Fallen (25 page)

Southresh cackled at my fury. What could I
possibly do to him? He had nothing to fear from me. Already he
endured this vile imprisonment by the Lord’s judgment. My wrath was
nothing in comparison.

“Oliver, you disappoint me,” Southresh said.
“Did you actually think you could deceive me so easily? You brought
this whelp to me. Did you suppose we would enjoy a family
reunion—father and sons around the dinner table, swapping stories
of lost love and friendship?”

Oliver began to back away from the angel as
his mad ranting became louder, filling the cathedral.

“Bow before me like the dogs you are!”
Southresh bellowed.

All the priests turned to us now, their
instruments of torture bloody but ready for more. They awaited the
command of their master. Oliver grabbed my arm. We vanished from
the cathedral, reappearing just outside down the street.

Oliver seemed surprised by what had
happened.

“What is it?”

“We should have been transported out of
Southresh’s prison, back to the void,” he said.

“What happened?”

He tried again, grabbing my arm. We
reappeared this time about one hundred yards away. The look of fear
in his eyes told me our situation. We were trapped.

Southresh’s laughter filtered out of the
cathedral, filling every street in the ruined city that surrounded
us.

“Did you really think I was powerless to
stop you?” Southresh asked.

We looked around us, searching for him, but
the streets were empty. His voice, however, was omnipresent.

“The servant is not greater than his
master,” he said.

His voice seemed to penetrate my very mind.
“You’re not my master!” I shouted back. “I serve Christ alone!”

The screeching wail that erupted from the
cathedral at my proclamation did not bode well for Southresh’s
temperament. The massive dome of the church exploded. Southresh
erupted through it—a giant smashing his way through. “How dare you
speak
his
name to me?”

From the demolished buildings, more zombies
ushered forth, dragging their disjointed rotting corpses upon
rotting limbs. Sewer covers popped away from the pavement, allowing
more of the vile creatures to rise. All of them honed in upon us
immediately.

“What do we do?” I asked. “Why can’t we
leave?”

“We fight and hope to survive long enough to
figure out how to escape Tartarus,” Oliver commanded.

Zombies approached on every side. There was
no particular direction to go. After all, this realm was simply
meant to confine this wicked spirit and contain his influence. The
city around us was merely a construct of his mind. Wherever we ran,
he would know exactly where to find us. But running might still buy
us precious time.

I blasted a wave of staggering corpses in
front of me with fire, summoning all my fear and rage in order to
fuel my power. Oliver took his cue, doing likewise with more fire,
turning decaying bodies to ash. At the very least, some measure of
physical laws seemed to apply. We could destroy these fiends. But,
as I quickly learned, Southresh could create more.

Tom had been to Greystone before, but he had
no idea how to get there. It was a secret reserved to the Breed
alone. Even though Charlotte had been the one to escort him at the
time, she had placed a glamour upon him in order to keep the portal
secret. Since that time, with their eventual parting of company,
Tom had never entertained the notion of returning. After all,
Greystone was not the sort of place that anyone, other than
vampires, would wish to visit.

However, Tom also knew that Sinister had
been sending an emissary back to his father, Tiberius, for some
time. Once every month, this messenger brought news to the Lord of
the Vampires in Greystone, showing him what progress was made by
Black’s efforts in London.

Tiberius had long supported such
insurrection. He wanted Black to succeed with his plans due to the
promises of power in the mortal world that were given unto him by
the fallen angel in exchange for his vampire warriors. Even his
daughter’s disdain for Black and his plans for the human world
could not persuade him. Some, Tom included, had even suspected that
Black had some spell upon Tiberius, making him pliable to his cause
against better judgment.

However, Tom knew the one thing that could
break such a spell, if anything could. Charlotte’s imprisonment by
Black would cut the ties that bound Tiberius unto the angel as
quick as a heartbeat. Even when other vampires had shunned
Charlotte as somewhat of an outcast, Tiberius had never lost his
doting love for her. He had even confided his hope to Sinister of
her coming to her senses and rejoining their clan. His friend had
shared the encounter with him. Tiberius would not tolerate what was
happening, once he became aware of it.

