Chapter 28: The Tomb of the Alukah

“The dread Rabisu and its brood spread a red tide across the land. Blood flowed like spring water and screams matched the wind. Nothing could stand before the Rabisu. Crowned in Red Night and glutted upon a nation’s blood. Wyrm, Giant, Djinn, and Demon all fell to the Abomination. Only the chosen and their golden blood could stop the flow of red.” The Book of Miracles, Lamentations 9:4

Leaping down the stairs, three at a time, with Glockmire slung over his shoulder, Dietrich tried to formulate a plan. He needed to escape but to where? The Castle was infested with traitors, and the Sun prevented fleeing it. Dietrich needed someplace he could hide until nightfall. Somewhere that he could sleep safely. The tunnels under the Castle seemed like a good possibility, and Dietrich hurried to escape into their depths. An explosion of shattering wood, accompanied by the sound of claws on stone, pulled Dietrich's attention for anything other than immediate survival.

The Varcolac had burst from the Studio and was headed towards Dietrich. It was coming up the great circling stairs while its masters pursued from the opposite direction. Dietrich was stuck between two serious dangers while badly wounded. After a moment of hesitation, Dietrich picked his poison and rushed headlong towards the attacking Varcolac. Letting out a screeching howl that combined the worst aspects of a Wolf's call and a Man’s agony, the Undead Werewolf charged Dietrich. Instead of dodging it, Dietrich met the beast head-on. Outrunning the monster would be virtually impossible. Fighting it with only one arm and without his sword would be tantamount to suicide.

At least fighting it physically would be. Dietrich was a scion of the Archduke, naturally talented in the arts of dominating lesser souls. Rushing the beast, Dietrich got as close as he could and looked into the milky eyes of the Varcolac. The saying “Eyes are the Window to the Soul” is not mere poetry, eye-contact provides a moment where souls briefly touch and when powerful mental magics are most potent. Dietrich thrust his willpower and focus against the Varcolac and smashed through its mental defenses.

The mind of the Varcolac, if it could be called that. It was a raging ball of half-remembered instincts and blurry concepts. Raw animal hunger augmented with human suffering and left to fester in an undying shell. Fighting those desires would be next to impossible for Dietrich currently. The fact Petar or one of his sycophants had managed to leash this thing was remarkable. Dietrich couldn’t stop the monster's momentum, but he could change its direction. Reaching deep into the monster's mind, Dietrich found the bindings that controlled it. Metaphorical chains that kept the Varcolac aimed where Petar wanted. These bindings were pulled taught by the snarling intensity of the monster, so it was easy for Dietrich to reach out and snap one.

The whole interaction took less than a second, and Dietrich barely managed to dodge the lunging jaws of the Varcolac. Ironically, missing an arm and much of his armor made dodging the Varcolac easier. Spinning past the monster, Dietrich continued down the stairs, hoping his efforts were not in vain. The roar and scream that came a few moments later vindicated his actions. The Varcolac had spotted other prey in the form of the traitors and attacked one of them. Buying valuable time for Dietrich to run as fast as he could.

Moving with the speed of a condemned man, Dietrich escaped the central spire and made his way for the Catacombs. He pushed past any obstacle, relying on sheer momentum to plow through Guards who stood in his way. Dietrich looked for thralls and other servants as he ran, hoping to find a convenient source of blood. By now, he’d exhausted his well of power and needed to feed desperately. Glockmire would as well, Dietrich did not know what the traitors had done to the old Vampire, but he hoped a fresh blood meal would pull him from torpor.

Entering into the Catacombs proper, Dietrich made a grim decision. He knew of only one source of blood he could access with ease. While he wanted to head deeper into the tunnels, Dietrich would stop by his crypt first. The door to the chamber he nested in was still shut, but Dietrich could smell his thralls inside. Throwing the door open with ease, Dietrich looked around the room. The four thralls looked exhausted and scared. Their fear momentarily turned to terror at his arrival but quickly settled to relief as they recognized him. A tiny thing that made what Dietrich was about to do all that more difficult.

