David Wilson - Vampire Book 1 - Bitter Ashes

DAVID NI A L L WILSON

™

To Sift Through Bitter Ashes is a product of White Wolf

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I’d like to thank those who’ve supported me through

the stories, books, and years. First and foremost, my wife

JoAnne and my two sons, Zach and Zane. Without

them, none of it would matter. I’d like to thank John

Rosenman, Richard Rowand, Jacqueline, and the others

for their wisdom and criticism. I’d like to thank Mark

Rainey, Rich Chizmar, and Karl Wagner (whom I miss)

for their editorial wisdom and continued support of my

work. I’d like to thank Kathe Koja, Poppy Z. Brite, Peter

Straub, and Stephen King for inspiration. (Not

necessarily in that order.)

Thanks to the crew, Beth, Wayne, Brian and Dollie,

Jeff, Von, Barb and Charlie. Thanks to my mother-inlaw,

Mary, who supports my history-book habit, and my

sister-in-law for her bad taste in sports teams. Thanks

to Kevin Fowler—his bookstore supported me and his

person proof-read and collaborated with me. Thanks to

Andrew Burt and the on-line Critters SF workshop for

the crunch-time critique sessions. Also thanks to

Stewart Wieck for believing in me, and Rob Hatch, Rich

Dansky, Justin Achilli, and Anna Branscome for putting

up with my panic attacks and helping me see this

through.

This book is dedicated to my brother, whom I

have wasted a lot of years not being close to.

And, of course—to the blood. The power is in

the blood.

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

8

9

DAVID NIALL WILSON

ONE

The villagers scattered as the huge black stallion

thundered into the square. The tall, broadshouldered

rider reined in outside the taverna

contemptuously, sliding from the saddle like liquid

darkness. He was standing beside the master of the

stable before the horse had fully calmed.

The old man took in his late visitor in quick,

nervous glances. This was no rough mercenary, or

country lord. He wore the finery of a noble, and his

sharp, aquiline features and the glittering arrogance

in his eyes were those of a warrior. A formidable

pairing, and not one to be taken lightly. He tossed

the long black tresses of his hair over his shoulder

and stepped closer.

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

10

“Yes, Lord?” The stable master said in hushed

tones, as though afraid anything he might say, or

any stray movement he might make would bring

this dark man’s wrath. He’d seen such as this one

before, more times than he could count, and their

temperaments were as unpredictable as the winds.

He’d seen friends and relatives who hadn’t the wits

to learn this lesson and live.

“I am Montrovant,” the dark one said softly. His

words carried forcefully despite the softness with

which they were spoken. “You will care for my

mount,” he ordered. “You will watch him

throughout the day, and I will call for him

tomorrow evening. I am not certain of the hour of

my return. Have him ready and keep him ready.

Your head rests on his condition, your future

depends on my pleasure.”

The old man bowed his head, accepting the reins

without question, and led the magnificent animal

off toward the stalls in back. He had not grown old

by being a fool, and there were some men it was

better to obey and be done with. He’d never seen

this noble before, and he hoped never to see him

again, beyond his return to retrieve his mount. The

less known, the less risked. They were dangerous

times, and danger not faced was the best sort

encountered, or so his Pa had told him.

There was a shuffle of feet beyond the door, and

the sound of hushed voices. The old man had

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DAVID NIALL WILSON

known they’d come. He’d also known they would

cower in the shadows, uncertain of how to

approach, but too curious to stay away. He wished

that they had grown to more wisdom. One of them

was his own grandchild, and he’d hoped to see that

young one grow to adulthood.

Montrovant ignored the sound; at least he gave

no indication that he’d heard it. He strode toward

the door without once looking back. It was as

though he believed that his words, once spoken,

could never be denied. He didn’t turn toward the

taverna. Instead, he turned toward the cliffs

overlooking the village, where the bright, waxing

moon outlined the monastery against a backdrop of

cloudy darkness. The squat, severe lines of the

stone edifice sat like a short silk cap on the

mountain’s peak. The monastery brought its own

fears. Stories had circulated about the place for

years, dark stories, but there was no proof, and the

Church cared well for the people of the village.

None pressed the issue.

The whispered voices grew bolder. The stranger

seemed to pose no immediate threat, but

somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach the old

man knew it was a mask. He wanted to call out to

the young ones, to send them away, but he found

that his voice would not function. Not this time.

