The Vorbing (23 page)

“Man fell from grace with his creator when our ally, the serpent, tempted him in the Garden of Eden,” Deadulus said, leaning forward. “Now, this place is where the final battle will take place between us and his precious humans.”

The vampires dragged their clawed feet along the dusty, mossy floor of their lair, muttering approval.

“They use the word
human
as an excuse for their imperfection,” Deadulus continued. “Tonight, we shall remind them of their lowly place. We will not allow the disease of civilization to eradicate us.”

The vampires reached full hysteria as their bloodlust raged within them. Deadulus rose to his full height and stretched out his massive wings.

“We vampires are the shakers of worlds and the conquerors of universes!” Deadulus said, as he dripped with pride. “We were here at the beginning of this world, and we shall be here at its end and beyond. We are as omnipotent as the deity that mankind worships, but more powerful. We are their god’s guilty reflection as the humans are as his favourites created in his own image. Let us rededicate ourselves this night to rending that image asunder, as it offends our divine eyes. The vampire is the rightful ruler of Heaven, this world, and Hell below!”

Deafening screeches of support came from the vampires.

“We must crush these mortals once and for all this night,” Deadulus said, reaching his peak, “and reassert our dominance over this land that they have forsaken. Come, my vampire brethren, let us fly and fulfil our destinies. Death to all humans! Spare none from our wrath! Not even the babe in its mother’s womb!”

Deadulus ran through the pack of vampires and took flight as the others followed their king into battle. The solid rock face of Vampire Mountain dissolved into an opening that Deadulus soared through. The other vampires hopped down the passageway and were airborne behind their master in seconds.

A drop of rain hit Vlad’s hand. When he looked down, he saw a trickle of blood on his skin. He dismissed it as a briar cut sustained on the ascent. Another drop of rain hit his face. Vlad touched the moisture with his hand and saw blood again on his palm. More and more drops of rain fell. It was raining blood. Vlad’s men panicked.

“Raise your shields above your heads,” Vlad commanded. “Keep going.”

Vlad’s men did not listen, so he calmly put his shield over his head and continued the climb. “I will fight alone if I have to,” Vlad said. “I am not afraid.”

              It was the right gesture at the right moment. One by one, the men raised their shields over their heads and followed Vlad. The blood rain ceased.

“See?” Vlad said, lowering his shield. “A charlatan’s trick for simpkins. If we are determined, we can’t lose. Now, come on!”

Vlad and his men stopped in their tracks. Dark figures emerged from the mist. It was not the vampires. It was the ghostly army of the men who died at McLintock’s Spit. Vlad’s men stared in wonder at the spirits of their lost loved ones and friends. The ghosts stood deathly still ahead of them, gripping their weapons. Cowls covered their bloodied faces and heads. A man stood in the centre of the ghostly army. It was Adam Ingisbohr. Vlad gasped when he saw his father. The distant, fading memories of Vlad’s parent were replaced by new ones of seeing Adam before him again. Vlad thought he would not see him again until he got to Heaven.

              “Father, you’re alive!” Vlad said with astonishment.

              “No, not alive,” Adam replied. “I have come to warn you, son. Leave this place before it is too late and before you join us in eternal damnation!”

“Damnation?!” Vlad said. “You did nothing to deserve damnation. You gave your lives so we could live.”

              “I speak the truth,” Adam insisted.

“You are not my father,” Vlad said suspiciously. “A foul vision is all you are. Away! Back to Hell with you!”

              “Don’t throw your lives away as we did,” the spirit said.

              “Be gone!” Vlad said, turning his eyes away in exasperation.

“Very well,” the spirit said. “Consider yourself warned. On your own heads be it. You are all going to die, all of you!”

The spirit rejoined the others. They faded back into the fog. A rumbling sound began. Vlad looked up to see a tsunami of blood splashing over the peak and edges of the mountain. Vlad’s men backed away and looked behind them as if to run back down the mountain.

