The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith (16 page)

The swordsman felt a surge of hunger when he saw the young girl,
but he fought the urge to leap to his feet. He closed the book and shoved
it aside. He stood slowly and said to her, "Don't be afraid. I won't harm
you. "

The girl nodded, but didn't look up.

"Do you know who I am?"

The girl nodded again.

Greyfriar said, "Tell me."

"Prince Gareth," she whispered with quivering lips.

"Correct. And you know I am your protector. No vampires prey
here. And not one of your people has preceded you into this castle and
not left alive. You know that too?" She was new to him, perhaps new to
his kingdom as well. It wasn't unusual for refugees to seek out his land.
There were tales told of safety in Scotland, but it was another matter to
stand before a thing of legend and pray the rumors were true.

The girl swallowed, too terrified to respond.

Prince Gareth moved close to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
She shuddered, but stayed on her feet. The swordsman signaled his servant to withdraw.

Baudoin said, "Her brother was delicious. I just dined from him.
He's waiting for her below."

"Get out."

The servant smiled smugly and backed out.

"You may choose," Gareth said to the girl in a quiet voice. He
removed a steel dirk from his belt. "I can make a small incision with
this. Or not."

The girl didn't respond. She breathed harshly through her nose. Eyes
shut tight. She was so frightened, Gareth could take no pleasure in this.
Sometimes his meals were more engaging. They knew they wouldn't be
killed, and some even seemed to relish the honor, or at least the duty
they were doing for their lord. Any blood provider was free of obligation
for a year. He had even had pleasant conversations with some of them,
and they had volunteered to return. He would always refuse for fear of
acquiring too much of a taste for them.

Gareth decided to feed quickly and send the girl on her way. He
sliced her quickly with the knife and drank. The familiar urge welled up
in him. The delicious warm blood slid over his sensitive tongue. He
could taste the knowledge of her. Aside from her crippling fear, which
gave her blood a pleasant tang, she was quite healthy. And she was only
a day away from being fertile, so her blood was very rich. He craved to
know more, to learn from every last drop of her. He would feel her most
in the paroxysms of the middle flow pumping hard into his mouth as
her pounding heart fought to keep her emptying body alive. She would
then collapse with her life, and he would relish the delicious liquid driz zling out as she died. That final trickle of memories and hopes over his
lips would be the sweetest.

Gareth suddenly saw an image of Princess Adele drooping lifeless in
the bony hands of Cesare. He saw his brother moan and his eyes roll in
his head as he mouthed the last congealing blood from the princess's
still-throbbing throat. Adele's lips twitched, calling an unheard name.

Gareth pulled his face away from the red incision and clamped his
hand to stanch the flow. "Baudoin!"

The servant scuttled in and led the unsteady girl away.

Gareth plunged his hand into the dirty water in the basin and
washed off the girl's blood. He seized the rapier with his wet hand and
squeezed, relishing the hardness of the hilt, then sat heavily and felt the
familiar onslaught of empty rage that always followed one of his limp
half feedings. The hot, bloated warmth that came from draining a meal
was a distant memory to him. There was no pleasure like it. A complete
feeding made for a satisfied stupor that left the senses stunned and delivered the feeder into remorseless slumber.

Gareth had not slept so well for nearly a century. Not since the war
and the break with his father. And certainly not since Greyfriar had
appeared.

EN EN CLARK STOOD on the quarterdeck of USS Ranger
and watched Mr. Montoya, chief meteorologist, approach trailing
a long stream of paper tape. Clark saw a smile on Montoya's face and he
relaxed.

"Much improved," Montoya reported with a touch of pride, as if he
controlled the weather, not just reported it. "High tomorrow should be
over eighty. Winds light."

"Thank you, Chief." Not optimum, but as well as could be expected
here this time of year. When fighting vampires, the warmer the better.
And light winds cut the creatures' air mobility. Clark turned to the
commander of Ranger, Captain Root. "Signal the fleet. We attack Bordeaux tomorrow at thirteen hundred." As the signal lights informed
Persepolis and Canterbury, Clark went below to prepare.

Prior to departure from Alexandria, military commanders had
debated tactics. The Americans had come equipped with samples of
some of their newest weapons, including shroud gas bombs that could
envelop vampires and deprive them of natural advantages of preternatural senses of sight and smell, and blood gas that mimicked the scent of
blood and was used for misdirection. Clark argued against using the gas
in this case. He would open the operation with several solid firebombing runs over Bordeaux, intending to blast the town into rubble, to burn it
to the ground along with the clan that inhabited it.

In his spartan cabin on Ranger, the senator studied old maps of the
Bordeaux area, confirming yet again the brilliance of his planning. The
vampires of Bordeaux were a minor offshoot of the Paris clan, small in
number, perhaps only two hundred. This clan was not a major military
power. They were not the authors of the attack of Ptolemy. They did not
have Princess Adele.

Clark didn't need her to be there. He just needed vampires to be
there. They needed to know that he would respond to provocation with
force. Massive. Overwhelming. Force.

