Her Impossible Beginnings: The Wolfpire Saga: Volume I

By Raymond Van Zleer

HER IMPOSSIBLE BEGINNINGS

THE WOLFPIRE SAGA

VOLUME I

Books 1 & 2

Yin : Impossible Beginnings

It began as a secret attempt to transform the world.
To hasten the coming of the antichrist, a fearsome new creature of darkness must be created: A wolfpire, who can roam the world unleashing terror and havoc so great that Hell will finally reign supreme on Earth.
Trapped in this sinister web of intrigue, treachery, and deceit, is Heather Rogers.
The ten year old girl secretly selected to fulfill evils most vile schemes.
However the forces of good also have deeply laid plans for Heather Rogers.
Plans that include a Tai Chi grand master, an aged village priest, and the CIA.
All of them are unwitting players in the opening moves of the secret battle for ultimate supremacy between good and evil.
Yang : Her Long Journeys Home

Ten year old Heather Rogers is keenly aware of the dangers confronting her.
Some dire. Some potentially deadly.
From: The man who is now hunting her.
To: The reaction if her wolfpire secret is ever discovered.
To: One of the most unique espionage endeavors ever attempted.
A secret plot involving a dying Russian girl, a medical doctor, and a select few within the CIA and beyond not all of whom are in the know.
A secret plan that will set the stage for the clash between free will and destiny.
The future battle that will one day determine the fate of all mankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 28, 2008
• ISBN: 9781426939051

Raymond Van Zleer

Raymond Van Zleer, the author of THE ANTICHRIST WHOM CHRIST DECLARED, now turns his hand to a work of fantasy, tackling the theme of good versus evil, in the world as it currently is.

Book preview

HER IMPOSSIBLE

BEGINNINGS

— —

THE WOLFPIRE SAGA

VOLUME I

— —

Books 1 & 2

Yin : Impossible Beginnings

&

Yang : Her Long Journeys Home

— —

By

Raymond Van Zleer

NOTICE

This work is totally fictional, hence all of this story’s characters, locations, culture, and situations, are too. For this reason, any resemblance to anyone or anything, living or dead, is totally imaginary and purely coincidental.

©

Copyright 2007, 2008, 2010, 2015, 2016 Raymond Van Zleer.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4251-4958-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-3905-1 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Trafford rev. 08/03/2016

23025.png www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

fax: [phone]

THE WOLFPIRE SAGA: VOLUME I

HER IMPOSSIBLE BEGINNINGS

Yin : Impossible Beginnings

1 : In Caverns Deep

2 : 1945 & Counting

3 : Vietnam – 1968

4 : Oval Office Concerns – 1985

5 : The Study – 1999

6 : The Girl With Two Birthdays

7 : Who, What, When, Where, & Why

8 : Welcome To Romania

9 : An Encounter In Gherla

10 : Today Is The Twenty Sixth!

11 : An Introduction To Evil

12 : Lessons In Evil – The First Day

13 : The Journey To Hell Begins

14 : Lessons In Evil – The Second Day

15 : The Journey To Hell’s Second Night

16 : The Fateful Third Morning

17 : Doomed!

18 : In The Tomb

19 : Transformations

20 : Operation Tealeaf

21 : Leaving No Trace

22 : Lost

Yang : Her Long Journeys Home

1 : The First Hospital Awakening

2 : The Goodbye Homecoming

3 : Castlerock Security Estates

4 : Hunting & Hunted

5 : Langley, June 25, 2010

6 : The Girl Question

7 : Churchburg

8 : Meetings & Plans

9 : Photos, Fingerprints, & Dilemmas

10 : There Is No Mud In The River

11 : Decisions & Doings

12 : Heightening Tensions

13 : Another Awakening

14 : Blunt Finalities

15 : Tealeaf Complications

16 : Final Moments

17 : Covert Endeavors

18 : The Funeral

19 : An Unanticipated Outcome

20 : Family Issues

21 : The Second Hospital Awakening

22 : More Family Issues

23 : Oats

HER IMPOSSIBLE BEGINNINGS

DEDICATION

To those who have the courage to oppose evil and endure.

WOLFPIRE SAGA AUTHOR’S COMMENT

While doing a reformatting and minor rewrite of this Saga in 2014, I was not surprised by its failure to forecast the future since that was never its intent, though some of the things in this book now look too uncomfortably likely.