              “Stay where you are!” Vlad insisted.

              The volume of blood was immense, and as it built up it spilled over the top of the mountain and rolled down towards Vlad and his men, who retreated.

              “Stop!” Vlad insisted. “We will be okay. There is nothing to fear.”

              The crimson tsunami increased in size and speed as it neared Vlad and the others, and it grew to a terrifying height. Vlad’s men turned and ran, but Vlad sighed, took two paces forward, and held out his arms in a cruciform pose. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” Vlad said, “no evil shall I fear.”

Vlad closed his eyes as the tidal wave of blood towered over him and engulfed him. Vlad’s men cried out at the loss of their leader and waited for the wall of blood to sweep them away, too. It did not happen. Everything went quiet, and when they looked up, the tsunami was gone. Vlad stood there, still alive, with his arms still outstretched. He opened his eyes, took a relieved breath, and looked around at his men. They stared at Vlad in disbelief. The only wave striking them was a small one of shame for doubting and deserting him.

“Another trick,” Vlad said with indignation. “There’s nothing they can do to stop us. Follow me!”

The Nocturnians cheered and followed Vlad. They climbed until they were right before the mist barrier. A cry like an eagle’s echoed from within the mist. Vlad and his men stopped.

“Slingshots!” Vlad commanded, and he and his men produced their weapons, fitted them with rocks, and spun them furiously and released them. The rocks shot into the mist, and the wounded cries from within told Vlad they had found their targets.

“Down!” Vlad shouted as he hit the ground. “Archers!”

              The others dropped to the earth, too, although some not as fast as others. A pair of talons emerged from the haze, and the man beside Vlad had his throat ripped out by a vampire so fast that no one saw it. The speed and viciousness of the attack stunned Vlad and his men. One vampire after another emerged from the mist. A curtain of arrows from far behind Vlad killed six vampires, but more emerged from the mist to replace them. The arrows almost hit Vlad’s men, and he held off calling for the next wave of arrows for fear of friendly fire. The vampires were crafty and remained as close as possible to Vlad’s forces to nullify the threat from the archers. Vlad knew that he and his men would be slaughtered if they remained in the open. The air superiority the vampires enjoyed gave them a supreme vantage point of the battlefield in all directions.

“Retreat to the trench!” Vlad shouted as he barrelled down the mountain with his men following behind him.

              Vlad heard the snorting of a vampire at his back and felt the cold, foetid moisture of its breath on his neck.

              Sir Pierre de la Costa appeared further down the mountain. “This way, Vlad” he shouted. “I’ve brought help!”

Norvad looked on from a safe distance behind a cordon of soldiers. The knight had been good to his word and brought him back with him.

The vampire’s claws hammered into Vlad’s back, sending him toppling headfirst into the mountain. Vlad put his hands out to break his fall but smashed his head off a rock sticking out of the mountainside.

“Vlad!” Pierre said. The knight had anxiety etched all over his face for his fallen comrade. The blow to Vlad’s head rendered him unconscious. He continued to tumble and fall until he landed in the safety of the trench. Pierre rushed to help him. Vlad did not move. The vampire that knocked Vlad out saw Pierre and seized him by the shoulders and lifted him out of the trench.

              “They’ve taken the knight!” Gatov shouted. “Retreat! Retreat!”

Chapter Eighteen

Vlad opened his eyes to find them blinded by a white light. The only sound was the howling of the wind and his heartbeat. Vlad still physically was on the battlefield, but he felt disconnected from it, as it was a giant blurred landscape with muted sounds. It all moved slowly, as if in a dream. Vlad saw a figure beckoning him from beyond the fighting. He looked around the battlefield, and when he looked back, Vlad saw the figure had moved closer to him. The figure was his father, Adam Ingisbohr. Intuition told Vlad it was his real father and not the fake vision sent by the vampires to confuse and deter him.

“My son,” Adam said. “You have moments to defeat Death. You must fill your mind with the things that matter to you. Think of the people you love that still live, or you will end up staying here for eternity.”