All four of these humans had served him well for years, decades in Mimny’s case. They were all bound to him and were his property, to be protected and utilized as he saw fit. Reaching out through the arcane chains that stretched from his mind to theirs, Dietrich knocked all four of them into unconsciousness. Even poor Yara, who’d managed to wake in the time he’d been gone. Ensuring this was painless was the little mercy Dietrich could provide. Setting Lord Glockmire down, Dietrich grabbed the slumped body of Mimney and sunk his fangs into the man's throat.

It was a quick death; Dietrich made sure it was. Instantly Dietrich felt more alive; the draining exhaustion that had pulled on him faded, and he felt new flesh start to grow over the exposed bones of his torso. When the last drop left Mimney’s corpse, Dietrich moved to Ogan. The stocky man provided enough blood to seal Dietrich's injuries but not regrow his arm. Such an expensive process could wait; for now, having reserves of blood to draw on would be vital.

Laying both corpses down with as much care as Dietrich could spare. He turned and grabbed Vichiry, this time dragging the unconscious man over to Lord Glockmire and slitting the thrall's throat above the ancient Vampires mouth. Lifeblood poured into the Lord’s maw and whatever remained of the old monster was cognizant enough to gulp it down. With that done, Dietrich went to his final thrall, Yara looked pale and for a moment, Dietrich hesitated. He’d fed on her dozens of times and she’d served him faithfully. Even now her sacrifice was why he was awake. Spending her life, especially now that her injuries and blood loss made it wasteful, felt wrong to Dietrich. Shutting his eyes in a rare moment of guilt, Dietrich went to do what was necessary.

A croaking voice from behind him grabbed Dietrich's attention. “Knight? Is that you? What happened?”

Johan Glockmire looked terrible. Propping himself up on skeletal arms, the ancient Vampire looked like a desiccated corpse. His skin taught and grey, his eyes sunken and withered, while his body jerked and twitched with every movement. Dietrich had never seen a Vampire starved into hibernation, but he guessed this is what they must look like.

Setting Yara down, Dietrich returned to his Lord and spoke. “Yes it's me, I got you away from the Traitors but we don’t have much time. They will deal with my distractions and be here quickly.”

Glockmire let out a low choking noise that Dietrich realized was laughter. “You’ve just delayed the inevitable Scarlet Knight. I’m too far gone, soon my last bit of strength will give out, and I’ll be ash. But still, such a delay is appreciated. Stymying that bastard Petar for a few moments longer is worth it.”

Dietrich looked back towards Yara and Glockmire seemed to read his intentions. “Oh leave the girl Dietrich. A few more drops of the red will not do me any good. Now let us see if we can deny the enemy victory.”

Shakily, on jittery, spastic legs, Glockmire stood and moved towards the door. The old Vampire collapsed against the wood and gripped the nearby stone wall for support. The solid masonry cracked under Glockmire’s grip, even as he struggled to stay upright. A poignant reminder of how a near-death ancient Vampire was still an ancient Vampire.

Moving to assist his Lord, Dietrich asked. “You believe we cannot win? So we deny them victory? How?”

Resting his arm on the solid surviving shoulder of Dietrich, Glockmire gestured out into the hallway. “Follow my directions, and we will see what is possible.”

Nodding, Dietrich grabbed the still unstable Vampire and ran down the hallway. Glockmire didn’t complain about the treatment, which spoke to how badly the Lord was doing. It takes much for a Vampire to swallow their pride in any meaningful way.

Heading deeper into the tunnel system below the Castle, Dietrich followed Glockmire's directions. The tunnels were set up on a large grid that constantly expanded in all three directions as the skeletal laborers dug through the stone. It was a true maze of abandoned rooms, dusty corridors, and active digging sites where the click of pickaxe and shovel was still heard. Glockmire ordered Dietrich to descend down staircases and make turns in what seemed a random order. As the trip continued the directions became increasingly nonsensical, more than once Dietrich found himself running in a complicated circle before descending to the next floor.

At first, Dietrich was unsure if Glockmire was truly cognisant and if his directions were actually of any use. But as they continued, Dietrich started to realize something was happening. Every few twists or turns he’d get a sudden pang of vertigo or deja vu. A sense that he’d walked the same hall a dozen times or a moment where the room around him spun slightly. While he’d never personally experienced this phenomenon before, he’d heard of it. Complicated spells had been etched into these tunnels. A bizarre network of teleportation and folded-space that Dietrich was traversing.