Instead, I was delighted that this fictional fantasy and its fantasy characters and fictional events, have all withstood the test of time.

To those who read this Saga, thank you for sharing it with me.

WOLFPIRE SAGA ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My deepest appreciation and thanks go to those whom I have consulted.

These individuals include Robert Stern, Slena Shteyn, with timely input from several members of her family, who along with other kind individuals, have staunchly requested to remain unnamed. Naturally, your request is honored.

My apologies to anyone whose name was accidentally omitted.

Thanks to all of you for answering my questions, thus sharing with me the intimate treasury from your personal knowledge of Russia, its language and culture, beyond the wealth of information I already had.

The same needs to be said for those who provided me with help in German and French, and those who provided additional cultural information.

This same reality extends to my parents and my many teachers whose willingness to answer questions and provide insights during my formative years became the foundation that added richness to this fantasy saga.

Equally valued are libraries, librarians, and more books than all of the pages of this Saga could ever hope to contain or catalogue.

This is true even though I deliberately made the changes needed to create the fictional settings and imaginary events portrayed herein.

Also to keep language issues simple.

Thus, any changes or discrepancies from what you have told me are Deliberate Fantasies and are solely the creations of this author.

Finally and always, special love and thanks to my wife, Hilary, whose insights and candor helped me refine the way this imaginary saga came to life.

Of course ultimately, all credit is due to God: The true author of all creations including fantasy, for without Him not one single thing is made.

HER IMPOSSIBLE BEGINNINGS

Book 1

Yin : Impossible Beginnings

1 : In Caverns Deep

But sires! If we do nothing, we will die!

It was a dire, desperate, unwanted pronouncement, though the diminutive, excessively obese speaker still strove to milk foul pleasure from each word.

In turn, his strident lard-laden words bounced off the walls of the vast underground cavern, its echo becoming duller with each repetition.

As words and echo faded into the farthest reaches of small side chambers and distant passageways, they became buried in silence as dark and deep as this ruthlessly chiseled realm of stone. Stone that had never seen sunlight and only rarely felt any intrusion of air from the world outside.

Indeed, in this barren realm, light was unwelcome and unwanted when it was needed.

At the moment, it was not, for this threesome had no need for light at all.

Even so, the fat one’s words managed to blacken the darkness.

It was a grimness the others were unaccustomed to, and they loathed it, yet neither was in any hurry to respond to the pronouncement and their own silence reeked with disdain.

Disdain for their diminutive companion.

A loathing based as much on habit, as from experience.

Still, those grim words troubled the cavern’s stagnant air in a manner that could not be ignored.

Thus long moments after the pronouncement seemingly vanished into the pit of forgetfulness, the only one who was currently standing, responded.

His deep hollow voice resonated with ancient venom as merciless and hard as this cavern’s stone. A hoary malice saturated with unrestrained hatred: Speak for yourself!

As those hissed words lashed forth, he turned, confronting the diminutive speaker, and what the little fat one saw was a tall thin physique which hinted at having once been taller, broader, and like his body, his movements radiated strength so ungodly strong that it gave predatory menace to the festering hunger that oozed from his lifeless eyes. Colorless eyes so glassy that they seemed to burn with ice. Deadly eyes imbedded in a face more sallow and expressionless than a bleached iron mask encased in a thin layer of putrid wax.

Still, beyond the effortless turning movement, the standing one remained utterly motionless.

It was as if his body was as frozen in stone as his face and there was no downward head movement, nor even glance, though his gaze indeed burned down upon the one who had spoken the offensive words.

Fidgeting nervously, the diminutive male attempted to defend himself, openly confessing fear: My lord! I meant nothing personal by that!

The whimpering voice stuttered to a stop, floundering in a vain attempt to choose words that would hopefully justify or placate, constrained in actuality by the fear of committing further offense.

Just then, the other member of this male threesome, who had been sitting as motionless as the lord, stood and stretched. His slow lazy movements hinting at speed and strength without revealing either in a body that was round, yet lean.

When he spoke, his voice was filled with confidence born from the long use of power and from getting his way more often than not.

He directed his words only to the standing one whom he faced without the slightest fear or hesitation: "Unfortunately my lord, I must agree with Feteau. The new blood is not taking hold and modern methods are just too swift, too violent, too deadly.

