vampire dark ages - clan novel 05 - lasombra

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Praise for David Niall WilsonDavid Wilson has taken the horror genres most v:nerableicon-the vampire-to a new level of transcendence.

--Thomas Monteleone, author of The Resurrectionist Bloodof the Lamb

David Niall Wilson is one of the genres brightest new stars.Darkly brilliant and intensely literate, his work accomplishes arare feat-it challenges, it frightens, and it succeeds. I wouldntmiss anything he writes.

-Richard Chizmar, editor of Cemetery Dance Magazine

And fo r the Dark AgesClan Novel Series

For Dark es: No sfe rat uby G h e r i d Fleming

Well-written [and] by one of White Wolfs best current au-thors ...-John Margaritsanakis, x Libis Nocturnis


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Dark Ages and Vampire Fiction f r o mW h i t eWolf

The Dark ges Clan Novel SeriesDark Ages: Nosferatu by Gherbod FlemingDark Ages: Assamite by Stefan PetmchaDark Ages: Cappadocian by Andrew BatesDark Ages: Setite by Kathleen RyanDark Ages: Lasombra by David Niall Wilson

O t h e r Dark ges FictionDark Tyrants by Justin Achilli Robert Hatch (editors)The Erciyes Fragments by C. S. Friedman

To Sift Through Bitter Ashes by David Niall WilsonTo Speak in Lifeless Tongues by David Niall WilsonTo Dream of Dreamers Lost by David Niall Wilson

The Clan Novel SeriesClan Novel: Toreador by Stewart WieckClan Novel: Tzimisce by Eric GriffinClan Novel: Gangrel by Gherbod Fleming


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David NiallWilson


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Cover art by John Bolton. Map by Conan Venus.

Graphic design by Kieran Yanner. rt direction byRichard Thomas. Copyediting by Melissa Thorpe.

02003 White Wolf, Inc. All rights reserved

No part of this book m a y be reproduced or transmitted in any form or byany means, electronic or mechanical-including photocopy, recording,Internet posting, electronic bulletin board+[ any otherinformation

storage and retrieval system, except for the purpose of reviews, withoutpermission from the publisher.

White Wolf is committed to reducing waste in publishing. For this reason,we do not permit our covers to be stripped for returns, but instead

require that the whole book be returned, allowing us to resell it.

All persons, places, and organizations in this bo ok -e xc ep t those clearlyin the public domain-are fictitious, and any resemblance that may seemto exist to actual persons, places, or organizations living, dead, or defunctIS

purely coincidental. The mention of or reference to any companies orproducts in these pages is not a challenge to the trademarks or copyrightsconcerned.


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cknowledgments

T h i s book is dedicated to Trish, who makes all thingsin my life possible, including insane deadlinescreative darkness. I would also like to grateful11knowledge Mr. William Hartman for his in terethe World of Darkness, his creat ive addit ion tovolume, and his amazing generosity.

and

y ac-st in

1 this

Finally, Id like to dedicate this to my little broIt was a long time coming, but when he star ted I

ing, he did me the extra hono r of loving my wriand the vampire Mont rovant from the Grailsenant Trilogy Heres another one, bro.

ther.-ead-ting,

Yov


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pabseu S I I ~ L C m e riiibguiueu rwurui Lrubaut: W L ~ U

and looted the golden city of Constantinople. TheFranks and V e n e t i a n s r a l l e d simply Latins by thelocal Greeks-have carved up t h e fallen city and

empire, founding their Latin Empire of Byzantium.

Already they face threats from the Bulgars in Thraceand various Greek successor states, but for now aFrenchman sits o n the throne of th e Second Rome.

Away from the eyes of men, i n the benighted worldof vampires, things are n o less chaotic. Michael, the

powerful predator who ruled as patriarch of the Byz-antine undead has been destroyed, and none have

stepped forward t o succeed h im. Among Greek vam-

pires, all hopes rest with Malachi te, a member of theNosferatu clan. H e is said to be on a quest across


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Coming down the stairs she could still hear him. She

half-expected the inns thronging patrons to turn to herand fall on her as one, but they only gave her curiousglances, as they had all evening. She pushed through themand out, tumbling queasily among the slabs of living, heav-

ing flesh until she fell out the door into the bitter wintergusts. The inns heat remained in her cheeks as she madeher way through the narrow streets.