The senator had fought vampires too many times to be awestruck by
their mystery and lore. Those unfamiliar with vampires frequently went
into battle already mesmerized by fairy tales, and it was typical to be
stunned when confronted by the creatures' preternatural physical abilities. But ultimately vampires fought like animals, driven by instinct and
conquering by cunning and prowess. Against a disciplined and wellarmed force, these monsters once thought unbeatable could be
destroyed. Clark had done it. Five years ago, he had led the army that
drove them from St. Louis. Of course, the next winter the vampires
returned and took back the city, but by then Clark's myth had been
made and could not be unmade.

This mission would be the first tile in a new mosaic of his legend.
The kidnapping of Princess Adele, or the "Ptolemy Disaster," had come
as a surprise and had thrown Clark's plans into disarray. Still, the senator
was a man who made obstacles into challenges and challenges into legends. This would be the greatest yet. He would cut a bloody swathe to
rescue his bride. Times were changing, and the pendulum was swinging
back toward humanity. Soon New York, Chicago, London, Paris,
Munich, and all the rest would be free. The vampires would be annihilated, or at least driven underground to exist as the inconsequential parasites they had been for millennia before.

This would be the first battle of the Great War. The history books
would read "The Battle of Bordeaux was the opening blow struck by
humanity to retake the Earth. Senator Clark led the victorious allied forces in a brilliant audacious strike." With thoughts of glory in his
head, thoughts he had nurtured his entire life, the senator drifted off
into his usual deep comfortable sleep.

The next day, he was well rested when the time came. His American
frigate led the two Equatorian ships out of the light clouds, venting
buoyants rapidly and taking in sail as fast as possible. Chief Montoya's
science and art were dead-on. The air was warm and the wind was still.
Only a few vampires were aloft in the sunshine. At the sight of the warships some of the creatures sluggishly drifted away. Others dropped to
the crumbling town below, no doubt to warn their fellows.

As Ranger veered hard alee, the Equatorian cruisers opened their keel
ports and made a slow bombing run, laying stacks of incendiaries on the
town. Flames sprouted in the predatory shadows of the two warships.

Soon a swarm of vampires rose in the light air. Some used the
updraft from the fires, but others were covered in flames and soon spiraled down like burnt embers. A group of vampires tacked for Ranger,
which wallowed low without sail. Gatlings at the rail and in nests aloft
swung out. Cranks turned and the guns roared, sending a wall of steel
into the drifting vampires, pounding their feather-light bodies, shoving
them back, and ripping some into pieces.

Senator Clark gripped the quarterdeck rail and waved a gloved hand
in a circle, indicating he wanted another bombing run. Flags went up
on the yards to signal the squadron. The Equatorians came around
smartly and passed over Bordeaux again, dropping line after line of
bombs. The old town erupted in flames and smoke. Dilapidated buildings burst into fire and crumbled to pieces. Small figures scrambled
through the havoc; vampire or human, it was impossible to tell from the
decks of the attacking ships.

Senator Clark drew a hand across his throat, and the signals for
bombing came down. The Equatorians drew off as Ranger dropped to
near treetop level leeward of the smoke roiling from the city. He raised
an open hand and the bugler sounded "Lines Away." Boarding cables
dropped, and Clark's Rangers took positions at the gunwales between
the smoking Gatlings. Clark seized his own line and raised a gloved fist.
The bugler sounded "Charge!" and his boys plunged over the side.

Clark plummeted toward the green earth far below his feet. He loosened his grip on the clamp to fall faster; he intended to be first down.
The wind whipped through his clothes and pounded in his ears. It was
like flying. Just like the vampires. He relished the brutal irony of
attacking them from the air. It made the killing sweeter.

Black shapes circled in the sooty sky. A figure loomed up in front of
Clark, scrabbling with its claws as he slammed against it with his
shoulder. The vampire spun away above him. Clark scanned the air
beneath him and breathed with relief to see no other creatures moving
toward him. But he heard a faint choked scream over the rush of the
wind and strained his head around just in time to see one of his men
clawed from his drop cable.

Clark felt rather than saw the earth coming up; his drop timing was
impeccable. He couldn't help grinning with anticipation as he squeezed
the clamp to slow himself. His feet touched down, and he pulled pistol
and glowing saber to cover his boys.

Commandos landed and quickly formed ranks, unslinging their gaspowered Winchester carbines and kneeling in defensive formations. Clark
had no intention of moving a step closer to burning Bordeaux. Between
the Americans and the outskirts of town lay a decrepit orchard in which
dark figures darted from ragged pear tree to ragged pear tree, lurking
among the fresh green leaves and grey boughs. The Rangers waited, guns
poised, eyeing the trees. When the enemy came, they would have to cross
two hundred yards of open ground with no cover.

Clark paced and patted men on their shoulders, making heroic small
talk. His sharp eyes caught the creatures gathering behind the distant
brambles. The vampires watched from the shadows, showing more
restraint than normal. Typically they would have rushed headlong at the
humans. The Americans couldn't stand here forever; the imperials might
get the glory of cleaning out Bordeaux.

Clark felt an unusual pinch of worry and checked the position of the
sun. He had barely two hours of maximum temperature. His meteorologist had predicted a cool breezy evening. Surely there was no way the
vampires could know this, but if the creatures did wait to attack, once
the sun set, they would have all the advantages.

"All right," Clark said to his second in command. "I'm not waiting
for them to decide what to do. Let's smoke 'em out."