The Vampire Scrolls - Book 1: The Chosen One

By Greg Burke

Fifteen-year-old Elizabeth Báthory is the envy of her times: smart, beautiful, wealthy and about to marry a handsome and powerful noble. She is also one of the last generations of vampires blessed with immortality. However, she must struggle with the mantle of an age old prophecy that names her as the one to end the existence of all vampires and lycans alike. She must decide whether to fight for her own life and doom her kind or kneel down to the prophecy and accept her fate. Historical fact intertwined with supernatural fiction, The Vampire Scrolls – Book 1: The Chosen One is threaded with a patchwork of love, forbidden desires, treachery, loyalty and betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9780980640830

Book preview

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Prologue

The world is awash in myths and legends. They come from a time immemorial and belong to an age long past. Or do they? They are incredible and often unbelievable, but they are all based on some element of truth. And so it is that I decided to record the remarkable journey of my kind. My work, along with that of others in my peculiar state, has been combined to form what is undeniably the most detailed and accurate account of my kind in existence. The Vampire Scrolls…

So where did it all start? How did vampires and other ghastly creatures come to be? And who was truly the first one? All good questions, with interesting answers! But, perhaps it is best to begin with where we stand today. Yes, we walk among you, and not only at night, but shoulder to shoulder with humans, lycans and others. Some of us feed on you and some of us protect you. You see, our species has evolved, like yours. We are no longer creatures condemned to the night. In fact, I, or one of my kind, could be right next to you at this moment, and you would never know. Alas, enough from me and on to the noteworthy of my kind.

This is a saga of creature versus creature, family versus family and man versus destiny! The stakes, survival of the human race, as you know it!

In these scrolls you will find the secret to everlasting life and the horror of absolute death, and much, much more…

Sárvár, Hungary – May 6th, 1575

The night sky is like black velvet. The moon hangs low, the lunar eclipse perhaps three quarters of the way through, casting long shadows over the frost covered ground. A red tinge to its usual white face seemingly predicting that blood will run this night. Steam shoots from the nostrils of the six horses as they trot, pulling the ornate carriage behind them. The men comprising the armed escort walk quickly and rigidly. Their shoulders hunched against the chill wind and their eyes constantly shifting, wary and nervous about any unseen dangers that may lie in wait. There are twenty men at the front of the carriage and twenty men behind, all armed with broadswords and lances. They wear the blood red livery of the Ecsed of Báthory coven and their armour is in pristine condition. The carriage they protect is large and regal. It is finished in a matte black that conceals the detail of its construction and makes it difficult to see. No light shines from within. It is almost as if the men are in a funeral procession, guarding the sarcophagus of a dead noble.

Inside, however, life does indeed exist. A pale faced, dark haired girl of about fifteen sits on the plush blood red cushioned bench. She wears opulent clothing and jewellery and her lean body supports a face that although beautiful, seems haunted. Her visage is harsh and cold as the pale skin and pulled back dark hair rob her of the colour of life. Her full lips purse as her amber eyes assess her companion sitting opposite in a somewhat superior and clinical fashion, as though the larger woman is simply an edible delicacy or a play thing.

Why must I marry him Darvulia? I don’t want to! She queries in an acidic tone.

You know why Erzsébet. Why keep asking me? It was not I that made the decision. Darvulia is an older, heavier, middle aged woman with long thick auburn hair that curls at the bottoms, perhaps twice Erzsébet’s age. Her face is round with hazel grey eyes and thinner lips. Her eyes seem wizened beyond her age and her face eternally stamped with a burdensome duty.

"Tell me again. I want to make sure that I never forget this punishment, for as long as I live!"

Tut tut, this is not a punishment, Erzsébet. You are serving your family, your coven. You know how much this cursed war has drained the Ecsed coven. We need these lands and their people. That is why you are marrying Lord Ferenc.

Are you sure Darvulia? It is not because of my…past? A vacant look comes over Erzsébet’s face as she recalls these events she refers to.