Letan was a coward, but he was no fool. Tom
had never liked this vampire. He had long ago recognized Letan’s
subtle manipulation of events in order to promote himself. It
wasn’t exactly a bad trait. Tom could honestly say no better for
himself. But in a fight, Letan excused himself often in order to
attend to more important matters, as he called it.

Such had been his appointment as Sinister’s
emissary. He had ingratiated himself to Tiberius in order to avoid
the potential battles that lay ahead in such an aggressive campaign
as Black’s takeover of London. Even among the other Breed warriors,
Letan was known as a devious sort only concerned for himself.

Tom had followed Letan in the form of an
eagle, keeping his distance behind the vampire’s black crow form
while still maintaining sight of him. Letan had been doing this job
for some time and expected no one to be foolish enough to follow a
vampire to the Greystone portal. As it happened, he led Tom right
to it.

As soon as he saw the location, Tom wanted
to kick himself for not realizing the obvious. In Wiltshire below
stood Stonehenge, and Letan was landing there now. Tom cast off his
eagle form in favor of something less conspicuous for his final
approach. He had to get close to Letan as he opened the portal.
Only then would he be able to pass through.

As a carpenter bee, Tom could still fly at a
good speed, but he was small enough to escape detection. He found
Letan standing before one of the stone arches comprising a
semicircular pattern. In times past, the site had contained nearly
a dozen portal arches, though only a few now remained. Some had
been deconstructed, while others were destroyed in past conflicts
between Descendant clans.

Apparently, only the vampires were privy to
the call phrase that opened upon Greystone. He heard Letan speak it
now very softly as he buzzed up behind him. The portal opened, and
Letan thought to step through. However, Tom’s shadow towered higher
and higher over him as he took the form of a massive Kodiak.

Letan turned just in time to see the great
paw smash him down to the ground. Horrified, the vampire made an
effort to fight back, but Tom had waylaid him with the first blow.
His defense didn’t last long after that.

Tom dragged the vampire’s corpse off behind
the large heel stone at the outer boundary, then came back to the
arch where the portal had already collapsed. He shrank down from
the huge bear, taking on Letan’s form in every detail. He spoke the
word in the vampire’s common tongue, being glad he had learned much
of their language while spending time with Charlotte.

The portal responded appropriately, opening
between the stones, appearing very much like a disjointed
reflection. When Tom passed through, the portal rippled like the
surface of a pond and then closed behind him, fading until only the
space between the stones and the chill morning air remained.

On the other side of the Stonehenge portal,
Tom stood in Letan’s form. The landscape before him was nearly
barren. It might have passed for frozen tundra in the northern
parts of the mortal world. However, this place was littered with
petrified trees standing gray and twisted, as if they were
terror-stricken victims of the Gorgon herself.

A gargantuan moon cast shadows across every
surface, creating a panorama of indistinct gray, white and black.
The odd patterns everywhere were enough to make his head swim. He
closed his eyes and listened. An elf’s ears were perfect for
hearing the tiniest of movements. He noted several vampires lurking
nearby among the trees.

One of them moved toward him.

“Is it time for another boring report
already?” a vampire named Feyin asked.

Tom regarded him severely. He knew that this
Breed warrior did not like Letan any better than he had. Had Feyin
known Letan’s true fate, he possibly would have smiled, or shaken
Tom’s hand. But since he was the warrior currently assigned to the
portal watch, this probably wasn’t a good time to inform him.

He stepped toward the vampire. “Convey me
immediately to Lord Tiberius,” Tom said. “Matters in London have
taken a drastic turn for the worse.”

Feyin stared into his eyes for a moment,
waiting for the punch line to be delivered. Fortunately, Tom was
completely serious about the report, even if he was currently in
disguise.

