PART
ONE
One Soul...
It will not be
easy.
It will be a life
without reward, without remorse, without regret.
This path is
placed before you, stretching out endlessly into the horizon. The road forks
and winds into countless millions of different possibilities, each changing
everything.
But the path is
yours alone.
It will not be
easy.
PROLOGUE
White fog laced
with heavy black smoke from the numerous campfires drifted over what would
become the night's battlefield. As the last rays of sunlight began to sink in a
pink and orange haze behind the horizon, the far-off sound of inhuman war cries
began to waft over the peaceful grassy plain. To the east sat a dense line of
trees that cut like a scar across the pristine green field before them.
Darkness, even in midday, seemed to cling to this place as if it were a mother
protecting its young. It swooped in and around the grizzled branches of the
trees and vegetation, providing a soupy blanket that most sane men would not
penetrate.
On this night,
they had no choice.
It was the year
1704 of their lord, a day when all must be sacrificed for the good of mankind.
The encroaching darkness had moved too far into the world of man. They vowed to
draw the line here and no farther. These creatures were more like a plague than
an invading army. They would attack with sheer animal ferocity, all the while,
harvesting the dead soldiers to their own ranks. To send wave after wave of
soldiers at them did nothing more than bolster their army, yet this was what
the Esgobaeth had seen. This was the way it must be.
Many did not see
the wisdom of the Esgobaeth-the High Council-yet
Solomon Cole was beginning to. The upcoming battle, while important to the men
here today, held significance for the future, no matter the outcome. Tonight
would be a defining moment for the Gwyliad Wriaeth. Cole was starting to understand that. Sir Solomon
Cole was a knight of the British Empire. He fought for those in the realm who
could not do so. This was his sworn duty and he would die to uphold it. It was
this belief in duty and honor that led him to the
White Guard. Swathed in mystery and disinformation, they were fighting a war
they went to great lengths to conceal from all prying eyes. There was greater
importance here than the empire's acquisition of wealth and land. These men
were defending the future. Cole could not let this call go unheeded. He was
fighting tonight for the very fate of every man, woman, and child on Earth.
Drawing his broad
sword from its sheath, Cole listened to the clink of his plate armor as he gripped the hilt with both hands. Clad from
head to toe in meticulously crafted armor and chain
mail, he sat proudly on the back of his sturdy, powerful steed. A bloody,
jagged wound sliced from his left cheek to his throat, spilling blood on the
silver and gold breastplate of his armor-a trophy
from the previous night's engagement. His mocha colored
hair fell down from his head in curly waves and
terminated just above the imperial purple collar of his shirt. His dark brown
eyes scanned the empty battlefield ahead as the sounds of war once again met
his ears.
The armored segments on his gloves scraped together as he moved
the sword into one hand and lifted it high above his head. Turning to look
behind him, he surveyed his men. Each clad in various bits of armor and common clothing, they held their weapons at the
ready. Hands shook and lips trembled as they faced what they knew would
probably be their final moonrise. Some were extremely young, having just
entered Her Majesty's Service, while others had weathered far too many winters.
Yet, each was willing to fight and die at Cole's side, no questions asked.
A proud smile
flickered across Cole's face as he pulled on his horse's reins and turned the
beast toward the men. "You men should all be commended on your courage," he boomed.
"You are not fighting for the queen or England, but rather, for the lives of
our children, and our children's children." He began to pace back and forth in
front of his regiment. "I do not know what the future holds for us," he
admitted, giving the men a brief glimpse of the same fear that ran cold through
their veins, "but tonight, mankind takes back the night!"
The men cheered
loudly.
"Tonight," Cole
paused, "we fight!"
Wild cheers
erupted among the men as they clanged their weapons together and stamped their
feet. Turning back to the battlefield, Cole saw the first of the golden-eyed
demons break free of the trees. Taking a deep breath, he gripped his horse's
reins tightly in his armored hand. Pointing his sword
forward, he dug his spurred heels into the horse sending it surging ahead.
"Charge!"
As Cole's army of
Wraiths raced across the green field, they caught the first glimpse of their
enemy. Looking like nothing more than fragile, gray,
reanimated corpses, each creature's eyes burned a shimmering gold that
illuminated the night. As the creatures spilled from the eternal darkness of
the forest onto the battlefield, the men quickly spotted a few who had
previously been among their ranks. Several of the creatures wore shattered bits
of armor and shreds of white fabric-the traditional color of the Wraith. To Cole's horror, the demons began to
change. Their demonic forms melted away in favor of
healthy pink flesh and clothes that were not previously there. They quickly
began to mimic the appearance of Cole's army. Cursing under his breath, Cole
locked his eyes onto one of the men he knew was an enemy and pushed his horse
faster toward the fray.
