Prolog

Turned by treachery, trapped in a 500 year old prophecy, Lyra Breckenridge has searched through five centuries to find the One who will change the world for her kind forever.

Out of the Shadows;  by W.C. Legere

 

Prolog

 

Sophron Gyor, Croatian Territory near the village of Pannonhalma �" June, 1515

 

Baron Anon Volskvar spurred his mount hard as he pushed the horse to climb the last hill just to the south east of Pannonhalma. He needed to reach the village before nightfall. The Balkan skies had been threatening rain all day, the dark iron-grey bellies of the low dense clouds hovering constantly over his head.

            He, his man servant and page had been uneasy since leaving Buda most of

a full day before. The information he had recorded on the scroll wrapped in sheepskin and tucked in his saddlebag still made his skin crawl. He needed to get to Vienna as quickly as possible. He needed to speak directly to the Archbishop at once.

            If even only half of what had been reported by the sole surviving member of the party of men sent into the southeastern region of the Carpathians Mountains to investigate reports of strange goings-on were true this information had to be given to the Church as soon as humanly possible. 

            As they crested the rise and saw the familiar outskirts of the rather large Croatian village the Baron finally breathed a small sigh of relief. He had pushed the brutish mare about as far as she was capable of going without collapsing under him and he was in desperate need of a hot meal.

He still had a difficult time believing what he had heard. It was all just simply too impossible to accept but he also knew the source of this information was unimpeachable because it had been brought back from Transylvania by his eldest son after all.

He remembered how he had first learned of this nightmare…

 

Marravor Manor; Wischegrad, Hungary �" November, 1514

 

            Baron Volskvar entered the study at the quaint but large manor house of his good friend Baron Slavinne Marratova. His fellow deposed member of the Diet had summoned him after receiving some disturbing news from a contingent of Black Army mercenaries who had come through his village.

            He had stated in a message hand carried by his servant what he had to divulge could not wait.

            Being the curious man that he was Anon had decided to brave the frigid winds and snow to travel from his own comfortable home in the village of Gran to see his friend.

            Baron Marratova was an elderly man and in poor health. He had been a part of the Diet long before the threat of invasion loomed over the region from the rabble hordes that amassed even now near the southern reaches of the River Danube. 

They had both once been important and well respected members of the Hungarian Parliament before the death of Janos Corvinus ten years before.

            Now the Hungarian aristocracy was in utter turmoil and Queen Beatrice Corvinus, still clinging to the throne of the Hungarian Empire by the sheer force of her indomitable will, was now in hiding for her life.

            Anon wasn’t all that surprised. With the Ottoman Turks pushing ever northward and the Diet almost unanimously supporting the Jagiellonian Vladislaus the Second as the new King, it was clear the unique Renaissance that had begun under King Matthias Corvinus and carried on by his son Janos was now over.

“So what is so urgent I was required to trudge through this wretched snow to discover Slavinne?” Volskvar asked as he poured himself a goblet of malted wine.

Baron Marratova was leaning back in his large overstuffed winged chair staring into the huge fireplace as flames bit and crackled across the huge logs within.

“It is almost so disturbing I’m not entirely inclined to believe it myself but I knew the Captain of the Guard from years before…a Magyar from the other side of the mountains in Moldavia. He came through here a few weeks back with his men. They were headed north into Moravia. They were fleeing and the only reason they did not loot my place was the Captain’s memory of me while I was serving in the Diet.”

“And what did this Magyar tell you my friend,” Volskvar asked a bit concerned, “Why did he not return back across the mountains to his homeland?”

The older man glanced up at his long-time acquaintance then motioned to the chair much like the one he was sitting in next to him separated by a rough-hewn low table that held an iron candelabra with three guttering candles held firmly in their sconces.

“Sit Anon, sit,” Marratova said, “and I will tell you everything.”

Baron Volskvar settled into the chair beside his friend and with a rather haunted look in the older mans eyes Slavinne began to share his story.

“I think you know me well enough to realize I am not inclined to believe every fanciful tale that comes to me, yes?”

Volskvar nodded but said nothing taking another sip from his goblet.

“Very well �" What I am about to tell you I believe not because of facts or the ability to have seen it for myself…no…I believe because this is not the first time something of this nature has reached my ear.”

“Are you familiar with the life of a particular son of the House of Drăculeşti, Vlad Tepes was what he was known as then, Voivode of Wallachia in the midst of the last century? I believe he was the Prince of the region around the late 1450’s.”