The latest war, like the one before, killed all of my recent get, shattering their bodies before their blood could become fixed in immortality… and those whom you decided to beget, sire, through no fault of your own, have neither thrived, nor endured, despite the fact that for the past six decades, I alone have wielded the dreaded Krys-knife… though as you know, my momentous victory came too late to save even one of our ancient get.

Abruptly the dreaded lord turned away, his exhalation, as much a hiss, as a sigh, lashed upon the silence which lay heavily upon the last words and even more upon the void that followed.

During this time of silence, the lord paced slowly back and forth, seemingly floating upon the smooth cold stone floor beneath his black booted heels.

His rhythmic pacing was soundless and within this silence, the undercurrent of his insatiable hunger permeated the air. An unquenchable desire so all consuming that it appeared to preclude other thoughts of any kind.

Thus the appearance of abruptness was only to be expected when the lord stopped and turned in his effortless manner towards the one who had spoken last. There was no change in his icy malice. Only the words were new: Chancellor. Is there nothing we can do?

The wielder of the Krys-knife confessed: Sire, I have given it much thought. The problem is that our blood is bound to this land in a manner which prevents permanent escape, and regrettably, Dacia is now so overrun with our enemies that it will be impossible to provide for the needs of future get in a manner that conceals our existence…

Damn this curse that is upon us! the obese one spat, his bloated features becoming more puffed up than usual as air inflated his flabby cheeks.

Since you, Feteau, are not bound to the earth, I see no reason for you… a mere minion… to flatter yourself by insinuating that you are the same as us!

There was no menace in the Chancellor’s casual retort, only contempt, but all of them knew how real the menace was.

In the face of this finality, silence again descended and the little fat one took a moment to timidly gaze at the Chancellor, his observations unhindered by the total absence of light.

The Chancellor’s face was as mobile as water, so could hide or display whatever he saw fit.

What his face radiated was candid disgust for Feteau’s proclamation and pompousness.

A swifter glance confirmed that the lord’s icy immobile face was more than able to express total approval for the Chancellor’s words, forcing little Feteau to use a simpering tone as he strove to defend himself: Unlike you, my lord, Chancellor, I can no longer breed at all… so in its own way, this curse afflicts me as well! …and these modern times as you call them, makes my work impossible! People today, look at what I have to offer and laugh in my face!

The portly little minion shook his head sadly, puffing out his cheeks: Hitler has been dead less than a month… and sadly, I had no hand at all in any of his doings! …yet his evil has so infected the hearts of men, that even decades from now, it will seductively, delightfully poison their lives and many other lives as well! …and if mere men have become so rooted in evil… what need have they for one like me?

Fiery sarcasm saturated the Chancellor’s condescending comeback: There are still so many things you could do… assuming you really want to get off of that fat lazy butt of yours!

The obese one’s face erupted in anger and his beady black eyes flashed red, but as he moved to stand, the overriding desire for self preservation – the reality of the awesome power his companions wielded – instantly reawakened.

Hurriedly, he plopped down onto the cavern’s smooth stone floor.

The squishy sound as his bottom painfully smacked the hard stone and his posture of utter defeat brought malicious glee to the eyes of the two who knew beyond any doubt, that they were indeed the masters.

In the ensuing stillness, Feteau seethed until his emotions finally quieted enough for him to notice the restless brooding in his lord’s effortless pacing, and the subtle but relentless facial movements which hinted at the circling thoughts darting through the Chancellor’s cunning mind.

The little minion’s mind also raced furiously for he was determined to show his masters that he too was something special.

A being of power who had to be reckoned with!

In that moment, inspiration came.

Before it was even half formed, Feteau interrupted his own thoughts: Of course! We can use modern things to gain our ends!

The standing ones jerked their attention away from their own thoughts.

The lord confronted the minion, his unchanging voice demanding: How?

Only then did Feteau realize he had spoken too soon: Nothing… just yet, my lord… merely, sire… the beginnings of… an… ah… idea… sire!

Feteau’s lord was merciless: Speak!

Ah… I meant… mean… that… well, sire… since modern things are here to stay… we can… can we… somehow… maybe use them?

The Chancellor’s slowly articulated menacing growl thwarted even the hope of escape: How?

