REVENANT (Descendants Saga), Page 4

  He commanded the gate to open, which it did, knowing the sound of the king’s voice. A shimmering transparency appeared before him. Kron passed through without delay, arriving within the medieval village of Wolf’s Bane.

  Sophia arrived within the throne room only moments after Kron’s escape. Tom and Charlotte flanked her on either side, being sure to provide her protection all the way through the battle. Donatus came behind, wearing the armor he had long ago placed in the Forge at Xandrea. He had meant never to need it again. However, he would honor the debt he owed Sophia’s father from so long ago when Lycean had saved his life.

  One of Redclaw’s warriors that had been dispatched to sneak invisible into the palace and guard the gate portal, lay dead with a deep gash in his head from a battle axe. The other had clearly been fighting with someone a moment ago. He looked disappointed in himself.

  “Kron?” Sophia asked.

  “The Lycan killed Thaugar and escaped through the portal,” the warrior reported. “I tried to stop him, Princess.”

  Sophia nodded gravely. She turned to the others. At least her friends were safe. But her people were still in a battle outside the palace walls.

  “Donatus, my people are innocent in this,” she said. “But they will fight to the death defending Tidus from invaders of any sort.”

  “Speak, Princess, and they will hear you,” Donatus said. He raised his hand, stretching his fingers to the sky.

  “My people,” Sophia began. Sure enough, Donatus somehow managed to transmit her words so that they filled the air. Throughout the city, Sophia was heard by all. “Do not resist the elves and trolls who have come to safeguard my arrival in Tidus. I have come to avenge your king, Lycean, my father. Kron has deceived us.”

  Throughout Tidus, Lycan soldiers and civilians stopped fighting with the invaders to listen to their princess speak truth to them as she explained the meaning of these foreigners in their beloved city. The trolls and elves also relented from the battle, waiting to be sure that the Lycans would comply. They had, after all, not come to do battle with any except those who defended Kron, or threatened the princess.

  “Peace to you and be still,” Sophia continued to say. “Together we will come to the truth of these matters. There has been much deception by those working with Kron. I will meet with our council elders and we will sort out these matters. Until then, please be patient and allow these warriors to aid us in restoring order to Tidus.”

  When she had concluded, Donatus lowered his hand. “We’ll be gentle with your people, Princess,” he said.

  “I thank you for your help,” Sophia replied. “In the meantime, we might work on protecting the gate portal from Kron. He may attempt to bring other soldiers through in order to retake my father’s throne.”

  Donatus approached Tom, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I think we can do something about that,” he said. “We won’t attempt to destroy the portal, but we can certainly conjure some defensive wards on this side to divert anyone coming through. If Kron brings an army that way, he’ll lead them into a frozen wasteland in the mortal world instead.”

  Sophia smiled. “Thank you, Donatus. How soon before you must go back to Xandrea?”

  “I believe the wards around the city have done their work well. None of Kron’s soldiers were able to pass within Xandrea’s walls. As a matter of fact, my High Guard had them on the run, before I and my soldiers came through the outer borders of Tidus. Your father’s private portals in the Dark Forest were invaluable for getting us here.”

  She smiled, though a tear escaped down her cheek. Sophia looked back to her father’s throne. She had lost so much. Her father, gentle and kind, was gone, and she was left with no choice but to attempt to replace him for the good of her people.

  Sophia imagined him upon that throne again in his royal splendor. She could not help but also picture the young man she had first met in this throne room nearly a year and a half ago. He had seemed so lost in a world of wonders he was just beginning to understand.

  So much had happened since their first meeting. She had fallen in love with him, and he with her. More tears tried to come when she thought of him now. He had gone into the angelic prison of Tartarus over six months ago. Despite Donatus reassuring her that he and Oliver might still be alive, she knew in her heart that it was not the case.

  He would have come back by now, she often told herself. Even Donatus had once told her that Brody would come back to her if he was able. Six months had passed. He had to be dead, or something worse, in that awful place. She would never see him again, and she wasn’t sure if she could bear it. Only her duty to her people and her father’s memory kept her going now. This was all she had left.

  Hageddon

  Grayson Stone arrived at his meeting in a Town Coach in Saint Petersburg, Russia. He had communicated previously with the Russian Tsar, Alexander III, about matters important to both Russia and the British Empire. Reports of London’s woes had spread throughout the European continent, as well as North America.

  As an English lord and a central figure in British politics, Grayson had the kind of clout it took to gain an audience with the tsar. Even his desire to meet at a secret location had not been denied, since he claimed that assassins had dogged his progress across Europe and into Russia. Considering the Romanov’s family history, and the fate of Alexander’s own father, this story was not at all far-fetched.

  The truth was far less sinister. Grayson had arrived in Saint Petersburg by a transdimensional portal. Now that he had become one with his father, he possessed quite extensive abilities beyond his own as a Descendant. Lucifer’s power flowed through him, allowing him to do things he never could before.

  While in England, Grayson had required mortal transportation, a steamer ship, in order to cross the Atlantic to America. Now he could simply walk through the spiritual plane from one location in the mortal world to another. He had been adept at portal creation before, but nothing like this. In every way, his bond with his father had made him greater than any Descendant in existence.

