Introduction

"A titanic battle that pits vampyre against vampyre in a war that will determine for eternity whether the undead will coexist with the living caps the conclusion to Clegg's majestic Vampyricon trilogy (after The Priest of Blood and The Lady of Serpents)...Clegg crafts a fitting finale ornamented with prose that modulates between the sensual and regal and that distinguishes his series as one of the more memorable modern vampire epics."--Publishers Weekly. From bestselling and award-winning novelist Douglas Clegg, comes The Queen of Wolves, the conclusion to his epic dark fantasy, The Vampyricon. Set in a medieval world of ancient forests and buried kingdoms, of gods and monsters, of love that crosses centuries, and vengeance beyond lifetimes, The Priest of Blood is the tale of Aleric, Falconer, of his quest for his destiny, his beloved, and the secrets of the lost cities before time. This medieval dark fantasy, with elements of the paranormal and the supernatural, will finish the trilogy begun with Douglas Clegg's bestsellers, The Priest of Blood and ending with The Lady of Serpents.

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Excerpt

1

I watched the skies when I escaped Nezahual's besieged kingdom for a sign of the new moon's birth—for it was the solstice that had become my target, the bomb lobbed at me by those who understood the Veil and its fragile nature during the shortest night of the year. These ancient sorceries were rumors to me, for I did not understand the importance of the season, nor of the solstice night. Though I had been claimed Maz-Sherah by the Priest of Blood called Merod, I did not feel as if I were anything more than a tool in the hands of some larger force.

2

When Pythia and I left Aztlanteum, on a continent far from my homeland, the moon no longer reigned over the black of night.

We had fled another war in an obsidian city when the vampyre king Nezahual was besieged by his brothers and sister in a battle for supremacy, for the blessing of their mother, Ixtar, and for the lands that had once been divided among them. Jealousy and envy divides all families, mortal and immortal, and the want of power—and the ignorance of its corruption—destroys many kingdoms.

The city of Ixtar burned and raged, and below us, vampyres fought in the air, tearing at each other like wolves, while fires consumed the walls of their temples and palaces, while priests fought against invaders and mortal men died for their gods. The cries of mortal and vampyre alike seemed to ride with us as we moved beyond its territories.

In the stream, we knew that someone pursued us through that blinding darkness

Within an hour of our escape, I glanced back, briefly, and spied a gray shape in the whirling black smoke.

3

I was still weak, and did not think I could fight any of the vampyre guards who had trailed us from the burning city. I knew why this guard had followed us—it was not merely our escape, it was that fist-sized orb of black stone that Pythia had tied in a pouch around her throat as we flew.

She had stolen the sacred relic, and I had no doubt that this had awakened Nezahual's ire, even as his city perished. Perhaps it held some secret power that only he could access, or perhaps it was simply that it belonged to Ixtar herself, and Nezahual's existence depended upon its return.

At first I thought it was one unseen vampyre who followed, and then I felt many coming for us, but at a great distance. The stream felt strange to me, alive and yet confusing, and this follower seemed a disruptive influence. Perhaps, I thought, I only sensed those vampyres fighting many leagues away, amidst fire and smoke.

Below us, the smoke met a haze of mist out upon the sea. I was not going to be able to fight the pursuer off in midair, and Pythia was now mortal—she would easily be captured by a vampyre. I felt our only hope to deflect any pursuing guardians of Ixtar was to throw them the orb.

I flew toward Pythia and reached for the strap at her throat.

She hissed like a snake, her fangs bared toward me. The strokes of her wings increased, and she shot ahead.

If my sense of the stream was correct, I could not out fly the guard who followed. I turned in midair to face him, remaining motionless in the sky, my wings spread apart as if to glide downward.

"Show yourself!" I shouted. I glanced down toward the ragged land as it dipped several miles ahead to the sea. The thick smoke blinded my view.

I was sure I saw a movement in the clouds of gray and black, yet no one came forward from them.

