Saints Of Satan Chapter Sixteen

I awoke with a familiar face above my own, and frowned. The emerald green eyes sparkling down at me, and red hair tumbling over the sides was unmistakable, however impossible all the while. My heart leapt, and I grasped my lost love at arm’s length, simply wishing to see her face a little while longer.
“John?” came a gruff voice, and immediately Maria’s face washed away, leaving only the harsh features of Makar before me. I soon realised I was still smiling up at him, and quickly turned it into a frown.
“How long was I asleep?” I groaned, stretching out slowly and looking about. I had been taken into a small sleeping quarters, the bed left undisturbed however with destroyed shelving and splinters scattered over the floor.
“A few days, but you needed the rest Haruk,” he said, helping me to my feet. My moment of serenity was ended quickly, as memory of the image on the wall and Francis’ supposed intentions hurtled back to life.
“Come,” I hissed, grasping his arm, “Fetch Lord James and meet me in the Great Hall, we must discuss this before it is too late,” Makar nodded, and hurried off. I silently cursed after him, wishing he had woken me sooner, however grateful for the rest I was.
Ten minutes later I paced between the aisles of the seating area, deep in thought. The moment seemed surreal, as I had done the same action many times before in the very same place, thinking over urgent matters that seemed minute compared to what I was now thinking through.
The doors opened sharply, and Lord James paced in, followed by a brow furrowed Makar. The two of them understand the importance of my hail, and immediately sat down beside me. I felt too unnerved to follow suite, but stopped walking and stood before them.
“We have little time if I have assessed the problem correctly,” I began, my voice harsh and quick, “it was no mere coincidence that Francis took the realm, let loose half his force to their deaths only to simply leave before we came,” Lord James frowned, but nodded for me to continue.
“We assumed he had left because of fear of death, lack of power, or simple cowardice. Now I know little of this bastard, but I can see now he’s not as smart as he thinks he is. He did not take the realm out of pure malice, he had different intentions,” I turned and quickly jabbed a finger at the wall, and then leant in close.
“Think of the prophecy!” I whispered in James’ ear. His reaction was like clockwork, as his eyes leapt from my own to the drawing on the wall, he finally screwed his eyes tight and clasped his head in his hands.
“I do not understand,” Makar began, but I cut him out, speaking urgently to Lord James.
“If he has it, then all he will need is the blood of the guardians on the night of the winter solstice to…” I exhaled deeply, and Makar again queried me.
Turning around and staring at the crudely drawn devils face, I opened my mouth to tell him, however Lord James beat me to it.
“To tear down the gates of hell,”

The stone let loose a faint click as I pressed into it, and after a moment the pillar we were stood before moved slightly. I nodded to Makar, and together we heaved the ancient pillar aside.
Lord James immediately entered through the ominous hole where the pillar had once stood, a secret passageway created long before even our human life’s. Makar followed, still perplexed by the situation however content with what we had discussed for the past hour.
“There can be only one reason for Francis being here,” I had said, staring them both hard in the eye. I turned and directed my gaze on Makar, “What I am about to tell you is something not even the majority of our own brethren knew, a secret bestowed only upon those in power in our realm. You know little of my past, however I once held great power among our people, to the extent I was about to become a Lord the same as James here,” Makar nodded, the flickering light of the torches dancing in his stern eyes.
I turned to Lord James, and he nodded for me to go on.
“Many generations past, in a great battle between our ancestors and the clans to the far east, our clan came across a great power. A weapon, handed down by the gods themselves, a weapon of such power hidden so not even probing humanity had found it, with all their lust for knowledge. An ancient village, hidden amongst the mountains of the eastern world, so deep within their grasp it was nothing short of a miracle that our ancestors found it. The story is long, and we have little time, so I will sum it up in few words, not enough to do it justice however enough to convey the importance of the find.
“Our ancestors had been waging a war much alike many of that time. Each clan wanted power, each sought it through battle. Unfortunately, the eastern clans were many, strewn out across all the land, with no central command but for a single clan that stood more powerful than the others. We had been losing, the foreign evil pushing us far back into their own territory, until only the commanding Lord and five of his most battle hardened veterans remained.
They found themselves, in an abandoned village, so old nature had almost fully consumed it, however, by an act of the gods, the Lord, Bassurech, came across a burial chamber, hidden amidst the grasps of the jungle. The enemy close behind, they hid inside thinking only of survival, however they found inside it something of great power,”
I paused, shaking my head as thoughts of Francis crept back. Lord James coughed slightly, and after a moment I blinked hard and continued.