***

She remembers herself as a small child, no more than three or four years old, standing in a room full of nobles and gentry, all laughing, drinking and talking. Erzsébet stands to the side, slightly apart and alone. She cocks her head from side to side picking up conversations taking place as far away as the other side of the grand ballroom. She stands, silent and still for several moments before a small smile crosses her face. She moves towards the closest group of adults and stands until the animated elders realise she is there. She begins to talk. The adults lean closer to hear her words. They listen intently. After she has stopped speaking they turn their heads in unison and cast spiteful looks to another group, who are in jovial conversation across the room. Erzsébet, with a satisfied look on her face, turns and leaves, still smiling. The anger bubbling to the surface of the group she has just addressed is clearly visible. This pattern continues as Erzsébet moves through the entire ballroom, engaging each group in a similar conversation and pitting them against one another. She then surreptitiously egresses through a large ornate door that has been left ajar, leaving in her wake a room that is quickly becoming chaotic, open fighting spreading like wild fire.

***

"You must look at this as a new start, Erzsébet. Put all that behind you. No-one will know you here. You can make a new life for yourself." Darvulia smiles reassuringly, interrupting Erzsébet’s daydreaming.

No-one, but you, Darvulia, Erzsébet replies menacingly, her eyes still glazed, before falling back into her memories.

***

Now she is six years old and she plays with a little boy dressed in the robes of a church choir boy. They run and laugh as any child of that age might do. They play in a cobblestoned courtyard of the castle in the middle of which is an ornate fountain.

I never thought a noble would be so much fun, gasps the boy as he lounges next to Erzsébet at the fountain’s base.

Why? I am a child just like you! The fact that I was born to a different station does not mean I can’t play and have fun the same as you.

Laughing at the sternness on his companion’s face the boy smiles warmly at her, You know Erz, we are going to be best friends forever! I will protect you from those stuffy nobles with my life, he draws a pretend sword and laughing commences a fight with an imagined enemy to defend his friend.

A young priest walks past, nods and smiles at the children, they call ‘hello’ and wave in return. Another young man, a gypsy, approaches them, offering to sell them trinkets that he is selling in a wicker basket. The children shake their heads and he continues on.

Erzsébet leans close to the little boy and whispers into his ear. He runs off and shortly after, returns accompanied by the gypsy. He then turns and runs away, the gypsy watching him for a little too long.

Would you like to buy something, little girl? he asks in a silky sales voice.

No. I don’t need any of your worthless trinkets when I have jewellery like this! Erzsébet pulls out a magnificent necklace she wears, flaunting it in front of the young gypsy man, his eyes lighting up with awe and greed. It is a ruby the size of her palm, simply and elegantly set with a single row of small diamonds encircling it.

Bowing his head slightly, You are quite right my Lady. I will more than likely never own such a treasure in all my life. But, my wares are equally as pretty, despite their lack of value, and they are more than enough to please the many folk not as esteemed as yourself. The gypsy turns to leave.

What if I said you could have this necklace? Erzsébet asks calmly. In return for one small favour, she adds.

My Lady, do not jest with me in such a manner. The gypsy sounds a little deflated.

This one piece could turn your life around, gypsy. Imagine, no more peddling, you could live on your very own estate with your own servants.

It is a very tempting dream, my Lady, but at what price? I am a good and simple man and do not wish to strike a deal with the devil.

Well, I am certainly not the devil! Unless the devil is now an innocent six year old girl? Erzsébet chides defiantly.

What is your price then?

It’s not much at all. I want you to make my best friend very happy, she says, looking at the little boy who is playing on the other side of the fountain.

The gypsy follows her gaze, And what is that?

Give him what he really wants!

And what does one such as I possess that a little boy might desire so much?

