man asked. He spoke in the ancient tongue of the
Airlia.
  "I am Nosferatu, made in the First Age of Egypt, the spawn of Osiris the
Airlia God and a High Consort of the Gods."
  The man nodded. "I am Tian Dao Lin. I was made here"—he pointed at Qian-Ling—
"by Artad himself in consort with a sacrificial girl."
"How long have you been here?" Nosferatu asked.
  "For over three hundred years I have walked the night here."
Nosferatu glanced about. "And the others?"
"They are from me."
Nosferatu was surprised. "From you? How?"
Tian Dao Lin smiled. "From me and local women."
  Mating with a human. It had never occurred to Nosferatu. The hunger for blood
had always ruled. And then there was Nekhbet.
  "They are less than we," Tin Dao Lin said. "Only one quarter of the God blood.
The eldest is almost ninety years old and close to death. Several others, older,
have already died of old age."
"Do they also have the hunger?"
  Tian Dao Lin stepped closer. "I do not let them feed on blood. They crave and
eat human food. I do not want them partaking of the hunger." He gestured.
"Come."
  Nosferatu followed Tian Dao Lin, the entourage of Quarters falling in behind.
They headed directly away from Qian-Ling into the countryside, arriving at what
ap-

179


peared to be an abandoned village, the buildings badly in need of repair.
  "These people ran away long ago," Tian Dao Lin said as he led Nosferatu into
the largest hut in the center of the village. The Quarters, who Nosferatu saw
included only males, separated and disappeared into the surrounding huts.
"No females?"
  Tian Dao Lin frowned. "I do not let female Quarters live."
"Why?"
  "Because then they could mate with male Quarters and increase their power."
  That made brutal sense to Nosferatu. Tian Dao Lin settled down cross-legged on
a cushion and indicated for Nosferatu to do the same across from him.
  "You have traveled far," Tian Dao Lin said. "It must have been a dangerous and
difficult journey."
"It was."
  "One does not undertake such an arduous endeavor without a very good reason."
"He who made you . . ." Nosferatu paused.
"Yes?"
"The Airlia—where are they now?"
"They sleep below ground, in the mountain-tomb."
"Can you get to them?"
   "No. I have tried and, with tales of great riches, I have tempted others to
try. I even sent a small band of Quarters into the mountain. All have failed and
most have died in the attempt."
  Nosferatu felt a blanket of weariness come down over his shoulders. To have
come this far and be told so quickly his goal was not attainable was
overwhelming.
"Are you hungry?"
180


Nosferatu weakly nodded.
  Tian Dao Lin stood. "Come. There is still enough darkness. We can hunt
together."



Nosferatu spent a week with Tian Dao Lin, feeding and learning of his life. In
turn he told the Chinese man of his travels and how things were in the Western
world. Sensing that Nosferatu wasn't satisfied with being denied access to the
Airlia by just words, Tian Dao Lin agreed to lead him as far into the mountain
lair as he safely could.
  Early one evening after rising, Tian Dao Lin led him to the base of the
mountain, a half dozen Quarters trailing after them. They passed between two
large boulders, each with a statue of a crouching tiger perched on top. They
entered a small courtyard, thirty meters wide by fifteen long. At the far end
were two large bronze doors covered in writing.
   "Are there Watchers here?" Nosferatu asked, remembering how there was always
one near the Giza Plateau. He quickly described that situation.
"I have not seen anyone like that," Tian Dao Lin said.
"What about Watcher-Hunters?"
"What are those?"
"Humans who hunt us?"
  "I, and my people, have killed some humans who came after me, whether they
were Watchers or not, I do not know."
  They stood in front of the doors. "I hired some bandits to open these doors."
Tian Dao Lin swung one a little bit open. "After they breached this, I killed
them all to keep the place safe." He then ordered the Quarters to maintain a
watch on the doors.

181


  Tian Dao Lin slid through the open door, Nosferatu following. They were in a
large anteroom. The walls were painted with many figures, similar to what
Nosferatu had seen in Giza, along some sections of the Roads of Rostau.
  A wide tunnel was at the end of the anteroom. Ten meters wide, it ran straight
as an arrow into the bowels of the mountain. The workmanship was as superb as
that of the Roads, the walls cut smoothly.
  They went down about two hundred meters where two smaller tunnels, each going
ninety degrees in opposite directions, split off. Nosferatu could see the
writing on the walls around the split.
"Warnings," he said.
  Tian Dao Lin nodded. "Yes. Watch." He walked a little way down the main
tunnel. A dim red glow appeared just ahead of him. The glow became a circle,
then stretched up and down, narrowing. It took a shape Nosferatu recognized: an
Airlia. Pure white skin like ivory, legs and arms longer than a human's, with a
large head covered with flame red hair. The burning red cat eyes looked at them
as if the image could see.
  "That is the image of my father, Artad," Tian Dao Lin said.
  The right arm rose, its six-fingered hand extended, palm out. The image spoke
in the language of the Gods, reiterating what was written on the walls: It was
forbidden to enter unless one had the key. Any who tried to pass without it
would die.
  "And many have died," Tian Dao Lin said. "If you go farther down this tunnel,
there is a beam of light that slices through flesh and bone like a knife through
water. None can pass."
"And down there is where Artad and the other Airlia

182


sleep." Nosferatu did not make it a question, so Tian Dao Lin did not reply.
   So close. Nosferatu could sense the Airlia ahead of and below him. Sleeping
in their tubes. With the blood he needed to resurrect Nekhbet in their veins.
"What about this key? Any idea where it is?"
  Tian Dao Lin shook his head. "None. I have searched far and wide. I fear it
might even be down there, with the Airlia. I see no reason why they would leave
it outside."
"What about the other tunnels?"
  "The one to the left has an air shaft crossing it, very small, which dead-ends
at stone. The one to the right—I will show you."
  They backed up and took the right-hand tunnel. They went straight and down for
a little way, then the passageway began weaving back and forth in wide turns and
descending at a steeper angle. The tunnel suddenly began to widen, then opened
into a large chamber, the far end of which Nosferatu could not see. As soon as
they stepped out of the tunnel into the chamber, a dim glow came alive far above
their heads.
  As the glow grew brighter, Nosferatu put his hand up to shade his eyes. "What
is this place?"
  The glow was soon as bright as the sun, and Nosferatu closed his eyes to mere
slits.
   "It is where they have stored much of their riches," Tian Dao Lin said.
  Nosferatu could see they were in a massive cavern, the roof of which was
supported by metal beams. The room had to take up the entire interior of the
base of the mountain, he realized. The floor was covered with numerous large
black rectangular containers.
   "I have tried to get into them, but never succeeded," Tian Dao Lin said.

183


  "Are there no guards?" Nosferatu asked. "In the Roads of Rostau there is a
beast that prowls the tunnels and kills interlopers."
  "Just the trap far down the main tunnel," Tian Dao Lin said. "Look."
  Another red glow appeared in front of them. It coalesced into another Airlia
form. The figure began to speak but many of the terms it used were unfamiliar to
Nosferatu. He realized it was probably giving an inventory of what was stored
there as several times it mentioned amounts and numbers and pointed at various
containers.
  "I am sorry," Tian Dao Lin suddenly said, catching Nosferatu by surprise.
"Sorry for what?"
  "That you cannot get what you came for. That you cannot return and rescue your
love, Nekhbet."
   Nosferatu backed up into the tunnel, Tian Dao Lin joining him. The light from
the chamber dimmed, leaving them in their darkness. They headed back up the
tunnel.
"Will you stay here?" Nosferatu asked Tian Dao Lin.
"This is my home."
"Will you watch this place?"
  "Yes." Tian Dao Lin knew what Nosferatu was getting at. "If there is a change,
if we can get to the lower level, I will let you know. Where will you go?"
  That was an interesting question as Nosferatu had no idea what his next move
was to be. "I will go back to the west." He did not tell Tian Dao Lin that he
planned to go into the deep sleep, as the other did not have a black tube, nor
seemed to know of their existence. "I will seek out Aspasia's Shadow and try to
learn more."
  "He does not sound like a creature that is to be trusted," Tian Dao Lin noted.

184


  "He seems to take amusement in the misery of others," Nosferatu acknowledged.
"Still, he has an agenda that was imprinted on him by Aspasia. He sent Alexander
and his army in this direction in the hope they would make it and perhaps force
an entrance. I am sure he will cause more trouble in the future."
  Both were startled when there was a loud bang. "The doors! "Tian Dao Lin cried
out.
  They raced up the tunnel to find the large bronze doors shut and the bodies of
the six Quarters scattered about in front of them in the foyer room, ripped to
pieces. Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin ran to the doors and leaned against them,
pressing with all their superhuman might, but they would not budge.
  "Who did this?" Nosferatu demanded, as they turned back to face the main
corridor.
  Tian Dao Lin shook his head. "I do not know. I have been inside the mountain a
half dozen times. Never has this happened."
  Nosferatu knelt next to one of the bodies. The wounds were clean, caused by
something very sharp.
  "In the Roads of Rostau—" Nosferatu began, but he fell silent as they heard a
noise above them. Both looked up to see a trapdoor swing open in the rounded
dome ceiling. A glowing gold orb with black legs—a twin to the one under Giza—
dropped down, hitting the floor with a clatter of metal legs on stone.
   One leg lifted, razor-sharp tip pointed at Nosferatu, while another was
directed at Tian Dao Lin. For several minutes everything was absolutely still in
the foyer. Then the sound of boots echoed up the main corridor. Nosferatu took
an involuntary step back as two Airlia appeared in the entranceway to the main
corridor, long spears in their hands. They wore black, one-piece suits and
looked

185


none too pleased, their fierce red eyes glaring at the intruders.
  "My lords—" Tian Dao Lin began, hands held up in supplication. His entreaty
was cut short by a bolt of gold from the tip of one of the spears hitting him in
the chest and knocking him backward.
  Nosferatu finally reacted, reaching for the dagger in his belt when a bolt
took him in the chest and his world went black.


CRETE:   325   B.C.


  Vampyr came awake to darkness. He lay still for several minutes, slowly
breathing, trying to regain his orientation. Coming out of the deep sleep was
always a disconcerting experience. He reached up to open the tube. When the
stump of his arm hit the top of the tube, it all came rushing back to him: what
the Spartans had done to him; the years of making his way here, forced to live
like an animal, feeding on the weak and the young.
  Vampyr pressed the lid open. Faint starlight and moonlight seeped into the
chamber from slight cracks caused by the earthquake so many years before. He sat
up and fumbled with the leads to his arms and legs, using his stumps and a stick
between his teeth. It took hours to remove them, then he exited the tube.
  Vampyr held up his arms, staring at the stumps. Something was different. The
flesh on the stumps of his forearms had healed and skin covered the wounds—but
after over five years of deep sleep he could swear that the forearm was ever so
slightly longer. Were his arms growing back? Was the Airlia virus in his blood
allowing him to regenerate?

186


  Vampyr left the chamber to hunt for someone to feed on as he considered the
possibility. He went to the closest village and reached in a window, taking a
sleeping child into what remained of his arms and running off into the forest
before the alarm could be raised. He drained the child and buried the corpse in
a shallow grave before returning to his ruined palace just before dawn. He
searched for a piece of stone that matched the length of his forearms. He
finally found one and took it with him into his tube, where he set the controls
for ten years and reattached the leads. Then he closed the lid.


When Vampyr awoke ten years later, the first thing he did was open the lid to
let the meager light of the chamber in. The second was check his stumps against
the stone marker.
  They were indeed a fraction of an inch longer. He felt hope for the first time
since Acton had swung the axe. His hands would be back. Judging by how little
had grown in ten years it would take a very long time, but that was the one
asset he had plenty of. Without exiting to feed, he edged toward the top of the
tube and with the stick reset the controls for a much, much longer deep sleep.
Then he shut the lid and passed again into darkness.

187

CHAPTER    9


CHINA:    A.D.   11 67.


The bronze doors leading into Qian-Ling swung open and a young woman staggered
out, a boy-child less than a week old in her arms. The doors swung shut behind
her and she wandered into the dark terrain around the mountain. She made it
little more than a mile before she was surrounded by a group of four men who
were not quite completely human.
  They were the descendants of Tian Dao Lin's Quarters, who had stolen local
women and intermarried, mixing their blood and genes over and over again through
the centuries until what was left were these creatures who prowled the night,
attacking unwary travelers, eating their flesh and drinking their blood like
animals, with little intelligence left in their twisted minds.
  They took the girl down in a swift charge, her screams cut off as one sliced
her throat open with a stone knife. Three of the four vied for position at the
spurting arteries, drinking her blood. The fourth spotted the small bundle she
had carried and picked it up. He felt something move inside the blanket and,
knowing the others would want this prize too, he made off into the darkness.

188


  A short distance away he put the bundle down and unwrapped the blanket. He
looked down at the baby boy's face. He frowned, a memory and faint emotion that
he couldn't quite grasp whispering in his mind. He did not, however, feed. He
rewrapped the child in the blanket and headed back toward the decrepit village
his kind inhabited.
  He went into the mud hut where he lived with his mate, a woman who had lost
her own child in birth from a genetic defect caused by too much inbreeding. He
held out the bundle to her and she took it.


He was smarter than the others. He'd known that for as long as he could
remember. He was also faster, an attribute that had saved his life several times
as men in the village, in their burning desire for flesh and blood during
particularly lean times, came after him.
  He'd also accepted that he must leave. This was not a place for him, among
degenerate survivors in a squalid village. But he did not go until his twelfth
year, the day after the woman he had grown to call mother died.
  He left in the night, as even more so than the others in the village, he could
not abide sunlight. He went north and west, away from Qian-Ling. With natural
cunning he sought out a weak tribe of humans, one that had suffered many defeats
and was living in inhospitable land they had been forced to, slowly dwindling
and starving. He entered the first night with a deer he had run down slung over
his shoulders. He gave the food to the famished people.
Despite his youth and the oddness of his ways, only

189


being about at night, his ability to hunt and share what he brought down gained
him quick acceptance. Within two years he led the tribe, and already he was
wrapped in legend, The old woman who was the tribe's healer and seer claimed he
was descended from the union of a gray wolf and white doe and that he was
destined for great things.
  He learned that these people were known as the Mongols and lived a precarious
existence between the empires of China and Russia. He took the name Temujin,
after a former local chief who had died bravely fighting the Chinese. He
encouraged the myths that surrounded him. He began to conquer one tribe after
another. His fledgling rule grew by force of arms, bribery, or expedient
alliances.
  After ten years, in his early twenties, he had accrued so much power that the
Mongol leaders declared their loyalty to him and acclaimed him Universal
Monarch— Genghis Khan.
  In the year 1202 he led his people against the Tatars and annihilated that
tribe, becoming master of eastern and central Mongolia. In 1206 he completed the
conquest of Mongolia and was proclaimed the Great Khan. With all the tribes
behind he turned his attention in the direction he had always yearned to attack:
to the south and east, into China. He invaded in 1211 and overran most of
northern China within a year.
  Military necessities forced him to attack toward the capital city of Beijing
rather than Xian, which was in the vicinity of his true goal of Qian-Ling. The
Chinese Emperor sued for peace and sent a princess with an immense dowry as an
inducement.
  Satisfied that his flank was secure, the Khan turned his mighty army toward
Xian and conquered that city easily. Then he rode at the head of his column of
troops toward

190


the mountain known as Qian-Ling. On the last day of March 1214, he reached the
wide dirt road leading to the mountain.
  And there he was halted and could go no farther. An invisible wall that
nothing could penetrate extended around the mountain in all directions.
  The Khan spent four months encamped just outside of the barrier, probing it
nightly, and each time he was stopped. He had bows, spears, even the explosive
Chinese powder used against the strange barrier all to no avail. Finally, the
demands of keeping his empire intact forced the Great Khan to return to the east
and sack Beijing to put down a revolt.
  With Qian-Ling denied to him, the Khan decided he would take the rest of the
world. There had been a story in the village of someone like their common
ancestor Tian Dao Lin, coming from the west a long time ago and disappearing
into the mountain-tomb with Tian Dao Lin. The Khan led his forces in that
direction.
   He conquered Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan, and most of
Persia. He sacked the great city of Samarkand, slaughtered every single one of
its inhabitants, and killed the Sultan Muhammad in 1220. He continued west,
farther than any Mongol had ever been, deep into Caucasia, where he defeated a
combined Russian-Turkish army. While he was doing that, the Chinese once again
revolted. Realizing it was as impossible to maintain such a large empire as to
enter Qian-Ling, the Khan staged his own "death" in August 1227.
  A handpicked group of twelve warriors took his body to a hidden location to be
buried. The night before the burial, the Khan killed all twelve and buried their
bodies.

191


Then he mounted his horse and rode to the west, fading into history and legend.
  He went to the fledgling city of Moscow, where he assumed a new identity. One
of many he would have over the ages until he was finally known as Adrik.

192

CHAPTER   10


QIAN-LING, CHINA: A.D. 1405.


Nosferatu woke to familiar darkness. He was in an Airlia tube, of that there was
no doubt. He had spent so much of his life in one, he could sense the dimensions
of his prison. However, it wasn't his tube, of that he was also certain. He
reached up and, as he feared, the lid was secured from the outside.
  He tried to recall what had happened. China. Tian Dao Lin. Qian-Ling. The
large bronze doors locked, the dead Quarters. The gold spider. Then the Airlia
with the spears. That was it. His last memory. They had captured him. The
feeling of despair was brought up short by the next thought—why hadn't they
simply killed him? And then—was Nekhbet still alive in the deep sleep in her
tube?
  Nosferatu reached up and felt his neck. A shunt was in place, but he couldn't
remember having been fed. So why am I still alive? And how long have I been in
here? This was the first time he could recall being awake. He reached farther up
and felt the crown on his head and his panic came back. How long have I been
asleep?
  He heard movement, someone touching the tube, then the top swung up. Nosferatu
could only make out a form leaning over him. Hands removed the crown from his
head and the leads to the muscle exercisers around his

193


body. Nosferatu blinked, trying to adjust his eyes. The lighting was very dim,
but it still hurt his pupils. He could tell from the form that it appeared to be
a human who had opened the tube. The man put a hand on Nosferatu's shoulder and
pulled him to an upright position.
  Nosferatu looked around. He was in a room with a half dozen black tubes. A
black wall made of some strange material was to his right. He turned back to his
left, where the man that had awakened him was opening another tube. The man was
short, less than five and a half feet in height. He wore a richly embroidered
silk robe with images of fire-breathing dragons sewn into it. In one hand he
held a spear, like the ones used to overpower Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin.
  Nosferatu was not surprised to see his fellow Undead sit up in the other tube.
The man who had freed them turned back to Nosferatu. Though the man was short,
his eyes indicated he wasn't completely human, as they were the red-within-red
cat eyes of the Airlia. A One Who Waits.
  "I am Ts'ang Chieh, court official to the most noble Emperor ShiHuangdi,
Commander of all the World, the Hidden Ruler whose reign goes from rising to
setting sun and beyond." He stepped closer. "ShiHuangdi was Artad's Shadow. Do
you know what a Shadow is?"
"I've met Aspasia's Shadow," Nosferatu said.
"We know."
"How long have I slept?"
  Ts'ang Chieh glanced at the display at the head of the tube. "One thousand,
seven hundred and thirty years."
  Nekhbet. It was all Nosferatu could think of as the impact of those numbers
sank in. He was consoled by the knowledge that she was in the deep sleep and
would not have been aware of the passage of time, just as he had not.

194


Of course, there was the danger of some natural disaster having overtaken her
hiding place in the Mountains of the Moon, but Nosferatu knew he could not dwell
on that or he would go insane.
  "Who is this Emperor ShiHuangdi?"Tian Dao Lin was out of his tube, getting his
legs back under him. "Emperor of what?"
   "Who was the Emperor ShiHuangdi is the correct phrasing," Ts'ang Chieh said.
"He combined all the lands to make the Middle Kingdom known to the outside world
as China. We are now in the midst of a vast empire stretching from the Yellow
Sea to the far mountains of the west."
  "Why have you woken us?" Nosferatu asked. He realized he had jumped over the
more important question of why they had been taken alive.
  "You are needed," Ts'ang Chieh said. "Aspasia's Shadow is causing trouble in
the West. The truce is threatened. The new Emperor, Yongle—acting on my advice
and the wishes of the God whose name must not be spoken—is mounting an
expedition to maintain the truce. You both will accompany it."
"For what purpose?" Nosferatu asked.
"To kill Aspasia's Shadow."


The emperor must be taking the threat quite seriously," Nosferatu said, as he
and Tian Dao Lin stood next to Ts'ang Chieh on top of the harbor watch tower and
peered out over the fleet. A forest of masts crowned the flotilla, which
stretched as far as they could see to the mouth of the harbor and beyond. They
had traveled from Qian-Ling to Nanking in style, an imperial escort guarding
them the entire way.