As the battle was
joined, a fallen horse's scream shattered the cool evening air. The creatures
surged ahead into Cole's ranks, clawing and destroying
as they went. Moving almost too fast for the human eye, the first wave tore
through the Wraiths with pure, animal ferocity. Men were ripped from their
mounts and flung across the battlefield like children's toys, while others
never had the chance to strike. It was as if a dark tide washed into the army
and sent them sprawling helplessly across the ground.
Several of Cole's
men fought ahead undaunted, their silver blades carving a swath through the
darkness. As a man was picked off from behind, Sir Gerard, one of the few of
Cole's fellow knights to join the Gwyliad Wriaeth, lifted a fallen banner from the ground. Holding it
high as he cut and slashed, he forged ahead, even though his horse had been
killed. Five men followed Gerard's lead and fought brilliantly through wave
after wave of oncoming demons. However, luck was not on their side this night.
One by one, the creatures dismantled the unit.
Holding the banner
in his left hand, Gerard struck ahead with his sword, embedding the blade deep
in the heart of a golden-eyed soldier, now more determined than ever. Snapping
his gaze to the right, he saw three pairs of gold eyes materialize out of the
darkness. Ripping his sword free of the demon, he spun on his toes just in time
to cut down the first and second attacker. The third leapt over the bodies of
the other two and came crashing down onto Gerard's chest. The knight let out a
grunt of pain as the breastplate crumpled into his ribs under the force of the
blow. Focusing his eyes on the creature pinning him in place, he could see
nothing but the glistening, pearl-white fangs. Mustering every bit of saliva
left in his mouth, Gerard spit at the creature's face. "I die for the glory of
Her Majesty."
The creature sneered,
"You think so?"
Snapping Gerard's
head to the side, the creature lunged for his throat. Gerard gnashed his teeth
together as the creature's fangs broke through the flesh of his neck.
Slashing down with
his sword, Cole easily lopped the head from his first target. Bright blue flame
surged from the creature's body as it writhed on the ground in agony. Slowly,
red embers began to flit into the air as its body was reduced to ash. Snapping
his head around, Cole struck again and again. As an unholy blue fire blazed
around him, he lifted his sword high into the air. "Death to all vampires!" he
roared.
Turning, he saw
his men falling quickly to the advances of the vampire army. Rage gripped him.
This was not a battle they were destined to win. The vampire's numbers were far
too great. The Esgobaeth had sent them carelessly to
their deaths. All his men would be sacrificed on this field. For what cause,
for what future purpose would this serve? Hundreds would die here tonight.
Gritting his teeth, Cole decided, at that moment, he would not be one of them.
He would fight until there were no vampires left standing. Spinning around, he
charged blindly into the waves, killing everything he saw.
As the last
remaining soldiers under his command fell, he found himself surrounded
on all sides by leering golden eyes. His steed whinnied and bucked,
almost knocking him free of his saddle. He held on tightly knowing that the
horse was his only advantage. The wave of darkness surged forward again, ripping and tearing at him. His steed whinnied and bucked
again and again as it tried to escape the claws and fangs, but it was no use.
There were simply too many of them. As his horse was brought down, Cole
continued to fight, slashing wildly with his sword. The screams of his men filled
his ears as his mount came down hard, pinning his right leg beneath it.
"The Wraith will
never give up," he grunted in pain. "I promise you!"
The scores of
golden eyes hovered around him in the inky darkness, hissing and giggling with
glee. In one horrible movement, they surged toward Cole. He flailed wildly as
the razor-sharp claws and fangs dug into his exposed flesh. Piece by piece, his
armor was ripped away, exposing the clothing and
flesh beneath. He roared in rage as the claws of unseen bodies began to tear at
the golden crest of his family emblazoned on the purple shirt he wore. As the
claws ripped through his shirt, he lifted his eyes toward the heavens. Blocking
out the pain, he uttered a silent prayer in the hopes that God would look after
his wife and child. He screamed in agony as the first set of fangs dug into his
flesh.
CHAPTER
ONE
The room was
bathed in darkness as the hopefuls were led inside. These were the chosen few,
those who had completed the training and excelled in their courses. This would
be part of their final test. If they passed, they would continue the crusade
begun centuries ago; if they failed, it meant certain death. Such as it had
been for hundreds of years, so would it continue to be with this new
generation. As the hopefuls were led through the darkness, each was instructed
to kneel with their hands clasped behind their backs. If they were to break the
link of their hands at any time, this test would become null and they would
lose their chance to complete the training. There would be no make-up day if
they failed, no do-overs. This portion of the test was far too important.
Each of the
seven-the largest graduating class the academy had seen in some time-were
blindfolded to keep them from seeing the members of the High Council. This was
done for not only the student's safety, but also for the council members.