  Snow was heavy upon the ground, making his passage through the streets of Saint Petersburg silent as a whisper. Despite the cold, Grayson remained warm. A spelled coach took care of the matter easily. The darkly clad driver sitting up top was nothing more than a glamour. His horses required only his will to direct them in their course. However, it was always best to keep up appearances.

  There were no people out at this late hour. The cold kept them indoors and perhaps something more. Rumors of Nosferatu were common in this part of the world—truth be told, as common as the vampires themselves. Though they were scattered here and there—not at all the organized settlement lorded over by Tiberius.

  These were renegades, at least to some extent. They had extricated themselves during wars of the past and gone their separate ways into the cold, dark countries of northern Europe and the Russian Empire. Gradually, groups had reformed as some saw the need to band together for safety’s sake. Families of vampires also grew in number here, some even taking power over mortal governments in certain regions.

  Grayson’s carriage drew near to the imposing edifice where he had been instructed to meet with the Tsar of Russia. Saint Isaac’s Cathedral towered over him and his horses as the carriage came to a halt before the church. Completed only forty years earlier, Saint Isaac’s featured a late neoclassical style and had been ordered built by the tsar’s grandfather, Alexander I, to replace an earlier church.

  Consequently, the tsar and his family had a special place in their hearts for the church—though not for any worship of the God of Heaven. They knew the secrets of its construction and made use of it as necessary, particularly the catacombs beneath it. As was often the case, much more happened in the dark within these ancient cities than the common mortal understood.

  Exiting his carriage, Grayson looked up to the tall dome that crowned the cathedral. Adorning the golden dome were a total of twelve gilded angels. The irony of the
situation was not lost on him. Angels would indeed be present at this meeting tonight, though not the kind fashioned by the hands of men.

  He walked quickly up the wide steps, wasting no time getting out of the frigid night air. The door of the cathedral opened to him and closed behind him. He was expected, of course.

  No one was visible in the cathedral, though a priest lived on site in a rectory. Likely, he was mortal and privy to none of the tsar’s activities. Still, he may have known enough, or had been instructed to remain in his place during certain hours when the tsar’s family made use of the church for their own means. Grayson grinned when he thought of the man residing in his small apartment, praying fearfully over his beads while sinister forces prowled the hallowed halls of the darkened cathedral during the wee hours of the night.

  Locating the stairs that would lead him upward to the interior of the dome took only a moment. Grayson decided that he would forego that bit of exercise for the time being. He vanished from the ground floor among the many conscripted paintings and reliefs, reappearing in the midst of the chamber beneath the gold plated dome.

  Alexander III was already present in the room and, for a single moment, appeared startled by Grayson’s sudden appearance. The tsar was nearly six and one half feet tall, cutting an imposing figure. Indeed, the build of this Alexander reminded Grayson of another back in London whom his father had inhabited briefly.

  Crimson eyes flashed in the dark, and Grayson knew that others had accompanied Alexander to the meeting. Bodyguards most likely, or family members. He did not really care. Every vampire would soon know of what was about to transpire in this cathedral tonight.

  Alexander Romanov moved from the shadows into the meager glow of the available torchlight. He wore a beard much like his ancestors and was dressed in royal finery, despite the nature of this meeting. Vampires had claimed authority in Russia through Alexander’s ancestor, Peter the Great. Apart from Tiberius, there was no greater house among the Breed than the Romanovs.

  “I have come to hear your proposal,” Alexander said in a deep voice.

  “But not alone as I requested,” Grayson said.

  He knew Alexander’s temper to be legendary, but he wasn’t about to be intimidated by a vampire, no matter what power he held in the mortal world. Grayson was, after all, the son of Lucifer himself. Whether mortal or Descendant, all were beneath him.

  The sets of crimson eyes staring at him from the dark moved in closer. Grayson barely stifled his laugh. “Will you now attack the son of Lucifer?” he asked. “I thought your family wiser than this, Alexander. Have I come with my father’s grand offer to a house of fools?”

  Alexander fumed silently while Grayson waited. Would he be forced to wipe out the Romanovs tonight? It was unlikely, but one could never quite know the stupidity of the ones you were dealing with. Some creatures were enslaved by their pride, while lacking the necessary power to enforce their will on those insulting it.

  The tsar relented, motioning ever so slightly for his fellow vampires to back away. They obeyed immediately. Grayson smiled in an amused way, letting Alexander know that any threat he and his Breed might have posed a moment ago was of little consequence to this Son of Anarchy.

  When he spoke again, Alexander’s tone was more considerate of whom he was addressing. “Your offer?”

  “The Fallen are bringing real power into the mortal world again,” Grayson said.

  Alexander’s eyes grew wide. “How is that possible?”

  “My father has provided the means,” Grayson said proudly. “All you need to know is that Hageddon requires a vessel.”

  Alexander tensed noticeably at his. “But is he not consigned to Tartarus?”

  “Indeed,” Grayson said. “That is precisely why he needs a vessel in order to inhabit the mortal world again. You have been chosen to fulfill that requirement.”

