Crusader

Crusader

Book One of the Vault Saga

By Gary M. Truslow

Crusader

Book One of the Vault Saga

By Gary M. Truslow

Edited by:

Erika Atkins

Damien Davis

Kelly Fleshman

Laurie Hardy

John P. Roberts III

And

Kristen Truslow

Illustrations by Kyra Rising

Cover Art and Photography by Mike McCuen

PCA Research

2015

Copyright © 2015 by Gary M. Truslow

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Printing: 2015

ISBN 978-1-312-82575-8

PCA Research

4806 Ravenswood Road

Riverdale Park, Maryland 20737

www.pcar.com

Disclaimer

All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Given the monstrous nature of many characters herein, you should sleep better knowing this. Real places are used with modifications to serve as the settings for fictitious events. They are probably very nice places in real life and are not intended to resemble the nasty places described in this book.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my friends and family, who encouraged me to go out on a limb and actually write a story. It is also dedicated to my daughters to whom I say, go out and create the things you want to create.

Acknowledgements

I wish to thank Laurie Hardy for encouraging me to start this book several years ago, and for having the patience to stand back and let me work when the time came to finish it. Her inputs were my inspiration for a major plot point in the story.

I wish to thank Mike McCuen for the art work and photographs he has donated to the book. He and I visited several cemeteries to gather material. By that I mean photographs and nothing else! Mike and I have discussed many creature designs over the years. The results of those discussions have influenced much of my work. I’d also like to thank Mike for his time and expertise in the labour intensive task of preparing a book for publication.

I wish to thank Al de Medeiros for his inspiration to set the opening in Lisbon, Portugal and for his insight into Portuguese history (and a little of their profanity where needed). I also thank Al for his service to our country as a career officer in the US Navy. The armed services keep our country free so that you and I can write anything we please.

I wish to thank all of my friends for answering the occasional odd questions I posed as I wrote this and their feedback when I discussed some points in the story.

I wish to thank Kyra Rising for her art work at the beginning of each chapter. Kyra read the chapters and created a snapshot image of a scene that caught her attention. Consider each drawing a moment in time from the chapter ahead.

I wish to thank the authors and creators of horror and supernatural fiction in all of its forms. I also wish to thank my many friends who have shared with me the things that they found scary. I have special scenes in my work with many of them in mind.

Finally I want to thank the late Jonathon Frid for showing me at a very young age that vampires can be polite, evil, cruel or benevolent at any given moment. Bringing the tormented undead Barnabas Collins to television created the most memorable vampire ever.

Preface

When people think about monsters, everyone has their own vision of what they find appealing. From a serial killer’s brand of intellectual evil to the tormented unlife of the gothic vampire, the spectrum of available archetype villains has something to offer us all.

I hope to present the reader with a dark world of beings both human and supernatural that are entertaining and sometimes surprising. The characters in that world are often hostile toward one another. You can pick who you want to live, and who you want reduced to ash. I often don’t know if I will kill a character off until the final minute as I am writing their fate. I won’t lie to you. It’s not easy being in that world. A lot of characters are going to die.

Just as we are motivated in the real world to do what we do, the characters in this world are driven to do what they do. Sometimes unpleasant things must be done. If a character enjoys or anguishes over a particularly act, it speaks volumes about that character’s values. Perhaps you’ll find a character you can identify with. With luck I won’t kill him or her (at least not right away).

My highest hopes are that you will stay up too late reading this. You’ll want to know who lives and who dies. You’ll invest some modicum of emotional attachment to someone in the story. Last of all, I hope you’ll look forward to the next volume in the series. This has been fun for me. I hope it is enjoyed by you.

- Gary M. Truslow

Chapter One: A Time for Offerings

The things I have done chill me to my very soul. I have seen evil and rather than recoil, I embraced it in the name of power.

-François the Adorned, The Lisbon Book

A cold wind blew across the dry meadow on a small hill north of Lisbon, Portugal.  Tall grass moved in waves as it swept through the moonlit landscape. It was March in the year 1103.

A wooden church stood starkly silhouetted against the beautiful night. Although no sounds were heard from the outside, the flickering of lights from within showed that the building was occupied.

The church had served the small Portuguese farming community for the past 300 years.  It had grown from a dirt-floored wooden hall to the humble structure that now stood alone on the hill. To the south, the Moorish city of Lisbon would not have tolerated its presence. Until tonight, the followers of Islam did not care about the church and had left it in peace. That was about to change.