Feteau fidgeted nervously, bit his lip, puffed his cheeks, then stammered: I do not know just yet, sires! Please… Please! I just thought that a… well, maybe such things could be used… to… ah… to free your get from the land… or… and… then… maybe… sire? …and possibly… or… like that… if…

The fat little minion’s mumblings became as incomprehensible to his own cowering mind as to the others, until the lord’s icy voice silenced the mindless babble: Chancellor. Have you a thought?

Yes, my lord. For once, Feteau’s drivel might actually have some merit. Since I will soon be in position to investigate, I will do so. However, my lord, I do not expect the answers to come quickly even though the one we worship is now so openly manifesting his power and wishes in this world.

The lord started to speak, his approval obvious, but in that same instant, he shuddered and his words died before they were born.

In that second, he appeared to become flimsy, insubstantial.

Without word or warning, he turned and left the chamber, silently disappearing through a door that appeared in the wall at the far end of the cavern. A secret door which swiftly opened for him, then soundlessly shut without any apparent effort on the lord’s part.

All visible indications of this door’s existence disappeared with its closing.

Only after the secret door closed, did the Chancellor offhandedly turn to Feteau: Now that dawn is at hand, I too must leave. There is much I must do, so I cannot say how soon I will be able to return. After all, I must not give myself away to the sheep.

His decidedly wolfish grin vanished in a blunt decree: Make yourself useful by gathering the needed supplies. It will take decades to acquire everything regardless of what we decide… so start now.

As the seated minion looked at the powerful compact male who stood near him, the Chancellor’s body changed just a little to better show off the beginnings of a potbelly.

Concurrently, his face became rounder, to soften and wrinkle slightly with age in a manner that still revealed obvious cunning.

These changes reminded Feteau of the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing which the Chancellor truly was, and in this same train of thought, the little fat one cursed the fact that he – the Stupendous Magnificent Feteau! – was a mere lackey. An abject servant who must forever do the bidding of the two powerful masters whose every whim he served.

Inwardly he seethed, wishing that he was the one giving orders, making others jump to his whims and wishes.

Someday soon! Feteau thought, hoping and praying that the master of evil would finally reward his loyalty in such a befitting fashion.

However outwardly, he stifled these thoughts and quietly muttered: Immediately, sire! It will be as you wish.

He continued watching as the Chancellor, who did not even bother acknowledging the acquiescence, headed towards the twin passageways at the far end of the cavernous chamber. The two gapping openings hewn into the distant wall opposite of the wall through which their lord had exited.

In an instant, the Chancellor grabbed his travel pack from the floor and seemingly vanished through the opening on the right.

This passageway led upwards and though his moments were as silent as their lord’s, the speed of his passage was blatantly inhuman.

Only then did Feteau begin his own journey.

After easily heaving his ungainly bulk off the floor, he licked his lips in a most greedy fashion, then spat twice.

Once in the direction the lord had gone.

Once in the direction taken by the Chancellor.

Appeased by this safe display of disrespect, he acquired his own travel pack from the storeroom, then lumbered in the direction the Chancellor had gone, but entered the opening on the left.

The downward passageway that would take him to the forest.

Momentarily, he reflected upon the things his masters needed him to procure. The usual stuff. Items so obvious and self evident that there was no need to even mention of them or the amount.

Some of the items made him shudder in distaste, especially the deadly water, but he knew there was no way he could get out of procuring or handling those disgusting things.

Fortunately, obtaining them would be easy, though getting them back to these caverns might be difficult for now that the war against Nazi Germany was over, the Russians were obviously going to stay in Eastern Europe.

Feteau cut loose with a string of his favorite curses, for had Hitler won, the atrocities his fanatic followers were committing would have escalated the world’s evil to the point where it would have finally become sufficient to liberate his masters from the land and unleash them upon the world, not to mention the power that he, Feteau, would have gained.

Sadly, that had not happened and though Stalin’s atrocities were akin to Hitler’s, they were constrained inside of Russia’s empire and would remain so.

Ergo, that evil would only minimally hasten the antichrist’s coming, leaving them with only two options.

One was to wait for the time of the antichrist which would free them utterly.

The other was to try for freedom on their own.

Since the last option was the only one currently available, Feteau knew that his masters would pursue it.

Especially the Chancellor.

This made Feteau curse even more, the fact that he would have to work so hard to do what would otherwise have been so easy.

Still, there was never any doubt that he would succeed despite being slower and weaker than those he served.