Erzsébet gestures for the gypsy to lean close and she whispers in his ear. His eyes widen and he shakes his head slowly, licking his lips. He continues to listen as Erzsébet talks, never once taking his eyes from the boy. After several moments he straightens up, nods once, then hurries over to the other side of the fountain. He looks around nervously and seeing that no-one is watching he beckons the boy to follow him. The little boy looks to Erzsébet for reassurance and she nods encouragingly. She watches as he leads the boy to an alley beside a small church at the corner of the square. Shortly after, she hears stifled screams as the small boy runs back into the square, crying out in pain and with tears rolling down his cheeks. He runs awkwardly past Erzsébet as she flashes him an evil grin. Moments later the gypsy strides out quickly, fastening his trousers. He constantly looks over his shoulder as if expecting soldiers to arrest him at any moment. Erzsébet deposits the necklace into his outstretched hand and he turns and moves away without a word, leaving his basket of cheap trinkets abandoned at Erzsébet’s feet. Erzsébet watches his back as he hurries past the fountain and towards the castle gates. Before he is out of sight she kicks the basket on its side, scattering the trinkets across the street, and runs off to find the nearest soldier.

***

Erzsébet stirs slightly in the carriage, her eyes still glazed, causing Darvulia to worry.

***

A score of soldiers roughly grab the gypsy as they push him to the ground. Shaking his head vehemently, he protests his innocence. The soldiers look in the direction of Erzsébet, who stands in front of her father, awaiting instructions. Erzsébet’s father looks down at her questioningly. She simply puts her hand to her neck, indicating the missing necklace, and points at the gypsy. There, clenched in his right hand, is the unmistakable glint of gold and ruby, from Erzsébet’s unique necklace. A horrified look comes to the gypsy’s face as he throws the necklace towards Erzsébet, screaming. The soldiers force him to his hands and knees as a giant of a man draws his sword. Moments later the gypsy’s head rolls to a stop at Erzsébet’s feet. A smile flickers across her lips as a young soldier hands her back her necklace.

***

"What deeper troubles cloud your mind Erzsébet?" Darvulia’s concern is apparent in her voice.

Erzsébet’s eyes refocus, the hint of a smile still lingering on her face. She knows her maid is trying to be helpful but she cannot bury the rage that builds inside her. You have cared for me since birth Darvulia, you know that I am a vampire, not just any vampire though, she laughs hollowly, the ninth generation descended from Vitus and the one the prophecy has marked to eradicate the species entirely.

Thus, you are marked for execution by the three enemy covens, and any other vampire who dreams of fulfilling their destined immortality. Even vampires from your own Ecsed coven want you dead. Yes I know all of this and I feel…

But you don’t know, Erzsébet snaps, cutting her maid short, the feeling of your entire life being controlled, by some, greater force.

Darvulia simply rolls her eyes and continues to listen.

My children will be the tenth generation descended from Vitus and the last vampires born into immortality, yet I am destined to destroy the entire species! That means my own children will die by my hand Darvulia. That is not a life, for me or them. It is a cruel curse and I will do all that I can to avoid it.

Darvulia turns her head to the side, looking worried, as a piercing scream from outside the carriage draws her attention. Another shriek pierces the night, followed by a strange whistling sound.

Outside a hail of arrows can be seen silhouetted against the crescent moon as they reach the apex of their flight, before falling in deadly terror. The shrieks that follow their impact are joined by the howl of a lone wolf. Like a chorus, other howls join in, building in volume and sweeping across the gully. Eerily the sound seems to echo across itself, like shouting into a deep well and sending shivers down Darvulia’s spine.

Don’t, snaps Darvulia, as Erzsébet reaches for the sliver of curtain. Without another word Darvulia extinguishes the small candle throwing the inside of the carriage into darkness.

Without hesitation they both reach for the curtains on their respective sides and pull them back to peer outside. The peaceful quietude within belies the mayhem outside.

Only three of the Ecsed escort remain alive, crouching amongst the littered bodies of their maimed and dead brethren. A forest of arrows protrude from the bodies on the ground, turned red by the blood and the livery of the men. The fletching stir on the night breeze like leaves on miniature trees.

A moment of silence replaces the baying of the wolves, only to be shattered by the shrieking of pain and the sounds of battle and death. From seemingly nowhere dozens of wolves materialise from the shadows, biting, ripping and clawing before melting back into whence they came, only to repeat the process again and again. Their targets, shield less men dressed in black and grey livery wielding broadswords and moving with inhuman speed.