195


  "Three hundred and seventeen ships," Ts'ang Chieh said. "Crewed by 27,870
sailors and soldiers. The commander, whose ship you will be on, is named Cing
Ho. He knows of your nature and your mission. He will get you as close to
Aspasia's Shadow as he can."
"And then?"Tian Dao Lin asked.
  "You kill Aspasia's Shadow." Ts'ang Chieh reached inside his cloak and removed
two swords in sheaths engraved with High Runes. He extended them grip first to
the two Undead. Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin took the weapons. "But"—Ts'ang Chieh
drew the word out—"before you kill him, you must find out where his lair is and
enter. You must go there and kill the clone that is waiting to replace him. If
you do not do that, after a certain amount of time the clone will automatically
be reborn to replace him and your efforts will have been in vain. And I am
certain the new Aspasia's Shadow will extract vengeance on whoever slew the
previous one."
   Nosferatu glanced at Tian Dao Lin. "And why should we do these things for
you?"
  "You are not doing them for me," Ts'ang Chieh said. "You are doing them for
Artad. He let you live so many years ago when you invaded Qian-Ling. He could
just as easily have had you killed."
  "Why not have your Ones Who Wait do this task?" Nosferatu asked, remembering
the creature that had tried to kill him in Athens.
  "The Ones Who Wait suffered a terrible defeat a while ago," Ts'ang Chieh said.
"It will take many years for them to regain their ability to counter Aspasia's
Shadow."
  Nosferatu wondered what kind of defeat and in what form, but Ts'ang Chieh had
no more patience with questions or delays. "If you do not agree to perform these
tasks, you will be killed right here immediately. Admiral

196


Cing Ho has other orders, and he will, shall we say, execute them if you stray
from your mission."



Cing Ho's flagship was the largest oceangoing vessel yet built by man. Over four
hundred feet long, it had a compass, a stern rudder, and several watertight
compartments built into the hull for safety. It displaced over three hundred
tons, making it over three times larger than the ships Columbus would sail to
the New World at the end of the century.
  As Ts'ang Chieh had said, they were well accommodated aboard the massive
flagship with a belowdecks cabin that was all their own. The ship was a marvel
compared to what Nosferatu had previously traveled on. Besides its huge size, it
had nine full masts spaced out along the deck. The four-story-high rudder was
controlled by an intricate system of blocks and tackles so that one helmsman
could handle the wheel. Next to the helmsman was the navigator who had a compass
consisting of a magnet floating in a small bowl of water.
  The journey proceeded in leaps and bounds south along the coast of China, with
several engagements with Japanese pirates along the way. From Canton they sailed
to Indochina, then on to Indonesia, where Cing Ho confronted and defeated a
large fleet of Chinese pirates who were headquartered in Palembang. He kept the
lead pirate prisoner to bring him back to Nanking for execution.
  With each victory, Cing Ho provided Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin with captives
to feed on in the privacy of their cabin. The two were confined to their cabin
except once weekly, when they were allowed to wander the large afterdeck in the
evening. Occasionally they met Cing Ho there. Nosferatu found the Chinese
admiral to

197


be quite a fascinating character for a human. He was of Arab-Mongol descent and
had been captured by the Emperor's forces during the northern border wars. Upon
his capture Cing Ho was castrated—a common practice with prisoners—and pressed
into the army of a prince named Chu Ti. In 1402 Chu Ti rebelled and usurped the
throne from his own nephew and became the Emperor Yongle. For his faithful and
brilliant service, Cing Ho was made an admiral.
  When Artad directed that a fleet be sent to battle Aspasia's Shadow's growing
influence in the Middle East, Cing Ho was given command of the mission.
Nosferatu began to realize there was more to the mission, though, than was
readily apparent, as they progressed up the west side of Indochina and then on
the coast of India. By defeating various pirate groups, the fleet was opening up
a waterborne trade route to the west, one that would be much quicker than the
Silk Road. Also, Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin heard whispers of a special cargo on
board the flagship, something that had come from the Gods themselves. Any effort
to find out exactly what this cargo was drew immediate silence. It appeared that
the cargo was held in a locked, waterproof room near the front of the ship, to
which only Cing Ho had access.
  They rounded the tip of India and entered the Arabian Sea after two years
under sail. When they landed at Omuz in the Straits of Oman, Cing Ho led a large
force ashore. The ostensible reason was to subjugate the local population, but
he took Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin with him, the first time their feet had
touched dry land since leaving China. He ordered them to scour the local area at
night and see if they could find word of Aspasia's Shadow.
  For weeks Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin went from village to village, even
venturing out into the desert, all to no

198


avail. At Nosferatu's urging they ranged north far into the desolate countryside
of what would become Iran until they found an oasis where a group of Bedouins
were camped.
  From his journeys many years ago, Nosferatu still remembered some of the
desert people's language. He and Tian Dao Lin entered the encampment just after
nightfall, their wrists draped with pearls and their open palms filled with
gold.
  The first Bedouins they encountered were wary and would not take the offered
riches; but they took the two to an ornate tent set in the middle of the camp,
next to the water. Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin entered and bowed before the old
man who sat in the place of honor, and four of the desert warriors took a
position between them and the old man, scimitars drawn.
   "We come from the land of the Emperor Yongle, far to the east," Nosferatu
said. "We bring you gifts of peace."
  The old man didn't reach out to take the gifts, but indicated they should be
deposited on the ground in front of the warriors. Nosferatu did as indicated and
waited.
  "I am Al-Fatar, leader of the Qabila of Fatar. We have heard of strange, great
ships to the south. Is this how you came here?"
Nosferatu nodded. "Yes. We have journeyed far."
"Why?"
  Nosferatu knew such directness was unusual for Bedouins, who had strict rules
of hospitality which he had counted on. He realized it would be best to be as
direct. He sat down cross-legged. "We are seeking someone. A powerful lord who
is supposed to dwell between here and the land of Egypt. Since you travel much
of that land, we thought you might be of assistance in this matter."
"This lord's name?"

199


"Aspasia's Shadow."
Al-Fatar shook his head. "I know of no such lord."
"He might go by another name," Nosferatu said.
"Then how would I be able to tell you if I knew him?"
  "He is more than a man," Nosferatu said. "He has lived the lives of many men.
He has walked the Earth since before the beginning of time, when the Gods
themselves walked the Earth."
  Al-Fatar stared at Nosferatu. "If he is so powerful, why should I tell you of
him?"
  Nosferatu stood. "Because I too am powerful. And I too have walked the Earth
since the time of the Gods. I was in Egypt before the Great Pyramid was built.
And the great fleet you have heard of is under my command."
Al-Fatar was not impressed. "Words are easy."
  Nosferatu jumped, bounding over the warriors as he drew his dagger. He landed
behind the old man and spun about, pressing the dagger against his throat. "Is
this blade easy on your skin?"
  Tian Dao Lin had also moved, attacking in a flurry faster than the Bedouins
could follow. Within seconds all four warriors were unconscious on the floor.
More Bedouins poured into the tent, weapons at the ready; but they came to a
halt on seeing their leader's plight.
"Tell me what you know," Nosferatu said.
  Surprisingly, Al-Fatar laughed. "I have never seen a man so eager to go to his
death. The person you seek is called Al-Iblis. Some say he is a man, but most
call him a demon. He has been sending out a call to the Bedu, wanting us to ride
under his flag. Many have chosen to do so. Some say he has spells he casts over
men to make them do his bidding. I have stayed here, far away from him, and will
not go to his flag, so I care not what you do."
"Where can I find this Al-Iblis?" Nosferatu demanded.

200
   "In the Sinai," Al-Fatar said. "It is said he rules from Jabal Mosa, where
the prophet Moses received the law from Allah. What those in the West call Mount
Sinai."
  Nosferatu had never heard of the place or anyone named Moses, but he knew they
could find it with that information. "What is Al-Iblis doing?"
  "He is raising an army to fight in the name of Allah. To pursue a Jihad."
  "What is a Jihad?" Nosferatu asked, the word not one he had heard before.
"A war of faith."
"Against whom?"
  Al-Fatar shrugged. "It is not my concern, but the rumor is he wants to march
on Egypt, that he seeks something underneath the Great Pyramid."
  Nosferatu wondered what Aspasia's Shadow sought in Egypt. The Grail? Had he
found the key to the Hall of Records? Or something else? Nosferatu nodded to
Tian Dao Lin. He turned and slashed with the sword he had been given by Ts'ang
Chieh cutting a hole in the side of the tent. They both dashed out the
improvised exit and into the desert. Nosferatu was not surprised when there was
no sound of pursuit.


Cing Ho Listened to Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin's report in the privacy of his
cabin aboard the flagship. When they were done he unrolled a map across his
large desk, pinning the ends down with small lead weights. The information on it
was based on intelligence gathered, not firsthand knowledge, as no Chinese
sailor had ever ventured so far from home.
   "The Sinai is a large place" was Cing Ho's summation, tapping the large blank
space indicating a landmass be-

201


tween the Persian Gulf and the Red Sea. "You have no idea where exactly this
mountain is?"
"No," Nosferatu said.
  Cing Ho seemed troubled. "This land is not very hospitable. I believe it will
be difficult to find a landfall where we can get enough provisions for the
entire fleet."
  Nosferatu remained silent. Cing Ho's problems were not his. He and Tian Dao
Lin had even considered not returning to the fleet, but the reality was that the
Chinese armada was their best possible chance to overcome whatever force
Aspasia's Shadow was gathering. For Nosferatu the goal was to get Aspasia's
Shadow to reveal where Horus and the other three Airlia were in the deep sleep,
so he could drain the blood from at least one of them for Nekhbet. For Tian Dao
Lin the fleet was his best opportunity to return to his home in China and be in
favor with Artad.
  "I will land here," Cing Ho finally decided, tapping a landfall on the Sinai
next to the Red Sea. "However, there is something we must first do elsewhere."
  Nosferatu wondered what could be a higher priority than finding and killing
Aspasia's Shadow, but he kept the question to himself.


It took a week to sail around the tip of the
Sinai. As they approached the Red Sea, Nosferatu felt a twinge of recognition.
It had been many, many years since he had sailed out of the Red Sea on a flimsy
reed boat, escaping from Egypt and the Airlia Gods.
  Nosferatu received a second unexpected surprise when, instead of turning to
the northwest and entering the Red Sea, they cut south across the Gulf of Aden
to the shore of Africa and actually turned to the east,
202


paralleling the shore, in the same manner Nosferatu had done so many years
previously. For a moment, as he saw the shore of Africa appear, he feared that
somehow Cing Ho knew where Nekhbet was hidden and was heading for her; but he
realized the ridiculousness of that fear immediately. He had told no one, not
even Tian Dao Lin, where he had hidden his love. And why would Cing Ho—or his
master, Artad—care? Nosferatu knew that the Chinese admiral was on some other
mission, most likely something to do with whatever was locked in the vault near
the bow of the ship.
  They sailed along the Somalian coast before making landfall in a natural
harbor. A small village was on the shore and Cing Ho had all the villagers put
to the sword. That evening, under the cover of darkness, Cing Ho went to the
forward hold and unlocked the door. A heavy wooden crate was brought out and
rowed ashore. Two long poles were slid through hinges on either side. Cing Ho
formed a division of two thousand soldiers on the beach, the crate secure in the
middle, carried by a dozen men on each pole.
  Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin watched from the deck of the flagship as the
formation moved inland. Cing Ho had not said a word to them, so by default they
were being left with the fleet.
  "Where do you think they are going?" Tian Dao Lin asked.
  Nosferatu shrugged. "What is more important is what it is that they are
carrying. It is more important than Aspasia's Shadow."
  "Perhaps it has something to do with Aspasia's Shadow," Tian Dao Lin
suggested.
"How can that be?"

203


   It was Tian Dao Lin's turn to shrug. "I do not know, but Artad is obviously
very wise and his reach is long."
  "There is one way to find out," Nosferatu said. "You remain here. Keep up the
pretense that I remain in our cabin. I will follow." The Chinese had not watched
the two very carefully, primarily because jumping ship in the middle of nowhere
wasn't considered a viable option.
  Nosferatu had no problem slipping off the flagship undetected. It was also
easy to follow the trail of Cing Ho's army inland as they cut a broad swath
through the jungle. Nosferatu quickly caught up to the army. He followed for two
weeks, sleeping during the day while the army marched and catching up every
evening.
  The terrain quickly grew more rugged and mountainous. Near the end of the
second week the army entered the strangest land Nosferatu had ever seen. It was
as if a giant had smashed the Earth with a large axe, leaving a massive rift in
the surface. A river ran in the bottom of the rift and sharp peaks surrounded it
on both sides. Nosferatu followed the army down into the rift.
  After two days of difficult maneuvering north, the army came to a halt. That
evening Nosferatu watched from a nearby hill as Cing Ho gathered a small group
of his most trusted warriors around the mysterious box. They were lined up next
to the wall of the rift and Nosferatu blinked in amazement as they turned toward
the wall and seemed to disappear from view. He realized there must be an
opening, perhaps a cave in the rift wall. He crept down through the Chinese camp
to the spot and saw an opening behind a boulder. He could see the glow from the
torches of those who had entered ahead and he followed, keeping his distance.
The small tunnel soon opened into a sloping cavern
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over five hundred meters wide, the ceiling over a hundred meters high. Nosferatu
knew from his time in the Roads of Rostau and Qian-Ling that this was not a
natural formation but the work of the Airlia Gods. For as far as he could see
the cavern descended into the Earth at the same angle. Cing Ho's party was a
glowing spot about eight hundred meters ahead.
  Nosferatu followed. The cavern grew even wider until he couldn't see either
side. While the Black Sphinx and Qian-Ling had been magnificent in their own
ways, this cavern made Nosferatu wonder at the true power of the Airlia. He felt
as if he were descending to the very center of the Earth as he continued to
follow Cing Ho's party down the steady slope.
  He realized that the temperature, which had been cooler than the outside when
he first entered the cavern, was beginning to rise. Then, far ahead, he could
make out a faint thin red glowing line. As he got closer he could see that a
crevice split the cavern floor. The far side of the crevice was over half a mile
away. Nosferatu swung to the right as Cing Ho's party reached the crevice and
came to a halt.
   Sliding to the edge of the crevice, Nosferatu peered down. The walls were
vertical and there was no bottom that he could see, just a bright red glow
pulsating upward. He could feel the wave of heat coming from the bowels of the
planet. It was a mesmerizing vision and, with great difficulty, he drew his
attention back to Cing Ho as he heard the faint echo of the Chinese admiral
giving orders to his men.
  Nosferatu saw that there was a console, similar to the one he had seen in
Qian-Ling, near the edge. Cing Ho was standing behind it, his hands moving over
the surface, his face reflected in a glow. Nosferatu moved back and above

205


the site. He could see that the surface of the console was like that on his own
tube—covered with hexagonals with High Rune writing.
   Cing Ho tapped several of the hexes as two of his men used bars to break open
the crate. As the wood fell away it revealed a large, dull red, multifaceted
sphere. Other soldiers gathered round the sphere and, at Cing Ho's command,
carefully edged it toward the edge of the chasm.
   Cing Ho hit another hex and a black metal pole came out of the side of the
chasm. Then another. And another. The three poles stopped when they were
extended about fifteen meters out. Three intrepid soldiers climbed down and
balanced themselves on the poles as the other slid the red sphere over the edge.
As soon as they had the sphere balanced precariously on the poles, the soldiers
quickly moved out of the way.
   Cing Ho continued to work the console and cables snaked out of the poles,
wrapping around the sphere. Then the poles began to extend once more. As they
did so they spread apart. The sphere suddenly dropped, only to come to a halt
five meters below, suspended from the cables. The poles continued to extend
until they had bridged the chasm and the sphere was directly in the center.
   Cing Ho ordered his men back. Then he hit one last hexagonal.
  Nosferatu dived to the floor as the sphere gave off a fierce red glow, bathing
the immediate area with light. Cing Ho and the soldiers were so focused on the
sphere that they didn't spot him. A shelf slid out of the console, and upon it
rested a small black sphere that Cing Ho removed and placed in a leather satchel
at his side. Nosferatu got to his feet and ran back up the cavern into the
darkness.
206


Looking over his shoulder he could see that Cing Ho and his men were also
heading back.
  Nosferatu sprinted on, keeping ahead of the group. Heading upslope, the cavern
seemed even larger. He had no idea how long they had been underground, but his
internal sense of time told him that it would be daylight. He moved to the
right, out of the direct path to the exit, and allowed Cing Ho and his men to
pass.
  He sat down on the smooth stone to wait. Cing Ho and his group passed out of
sight. Nosferatu had no idea what he had just witnessed, but he was sure there
was great power revolving around the mysterious red sphere.
  Several hours later, Nosferatu heard the sound of metal on stone echoing down
the cavern. He panicked, worried that Cing Ho was sealing the cavern from the
outside. He dashed upslope until he could see several torches near the entrance,
but quickly came to a halt when he realized they weren't blocking the entrance.
They had erected a black stone, three meters high by one in width. Several men
were polishing the surface smooth while another was chiseling something on it as
soon as they finished a spot.
  This went on for several hours, then the group departed, leaving Nosferatu in
darkness once more. He went up to the stone. He could just make out the Chinese
writing. He'd learned the language while on board ship and he read the words:
Cing Ho reached this place as directed. He did his duty as ordered.


They made landfall at Jidda, a small
port along the Arabian coast. Nosferatu had easily beaten Cing Ho and his men
back to the fleet and told

207


Tian Dao Lin about what he had witnessed. They discussed it at length but had to
accept that they had no idea what the purpose of putting the ruby sphere in the
cavern could be. They also discovered that Cing Ho had had every man who'd gone
into the cavern with him executed during the march back, their bodies buried in
the barren countryside.
  Leaving a guard force of five thousand sailors, Cing Ho led the rest of the
contingent, roughly twenty-three thousand men, ashore. He took the entire town
of Jidda hostage and located Jabal Mosa by the expedient methods of torture and
execution.
  Finding the mountain's location was easy, but getting there would be another
matter. According to the information they received, the mountain was located
inland, across inhospitable desert. Cing Ho approached it as if they were simply
continuing their long voyage on land. Numerous water casks were unloaded from
the ships, along with other provisions, and the army set forth with several
captives who claimed to know the location of the mountain at the head of the
column. They marched at night, resting during the heat of the day.
  Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin rose each evening and ranged out from the long,
dusty column, searching the countryside. On the fourth evening, the two crested
a small hill and looked to the south and east. They could see two mountains in
the distance. Looking back the way they had come, they could see a plume of dust
indicating the progress of Admiral Ho's column, the lead about a half mile
behind them.
  Nosferatu knew without having to consult any of the captives that the mountain
to the left was Jabal Mosa even though the other was taller. It was a jagged
peak, with a gray cloud swirling around the top, a most strange

208


phenomenon as the sky was otherwise clear, the stars sparkling overhead.
  They waited until Cing Ho rode up to their position. The Chinese admiral
stared at the two peaks for several moments in silence, then he spoke. "The
locals—the desert people—they worship the mountain. They say a demon lives
there."
   "That would fit," Nosferatu said. "Aspasia's Shadow enjoys sowing fear."
  "I will encircle the mountain this evening. Tomorrow evening we will assault
it. You will follow the assault to finish off Aspasia's Shadow once we have him
cornered."
  Nosferatu said nothing as Cing Ho went off to deploy his large army. When he
was out of earshot, Tian Dao Lin expressed what Nosferatu was thinking. "It has
been too easy."
  Nosferatu continued to stare at the cloud-crowned peak. "Thus far it has. I
think that will change tomorrow evening."