He saw a young boy creeping up along the side

of the wall, moving closer to the dark one. The lad

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

12

was holding his breath, measuring each step

carefully. He was nearly to the door of the stable at

the stranger’s back, and the stablemaster prayed for

one long second that he would make it. He could

see the boy’s eyes, wide as saucers. In the dead

silence of the night he believed he could hear the

youngster’s heart slamming waning courage

through his veins.

Suddenly the man was not watching the

mountains. He had spun, and the boy was held aloft

before him, screaming in terror. The dark one had

a hand gripping the lad beneath each shoulder. He

held him above his head as easily as a mother might

hold her infant. He drew the boy close, so close

that their faces nearly met. His captive was

struggling. The scent of his sweat fell away to the

acrid aroma of fresh urine, and the silence that had

echoed in answer to his scream gave way only to a

ragged, rasping sob.

The dark one stared at him for a moment longer,

then threw back his head. The laughter that poured

forth rang from the rafters of the stable, and to his

shame the old man took another step back into the

shadows.

Montrovant lowered the boy as swiftly as he’d

lifted him.

“You should not make a practice of slinking

through shadows, boy,” he growled. His voice was

still tainted by the unholy laughter that would not

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DAVID NIALL WILSON

quit banging about in the old man’s mind. From

one side a woman appeared suddenly, kneeling to

take the boy in her arms, her wide eyes upturned

to Montrovant’s in awe.

“Take him and clean him, lady,” the dark one said

softly. “He showed more courage than most. He will

be quite a man one day.”

Without a word the woman bundled the boy into

her arms and fled into the shadows. Turning,

Montrovant leveled his gaze at the old stablemaster

contemptuously.

“I hope you will care for my mount better than

you do the children.”

Without warning, the man was gone. One

moment he’d filled the doorway, the next, as the

old man turned for a discreet glance over his

shoulder, that doorway was empty, but for the

darkness and the lingering taste of danger, soured

by the taint of death. Turning away from that

emptiness, this time with a shiver transiting the

arthritic, bent lines of his back, the stable master

led the horse to the largest, warmest stall available.

Waving away the young man he’d hired to help

with the animals, he left the stallion for a moment

and went for his personal gear. This was an animal

that required his best effort.

The shadow of the monastery was clearly framed

in the small circle of light from the stable door. For

some reason the long-familiar sight of the holy

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

14

place disturbed him at that moment more than it

had at any other in the long years of his existence.

The shadow seemed to be creeping down the side

of the mountain and reaching for him. He shivered

again.

Pulling the heavy doors shut, he closed his eyes

for a long moment, banishing the images from his

mind and shutting out the spirits of the night. He

heard the horse shuffling behind him, and he

returned to his work, for the first time in years

wishing he’d left for his home before dusk.

_

Silk vestments hissed across stone like passing

serpents as Bishop Claudius Euginio made his way

swiftly across the top of the stone wall. The moon

painted the scene in shades of silver and grey,

catching the white locks of his hair and reflecting

wetly off the scarlet and gold of his robes. He was

not a tall man, but there was an aura of authority

and power that surrounded him that was

unmistakable. His movements were sure and

graceful, and the set of his shoulders spoke of

confidence bordering on arrogance. These were

traits he fought to suppress. They were not seemly

in a man of God, well-placed as they might be.

He stopped suddenly and stared into the distance

in silence. Far below he could see the glittering

15

DAVID NIALL WILSON

lights of Rome. Nearer were the softly glowing fires

of the village, and it was there that he directed his

concentration. They feared him in the village, he

knew. It was an integral part of the security he’d set

up about himself. They feared the knowledge of

why he frightened them even more.

He let his senses broaden. Those sights, sounds,

and smells nearest to him grew fuzzy as he focused

on the homes and hearths below. He could hear

voices faintly, and he could sense the beating of the

communal heart of the villagers as they went about

their lives. It was all familiar, and he brushed it

aside in annoyance. He placed his hands on the

stone rail and breathed deeply. The control of the

moment was exquisite, his mind linked to theirs,

their fates lying in his hands. The village, even

Rome itself, were his kingdom, albeit that his

monarchy existed in the shadows and behind the

scenes. It was enough that he felt the control.

The monastery at his back was silent. Each of the

brothers he’d indoctrinated and trained was in the

cubicle assigned to him, communing with God in

his own way—some with their own God altogether.