What is going on? Erzsébet sounds a little startled.

We are under attack.

Erzsébet shoots Darvulia a withering look.

The Ecsed coven is not the only one who knows the prophecy in detail, Darvulia replies whilst still peering through the peephole.

Surely the prophecy doesn’t state the very date I will be transferred to my new hell?

No. That would be the spies the other covens have planted in the human castles. It is not surprising to see the black clad Szakolyi coven and the grey clad Simolin coven, but the lycans, that is unusual.

Lycans! I thought they were wolves. And why shouldn’t they be here? Am I not prophesised to make them extinct also?

Yes, but I have never heard of a lycan in these parts, they hail from far to the east, in Muscovy.

Well it seems that creatures of all shapes and sizes will go to no end to murder me.

Erzsébet’s words are emphasised by a series of thuds from above as arrows thunk into the roof of the carriage.

Stranger still, it seems the lycans are trying to protect us.

Why aren’t we moving out of this fray? Erzsébet asks angrily.

Darvulia suddenly draws her face away from the slot as a shower of sparks cascade down outside, a sword striking the carriage. Reaching above her head her fingers find a thin cord hidden in the red velvet lining. Pulling the cord twice a tiny bell tinkles over the driver’s left shoulder. He glances at it with annoyance and then with one fluid motion leaps to the ground drawing his sword.

Standing at over six and half feet tall and three feet wide he resembles a human mountain. His sword is half again as long as a standard broadsword and twice as wide. The moonlight glints from it as he swings it a horizontal arc. The blade cleaves three enemy men in half, like a scythe harvesting wheat, their vicious battle instantly ended.

A lycan pounces from his right, the snapping jaws targeting his head. With minimal effort he stabs the great sword upwards, running the lycan through, before flicking it off the end of his sword, catapulting it over the top of the carriage.

A black clad vampire charges the driver’s unprotected back, his sword but inches away from the kill, when he is slammed to the side by a grey blur. He screams as the lycan clamps its jaws around his throat and rips out his jugular with a massive jerk of its head. Snarling, it turns to assess the danger, its back to the driver and carriage. It watches, unmoving, as its pack members fight furiously with the vampires.

Sensing the lycan behind him, the driver reverses his sword and drives it backwards through the beast’s ribcage then pulls it back out. Blood geysers across the already red ground and the beast slowly transforms into a human, gasping and coughing the remaining life from her lungs. The driver raises his left leg and bringing it down crushes her skull like an eggshell.

Temporarily devoid of any immediate threats he leaps once more into the driver’s seat of the carriage and taking the reins in hand whips the steeds into action. The horses struggle to move the carriage, the ground littered with bodies, making their footing unstable and impeding the large wheels.

Looking down the driver calls to the last three of the Ecsed guards, Push!

When there is no reaction he stands, clenching his fist. The three men hurriedly rise and desperately finding a handhold begin to push. The wheels creak and slip in the blood but with a frenzied whipping the horses churn all below and finally manage to move the carriage.

Help us, wait, cry the three men.

An evil grin invades the driver’s face as he decapitates the two men on his right with a single blow and reaching down to the left grabs the third man’s hand.

Relief washes over the guard’s face as the driver lifts him onto the carriage, only to be replaced by utter horror as the driver, revealing his fangs, sinks his teeth into the neck of the guard and drains his blood, tossing the empty body to the side like an old apple core.

The carriage builds up speed as it leaves the fray behind and Darvulia and Erzsébet are thrown against each other, the horses rearing up with fear before bolting once more, the hooded driver unable to control them. The heavy carriage jolts and shudders as it rolls over fallen soldiers. Only seconds pass before the wheels find the packed earth of the road, the carriage jolting frantically. A huge figure in chain mail steps into its path to block their progress. The driver, reins held tight in his left hand, quickly draws his massive sword with his right. As he manoeuvres around the obstacle, the driver swings the sword and cleaves the right arm off the gargantuan soldier, leaving a screaming and bloody mess in his wake. The horrific sounds of battle quickly fade as the carriage tops a small knoll and plunges down the other side. As it picks up speed Darvulia and Erzsébet are sent tumbling into a heap against the wall of the carriage as the horses navigate a sharp bend in the road. At that moment, a burst of orange light, so bright it can be seen from within the carriage, causes the horses to rear up and whinny with fear, almost toppling the carriage.