Rarely Dietrich heard distant shouts and sounds of his pursuers but they never got too close. Whatever path Glockmire was guiding him on was not something others could follow. The journey reached its climax as Dietrich reached the lowest layer of the Castle, a section of tunnel unfinished. Where living rock still made up the walls, not yet altered by chisel or magic. They passed by crews of skeletons that chipped away at the stone and broke rock, reaching the farthest reaches of the tunnels. Here, Glockmire raised a single withered finger to point at the far wall, a rough face of stone strata.

“That wall set me down before it.”

Dietrich complied and let the Lord get to his feet. Glockmire hobbled over to the stone and pressed his hands upon it. Murmuring a few words Dietrich did not understand, Glockmire started to melt into the stone. Passing through solid rock like it was some thick sludge. As Glockmire disappeared totally into the stone, Dietrich saw no other option but to follow him. The stone complied for Dietrich, letting him pass through it. It felt like moving through a pool of cold mud, an upright bog that Dietrich had to push himself through slightly. No air or light reached him and Dietrich was forced to simply walk straight ahead and trust Glockmire.

After perhaps twenty steps, Dietrich left the enchanted stone and stepped into a Tomb. Lit faintly by a handful of Glowstones, the room was circular in shape, maybe ten meters in diameter. The walls were covered in rich murals, each depicting strange scenes. Most depicting a man in primitive armor fighting and killing people and monsters. The images told a story of violence and bloodshed, though Dietrich couldn’t discern much more. At the center of the chamber was a dais holding a massive sarcophagus. Easily three meters in length and carved from a polished black stone, the huge casket was inlaid with gold and gems. The lid and head of the sarcophagus were also cracked. A long jagged mark that Glockmire had slumped next to. Glockmire had placed his hand on the crack and looked at the sarcophagus with a mixture of grief and longing.

Turning his head to see Dietrich, Glockmire raised his free hand and made a gesture. The stone behind Dietrich groaned, and a curious touch from the Knight confirmed that it had solidified.

“We should be safe for now. Petar will not be able to reach us without considerable time and effort.” remarked Glockmire.

Looking around the chamber, Dietrich asked “What exactly is this place? Is this your lair?”

Wearily, Glockmire shook his head in the negative. “Infinite Hells no, I’m surprised you haven’t realized it yet. This is my treasure and my burden. The reason I’ve been able to enjoy an unlife of luxury, and why that idiot Petar is trying to kill me.”

Glockmire placed a shaky hand on the sarcophagus and spoke solemnly. “We are in the tomb of Annoch the Alukah, Seventh Bloodscion of the First Vampire. Which I was unfortunate enough to discover all those centuries ago.”

Dietrich took an unconscious step back from the sarcophagus and asked, “An Alukah? But they were all destroyed!”

Letting out the hacking cough he called a laugh, Glockmire castigated his bodyguard. “Clearly, the ancients missed one. Annoch was clever, or lucky enough to bury itself somewhere its pursuers never found. Hiding away under a mountain in a land untouched by Gods or mortals. Sleeping away the ages until everyone forgot about it. Eventually, the accursed thing started to wake up and cause problems. That was back when the Blood Duchies were still young. The Archduke sent me to investigate, and I found it sleeping here, ready to rise up and drown this whole land in blood.”

Glockmire gestured to the crack in the sarcophagus, and Dietrich realized a small stream of black fluid dripped out of the container and into a basin set on the floor. “I didn’t have many options, I couldn’t let it wake up, and I doubt anything of this Age could kill it. So I found a way to weaken it,” explained Glockmire.

“I have been siphoning its blood over two and a half centuries, drop by drop. Keeping it weak and unable to wake up. While also making myself fabulously wealthy in the process.” Glockmire dipped a finger into the nearly filled basin of black blood and let the thick tar-like fluid drip from his digit. “A few drops of Alukah blood can enhance a vampire's strength and protect them from our weaknesses. For a short time at least.”

Then, pieces fell into place for Dietrich, asking, “That is how Agate survived the Sun? I drove her into the dawn and assumed she’d found some way to hide. But she didn’t; this ichor protected her.”