I waited another few seconds—still feeling something in the stream—just a vibration there. If one of Nezahual's brethren had been hiding in the ash-clouds, he easily could have leapt out and subdued me—though I would give him a fight he might not forget.

Finally, I turned again toward Pythia, who had almost reached the edge of Nezahual's lands, a mile or more ahead. I flew along, catching up to her, but I could not shake the feeling that some vampyre stalked us.

The smoke of the burning kingdom swept across the sky, and held back the dawn.

4

Toward the western sea we soared, beating our wings against the tides of the wind. The stink of sulfur and ash attacked our lungs and seared our flesh, as if the inferno behind us reached up to draw the two of us back to earth, two demons escaping Hell.

Pythia flew slightly ahead of me, like a dragon on the air, the spines of her wings flexing up and down as the eelskin stretched across them like those of some angel of the deepest pit—beauty and terror bound up in her form.

The world below us burned and spat fire into the sky. Lamentations rose from among mortals of that land, and they sang of the immortals whose mother, Ixtar, and given birth to them. The songs that came up through the rumble of falling stones and the cries of war seemed like those hypnotic chants of the monks from my own country: beautiful and somber and not of the death of a city, but a mournful prayer to the gods for swift passage from this world to the next.

The whorls of clouds around us seemed endless tunnels within the night sky, and I followed my guide—Pythia—as she ascended farther upward, until the red ember of the burning city and countryside below us seemed a distant hearth.

The cold, dark sea lay below us now as we left sight of land. Still, I sensed our pursuer, but now his form barely touched the stream. He had fallen back, and yet I could not help but think that he still followed.

5

I began to form—in my mind's eye—a figure of a male vampyre, but without a face and without human form. That corpse-reflection of myself I had seen in the mirrored hall on the way to the torture device that the alchemist, Artephius, had devised.

It was the stream that brought this to me, and yet in it, I almost felt as if it were myself—my dead mortal body—somehow in pursuit.

As a vampyre, I knew that physically I had the beauty and vibrancy of a youth of twenty, for my hair was rich and thick, and my body sinewy and strong, a musculature built in my mortal life from war and its practice. My flesh renewed itself with each day of sleep and night spent hunting for mortal blood.

I had seen myself in that mirror—for a vampyre does reflect, yet we reflect upon ourselves alone and those who have died at our hands—and the truth of my body was there before me. I was a corpse, and yet even this was an illusion of the trickery of the silver mirrors, for I was neither the dead nor the living—but between these states of existence. The mirror lied; and my body lied. The truth was neither, and yet it was all I knew.

I was, as all vampyres of my line may be, a shadow of my own self. Neither in this world nor the next, the children of the Serpent and of Medhya are on the borderline, the threshold between.

In my mind's eye, I could see my dead self—that nineteen-year-old youth, bled by the Pythoness of Alkemara, rotted—my own shadow pursuing me to remind me of what I truly was beneath the beauty of vampyric glamour.

The feeling did not pass, but as dawn threatened us at our backs, Pythia dove through a smoky cloud toward the sea, as if falling to her death. I followed behind her, and saw her goal: a place where we might sleep the night.

6

We spent our first night on a small island barely larger than the grave we dug from its dirt and rocks for our rest. Just before the sun rose above us, Pythia and I had to huddle together so that no ray of its light cut through the pile of rocks beneath which we slept. She was wonderfully icy against my flesh.

She took the stolen orb from the pouch at her neck and strapped it around her waist. I felt its small, hard roundness between us. She whispered only in my mind, If you try to steal it, I will return to Nezahual. I know that's not what you want. Not with your child in me.

I would kill you, mortal vampyre, before you did this.

You would kill your child? For when I die, your son within me also dies. I could practically hear her smile as she drifted into deep sleep, knowing how these words would be like daggers to my heart. My bond to her had not yet loosened, and though I could not trust her, I also could not risk losing her.