It stood as the Christian place of worship for the farming community nearby. It was larger than usual for a rural church and had been favored by a minor lord in the years past. The structure had benefited for many years from his family’s donations until the line died out some three decades ago. Now it was suffering from neglect and decay. It was too big for the peasant congregation to pay for its upkeep and too unimportant for the Catholic Church to care.

Inside the church a different community was meeting. That community stood in stark contrast to the peasants that normally gathered there to worship.  Special steps had been taken to prepare this building for some of its guests.  They normally could not enter a church. In fact, they could not set foot on hallowed ground of any kind be it mosque, synagogue or Viking temple. Belief of the faithful held them at bay. Many of tonight’s visitors were undead. Structures on hallowed ground were barred to their kind and they usually could not cross the threshold. There were exceptions to this rule.

Earlier today a desecration had taken place, costing the life of an unborn child. In one heinous act, all of the remnants of sanctity were swept away and the shield of faith broken. Inside the church, all trappings of Christianity were covered so as to not offend the occupants. The building was well prepared for the special guests of this night.

The three highest ranking and oldest of the known vampires would be present. They were the only remaining Elders of the original eleven vampiric orders. They had survived since the day of the Trespass, when the first vampires were created by the blasphemy of the Old Order. The Elders were descendants of fallen angels. They embodied the strength of the holy alongside the vices of the profane, bearing power that was undeniable. Every vampire measured their strength by how many generations they were removed from an Elder. The age of a vampire did not enhance their strength, but it was an indication of their wisdom and cunning.

Over the centuries, the Elders had issued the edicts upon which all vampiric laws were based. The edicts were created to protect vampires from human society and to provide guidance in times of peril. They were one community and the acts of one affected the outcome for all.

The other eight Elders had been discovered and destroyed over the centuries. Their many enemies hunted them down one by one. The Elders struck back when possible and most who dared oppose them died. But sometimes their enemies won. Many more enemies still hunted the Elder vampires and their progeny. This kept the Elders locked in a war of attrition that they would inevitably lose.

After the Elders in rank, were the Archons. Each Archon controlled one of the ever-warring domains. The court of an Archon could be composed of vampires from many different orders although some were known to work better with others. As time passed alliances were created and broken. Archons changed as domains grew and were diminished. The position of Archon was transitioned from one vampire to another, usually taken by force. Such changes often left piles of ash and pools of blood in their wake.

The Archons bestowed titles, duties and smaller fiefdoms upon their followers. Through strength of blade, fang and claw they maintained a ruling hierarchy, enforcing the laws that benefited them all. The first and foremost law among vampires was not to be discovered by humans.

A stocky, well-muscled man stood outside the entrance of the church. His short, black, curly hair was not affected much by the strong winds. The night air did not chill his olive-brown skin. He had not felt cold for nearly 1600 years. The man was called Demos by the few that knew him well enough to be given that privilege. More often, he was called by his formal title of ‘Crusader’. It was the highest rank a vampire warrior could hold. Demos was the oldest of the Crusaders and oversaw the training of the others.

If an Elder desired a Crusader for their service, they carefully selected a Knight to begin training. That Knight would be sent to train under Demos. Few of the Knights completed the training successfully and those who failed, never survived. The low survival rate kept the number of Crusaders small.

Most Crusaders were bodyguards and personal agents that acted on the behalf of an Elder. A Crusader might even serve as an assassin when ordered to do so. Since Crusaders were often called upon to carry out difficult and dangerous tasks, many of them had been destroyed.

Powerful Archons were granted the services of a Crusader if their domain was large enough to justify it and if they won an Elder’s favor through some service. Demos served Caderyn, the Caledonian Elder.

Demos peered into the darkness around him with deep brown eyes.  He was lightly armored under his thin cloak.  A plain sword hung at his hip, on a belt devoid of decoration.  The well-worn handle showed this to be an often used weapon and not one intended for ceremonial purposes.

In the distance three men moved stealthily toward Demos and the church. Two of the men were Moorish scouts, clad in light, padded cloth, the bare minimum of armor. They were Bilal and Faruq, volunteers that had joined a band of soldiers hastily gathered yesterday. The sole purpose of that band was to attack the church tonight.

The third man was an unlikely guide for them. He was Joaquim, a Christian monk who had been sought out for his familiarity with the local area. Lord Trael, a Moorish noble from the holy land had contacted Joaquim and told him of a terrible cult that would meet in the church on this very night. Trael paid Joaquim well to show the Moorish scouts the location. The monk hated the Moors but he hated the idea of allowing a church’s desecration even worse. If something evil was happening in a Christian church, Joaquim wanted to stop it, even if it meant leading heathens. The money Trael paid him was of no consequence. Joaquim would give it to the church in due time.