The hooded driver, wearing chain mail, releases the reins and once more draws his sword in one fluid motion. He leaps with inhuman speed at a cloaked figure, with red eyes, standing at the roadside. As he lands his hood is thrown back, revealing a malevolent face with piercing blue eyes and a snarling mouth accentuated by two fangs. Before he can raise the wicked sword to strike down the unarmed assailant a fireball shoots from the hands of the cloaked figure, engulfing the driver in flames. He screams in agony but endures the pain to resolutely lift the sword over his head. He steps forward, still ablaze, and delivers a powerful two handed blow.

The cloaked figure simply raises its left arm to block the descending blade. Sparks fly as the metal strikes the eerily mottled forearm and glances off, seemingly without effect. Hidden deep within the hood, two red eyes burn brightly. The figure moves, with incredible speed, positioning its head bent close to the neck of the driver.

A shrieking of metal and splintering of wood is followed by a loud crashing sound from the direction of the carriage as the dark haired girl lowers her leg, having just kicked open the bolted carriage door.

Blood gushes from the neck of the now lifeless driver as the cowled head jerks upwards. The red eyes flicker as they take in the two female faces peering from the door of the strange carriage. The darker haired girl snarls, revealing fangs. As she grips the edges of the doorframe in preparation to leap, the cowled figure straightens.

Leaping with astonishing speed, the girl lands in the empty space the attacker has just vacated. With a roar of frustration Erzsébet searches her surroundings looking for the mysterious cloaked figure. Her catlike amber eyes take in every detail. She remains motionless. Hearing Darvulia softly call her name from the carriage, she turns to see her servant sitting in the driver’s seat, reins in hand, peering around worriedly.

Let’s go, now! Darvulia hisses, glancing over her shoulder as the sounds of battle grow closer.

Erzsébet leaps back onto the carriage, landing on the roof as Darvulia whips the horses into motion. The broken remains of the open carriage door swings violently, banging continually as Erzsébet stands atop the carriage, ever vigilant, an exotic dagger clutched in her left hand.

***

Framed in a window at the top of the castle’s tallest tower, stands a woman, her face set like stone and devoid of love or emotion. Her dark hair is pulled severely back into a bun. She scrutinises the approaching black carriage.

We will have to watch Ferenc’s new bride very closely, she murmurs to a person in the background. I am all for strong women, but this one seems a little…spirited, evil. Imagine, arriving at my castle, late, atop the carriage like some common village strumpet. It just won’t do.

Yes my Lady, whispers the reverent female.

With another look of haughty disdain, the Lady, in her early fifties, turns and strides to the door, her tightly garmented body almost militaristic in its rigidity. Let them through the gates, but I want both of them watched, at all times. I do not want my oldest son and heir to have an enemy in his own home, Merin.

Yes my Lady, Merin replies softly, keeping her head bowed. Her light brown, slightly wavy hair has partly come loose from the tight ponytail at the back of her head and partially covers her face. She does not raise her head until the sound of footsteps fade. She then quickly raises her head, the delicate features of her face appearing frail as her scared doe like brown eyes dart to the door before she too turns and hurries away, knowing she must fulfil her order or face severe punishment.

***

"Come down, my Lady. You are neither a soldier nor a guard. Remember your place, please," begs Darvulia as she brings the carriage to a halt, stopping in a small enclosed courtyard, just inside the castle walls.

Don’t tell me what to do Darvulia. No-one tells me what to do, you know that, Erzsébet utters in a deadly voice, remaining motionless atop the carriage.