As dawn broke, Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin sat on the hill, their bodies draped
in robes, turbans wrapped around their faces, protecting their eyes. Through the
layers of cloth both could see the dust raised by the Chinese army as it moved
forward toward Jabal Mosa. Bugles relayed commands, keeping the advance
coordinated. By early afternoon the mountain was surrounded by a cordon of
troops.
  "There is something strange about the mountain," Tian Dao Lin said. "One can
understand why the local people believe it is haunted."
  The unnatural cloud that swirled around the peak had not dissipated all day
and yet remained. There wasn't any

209


sign of life on the slopes of the mountain even though Cing Ho made no attempt
to hide his preparations for attack.
  As darkness fell, the thousands of torches that the Chinese soldiers had
carried with them were lit, encircling Jabal Mosa with a ring of fire.
Nosferatu sniffed the air. "Something is not right."
  Tian Dao Lin was looking about, left and right. "We're not alone. Humans.
Close. Behind us."
  Nosferatu saw nothing, but he could smell the sweat of men. He stood when a
half dozen figures appeared, bows with drawn arrows in their hands. Nosferatu
and Tian Dao Lin drew their own weapons, prepared to give battle.
  "Hold." The language was that of the Airlia, followed immediately by something
in Arabic to the warriors. The speaker strode forward.
  "You must have come close to Artad," Aspasia's Shadow said, coming to a halt
in front of the two Undead. He looked past them at the circle of fire and
laughed. "But you did not slay him it appears. You have been gone a very long
time." He looked at Tian Dao Lin. "Another half-breed. By Artad?"
Tian Dao Lin nodded. "Artad is my father."
  "It is rather amazing that the Airlia have been viewed as Gods for so long
considering how they seem to want to consort with inferior species." He gestured
back the way he had come. "Come with me."
"Where?" Nosferatu held fast.
"Come with me or die here and now."
  Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin bowed to the inevitable and irresistible and
followed Aspasia's Shadow as he made his way down the hill. More Bedouin
warriors appeared in the dark, completely surrounding them. Peering about,
Nosferatu realized there was a massive army of

210


Bedouins surrounding the Chinese. How so many had managed to move up unnoticed
he didn't know, but if anyone could do it here, he knew it would be the desert
people.
  Aspasia's Shadow seemed to disappear behind a boulder and when they followed,
they discovered a door, similar to the guarded entrances to the Roads of Rostau,
that opened on the back side of the boulder. They entered along with a guard of
a dozen Bedouin warriors. As soon as they were all inside, the door slid shut.
  The corridor was dimly lit by recessed lighting of a form Nosferatu had never
seen before. They descended, then reached a long, straight tunnel of smoothly
cut stone. They went along the tunnel for quite a while and Nosferatu realized
they were passing underneath the encircling Chinese troops. Soon the tunnel
began to ascend and they entered a large hallway with wood doors along both
sides.
  Aspasia's Shadow halted in front of one of the doors. "Now you will see my
power." He opened the door and walked down a short corridor. A second door, this
one of black metal, slid open at his approach. "Stand here," Aspasia's Shadow
ordered, indicating the entryway.
  Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin went to the indicated location and looked into the
strange room. Aspasia's Shadow went to the center of a hemispheric chamber. He
pulled a sword out of a sheath on his side and slid it into a dark red crystal
directly in front of him. A golden field emanated from the pommel of the sword,
covering Aspasia's Shadow and reaching the walls. Nosferatu felt it pass over
his skin with a crackle, the same feeling he'd had sometimes at sea during a
storm when lightning played along the masts of the ship.
The walls came alive with a view of the terrain sur-

211


rounding Jabal Mosa. It was as if they were standing on the top and able to look
in all directions. The ring of approaching Chinese troops was readily apparent,
with every fifth man carrying a torch.


What Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin couldn't see was the fifty-foot black metal pole
that extended up out of the top of the mountain. Mounted on the very end was a
golden sphere, which was hidden inside the black swirling cloud covering the
peak.


Aspasia's shadow directed his gaze toward a section of the incoming Chinese
line. His hand was on the pommel of the sword. He squeezed the grip.


A bolt of lightning arced from the golden sphere to the spot Aspasia's Shadow
was looking at. It hit with a tremendous explosion and sent a surge of
electricity through the ground. Those within fifty meters of the impact point
were killed outright by the explosion. Anyone outside of that range but within
two hundred meters was electrocuted by the power coursing up from the ground.

Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin watched in amazement as Aspasia's Shadow shot bolts
along the front of the Chinese line, killing hundreds, then thousands. The
attack came to a halt, then the troops began to turn and run, unable to face an
assault from what appeared to be the Gods themselves.

212


  Aspasia's Shadow laughed as he continued firing. "Who is the commander of this
force?" he demanded.
"An admiral named Cing Ho," Nosferatu said.
  "Do you see him?" As he asked, Aspasia's Shadow twisted the sword's handle and
they saw a close-up view of a section of the panicked troops, then the view
rotated slowly, circling the mountain, pausing when Aspasia's Shadow realized he
had found the command group. A bright red banner fluttered, embroidered with a
dragon. In front of it stood Cing Ho, shouting commands, sending couriers off to
the troops, trying to keep them from fleeing. As Aspasia's Shadow zoomed in on
the commander, they could see he was holding up a small black sphere in one hand
as if presenting it to someone.
"That is not good," Aspasia's Shadow murmured.
  "That is he," Nosferatu confirmed. "But beware," he added.
  Aspasia's Shadow let go of the pommel and turned to Nosferatu. "Beware what?"
"Beware what Cing Ho has in his hands."
  "I recognize it," Aspasia's Shadow said. "It is a command module." Aspasia's
Shadow looked at them. "What does it have command of?"
  Nosferatu smiled for the first time. "Why should we tell you? You plan on
killing us, don't you?"
  Aspasia's Shadow looked back at the image of Cing Ho. The admiral's forehead
was covered in sweat and his hands were shaking. He held the black sphere with
both hands and was staring up at the peak of the mountain from which the
lightning had come.
  Aspasia's Shadow cursed. "I cannot fire at him—the power surge might activate
the sphere. And whatever it controls. Tell me and I will give you what you want.
The

213


blood of an Airlia. And I will let you leave here alive. I give you my word on
it."
  Nosferatu wasn't certain how much Aspasia's Shadow's word was worth, but he
knew there was no choice. He had a feeling no one wanted Cing Ho to activate the
black sphere. It was obvious that even the admiral was afraid of what he held.
"Before we came here, Cing Ho led an expedition into Africa. Far inland, where a
deep valley cuts into the Earth. He went into a cavern, cut out of stone, much
like this place. Obviously by the Airlia. At the very bottom, over a flaming
chasm, he emplaced a glowing red sphere. It now hangs over that chasm. I believe
he can drop the red sphere with the device he holds in his hands."
  Aspasia's Shadow cursed once more. "Artad! Always a move ahead." Aspasia's
Shadow shifted the view on the walls to the 360-degree display. Cing Ho had
regained control of his forces, but the soldiers were refusing to advance. He
still held the command module in his hands. Aspasia's Shadow looked at Tian Dao
Lin. "Do you speak his language?"
"Yes."
  Aspasia's Shadow reached into a pocket and pulled out a six-inch-long black
rod with a green button on one end. He tossed it to Tian Dao Lin. "When you push
the green button, your voice will sound as if it comes out of the mountain
itself. This Cing Ho will hear you. You will say what I tell you to. Do you
understand?"
"Yes."
  Speaking in Chinese, Tian Dao Lin translated Aspasia's Shadow's words into the
device and they echoed off the top of the mountain:
  "This is the voice of Al-Iblis, ruler of Sinai, descendant of the Gods. The
truce has been restored. Return whence

214


you came and never return and I will disband my forces. And I will not seek the
weapon beneath Giza if you do not activate what you have emplaced."
  Nosferatu watched the screen. Cing Ho was staring up at the mountain,
listening. His troops were cowering, first from the lightning assault and now
from the God-like voice speaking their language.
   Cing Ho lowered the command sphere and bowed every so slightly in the
direction of the mountain, then began issuing orders. The Chinese army started
to withdraw.


Aspasia shadow led them along a corridor inside the Jabal Mosa complex. He did
not seem particularly upset by what had just occurred. "Stroke. Counterstroke.
So it has been for millennia. So it will continue until both sides awaken and
finish this damn war."
  "What weapon is buried under Giza along the Roads?" Nosferatu asked.
  Aspasia's Shadow laughed. "It is none of your concern, half-breed." He opened
a door and they walked into a chamber filled with a half dozen black Airlia
tubes. He went to the closest one and laid a pale hand on the top. "Horus's body
is within. As I told you, he is dead, but I have kept the corpse in stasis." He
went over to the side of the room and opened a black box, retrieving a syringe
and two glass flasks.
  Nosferatu felt the pang of hunger, even though he had fed just two nights
earlier. Aspasia's Shadow swung up the lid of the tube, revealing an Airlia body
inside. Nosferatu recognized Horus and was suddenly flooded with memories—of
being a child playing in the sand un-

215


der the bright sun; of being trapped and bled for centuries; of his fellow half-
breeds being killed; of Nekhbet imprisoned on the top of the Black Sphinx.
  Aspasia's Shadow slid the syringe into Horus's neck. Dark red blood, almost
black, slowly flowed along the tube into the first flask. "Unlike human blood,"
Aspasia's Shadow said, "because of what it contains, Airlia blood remains viable
even if the body is dead. You can take this with you." He finished filling the
first small flask, then did the second. He glanced at Tian Dao Lin. "I suppose
you desire some too?"
Tian Dao Lin nodded.
"Get another flask."
  Tian Dao Lin did as ordered and Aspasia's Shadow filled it. Then he removed
the syringe and he returned it to the case. Aspasia's Shadow shut the lid and
put the flasks in a wooden case, which he handed to one of the silent Bedouins.
  He led them out of the room, along the tunnels to the surface. Once they
exited the interior of the mountain, Aspasia's Shadow took the case from the
Bedouin and gave it to Nosferatu. "Take these and go. Do not ever return here."


CRETE:    A.D.   1425.


  Eleven hundred years. Vampyr had originally considered setting the tube for an
even thousand, but decided to throw in the extra hundred years just in case. It
had been long enough. His hands were back, all the way to the tips of his
fingers, the skin smooth and flawless. He held them in front of his face,
marveling at the feeling, at being able to grasp things. It was amazing how
something

216


he had taken for granted for so long had become so important.
  It was time to venture out into the world once more, to inflict pain and
suffering on those who had done the same to him so many times in the past.
First, though, he would try once more to rule an empire. He had learned a bitter
lesson about power from his time with the Spartans.
  Crete was too isolated. The first thing he would do, after feeding, was buy
transport off the island to find a fertile land for his terror.

217

CHAPTER    II


TRANSYVLVANIA:   A.D.    1462.


"That is Aspasia's shadow Nosferatu said as he pointed across the field behind
the center front of the Turkish army. He was standing next to Vampyr in the
center of the Hungarian force that faced the Turks.
  Vampyr was dressed head to toe in black armor, with a full visor helmet on.
Strapped to his side was his Spartan xithos. Nosferatu had learned in the month
he had been in Transylvania that this was how Vampyr always appeared in
daylight, which, along with certain brutal practices, had led to his reputation
as prince of darkness. Nosferatu himself wore a gray hooded cloak and a face
mask to protect his skin and eyes. It was early morning and the Turkish army
commanded by Aspasia's Shadow had been approaching since dawn.
  For thirty-seven years Nosferatu had nursed his anger toward Aspasia's Shadow.
After leaving Mount Sinai, Nosferatu had split from Tian Dao Lin. His Chinese
friend had headed west to link up with what remained of Cing Ho's fleet and go
back to China. Nosferatu had journeyed from the Sinai into deepest Africa to
recover Nekhbet's tube from the Mountains of the Moon, a most arduous journey.
But all had been for naught when he opened Nekhbet's tube, brought her awake,
and gave her

218


the blood that Aspasia's Shadow had given him. It had had little effect and
she'd been drawn and tired, aging almost in front of Nosferatu's eyes. They
realized he'd been duped by Aspasia's Shadow and given human blood instead of
Airlia. Together they'd made the difficult decision once more to put her to
sleep in the tube and leave her on the mountain.
   Seeking revenge, Nosferatu had heard rumors of a dark lord gaining power in
Hungary and he'd guessed that Vampyr was the subject of the rumors. Listening to
people speak in port cities he learned that a prince called Vlad Tepes had
establish a strong domain in the midst of much political turmoil in Eastern
Europe. He'd united many of the warring factions, extending his power from
Transylvania over most of Hungary. Nosferatu had traveled there, throwing
himself on the mercy of his old comrade, seeking an alliance against Aspasia's
Shadow.
  In his loneliness after so many centuries Vampyr had welcomed Nosferatu into
his castle at Tirgoviste. As Nosferatu had hoped, the combined threat of two
Undead together in one place and Vampyr's growing power had drawn Aspasia's
Shadow's attention. Unfortunately, they had not expected such a massive and
swift response. The Turks Aspasia's Shadow had under his command outnumbered the
Hungarian army three to one and Nosferatu could sense the uneasiness among
Vampyr's troops.
   "Lord Vlad Tepes." Vampyr's commanding general went to one knee in front of
him, calling him by the name he had assumed since working his way into a
position of power in Transylvania. Translated, the name meant Vlad the Impaler.
The Turks called him Kaziglu Bey, the Impaler Prince.
"Yes?"

219


  They were deployed on the east side of the Danube, blocking the Turkish army's
invasion route into the heart of Hungary. Initial intelligence reports had not
indicated that the opposing army was as large as what was currently deployed in
front of them, but Nosferatu knew that Aspasia's Shadow had unnatural ways of
recruiting soldiers to his cause. The two armies were drawn up parallel to each
other on a large two-mile-wide field that sloped from rough hills in the east to
the broad Danube in the west. To the rear of the Hungarian army was a narrow
pass, less than a hundred meters wide.
  "We cannot hold this line," the general said, keeping his eyes downcast.
  "You can hold it until you die," Vampyr corrected him. Nosferatu noted
movement near Aspasia's Shadow, then a flag of truce was displayed on a long
spear.
  "Look." Nosferatu tapped Vampyr on the shoulder. "We should go discuss the
matter with my old friend."
  Vampyr spurred his horse and galloped down the small hillock on which he had
set his command group, Nosferatu following. Soldiers leapt to get out of their
way as they raced forward. Aspasia's Shadow came from the Turkish lines, dressed
in the fine armor expected of a high prince. They met halfway between the two
lines.
  "Does the sunlight hurt?" Aspasia's Shadow greeted them as he lifted his own
helmet visor, revealing his pale face.
  "Only if I allow it to," Nosferatu replied. Neither he nor Vampyr lifted their
visors, as was the custom during a parley.
  Aspasia's Shadow looked past them, taking in the Hungarian forces. "You cannot
hold against me."
  "How many of your men are Guides?" Nosferatu asked. "How many have you
corrupted?"

220
  Aspasia's Shadow laughed. "Just my primary commanders. And speaking of
corrupting"—he looked at Vampyr—"your manner of rule is quite notorious."
  "I rule through fear," Vampyr acknowledged. "It is what works best."
  Nosferatu had heard rumors of Vampyr's brutality, but having only been there a
short time, he had yet to see it firsthand. The stories he'd heard seemed so
outrageous that he dismissed most as having to do with the fact that Vampyr fed
off live victims brought to his castle.
  "You have been building up your strength for over a decade," Vampyr continued.
"All of Eastern Europe knows you plan to move north and west to conquer."
  "You know that the Grail is no longer hidden in the Roads of Rostau?"
Aspasia's Shadow asked, a surprising twist to the conversation.
  Nosferatu shrugged. "Some say it is in England, where you fought Artad's
Shadow so many years ago. Others say the Watchers have hidden it. I have even
heard the Watchers took it back to Giza. Another tale says that the one called
Merlin carried it far to the east, into the high mountains so no man could get
to it."
  "I think it is in England," Aspasia's Shadow said. "So I decided to go there."
"With an army at your back?" Vampyr asked.
  "Better than going alone," Aspasia's Shadow said with a smile.
"You betrayed me," Nosferatu said.
  "Surprise, surprise." Aspasia's Shadow laughed. "And how is your love Nekhbet
doing?"
  "You did not give me the blood of an Airlia. You switched it. You gave me
human blood. It did nothing for her. When I brought her awake, she was weakened
and sick, not alive as she should have been."

221


  "For someone as old as you are," Aspasia's Shadow said, "you are rather
naive."
  Vampyr held his horse in place with some effort. "The Eldest has always been
love-struck. But now you deal with me."
  Once more Aspasia's Shadow looked past them at the army. "You will not hold
me."
"Perhaps," Vampyr said. "We shall see."
  "Then I suppose we will have to fight," Aspasia's Shadow said. "I've let you
live too long anyway."
  "So be it," Vampyr said. He turned his horse and as he did so, he signaled to
his general. Nosferatu turned to follow and saw that the front of the Hungarian
army began to fall back, the rear echelons having already been pulled back as
they talked to Aspasia's Shadow.
  With great haste, the Hungarians retreated, catching the Turks by surprise. By
the time Aspasia's Shadow fully realized what was happening—that Vampyr was not
going to do battle with him here—the bulk of the army was through the pass.
Vampyr left a special unit to hold the pass as long as possible, five hundred
knights whose families he held hostage in his castle. Nosferatu listened as
Vampyr promised the knights if they held the pass to the last man, slowing down
the Turks, he would free their families. If any of them retreated, he promised
that not only would the coward die, but so would his family. It put chains of
fear into the five hundred and they turned to face the Turks with the frenzy of
the doomed.
  Vampyr led his remaining army north, burning everything they passed, leaving
nothing, not even a blade of grass for Aspasia's Shadow's horses to feed on.
Reaching Tirgoviste, Nosferatu was stunned by what Vampyr had prepared and he
realized the stories he had heard were true.

222


   On the large plain in front of the castle was a man-made forest. Over twenty
thousand eight-foot-high stakes had been driven into the ground. The upright end
of each wooden pole was sharpened to a point. At Vampyr's signal, Turkish
prisoners captured in previous battles were driven from their holding pens onto
the plain. Working efficiently, apparently having had considerable practice,
teams of soldiers used a rolling crane to lift a prisoner by his tied hands.
They then threw a loop over each ankle as he cleared the ground. The crane was
turned until the prisoner was positioned directly over one of the poles. With a
soldier on each ankle lariat pulling to either side and down, the prisoner was
lowered, impaled on the stake until it was far enough into his body that he
could not get off. The ropes were released and they moved on to the next
prisoner. They could impale a man every minute and there were over twenty crews
at work.
The screams began and did not stop.
"What are you doing?" Nosferatu demanded.
  "You are indeed a fool," Vampyr snapped. "Aspasia's Shadow is right. I am
amazed that you have lasted this long. How do you think I keep these people
under control?" He did not wait for an answer. "Fear. It is the primary
motivation of humans. It is how the Airlia ruled in Egypt." He gestured. "A man
can last up to six days impaled, depending on the angle the pole makes on its
way through the body as gravity slowly pulls him down."
  Vampyr leaned close to Nosferatu. "And the smell of the blood. It is so sweet.
I have found traces of the Airlia God blood once in a while. Very faint, but
every so often there is some. I drink from those."
  Nosferatu wondered if his old comrade had lost his mind, having lived so long.
Vampyr had not spoken of the time after leaving Egypt so many years ago or how
he had

223


survived. Nosferatu knew how heavy the weight of the years could be on the mind.
He had not shared with Vampyr his own adventures or what had happened to him
under Qian-Ling. Most especially, he had not told the other about Nekhbet and
where she was hidden.
  It took twenty-four hours for all twenty thousand prisoners to be impaled. The
screams of the dying echoed off the walls of Vampyr's castle, reaching down to
the cell where Nosferatu tried to get some sleep during the day.
  The Turkish army arrived on the third day. They heard the screams before they
crested a hill and saw what was causing it. The sight that greeted them was more
horrific than any had ever seen.
  And stalking among the stakes was Vampyr, sniffing, searching for any pole
with blood soaking down it that contained even the least part of the Airlia
virus. In over twenty years of impalement, he had found four people with very
faint traces. He'd had them immediately removed from the stake and brought into
the castle, where he drank their blood.
  Nosferatu stood on one of the turrets of the castle and watched, his desire
for vengeance lost amid the horror he was witnessing. He realized that Vampyr
was no better than Aspasia's Shadow or even the Airlia.
  Even Aspasia's Shadow and his handful of Guides could not overcome the horror
the Turkish army faced. The army began to disperse, fear giving wings to men's
feet. Within an hour the invading force was racing to the south, spreading the
word of the terror that dwelt in Transylvania and was known as Vlad Tepes.
  Yet through the chaos, Nosferatu could see one solitary figure who remained on
a distant hill, staring down at the forest of the dying. Even at this distance
he knew it was Aspasia's Shadow. And he knew that he would never

224


know peace as long as the Airlia or their minions such as Aspasia's Shadow or
the Ones Who Wait walked the Earth. He also knew that he could not take the path
that Vampyr had, trying to use humans as pawns in the fight— he would let time
defeat Aspasia's Shadow and the Airlia. Nosferatu slipped away that night,
riding hard to the south. He had decided he would make his own Haven in the one
place he had been where humans did not go: the Skeleton Coast. And he would
bring Nekhbet there and wait. It was what he did best.


MOSCOW: A.D. 1533.