Anon thought for a moment. Although it was a little over a decade before he was born he remembered reading of the exploits of the Wallachian Prince while he was studying at the Universitas Istropolitana. Anon remembered because of the tactics the man once used on his prisoners during and after battles, impaling their bodies on sharpened pikes stuck in the ground. The Prince also had a habit of leaving camps and small villages behind in smoking ruins after plundering anything and everything his army could carry off.

Baron Volskvar also knew the man had allied himself to their enemies, the Ottomans, at one point in his life so Anon’s opinion of the man was not all that positive. He was also aware his son Vlad Țepeluș was even worse than the father, a sadistic brute who enjoyed torturing prisoners himself.

“Yes Slavinne,” Anon replied, “I recall something of this man’s life through my studies. What of him? He’s been long dead now for over fifty years has he not?”

“Yes,” Baron Marratova said in a hushed voice, “He was assassinated in 1476 on his way back to Bucharest. His head was sent to Constantinople by a man named Basarab Laiota and presented to Sultan Mehmet the Second. It was rumored he had been sold out by the Boyars because Vlad was undermining their authority in the region and trying to centralize power for himself. Some say it was because he had turned from the Ottomans and made a deal with the Hungarian Empire. No one knows the precise facts but I suspect it was probably a little of both.”

“What of the one called Vlad Țepeluș,” Volskvar asked, “Is he still alive or did he follow his father’s footsteps to hell?”

Baron Marratova turned to give his companion a dark but significant look before returning his gaze back to the fire.

“No my friend,” Marratova replied, “The forth son of Dracul is still alive and if what I was told by the Magyar is even remotely true then the Ottomans are the least of our concern.”

“It is said even though these Seljuks over-run entire regions the native populations who do not depose their overthrow are offered some form of autonomy in return for a peaceful coalition. I do not fear the Ottomans…not nearly as much as I fear what is said to reside deep in the Carpathians between Transylvania and Moldavia. If the reports are true then God himself has surely turned from that place and has given it over to the Angel of Death...”   

What the good Baron disclosed that cold and snowy evening in Buda had been met with complete disbelief by Baron Volskvar but in the end he had convinced himself his friend would not make up something so ridiculously fanciful. However, Baron Anon Volskvar was a man who needed to see thing for himself or at the very least find the truth through his own devises.

Once he had returned to his home in Gran it was not long after he decided to dispatch a small contingent of his own men to the region in Transylvania as soon as the weather broke in May the following spring. After only one of the party had returned, his eldest son Aaron and divulged what he had seen with his own eyes Anon knew he had to get word to the Pope.

He decided he could not leave this task to anyone else and decided to take his story to the Archbishop in Vienna. His Eminence was second only to the Pope himself at the Vatican City in Rome.

After a night’s rest in Pannonhalma Baron Volskvar readied himself for travel the next morning after a hasty breakfast of sausage and potatoes. As he finished gathering his belongings he realized his pages had not yet returned from the stable.

 

Where did those two idiots get off to? We must make haste!

 

Irritated at the delay he decided to go and find them but when he entered the small stables attached to the inn there was no-one about. Only his horse stood with saddle slung over its back but the cinch strap had not yet been done up.

Looking around he realized his servant’s horses were still in their stalls not yet made ready for travel.

He felt his blood begin to boil.

 

Where in the Father’s name did they go!

 

As he looked in and around the barn he came to the realization that no-one at all seemed to be around. The innkeeper was a boisterous Cossack, his wife had been in the kitchen preparing their breakfast and two young boys of 10 and 12 seasons had been milling around behind the inn just after Volskvar had awakened. He remembered hearing them chopping wood.

 

But now…no-one!

 

A sudden bitter wind blew across the back of Anon’s neck raising chill bumps all over his body as he peered around the area.

“Vassilli, Penya,” he called out loudly to his servants, “Where in the devil’s name have you…”

He heard a sound like that of the soft fluttering of a bird’s wing…

 

…It was the last sound Baron Anon Volskvar ever heard.

 

@>---

 

Poenari Castle; Capitol city of Târgoviște, Wallachian Province �" June, 1515

 

Vlad Țepeluș, the self-proclaimed Voivode of Wallachia exited his bed chamber in a towering temper. He did not even bother to glance back at the young girl cowering in the corner of the room. He had just spent the better part of two hours defiling and sating his ever-increasing lust with her and he had made certain he left her with a clear understanding of just who was in command.

The peasant girl had been nothing but a distraction for him but now the constant nagging urge to take possession of what had been promised him by the deal struck between Janus Corvinus, the former King of the Hungarian Empire and his father Vlad Tepes was asserting itself once again.