Get down from there now! Your place is by my son’s side, God help him. You are not fit to serve at the graveyard let alone marry a Count. How this deal was brokered I do not know. But you will do as I say. Ferenc is more often than not, away serving his country by upholding his military duties. And even though by title he is the ruler of this castle and these lands, it is I who truly rules here. I have the final say, all the time. I’d keep that in mind if I were you, because daughter-in-law or not, arrangement or not, if you ever cross me, you will regret it! Orsolya gives Erzsébet a pointed look. What are you doing up there, anyway?

Before Erzsébet can reply Darvulia answers, We were attacked by bandits, my Lady, she shakes her head.

Shall I send out some soldiers, Orsolya queries, taking the response in stride.

No. Our escort managed to end the threat, despite their inability to see us all the way here, Erzsébet replies coolly.

Orsolya gives the two women a long, shrewd look. Then, suddenly, a false smile spreads across her face and stays stitched there. Now, be a good girl and hop down from there. You will follow Merin, she indicates her servant who meekly enters the courtyard through a secluded door, to your quarters. I want you to learn the layout of the castle and prepare yourself for the wedding. Merin is my best servant and I have given her special instructions to look after all your needs. Orsolya pauses momentarily before continuing. Ferenc returns tomorrow afternoon and I want you fully prepared to serve his every need. With that she turns on her heel and leaves through the door.

"Please, this way Lady Erzsébet," Merin gestures towards a half hidden door nearby.

Erzsébet takes one step and is about to leap to the ground when Darvulia abruptly stands up, simultaneously clearing her throat.

I will assist you down my Lady. She extends her hand out so that Erzsébet might take it and step down from the carriage roof onto the driver’s seat. Erzsébet stares at Darvulia, finally nodding slightly and complying. Darvulia helps her Lady as she steps onto the seat and then on down to the cobblestoned courtyard. The horses whinny and Darvulia, giving them a reassuring pat, follows the soft glow of Merin’s lamp, through the door. Darvulia suddenly stops and turning, retraces her steps to the carriage. Reaching inside she removes a large black case and heaves it down to the ground. As she straightens up, lifting the heavy case in preparation to once again follow Merin and Erzsébet, she catches a movement in the corner of her eye. She quickly looks up and sees Orsolya, with an evil look on her face, watching her from a high window. Lowering her eyes Darvulia hurries back through the door in pursuit of Merin and Erzsébet.

Orsolya turns to another servant, who is cowering at her side, and barks, Burn the carriage, and all of their possessions, then kill the horses. Provide them with new clothes, as ‘gifts’, and destroy the ones they are wearing. Tell them there was a fire in the stable. She pauses, thinking, Save the wedding gown that she will undoubtedly have brought with her, it could be valuable. Other than that I want all traces of their past lives and their sense of identity removed from my castle by the time Ferenc returns. Now, they are mine! She pauses, musing. And find out what is in that black case. The servant obviously thinks it is more important than any other thing her Lady might own, and she does not trust its welfare to others. Now, she commands the girl harshly.

What could be more important than the possessions of those you serve? she continues to muse aloud to herself.

Merin leads Erzsébet into a spacious room with a large window, which overlooks a courtyard. A servant’s quarters are attached on the right, through a plain door. The large bedroom is furnished with a dresser and canopied bed. Whilst the rooms are well appointed they are by no means lavish, a subtle sign of disrespect from Orsolya. Erzsébet draws the heavy curtains aside and peers out. She notes that the room is in the castle proper but not on the upper levels, which are usually dedicated to the nobility.

These will be your quarters my Lady, Merin advises meekly. If there is anything else you need I will be in the next room. She bows slightly and backs away into the servant’s quarters.

Wait! Erzsébet’s piercing voice halts Merin mid step. What’s your name?

Merin, my Lady.

Merin, yes, when will my luggage arrive?

It should be on the way up my Lady.

It should already be here, Erzsébet’s voice rises an octave or two.

Yes my Lady.

Merin, why are you staying in the quarters where my personal servant should be? Erzsébet demands with an inquisitorial gaze.

My Lady, Lady Orsolya thought it best, as I know my way around this castle, I will be able to better serve you. Your servant will be just across the hall my Lady.