The Lord nodded absently. “Yes, with enough of this Blood, any Vampire could walk about in the day like any mortal. I supplied a tremendous asset to the Archduke in exchange for an unlife of creature comforts and constant paranoia. Drakovich keeps this boon to himself and uses it to ensure his supremacy over his fellow Dukes. If someone were to uncover the blood's source, civil war would be inevitable. So I played my part, keeping the ancient monster asleep while ensuring the greatest of us modern monsters rules unchallenged.”

Absorbing these secrets, things even a Scarlet Knight was not privy to, Dietrich tried to understand what all had occurred. “What changed? If you have been doing this successfully for so long, why did Petar decide to betray you now?”

Shutting his glassy unblinking eyes, Glockmire became still as he pondered on his answer. “Petar has been with me since the very beginning; he was the first of my brood and always the most loyal. He… was a manservant on my family estate when I was turned. I only got the strength to sire him by the time he was an old man. Yet despite those abnormalities, he had served me well, and I… trusted him”

Those were words any Vampire found hard to speak. Admitting you trusted another was all but anathema to any Nocturnal Noble. Admitting you trusted someone and that trust has been misplaced was a profound statement of weakness. Something that would usually result in the true death of whoever was foolish enough to admit it. Dietrich ignored the weakness Glockmire displayed; the elder Vampire had earned at least that much respect from his guardian.

“He helped me throughout all this. It was his idea to constantly expand the tunnels to hide the extraction and transportation of the Blood. He had stood by my side unflinchingly until a little more than a decade ago. I gave him leave to visit other parts of the Blood Duchies. Ostensibly for bureaucratic reasons, in truth, because he sought a method to restore his youth.”

Dietrich remembered this. It had been close to twelve years ago when Petar had left Glockmire, both the town and the man it was named for. The Steward had spent three years elsewhere, supposedly negotiating trade treaties and tax policies for his lord.

“What happened when he left?” asked Dietrich.

In an uncharacteristically casual gesture, Glockmire shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. All I know is he failed to do what he set out to, but still, he made many new connections and gained a different perspective on matters. When Petar returned, he tried to breach the idea of taking the power of the Alukah for ourselves. Supplanting the Archduke and taking rulership over the realm.”

“You let him live after uttering such words!” barked Dietrich, the fervent loyalty beat into him as a Scarlet Knight baring its fangs.

Glockmire scoffed, “If you executed every Vampire who debated overthrowing his master, we’d go extinct in a month. I thought it was just the foolishness of an angry scion, something to chide, not punish. Even so, I took measures to limit Petar’s contact with the sarcophagus. The spell I wove in these tunnels will make reaching this place virtually impossible. The bindings on this tomb will only loosen if the maze I created is followed exactly. Petar will have to spend years guessing the pattern before he can even get close to my treasure.”

Musing on this, Dietrich tried to map out matters. “So Petar was looking to take the crown, like every other Vampire of growing power. Except unlike every other possible-tyrant he actually has an opportunity to claim a throne. The blood of the Alukah would grant him strength and resources. More than enough to present a legitimate threat to any of the Dukes. And the only thing blocking him from this path is you, Lord Glockmire.”

“Petar knows he cannot challenge you normally, my Lord, so he works to gather an army to his side. Something capable of wearing you down to a point he could beat you. But the Restbringer’s actions and my own disrupted this. While also giving you a warning that something is stirring. Forcing Petar to attack early when not every variable is accounted for. Leaving us in this situation.”

Glockmire nodded in agreement to Dietrich's summation. “Yes, my thoughts are similar. I’d been hoping to dissuade Petar and prevent this from getting out of hand. Call it the weakness of a Sire or the indulgences of an Elder, but I did not take quick enough action to stop all of this.”

Another admission of weakness, something that at this point didn’t surprise Dietrich. He saw how badly the older Vampire was doing. Such honesty was common in those with little time left to lie. “You are dying, truly?” asked the Scarlet Knight. “What did Petar do to you?”

Glockmire looked down at his withered form and nodded in confirmation. “I can feel my soul slipping away. They ripped enough of my essence away that what is left is not enough to sustain me. I’m bleeding away oceans of strength; I doubt I will last much longer than a few days.”

