Sacred Blood

Prologue - I

A sudden urgent rap on the door halted the whispering company into a rapid stony silence. A feeling of dread loomed large and every face inside paled with apprehension. Dorian froze in the act of writing in his diary and looked once at the door and once at an ornately carved crib set right in the middle of the room with fear in his eyes. He bit his lips nervously and rose from his seat at the writing desk and went to stand with his back to the crib as if guarding it.

Lord Ferdinand rose from his seat and silently gestured the company to be prepared. Each person in the room drew out a bright golden blade with a small crescent moon indentation at the top. It was a Chromata – chosen weapon of the high nobility. Another urgent rap sounded upon the door.

Lord Ferdinand advanced cautiously towards the high, heavily bolted door, paused, cleared his throat and said in a clear, carrying voice,

“The paths grow infernal -”

From outside the door, a voice replied with intense urgency,

“But hope is eternal! For goodness’ sake, open the door! It’s me – Gregory!”

The company inside heaved a sigh of relief as Lord Ferdinand nodded at a raven haired man with stern features and startling blue eyes who sheathed his Chromata. With a wave of his hands the bolts on the door unlocked themselves of their own accord and the tall and wiry Gregory rushed in as soon as the door opened and slammed it behind. The bolts fell into place of their own accord again.

“There’s no time – we need to move! He’s coming.” Gregory blurted out in one breath.

“What! He is coming? He himself is coming?” cried Lord Ferdinand “How is this possible? He-he ... our sources say that he is in Vladivostok – he is not even here! And he could not have known!”

“Our sources have been compromised,” said Gregory through gritted teeth, “It was Oscar’s son. He sold us all out. Oscar’s northern line of defence was broken through and Oscar and his wife Marlene were captured and executed. I’m sorry Dorian, I really am.”

A visibly paler Dorian clutched at the bars of the crib to keep himself steady. He looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. Oscar was his older brother and last remaining family.

Gregory continued, “From there he got access to our other battlements too. They have raided our hideouts and slaughtered each and every one of our loyalists. I speeded up ahead of them, but I have been closely followed and they know where I am! They are going to be here any minute now, we need to flee!”

He looked around and saw a group of petrified men and women stare back at him. Dorian looked on the verge of collapse.

“Dorian, I understand your loss but there will be time for mourning later! Come on, people!” Gregory cried out in desperation, “There is no time to be spared! We need to get away!”

“And where would we go, Greg?” Ferdinand’s wife Yvonne asked slowly.

“Don’t jest, Yvonne! There’s the whole wide world out there and you can’t think of a place to escape to?”

“I do not jest, Gregory Gottfried Byrne.” Yvonne replied sternly, “Our strongholds at Kiev, Basque and Sarajevo have fallen and from your recent intimation of Oscar and Marlene’s fate, so has Wittenberg. There has been no news from Cardiff for the last eight months and Augustus over here doesn’t even know if his wife and children are alive!” The raven hair, blue-eyed warlock raised his head at the mention of his family; his once bright and light-spirited features now replaced by a stern, cold, dangerous look, his face had a haunted appearance, like that of a man living a nightmare.