  Ironic. It was a concept that the man who had been anointed Great Khan by the
Mongols was finding more and more applicable to human affairs. He now went by
the name Ivan and had been in Moscow for over a century, gathering power. The
previous tsar, also an Ivan, had been the one finally to defeat and stop paying
tribute to the Golden Horde, the descendants of the Mongols that the Khan had
led out of the west so many years before. For that he had been known as Ivan the
Great.
  In a palace coup the new Ivan had replaced the old Ivan, but the people did
not add "the Great" to his name, but rather "the Terrible," as he ruled Moscow
and the burgeoning Russian Empire with an iron fist covered in blood. Ivan the
Terrible's greatest troubles came from the boyars, Russian noblemen, who knew
that there was only so much power to be had, and the more the tsar had, the less
there would be for them. This was a different type of power struggle for Ivan
than when he had been the Khan, and he used different tactics. To fight the
boyars Ivan developed ranks of government bureaucrats who owed their

225


jobs, and thus their loyalty, to him. He also took land from the boyars and gave
it to generals loyal to him.
  Russia's power grew as the years of his rule stretched on. He pushed Russia's
borders south and west into Siberia. He opened commercial trade routes with
England through the treacherous White Sea. He brought foreigners in for
technical and military advice, something later monarchs, especially Peter the
Great, would imitate.
  None of these efforts, naturally, was what gained him the name appendage of
"the Terrible." He earned that because of his nature. He was only about at night
and, of course, in dark chambers of the Kremlin, he fed on the blood of
criminals brought to him. He routinely ordered mass executions at whim. Perhaps
most disastrous, he began a system of serfdom, tying workers to landowners,
something that would boil over with stunning results centuries later.
  He continued in this manner, his rulings growing more and more outrageous, his
murderous decrees growing broader and more capricious until one morning, after
he had left the throne room, the captain of the palace guard led a dozen of his
bravest men in an assault on the room deep under the Kremlin to which Ivan the
Terrible retired every time the sun rose. They carried flickering torches to
light their way in the dark warren of tunnels, swords to slay the tsar, and
chains to weigh the body down, as the plan was to throw him in the river.
  They broke down the door to the room where they had determined the tsar hid
every morning and were briefly stunned to see a stone coffin resting on a
pedestal. Since there was no other way out of the room, and they had seen Tsar
Ivan go in, they had to assume he was inside. Throwing off their shock, they
wrapped the iron chains they had brought for the tsar's legs and arms

226


around the coffin and locked them in place. They were rewarded with the lid
lifting the inch of slack that was in the chain and their tsar screaming dire
threats at them, demanding that they remove the chains.
  Having committed themselves, they knew they could not turn back. They dragged
the coffin out of the room as the tsar continued to scream at them. They pulled
it along the tunnels built under the Kremlin by the tsars, and those before the
tsars, as escape routes in case of exactly what was happening at that moment—a
coup—or invasion. They reached a deep, narrow shaft that went down over 150
feet. It was the remains of an attempt years earlier to reach water before
someone realized the Moscow River was not even that far away laterally and a
tunnel was dug to that water source.
  The captain of the guard had the men place the coffin on the lid of the well.
This was better than the river, he decided, thinking of the long walk back to
the surface.
  They tipped the coffin on edge. It wavered, then turned vertical, sliding down
out of sight, just a bit smaller than the circumference of the shaft. Seconds
later the thud of the coffin hitting the bottom of the shaft reverberated up to
them.

227

THE   PRESENT

228

229

CHAPTER   12


The Skeleton Coast, West Africa


Gentlemen, are we in agreement?" Nosferatu sat down in the chair at the head of
the table and shifted his gaze between the two men.
  "I will do my part," Tian Dao Lin said. Both then turned and looked at Adrik.
  "I can recover that which the KGB has," Adrik said. "What is your timetable
for all of this?",
  "The X-craft launches in three days. It will take it about twelve hours to
rendezvous with the derelict mothership and drain the bodies. Then it will land
at an airfield close to here. At that time I will begin processing the blood.
Ninety hours."
  "That is not much time to get someone up Everest to recover the blood from the
Ones Who Wait," Tian Dao Lin said.
"No, but it is possible," Nosferatu replied.
"I will make it happen," Tian Dao Lin averred.
  Nosferatu stood. "I will see you gentlemen back here in four days."


Puget Sound, Washington


  Four days. Vampyr stared at the intelligence report that had just been
forwarded to him, then walked over to

230


the large bay windows in his mansion overlooking Puget Sound and the lights of
Seattle beyond. It was a magnificent view, one that he had enjoyed for the past
ten years, ever since purchasing his own private island in the Sound at an
outrageous cost.
  Money meant nothing to Vampyr. His assets were under so many different names
and umbrella corporations that it would take a roomful of accountants several
lifetimes to figure it all out, which was appropriate in Vampyr's view, as it
had taken him the equivalent of many lifetimes to accumulate it.
  He did not pursue money for itself, but for what it could bring, which was a
form of power. There were many forms of power and Vampyr, since his time in
Sparta, had dedicated large amounts of his time to studying them all.
   He had used his money to hide himself, most particularly during the recent
world war in which the humans, most surprisingly, had defeated the Airlia. In
all his long life Vampyr had never anticipated that the humans would be capable
of such a feat. He had prepared for one side or the other of the Airlia to gain
the upper hand if they ever came out of their deep sleep underneath Qian-ling or
on Mars but the human victory was totally unexpected.
  The Grail was lost. Lisa Duncan had made sure of that, taking it and the
second mothership down with her into the array on Mars. In Vampyr's opinion, a
most brave but stupid action. He did appreciate that she had stopped the Airlia
from getting a message out to others of their kind, but losing the Grail was a
tremendous blow. It had always been his primary plan to recover the Grail once
it was located and use it to gain the immortality the high priests had chanted
about since Atlantis.

231


  Now he felt like he had come full circle. It was all about blood. But Airlia
blood now. He knew exactly what the Eldest, Nosferatu, wished to do. But he had
learned one thing over his many incarnations among the humans—power could only
be wielded by one. While the Eldest was so focused on bringing back Nekhbet,
Vampyr did not trust him. And then there was Tian Dao Lin and Adrik. Four was
three too many in Vampyr's opinion.
   He turned from the large, bulletproof windows and went over to the large
globe in his study. The walls of the room were lined with books, many of them
ancient, original texts that scholars would weep with envy just to be given a
glimpse of. They were not for show, as Vampyr had read all of them.
  Vampyr placed his hands on the globe and slowly spun it.
  Everest. Moscow. And in the derelict mothership in orbit.
  Nosferatu and the other two were moving. Vampyr knew that power, like chess,
was all about move and countermove. And allowing one's opponent to set his own
destruction in motion.
  Patience. Four days was but a blink of the eye in the eternity that Vampyr had
lived, but he knew it was long enough.
Time to move a few pieces.

232

CHAPTER   13


Mount Everest


The Highest point above the surface of the Earth is the peak of Mount Everest.
At 29,028 feet high, it is the highest and most inaccessible place on the
surface of the planet. The perfect place to hide the key to the Master Guardian,
which controlled all of the Airlia computers—the legendary sword of Arthur:
Excalibur.
  The race to recover it had been brutal. On one side had been Mike Turcotte and
Professor Mualama. On another, two Navy SEALs turned into Guides by a Guardian
computer and questing for the key in order to bring it to Aspasia's Shadow. On
the third front, Chinese military forces led by three Ones Who Wait, human-
Airlia clones who served Artad. Even on Turcotte's end all had not been as it
appeared, as it turned out that Mualama had been corrupted by a Swarm tentacle
and had tried to destroy the sword, only to be thwarted by Turcotte at the last
moment.
  In the end, Turcotte had emerged victorious, literally the last man standing
on the mountain, Excalibur in his hand, and that had allowed Yakov, inside the
last mothership hidden in Mount Ararat, to gain control of the Master Guardian,
and thus all other guardians, allowing the world to win World War III and compel
the alien forces to leave.

233


  Littered on the slopes of Everest were the bodies of those who had failed in
this quest: SEALs, Chinese, Mualama, and—last but not least—the three Ones Who
Wait. They mingled with the bodies of 160 climbers who had died in their attempt
at summiting over the years. Most of those bodies lay in the "death zone" above
25,000 feet.
  Everest was not considered a particularly difficult climb in terms of
technique, but the collection of avalanches, crevasses, winds up to 125 miles an
hour, storms, temperatures that went down to forty degrees below zero and oxygen
depletion make it the deadliest place on the planet. In the death zone the air
holds only one-third the oxygen present at sea level. As a result high-altitude
pulmonary edema (when the lungs fatally fill with fluid) and high-altitude
cerebral edema (when the brain, starved for oxygen, swells) are common, often
causing death unless the person is quickly brought down the mountain, something
that is practically impossible as the death zone is above the reach of even the
best helicopter's altitude ceiling.
  High overhead was a spy satellite launched by the Russians. Its mission was to
monitor southwest China. Within its zone of observation was Everest. Under
orders relayed covertly from Moscow, the high-resolution camera turned its
attention to the slopes of Everest and began quartering the snow-covered
terrain. Since Turcotte had been the only one to come off the mountain alive, no
one knew exactly who had fallen where.
  It took over four hours, but a complete image of the mountain had been
accomplished. The data was digitized, then transmitted to Moscow military
headquarters, where it was forwarded—with a healthy kickback of cash going the
opposite direction—until it ended up in the hands of the one who had requested
it.

234


  Adrik sat behind his desk and stared at the file marker on his computer
screen. It had cost him one phone call and over 1.6 million US dollars to get
this imagery. He didn't even bother to open the file and look at what his money
had bought. Instead, he had it electronically transferred to Hong Kong. Then he
sent the file to a second destination.

Earth Orbit


  It was the largest object in Earth orbit, far eclipsing the collection of pods
that made up the International Space Station. The mothership was over a mile
long and a quarter mile wide at the center, coming evenly to points at both
ends. In the forward portion there was a huge gash in the black metal where Mike
Turcotte had set off a nuclear charge supplemented by an Airlia fuel pod inside
a cargo bay. Floating inside the bay were also mangled Talon spacecraft—
Aspasia's fleet from Mars, which had come to recover the mothership. In one fell
swoop Turcotte had managed to destroy most of one side of the millennia-old
Atlantean Civil War.
  Now the mothership floated dead, a symbol of mankind's victory over alien
forces. Inside the Talons were dozens of Airlia bodies, preserved in the cold
vacuum of space. And inside their frozen veins were the scant remnants of the
virus that Nosferatu and his comrades sought.

Hong Kong


   Nima Namche wasn't used to the ill-fitting suit he was wearing or the low
altitude. Even though the anteroom

235


he was waiting in was on the forty-fourth and top floor of a skyscraper in the
center of Hong Kong, it was still at least three miles lower than where he
lived, in the Khumbu Region of the Himalayas. He was a Sherpa, one of the
mountain people, and his motivation for coming to Hong Kong was a simple and
ancient one: money.
  A Sherpa, Tenzig Norgay, had been at Sir Edmund Hillary's side when he became
the first to summit Everest and they had been part of every expedition ever
since, or at least the ones that were known about. Namche knew that others had
climbed Everest for reasons other than summiting, but among the Sherpas those
climbs were not spoken about openly.
  He'd been approached by a well-known Sherpa whose job it was to coordinate
guides for expeditions— except this proposal had been very different. Namche was
given one hundred thousand US dollars simply to fly to Hong Kong, an unheard of
sum, with the promise of another nine hundred thousand US upon acceptance of the
climb. Who he was to guide and when he was to do it were two questions he hoped
to have answered soon.
   So far, answers had been in short supply. He'd been met in the airport by two
very pale men wearing expensive suits and sporting dark sunglasses who had
simply taken his one, rather decrepit piece of luggage and escorted him to a
waiting limousine. He'd sat in the back with the two men, who had not offered a
single word of greeting or even acknowledged his presence, their attention
focused on the exterior as if they were concerned about being attacked.
  They'd led him into the lobby of the building, past the security guards, and
to a private elevator. When the door had opened, one of the two had indicated he
should exit

236


and upon his doing so, the door had shut, leaving Namche alone in this room.
  There was a large stainless-steel door directly ahead that Namche had
approached, but decided against knocking on. He doubted any sound would carry.
So he sat and waited, something that did not overly bother him considering the
strange reception.
  He started at a slight hiss. He was amazed as the steel door slid to the right
without making another noise. Namche got to his feet and tentatively approached
the doorway.
"Come in." The voice was Chinese, the words English.
  The interior of the room from which the voice had come was dark, and Namche
paused in the entryway, trying to get his eyes to adjust. All he could see at
the moment was a wooden chair with a single beam of light oriented on it.
"Sit there," the voice ordered.
  Namche walked to the chair and sat down on the edge, trying to peer ahead to
see who owned the voice. His seat in the beam of light, however, defeated any
possibility of his eyes adjusting to the darkness or penetrating the room's
interior beyond the cone of light he was in.
"You have summited Everest six times."
  Namche did not think it was a question but he nodded anyway. "Yes, sir."
"Each time you guided another to the top."
"Yes."
  "I do not need you to summit. But I do need you to climb within forty-eight
hours and take someone with you."
  Namche immediately began shaking his head. "It is the off-season. The weather
will not allow climbing for at least another month, and that is only to base
camp. And then—"

237


"Silence."
   Namche fidgeted on the edge of the chair, fearing he was in the presence of a
rich madman. He'd seen some of those who hired Sherpas to help them get to the
top— men and women who had money to spare but could barely climb off their cots,
never mind up the great mountain. They expected literally to be carried up
there. And Namche had friends who had died trying to do just that. No amount of
money was worth that. He had always picked carefully those he'd guided.
  "The party consists of only one person. You must get him to these spots."
  Namche turned in surprise to his right as a three-dimensional image of Mount
Everest suddenly appeared, hovering in the air. There were three red dots
flashing. Namche immediately recognized the locations. The first was along the
northeast ridge approach, a most difficult route. The other two were close
together on the Kanshung Face, a place where no one went because it was not on
either of the two approaches to the summit. It was hard to tell because of the
flickering image, but Namche had to wonder what the dots represented, as he knew
the Face was almost sheer for over a vertical mile. Among Sherpas, the top of
the Kanshung Face was a place of legend where none he knew dared approach.
  "Forty-eight hours is impossible," Namche said, still marveling over the
holographic image. He had been to the summit and lived in the shadow of the
mountain all his life, but he'd never seen it presented like this.
"Acclimatization takes at the very minimum two weeks at base camp or else—"
  "There is no need for acclimatization," the voice said. "My man is ready to
climb. And you will get as high as you can using the most advanced helicopter in
the world. This

238


helicopter will drop you off at 17,000 feet right here." A dot glowed on the
image. "My man just needs you to lead him the last bit to these places."
  "Why?" Namche hadn't meant for it to be so blunt, but it was all coming so
quickly and the situation was so strange. He had no idea who he was speaking
with.
"Because we are paying you one million dollars to do so."
  Namche wasn't sure what to say to that. It was more than he could ever hope to
make in a lifetime. And he knew he didn't have many more climbs left. He had
already cheated the fates too many times. He glanced at the image. The legends
said there had been strangers who'd climbed Everest in the distant past and put
something on the mountain at the top of the Kanshung Face. Something special.
Namche's curiosity was warring with his fear.
  "And because my name is Tian Dao Lin and I am telling you to do it."
  Namche almost leapt off the chair in fright. It was a name mothers used to
frighten their children to stay safe in their beds at night. A name that brought
fear even as far away as Nepal and Tibet. The light level in the room increased,
a dim glow coming from recessed strips around the top edge, and the bright light
above his chair began to dim. Namche blinked, as his eyes slowly adjusted.
Finally, he could see a large teak desk. The surface was covered with papers and
scrolls. And behind the desk a tall chair. And in the chair what appeared to be
a man, with liver spots on his bald head, but the face and eyes were unnatural.
  It was the eyes that riveted Namche. He had been in the Himalayas all his
life. He had met the old wise men who followed the path of Buddha, men who could
do remarkable things. But he'd never seen eyes like these. They

239


glowed with a red fire and fixed him to the seat with their stare.
"Do you understand?"
Namche could only nod.
  A door to Tian Dao Lin's left rear opened and a man walked in. He was thin,
his face like the edge of a knife. His skin was pale white. He went to the side
of the desk and stood rigidly at attention.
   "This is Tai," Lin said. "He is the man you will guide to those three
bodies."
  The last word barely registered on Namche for a moment, then it hit home.
"You may wait outside," Tian Dao Lin said.
  Namche got to his feet numbly and walked out of the door. Tai remained
standing, still as a statue.
  Tian Dao Lin turned his seat toward Tai. "You understand what you are to do?"
"Yes, Father."
  Tian Dao Lin reached into a drawer and pulled out a small wooden flask. The
exterior surface was intricately carved with many Chinese symbols, the interior
lined with animal gut to make it waterproof. "I give you the gift of my own
blood. It will allow you to survive the climb, but you must be swift."
"Yes, Father."
  Tian Dao Lin handed Tai the flask. "Do not drink until you are ready to begin
the climb."

Kouros, French Guiana


  With the decimation of the American shuttle fleet, the most active spaceport
on the planet's surface was no longer Cape Canaveral in the United States, but
Kouros

240


in French Guiana. Set on the coastline of the South American country, Kouros was
originally the launch site picked by the European Space Consortium.
  The reasons the European Space Consortium chose to locate their launch
facility on a different continent were several and practical. Europe's
population density was too great to safely put a launch site there. Also, the
politics of which country would get the site was a problem none had wanted to
wrestle with. From the engineer's point of view, there was also the question of
latitude, as all of the participating European countries were rather high up on
the planet, making a launch less advantageous.
  Kouros was on the ocean, which meant a launch took place mostly over water. It
was near the equator, making possible the use of centrifugal acceleration of the
planet's rotation, the so-called catapult effect, to help launch payloads. The
ESA ran Kouros more as a business than a nationalistic endeavor like NASA and
the American space program. As such, one of its goals was to try to make money;
because of this, anyone who anted up enough cash had access to both the
facilities and launchpads and even rockets if they paid enough. The Russians had
even gotten in on the deal, providing Soyuz rockets as platforms for commercial
satellite launches.
  A state-of-the-art satellite preparation complex had been financed by
Arianespace, the ESA, and GoStar, a private company that, unknown to most, was
financed by Vampyr. The EPCU, Ensemble de Preparation des Charges Utiles, was a
massive complex, covering over ten square kilometers, with buildings occupying
four square kilometers of that area. It held three twenty-meter-high "clean"
rooms connected by corridors eight meters wide

241


by twelve high. Components moved along the corridors on hovercraft, ensuring
smooth and efficient transportation.
  For the first time in its short history, the EPCU was being used for only one
task. In three of the four buildings were specially designed components that had
just finished their final testing. They were part of a revolutionary concept
from GoStar that had been in development for over eight years and finally neared
completion.
   From Building 4, a maneuvering-and-thruster assembly was loaded onto a
hovercraft and floated down the corridor to Building 1, where it was set on the
center platform. From Building 3, an environmental-and-shield assembly was
finished and also moved to Building 1 and fitted to the M&T assembly. And most
important, in Building 2, the crew compartment had just been finished. It had
been hovered to Building 1 where, like the last piece of a puzzle, it was
connected to the other two assemblies.
The X-Craft was ready.
  Technically the first flight was scheduled to be launched in two days and was
labeled simply a test flight to make sure the craft was functional.
It was to be anything but that.

Moscow


  At the knock on his office door, Adrik looked up from his computer screen.
"Enter," he called out.
  The man who entered was short, wiry, and impeccably dressed. Petrov had traded
his military uniform and the blue beret of the Spetsnatz, the Russian Special
Forces,

242


for tailored suits over six years earlier and had never looked back.
  "Sir." Petrov may have traded camouflage for suits, but his manner was all
military as he stood ramrod straight in front of Adrik's desk.
  The office was dark, lit only by recessed lighting above rows of bookcases
that lined all the walls. They were on the first level of the most modern office
building in Moscow. The books on the shelves would have made a collector weep
with envy. First editions dating back hundreds of years, they were an eclectic
gathering for a mind that had grown bored with the world around him many
centuries earlier.
  Other than the recessed computer screen, the desktop was clear. Adrik sat in a
high-backed, black leather chair. There were two halogen lights behind the desk
that pointed forward, fixing Petrov in their glow, while Adrik was hidden in
shadow.
"Have you ever been in Lubyanka?" Adrik asked.
"Yes, sir."
  Usually Adrik liked Petrov's lack of verbosity. He detested those who spoke
and said nothing. At the moment, though, he needed a little bit more from his
subordinate. "When?"
  "Several times in my career, sir. During my time in Spetsnatz we worked
closely with the KGB and SVD's paramilitary people."
  "Have you ever been in the tunnels underneath Lubyanka that connect with the
Kremlin?"
"No, sir."
  "You will be. There's something down there I need you to get for me."
"Yes, sir. And that is?"
"Blood."