At this point Darvulia walks through the open doorway to Erzsébet’s quarters, puffing after the effort of carrying her black case up so many stairs.

It seems you have been replaced, Darvulia, states Erzsébet with a nasty smile on her lips.

Sorry, my Lady? she enquires, panting.

M… Erzsébet stops and looks in Merin’s direction.

Merin, my Lady.

Yes, yes. Merin here will be my new servant, staying in these quarters with me. Isn’t that nice? And she is such a pretty thing. Erzsébet somewhat wantonly runs her eyes over the blushing Merin, before noticing Darvulia’s warning look.

Where am I to stay my Lady? asks Darvulia.

Over there, replies Erzsébet pointing nonchalantly at the door across the hall, her eyes still on Merin.

Yes my Lady. Darvulia turns and leaves the spacious quarters, crossing the hall in two steps and opens the door to her new abode. The room is in darkness. No lamp is lit and as there are no windows, no light can enter from the moonlit night. Not once relinquishing her grip on the black case, Darvulia turns from the door and shuffles down the hall a ways to retrieve a lamp. Once back to her new quarters, she steps across the threshold and holds the lamp high above her head. The wan light seems to struggle against the all encompassing darkness. But eventually the light pushes at the oppressive blackness and diffuses through the room. On the left wall stands a tiny and ancient looking cot, two rats scurrying over the stained sheet. A putrid bucket stands in the right corner and a single chair rests at the far wall between the cot and bucket. The walls and floor are unadorned, rough cut stone, the tool marks just visible in the dismal light. The far wall, behind the chair glistens black. Darvulia moves towards it to take a closer look. Liquid appears to ooze down the wall. Darvulia steps forward, the lamp held high in front of her, and there is a squeal followed by a skittering as a rat, whose tail on which she has trodden, protests before running. Hearing a laugh behind her, Darvulia spins around and sees Erzsébet at the doorway, chuckling at the sight of the dilapidated quarters.

Looks like a broom cupboard and smells like a bog. She laughs again. I’ll let you know once the trunks have arrived so you can unpack my things, Erzsébet teases before she turns and strides to her quarters, slamming the door behind her.

Darvulia hears Erzsébet shouting at her new servant. Still clutching her case in one hand and the lamp in the other, she takes a step backwards and kicks her door closed. Erzsébet’s ranting subsides, somewhat, and as Darvulia closes her eyes her shoulders slump. A single tear escapes her eye as she shakes her head weakly. "I can’t do this, she thinks to herself. I’m too involved. Now I not only have to watch over Erzsébet for her own family that do not trust her, the Ecsed coven, but I still must secretly report her actions to my true masters the Somlyó coven! I have to rely on my magic just to stay alive around Erzsébet and now I must be even more cautious, as the new predator in the game has made it perfectly clear who is being hunted. Darvulia’s thoughts are interrupted by a quiet tap at her door. Straightening up she wipes the lone tear from her face. Yes?"

It is Merin, Lady Erzsébet commands your presence.

I’ll be right over.

Immediately! comes the shout from Erzsébet herself across the hall.

Darvulia quickly secretes her case in the corner behind the putrid bucket, using her fingers to smear it with the ooze from the wall, making it all but invisible as it blends into the darkness and with the wall. She hurries towards the door but before reaching it, it is flung open.

Erzsébet stands in the doorway absolutely furious, What are you doing? You dare to keep me waiting?

Sorry, my Lady. I did not want to come near you with this filth on my hands, she holds out her hands for Erzsébet to see and Erzsébet recoils as if she were facing the cool eyes of death itself, as I have no way of cleaning them!

Merin, Erzsébet shrieks, still backing away from Darvulia, bring a bowl of water, and a towel, at once.

Yes my Lady.

Darvulia places her hands behind her back. This seems to relax Erzsébet and she stops retreating. Darvulia, looking around to check they are alone, seizes the opportunity and leans towards Erzsébet, We must be wary my Lady. Orsolya is out for our blood and we are undoubtedly being watched at all times.