Indeed, his hearing, sight, and sense of smell, were pathetic compared to theirs, but he was definitely neither powerless nor weak.

At least not when compared with the impotent sheep of this world. The egotistical beings who called themselves Homo Sapiens from the Latin word for man, linked to the word denoting wisdom, intelligence.

Beings who never questioned for a moment, their self centered belief that they were the only supreme and wise creation on this planet.

Its only meaningful inhabitants.

The only ones who supposedly had any significant role in creation.

Of course, Feteau knew better.

So too did his two masters.

By this time, Feteau had become so distracted by his own thoughts that he forgot to push the concealed stones that activated a secret latch.

In that second, he almost fell through the trap door that suddenly opened under his feet.

Thankfully his reflexes were sufficient enough to prevent him from tumbling into the pit, for it was filled with deadly metal spikes.

A bed of spikes that lay so far below that he almost could not see them.

This momentary dose of reality impelled him to curse his carelessness, then double curse the delay as he waited impatiently for the floor to restore itself so he could finally push the stones that would lock the floor in place.

By the time he began walking upon this momentarily safe, seeming unremarkable section of the passageway’s stone floor, his fickle thoughts focused where he was.

Though sometimes referred to as the caverns, and other times as the caves, their existence was a secret that had never been revealed.

Like his masters, Feteau knew that it had been secretly built centuries ago, in response to a genuine saint’s prophecy: You and those most loyal to you, will be killed by a mighty warrior who will roam freely throughout your kingdom.

Since this prophecy had been uttered in the king’s public court, the young ruler had seemingly graciously accepted the saint’s decree, but in actuality, he had not.

Instead, he had secretly chosen evil’s foulest path and become so evil that Satan had come to him the way God comes to true saints.

He in turn, had obeyed Satan’s commands to the letter.

These commands included his own transformation, then that of the Chancellor, followed by the making of these caverns as both a personal sanctuary and as evil’s foremost temple.

Naturally then, its making had been as cruel and vile as possible.

Even now, Feteau could recall the thousands of secretly enslaved workers who had labored over thirty years to complete this mammoth work.

Those who had not died in their chains had been sadistically killed to ensure that these passageways and their deadly traps would remain forever secret and some of these traps were the kind even he could not avoid.

Traps that would kill him in an instant if he was not careful.

This deadliness was the reason he had no choice but to practice caution, remembering from countless trips down this passageway, what to look for, where to stop, what to push or pull, and in what order.

Though he was now being fastidiously careful, he soon arrived at the secret door that opened into a small cave and from there, into the forest.

Once in the dawn shrouded forest, Feteau still had to proceed somewhat cautiously, for though the latest war to end all wars was indeed over, men still had guns and were more than eager to use them senselessly.

Naturally, this was a challenge he could easily survive as long as he did not become careless, since skill, knowledge, and physical prowess, were on his side.

Indeed, if anyone could survive, he could, for he had once been an advisor to pharaohs and kings, conquerors and would be demigods.

His was the ability to corrupt and deceive, to beguile and mislead, to trick and steal, and to always get his way with the sheep of this world.

He could do such things because he was a master of treachery and deceit, and the foremost champion of greed.

Even the Chancellor was inept compared to him and proof was that he had once been Feteau’s student and he still came to him for advice on such matters because few who had ever lived, were as good at this kind of evil as he.

Further proof was that he was so old that even his current masters did not know his original name, nor the deeds that had inspired him to change his name and call himself: Feteau.

Those vile deeds had so corrupted the ancient world that evil had toppled a golden age, allowing greater evils to come into being, including at long last, his new masters.

Thus it was only fitting that he had succeeded in living over five times the age of those who now ruled over him and this was due to more than just luck.

Avoiding complacency was the key.

Complacency had killed the others of his kind and he did not want to die.

He wanted to continue living for a very long time in the hope that someday, he too would finally become a master.

A vicious and cruel one, and the sooner, the better!

Glancing around, he noted that the forest was entering the fullness of late spring, which meant another warm day.

The only reason this was unappealing, was because it meant that men might be in the area, prompting him to head for a prominent mound so he could survey the land from its thick stand of trees.

Since this scouting confirmed that no one was nearby, he paused to look around.

On the steep eastern end of the elongated east-west hilltop behind the little minion, the ruins of his lord’s ancient castle were clearly visible.