Her cold cleft. How dare he How dare he grasp forher with his skinny fingers one moment and accuse h r ofinciting his lust in the next. Hed been watching her as thewolf watched the lamb before shed even crossed the com-mon room. Who was he to tell her about a womans desire?Had he ever so much as consulted a woman for her desire?At least the Cainite thirst was a thirst for sustenance, anecessity. These mortal men lusted for flesh no less greed-ily, whether any necessary purpose could be served or not.It was their delight, this plundering of innocence, and thenof the tatters of whatever remained once innocence wasgone. Before Gregory took her in, shed seen it. Shed learnedfrom the other urchins how not to be found, where to sleep


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Through all her journeys, she was always on the pil-

grim road. Shed followed the lecherous boys suggestedroute from Grenoble to the town of S t. Gilles, and neverescaped it. f she kept on westward past Toulouse, eventu-ally she would reach Compostela-the Holy Land of the

West. Or if she wished, she could go down to the harborand stow herself aboard a Hospitaler ship bound for thereal Holy Land. Either way, God ruled her every step.Lately that did not seem the comfort it should. Supposingshe did go on to Compostela, would the Apostle Jamesreceive her? Could she stand in the fierce corona of theHoly Sepulcher in Jerusalem? If even the little cross ofIsidro terrified her, what was left of pilgrimage?

Andreas had his answer. He put his trust in Set,Lord of Storms, and no matter where the winds blew himhe went forward calmly secure in the protection of onelittle god among a thronging pantheon of little gods. Thesnake-priest had once said that he could not credit the

idea of a Lord of All-or if there was such a Lord, Hewas clearly fickle, inattentive, even cruel. Unworthy ofworship, in any case. The God of the Hebrews and Chris-


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She clambered barefoot down the wall on the knot-

ted rope she had left over from the raid at Bergamo andspent what seemed like far too long snapping and work-ing the rope to get the hook free again. If she could onlyget a t a proper hammer, she was sure she could bend i tinto a better shape. Then she laced her shoes back onand headed for the abbey. Its bells tolled, calling the be-ginning of some night-service. Isidro had to be there, orhad to have been there very recently. Where else wouldhe stay?

But as she drew nearer, she heard another sort ofmusic, and a little light blossomed at the far end of thecourtyard, a campfire. A lone tinker sat by it, cooking whatsmelled like some kind of salt pork and singing in a tongueshe didnt recognize. As she walked by, she caught thegleam of his tools, laid out with great care on a square ofsheepskin. He took a bite of his meal, picked up a tooland began to polish and oil it. The song sounded like a

work-song, lively but just a bit monotonous.Gregorys face had been spare and sad, not round and

affable, and hed never chewed pork-fat or anything else


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glimpse of red habit in between the arches of an outer

walkway, or perhaps to overhear a snatch of conversation.Or-a new thought-there might be servants still up atthis hour, squaring away the last horses that had made itin before sundown. She followed the smell of horses to

the heavy stable-yard gate. She banged at it, and thenhanged a t i t harder with the soft side of her fist when noone answered at first.

A little panel set in it opened. What? f youre seek-ing lodging, you should go around.

Not lodging-I only want to give a letter. Shemoved her hands up toward the panel; t o his mortal eyes,there seemed t he a parchment there, hearing the unhro-ken seal of the Bergamo monastery.

Oh? Cant quite make the name on it out. Fromthe tone of his voice he was clearly fibbing. He couldntread-that part of her illusion went entirely to waste.

Its for Brother Isidro. I was told for finding him here.

Is he inside?How would I know? The mans voice turned irritated.Is a tall monk, in a red robe- she began.Oh Th dd d h bit Th i f th


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She hissed a curse in Greek to herself. Then again,

perhaps curiosity was among Isidros flaws, and perhaps thestable hand would say something to him about the girl withthe mysterious missive from Ekrgamo. She could return to-morrow and see if shed piqued any interest, and if it might

be possible to arrange a meeting after all. Even ifhe wouldnttake such bait, at least he had to leave again before toolong. Perhaps she should go now, before the night got anyolder, spy out the road ahead and try to determine where apair of monks would most likely take lodging the first nightout. The trouble with only being up after sundown was thatby then even most of the travelers among the living wereensconced somewhere, and rarely alone. She still had noidea how to separate Isidro and his companion. Or how shecould possibly fight the two of them together. If anyonehad come with her, anyone at all

But that still hurt too much to think about. N o onehad come for either her sake or Gregorys. That was that.

The sound of pounding hoof beats echoed in thesquare. She threw herself into a recess in the wall. lonehorse, a great black warhorse, clattered up to the stable-


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vampire dark ages - clan novel 05 - lasombra

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