The Four Realms (7 page)

"Magic needs power," the wizard told his students, "and that power is a substance called..."

"Mana," the acolytes said in unison.

"Very good," the wizard continued.
 
"In order to cast a spell one must first find something to extract mana from it which is..." he pointed at one of the acolytes indicating for him to answer.

The boy looked nervous to be singled out.
 
"A blade of grass?" he stammered.

"No!" shouted the wizard with a force that made the boy jump.

"It's nature," Maureen tutted to herself under her breath, remembering those lessons Ernest and his friends used to bring round.

"Nature, boy," the wizard shouted.
 
"Venefasia is unique in that it is full of Mana.
 
Our plants practically ebb it."

"But sir," asked another boy, "if it is in such abundance, why can't everyone use it?"

"Ah, because only men and elves have the power to
wield
magic."
 
He stressed the word 'wield'.
 
"Dwarves, trolls, fauns, centaurs, even women... they all can't wield magic.
 
No-one knows why.
 
I guess it's just one of those things, like how the Realm of Men has no mana."

There was a murmur amongst all the acolytes.

"Quieten down," ordered the wizard.
 
"Now we're going to practise some very basic magic using a blade of grass as a power source to create the illusion of a butterfly.
 
So is everyone ready?"

There was another murmur and the wizard looked round the room to check everyone had their blade of grass ready.
 

In doing so he finally caught sight of Maureen, whispering the incantation she'd known for so many years under her breath.

"Oh I'm sorry," he said to her, sounding more angry than apologetic.
 
"Can I help you?"

The acolytes turned round to all look at her and Maureen was suddenly very uncomfortable with the attention on her.

"Don't mind me," she said.
 
"I was waiting for the Abbott, and the door was open, and..."

"Well I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside," the wizard now turning red with subdued anger as he stamped his way through the class toward her.
 
"Magical spells are secret and are to only be taught to acolytes."

Maureen was about to tell him that was no excuse to forget his manners, but she was aware of a presence behind her.

"It's alright, Patrick," the presence said.
 
She turned to see a tall, thin man, his jet black hair only just starting to grey.
 
His beard was bushy and untrimmed, and his eyebrows thick and heavy set, casting a shadow over his beady eyes.
 
Behind him she could see Joseph bending down to look through the doorway.

"Abbott Rofen," said the wizard stopping in his tracks.
 
"How nice of you to drop by.
 
Class, where are your manners?"

Yes, indeed, thought Maureen still smarting from the rebuke, where were the manners?

"I'm afraid I won't be stopping," Rofen said with a wave of his hand.
 
"I'll take Ms Summerglass out of your way and you can all carry on with your spells."

The wizard nodded but stood waiting as the Abbott lead Maureen out of the room and closed the door behind him before continuing.

"Now where was I?" he said scanning around the room to make sure that he had his students' attention.

"Williams," he screamed at a boy at the back of the room, distracted by a ghostly butterfly flying around his head.
 
"You were supposed to wait!"

 
"But, but I never..." said the boy looking back toward the door.

CHAPTER SIX - The Fall Of The Vampirwaffen

It was widely considered that vampires were fearless. However, seeing the aide that woke him cowering like a child, Metzger felt there was still a long way to go before that was universally true.
 
The aide was right to cower; nothing made Metzger as angry as having his sleep disturbed.
 
However
, thought Metzger, as he tried to open eyes clamped shut by sleep,
the aide knows this also and wouldn't wake me unless it was absolutely necessary
.

"What is it," he mumbled, his brain still trying to engage his lips.

"Your Excellency," the aide said in hushed tones.
 
"I am most dreadful for waking you from your slumber but something has occurred which needs your most undivided of attentions."

Metzger rubbed his eyes and blinked a couple of times, trying to get his eyes to focus.

"What?" he said, wishing the aide would just get to the point.

"Oh dear," the aide said, like someone trying to find the best way to break bad news.
 
"You appear to have a visitor."

"A visitor?"
 
At this hour?
 
Visitors were not uncommon at the Vampire Council.
 
They had one of the best dark libraries in the Realm of Men, and then there were their many trade and diplomatic liaisons, something Metzger himself had been keen to bring in when he took over as head of the Vampire Council.
 
But he had teams of staff to do all that, anything that needed his attention was scheduled months in advance.

Metzger wasn't, if he was honest to himself, a busy man.
 
He'd put in structures and management to ensure that the Council worked smoothly, but with minimum involvement.
 
He only need get involved in the big policy decisions.
 
In an organisation that through history, had killed off their leader every couple of years, this was perhaps surprising, but Metzger found the structure worked very well.
 
He could easily identify those that strived, those that might want to usurp him, and deal with them accordingly.
 
Death wasn't always the answer; he didn't want people who succeeded to always be eradicated.
 
Where was the use in that?
 
No, instead, he merely wanted to keep them busy, such that they didn't have the time to plot.

So the very idea of having an unannounced visitor intrigued him.

"This isn't something someone else could deal with?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"No sire.
 
He is most insistent that he speaks with you.
 
And," he added rapidly, "I know your Lordship's concerns but it is the fact that he walked into the lobby that made us feel you should be awakened."

The Realm of Men was without mana, and anyone who claimed they could do magic here was a liar and a fraud, but that didn't mean there weren't ways around it.
 
It was Metzger himself who had discovered that the gateways to the other Realms let mana into this world like a draft.
 