243


Airspace, Polar Region


  Vampyr's jet was taking the shortest route from Seattle to Moscow, flying over
the top of the world. He sat in the rear, with only the glow from a large flat-
screen display illuminating the cabin. Through one of his defense contractor
companies, he had access to the United States military's secure Interlink
system. He also had the proper code words to bring up data from just about
anywhere in the system.
  Vampyr accessed Space Command, headquartered underneath Cheyenne Mountain
outside Colorado Springs. That was the unit responsible for tracking all
objects, man-made and otherwise, in orbit around the planet. He brought up the
data on the derelict mother-ship. He projected its orbit and was pleased to see
that it was stable.
  He stared at the image of the Earth floating on the screen with the
mothership's orbit projected in red for a few seconds. Then he accessed the
Space Command database and checked to see if the mothership's orbit would
intersect at any time in the near future with the orbit of any other object.
  On the screen the paths of anything that would come close to the mothership
flashed, then disappeared as the computer determined that there would be no
collision until the screen froze showing a green track intersecting with the red
one of the mothership. Green indicated a future orbit for something not yet
launched.
Vampyr ran the code for the orbit.


TL-SAT-7-7//MISSION-COMMERCIAL//COSTAR//KOUROS


  It was as he had expected. GoStar was a company that was under Nosferatu's
control through various other

244


holdings. When he tried to find out more about the specific payload, he
discovered that Space Command didn't have that information. As Kouros was a
privately run launch site, it had no obligation to provide it. Vampyr could
guess well enough without it, having tracked Nosferatu's development of the X-
Craft for years. He'd even covertly steered a few scientists in his fellow
Undead's direction to aid in the research and development.
  Satisfied that all was going as he'd projected in that area, Vampyr shifted
his attention elsewhere. A contact in the Hong Kong police department who kept
tabs on Tian Dao Lin for him had reported the arrival of the Sherpa and his
departure on Tian Dao Lin's personal jet with one of the Chinese Quarters.
Destination: a staging area close to Mount Everest. Again, as expected.
  Last, he decrypted the latest message from Adrik. The youngest Undead had only
gone to the meeting at the Haven because Vampyr had told him to. Vampyr smiled
coldly when he thought of the Russian. Another fool who fancied himself quite
cunning. Adrik owed his very existence to Vampyr. After all, it was Vampyr who
had rescued him from his stone coffin underneath the Kremlin so many years ago,
less than a week after the palace guard had dumped him into the shaft.
  What had apparently never occurred to Adrik was how Vampyr had been able to
find him. The Russian had accepted Vampyr's explanation, that he had heard of
Adrik's rule and wanted to join forces with him. The Russian had never
entertained the idea that it had been Vampyr who had enticed the palace guard to
revolt—not that they had needed much enticement—so that Vampyr could be lurking
in the shadows to rescue him, and thus have him in his service.
Vampyr had let Adrik suffer in the stone coffin stuck

245
in the shaft for a week, stopping by occasionally to hear his screams—enough
time to make the gratitude for rescue that much stronger. Certain of Adrik's
secret loyalty, Vampyr had gone his own way, traveling to the West, first to
England, then on to the New World to make his fortune, while Adrik had
reincarnated himself once more in Moscow, now heeding Vampyr's advice not to
seek obvious power, but rather to gain it in the shadowy world of the criminal.
  Vampyr read Adrik's report. He was disappointed but not surprised that Adrik
had delegated the mission into the tunnels under Moscow to recover the blood.
After Adrik's experience, not even the lure of eternal life could bring him to
enter those tunnels again.
  Vampyr sent a message back to Adrik with further instructions. Satisfied, he
leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.


The Skeleton Coast


  Nosferatu walked into observation room and looked through the one-way glass at
the sterile blood lab. It was getting more and more difficult to obtain clean
blood from the continent. The AIDS rate in South Africa was closing on 50
percent of the adult population, a number the rest of the Western world had yet
to comprehend in its horrific totality. Elsewhere in Africa it fluctuated
between 25 and 40 percent. The best scientists were projecting that at the
current rate the continent would be close to being depopulated in two
generations.
  Nosferatu had to admit that Adrik did have a point. Left to their own devices,
humans could be extremely destructive and horrific in their treatment of their
fellowmen.

246


Drug companies in America and Europe had the medicine needed to keep most of the
infected people in Africa alive, but they made the cost so prohibitive that few
could afford it. Profit over life. It was an equation that Nosferatu had seen
many times before. On the other hand, though, he had also seen human behavior
that defied such cold logic and showed the best of the species.
  Inside the lab, the specialist that Nosferatu had hired at an extravagant wage
was checking each bag of fresh blood flown in from Cape Town. Each pint cost
Nosferatu over five thousand dollars and though it was supposed to have been
screened at a hospital in South Africa, almost a third had to be discarded
either because of the HIV virus or other infectious problems.
  The equipment in the lab was the best available on the current medical market
for screening blood, but Nosferatu knew from the data that it wasn't good enough
for what he needed to achieve once he acquired the Airlia virus.
  There was one place where such equipment had been designed, based on Airlia
machinery in the mothership:' Dulce, New Mexico, where Majestic-12 had sent part
of its classified programs, the ones having to do with biological and chemical
operations. Dulce had also been pulverized by foo fighters. The Americans had
begun excavating the rubble, but that effort had been sidetracked by World War
III. Nosferatu's informants had reported that excavation had been put on hold,
while America focused on rebuilding and helping other countries devastated by
the recent war, particularly South Korea.
  Nosferatu stirred uneasily. When the other two fulfilled their parts and
brought the blood to him, he needed to be ready. He was concerned about Vampyr.
The second Eldest was angry—he had been angry as long as Nosferatu
247


had known him. His actions throughout the ages had been horrific at times.
Nosferatu still remembered the forest of impaled Turkish prisoners. That was the
last time he had encountered his comrade from the cells along the Roads of
Rostau. He had heard rumors of the others' actions over the years; but Vampyr
had faded into the shadows, becoming a legend among the humans, especially after
one of the humans penned a book about their kind. Nosferatu had always suspected
that some of the information about vampires was leaked by the Watchers, as
within the myth there was quite a bit that was accurate.
  Nosferatu picked up the secure satellite telephone and made two calls. One to
Kouros, confirming the time and date of the launch. The second was to the United
States to a contact he had used there before.
  Nosferatu desperately needed the plan to succeed. Because it was the only way
to bring back Nekhbet.

248

CHAPTER   14


Moscow


Yellowing architectural plans covered the tables in the warehouse. Some dated
back as far as a hundred years, when the tsars still ruled in the Kremlin. Many
were from 1939 to 1945, when a flurry of digging for protection against the
invading Nazis had occurred. The vast majority, though, dated from the beginning
of the Cold War through the end, over forty years of burrowing deeper and deeper
under the capital city in response to America's development of increasingly
powerful nuclear weapons targeting Moscow.
  Petrov was wading through the plans, reading, making notes, and searching for
a room that existed only in rumor so far—where the KGB had stored a large supply
of blood taken from the SS at the end of the war and done its own blood work.
  The warehouse was surrounded by guards under Petrov's command, mostly ex-
Spetsnatz men, enjoying the fruits of capitalism that the Mafia had to offer
them. In addition to having large legitimate holdings, Adrik was one of the most
powerful of the Mafia bosses in Russia. Petrov didn't quite understand why his
boss still dabbled in crime when so much money came in from the legitimate side
of the house, but he knew better than to ask questions. Adrik was an enigma to
start with, a man who

249


had been on the scene as long as Petrov, and anyone he had met, could remember.
Old-timers with white hair who had fought in the Great Patriotic War knew of
Adrik and described him exactly as he appeared now. It was as if the man never
aged.
  Petrov had heard other rumors about his boss. That Adrik never went out in the
daytime. That he brought in young girls every week or so who were never seen
again. Sometimes young boys. Virgins, it was whispered, with medical tests to
prove their health. Petrov didn't particularly care about the rumors. He cared
that he was paid well for his work and that Adrik obviously had the power to
keep other Mafia groups and the government at arm's distance.
   One of the guards challenged a man at the door to the hangar, allowing him in
only after an extensive examination of the case he carried and a careful search
of the man himself for weapons and explosives. Petrov looked up from the old map
showing tunnels running from Lubyanka to the Kremlin and watched the man
approach. He was old and walked with a limp. He carried a battered leather
satchel that he placed on the table across from Petrov.
  "My name is Kokol," the old man said. "I was called by your benefactor to give
you assistance."
  Petrov waited as Kokol opened the satchel and lifted out several bound
documents. The covers of each were made of some strange material and the pages
between were old and faded, written by hand in a fine script. Petrov stiffened
when he saw the swastika stenciled on each cover along with the SS insignia.
Kokol saw his reaction.
  "I took these from a bunker under the Chancellery in Berlin at the end of the
Great Patriotic War." He indicated

250


the binding material with disgust. "Human skin. From the camps. The pigs."
  Kokol flipped open one of the books. "These are medical reports. The SS
doctors did much testing, things that you could not do under normal
circumstances. They would put naked people into vats of water and lower the
temperature, making observations how the body reacted and how long the people
took to die. The most extensive testing for hypothermia ever conducted.
  "They did other things." Kokol paused, his old hands resting on the pages.
"Blood. That is what your master seeks."
Petrov frowned at the man's choice of words.
  "Adrik. I knew him in the war." Kokol waved a hand, indicating his white hair
and lined face. "Look at me and look at him. He was the same during the war. He
has not aged a day since. Why do you think that is?"
"It is not my business," Petrov said.
   "You work for him," Kokol countered. "If it is not your business what nature
of creature your master is, then what is your business?"
  Petrov glanced around, making sure none of his men were within earshot. "What
do you mean creature?"
   Kokol sighed. "After all that has happened in this past year, with the
aliens, one would think people's minds would be more open."
  "Adrik is—" Petrov began, but Kokol held up a hand interrupting him.
  "Adrik is not human." Kokol said it flatly. "He may look like a man, but he is
most certainly not."
"Who—what is he then?"
  Kokol tapped the document in front of him. "He is someone seeking the blood
drawn by the SS during the Great Patriotic War. According to this, the SS
secretly had

251


their doctors in the camps test the blood of many select prisoners."
"Looking for?"
  "A special strain. They did this at the behest of someone who was a very high-
ranking member of the Nazi Party, someone in the SS. The specifications were to
focus on people with red hair; those with pale skin; those in good health but at
an advanced age belied by their appearance. What was collected was sent to
Bavaria, to the castle there where the inner circle of the SS met at
Wevelsburg." Kokol turned some pages, uncovering a manifest. "As the war
progressed, most of it was transported, along with many other artifacts
collected by the SS, to Berlin, to be deposited in the large vault under the
Chancellery."
  "If you got the books, who got the blood?" Petrov asked, although he had a
very good idea.
  "I was army intelligence, NVD. The KGB was there also. There was even a brief
firefight between our two units as we fought over the Nazi corpse." He tapped
the book. "This is part of what we got. The gang from Lubyanka got the blood."
"And what did they do with it?"
  Kokol nodded toward the schematics spread out over the table. "Put it in one
of their holes under Moscow. And from what I understand they continued the
search, bringing prisoners down there from Lubyanka and draining them of their
blood. It was said you could hear the screams echoing out of the earth all the
way into the Kremlin itself."
  Petrov was tired of the old man's stories. He had a simple mission and wanted
to achieve it. He didn't care why Adrik wanted the blood, any more than he cared
why Adrik wanted young girls and boys brought to him in the

252


darkness. But something Kokol had said sparked a curious suspicion in him.
"Adrik drinks their blood, doesn't he?"
"Whose?"
   "The children that are brought to him. He has them tested. We thought it was
for AIDS and other diseases for sex, but it's for the cleanliness of the blood.
It is how he has lived so long." Petrov looked at Kokol sharply. "How long has
he lived?"
  Kokol shrugged. "I do not know and I have no desire to ask. I heard of Adrik
when I was a young puppy assigned to the NVD in the thirties. His was a name to
inspire fear back then. And even the old dogs who worked there, Stalin's pit
bulls who were part of the Revolution, they had heard of him when they were
young puppies. And they, men who had killed millions and laughed, they feared
him."
  Petrov considered this. "Do you know where the KGB stored the blood?"
   Kokol closed the binder with a thud. "There was a man who ran the Alien
Archives for the KGB, then the FSB. His name was Lyoncheka."
" 'Was'?"
"He was killed during the recent events."
"Who replaced him?"
  Kokol reached into a pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "Here is his name,
rank, position, and office."
  Petrov took it and read the name. "I think I will visit Comrade Pashenka."
  Kokol tapped the binders. "Do you want to read these?"

  "I don't read German and I don't care," Petrov said. "I have a job and I will
do it."
"It's that simple?"

253


 Petrov smiled without humor. "Yes." He paused. "But leave the books anyway."


Kouros
  The X-Craft was rolled out of the launch assembly building toward the
launching pad. An Ariane 5 rocket waited on the pad, with a crane nearby, ready
to lift the X-Craft onto the nose of the rocket. A large red digital clock
placed near the pad read: 45:00:00. As the carrier holding the X-Craft exited
the doors of the assembly building, the official countdown to launch began and
the first second clicked off.

Tibet


  Tian Dao Lin's power base in Hong Kong had long tentacles, reaching through
Beijing and thus to all areas of China. Pethang Ringmo was a small village of
fewer than one hundred and the last civilization before one stepped off into the
northern shadow of Everest. It was where the Ones Who Wait had launched their
assault on the mountain in the attempt to gain Excalibur not long ago and it was
where Tai brought Namche to begin their attempt to recover the bodies of that
failed assault. They flew into the closest airfield on Tian Dao Lin's personal
jet, and then switched over to a French-made helicopter that was waiting for
them—a craft especially designed and modified for high-altitude operations.
  It was a frozen place in a frozen land. To the southwest the horizon was
filled with mountains that in any other place would each be spectacular, but
dwindled next to

254


Everest, From the north, Everest appeared as a triangular peak, the top of which
was shrouded, as usual, in clouds.
  Namche stood for several moments staring at the mountain, then he said a
silent prayer. His companion had not uttered a single word during their trip.
Namche was used to tourists who babbled and asked uncountable questions.
   "Everest," Namche said, not sure if the man even knew which of the peaks was
their goal, given they were eighty miles away and the very top was cloud-
covered. "Changtse there to the right along with Lho La. To the left, Nuptse.
All over 7,500 meters in altitude."
Tai remained silent.
  "I have never climbed from the north," Namche said, getting that worry out in
the open. "Always the south. The north is more difficult, more technical. The
path we must take is even the more difficult of the two northern routes. Most
take the West Ridge, via the Rongbuk Glacier. We will be taking the East Ridge.
Very steep. Very dangerous."
Tai broke his long silence. "How soon can we leave?"
"Dawn."
"And then how long?"
  "To the first spot? Six hours. If the helicopter can get us as high as our
employer says it can. The second—it would be very difficult to make it and back
down before dark. We would most likely have to camp on the mountain and try the
following morning."
"We shall see."


The Skeleton Coast
  Nosferatu had not left the Haven in many years. He had spent the time plotting
and preparing but now it was

255


time for action. He'd pushed the others and now he had to push himself. He did
not want to leave. Since the beginning, little good had come to him when he'd
traveled out into the world.
He took one last trip down to the vault where Nekhbet lay. He put his hand on
the front of the tube, in a place where the acid from his skin over the
millennia had worn the imprint of his fingers and palm. "Soon. Very soon, my
love. We will be together." He left the crypt and went up an elevator to where a
helicopter waited on the cliff top.

256

CHAPTER   15


Moscow


It had taken three phone calls for Petrov to get all the information he needed
on Pashenka. Within an hour Petrov had managed to assemble a dossier complete
with photos on the man. He was high-level FSB who made more money selling
information to the Mafia than he did from the government. He'd even had dealings
with some of Adrik's organization at midlevel.
  The Mafia connection meant that Petrov could most likely get the information
he needed from the FSB official with a bagful of money. However, while that
would be the easiest way, Petrov decided not to take that path. Everything he
had learned so far had gotten his mind working and he knew he was on the trail
of something more valuable than cash.
  Petrov was seated in a panel van across Lubyanka Square from the FSB
headquarters, waiting. According to his informants, Pashenka left work every day
exactly at 1600 hours, crossed the square and went to a trendy bar next door to
the Mir store. Such predictability indicated that Pashenka had long ago lost his
tradecraft, something Petrov kept in mind as he watched the man exit the front
doors of Lubyanka at 1602 and head across the square.

257


  Pashenka wore an expensive suit, far beyond the means of even a high-level FSB
official. The clothes, however, did little to hide the thuglike body they
covered. The FSB man was built like a slab of beef, large, but softening around
the edges. His face was red, indicative of heavy drinking, but the eyes were
those of a man who enjoyed wielding power and inflicting pain.
  "Go," Petrov said, the mike wrapped around his throat transmitting the sound
to the driver in the front of the bulletproof van. There were two other men in
the rear of the van with Petrov, his most trusted subordinates, both dressed in
black fatigues, with body armor covering their backs and chests. They pulled
black balaclavas down over their faces as the van moved across the square on an
intercept course with the FSB agent.
  Petrov leaned back in a captain's chair that was bolted to the floor, a pistol
held loosely in one hand. They had done this many times and he anticipated no
trouble, but it never hurt to be ready. The van slid next to Pashenka, the
driver tapping the brakes lightly to slow it to about five miles an hour,
slightly faster than walking pace, as the two men across from Petrov slid the
side door open. One jabbed Pashenka with an upgraded cattle prod, sending an
incapacitating jolt of electricity through the FSB man's body, while the other
looped a length of thick rope over Pashenka's head, then jerked it tight as it
settled just below his shoulders.
  Both men hauled on the rope, lifting the flopping body off the cobblestones of
the square and into the van in less than two seconds, sliding the door shut. The
driver accelerated and they were moving along an alley off the square within ten
seconds. Behind them a small cluster of pedestrians stared at the escaping van
in shock, but by the time an alarm was raised, it was long gone.

258


  Petrov looked down at Pashenka as one of his assistants took a syringe and
injected the FSB man with a very strong muscle relaxant that guaranteed the
captive would be conscious but incapable of any action stronger than breathing,
talking, shaking his head, and wincing with pain for several hours.
  Pashenka blinked his eyes as the effect of the electric prod wore off and he
tried to focus on his immediate surroundings. By the time they pulled into the
warehouse that Petrov was working out of, Pashenka was fully conscious but the
drug was also fully functional and he was unable to move his limbs.
   "I am a senior member of the FSB," Pashenka sputtered. "You have made a very
large mistake."
   "If you answer the questions I pose truthfully, I will let you live," Petrov
said. "One lie, no matter how small, and you will never be seen again."
  He gestured to his subordinates and they grabbed the FSB agent, dragging him
to a heavy wooden chair bolted to the floor. They threw Pashenka into it and
secured him with leather straps around his chest, legs, and arms.
  Pashenka's eyes shifted, moving about the warehouse, taking in the armed
guards and their top-of-the-line equipment. "Who do you work for?"
  Petrov shook his head. "I said I would be asking you questions, not the other
way around."
  "The FSB will be looking for me. I am due at a meeting in—"
  Petrov rolled a stool to a spot five feet in front of Pashenka and sat on it.
"The FSB will miss you, but they have no idea where you are, and frankly, let us
accept that they will not search that hard for you. Your only option if you want
to live is to answer my questions."

259


"What do you want to know?"
"What do you know of Adrik?"
  Pashenka's red skin went pale. He began shaking his head ever so slightly, a
movement Petrov mimicked. Pashenka stopped shaking his head and swallowed hard
before answering. "Adrik is a very dangerous man. I have never seen him, but
that is what I have heard. He runs many businesses and is also connected with
organized crime."
  "I can read the newspaper and know that," Petrov said. "I want to know what
the classified FSB file on him says."
"That file was most likely destroyed."
"Why?"
"It was at Section IV."
  Petrov had never heard of that agency and he had worked countless missions in
concert with the KGB and FSB during his time in the service. "What is Section
IV?"
  "You mean what was Section IV," Pashenka said. "It was the branch of KGB, then
FSB, that dealt with the alien issue."
  Petrov felt a surge of excitement. He'd known this was big. "You said 'was.'
What happened to Section IV?"
  "Its headquarters were in a large underground bunker on Novata Zemlya. It was
attacked and severely damaged recently by one of the alien factions during the
war."
"Why would Adrik's file be with Section IV?"
  "It was suspected he was one of the Ones Who Wait. Half-human, half-Airlia
clones who worked for Artad."
  Petrov thought of the dark office in which he always met his boss. The white
skin. The rumors. "You use the past tense—so he isn't?"

260


"No. He's something different."
"What?"
"An Undead."
Petrov leaned forward. "And what is that exactly?"
  "We don't know," Pashenka admitted. "All we know is he has been alive for a
very long time thanks to access to some aspect of the alien technology or
biological or chemical material of the aliens. Some say he actually is part
Airlia. His file dates from the very beginning of Stalin's secret police—and
there were notes in there that predate that, from the time of the tsars. There
is even one report that speculates that he was a tsar—Ivan the Terrible, no
less. The fact is that no one knows how old he is or who he has been over the
years."
  Petrov abruptly switched the subject. "The tunnels under Moscow. I was told
you know much about them."
  Pashenka blinked. "The archives are my responsibility and they lie under the
city."
  "Is there a place in the archives where blood is stored? Blood taken from the
Germans at the end of the Great War."
  Pashenka hesitated. Petrov pulled back the hammer on his pistol, the sound
echoing across the hangar. "Yes," Pashenka said. "There is a room where blood is
stored."
"You will take me there this evening."