Dark forbidding ruins from the now ancient past.

Ruins from one of the few recent periods that Feteau had been able to thoroughly and truly enjoy.

A time of truly satanic evil!

The truly rotten good old days!

Feeling a longing for the past, enhanced by self pity and the need for here and now vindication, he prayed to the one he worshipped: Send opportunity my way!

Of course the master of all evils did the expected.

He maintained his stony silence.

So too did the surrounding forest, so Feteau resumed his journey, heading east.

He had not gone far when an explosion shattered the calm.

Some animal or an inept human fool had stepped on a landmine.

Within seconds, far distant screams revealed that the victim was a man and that if he died, his death would be slow and painful.

This made it merely an alluring, but otherwise worthless event, so with a shrug, the squatish fat one continued walking, letting the injured man’s faint screams whisk him on his merry way until unexpectedly, the screaming abruptly stopped.

Its cessation caused Feteau to hesitate, wondering if he should go to wherever the man was – for a little while anyway – just to revive him for the sake of hearing him suffer.

Such painful agony was a sound he could never get enough of, but he decided against it.

He had too far to go and too much to do, for his labors would indeed take decades, even if the Chancellor was one day able to speed things along.

Of course, a more compelling reason to leave was that the Chancellor was likely nearby and Feteau knew that if he was caught being idle, his life would instantly be filled with the wrong kind of unpleasantness.

Besides, over five thousand years had taught him that there would be many other golden opportunities to fulfill this gratification and more.

Especially since he intended to live long enough to fully partake in the reign of the antichrist.

That thought made it easier for him to ignore the enticing lures of momentary pleasure and leave the area, continuing all the while to pray to the one he worshipped, begging, pleading, for a particularly special golden opportunity to finally just this once come his way.

2 : 1945 & Counting

Exiting the caverns via a secret door concealed deep within the deliberate ruins of the ruined hilltop castle, the Chancellor climbed the ruble and stood within the concealment provided by a crumbling battlement.

Becoming as still as the surrounding stones, looking south, he scanned the wide upland valley in which the castle’s hill was situated.

It was the end of May. The morning sun had yet to clear the mountainous eastern horizon and since its light only kissed the top of the distant eastern mountains, the forested valley was deep in shadows.

On the other hand, even had it been the dead of night, he would have easily seen the two men, each hunting in a different region of the valley.

One was roughly eight kilometers due south. The other was nearly twice as far to the south and about five kilometers to the east of the closer man as well.

Due to the war, food was scarce hence their presence deep in this informally taboo, supposedly cursed forest, was no surprise, and when it came to examining them, the Chancellor had no need for binoculars.

True, the man in the far eastern corner of the valley was a little indistinct, but it was easy to confirm that he was no one special and could be totally ignored since there would be no way he could interfere.

This was exactly what the Chancellor wanted because the nearer man looked like the one he was seeking – made possible thanks to the violent struggle for political supremacy which had begun almost before the German Army began its withdrawal.

This fighting had forced that man deeper into hiding than he had been, and this forest was so rugged, isolated, and remote, that it was the ideal place to hide in while in route to join his comrades.

Hide, because German patrols had sometimes come through, as did others, like the Iron Guard.

This forest was also a five day trek from the man’s childhood home, hence he had hunted here on occasion, so knew the basic lay of the land.

In fact, the likelihood of this encounter was what had impelled the Chancellor’s return, prompting scheming delight to dance upon his face as he ran two quick hands through his thick blond hair, testing to confirm that it was not too thick as he muttered to himself: How convenient!

Though the man was in reality a considerable distance away, he was closest to the cave through which Feteau would soon be exiting, and since the fastest way down was via the passageways, in an instant, stillness turned to action.

The Chancellor’s speed was almost faster than the human eye could follow.

Once past the secret entrance, he sped down the passageways, leaping over or running past every trap. His speed was so fast that he ran little risk of triggering them and no risk of being caught even if they were, for the only traps that could kill him were located in front of, and beyond the secret door his lord had passed through.

Thanks to these realities, the trip that had taken Feteau over ten minutes, was traversed in less than two and the Chancellor exited the lower cave so quickly that he saw Feteau’s blubbery backside as the annoying underling trudged into the forest.

It took far less than a second to race silently around and past the little minion, and as the Chancellor dashed deep into the woods, he knew that Feteau had not even guessed his presence.