When the sun sank below the horizon, and twilight darkened, I opened my eyes.

She sat above me, looking down as if studying me. "You and I are so different," she said. "Still, I feel as if you know me more than anyone has."

"It is the breath of the Sacred Kiss," I said, sleepily. "It binds us."

"No," she said, her mood darkening a bit. "It is something more."

She had already drawn off all the rocks and dirt that had covered us in the day. The night was thick with clouds and silence. I smelled rain as if at some distance.

"We could return," she said.

"What?"

"A night's journey to the shore. Not to Nezahual. There is a country deep to the south of Aztlanteum. Emerald jungles rise up along twisting brown rivers, where none know the paths, but many mortals live. Abandoned cities from the first age of the Great Serpent still stand, carved from cavern walls lying deep in hollowed wells. You and I would be gods there, Falconer, as our tribe was in nights long past. Our child would be born, untouched by these pains and prophecies. He would grow to be king. I would grow old, but I am not jealous. You could take other lovers."

I sat up and grabbed her at the shoulder, wishing to shake her. "You would say anything to save your own skin."

She tugged away from me. She flashed a sullen look like a scheming child and pushed herself up. She stood over me, as if about to say something, and then thought better of it. She walked to the edge of the rock shelf that jutted out over the sea and pointed back to where our journey had begun. "It is not so far. You can hate me there as well as here."

"You know what I must do."

"How do you keep a dream from becoming flesh?" Pythia asked. "Medhya is a dream all vampyres know of, yet few have known her. A phantom. The darkness of night itself, held back by the Veil. She whispers like her Myrrydanai jackals."

"Like the Great Serpent," I said.

She half smiled as she looked at me, watching my face as if I might betray some knowledge. "You have never seen the Serpent?"

"In visions, I have seen a statue. I have felt his power in the stream"

"My father spoke with the Serpent, as did the Nahhashim priests, and the Myrrydanai before their souls became corrupt. He is all around us, they tell us. I don't believe it. I was a priestess—a Pythoness—and only felt stirrings of him. To make us guardians of mortals. These are stories priests use to control us. I think the Great Serpent has been vanquished, a dream disturbed. Medhya will come into this world in flesh. It is you—and this ritual—that will bring her to flesh and blood. Do you think I will live through this? Your child? Will he be born if you do this? You cannot understand how the mortal world exists until you have watched lifetimes pass, Falconer. When you came to me, in the tower of Hedammu, I did not know you were anything other than a young soldier, ready to be bled. When I brought the Sacred Kiss to you, I saw where your journey will end."

"I saw this, too," I said. "On an altar stone. You wear this mask."

She glanced back at me. "I did not see the mask in my own vision. I saw you, looking at me. I saw a curved blade in your hand, like no other—it was jeweled and made of a burning gold. All around us, I felt her. Medhya. Standing near. Waiting for the Veil to tear. I heard the first whispers of the Myrrydanai priests, for the Sacred Kiss had awakened them. You—coming to Hedamm—to my tower—to my arms. This brought them."

"You can't be afraid of this," I told her. "You can't run from what you see in visions. Not everything that has been foretold will come to pass."

She shook her head, closing her eyes. "You came to pass. I had a vision of you long before we met."

"Why did you run from me then?"

She closed her eyes and in opening them scanned the darkening sky. "Let us not argue. We can cross a thousand miles or more if we fly swift and true." Her wings spread from her shoulders, and I remembered how she had been terrified when she had given me the kiss that brought the breath of immortality into my lungs.

I grabbed her by the wrists. "Why did you run from me if you knew these visions?"

"Let go of me," she snarled, shaking of my hands. "I saw your destruction. I saw my own death. A terrible shadow descended upon the earth, a terrible cry from the earth itself. I saw your doom. Mine as well. That is where your journey takes you, Falconer—Maz-Sherah—to your Extinguishing."

Is this yet another game of yours?"

Her eyes lit up in anger. Her lips curved downward as she spoke.