Mount Everest


   "I have never seen anything like this." The words were barely audible, ripped
from Namche's mouth by the brutal wind and dashed apart over the deep gorge to
their right. As soon as he finished speaking, Namche slipped the full face mask
back on, leaving not a single speck of

261


his skin exposed to the elements. He could tell Tai was laboring in the thin
air. The Chinese was half-doubled over, staring down at the climbing garments
frozen into the ridgeline. The fact that there was no sign of the body inside
the garments had been the cause of Namche's comment.
  Namche had seen many bodies on the mountain. It was virtually impossible to
bring one back down, so the over two hundred who had died in the past century
trying to reach the summit all lay where they had fallen, or, at best, covered
with a cairn of rocks piled on by their climbing companions. The freezing
temperatures preserved the dead, but here there was no sign of whoever had worn
the clothes.
   Namche looked up to the southwest, toward Everest. A plume of snow blew off
the peak, but it wasn't bad, perhaps winds of twenty to thirty miles an hour.
Strong anywhere but there. They'd choppered up to 17,000 feet at first light.
The helicopter had labored in the thin air, but it had gotten them a good way
toward this spot.
  Tai stood and followed Namche's gaze upward. "We must go to the other two."
"And if they are the same as this?"
"Then we have failed."
  Namche frowned. "I do not think you will be able to go any higher."
  Tai reached inside his jacket and pulled out the carved flask. He unscrewed
the lid, pulled aside his mark, and drank deeply, draining it. Namche was
shocked to see the blood around his lips as Tai pulled the flask away. Tai
blinked several times and his chest heaved for a few moments, then he nodded. "I
can make it to the bodies."
Besides his conditioning, the other thing that concerned

262


Namche was the bulky pack on Tai's back. He didn't know what was in it, but it
was large with a six-foot-long piece of eight-inch-thick PVC pipe secure on
either side, not making for easy climbing. The pipe had already become entangled
in the safety line several times.
  It was not his problem. Namche turned into the wind and tugged on the rope
connecting the two of them. "Follow me."

Airspace, Atlantic


  Nosferatu was the only occupant in the cabin of the Gulfstream jet. He had all
the shades pulled and the lights. off. Despite the darkness, he could easily
read the latest report from the team he had hired in the United States. They
were ready to move as soon as he landed.
  The Americans had excavated a large part of the Dulce underground complex, but
then work had ceased during the Third World War and had yet to be resumed.
According to the report there were guards, a platoon of infantry, working in
shifts at the site; but other than that, nothing to stand in his way.
   He also had reports from Tian Dao Lin and Adrik. The two were still in the
process of accomplishing their tasks, but all seemed to be going according to
plan.
  Despite his well-honed capacity for patience, Nosferatu could not stop a small
surge of adrenaline from coursing through his veins. After so many millennia of
waiting, what he had dreamed about could become a reality in just a few short
days. Nekhbet would be back at his side. And they would be immortal.
Nosferatu realized that the hand that was holding the




263
reports was shaking. He blinked, feeling a stinging in his eyes, and when he
brought his hand up to wipe his face, it came away with a faint red smear. He
realized he was crying tears of blood.


Moscow


   Petrov had his assault and recovery teams loaded into three vans marked with
proper insignia indicating they were part of the SVD fleet. That would ensure
that the police would ignore them no matter what they did and also precluded
interference from the SVD as most agents would assume the vans belonged to
another section and were on legitimate operations. Petrov loved turning
bureaucracy against itself. They drove along the Moscow River until they reached
the base of the hill on which the Kremlin crouched.
"Here," Pashenka said.
  With a flick of a finger, Petrov indicated for the driver to stop the van. He
looked about. The streets surrounding the Kremlin were practically deserted this
late at night. Petrov put a small earpiece in and wrapped a mike around his
throat. He did a comm check and was immediately rewarded by the sound of all
twelve members of his teams succinctly checking their mikes in order as he had
trained them.
  He wore unmarked black fatigues, over which he had strapped black Kevlar body
armor and on top of that was a combat vest. He had an AK-74, the upgrade of the
venerable AK-47, but chambered with a higher velocity, smaller 5.45 mm round,
for his primary weapon. He would have preferred something else, perhaps a German
HK-95, but he knew they had to keep the appearance of

264


being SVD as long as possible and the AK-74 was the armament of that
organization.
"Let's go."
  Shoving Pashenka ahead of him, he went out the side door of the van. Four of
his men moved up the slope toward the wall of the Kremlin, spreading out,
weapons at the ready. Two more covered each flank and the last four covered the
rear. The drivers stayed with the vans, armed with proper papers to deflect
anyone stupid enough to inquire why they were parked right outside the Kremlin
so late at night.
  They arrived at a portal in the redbrick wall, blocked by a steel gate. Petrov
assigned two of his men, both armed with sniper rifles with night-vision scopes
to take up flanking positions, covering both the portal and the vans.
  Pashenka fumbled with his wallet, finally producing a plastic card that he
pushed into the electronic lock. He then entered a sequence of numbers. The
light went from red to green, and the gate slid open.
  Petrov entered a small alcove with him, to be faced by another door. Pashenka
used a different card and a different code on its lock, and the door rumbled
open, revealing a descending stairway. Petrov put out a hand as Pashenka started
to enter. He tapped the side of his head, then slid down a set of night-vision
goggles. The rest of his team did the same. Then he signaled with two fingers
and gestured down. Two of his men slid past, descending into the darkness.
  "Clear to another door," his lead scout reported. "It's sealed with a retinal
scanner to one side."
  Petrov grabbed Pashenka and guided him down the stairs, the rest of the team
following. Overhead Petrov could see lines of fluorescent lighting, but the
power was

265


off. They reached a solid steel door. Pashenka leaned over the retinal scanner
and the laser projected a beam across his eyes, reading the pattern. Petrov
thought the presence of such a sophisticated device was indicative that he was
on the right track. Even at Lubyanka they still relied on name badges with
photos for access, each checked by some old, about-to-be-retired agent who could
barely read the names.
  The steel door slid open, revealing a descending corridor. The floor was gray
and the walls were painted the same flat color. Petrov pulled up the night-
vision goggles as the corridor was dimly lit by recessed lighting. As soon as
the last member of the team was in the corridor, Pashenka turned to the control
to shut the door behind them.
  "No," Petrov said. "Never close an escape route." He detailed a pair of his
men to stand guard, then looked ahead. The corridor went straight as far as he
could see. From the papers he had perused and Kokol's briefing, he'd learned
that the first tunnel built under the Kremlin had been finished during the time
of the tsars as an escape route in times of extreme trouble. Obviously it had
not been used when they really needed it, Petrov thought as he gestured for his
two point men to move ahead. He followed right behind, with Pashenka at his
side.
  Kokol had described how during World War II, Stalin had begun by building a
large bomb shelter directly under the Kremlin as the Nazis approached Moscow.
He'd also had bunkers dug under other government buildings and connecting
tunnels bored out.
  However, the rudimentary bunkers, designed to provide survival against Stuka
dive-bombers, were obviously inadequate against nuclear weapons. So the
government

266


dug deeper and deeper, burrowing into the earth below Moscow in the foolish hope
that perhaps the government could survive a direct nuclear attack. That there
would be nothing on the surface to govern had not seemed to occur to anyone.
  Pashenka paused before a side door. "We are under the palace."
  "How deep?" Petrov asked, as it appeared to him they had been moving
relatively level.
  "Eighty feet or so." Pashenka opened the door. The tunnel beyond was older and
smaller. Beads of moisture glistened, illuminated by naked lightbulbs attached
to an electric cord bolted to the ceiling.
  They moved about one hundred meters before reaching another door. Unlike the
previous ones, though, this door was wooden, with metal bands across it. Petrov
noted an electronic eye to the left and above the door.
"Who is watching?" he demanded of Pashenka.
"One of my people," Pashenka said.
   "You did not tell me this." Petrov signaled to his men that they should be at
the ready.
  "He can be trusted. I just hope the repairs have been completed."
  Petrov wanted to laugh, but held it in. No one could be trusted in Russia
these days. "Repairs?"
   "The bottom of the elevator shaft and the tunnel at the bottom were destroyed
recently by traitorous activity."
  Pashenka waved at the camera and the door opened with a click, followed by the
hiss of the hydraulic jack.
  Petrov's first two men dashed through, moving to covering positions inside on
either side. Petrov shoved Pashenka through, staying behind him, AK-74 at the
ready. They faced a sheet of bulletproof glass that bi-

267


sected the room. A door, also made of bulletproof glass, was to the right. A man
sat behind a desk on the other side, a video monitor in front of him. He had an
AK-74 in his hands.
  "Sir, who are these people?" the man demanded of Pashenka.
"Section IV," Pashenka said. "They have authorization."
"May I see the papers, sir?"
  Pashenka stepped closer. "You know better than that. This comes directly from
the Chairman. I take full responsibility."
  The man shrugged. "I had not heard they reconstituted Section IV. I am
surprised, that is all." He pressed a buzzer. The glass door swung open.
Pashenka walked through, followed by Petrov.
"Is the elevator fixed?"
"Yes, sir."
"The tunnel at the bottom?"
"Most of the debris has been removed. It is passable."
  "Good," Pashenka said, pulling a key on a chain from inside his shirt. The man
did the same. They walked to opposite sides of the room to two boxes, where they
inserted the keys. Pashenka counted to three and they both turned.
   Steel doors in the back of the room opened, revealing a freight elevator.
Pashenka walked onto it. Petrov signaled for two of his men to stay behind, then
entered the elevator with the rest.
With a jerk, the elevator began descending.
Petrov felt his ears pop. "How deep?"
"A half mile."
"Are the archives there?"
  Pashenka shook his head. "No. They are very, very deep. This is just the first
step."

268


  The elevator halted with a slight jar. The doors rumbled open. A dank
corridor, lit with hastily rigged work lights beckoned. There were piles of
rubble dotting the pitted floor here and there.
  "Who tried to gain access?" Petrov asked as they got off the elevator.
"The Ones Who Wait."
   Petrov had read of the various alien groups. "Why were they trying to
infiltrate the archives?"
   "I do not know,' Pashenka said. "My boss, Lyoncheka, went with them and was
killed. A Section IV operative named Yakov and an American escaped with
something."
  Petrov knew the name Yakov. It had been all over the news. "The Yakov who went
to Mars and helped defeat the aliens?"
  "Yes." They reached an intersection and Pashenka halted, then consulted his
handheld. "This way." They turned right.
   Petrov considered putting a bullet in Pashenka's brain, taking the handheld,
and leading the men there himself, but he knew that might be precipitous. If
Pashenka retained any of his tradecraft he would have a cutout built in, where
he would be needed for an important leg of the journey that wasn't programmed
into the handheld.
  They made three more turns at the same level, then suddenly they were at the
head of a wide tunnel that slowly curved clockwise and descended. It was large
enough to drive a truck down and off to the left a long ramp ascended, just as
large. He left one man at the intersection, then they began to go down.
  Petrov noted what appeared to be air shafts spaced along the inner wall. He
assumed there was a central vertical shaft that supplied air to these lower
levels. Pashenka

269


was counting to himself, then suddenly halted before the first door they had
encountered on the right. By his pace count, Petrov estimated they'd walked over
a mile in a descending circle.
"This is it," Pashenka said. Then he cursed.
   Petrov looked over his shoulder and saw the reason: The outer edges of the
door had been welded shut.
   Petrov snapped an order and one of his men ran up. He tossed off his backpack
and pulled out a welding torch and fired it up.


The silent alarm brought a squad of soldiers running into the courtyard of the
Kremlin, under the command of a senior captain, where they were met by a senior
FSB colonel on the premier's protection detail. The colonel was standing there
in full battle gear as if he had anticipated the alarm. Colonel Kokol was an old
man, but still in good shape. The cane he had used when he visited Petrov was no
longer visible and the limp was gone.
  "What is it, sir?" the FSB captain demanded, still struggling to put on his
combat vest.
"Infiltrators in the tunnels, sir."
"Where?"
"They tripped an alarm on Level Six, Section Eight."
"What's there?"
"Old KGB archives," Kokol said.
  "Strange," the captain said. "They didn't trip any alarms getting into the
tunnels. How can that be?"
  "Because someone let them in," Kokol said. "One of our men, Pashenka, was
kidnapped yesterday afternoon right out of Lubyanka Square. He has access to the
tunnels."

270


  "Any idea where exactly he's going?" the captain asked without much hope.
   Colonel Kokol smiled broadly. He brought his small handheld device and showed
it to the captain. It had a six-inch oval display and there was a glowing dot
with some numbers next to it. The dot was almost exactly in the center.
"Pashenka's bugged?"
  Kokol nodded as he read the data. "I was prepared for this. They've moved
since they tripped the alarm." He pointed down. "Just about right below us and
over eighteen hundred meters down."
  The captain turned and pointed at an eight-foot-wide column that came out of
the ground and extended up about fifteen feet. "Main ventilation shaft for the
Kremlin underground complex. Goes straight down just about two thousand meters."
  "We'd need an awfully long rope to rappel down that far," Kokol said, as they
walked over to the shaft. Several soldiers were already unscrewing plates from
the outer surface. Another was opening a small chest bolted to the ground
nearby.
  "There was concern about a swift way to get deep if all power was cut and
missiles were inbound," the captain said. "Elevators wouldn't work, and taking
stairs or even the ramp would be too slow."
  Two panels came off the side of the tube, revealing two brass poles bolted to
the side of tube. The captain went over to the chest and reached in, pulling out
two devices. They had handholds with straps that wrapped securely around the
wrist. Facing outward were clamps that would go on the brass poles and levers
controlled by the hands determined how much pressure they applied to the pole.

271


   "Jumars," the captain said as he held them up. He wrapped the straps around
his wrist, making sure his hands were secure inside the devices. Colonel Kokol
hesitated only for a moment, then got his own set.
  Together they walked over to the tube and looked down. Lonely lightbulbs lit
the tube every fifty feet or so, leaving sections of darkness between.
   "I am willing to allow your rank to proceed me," the captain said.
   Kokol demurred. "I would prefer to watch your expertise with the equipment
first, so I might learn the proper way to do this."
  The captain laughed and stepped onto the narrow ledge around the inside top,
sidling over to one pole. He clamped the jumars down on the pole and tested the
pressure, squeezing his fingers against the pads they rested on. He glanced over
at Kokol, no sign of laughter on his face now. The colonel nodded.
  The captain carefully released the pressure and began to slide down.


Petrov checked his watch but displayed no sense of impatience, knowing it would
do no good. The man was working as fast as he could. The flame went out and the
welder stood. "It's clear to open."
  Two mercenaries began unscrewing the door, which seemed to consist of a single
large threaded metal disk, about five feet in diameter. It moved easily and they
had it unscrewed in less than fifteen seconds. It slowly rotated away from the
entrance on hydraulic arms.
  It was dark inside. Petrov pulled down his night-vision goggles and turned
them on. He waited until the green glow came alive, then poked his head in the
opening. He

272


saw a large chamber, the far end of which wasn't visible in the night-vision
goggles. Petrov blinked as he recognized the forest of vertical objects filling
the chamber—human beings impaled on stakes set in the floor.
  "Hold here," Petrov ordered as he stepped over the threshold in the chamber.
There were hundreds of mummified bodies dangling on stakes run up through the
centers of their bodies within view. Directly in front, less than ten feet away,
was a heavy wooden chair, bolted to the floor. Leather straps were looped over
the arms and legs, indicating that whoever had occupied the chair had not done
so willingly. The chair faced the forest of dead. Looking up, Petrov saw that
rails lined the ceiling with small trolleys with chains dangling from them. He
immediately understood that was the way each body had been conveyed to its
stake, then lowered onto it.
  Ingenious. Petrov had seen many horrible things in his time and he had watched
much torture. He could envision the process here. A victim was interrogated in
the chair, facing all the bodies, some probably still alive and writhing on the
stakes, while the victim could witness his pending fate, probably with an offer
of being spared if he spoke. Petrov imagined most spoke, even making up things
if they weren't really guilty, which was often the case. Regardless of what he
said, the prisoner was lifted out on the chains and pulled to his final resting
place and the next victim was brought in and strapped down.
  How long had this been going on? he wondered. He looked at the closest body.
The skin was stretched tight, the body mummified. The naked body was shriveled
tight as if every fluid inside had been drained. Petrov felt a start as he
remembered why he had come there.

273


  He moved farther into the room, up to the chair. Directly on the other side
was something he had not seen at first. A large wooden cart with a metal device
on it and large glass bottles on the lower level. Rubber hoses led from the
metal device to the cart. It took him a few seconds before he realized the
device was a pump. And there were more thin rubber hoses on top with large-gauge
needles on top. There was writing in German on both the bottles and the metal
device. A swastika was stenciled on the side of the cart.
  There was no mistaking the device's purpose: to forcibly draw blood from a
victim.
So where was the blood?
  "Get in here," Petrov ordered. His remaining commandos entered, all with
night-vision goggles on. It was a tribute to their training that not a word was
said.
   "We need to find a cache of blood," Petrov said. "Search the room."
The men spread out.

Are we there yet?" Colonel Kokol hissed. His forearms were aching and the last
halt had taken all his energy to compress the pads against the pole.
  The captain glanced down at the tracking device hung around his neck, craning
to be able to see the display. "Close."
  Kokol glanced at the small grate between the two poles. They'd passed one
about every thirty feet on the way down. Each had a small six-inch-wide ledge in
front of it. "Should we exit?"
  Kokol waited for the captain's answer as the junior officer tried to angle his
head to get a better read on the screen. The colonel's old forearms supplied the
answer in

274


the absence of anything from the captain. Kokol swung his feet over onto the
ledge, then completely released his hold on the poles. His arms swung free and
he used his teeth to release the wrist straps on the jumars.
"We are exiting, then?" the captain asked.
   "Da" Kokol muttered as he tried to see through the grate. He saw the ramp,
but nothing else.
  The captain joined him. Together they pushed out on the grate and it popped
loose. Kokol stuck his head out and saw nothing either way, so he slid through.
However, when it was the captain's turn, the weight lifter's shoulders wouldn't
make it through, no matter how hard he tried. As the captain strained and
twisted, Kokol cocked his head to catch a sound floating up the ramp. Voices.
   "I've got contact just below," Kokol hissed to the captain.
  "I can't get through," the captain muttered, stating the obvious.
  "There must be a maintenance entrance at the bottom," Kokol whispered. "It's
not that much farther down. Get there, then come up the ramp. I'll hold from
above."
  The captain pulled back and looked up. "My strike team is on its way down.
Wait for reinforcements before you do anything."
"Certainly," Kokol said.
  The captain clamped onto the pole and began heading down. Kokol turned back to
the ramp and waited, AK-74 at the ready.


This had to be it—sixteen crates loaded on four-wheeled carts. There were faded
swastikas stenciled on the outside and writing in German. Petrov used his

275


knife to pry up one of the lids. Nestled in straw inside were rows of bottles
similar to the ones on the lower level of the cart. Inside each was a dried,
coagulated reddish mass that Petrov assumed had once been blood. He ordered his
men to wheel the carts out.


Kokol heard the squeal of unoiled machinery coming his way. Then he spun to his
right as he heard a muffled curse. A soldier was struggling to get through the
air vent and join him.
   Kokol put his finger to his lips, then turned to face , back down the ramp,
the butt of his AK-74 tucked tight into his shoulder. The sound was getting
closer and he couldn't figure out what was making it. Having fought in many
wars, from World War II to the present, he decided to make himself a smaller
target and went down to one knee.
  The soldier managed to make it through and joined him as a second one appeared
in the grate. Kokol sighted in as the muzzle of a weapon appeared, followed by
the man wielding it, dressed in black. He saw Kokol just as the soldier yelled
out for the man to drop his weapon.
  The man did neither, bringing the weapon to bear instead, and Kokol squeezed
the trigger of the AK-74 twice in rapid succession. The first bullet hit the man
in the cheek, ripping a gash along the side of his face while the second hit
right between the eyes, sending him flopping back down the ramp.
  The reply was instant and fierce as automatic weapons let loose and high-
velocity rounds tore up the ramp, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting all
about. A round hit the soldier coming out the grate in the back of his head,
killing him instantly and leaving his body jammed

276


in the hole. Kokol dived to the ground and fired several rounds even though he
could see no targets, figuring the ricocheting would work just as well the other
way.
  He heard a strange grunt, a sound he had heard before—a last breath of air
being expelled as a bullet tore through lungs—and glanced to his left to see the
other soldier sink to his knees, then fall face forward, blood seeping out of a
wound just under his armpit where his vest didn't cover.
   Kokol rolled twice, putting himself behind the man's body and resting his
submachine gun on top of him. Several more rounds hit the body and Colonel Kokol
emptied the rest of his clip, silently counting to himself, so that when he
fired the last round, his finger hit the release, the magazine fell and he
slammed another home without making the mistake of firing on an empty chamber
and wasting precious seconds.
  Where the hell was the captain? The firing from below suddenly ceased and
Kokol heard voices, someone issuing muffled orders. Were they retreating?
Regrouping?
  The answer came swiftly as three hand grenades came flying through the air.
Colonel Kokol rolled, pulling the dead body on top of him as the first one went
off less than ten feet away. The concussion hit him, followed by two more, like
body blows from a mule, but the dead SVD man absorbed the shrapnel. The last
wave slammed Kokol's head against the inner wall, knocking him out.