Nor did the minion knew the full extent of his master’s prowess.

Especially when it came to speed and silent passage over vast distances.

Thanks to this effortless speed, the Chancellor soon turned south and swiftly came to the region where the man was.

He was almost ready to begin his hunt when the landmine exploded off to his right.

Keen hearing revealed exactly what had happened and he expressed his deepest gratitude to the master of all evils, the instant he heard the scream, since obviously, it meant that the man was still alive.

Better still was that Feteau was too far to the north to even attempt to claim this golden prize! Hence there was no way that little fool could interfere.

Despite the fact that the rolling rock strewn wooded terrain was against him, the Chancellor increased his speed, knowing exactly what he needed to do, for this region was more than just along a route he frequently used to reach the caverns.

The ruined village of his birth was less than a kilometer from this very spot, though those ruins were now almost totally indistinguishable from the forest.

Since the most direct route to the man was even more rugged, he considered gaining speed by changing form, but decided against it.

If some human he had not detected, just happened to be around this could lead to unacceptable difficulties.

Besides, it was still early in morning, giving him more than enough time and thanks to the man’s injuries, doing it would be even easier.

Using the screams to guide him, the Chancellor came unseen upon his unsuspecting quarry and considering the size of the crater the injured man was lying next to, he was in remarkably good shape.

In that moment, the Chancellor smiled, for this man was indeed the one he wanted, lending certainty to his belief that destiny and the one he worshipped were conspiring to create this golden opportunity just for him!

Moving with lightning speed and inhuman stealth, the Chancellor was behind his quarry in an instant, made easier because the man was vainly grasping his wounded left leg – in too much pain to even notice what was happening around him.

A perfect blow to the neck rendered him unconscious and after tossing his weapons just beyond reach, the Chancellor took a moment to confirm that they were indeed alone and that it would stay this way for quite a while, because the only thing he needed now, was time. Just under an hour.

Fortunately, the only human nearby was the other hunter and hearing confirmed that he was now over six kilometers away, giving the Chancellor both time and privacy to use to his inhuman skills, which was needful since the man’s injury were very serious.

He was on the verge of bleeding to death.

The Chancellor began by bending over the injured leg and opening one of the larger wounds so his saliva could flow into it.

Producing the needed saliva was easy, limiting its flow was not, for he needed to use as little as possible.

Only enough to assure healing and encourage affinity – not to take control – because a mindless zombie would be worthless to him and his cause.

Twice, he had to spit out the excess and start over before he could finally place his mouth upon the wound, but when he was done, he was secure in the knowledge that his victim had received as little saliva as possible.

There was not even the remotest possibility that this human would ever become his get.

The Chancellor then dressed the man’s wounds using a shirt from his own travel pack to make the bandages.

Pleased with the initial hints of healing, he took a moment to add a few additional lines and creases to his own face.

The last major wound was almost bandaged when the man groaned and opened his eyes.

In haste, the Chancellor placed a gentle finger over the man’s lips to advise silence and having lived with war’s realities, the injured one complied even as his eyes filled with alarm, for he indeed recognized who was tending him.

Softly, soothingly, rapidly, the Chancellor responded: I am sorry for hitting you so hard… but I barely silenced you in time! The Iron Guard are heading this way! They are the ones who planted these landmines in the hope of killing me… and if you scream now, you will give both of us away! We are very fortunate that they have not found you already… given what they will do to you if they capture you… given what they will do to me!

The Chancellor expected and ignored his victim’s confusion: Your worst wounds are bandaged. You are very fortunate that I happened to be passing nearby. You would have surely bled to death or been captured, had I not heard the blast and chose to investigate despite my own fears and concerns.

The man’s mature face reflected the intense pain of his injuries, but his voice remained rational and sardonic: So you can drag me before your right wing fascist firing squad and claim a hero’s reward or redemption?

The Chancellor stiffened, then apparently decided to ignore the barbed query.

Instead, he concentrated upon the remaining wounds, working in silence.

Once all of the wounds were bandaged and the healing had taken enough of a hold that he would not lose his victim, he noted: The Iron Guard thought so highly of my loyalty and dedicated service, that they broke into the house where my wife and daughters were hiding. After doing the unspeakable, those men dragged them into the street, naked, then shot them, proclaiming their deaths to be a warning to all traitors.