“They described it as the ‘hand of God’. They claimed after a few days of study, with the enemy literally outside the very door, it saved them. The story changes with each telling, and there is little insight into how the device was used, however all describe some sort of power being used which left all but our ancestors alive. The group headed immediately back here, and it has been stored within ever since,”
I shook my head, and followed close behind, quickly grasping a torch from the wall opposite. The thin corridor I found myself was moist, the walls covered in a thin layer of grime. I had been there only once, the week before I was to become a Lord. Lord James had not been many times before himself either, and we each felt the sting of nerves as we made our way down a gradual slope, perhaps it was for fear of the power that had lurked there or the fact that if we found nothing it would mean Francis now beheld a power so great it would make the very gates of hell tremble.
After a tense few minutes we came upon a door, about the height of a short man, braced with thick iron and made of thick oak. Lord James frowned, and then pushed on it slightly.
With almost no sound the door swung open on its hinges. He turned back to me, and shook his head sullenly. We carried on through the doorway, stooping low, and emerged in a cramped and much cluttered chamber.
“I was not expecting this,” murmured Makar, as he picked up a small wooden trinket from a heavily packed shelf, its ancient hinges appearing to struggle under the expanse of old prizes stored by Lords past.
“As with all things of tale, time took away the weapons meaning. Before long Lords had forgotten its purpose, only that it must remain within this very room. It was only when we learned of the prophecy that we returned here to search for it, and guard it accordingly,” said Lord James, burrowing into a pile in the far corner. I did not allow myself to hold any hope for it being there, and instead studied the room for anything of use.
The small chamber was literally filled with artefacts of every kind, ancient blades that Lords had used in wars of old, jars filled with the blood of past war heroes, Lords and even a few dark chests encasing that of different beings and dangerous enemies of the clan.
Makar was eyeing a strangely designed battle axe, its curved shaft bearing crude drawings of battles and such fought millennia ago. I shuffled past him and held it aloft, the sinister blade battle worn and smothered in dust. I blew softly, revealing the feint gleam of the once magnificent weapon.
“Here,” I said, passing it over. Makar eyed me carefully, but took the axe in his hands and looked upon it in awe. Lord James looked shrewdly over his shoulder in disapproval, however continued to search much to no avail.
“This is a fine weapon, the likes of which I of all people should not be allowed to bear witness to, yet alone hold,” murmured Makar, handing it back to me carefully. I stared at him with a slight smile for a moment, and then placed it back.
Makar nodded slowly and turned to leave, and I followed close behind, however as I was about to leave Lord James grunted happily. I spun on my heels, shocked that he had found it so easily, even with the knowledge Francis had been there not so long ago. My mind whirred, thoughts leaping in and out of focus, could it be fake? Could Francis had overlooked it simply as another trinket?
“Easy now lad, it’s not what you think,” growled the ancient vampire, carefully lifting something from amidst the pile. I frowned, unsure of what he meant, until I saw.
Lord James held a beautiful weapon aloft, even without its original gleam the blade looked magnificent. A thin blade about an arm-and-a-half in length run like flowing water from the handle, made of a sturdy metal and razor sharp. The handle of the sword was long and smooth, bound with leather straps which merged with the blade itself. Lord James held it out for me, and I took it slowly from his hands. It was surprisingly light for its size, and I held it out straight, its tip scratching the wall opposite slightly.
“The blade of Bassurech himself,” murmured Lord James, and nodded for me to sheath it. I removed my own battered blade, and looked down at it. The weapon now seemed insignificant compared to Bassurech’s, however I appreciated all it had done for me.
After a moment I placed it alongside the axe I had shown Makar, and then sheathed the other through the loop in my belt.
“It is an honour to carry this sword,” I said, smiling at the old Lord across the chamber.
“Nay,” he murmured in reply, “It is an honourable sword for an honourable vampire,”
I nodded my appreciation, and then turned to leave once more. As I did, however, a thought occurred to me.
“How could Francis have known? About this, about the weapon?”
Lord James shook his head grimly, and then looked me hard in the eye.
“A traitor among the Lords,” he spat, and then walked past me into the corridor. Makar and I looked at each other, and then followed him up towards the great hall.