Petrov jumped in the van with the blood, as his mercenaries fired back at the
security forces on the outskirts of the Kremlin wall. He pressed a detonator,
and two of his own people's cars exploded, behind his van, taking out several
police cars with them, blocking the

277


way, and allowing enough of a diversion for his van to disappear into the warren
of alleys.
  He had the blood. The issue he had now was what exactly to do with it. He was
not sure any longer that turning it over to Adrik was the most prudent course of
action—at least not without a substantial finder's fee.

278

CHAPTER   16


Mount Everest


Namche rubbed the frost off the eyepieces of his oxygen mask and checked his
global positioning receiver. According to the data he'd been given, they were
close to the other two bodies.
  "Not far," he shouted, the words muffled by his mask. He wasn't certain
whether Tai heard him or not. The other man was leaning against the side of the
mountain, obviously exhausted. Namche wondered if he would still be paid the
remainder of his fee if Tai died and had to be left on the mountain.
  They were approximately two thousand meters from the top of Everest. To the
right was the Kanshung Face, a practically vertical mile-long stretch of rock on
the north side of Everest. From the display he had seen in Hong Kong, it
appeared to Namche that the two bodies they were after had been on top of the
Kanshung Face and fallen. Instead of plummeting all the way to the bottom, it
appeared as if the rope connecting them had caught on a spur of rock jutting out
from the face and they were frozen in place, an adornment to Everest's
deadliness. He looked in the direction, trying to see through the blowing snow.
  "There," he yelled, pointing. The wind had shifted direction briefly, exposing
the Face. The bodies looked like white lumps on the rock wall about fifteen
meters away.
279


This time Tai acknowledged he'd heard by nodding.
  Namche climbed up, checking over his shoulder to make sure Tai was following.
They gained another thirty meters in altitude, then Namche halted. He pulled
four pitons off his climbing rack and used a small hammer to pound them into the
mountain, making sure they were in place. Then he secured a fifty-meter length
of doubled rope to all four.
"You stay here," he yelled to Tai.
Tai nodded once more.
  Namche tied himself off to the fifty-meter doubled rope, gathering the slack.
Holding the loose rope in one hand and his ice axe in the other, he edged over a
meter, arriving at the left side of the Kanshung Face. Reaching as far as he
could, he slammed the point of his axe into the ice that covered the Face. Then,
using that as his leverage point, he scrambled out onto the Face. He dug the
toes of 'his crampons into the ice and began making his way across. It was
precarious climbing and Namche didn't allow his mind to dwell on the numerous
lethal possibilities.
  He moved quickly, staying in no position for more than a few seconds, afraid
the thin sheet of ice would give way. He glanced down and saw he was now above
the bodies. It was clear that their rope had caught on a small spur, less than
eight inches long, that poked out from the mountain. Namche knew he'd have one
shot at this.
  Namche let go of the mountain and fell. As he went down he slammed the point
of the ice axe into the mountain to slow his descent and to be ready for when he
reached the bodies, which occurred in less than two seconds. His axe caught on
the dead climbers' rope and slid along until he reached one of the bodies, where
it jammed against the attachment point of the rope on the body. Namche came to a
jarring halt, breathing hard.

280


  Using short nylon slings, he made sure both the dead men were attached to the
rope he had brought. Then he leveraged the ice axe underneath one of the bodies,
trying to break it free from the mountain. It detached with a last crack of ice,
sliding down until it reached the end of the rope, where it jerked to a halt,
then swung to the left, coming to a halt just below where Tai was.
  Namche did the same with the second, except this time he made sure he was
attached to the body. Once more he fell free for a couple of seconds, then he
and the body swung over and came to a halt.
  Namche put in more pitons, securing the bodies in place as Tai climbed down.
  "What now?" Namche asked. He assumed Tai was there to collect something from
the bodies. Perhaps a family heirloom? Or to perform some burial rite? Namche
was surprised when Tai began lashing the two bodies tightly together.
"We cannot carry them down," Namche said.
  Tai ignored him. He opened his pack and took out what appeared to be a very
thin blanket, which he wrapped around both bodies. Namche had seen that kind of
blanket before—it was an emergency heater, designed to be used to rapidly raise
someone's core body temperature. Numerous thin wire conductors were woven into
the material and attached to a power source, in this case a pair of lithium
batteries Tai had in his pack. Once the blanket was tight around the bodies, Tai
turned it on.
  This confused Namche even more. What was the purpose of thawing out dead men?
  As the blanket poured heat into the frozen flesh, Tai pulled something else
out of his pack. A syringe and several plastic blood bags.

281


  "What are you going to do?" Namche demanded, although he was beginning to get
the idea. But the reason behind these apparently insane acts escaped him.
  Tai continued to ignore him. He reached under the blanket and checked the
exposed flesh of one of the bodies by the expedient method of poking it with the
syringe. Apparently the body wasn't quite ready yet as Tai turned his attention
to what was left in and on his pack. He removed the two pieces of PVC pipe and
unscrewed the ends. He pulled out a complicated mass of extendable titanium
poles and Kevlar cloth from each. They connected together at an anchor point.
  Tai turned back to the body and poked it with the syringe. The point punctured
the skin and he searched, trying to find a vein. When he located one, he
attached a small battery-powered pump to the line and began draining the blood
from the body. Namche watched in horrified fascination. Tai drained the first
body into four bags. Then he did the same to the second.
  Namche watched, confused as to the purpose of Tai's actions and what would
happen next. As soon as Tai had the second body drained, he packed the blood
bags into his rucksack. Then he unhooked his harness from the safety line.
  "What are you doing?" Namche reached forward to grab him.
  Tai connected a snap link on the back of his harness into the anchor point of
the strange tube-and-cloth contraption, looked at Namche, smiled, and then
jumped out into the clear air in front of the Kanshung Face.
  Namche stared in shock as Tai free-fell. Then the poles on his back snapped
out, spreading, deploying the high-strength cloth. A half mile below Namche's
position, the hang glider locked into place and Tai grabbed the

282


controls, banking to the north and west, disappearing from view in the blowing
snow.

Kouros


   Final checks were made, no glitches were found, and the countdown now moved
into its final phase. A night launch was a bit unusual for Kouros; but Nosferatu
had insisted, and since he was paying top dollar, the officials at the facility
had been only too happy to agree. He was in launch control, in the VIP lounge,
watching the procedures. He had been forced to pay a considerable amount of
extra money to keep the launch information from being released, a particularly
difficult task given this was the first manned launch ever performed outside of
the American or Russian programs.
  The overly attentive lackeys of the ESA were beginning to bother Nosferatu.
Waiters hovered at his elbow, offering him champagne, and the luxurious buffet
laid out at the rear of the room bustled with activity. He brusquely ordered
everyone out of the suite.
  The Ariane 5 booster, the X-Craft on top, was fixed in spotlights. A beautiful
sight to Nosferatu, who had been at the forefront of spaceflight for many years,
ever since the beginning. It was another of his objections to the Airlia—how
they had hamstrung the human attempts to get into space. It was amazing that man
had managed to make it to the moon and walk on it, an effort that had been
rewarded with an intense push by the Ones Who Wait to make sure the space
program went backward rather than forward. While science fiction writers had
predicted that man would be much further ahead by the

283

turn of the millennium, the reality had been a great disappointment.
  The X-Craft design was simple but functional. He'd begun work on it many years
previously and kept it as secret as possible to prevent interference from the
Ones Who Wait. Over the years he'd brought in the best and brightest to work on
certain parts, but he'd kept overall control of the development
compartmentalized so that only the tiniest handful of people knew the big
picture. Money had been no object.
  The X-Craft was a delta wing craft, more arrowhead-shaped than the American
space shuttle, and smaller. Its cargo bay could hold only one-quarter of what
the American shuttle could, but it was one-tenth as costly to produce and fly.
The crew consisted of a pilot and copilot. Additional personnel could be put on
board if a crew pod was inserted in the cargo bay. For the moment, the cargo bay
was empty except for two EVA space suits and special equipment they would need
once they reached the derelict mothership.
  Nosferatu had test X-Craft models flown in Australia and even achieved two
successful landings of the craft that was now on top of the booster, flying it
up on top of a 747 and releasing it. The Ariane 5 booster was proven with many
successful liftoffs. As far as Nosferatu could predict, everything should work
perfectly.
He was less certain of Vampyr's actions.
  His thoughts were interrupted by the final seconds of the countdown. The
rocket ignited and began to lift. Nosferatu slipped on a pair of sunglasses to
protect his eyes as the flame seared the night sky. He watched the rocket
accelerate upward until he could no longer see it.
Time to move on to his next task.

284


Hong Kong Chek Lap Kok Airport


"You are not welcome here."
  Vampyr had had a feeling that he would not be warmly greeted in Hong Kong. He
was standing on the tarmac at the new Hong Kong International Airport, an island
set apart from the mainland. His jet was behind him in a secure area, bathed in
the flashing lights of security vehicles. The man who had greeted him with those
five words wore the blue uniform of the Hong Kong police. There was some rank
insignia on his collar but Vampyr had no clue what they meant.
  Vampyr had a pack slung over his shoulder. Inside the pack were some goodies
he had rigged—just in case. He had walked into too many strange situations not
to prepare for the worst possible scenario.
"You are not welcome here," the official repeated.
  Vampyr decided to ignore him as he saw someone approaching, a man dressed in a
very nice suit that must have come from one of the most expensive stores in Hong
Kong. More important, everyone in uniform who saw him approach immediately
adopted body language that indicated this was a man with real power.
  "I am Chon. Deputy governor of Hong Kong. How may I be of assistance?"
  "He"—Vampyr nodded at the man in uniform—"says I am not welcome."
  "A misunderstanding," Chon said. "Things have been most in flux recently as I
am sure I do not have to tell you. We in Hong Kong have a long history of
welcoming guests regardless of outer circumstances."
   Chon had been on Vampyr's payroll for over twenty years. He held his high
position through Vampyr's influ-

285

ence. He had had only one task all those years—to keep tabs on Tian Dao Lin.
  Chon snapped a command in Chinese. The area immediately around them was
suddenly clear for a distance of twenty meters. Chon glanced to the right, along
the east-west runway. The sun was hovering above the western horizon, a landing
747 silhouetted against it. "We do not have much time before dark. Come with
me." With that Chon turned and headed for the helicopter he'd arrived in.
  Vampyr followed. The blades were powering up for takeoff as they boarded. The
chopper lifted and headed toward Hong Kong proper, over forty kilometers away.
   Since Chon hadn't bothered to put on the headset on the ceiling over his
head, Vampyr assumed he didn't want to talk while in flight. They landed on top
of a tall building set among a cluster of skyscrapers. Chon got off and headed
immediately for a door without looking back. Vampyr followed. They descended a
flight of stairs, then went into a room containing a large desk and bay windows
with a commanding view of Hong Kong.
   "Please be seated," Chon said. Then he took the seat behind the desk and hit
several buttons. Steel shutters dropped over the windows, cutting off the view.
Vampyr placed the backpack next to the seat, facing the door behind them.
"This room is now Tempest proof," Chon said.
  Vampyr knew that meant it was supposed to be secure from all forms of bugging.
Tian Dao Lin was a very powerful man in Hong Kong, perhaps the most powerful.
Some said he ultimately was in control of all the Triads. He also owned many
legitimate businesses, just like Vampyr, Nosferatu, and Adrik. The most
dangerous aspect of Tian Dao Lin, as far as Vampyr was concerned,

286


was his inner core of Quarters. More than any of the other three Undead, Tian
Dao Lin enjoyed breeding with human women and bringing offspring into the world.
Even Vampyr feared being attacked by a pack of Quarters.
"What is the latest?" Vampyr finally asked.
  "One of the Quarters, named Tai, paraglided off Everest earlier today. He is
on his way here with a package."
  Vampyr nodded. Tian Dao Lin had succeeded in recovering the blood of the One
Who Waits. The end had begun.
"Do you know when he arrives?"

"In four hours."
"Will we be able to intercept?"
   Chon looked uncomfortable. "I have not yet been able to determine where Tian
Dao Lin's lair is. Every time we try to follow his people, they manage to lose
us. He is most careful, and if one gets too close, then his inner circle makes
that person disappear."
  Vampyr had anticipated Chon's failure. "I am trying to discover the location
by other means. Still, have your men try to follow the blood when it arrives. I
want both the blood and Tian Dao Lin."

Moscow
  Colonel Kokol felt the point of a needle enter his right arm but didn't have
the energy to react. He focused all his remaining power on opening his eyes.
Once more he was greeted by the captain's face looming over him.
  "There is a problem. We did not stop them from removing what they stole from
the archives. They escaped."
  Kokol forced his eyes open. He was lying on a cot in a mobile operations
center. He could see soldiers and police

287

scurrying about. For the moment, the two of them were left relatively alone.
"What happened?"
  "After they knocked you out—and left you for dead under the body of the
soldier—the infiltrators made their way up the ramp, then through other tunnels
and out the exit they came in. The Moscow police and SVD security tried to stop
them and suffered heavy casualties in the process."
"What did they take?"
  "It appears a stock of old blood taken by the Russians from the Germans from
Berlin at the end of the Great Patriotic War."
  "World War II," Colonel Kokol muttered. "Who did this?"
  "We have video from the entrance—they killed the guards on their way out,
along with Pashenka, the SVD man who let them in. Police files indicate they are
Mafia under the control of—"
   "Adrik," Kokol completed the sentence. Everyone had heard whispers of the
head of the Mafia in Moscow. Nothing happened at this level in the city without
his blessings.
"Yes."
   "Would blood stored like that still be viable?" Kokol wondered. "Why would
they steal it?"
  "I do not know, but twelve men are dead, so it must be important."
  Colonel Kokol swung his feet to the side and tried to sit up. The attempt
caused a hiss of pain to escape his lips but he managed to get upright. "Do the
police have a line on where we can find Adrik?"
  "Yes. They've always known where his headquarters is. No one has ever had the
power or the will to attack him."
  "We'll see about that," Kokol said, pulling a SatPhone out of his pocket.

288


Earth Orbit


  With a slight burst from a forward thruster, the X-Craft decelerated as it
entered the large cargo bay of the mothership. Another burst brought it to a
halt, floating just above the deck and among the battered Talon spacecraft that
had been knocked out of commission by the nuclear blast combined with the power
of the ruby sphere that Turcotte had brought there from the cavern in Ethiopia.
A hatch on the side of the X-Craft opened with a puff of escaping air and both
suited crew-members exited, carrying large plastic cases in the zero gravity.
  They split, going to different Talons. Each went inside, to the first Airlia
body they saw, and opened the case, revealing syringes, blood bags, and the same
type of battery-powered pump that Tai had used.
  They quickly got to work, poking each body in different places to draw the
little remaining blood that hadn't drained out into space.

Moscow
Vampyr's reach was indeed long.
  Kokol's SatPhone rang and he listened for a moment, then held it out for the
captain. "It is the premier."
  The captain stared in disbelief and took the phone. He listened for about a
minute, his only replies "Yes, sir," then closed the phone and handed it back to
Colonel Kokol.
"And?" the colonel asked.
  "We attack and destroy Adrik." The captain spun on his heel and shouted
orders. Soldiers jumped into vehicles

289


and they raced into the city toward the modern office building that held the
Mafia leader's office.
   Colonel Kokol, having survived World War II, the Cold War, and the end of the
Cold War and the bitter departmental infighting after it, along with being
Vampyr's spy in Russia on Adrik for over half a century, decided to watch the
assault from the command truck three blocks away. It had direct video feeds from
each of the assault units, from cameras mounted on the team leaders' helmets.
   "Your optics are excellent," Kokol observed, as they watched the teams
surround the building.
  "A gift from the Americans," the captain said. "They're supposed to be used by
counternuke teams to keep track of our nuclear material and weapons."
   Kokol watched as the teams stealthily approached all the known entrances to
the building, listening as the captain counted down to the breach.
At zero all the ingress points were hit.
  Kokol was shaking his head within five seconds as no opposition was apparent
on any of the screens. "It's too easy. Something's wrong."
  The teams had breached the perimeter of the building and were working their
way in. Still no shots fired. Nothing.
   Colonel Kokol turned to the captain. "I would pull the teams. Now."
  Two of the teams were working their way up stairwells, the elevators out of
order as they cut the power to them. Three other teams were doing room-by-room
searches of lower-level offices.
  The captain leaned over Kokol's shoulder. "I cannot pull them out. We must
have revenge. Watch. We have other equipment from the Americans. Most efficient
and useful." He rattled something into his mike. One of the

290


men with a camera stopped at a computer on a desk and pulled something out of
his pack. It appeared to be a handheld organizer with a lead going to a floppy
diskette, which he shoved into the A drive on the computer.
  "We can take everything off the hard drive in ten seconds," the captain said
proudly. "It is being transmitted right here." He pointed at a computer next to
the monitors.
  "I'm telling you that you've got a problem," Kokol said. "The place is
abandoned."
"What?"
  Kokol stood, looking across the monitors as the teams progressed deeper into
the building. "Get your men out. Now!" He yelled the last word.
"I don't—"
  "Do it," Kokol said. He turned to the captain. "Adrik is prepared for an
attack. You've encountered no resistance, which means he's letting you in. If
he's letting you in, then it can't be good." Even as he said the words, Kokol
knew it was too late.
  This was confirmed as a flash filled one of the video monitors, immediately
followed by the feed blacking out. In rapid succession the other four feeds did
the same.
  The command and control van lifted off its right tires as the blast wave hit
it, followed by the roar of the explosion. The van slammed back down, still
upright, as debris from the explosion hit the side.
   Kokol knew the entire team was dead. He felt it run through his body as
surely as the shock wave had hit the van.
  "The computer." Kokol tapped the dazed captain on the shoulder.
"What?"
"Check the computer."
"For what?"

291


"The download. What they tapped."
  The captain slid the seat over to the nearby computer as chaos reigned inside
the command van, everyone shouting into radios trying to figure out what had
happened. He looked at the screen and saw the small emblem indicating the
information that had been transmitted by the team member just before the
explosion.
  Kokol doubted anything of value would have been picked up, but over two dozen
men had just died, and he owed it to them to look. The hard drive data came up.
He quickly scanned through it. Daily calendar. Interoffice . memos. Shipping.
Time clocks. Phone logs.
  Kokol backed up. He scanned the shipping logs for the last two days carefully.
Kokol smiled when he spotted a rush shipment to Hong Kong.
  He pulled out his phone and dialed a number, giving the address to the person
on the other end.

Dulce, New Mexico


  Nosferatu and the team of mercenaries he had hired had taken off in two Huey
helicopters with US Army markings from an abandoned airstrip in southern
Colorado, where they had been awaiting his arrival. They were flying due south,
low to the ground to avoid radar.
  The town of Dulce was just south of the Colorado-New Mexico border, between
the Carson National Forest and the Rio Grande National Forest. The terrain was
full of mountains covered with pine trees. The town was on the forward slope of
a large mountain. On the back slope was the entrance to the secret lab that
Majestic-12 had established shortly after World War II.