Returning his hand to the black pool of Alukah blood, Glockmire let the dark fluid cover his fingers as he spoke. “Normally, any Vampire stupid enough to try and consume their better would be in turn consumed. Devoured by their would-be prey. It's why I never tried to out-right consume the Alukah. Even asleep and weakened, it would easily drink me to ash. So I found an alternative option by siphoning its blood. I have consumed much of that blood, more than perhaps any other Vampire. It granted me great power but also a great weakness, one I had no idea existed until this morning.”

“The Blood of the Alukah wants to be whole; it seeks to return to its rightful owner. As the greatest usurper of that power, other holders of the Blood could turn that desire against me. The traitors each carry some of the Blood within them, and that gave them an opening to damage my soul. What they did was not like any true act of Consumption. They did not drink me after breaking me. Instead, they ripped open my soul and lapped at the spilling innards. Waiting till I was weak enough to be truly devoured. Petar got the lion-share of my power, but the traitors enjoyed the meal as well. Each of them will be far stronger than they should be.”

At that, Glockmire looked over Dietrich with his missing arm and ruined armor. “But I see you already know that.”

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Dietrich asked, “What is to be done then? Am I supposed to simply join the Alukah in its tomb?”

At that, Glockmire smiled surprisingly. “I cannot win, but I can deny Petar his prize. The power he’s stolen from me will be temporary unless I’m truly devoured. If I were to die without him or one of his minions claiming my life, then all their efforts would be for naught. Their stolen strength will drain away like bile in a rainstorm. Presenting an opportunity, I trust you will take advantage of Sir Dietrich?”

Understanding filled the Scarlet Knight, and he answered his Lord's smile with a feral grin of his own. Glockmire knew he was already dead, and he was positioning the pieces to deny the traitors their prize while putting Dietrich in a position to avenge him. A duty that Dietrich would gladly take on.

Still, one thing bothered him, a comment Glockmire had made back when Dietrich had first brought this matter to the elder Vampire's attention.

“My Lord, you said your treasure was active. You implied it was attempting to escape by itself. Was that deception to keep me away from the truth.”

In response, Glockmire slammed a hand against the sarcophagus with surprising strength. The huge stone construct actually scraped an inch along the ground. A few seconds after the blow, Dietrich started to hear something. A faint scratching noise that grew louder and louder. After a handful of tense moments, the scratching died down. The tiny stream of black blood dribbling from the sarcophagus’s crack flowed faster. More of the dark fluid flowed into the basin.

Looking at the huge stone coffin, Glockmire replied. “No, I was being truthful. My treasure is attempting to escape. Annoch the Alukah was asleep when I first came to this place. I kept it that way over these centuries. Draining its blood and power away over decades. And all that effort has finally started to pay off. No Well is infinite; no Spring can flow eternal. Annoch is dying just as I am. Soon there will be no more of this blood, and only a withered husk of the Alukah will remain. The threat of that fate is enough to rouse even Annoch. Unfortunately for it, it's too late. I’ve won, it lacks the strength to escape, and soon it will be destroyed.”

Glockmire’s smile widened to an inhumane rictus grin as he explained his secrets to the last person he could tell. “I’m dying, but I will do so victorious. My task set here by my liege, the Archduke, was to contain and kill the Alukah. I will have succeeded in that and go to my fate gladly. I have beaten a demigod of our kind and will deny the prize from my unworthy heirs. Is there a better way for a Vampire to end his eternal life?”

At those words, Dietrich felt an uncertain terror he could not describe. Some primal instinct, human or vampire, Dietrich could not tell, screamed at him to flee. These events had gone far past what he knew and understood. Armies, Battles, Coups, and Betrayals, these were all things Dietrich could handle. Until now, that had been the framing for all these events. Now, something seemed profoundly different. He’d entered into another part of the world, one he could not fully contemplate.

As that realization washed over him, the subtle madness that drove Glockmire became apparent. Dietrich looked at the crack in the Sarcophagus into the pitch-black innards of that accidental prison for an ancient monster. And for a split second, Dietrich swore something looked back at him from out of the shadow.