"Yes, I am playing games. A liar. Thief. Betrayer. Believe that, if you like. It will serve you well when you watch them murder your child that grows within me. When they kill me."

More softly, I said, "There are others who suffer. I would not save my own flesh and know that I leave them to die in torment."

"They are mortal. They will die whether tomorrow, or in a thousand tomorrows."

"Some are of our tribe."

"Like the youth named Ewen who was like a ewe, tagging after you as if you were the great vampyre lord."

"He... I could not have survived without him."

"Yes, you love him. You with your mortal traits still intact. After more than a hundred years or so, those instincts erode."

As I remembered Ewen, something struck me. "How could you know about him? You had fled when I brought him back to life." In an instant, it came to me. "You... followed us?"

She moved away from me, never letting her glance leave me. "Did you think I just vanished? When the breath passes from one vampyre to another, the stream between them grows deep."

"How long did you follow?"

"Until I saw you and your companions heading toward your capture," she said. "I could not follow you there. But I have felt you since. I sensed you. I hid from those whispering shadows of the myrrydanai. When the plagues came, I saw the ice of Medhya's breath. But I knew you existed. Even in the obsidian city of Ixtar, I knew you would come to me."

"You left us there, all those years."

"What is a decade among my many thousands of years?" She narrowed her eyeslids, as if trying to judge what to reveal and what to keep secret. "The mask called to me. You do not understand because you have not felt its call. I wished to put the seas of the earth between us that I might never see you again. You are my destruction, Falconer. I know this."

She ran toward the shoreline, leaping into the air, as her wings bore her aloft. I followed after—the creature that had killed me, and brought me to this existence, was my only hope—for our fates were bound together.

We soared upward. The heaviness of night drew close in a quiet mist that descended across the sea.

7

As we flew, hour by hour, I did not see anything but the dark of sky and sea and the ghost-light of the stars beyond the mist.

After many such hours, when the wind had stilled, I felt the slight warmth of a slow daybreak like a soft warning behind us, in the east, hours away, yet it bothered me to know it would come. My breath began to feel ragged. Thirst tore at my throat and dried my mouth. The pain of it had begun to grow intense, but I did not want to drink from Pythia gain, for it would weaken her more than it would strengthen me.

Pythia did not fare much better. She began flying low, almost down to the waves themselves, as if expecting to dive below them should the sun reach out with its fire toward her.

The sky went from blackness to a rich purple, and we both knew the sun would burn the skies behind us within a few hours.

I saw vague shapes as if great luminous beasts lurked in the depths of the sea—serpents and tentacled creatures, behemoths and leviathans roaming the wide ocean; some I would alter come to know as whales and dolphins and large schools of squid, others vanished from the earth before mortals could observe them.

I saw what seemed to be human faces of creatures as they swam, clinging to the backs of rays and long narrow fish as they moved along the surface of the water.

As we soared farther, the sea calmed as if dead. It grew heavy and impenetrable with weed and grass at its surface.

This made me think there might be some island nearby. As we went into the fog that thickened around us, I had nearly lost hope.

The stillness of the mist, and the quiet of the water—not twenty feet below where we flew—gave me an ominous sense that we had somehow left the sea itself and had crossed the Veil.

After an hour of flying through this, I began to feel the hackles of panic along my wingspan. Within the stream, I felt Pythia's movement draw me from the moonless sky, to a great ship with its sails slack, a prisoner within this silent calm sea.

Here was our island for the morning.

We would have extinguished in the sunlight above the great sea to the west of Aztlanteum had Pythia not seen the ship, still in the middle of the sea, as if docked.

With less than an hour to sunrise, we dove down as if falling toward the vessel. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the Author:

1. How is the archetype of a vampire used in this novel?


2. The author clearly has studied mythology. What are some of the myths that he's used to tell this story?


3. How do the fantasy elements of this novel affect the very true to life emotional stakes?

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