Though it was not revealed at any point in the training, as a Wraith aged,
their features became more and more vampiric in nature. It was becoming
increasingly difficult to differentiate between actual vampires and the oldest
members of the order. It was also required to keep the student from knowing
which member of the council had chosen them for the ritual. Each member of the
High Council, or Esgobaeth, was well over one
thousand years old, but there were a few older and their "gift" varied
according to age. If students had their choice, it was common knowledge they
would always chose the eldest member of the council to complete the ritual;
however, they knew that not all students could handle, or were worthy of, that
much power to begin their careers. The seven watched each member of a class
closely, determining whom they would pick for the ritual.
The seven students
were all men, save for one woman. A female Wraith wasn't as uncommon as it used
to be; yet the council found that few actually completed
the training. They were all nearly the same age of twenty-five, with a few a
little younger. The female student, Emily St. Louise-her peers called her
Saint-was the youngest at twenty-three. She had been observed with special
interest by the council for exhibiting a special aptitude for this kind of
work. Handpicked for the academy by her Master, Ben Quinn, at the ripe young
age of thirteen, she had instantly excelled at her studies and fieldwork. This
was rare in a student. Many took months, even years to adjust to their new way
of life, while others could not cope at all and washed out. The council had
been very impressed with her work over the past ten years and subsequently had
chosen her to receive the ritual from the eldest among them: One.
As a Wraith
ascended to the council-a spot was rarely ever available-they lost their name
and individual identity. Each was given only a number to cling to, the order in
which they joined the council. To keep personal wants and needs out of the
master equation, these were stripped from a new member. They would think only
of the Gwyliad Wriaeth.
Nothing else mattered to them anymore. If any of their number began to show personal
interest in matters outside the order, the remaining six members dealt them
with quickly. This had only happened once in the history of the Guard, but even
hundreds of years later, the ripple of consequence was still being felt. It
would not be allowed to happen again.
As the two
attending Wraiths completed situating the students and informing them of the
rules of the ritual, they stepped out of the way and faded into the darkness.
The students could hear the slight rustle of fabric as the silence closed in
around them. From the head of the immense room, the seven council members
appeared as hundreds of candles flickered brightly around them. Each one,
dressed in a long, white robe that hid their gender and shadowed their faces,
held a ceremonial cup and dagger. Though they were all old enough to have
developed fangs, to use them would be an affront to everything they stood for.
It would make them no better than the prey they swore their lives to hunt and
destroy.
The
first-One-stepped out of line and moved in front of the other six council
members. Holding the silver dagger in its hand, it pointed to the students. "On
this twenty-eighth day of October, in the year two-thousand and four, we are
gathered here to transform these students into Acolytes." Its voice was full
and deep as it echoed off the cavernous walls of the council chamber. "If there
is one here who wishes to refuse the ritual, let them speak now." One paused,
although it knew none would speak out. "Very good," it said with more than a hint
of pleasure in its voice.
One motioned to
the other members of the council to take their positions. As each moved across
the room, a row of candles shimmered to life as they walked, lighting their
way. Stopping in front of their chosen student, the candles encircled the two,
separating each pair from the others. Setting the cups before the students, the
council members knelt down and held their daggers at
the ready.
"If you scream
out," One warned, "you will fail this test. If you unclasp your hands, you will
fail this test. If you touch any of the council in any way, you will fail this
test." One looked to the other council members, then back to the young woman
kneeling before it. "This ritual has been passed down through the generations.
It will be the penultimate test in your training, and though you have made it
this far, know that this ritual is not without its dangers. I give each of you
one final chance to back out and spare yourselves what could be a horrible
death."
Again, no one
spoke.
"Let the ritual
begin."
Moving its hand
carefully, One wrapped its fingers around Saint's neck. Tilting her head back,
it could feel her heart throbbing in the veins of her throat. It was fear that
gripped her, yet she was doing her best to remain strong. Lifting the dagger
up, the ancient Wraith pressed it to the side of her throat. With one swift
stroke, it pulled the blade through the soft, pink flesh, splaying it open. Blood
instantly spurted from the wound as an artery was cleaved in two. Without a
single grunt or wince of pain, Saint began to bleed to death. Pushing her head
down, One watched her crimson life spill over the hard stone floor around them.
Turning to its right, One could see the process repeated on each of the
students. To One's approval, none cried out at the quick flash of steel.
Holding its
fingers firmly on Saint's throat, it could feel her heart beginning to slow.
From its own experience, One knew she was very near slipping from
consciousness. The ritual had to be timed precisely. This was the reason
ancients only completed it. If they didn't wait long enough, the ritual
wouldn't take and the student would be lost, yet if they waited too long, the
student would die. It was a fine line they treaded, nevertheless, each was
confident in their abilities. Lifting Saint back into a kneeling position, One
steadied her with its hands as blood rolled down onto its white robe. "Hold on,
my child," it whispered. "It's only just begun." Lifting the dagger again, One
pressed it firmly to its own wrist. Pulling once, it laid open its veins.