Vlad scanned the battle-scarred faces of the apparitions in front of him. They were far more dishevelled and skeletal than the figures that presented themselves to him earlier. The tattered, bloodstained peasant garments they died wearing billowed in the chill wind. Some, their faces partially or fully torn away, writhed with pallid maggots. Others bore the bite marks of vampires and had deep, weeping gashes ringed by flaps of grey skin that fluttered like flags of surrender in the breeze. Vlad knew the real men of McLintock’s Spit were before him. Had Deadulus sent them, they would not be telling Vlad how to rejoin the living to fight vampires. Vlad stared at the possible near future of himself and his men.

“When your mind is set,” Adam continued, “you must pierce the veil between the living and the dead. Only a genuine desire to return will succeed.”

The motley crew then parted to let something through. It was Death itself. The gleaming blade of its scythe first became visible, and then its grinning skeleton face as its enormous black robes scraped along the ground. Death had come for Vlad Ingisbohr. It was an entity far more powerful than Deadulus and his kind. Adam Ingisbohr and the warriors of McLintock’s Spit faded from sight.

“I cannot help you now, Vlad, think of Ula and your men,” Adam said. “They are your last hope, and you are theirs.”

Vlad drifted towards the figure of Death. He tried to grip the ground, but nothing stopped him from sliding towards the very emblem of finality. Vlad knew if he left his men alone, they would be massacred. He came to a halt in front of Death, and the rotting stench of decay filled his nostrils. Death gripped Vlad’s throat with its bony fingers. Vlad looked into Death’s lifeless black eye sockets as he felt darkness completely surrounding him. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind and thought only of his love for Ula and his comrades. Then, he heard something.

“Vlad, are you all right?” Gatov said.

Although it was muffled, Vlad recognised the words and the familiar voice.

“I think he’s dead,” Gatov said. “What do we do now?”

The sound became clearer, as if some blockage in his ear was freed. Hearing they thought he had died made Vlad fight harder to get back and show them all he was not. “I want life,” Vlad said. “Please God, let me live.”

The noise of battle grew in intensity. When the sounds of battle reached a crescendo, Vlad opened his eyes. A transparent membrane blocked Vlad’s re-entry to the mortal world. Vlad took a deep breath and burst through it. Death screamed and lunged after him, but it was too late. Vlad Ingisbohr was alive again and ready to fight. Consciousness streamed back into his body the moment he burst through.

Chaos reigned in the trench where Vlad had fallen. As vampires swooped overhead, Vlad’s desperate colleagues peered down at him. Gatov slapped Vlad’s face to rouse him. Vlad opened his eyes.

              “It worked!” Gatov screamed in disbelief. “Did you see what I did? I brought him back!”

              “Stand back,” Vlad said. “Let me breathe.”

“They’ve taken the knight, de la Costa,” Gatov said. “Shall we retreat to Nocturne?”

              Vlad shook his head to dispel any remaining grogginess and put his hands on his knees. “Where is Pierre?”

Gatov pointed to the northwest side of the mountain. Vlad got up and saw a vampire in flight with its claws in Pierre’s shoulders as the knight struggled to free himself. Pierre had a burning torch in his hand and tried to burn the vampire with it, but the creature was too strong and knocked it from his hands. Vlad picked up his bow from the ground and took an arrow from his quiver on his back.

“Hurry, he’s going to clear the mountain!” Gatov said.

Vlad took aim and fired, but another vampire got in the way and took the hit instead. Vlad took out another arrow. It was his last chance to save Pierre, and it raised the stakes. If he missed, he never would see his friend alive again. Vlad knew the slightest tension in his body would cause him to miss. So, as he took aim, he let all the tension go away from him and absolved himself of responsibility for the outcome. He told himself he would fire the arrow, but where it ended up was in the hands of a higher power. All he had to do was trust that his faith was stronger than the forces of darkness, and he would be successful as he always had.