Claudius was not as demanding on the theological

level as he was on matters of discipline. God was

not one of his major concerns, since their final

meeting had been indefinitely postponed. None of

his followers would disturb him at this hour, and he

spared them no thought.

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

16

He had waited days for Montrovant’s arrival.

Even for an immortal, patience is not infinite, and

with Montrovant involved it could be outright

difficult. Montrovant’s message had not been clear,

as they never were. Euginio was both angry and

curious at the same time. The dangers of the two

of them meeting publicly, complicated by the vows

of the brotherhood itself, grated on his nerves.

Montrovant had always been too arrogant. It was

a matter of age, and of maturity in the blood. He

was not young, nor was he weak, but he lacked the

discipline that would lead him into latter centuries.

There were protocols for every occasion,

deceptions that had to be scrupulously maintained.

Montrovant recognized all of this, but he rarely

acknowledged it. He lacked the plain common

sense. It was, of course, part of his appeal.

Claudius took another deep breath and stiffened.

He sensed Montrovant’s approach, a breath of

Kindred wind against the backdrop of the night.

His progeny was moving along the ground below,

faster than any mortal eye could have followed,

only a blur to even Euginio’s supernatural sight. He

didn’t need to see clearly—there was no mistaking

the tug of the blood tie.

Bishop Euginio saw few of the others, and then

only reluctantly. If the clan did not look to him for

leadership—for the wisdom of his years and

17

DAVID NIALL WILSON

position—he would not have seen them at all. He

had a perfect niche carved out for himself,

protected, but controlled. He was not fond of

putting his position at risk. On the other hand, he

had to act occasionally to maintain his control, and

to keep their respect. As dangerous as it would be

to be discovered by the brethren, or the Church,

to be stalked by his own would be the greatest

danger. It was important that they understand his

strength.

Although it was ill-conceived, Montrovant’s

message and subsequent visit were an opportunity

to make that necessary contact. If it were truly

foolish, it would give him a chance to show his

strength.

Montrovant moved with uncanny swiftness.

Claudius nodded in momentary approval, pride,

even, though he’d never have admitted it. At least

the fool had not come charging up on a war horse,

waking the entire complex. That had been the first

image to surface in Claudius’s mind, and it was one

he gladly discarded. Montrovant was the strongest,

and eldest, of his remaining progeny, but for sheer

audacity and disregard of reality, he mocked that

ancestry each moment of his existence.

Montrovant closed on the wall and never

hesitated, scaling the vertical surface with ease and

grace, his form a dark ripple on the shimmering,

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

18

moonlit surface of the stone. Claudius stepped away

from the wall and slipped into the shadows,

waiting.

The younger vampire crested the wall and landed

easily, silent as a cat. He hesitated for just a second

as he took his bearings, then turned toward the

shadows, a slow smile working its way across his

elegant features. Both of them knew that the

hesitation had been sufficient to end his life for a

second time. He had extended his trust in his sire.

The lines between them had been drawn.

Claudius waited and watched as Montrovant

drew near. He didn’t speak. He wanted to hear what

his protégé had to say before he committed to any

particular response.

“It has been too long, Claudius,” Montrovant

began. Even in whispered tones, his voice was full

and rich, born to power. Claudius resisted the urge

to smile. That voice, the long hair, and the

incessant energy had been the qualities that had

drawn him to Montrovant in the first place. That

meeting had occurred so far in the past that the

rulers, even the face of the land itself had changed,

as had both of their names, and yet Euginio could

still remember his first sight of that smile—the

arrogant inner strength that was Montrovant’s

core.

There was also the tall, slender build and the

ripple of muscle beneath cloth that spoke so

19

DAVID NIALL WILSON

eloquently of strength. Others had made the

mistake of believing Montrovant too emaciated for

real physical strength. It was a deception that

Claudius approved of.

“It is rarely too long between such occasions,” he

answered at last. “What is this thing that has

brought you to me, at such risk? What is it that you

cannot decide or undertake without chancing the

corruption of all I have created? I find it hard to

believe that it was but a moment of my company

that you sought.”

Montrovant’s smile never wavered. He

continued to move closer, tilting his head

enigmatically and taking in his sire’s countenance

with a cat-like grin.

“You are no more at risk than the mountains, old

one. If your velvet-lined throne and army of

“brethren” deserted you, you would merely slip into

the shadows and build a new world. It has

happened before. I know you too well to think you

fear these mortals.”