Not enough to do serious spell craft, and it seemed to die off pretty much as soon as it arrived, but there was enough to power something like a small protection spell.
 
In the Realm of Magic it wasn't anything a first year acolyte couldn't dispel, but here, where there was no mana to cast such a spell, it was incredibly powerful.
 
And so Metzger had commissioned a spell placed over the Vampire Council, powered by the gateway into the Realm of Hell that existed on the floor below.
 
Which made the fact that someone had just walked into the lobby, very worrisome.

"I want Vampirwaffen in place all around the upper balcony," he said as more people arrived to help him dress.
 
Cowards, probably waiting around the corner until the aide had woken me
, Metzger thought.
 
One of them nodded to Metzger's command and disappeared back out the room.
 

"Sire, is it wise going to meet this man?" the aide asked, helping Metzger into a huge ornate dressing gown that even he sagged under the weight of.
 
"If he has penetrated our defences, who knows what he might be capable of."

"If he can penetrate the spell, then I'm sure I would already be dead if that was his aim," Metzger replied.

"Even so, sire.
 
Do you need to go in person?"

Metzger eyed the aide's staff, who were helping him on with his slippers.
 
"Perhaps I should send one of these cowards who waited whilst you came and woke me?"

The aide coughed.
 
"My master is not without his temper, sire."

Metzger laughed at this, as he rotated his neck to crack the sleep out of it.

"Even more reason why I should face the intruder myself."

In truth, Metzger had very little choice.
 
The vampires weren't very forgiving of weakness and demanded that their leaders be strong.
 
And if he hadn't been leader, he'd still be head of the Vampirwaffen.
 
Same shit, less politics.

In many ways he missed his old job.
 
It had been he, under instructions from Hitler, who had gone to the vampires and made the deal that had led to the creation of the Vampirwaffen – and not without a lot of resentment from the traditionalists.
 
But when the Fuehrer had turned on his supernatural elite fighting squad and ordered the eradication of the Vampires, those same traditionalists had turned to him to lead them out of Budapest and to safety.
 
The new Naya Vestu some had called it, as if their mad dash scrabble for survival had some form of nobility about it.
 
Metzger remembered it differently and as he walked past painting after painting of that original famous moment in Vampire history, he wondered if the legendary flight from Venefasia hundreds of years ago had been any nobler.

His aide and his staff followed behind him like a bridal train as he walked down the corridor and into the circular entrance hall.
 
A balcony ran the entire circumference of the room, and Metzger hoped that his men were already in position behind the classical pillars that supported both the balcony and the roof above.
 
He dare not look, lest he give the scruffily dressed man who now stood in the centre of the marble floor admiring the architecture any indication of his plans.

"Good morning," said Metzger with the charm of a snake.
 
He needed to establish who the man was and why he was here, and that need not be done without civility.

"Quite amazing," said the man looking around.
 
"Is it an exact replica of the lobby of the old building in Budapest?"

Quite a plain man, Metzger thought.
 
His appearance seemed to indicate someone who didn't care too much about their looks given his unkempt hair.
 
Still appearances could be deceptive and knowledge of Budapest indicated someone who Metzger should be wary of.

"It's actually ten percent larger," he said using it as an excuse to scan the room.
 
If the Vampirwaffen were there, they were well hidden.
 
"Did you visit the old Budapest building?"

"Oh no," the man exclaimed with a smile.
 
"I'm not that old.
 
I read about it."

Interesting.
 
That ruled out demon possession, but Budapest had not exactly been a matter of public record.
 
A wizard perhaps?
 
They had libraries where such information might be collected.
 
It would also explain the dishevelled appearance, but not how he'd managed to get through the shield.

"Where was that?" Metzger asked innocently.

"Oh somewhere," the man replied just as casually as if the answer didn't matter.
 
He turned his attention away from Metzger to one of the paintings on the wall under the circular balcony.
 
"Is this the Naya Vestu?" he asked walking over to it

Metzger found himself failing to keep his unconcerned facade up.
 
The man seemed to know an awful lot about vampire history, and that bothered him.
 
He left his entourage and followed the man under the shade of the balcony, knowing full well that being away from the centre of the room would affect any Vampirwaffen response.

The painting wasn’t one of the best in Metzger’s opinion.
 
It depicted that dreadful night when, driven by starvation and desperation, a group of vampires cut right through the dwarven and elven battle lines.
 
The painting showed it as some noble flight to freedom, historical texts had shown it as a last ditch act of desperation to leave a homeland starved by war and make for a gateway to the Realm of Men.

"This is one of many paintings of the Naya Vestu," Metzger said, a touch of curtness to his voice.
 
"We have many such paintings."

The man's smile widened.
 
To the casual observer it would have looked nothing more than friendly and warm, but Metzger could see the meaning behind it.
 
He knows he has me stumped, thought Metzger.
 
He has the upper hand and intends to play with me like a child with his supper.
 
That's alright
, he thought.
 
The longer he toys with me, the longer the Vampirwaffen can take to prepare.
 
Bide my time and draw him back out into the centre of the room.

"Do you think, when they set out, they expected to survive?" the man asked.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Most, when faced with the possibility they are probably going to die, they rage, they cry, they curse their gods.
 
But some," he wagged his finger at Metzger, "some face death with such calm and nobility, you wonder whether they've always known this would be the moment."