The vampire carrying Pierre was a great distance away. Vlad had to extend the bow back as far as it would go to get the maximum thrust to cover the ground between them. The bow shook a little from the pressure his stressed arm and shoulder muscles were exerting on its frame. It was possible the vampire was out of range and that the arrow would not reach it. Vlad was about to release the arrow when movement in his peripheral vision made him stop.

It was Gatov chattering in his ear again.

“Quick, Vlad,” Gatov said. “If he disappears into the fog bank on the mountain, you’ll never get him.”

“I don’t need to see him to hit him,” Vlad said, as he stared with confidence at his target.

“What?!” Gatov said in disbelief.

Vlad calmed himself and closed his eyes.

Gatov’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

“God, guide my hand,” Vlad said as he let the arrow go.

It shot over the heads of Vlad’s men, most of whom were oblivious to the key moment going on above them. The vampire flew into the fog bank, still gripping Pierre. The arrow gained ground on them and also disappeared into the fog a second later. What happened after that became obscured. Nobody knew if the arrow had struck the vampire or Pierre or missed them altogether. They heard the sound of something massive falling to earth, which could have been anything with the conflict going on around them.

Even if the noise was the vampire crashing to earth, another problem presented itself. If Vlad’s shot had been deadly accurate, the weight of the dead vampire landing on Pierre might have injured or even killed him. If the fall had killed Pierre, Vlad had weakened his army and lost a good friend and mentor. The fog bank remained as impenetrable as before and refused to yield up its secrets. After an agonising wait, a bloodied figure emerged from the thick fog. The figure had something in its hand and raised it. It was Sir Pierre de la Costa, carrying the head of the vampire that had the temerity to take him. Vlad’s men cheered, and Vlad sighed and smiled.

Pierre wasted no time, and took an arrow from his quiver, fitted it to his bow, and lit it from the torch he had dropped. Vlad wondered what Pierre was aiming at, as he saw no valid target. Pierre then fired his arrow at the centre of Vampire Mountain, and an enormous crucifix that Pierre and the others surreptitiously had formed with pitch earlier ignited. The vampires shrieked and hid their eyes from the blinding light and cruciform shape they despised so much. It deprived the vampires of an area to land on Vampire Mountain and created a safe haven for Vlad and his men. Vlad smiled at the cunning of his friend. Pierre ran back to rejoin the others, hacking and slashing with his sword as he went.

Gatov blessed himself and fell to his knees with his hands joined. “Oh my God, did you see that?” Gatov asked. “It’s a miracle! Vlad asked God to guide his hand, and he did! Vlad hit the vampire in a fog bank with his eyes closed!” For once, words failed Gatov.

Vlad turned to Gatov and the others. “When are you people going to believe in me and yourselves?”

Gatov felt himself being hauled to his feet by Vlad. “Now, come on!” Vlad said. “We have a battle to win!”

Deadulus hovered at the head of his vampire column. He looked back at them with his muscular arm raised. When it dropped, that was the signal to dive on Vlad’s army and attack. He hesitated when movement caught his eye. A lone figure in white appeared at the top of Vampire Mountain. It surprised Deadulus, but did not frighten him. His reaction was swift, and he sent one of his vampires to investigate. The figure on the mountain was Bishop Hopkins. He stood with his eyes closed due to his fear of heights and vampires, and raised a trembling hand. The vampire sent by Deadulus detected the bishop’s blood and closed in for the kill. Had the bishop’s eyes been open, he would have fled the scene, as the vampire descended at terrifying speed towards him. It had its talons outstretched and its fangs bared. Bishop Hopkins gave his blessing in Latin and made Vampire Mountain consecrated ground. Seeing that, the vampire tried to halt its descent, but it was too late. It landed on Vampire Mountain, burst into flames, and disintegrated. His work done, Bishop Hopkins disappeared around the peak and fled.