“You know so little that it is frightening,”

Claudius growled. He was unable to hide his smile

this time, however, a weakness that nearly drove

him to sudden anger. Montrovant took his hand,

moving yet closer.

“It is good to see you.”

“You have not traveled all these miles to

comment on my health, or to flatter me,” Claudius

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

20

sighed. “If you only wanted my company, you never

would have left in the first place. Tell me why you

have come.”

Montrovant hesitated again, looking pained.

“You know I could never have survived here,” he

said softly. “It is too much like a cage.”

Claudius waved his words away. “Why have you

come?”

Montrovant’s countenance grew serious and

intense. His smile clouded over in a frown and his

deep green eyes were suddenly miles away. He was

obviously giving a lot of thought to his choice of

words. It was a thoughtful expression—rare to

Montrovant, but not unheard of. Claudius

tensed—he’d seen that expression before, and it

had never boded anything but ill.

Taking both of his sire’s hands in his own,

Montrovant began.

“You are old,” he began slowly, “and you have

seen things I have not. You will remember. I too

have seen great things, but I do not have the base

of knowledge that I desire. I need your guidance,

and your blessing.”

Claudius remained silent, waiting.

“On the night when Jesus of Nazareth last dined

with his disciples, he was served wine in a

particular cup,” Montrovant began, his eyes

burning embers in the deep shadows. “He took that

wine, and he blessed it, and he made of it his

21

DAVID NIALL WILSON

blood—bidding all who followed him to drink of

that blood, and to taste of his flesh, that they might

never die.”

“I need no lessons in Holy Scripture,” Claudius

grated. “What is your point?”

“I seek that cup,” Montrovant whispered. “The

Grail. I want to find it, and to bring it back to you.

It is the key, the answer to all the petty, endless

struggles for power between clans. It, if it itself

exists, has held the blood of one not of this

existence. How powerful would that blood be?

What would it be to drink from such a vessel—such

an object of power? None could stand before us if

we had it in our possession.”

“This is what you believe?” Claudius asked,

stepping back and barely stopping the sardonic grin

that engulfed his features short of a sneer. “This is

why you have come to me, risking my position and

the power we have striven generations to achieve?

A quest for a holy talisman? I knew that you were

rash, that you didn’t comprehend things the same

way that I do, but I never dreamed that you were

so naive.

“What makes you believe that this ‘Holy Grail’

exists? A better question—what makes you think

that, if it exists, and it stands for all that you

believe that it must, that if you found it you would

not crisp and burn at its touch?”

“There are tales of others,” Montrovant

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

22

continued, his voice unwavering under Claudius’s

disdainful sarcasm, “others who have touched—

even fed from the chalice. Kli Kodesh…”

“Kli Kodesh,” Claudius spat the words back at

Montrovant, backing away, his eyes blazing. “Now

you want to tell me fairy stories. I know the legends

as well as you—I told them to you. They are only

that, legends. I am disappointed in you, Solomon,

truly. You are beginning to make me wonder at my

own judgment in presenting you to the darkness.”

Montrovant flinched at the use of his true name.

He’d lived in so many places, behind so many guises

and ruses, that he sometimes forgot that there were

those who’d known him as a man. He also forgot,

from time to time, that he was not omnipotent. It

was traveling among humans that did it to him. In

their world, during the hours of darkness, he was

invincible. Here he was at risk, and the enormity

of that risk was not lost upon him as Claudius

glared at him in growing anger.

“I mean no disrespect, Claudius,” he said quickly.

There was no compromise in his voice, but his

tones were less assertive. “I have not come to this

course of action lightly, nor would I disturb you for

a fool’s quest. I have not been sitting back, waiting

for eternity to swallow me. I have been seeking,

learning. Surely after all these years you know me

better than that?”

“I am uncertain if I know you at all,” Euginio

23

DAVID NIALL WILSON

grated. “You appear to have taken leave of what

little sense of our reality you may have achieved in

the many years of your existence.” Claudius had

begun to pace slowly, picking up speed and volume

as his anger grew.

“You ask too much. I cannot risk myself, nor can

I put such a burden upon the others without their

knowledge or consent. You should have called a

council, made your case to the clan…”

“I have spoken with the others.” The words were

out before the thought was fully formed, and

Montrovant took a step back, realizing his mistake.

Claudius’s brow furrowed, and his eyes darkened.