Hah! Our blood! She wouldn’t even know what to do with it, if she could get it. These humans and their hollow threats. I will rule this castle and I will teach her a few things about blood. I will show her a fear she has never even imagined. I will show her how one enjoys another’s blood, whilst I keep her alive until she is nothing but a dried up husk.

Yes Erzsébet, but not now. When the time is right you can have your revenge, until then, you must play your role as the dutiful wife and countess. You must stick with… Darvulia stops suddenly.

Here is your water my Lady. Merin proffers a large flat porcelain bowl to Erzsébet.

Give it to her, and make sure she has a fresh bowl every morning. I do not want to be within the vicinity of such filth again. Do you understand?

Yes my Lady, Merin replies placing the bowl and a towel on the floor before Darvulia.

Erzsébet returns to her room followed by Merin.

Darvulia bends over and washes her hands in the bowl. She wipes her hands dry on the towel and smiling, takes the bowl into her room, closing the door behind her. Hanging the lamp on a rusted hook, high on the wall opposite the cot, her smile broadens. She carefully places the bowl of water on the uneven stone floor before fetching her precious black case. Laying the case on her cot she utters a few words under her breath and makes a waving movement with her hand. The latch on the case snaps open loudly. Darvulia pauses, cocking her head towards the door. After several moments of undisturbed silence she turns her attention back to the case. She moves slightly, allowing the faint light to illuminate the contents of the case. Lurking in the dark confines of the case lie nestled a myriad curiosities. Stoppered bottles, strange looking packets and vials with contents the imagination would shy away from. Darvulia lovingly lifts out a tiny vial containing red powder. Using two fingers she delicately removes the cork stopper and deftly shakes a few tiny grains into the bowl of dirty water. A slight hiss is followed by a rising thick, pungent white smoke. She reaches again into the case and quickly removes an odd shaped white stone. Hurrying to the door she mutters an almost inaudible incantation before spitting into her right hand and then transferring the stone there. With the stone in hand she quickly traces the outline of the door, lightly touching the surface with the stone. Once completed, with the stone still in hand, she claps her hands together, the resulting sound like a cracking whip. Carefully opening her palms to view the stone, it lays there, one tiny piece having cracked off. Darvulia drops the tiny piece into the water and it sparks on contact. A pulsing white light emanates from around the edge of the door behind her. All light coming from outside the door is swallowed up by a false darkness. Darvulia crouches over the bowl and stares at her reflection in the dirty water. A slight mist arises from the water, obscuring Darvulia’s view. When it dissipates, Darvulia can see what appears to be a window to another place. Through that window can be seen eleven figures standing, robed and cowled in white. They form a circle that has a single gap, as if one of their number is missing. As Darvulia peers into this scene, the figures join hands. Where the gap in the chain exists, there appears a ghostly figure, and those standing on either side reach out and touch the ghost. Darvulia slowly immerses both of her hands into the water. Instantly her head is thrown back and her eyes roll upwards. Simultaneously the heads of the white clad forms jolt backwards, dislodging their hoods and revealing the faces of eleven women each of whom have milky white eyes. The ghostly apparition, that has filled the sole space in the circle, also reveals its face as the hood slips. The face is that of Darvulia, only a much younger and slimmer version.

The woman standing directly opposite the ghost begins to speak. She has golden hair and a pale complexion. Worry is etched on her beautiful face. As she opens her mouth to speak her eyes turn a sapphire blue. The other ten women, all of varying appearances and ethnic backgrounds, begin to murmur in unison. The blonde girl speaks and her voice sounds as if she is in the room with Darvulia. Anna, how goes your task, my sister?

Increasingly perilous, Saskia. We have reached the place of prophecy and added yet another danger to our lives, replies Darvulia.

So the prophecy foretold Anna. This was to be expected. Do you still have the trust of our enemy, the vampire coven Ecsed?

Yes. Their trust is complete.

And are you still informing our allies, the vampire coven Somlyó, of your progress, as per our accord?

Yes, but I must ask that you impress upon them to accept less frequent reports. It is increasingly difficult and dangerous to make contact with those without our special abilities.

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