Deadulus, aware he had been tricked by Vlad, let forth a roar of such rabid rage that it burst the eardrums of some of Vlad’s men on the battlefield beneath him. Dark blood streamed down their cheeks and the backs of their necks. Deadulus saw a fireball from one of Vlad’s trebuchets soaring skywards towards him, and he put himself in the path of it. For a moment, Vlad thought the NightLord was going to allow it to kill him rather than continue on fighting.

Vlad should have known Deadulus better than that.

When the fireball was feet from him, Deadulus held out his huge claws, and a blue force field seemed to appear between them. Deadulus trapped the fireball in this force field, and it grew to about ten times its original size. All of Vlad’s men took cover, fearing that Deadulus would launch this massive fireball back at them and cause severe injury and death. Deadulus did not do that. He turned his back on Vlad and his men with the huge fireball still under his control. Vlad wondered what the target was. Deadulus soon revealed it by hurling the fireball at the village of Nocturne, far behind where Vlad and his men were.

“No!” Vlad cried.

Despite the wise evacuation of Nocturne, Vlad did not want to see his beloved village damaged or wiped from the map. The fireball entered the ground at incredible speed in Nocturne Village Square, starting minor fires in the surrounding properties. The ground shook, and several of Vlad’s men fell over from the impact. The ground did not stop shaking, and the vibrations grew bigger and more powerful. Vlad was amazed that Deadulus seemed to have the power to cause earthquakes. Just as soon as the eruption started, it subsided. Vlad looked at Deadulus, and the NightLord stared back at him. Vlad had evicted the NightLord from his home. Deadulus was trying to return the compliment, but nothing seemed to happen. Deadulus had missed everything of strategic and sentimental importance to Vlad. All he had done was create a vast crater in Nocturne Village Square. Vlad knew it could be filled in and the scorched buildings repaired.

              Vlad picked up a bloodied, double-edged battleaxe on the ground in front of him. “God, guide my hand,” Vlad said, as he spun around in a circle and hurled the axe with ferocity at Deadulus.

              The axe spun with incredible speed towards Deadulus. Vlad and his men saw it was on target, and they all took steps forward with fevered anticipation.

              “It’s going to hit him!” Gatov said.

              The axe got closer and closer to Deadulus. They were certain it would kill the NightLord as they watched in disbelief.

“Die, Deadulus, die!” Gatov said.

The axe was about to strike the object of their ire down for good.

As if swatting a fly away, Deadulus grabbed the battleaxe and hurled it back at Vlad, twice as fast and twice as strong. Vlad’s men scattered. Although Vlad tried moving out of the path of the incoming weapon, he wasn’t quick enough. He turned his head at the last moment as the blade of the axe grazed his cheek. It churned up huge amounts of earth as it disappeared into the ground behind him. Deadulus roared with defiance, and Vlad roared back wiping blood from his cheek.

“I’ll kill you!” Vlad said. 

Vlad beat his chest with his fist and made hostile gestures at Deadulus, miming out tearing the NightLord limb from limb. Deadulus felt the new experience of a twinge of fear deep inside him, but hid it well. Vlad’s men let out wild cries of support. At last, they had united against their oppressor and fought back as one under the right leader. All of them felt a charge of excitement go through them at the strength they felt in numbers and the capabilities of the Ingisbohr boy.

An enraged Deadulus looked around for a revenge weapon, but halted his fiery search with an uncharacteristic smile and calmed himself. Vlad did not like it. Then, it started; it was faint at first but became very noticeable. Lava flowed from the crater in Nocturne Village Square, and something was floating upon it.

Vlad strained to see what it was. His eyes widened in horror. Demons from Hell of every kind oozed up on the lava; some walked on two legs, others on four, while the rest crawled or slithered. Some had wings and some did not, others had horns and others did not. They were fiends of every description, and it chilled Vlad’s blood to see them walking abroad in his village. Deadulus, Satan himself, had called up reinforcements from the bowels of Hades. He had Vlad surrounded on two sides, trapped between the claws of a scorpion.