He had been ready to forgive Montrovant’s

disrespect, but this was a different matter. It

challenged his own control of the clan. It was not

the place of one such as Montrovant to consult the

others—not without coming to Claudius first.

Claudius came to a stop and stood as still as stone

for the space of several moments, a span that he

knew would be growing to an eternity in

Montrovant’s mind. When it finally slammed

through the silence, his voice cracked the air like

the sound of ice on a frozen pond.

“You have spoken to the others? Please tell me

that I have not heard you correctly, or that it is

some sort of joke. If it is true, you have not only

compromised my own position, but you have risked

theirs, and you have done all of this because—

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

24

what—you wish to die the final death? You are

ready to cast in your lot in life and take a chance

on finding your lost soul in the next world? You are

insane? Or perhaps the cub thinks it is time to

challenge for the pack? I can think of no other

reason you would do what you claim to have done,

then come to me and admit your guilt.”

Claudius turned to face Montrovant fully, eyes

blazing, and he took a step forward. His words

carried the weight of strength and the promise of

a challenge met. Montrovant took half a step back,

then stood his ground.

“I meant no disrespect.” Montrovant said at last.

“I knew how you would react, but I wanted you to

know how they felt before you made a decision, and

I knew you would call no council for me on this

matter. I went to them first because I have heard

rumors—because I believe I know where the Grail

is kept, and because I believe I can bring that power

back to you. There is no challenge. I only felt the

request deserved an honest chance.”

Claudius didn’t answer him, and he went on

quickly. “The others believe, as well. At least, they

think the matter worth investigating.”

“I cannot risk our position, even if you know the

very door to which we could ride up and make off

with this ‘Grail’ of yours without incident. Do you

understand that? Do you comprehend what I’m

25

DAVID NIALL WILSON

saying to you? Somehow the reality of the world

that rejects you is also rejected by your mind. We

cannot romp about the countryside, seeking this or

that treasure without regard to others of our kind,

or to those who would put a final end to us.”

“There will be no risk to you, or to the clan,”

Montrovant said slowly. “I am not asking for your

assistance, only your blessing. I need to know that

I will act without fear of your anger or retribution.

I will do this thing alone, and I will bring the power

back to the clan. I will do this, or I will never

return, and you may continue as the fates guide

you. That is my oath.”

“So arrogant,” Claudius whispered, moving

closer to where Montrovant stood beside the wall.

“So full of your dreams and aspirations you can’t

see. What makes you believe that I will not

‘continue as the fates guide me’ despite your

request? What makes you believe I will not send

you to your final death here and now for your

impudence? What makes you think in your

misguided, twisted mind that you are destined to

lead us to new power?”

“I see more than you believe,” Montrovant

answered, standing his ground. “I see others

gathering, growing in power, moving among the

cities and the churches and taking what is

rightfully ours. I see my own brothers slaughtered

TO SIFT THROUGH BITTER ASHES

26

in the daylight by hordes of fanatic mortals, ripped

apart by the sniveling followers of the Wyrm, dying

of decadence and sloth. I see us slipping into

corners and caverns and hiding away, hoping that

it will all pass us by and just let us be. It will not.

“The world is not a static thing, and it is not

meant to be met sitting back and waiting, but head

on. There are none more fit to lead the clans into

the future than we. It is in our blood, and I know

you feel it, for all your caution and doubt.

“All this I see, and I see a way around our

troubles, as well.

“I see a new world, a new era, and I see a way to

attain that dream. You may accuse me of many

things, but do not accuse me of not paying

attention to what happens around me. You know

more than you are saying. It was you who first

planted the knowledge of the Grail in my mind. It

was you who met the madman, Kli Kodesh, who

told me of the legend of how he had walked the

earth since the days of Jesus himself. You cannot

tell me it was all just an amusing story. We are

closer than that. I felt the power in your words. You

might not want to risk anything in the search for

it, but you know more of the truth I seek than any

other being on the planet.”

Claudius turned away. “It is not that simple. If it

were, don’t you think I’d have gone after it myself?

27

DAVID NIALL WILSON

Don’t you think I’d have that fool Kodesh’s head

dangling from a spike on the wall of my keep, rather

than huddling away during the day while my pious

“brethren” pay homage to a God so far removed

from my mind that it is difficult to remind myself I

once believed in him? There are factors you don’t

understand, risks you don’t bother to see.”

“Then make me see, Claudius!” Montrovant

David Wilson - Vampire Book 1 - Bitter Ashes

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