  “Why would I even consider doing such a thing?” Alexander said.

  Grayson smiled darkly. “Power, of course,” he said. “Power like you have not imagined. I am serving now as such a vessel to my father, Lucifer.”

  A measure of palpable fear swept over the entire room among Alexander and his vampires. The tsar took a step back from him. Grayson’s smile widened.

  “Imagine your enemies feeling the fear you now have,” Grayson said. “You would have the power to crush all who stood in your way.”

  Alexander appeared to consider this possibility. All men love power. They lust for it, no matter how much they may already possess. The vampire Tsar of Russia was no exception.

  “And what price would be exacted for my compliance?” Alexander asked. “What would I have to do once the deed was done?”

  “Nothing besides adding Russia’s allegiance to me,” Grayson said. “Britain will fall into chaos while I come to power in America. Hageddon will call all of his ancestors to aid in bringing death across Europe.”

  Alexander puzzled. “To what end?”

  “All nations will look to me as a savior of mankind,” Grayson said. “This is the will of my father. It is your privilege to honor him and become a part of this great plan.”

  Grayson concluded his proposal. He knew Alexander to be a shrewd man. The tsar would not simply leap from uncertain cliffs without a full understanding. Grayson stood and waited for the inevitable question. A moment later, it dawned upon Alexander to ask.

  “And should I refuse this great privilege, what then?”

  The son of Lucifer grinned devilishly. “This offer cannot be refused.”

  Alexander straightened. He clearly got the meaning of Grayson’s threat. If he did not accept this role in Lucifer’s plan, he would not live to see another sun rise over Russia.

  “Kneel,” Grayson commanded.

  The room shook when he spoke, and Alexander found himself unwilling to disobey. He came to kneel before Grayson and then closed his eyes in expectation. Grayson laid his hand upon Alexander’s forehead.

  He enjoyed the power of this position. All eyes were upon him in the room. He was the conduit, the bridge between Tartarus and the mortal world. His father had entrusted all to him.

  He felt the wellspring of Lucifer’s power open through him. From a great distance, Hageddon was drawn from his imprisonment through the spiritual plane and into Grayson. But he was not the vessel. Hageddon continued on his way into Alexander—the entire process occurring in no more than several seconds.

  Alexander reeled backwards, as though struck by lightning. There were no convulsions, just unconsciousness. Grayson watched for a moment along with the vampires in the chamber with him. Gradually, Alexander began to move.

  He came awake, possessing a new light in his eyes. The transference had been completed. He stood upon his feet again, stretching his limbs like they were new to him. Looking around the room, Alexander smiled at what he found. He was a new creature dwelling in the mortal world.

  Spotting the vampires, he said, “My children.”

  “Whom does Hageddon serve in this world?” Grayson asked loudly. He wanted this matter settled quickly. Fallen angels were predisposed to rebellion if given the opportunity. His father’s problems with Mr. Black were one recent example.

  Alexander looked at Grayson, taking in not only the Descendant standing before him, but the Prince of Darkness residing within the young man. “Lucifer,” he replied. “What is thy bidding?”

  “Gather your children, Hageddon,” he said. “Spread death across this nation and all of those within your reach. When the mortals cry for a savior, turn their eyes toward me in America.”

  Alexander nodded to Grayson, accepting his charge. Turning to his vampires, he said. “The call goes forward beginning with you. My children, come so that we may feast upon the blood of mortals as one.” This word and thought went out in the room and throughout the spiritual plane to all who were descended from Hageddon. Only time would tell how many would respond, but they would know his voice.

  His part in the matter finished, Gr
ayson vanished from Saint Isaac’s Cathedral. He reappeared inside his warm Town Coach outside. Snow had begun to fall again, adding to the ponderous amount already blanketing the sleeping city.

  Grayson commanded his horses to drive him back to his room at the Astoria. The price for his part in conveying the Fallen Ones from Tartarus into their chosen vessels on the mortal plane was a severe fatigue that would soon catch up to him.

  He would require several days sleep and a few hardy meals in order to get his strength back. Such were the limitations of a mortal existence. Even the abiding presence of his father’s spirit sapped him of his natural energies. Fortunately, what drain Lucifer had on him was more than made up for in the additional power his presence bestowed—essentially taking one step back to every ten steps forward.

  He could already feel a wave of heaviness attempting to overtake him. The horses pursued their course, knowing the way they had come in order to bring their master to the cathedral. He sat back in his seat, trying to relax as the carriage made its way.

  Two days later, when Grayson would check out of the Astoria, multiple reports of gruesome attacks would be spreading like wildfire throughout Saint Petersburg and its outlying villages. Within one week those attacks would fully encompass Moscow as well. Within one month, all of Russia and its neighboring nations would be reeling from thousands of murderous attacks, crying out for someone to save them from these troubles. The uninitiated would wonder what sort of villains were at work. Those with understanding would know them as demons of the night: Nosferatu.

  Grim Hope

  We walked from the grounds of Grayson Stone’s estate until we felt we had come a sufficient distance to prevent anyone from catching traces of our portal. Traffic on the roads had increased somewhat as the day wore on, so we exited the well worn path, walking into a patch of trees.