The reports he had been given about the Princess of the Hungarian Empire had stoked a fire that continued to burn in his loins since the day he had first been told of the arrangement. They said she was one of the fairest and most beautiful girls in all the region…and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. His thoughts had gotten the better of him more than once imagining what he would do with her �" and to her!

In return for parting with the Ottomans and throwing his armies in league with the Black Army of the Empire, Vlad Tepes had secured what he thought was a safe place for his son among the Hungarian and Croatian aristocracy. Janus Corvinus’ only daughter would be given over to his youngest son as wife to consolidate the Transylvanian region and help protect against the rising threat of the Ottomans to the south.

It had been a futile gesture on the Hungarian King’s part in the end due to his unexpected death in 1504. If that had not been bad enough, reports reached the Royal family by way of spies that told of the Wallachian Princes perverted proclivities for torture, mutilation and violence.

Many had said the youngest offspring of Vlad Tepes was the spawn of Satan himself.

Vlad Țepeluș made his way down the dark hallway to the chambers of his advisors. He pushed through the heavy wooden door with such force it banged loudly off the stone wall behind.

“Why has the Princess not yet been delivered to me,” he bellowed loudly, his mad eyes flaming, “I have waited long enough! Send for a representative of the Council of Elders at once! I have need of their services. I will call upon them to help me with this dilemma if I can not rely on my own people to complete this one simple task! Completely useless,” he yelled throwing his hand out toward them in an angry gesture, “the lot of you!”

He turned and stormed from the room leaving behind the foul stench that followed the man everywhere he went. He rarely bathed and at times it was stomach churning to be near him.

The ruler of the Wallachian region liked to wear the blood and fluids of his perverted conquests like medals of honor but after a while it was like being in the same room with a rotting corps. 

His advisors all looked at one-another with expressions of apprehension and fear. They were all too aware of who their master summoned.

The accidental discovery of just who had been living in the Transylvanian region for the past several decades completely undetected had now become one of the Wallachian Nobilities best kept and closely guarded secrets. It was because of this discovery Vlad Tepes had been able to regain control of the Wallachian province from his brother Radu the Fair in 1476 and secure the throne for his youngest son to succeed him.

Many had wished Vlad the Elder’s assassination had come two months earlier before November of that year when he was able to reclaim the Wallachian throne.

“We best send a messenger right away,” one advisor said to the rest, “or the blasphemous Son of the Dragon’s wrath will be even grater than it is now and we shall all die!”

“Better a quick death than what awaits us at the hands of those we summon,” replied another, “Neither prospect is very appealing is it?”

“God curse the House of Drăculeşti,” whispered a third making the sign of the cross, “and I pray he scour this darkness from our lands!”

 

@>---

 

Szeben Monastery; Carpathian Mountains, Transylvania Province �" June 1515

 

            “How much longer must we suffer this ridiculous fool,” Vincennes Petranopolis growled as other members of the Council of Elders reacted negatively to the immediate summons from the Voivode of the Wallachian’s.

“Patience my fellow Elders,” Ashikaga Norimoto replied in his usual unflappable style, “It has been our plan from the beginning to work within the elements of the agreement we struck with the previous Prince of the Wallachian region. Have we forgotten already?”

This quieted most of the grumbling but Elder Zumon Abdula-Jamire was seething with barely restrained anger. Even so he kept his commanding voice in complete control.

“The parameters of our agreement suggest we allow ourselves to be ruled over by this human, turning him once an heir is born. Is that still the plan? Will it obtain the stability we are seeking?”

Counsel Elder Norimoto remained silent for a long moment staring off into the shadows of the main council chamber, lost in thought. When he spoke his voice was low and soft and if the other council members did not know this Elder as well as they did they could have sworn there were hints of regret and sadness there.

“Our desire to expand our territory has not been without unfortunate but necessary compromise with the living world. It has been dangerous and risky but we are presently limited by our own designs to shape a new world for ourselves. With the pending invasion of outside influences from the south the Hungarian Empire is highly unstable, as you all know, however I feel it necessary to stay the present course, if for no other reason than to prepare ourselves for what may happen in the near future…”

Before Ashikaga Norimoto could continue a tall, slender Nubian woman rose gracefully to her feet and proceeded to glide into the center of the council chamber. If it were any other this action would not have been tolerated but the importance of this woman to the Coven of the Living Dead was well known to all.