The monk led the scouts to a tree near the edge of a meadow. Across the meadow they could see the church in the moonlight. Faruq grabbed Joaquim’s shoulder and stopped the monk from moving any closer. He spoke to the monk in Portuguese, This is far enough. I can see the church right there. You can wait here for now. We’ll be back in less than an hour.

Bilal stopped when Faruq grabbed the monk. He did not speak Portuguese well enough to understand what Faruq told the monk and waited impatiently for his own instructions. Bilal wanted to kill Joaquim as soon as they knew where the church was, but Faruq was in charge and had told Bilal not to harm the infidel.

Faruq switched to his native Arabic language and gave new orders to Bilal. We’ll split up now and get a closer look at the church. Don’t kill anyone unless you have to. If you must kill someone, do it quietly. We don’t want our presence discovered. Return here after you have scouted the west side and rear of the building. I will move farther to the east. If the infidel’s description is accurate, that’s where the stables are. I’d like to see how many horses are there.

What of the infidel monk? asked Bilal How do we know he won’t alert them after we leave? This whole thing stinks of a trap.

If it were a trap, they wouldn’t kill us. They would want the rest of our men too. Besides, Lord Trael did not tell us to kill him, so we must assume he wants the monk alive. Now get moving. Captain Ghazi wants our report as soon as we can get it back to him.  Faruq drew a short, straight, double edged sword and began heading toward the east side of the church. He made every effort to be as quiet as possible while moving at a moderate pace through the tall grass.

Bilal also drew his weapon, a slightly longer curved sword. He began creeping toward the church, bearing off to the west side, in order to circle the building.

Joaquim watched nervously as the Moorish scouts moved off silently into the darkness. He pulled up the hood on his robe to fend off the chill in the night air. The monk could see his breath due to the falling temperature. Joaquim brought his hands up and tried to warm them with his breath.

A wave of fatigue swept over the monk. Joaquim leaned up against the tree and tried to clear his head. It was very late and Joaquim was having trouble staying awake. He felt his eyes closing but continued to fight off the urge to sleep. The monk stood straight up and turned away from the tree. He was startled to find himself facing a pretty, young woman. The moon was shining down on her short, auburn hair, creating gentle highlights. Her hazel eyes sparkled in the dim light. She was smiling at him with an almost quizzical look on her face.

Senhorita, this place is not safe for you tonight. Where is your home? asked Joaquim in Portuguese.

The woman’s name was Malena and she did not understand the monk. She only spoke Gaelic, French and some basic German. She was a Knight from Ireland and currently acting as an emissary to the gathering.

The Knight stepped toward the monk and reached up slowly toward his face. As she reached toward Joaquim another wave of fatigue and lethargy overcame him. Malena pulled back his hood to reveal the monk’s head and face. Joaquim was an attractive young man. She briefly mused about what a waste it was to burden him with celibacy.

Joaquim tried to speak but he couldn’t do more than half-whisper, Who are you?

Malena leaned her face closer toward the monk. Joaquim began to collapse from the languor that overwhelmed his senses. Malena wrapped her other arm around his waist. She was much stronger than anyone would have expected. When her lips reached his neck, she bared her teeth. They grew rapidly, becoming razor sharp and wolf-like.

Joaquim felt an exquisite combination of ecstasy and pain as she sank her teeth into his neck. Malena knelt down, cradling him in her arms as she shook her head, tearing open his throat. She quickly bit him again, deeper the second time. The monk’s youthful vitality was delicious and she intended to take all of it.

The Gael continued sucking and draining the blood from Joaquim’s gaping wound. Pulses of the monk’s hot blood splashed across her face each time she released him and then bit again. It ran down her chin and dripped back onto Joaquim’s clothes.

The pulsing became weaker and weaker as Malena fed, until it stopped altogether. The vampire wanted more, so she kept biting and tearing at Joaquim’s throat. She chewed harder when she hit bone, pulling with her teeth until his head was completely severed. It detached, fell to the ground and rolled a foot away from the body to lie still in the grass. Joaquim’s face stared with unseeing eyes up into the stars.

Malena slowly reached her hand out to retrieve the severed head. She carried the head and dragged the body back under the tree and carefully arranged the monk’s corpse so that he appeared to be reclining against its trunk. Just before