The wounded man looked at his rescuer for a long moment before inquiring: How do you know this?

The Chancellor sighed as pain dance upon his face: "My older brother went to get them, intending to move them to a safer location. One we hoped would protect them from the search that the Russian army obviously plans to do.

He arrived in time to witness the vile atrocities and because none of those guardsmen saw him, he was able to escape and tell me. Those same bastards killed him… several days ago… but with me, they have not been so lucky… and trust me… I intend to live just long enough to make each and every one of them regret the day they were born!

The wounded man took a moment to reflect upon the Chancellor’s words.

Reliable sources had long ago confirmed that the brother of this man was among the highest ranking members of the Iron Guard.

Therefore, if the older brother’s death could be confirmed, it would mean that that the rumor of a bloody power struggle within the fascist ranks was true and actually expected.

Now that the big war was over, the fight to see who would emerge as Romania’s ruler was underway and everyone knew that while the presence of the Russian military favored communists who had always been loyal to the Russians, whomever won the national power struggle could change their stripes and would be totally acceptable as long as they were ready and willing to do Russia’s bidding.

Hence the predictable end result: This battle for supremacy was bloodier and more bitter than the war. Often, it was brother against brother and trust was rarer than gold as each group worked to purge from itself, the shaky alliances that the German invasion and occupation had necessitated.

Of course, within each group, power hungry individuals fought to secure for themselves alone, total and absolute control over their own organizations and the Iron Guard was living up to its brutal reputation.

Given these realities, the injured forty eight year old man asked his rescuer: What now?

The Chancellor took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

His expression was one of looking inwardly back upon a life which in one sudden unexpected instant, had totally betrayed him, turning everything he had worked so hard for, to ashes, leaving him with nothing.

After a long silence, he acknowledged: "I know you cannot trust me enough to let me join your organization, but I can still give you information.

"Information that can assure your success and that of your comrades too.

"In case you are not aware of it, I was Marshall of Security. I had access to very high level intelligence… not just on the Guard, but on all of the others, including things about you communists that even you do not know!

"Therefore… what I have is the kind of information that can help assure the ultimate political victory everyone wants… and the new leadership of the Guard knows it. Also known is that my ultimate loyalties were to my brother and my family… which is why when they decided to kill my brother, they knew they would have to kill me… but as you can see, they have failed… and the truth is that I know far more than they even suspect.

For the right price, I am willing to give you all of this information. Even you know how superior the Guard’s intelligence network was and knowing what they know about you and about all of the others…

The Chancellor let his sentence and its lures dangle in silence as he helped the wounded man sit up, then gave him water from his own canteen.

Afterwards came the question: Where are your papers?

Only a fool carries papers.

What is your price?

Avenge the death of my family… especially, my older brother!

As the Chancellor splinted the injured leg, he had no trouble maintaining the grim expression on his face. Nor did he have even the least bit of difficulty keeping secret the fact that his secret orders had assured the brutal rape and execution of his wife and daughters.

Just as covertly, he had ordered the death of the one other human who needed to die in order to further his current plans.

A man who had been hypnotized many years ago when he was a very young child, into believing that the Chancellor was his younger brother. A man whose entire life had actually been spent doing his younger brother’s bidding.

Even in death.

A nine day journey returned the wounded communist to his comrades.

During their journey, the seemingly happenstance killings of several Iron Guardsmen further ensured the Chancellor’s personal success and though the wounded man was only a mid-ranking member within his organization, he was popular and well known and his safe return was cause for jubilation.

As expected, in spite of all he had just done, the Chancellor was only grudgingly trusted, which was all he needed.

He was content to stay on the outside, feeding information to underlings the man sent to him, then more and more often, directly to the man whose life he had saved.

This information enabled that man and his comrades to confirm, capture, and execute all right wing spies within the Communist Party.

His knowledge and suggestions led to the revelation and elimination of other subversive elements from within the communist ranks.

More information permitted and enhanced a secret deal with the Russians, assuring the demise of all remaining right wing groups and potentially disloyal left-wing and independent subversives as well.

What made this deal even nicer was that the Russians quietly and not so quietly did the bulk of the dirty work, assuring that all resentment would be aimed at the Russians, not the Romanian communists.

Concurrently, internal opposition within the newly created National Democratic Front – solely a communist organization – was easily