Labillia Tumbi was an Oracle. She had the gift of sight, the ability to receive glimpses of the future.

She had been a high priestess of the Masai Tribe in Kenya in the early 1400’s when her village near Mombasa was raided by Arabian slavers. She was taken aboard a ship bound for Europe but was turned by an Ameru stow-away that proceeded to slaughter the captain and crew. The ship eventually came to shore on the island of Pemba. After her turning the Ameru brought her to Transylvania. She was one of the first to be indoctrinated into the Coven through the new teaching system being developed by the Council of Elders.

“My lords and lady,” Labillia said in a voice like warm honey, bowing slightly as she addressed the Coven Elders, “I believe you must take into consideration the words which I spoke to you several years before. Disregard them at your peril and the safety of our kind.”

“We do not disregard them Oracle,” Pretoria Bowman-Denisforth replied, “I believe it would be unwise. Perhaps you can refresh our memories?”

“Of course my lady,” Labillia bowed once again, “If you recall it was not long after I came to be among you that these words came to me.

The prophecy tells of a young one who will come…a dark angel of the living dead with strength,  power and beauty above all others…borne of royal blood…to seek out and find The One…The One who will bring us out of the shadows to walk among the living once again…forever.”

All the Elders sat in silence taking in the words of the Oracle. It was Gilles Des Montferrat-La Fleche who finally spoke.

“And you have no idea who this so-called One is, Oracle?” He inquired looking slightly annoyed.

“No, my lord,” Labillia responded bowing again, “but I am almost certain the words are referring to a human.”

Most of the Council members began murmuring in disquieted apprehension. They had been steadfast in their reluctance to align themselves with humans after the death and destruction they had wrought on their kind.

            The Black Plague that had swept through Europe in the fourteenth century had decimated their numbers and all but wiped them out. The Crusades and the Church’s declaration to stamp out evil, witchcraft and what they had considered devil-worship in the following century had taken a severe toll on them as well.

 There were less than three thousand of them left in Europe now and those who survived the scourge and the purge had decided, finally, to band together and organize to try to salvage some kind of existence out of the wreckage that remained.

It was in 1355 when a clan of about four hundred left northern Europe to find a safer place to dwell that was not inundated by the plague. It had been Barkley McTeague, from the Inner Hebrides in Scotland that had found the Carpathian Mountains and took up residence in an abandoned Jesuit monastery high in the hills in the southeastern region of Transylvania.

It wasn’t long until McTeague sent word to someone he had been familiar with not long after he was turned. Sir Edmund Grey-Smythington joined McTeague and began to develop a peaceful co-existence with the other clan.

By the early fifteenth century many more had joined them and there were now more of their kind in the Balkan region than anywhere else on the earth. Due to the remote isolation from human habitation but well within reach of a relatively clean source of nourishment it was nearly the perfect setting.

The word had spread throughout the world about the new cooperating clans in the west so representatives from other countries came to see for themselves. By the late fifteenth century the groundwork had begun to lay the foundation for a single governing Coven to administer to all their kind that would contain representatives from as many of the participating clans as possible.

It was there in 1489, in an abandoned monastery in the ancient Carpathian hills the Coven of the Living Dead was born and only one had foreseen the future of what was to come �" the coming of a young Hungarian Princess who would one day change the world of Vampire forever �" but none knew exactly how or when.

Elder Norimoto summoned the Captain of the Guard. When the Captain appeared and knelt before the Council Elder Norimoto bid him rise.

"Select one among your most trusted guards and send them to find the Princess of the Hungarian region...Elizabeth Corvinus, and deliver her alive and human to the Prince of Wallachia."

The Captain bowed and turned to leave when the brusque voice of another Elder, Barkley McTeague, stopped him in his tracks.

"And Captain," the huge Scotsman said, "Do not fail us."

With nothing more than a nod the message was received and all they could do now was wait.

 

@>---

 

The Royal Summer Palace; Visegrád, Hungarian Empire �" June, 1515

 

Queen Beatirce Corvinus stood at the window looking out over landscape of a country she had come to call home but now, after the death of her husband and only son, was quickly becoming more like a prison each passing day.

            She felt cold despite the warm mid-summer breeze that washed over her from the open window. The meeting of her advisors was not going well and nothing, it seemed, could change what she knew was coming.

            “Please,” one of the Royal Ministers urged, “With respect your highness, it is our opinion the offer being made by Vladislaus is most generous. A union between the Corvinus Royal Family and the Jagiellonians would strengthen the Empire’s position and bring much needed assistance to fight the growing threat from the Ottoman horde.”