Setting the blade aside, it quickly reached for the cup.
As One held its
wrist over the cup quickly filling it, Saint began to feel herself slipping
away. Darkness encroached over her brain, threatening at any moment to sever
her connection to this reality. The gaping wound in her neck throbbed with pain
with every heartbeat, every breath. No longer could she feel her arms and legs,
the pain was all-consuming. Reaching down deep into herself, she summoned a
strength she had only glimpsed before. She had to hold on. To come so far in
ten years, only to die on the council chamber floor would not only disgrace the
order, but herself as well. She would not fail, not this close to the finish.
One lifted the cup
of its own blood with two hands toward Saint. Its hands trembled slightly, but
it quickly calmed itself. To lose this student now would be a tragedy, but fate
always had its own agenda. Tipping the young woman's head back, One began to
pour the blood into her mouth. Saint gagged as the thick, lukewarm substance
hit the back of her throat. One held his hand firmly around her mouth refusing
to let her spit any out. She needed every drop to complete the ritual.
"Swallow, child," One said, almost pleadingly. "Swallow."
Saint's eyes
rolled back as she choked on the liquid. Pulling a breath in through her nose,
she closed her mouth and opened her throat. Gulping down the thick substance, her
eyes opened wide, then snapped shut. It felt like battery acid chewing its way
down her throat. She felt the immediate urge to retch, but clenching her teeth,
she fought it. Balling up her fists behind her back, she felt the blood hit her
stomach like a brick. Doubling over in pain, she narrowly missed One with her
head as she hit the floor. Making sure to keep her hands clasped behind her
back, she rested her forehead on the floor amidst a pool of her own blood.
Gritting her teeth, she wanted to cry out, but refused. She felt as if red hot
needles were being pushed into her skin and muscles over and
over again. Intense pain rocketed through her skull as her upper canine
teeth were broken and forced from her gums and two tiny fangs slid into place.
Rolling onto her back, her head snapped and hit the stone floor with a crunch.
Opening her eyes again, she felt her vision become blurred. The tiny veins in
her eyes popped and exploded, sending blood gushing into the chocolate brown
irises, but it quickly receded as the iris in each eye melted to a solid gold.
As fast as they had changed to gold, they turned colors
again. The color faded away, leaving her irises a
pale blue that was almost gray. All at once, her body
convulsed, then relaxed as she lost consciousness.
Standing up, One
looked down at Saint with satisfaction. Looking to his right, it saw each of
the council members standing over their students in much the same way. Three
had a bit of a worried look spread across its face. "What happened?" One asked.
"The eyes did not
revert to normal," Three said, shaking its head. "At least not yet."
One muttered a
curse under its breath. Lifting its hand, it snapped its fingers once and
pointed to the third student in line. The two attending Wraiths materialized
out of the darkness and hovered around the student. Lifting slender, wooden
stakes out of their gray and white coats, they stood
silently above the unconscious boy. He was a young male of approximately
twenty-five years with wavy brown hair. His white ceremonial robe was
splattered angrily with his own blood as he lay motionless.
Three dropped down
to its knees and rested a hand on the boy's head. "He's growing cold. We've
lost him."
One shook its
head. "Not everyone can handle the ritual. We always expect to lose one or
two."
"I know," Three
breathed, "but it never gets any easier." Lifting the boy's eyelid with its
thumb, Three saw the solid gold eyes within. Standing up, Three took several
steps away from the student. "Finish him before he wakes up. He wouldn't want
to live like this."
The two Wraiths
nodded. Dropping down to their knees, one reached in with his powerful hands
and pinned the boy flat on his back, while the other pressed his knee firmly
into the boy's chest. Lifting the stake over his head, the Wraith watched as
the boy's eyes shot open. The glowing eyes snapped to the Wraith in instant
anger. Struggling against the more powerful men, the newly created vampire
shrieked in protest.
"Do it now!" Three
commanded. "Do not let this abomination live!"
The Wraith brought
the stake down swiftly, piercing the vampire's heart. The creature screamed in
horror as blue flame leapt from the newly created wound and quickly began to
engulf his entire body. Leaping away, the two Wraiths watched as smoke and
cinders were thrown into the air as the vampire writhed on the floor. It was
only moments before his body was reduced to ashes within the circle of candles.
"May God have
mercy on our souls," One muttered. Looking up, he readdressed the council. "The
ritual is complete. Let us retire and rest before the final test tonight." One
turned his attention back to the two Wraiths. "Please attend to the students.
Watch over them to make sure no one else turns."
The Wraiths nodded
and set about their task. Moving to the right, one Wraith lifted Saint first
and slung her over his shoulder like a doll. He could feel her warmth even
through his clothing and smiled. Her body was in a state of flux, in the
process of metamorphosis, and she would make a fine addition to the Gwyliad Wriaeth.