292


  The experiments there had been as varied as the human imagination, according
to what Nosferatu had been able to learn, although much of it was still shrouded
in secrecy. The United States government had done work on mind control using
memory-affecting drugs and electronic dissolution of memory. Some of the work
came out of Airlia technology and some from German scientists captured at the
end of World War II and impressed into US service under Operation Paperclip.
  This lab was also where Majestic had shipped the Guardian computer they
discovered in Temiltepec in South America, the device that had corrupted the
members of Majestic who had come in contact with it, giving them its programmed
instructions to fly the mothership.
  The team leader called out a time warning, indicating they were less than five
minutes from the target. With a slight smile Nosferatu watched the men in the
cargo bay don night-vision goggles. Human technology had finally started to
catch up with a capability he'd had for thousands of years.
   Nosferatu knew that the small security force posted at Dulce had no reason
for concern. Their first indication of trouble came when the aircraft landed and
the first thing off were flashbang grenades that stunned and blinded them.
  Nosferatu had insisted on taking down the security force without killing them,
and the mercenaries had agreed, seeing no point in committing murder if it was
avoidable. They seized the stunned guards and quickly secured them. Nosferatu
then exited the helicopter and followed one team down into the dig site.
  The engineers who had worked on the site had dug a shaft straight down through
the pancaked levels of the base, with an occasional side tunnel. A large crane
holding

293


a metal cage served as a makeshift elevator and Nosferatu climbed on board with
four of the mercenaries as another took the controls of the crane.
  The basket was swung over the shaft and lowered all the way to the bottom.
This was where General Hemstadt had been running highly classified biological
experiments for Majestic-12 before being co-opted by the Mission. The higher
levels had taken most of the force of the foo fighter's power beam. This level
was relatively intact, as the intelligence reports Nosferatu had purchased
indicated.
  There was some debris, but they were able to move. They were in a hall that
extended about sixty feet, ending in a dead end. There were several doors to the
left and another corridor turning to the right. There were name plaques next to
each door on the left indicating that those rooms were quarters for Sublevel 1
staff Nosferatu passed right by all of them, taking the right turn at the end of
the corridor.
   He was in a ten-foot-long corridor that ended in a double set of doors with
biological warning signs posted on them. Nosferatu walked up to the doors and
pushed them open. A rough concrete floor angled down to a large cavern carved
out of the mountain. The ceiling was twenty feet high and the far wall a hundred
meters away.
  There were several dozen large, vertical vats in the room. They were empty,
but Nosferatu knew they had once held bodies. He looked to the right, where,
according to his report, the Guardian computer had been stored. There was an
empty space there now.
  Nosferatu walked forward, past the tubes. Set off to the left was a bank of
machinery set on two carts. What he had come for. At his signal the mercenaries
began wheeling out the blood machines.

294


Hong Kong


  Vampyr's absolute stillness caused Chon great anxiety. He felt the weight of
his failure to locate Tian Dao Lin's lair. And five minutes earlier his men had
called to report—as he had feared—that they had lost the trail of Tai and the
blood in the back streets of Hong Kong, where Tian Dao Lin's power was absolute.
Two of the trailers had been shot and killed, indicating the level of
seriousness of whatever was happening.
"Sir—"
"Yes?" Vampyr waited.
  "Perhaps," Chon began, but he stopped when Vampyr's SatPhone rang. Vampyr
listened for a few moments, then hung up without saying a word. He wrote an
address on a piece of paper and slid it across to Chon. "What is there?"
  Chon read it. "An office building downtown. The Pacific Rim Bank Building."
Vampyr stood. "It is time to pay Mr. Lin a visit."
"Are you sure—"
  Vampyr's glare caused Chon to bite off whatever he was about to say. He
grabbed the phone and barked orders.
  The faint beat of helicopter blades echoed down from the roof.
Vampyr turned for the door.
  "It will take a few minutes for—" Chon began, but he didn't finish the
sentence as the windows and steel shutters imploded, sending shrapnel flying
through the room. A piece of metal caught Chon in the chest, ripping through,
severing his spinal cord and killing him instantly.
  Vampyr reacted instinctively, diving to the floor unscathed. He rolled away
from the windows as he caught a glimpse of figures rappelling in on ropes
suspended from

295


the roof. A half dozen figures dressed in black with black balaclavas covering
their faces were in the room. They all ran toward Vampyr.
  Vampyr rolled under the first, at the same time pulling a short sword—his
xithos from so long ago in Sparta—out of its sheath and getting to his feet,
assuming a ready stance, the point of the ancient sword directed toward the
intruders. One jumped at him and he swung, the blade slicing cleanly into the
man's shoulder, then diagonally through his body, coming out the opposite hip.
The two pieces fell to the floor.
   Everyone in the room halted. The remaining five -bracketed Vampyr, keeping
their distance from the sword.
"Where is Tian Dao Lin?" Vampyr asked.
   No one replied and no one moved. Vampyr had never been a big believer in
standoffs. He jabbed at one of the intruders facing him, then spun, sword
extended and lopped off the head of the other. He began to advance on the others
when the door to the office crashed inward and four more figures dressed in
black jumped through, taking up positions. They were followed by an old man
wearing loose-fitting black silk with red dragons on each sleeve. He took in the
situation and held up a hand.
   "Stop." The old man took a step into the room. "Vampyr."
  Vampyr shifted the point of the xithos toward the old man. "Tian Dao Lin."
  The old man nodded. "You were foolish to come here. You should have taken
Nosferatu's offer." His Quarters took up flanking positions, slightly to the
front of he who had made them.
   "Nosferatu is weak and a fool who has been besotted by love all these years,"
Vampyr said.

296


"Perhaps," Tian Dao Lin said.
"Join with me," Vampyr said.
   "At the moment I see no reason why I should," Tian Dao Lin said. "I have some
of the blood and Nosferatu will have the technology needed. You have nothing."
  "I have Adrik on my side. With you, we will be able to get whatever we want
from Nosferatu." Vampyr backed up slightly, to a point where he was near the
front of Chon's desk, his backpack lying against the metal front. " Tian Dao Lin
shrugged. "So he has been spying for you. I assumed Adrik was hiding something.
The last report I had was that he had recovered what he needed to also."
   "He has. And he is with me, not Nosferatu." Vampyr made a show of sliding the
xithos into its scabbard, while, unnoticed, his other hand slid into his pocket.
  "You still have not made a proper proposition," Tian Dao Lin said.
'True," Vampyr acknowledged.
  "Then I will have you killed." Tian Dao Lin turned for the door.
  Vampyr leapt backward, clearing the desk, and falling to the floor on the far
side. Vampyr squeezed the detonator in his pocket.
  The roar of the claymore mine secreted in his backpack was instantly followed
by the sound of thousands of steel ball bearings ripping into the far side of
the room, tearing through plaster, wood, and flesh and bone. Vampyr felt the air
being sucked out of his lungs from the proximity of the blast on the other side
of the desk and the shock wave moving away from him.
  He drew his xithos as he got to his knees and peered over the desk top, his
ears ringing. Blood, viscera, and parts of bodies littered the room. Two of the
Quarters

297


were moving, moaning in agony. Vampyr got to his feet. Cautiously he walked
around the desk, being careful where he stepped. He lopped off the heads of the
wounded Quarters with two swift strokes. He spotted a blood trail leading out of
the doorway and rushed forward.
  Vampyr's lips split in an evil grin as he saw Tian Dao Lin trying to drag
himself away along the floor of the hallway, his left leg almost completely
severed from his body.
  Vampyr went up to his fellow Undead and placed his boot on the practically
severed appendage, causing the Chinese to scream in agony.
  "You will survive this," Vampyr said. "Indeed, the leg will grow whole again.
But it will take many, many years. I know. But if you ally with me now, and come
with me to the Haven, it will go much more quickly."
Tian Dao Lin could only nod.
  "Where is the blood you recovered?" Vampyr asked, leaning forward, putting
extra pressure on the wounded leg.
Tian Dao Lin hissed. "In my helicopter."
  Vampyr sheathed his xithos. With one hand he picked up the wounded Undead and
slung him over his shoulder. "Let's go then."

Earth Orbit


  The two astronauts made their way across the scorched deck of the mothership's
hold and climbed into the airlock on the X-Craft. They carried with them all the
blood they had gathered from the Airlia bodies. As Nosferatu had predicted,
there wasn't much, but what

298
they did have was pure Airlia blood. They placed it in the X-Craft's hold.
  They sealed the airlock, secured the cases, and took their seats. With a few
gentle puffs of power from the thrusters, they maneuvered the craft out of the
hold and into space.

299

CHAPTER   17


The Skeleton Coast


Nosferatu was joined at the round table by Adrik. In the center of the table
were four flat-screen monitors one facing each of the chairs. They displayed the
blood lab, where the supply Adrik had brought from Moscow was currently being
worked on.
   "Your headquarters was destroyed?" Nosferatu asked, his eyes on the screen.
Adrik nodded. "Yes. The FSB assaulted it."
"Why?"
  There was a short silence, then Adrik shrugged. "I'm not certain."
  Nosferatu shifted his gaze from the screen to his fellow Undead. "I know you
think me a fool. But I am the Eldest. I know you've met Vampyr. You've
communicated with him. Do you know it was he who tried to kill you in Moscow and
got the FSB to assault your headquarters?"
  "I thought he might be behind it," Adrik acknowledged.
  "Vampyr has no honor," Nosferatu said. "He is just like you. When you were
Genghis Khan you had no honor. You killed all who stood in your way, sparing
none. Vampyr did the same in his various incarnations. What did you expect from
him?"

300


"I have honor," Adrik disagreed. "I am bound by it."
"How so?"
  "Vampyr saved me. When my palace guard revolted and entombed me underneath the
Kremlin, he rescued me from a horrible fate."
  Nosferatu laughed, bringing a flush of anger to the other's face. "Has it not
occurred to you to ask why he was so fortuitously in Moscow at just the time
your guard revolted and entombed you?"
Several seconds of silence passed.
  "Even if you have honor," Nosferatu said, "you do not have love. It is a trait
of the humans, not the Airlia. It is what allowed them to defeat the Airlia here
and elsewhere. It is more powerful than the Airlia virus that runs through our
veins."
  Before Adrik could say anything, Nosferatu's SatPhone chimed. He pulled it out
and snapped it open, listened for a few seconds, then shut it. "Tian Dao Lin's
plane is in the air coming this way. He will be landing shortly. And my X-Craft
will also be landing soon."

Space


  The X-Craft was flying upside down to the planet, the crew checking their
flight path with observations of the planet's surface "above" them. Sure they
were in the correct orbit, they then fired the maneuvering thrusters and the
craft went tail over front, until the belly was facing the planet. Then it began
to descend.

301


The Skeleton Coast


  One of the scientists in the chamber turned toward the camera and gave a
thumbs-up.
  "They have processed what you brought," Nosferatu said. He looked at Adrik.
"Would you like to go first?"
Adrik glared back. "It is for the Eldest to go first."
  "Good decision," Nosferatu said, "but that is not what will be." Nosferatu
stood. Adrik stared at him, waiting. "If you would indulge me, I propose that
the first be Nekhbet. She has not seen the light of day in over five hundred
years."
Reluctantly, Adrik nodded his agreement.
  Nosferatu left the conference room and headed for the subbasement lair to
bring his beloved to the blood room and back to life.

Earth Orbit


  On board the X-Craft, the pilot lifted the nose to get more lift as it entered
the atmosphere. At the same time, the copilot watched the crosshairs on the
computer screen in front of him. The copilot hit a key, putting the system on
automatic release. A red digital countdown appeared in the lower left corner
indicating they were slightly less than four minutes from the airfield.

On Approach to the Skeleton Coast


  Vampyr looked across the cabin at Tian Dao Lin as they were challenged by
Nosferatu's security force, requesting the proper code word to land. A tone was

302


sounding in the cabin, indicating that a ground-to-air missile radar was locked
on the jet. The Chinese was very pale, the loss of blood from his leg wound
extensive. Vampyr had had one of his mercenary doctors put a tourniquet on the
wound and the bleeding had stopped but Tian Dao Lin was barely conscious.
   "Answer," Vampyr ordered, as one of his men shoved the microphone in Tian Dao
Lin's face.
  Tian Dao Lin whispered the proper code word. The warning light went out.
   Crowded into the rear of the jet were two dozen of the best mercenaries that
Vampyr's vast fortune could buy. They were armed with the latest weapons, and
all had night-vision goggles on, as the only light in the cabin came from a
single red night-light
  Vampyr looked at a computer screen on the small conference table in the center
of the cabin. "Perfect," he whispered as he saw the signal representing the X-
Craft appear.

The Skeleton Coast
  Nosferatu held the clear plastic tubes in his hands, feeling the warmed blood
flowing through them and into Nekhbet. It had taken two minutes to completely
drain her of her old blood and replace it with a partially frozen solution that
cleaned out her system and kept her in stasis. Her entire body had been cooled
down to a point where her cells were just about inactive.
  Now, as the new, Airlia-rich blood flowed into her, the technicians began
raising her temperature. The process proceeded rapidly to minimize the time when
she was between her old and new blood. Within sixty

303


seconds the four intravenous lines had completely flushed out the solution and
filled her with the new-processed blood.
   Nosferatu let go of the empty lines and leaned over her, waiting. Her eyes
flickered, then opened, confusion reigning for a few moments until she could
focus. Then her face split in a wide smile.
"My love," she whispered.
  Nosferatu leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips, then helped her sit
up. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, her head on his shoulder. "It has
been a very long time, but you are now immortal, as I will be soon."
  As Nekhbet held his hand, he took her place on the table. The technicians
moved quickly and smoothly, sliding the intravenous lines into his veins as the
rest of the blood that Adrik had brought from Moscow was prepared for insertion.
  The lead doctor picked up a needle containing sedative to inject into one of
the lines to knock Nosferatu out. The Eldest shook his head. "We don't have
time."
"What do you mean?" Nekhbet asked.
   "Trust me," Nosferatu said, before he felt the chill of the solution pushing
out his old blood hit his veins and the world went dark.
  Nosferatu came to knowing that Nekhbet was standing by the table. He did not
know if it was the power of the pure Airlia blood in his veins or her presence
or the combination, but it was the most magnificent awakening he had every
experienced.
  He felt the warmth of her hand on his and opened his eyes to drink in her
loveliness. He was surprised to see the concern on her face, and then looking
past her toward the observation room he saw Vampyr standing there, staring down
at the two of them. In his hands he held up a large

304


case, and Nosferatu knew it held the blood Tian Dao Lin had recovered. Vampyr
disappeared from view.
  "There has been an attack," Nekhbet said. "I heard explosions and firing."
  Nosferatu sat up and swung his feet to the floor. "I expected our old friend
to show up."
  Nekhbet gave him a hand as he got to his feet. He was growing stronger by the
second but his system had still experienced an immense shock. The door to the
chamber opened and Vampyr walked in, flanked by two men with , submachine guns.
  "I want you out of the room," Vampyr said. He pointed up at the observation
window, where four more men with submachine guns could be seen. "They will
ensure you do nothing while I undergo the procedure. You will be killed if
anything goes wrong."
  When they reached the observation chamber, they found Adrik with his hands
cuffed behind his back, seated near the wall.
"So much for allies," Nosferatu noted.
Adrik cursed.
  Nosferatu felt as if every nerve in his body were on fire. He cared little for
Adrik's predicament. He wrapped his arms around Nekhbet and held her tight.


Vampyr stood up and stretched, flexing his muscles. He pounded a fist on his
chest in triumph. He stormed past the technicians and down the corridor to the
observation room, where Nosferatu sat with Nekhbet and Adrik.
"When does your X-Craft land?" Vampyr demanded.
  "Why do you care?" Nosferatu asked in turn. "You have had your blood."

305


   "I have several very influential friends—humans—who would like to join the
ranks of the Undead. Using the blood that would have been Adrik's and Tian Dao
Lin's, I can make a handful of them half-breeds, Undead. They will serve me
then."
  "I am the Eldest—" Nosferatu began, but Vampyr cut him off.
   "You are weak. You have spent all this time pining for her—" He indicated
Nekhbet. "Well, now you have her. You can stay here in your hole with her
forever as far as I am concerned. You saved me in the beginning, so I will grant
you that, even though you betrayed me later." He turned to Adrik. "I owe you
nothing." He pulled out a pistol and fired without hesitation, hitting Adrik in
the center of his forehead, sending brain and blood splattering the wall behind
him. He fired the rest of the clip, nine bullets, hitting like jackhammers,
smashing into the limp body.
  Vampyr went to the body and from a pocket pulled out a small vial of black
sandlike material. He looked up at Nosferatu and smiled. "I took this off one of
those who hunted me." He sprinkled it on Adrik's body. Within thirty seconds it
was gone, except for the clothes.
Vampyr stood. "Now the next step."
  Nosferatu took a step toward Vampyr, the mercenaries swinging the muzzles of
their weapons to cover him in response. "Can we leave?"
  Vampyr shrugged. "You may go where you want. Just do not get in my way. It is
the Fourth Age. My Age."


The pilots of the X-Craft could barely make out the long landing strip. It was
painted to mimic the surrounding desert, and only the faint straight lines on
the

306


edges allowed them to discern it. They gave up control to the ground computer
that guided them along their flight path.


Nosferatu pulled a lever, and the overhead door above the helicopter began
sliding open. He and Nekhbet were wrapped in dark cloaks, their faces covered
with cloth and their eyes protected by dark, wraparound sunglasses. He'd always
known he might have to evacuate the Haven, and the Dauphin helicopter hidden in
the underground chamber was one of the preparations he'd made.
  He and Nekhbet made their way across the hangar floor to the chopper.
Nosferatu got in the pilot's seat while Nekhbet sat next to him in the
copilot's. He fired up the engines and, as the blades slowly began to turn,
Nosferatu pulled out a small handheld that gave him a link to the computer
controlling the X-Craft. He checked the status. It was two minutes out.
   "What are you doing?" Nekhbet asked, as he handed her the device.
  "I am the Eldest," Nosferatu said. He pulled back on the controls and the
helicopter lifted out of the hangar into the night sky.


Vampyr sat in the conference room, surrounded by his mercenaries, watching the
X-Craft appear on the video monitors. The powerful men he had negotiated with
were on their way here also. With the alliances he had arranged, Vampyr had no
doubt that he would achieve a new world order, with him at

307


the head, an Immortal with a cadre of Undead around him.


"Press the red button," Nosferatu said. Nekhbet did not ask why. She did as he
said.


The pilot of the X-Craft cursed as it banked slightly out of the designated
approach, an alarm rang through his headset, and several warning lights flashed
on the console. He hit the button that would switch the craft back to manual
control but nothing happened.
   He and his copilot screamed in unison as the nose of the craft dipped below
glide parameters. The craft hit directly above the Haven.


Vampyr survived. The heavy wooden conference table had taken the brunt of the
force as the explosion tore through the underground base and into the room he
was in. With one arm he shoved the table off his body and took stock. His other
arm had a compound fracture, white bone sticking out of the punctured skin.
Breathing was difficult, and he realized he had several broken ribs.
  With his good hand, he reached across to his other hand and jerked hard, his
body spasming from the pain as he realigned the broken arm. The Airlia virus was
already at work, repairing the damage.
  Vampyr smiled grimly and staggered to his feet, silently promising vengeance
against Nosferatu. This was but a delay in the inevitable.

308

Nosferatu and Nekhbet stared at the flames that shot up from the top of the
cliff from the safety of the helicopter. Nosferatu had them in a hover two miles
away, off the coast. He turned and began moving away from the site, paralleling
the coast.
"Do you think he is dead?" Nekhbet asked.
   "No," Nosferatu said. "Even if he was killed by the explosion, the virus will
bring him back to life."
"He will come after us."
   "No, he won't," Nosferatu said. "When we took off from the hangar, we crossed
an electronic beam that began a countdown." He glanced down at the chronometer
on the control panel. "Just about—now."
  Behind them the Haven, and the cliff, was consumed in a fireball as a small
tactical nuclear weapon went off, vaporizing the compound, and Vampyr.

309

EPILOGUE


The sun was consumed by the western desert, slowly disappearing. Shimmering heat
rose up as the sand gave back what it had accumulated during the day. Shortly
after the last golden ray was gone, two wraithlike figures rose from the ground,
brushing the sand off their dark cloaks.
  "Which way?" Nekhbet asked. They were three hundred miles from the Haven,
having flown straight across the desert before the fuel ran out. Then they'd run
from the chopper for several more hours before burying themselves at daybreak to
rest.
  Nosferatu had never felt so alive. He wasn't certain whether it was the one
hundred percent Airlia blood that ran through his veins or Nekhbet's presence at
his side. And he didn't care to ponder the question, simply accepting that it
was. Finally. After millennia, what they had dreamed of while chained underneath
the Giza Plateau was a reality.
  Nosferatu stretched his arms wide, taking in the stars above and the land
ahead. "There is so much in the world I want to show you. Things we never even
imagined all those years we talked in the darkness."
  Nekhbet laughed, the sound picked up by the wind and blown across the desert.
"Then let us see them."

310


She took off running, her feet lightly touching the sand.
  Nosferatu pulled back his hood, revealing his dark eyes and pale skin, and
watched her slender form racing away, then he set off in pursuit.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR


ROBERT DOHERTY is a pseudonym for a best-selling writer of military suspense
novels. He is a West Point graduate and served as a Special Forces A-Team leader
before writing full-time. He is also the author of The Rock, Area 51, Area 51:
The Reply, Area 51: The Mission, Area 51: The Sphinx, Area 51: The Grail, Area
51: Excalibur, Psychic Warrior and Psychic Warrior: Project Aura. For more
information go to www.BobMayer.org