Queen Beatrice shot a cold hard look at her so-called advisors.

“That was what the Wallachian’s were supposed to offer my husband, an alliance to help fight the Muslims…and how did that turn out?”

“Your Highness,” another sniveling, boot kissing scribe interjected, “We realize your reticence but you must understand. The agreement the King made with the Wallachians was clear. The Princess is to wed the youngest son of the Voivode upon her fifteenth season. That anniversary has long since passed and the Wallachian Prince grows ever more angry for the delay. We fear what might happen if you continue to refuse him your Majesty.”

The Queen’s anger flared. She could barely contain her rage. She rounded on her advisors and glared at them with clenched fists.

“My daughter is the only remaining true heir and last living member of the House of Corvinus. Those despicable and power hungry members of the Diet saw to that!”

Beatrice stiffened, drawing herself up to her full height.

“It would not surprise me if there were those in my presence who assisted in hastening the demise of my son Christopher. Contrary to what most believe, I am not a fool. With the only male heir to the throne removed it would pave the way for a new ruling faction to take control. I will not allow that to happen.”

Most all the advisors looked at one-another with pained expressions while others paled under the reproving gaze of the angry Croatian-born matriarch.

“Your Highness,” one of the older advisors stepped hesitantly forward wringing his withered hands nervously, “Never in the history of our kingdom has a woman been allowed to ascend to the throne. None in the Diet will recognize her rule. Princess Elizabeth will be in grave danger…”

“And she is not now!” Queen Beatrice cut across his plea with an angry hiss, “I will not willingly allow my daughter to fall into the hands of that…that…disgusting barbarian in Transylvania! You all know what will befall her if this is her fate.”

“No-one is arguing that your Highness,” the elderly scribe continued, “This is why we feel a union between you and the Jagiellonians would help re-stabilize the region and strengthen our position. None can force you to fulfill the contract made by your husband but please realize there is a good chance the Wallachians will see this as an act of defiance on our part. There’s no telling what they will do in retaliation against the House of Corvinus.”

The queen turned from the advisors to stare out the window and off into the distance of the Hungarian countryside          

She knew she was in terrible danger from many sides and almost everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the throne would fall to the Jagiellonians. Vladislaus the Second was gaining support from not only the Diet but most of the remaining Barony across the region.

The Royal family had befallen such a mess of horrible catastrophes it was almost unbelievable. First it was the sudden death of her husband Janos that had destabilized the aristocracy almost overnight, then not two years later it was her only son Christopher just 6 years old, poisoned to eliminate the last remaining heir to the kingdom.

But the aristocracy had horribly underestimated the Queen’s pluck and resolve. She had been much more intelligent and insightful then her adversaries gave her credit for. Shortly after the death of her son the Queen began moving the last living titled member of the Royal House of Hunyadi-Corvinus all over the region.

Anticipating subversive reaction to her husband’s death she had surrounded herself with those still loyal to the family. Queen Beatrice was still mostly in control of what remained of her late Father-In-Law’s Black Army. Much of the mercenary army had fled Buda after the death of the King but a full contingent of the Royal Guard remained…and they were some of the most highly trained and skilled fighters in the whole Balkan region.

It didn’t hurt that the Queen was considered one of the most beautiful woman in the entire Hungarian Empire and what was more compelling was that her daughter, Princess Elizabeth, now going into her 19th year was considered by all who met her to be several levels of magnitude more stunningly beautiful than her mother.

Many Barons and Nobles of the Empire had queued up to ask for the hand of the queen after her husband’s death but she had refused them all choosing instead to concentrate on raising and protecting her children. In the end, her efforts and alliances had not been enough to save her son. It was shortly after his death she disappeared from the Royal Castle in Buda and no-one from the Parliament or the aristocracy had seen her since.

She issued her decrees and communications via a series of messengers who were monks from monasteries all over the region. Most knew it couldn’t last much longer. The Diet was getting restless and the people in most of the major cities wanted leadership they could see. With the Ottoman Empire pushing ever northward they all knew the Corvinus family’s time was running out.

Queen Beatrice Corvinus sighed, turning slightly to look back over her shoulder.

“I will consider your proposal to meet with Vladislaus of the Jagiellonians but I will do this under my terms.”

Many of the advisers seemed to deflate and breathe sighs of relief. As they bowed and began filing out of the chamber the Queen watched them retreat with utter contempt.

Not being certain of her own future was debilitating enough but no one could have foreseen what was to become of the beautiful young Princess…