“Play games if you like, Feyin,” Tom
concluded, staring him down. “But your delay will be noted before
our lord if his daughter dies.”

Feyin stammered for a moment. Tom enjoyed
the emotions flitting across the vampire’s face: uncertainty, fear
and then resignation. It was unusual to see any displays of emotion
other than bloodlust. And usually those who saw that display didn’t
live long enough to see another.

Feyin finally nodded. “Follow me. I will
bring you before Tiberius.” He turned to the trees. “Ballic, remain
with the portal.”

Tom did not see the other vampire lurking
about, though clearly he was somewhere. Feyin led him to one of the
petrified trees where they passed through. The tree was merely a
mirage, a glamour disguising the entry to Greystone.

The vampire city had been constructed
completely underground, hewn from the very bedrock that this frozen
wasteland sat upon. Its entrances were secret, from the portal at
Stonehenge to the gateway in the petrified forest. It had never
been attacked, even during times of great conflict between
Descendant clans. It would have been suicide to attack the vampires
here in their caves.

Tom looked behind him to find a wall of
rock. Ahead, though, the tunnel had been fashioned with carved
blocks of white limestone that made good use of the available torch
light. Vents ran back and forth from the surface, keeping the air
fresh though still a bit earthy, as vampires tended to like it. The
tunnel extended ahead, without interruption, in a relatively
straight line.

All of these things Tom remembered from his
trips with Sinister and Charlotte. In fact, he likely could have
found his way to Tiberius on his own from here, but the emissary
was supposed to be escorted when bringing the vampire lord his
reports.

The temperature was cold—another vampire
characteristic. Their bodies were said to have such high
metabolisms that only colder climates kept them comfortable. It was
another reason why they preferred the night to the day. Tom braced
himself against the chill, glad that it was not as bad as the
surface had been. He could not appear to be bothered by it.

They passed numerous intersections where Tom
saw vampires going about their day to day tasks, which happened to
be remarkably similar to the lifestyle of mortals—working to feed
the family, serve the clan and one’s lord, and so on. Of all the
descendant clans, Tom had often noted that their mythology among
the humans was far and away the most lively and inaccurate.

Vampires were not dead, or undead, as was
often spoken of them. They were very much alive, though their
subterranean ways kept them pale and cool-skinned, lending to the
myths. They did crave a blood diet, but vampires still ate other
things too. As far as killing them was concerned, a vampire could
die just like everyone else, though preternatural strength, speed
and their limited shape shifting made it a difficult task.

At last, Feyin brought Tom to the council
chamber. There was no door, only an archway. Anyone desiring to
know the matters discussed by the council need only speak to their
family’s representative to find out what had been said. The Breed
may have kept secrets, but it wasn’t usually from one another.

Twenty elder vampires were seated around a
table made of stone. The surface had been polished to a mirror
finish and embellished with precious stones and gold filigree. The
stone itself was black onyx. The torches providing light within the
chamber blazed in reflection.

“What news do you bring, Letan?” Tiberius
asked from his throne facing the entrance.

Tom considered revealing his true identity
to the vampire lord, but thought better of it. After all, the
question of the
real
Letan’s whereabouts would inevitably
arise. Admitting that he had killed Tiberius’s chosen emissary
might detract from his plea for help regarding Charlotte.

“My lord,” he began earnestly, “the angel,
Black, has attacked your daughter and imprisoned her without
provocation.”

“Preposterous!” one of the counsel members
scoffed.

“It is the truth,” Tom continued, holding
Tiberius’s stern gaze.

The vampire lord had lived many, many years.
His thick hair was kept neatly trimmed, but had become almost
entirely gray. He was rather a large fellow, by anyone’s standards,
mortal or otherwise.

Tiberius’s concern was evident in the
intensity of his expression. However, he relied upon certain
constants and steeled his mind against this shocking report.