“Orlando fancies himself a wizard,” Roxanne explained with a brittle, bitter smile. “He came here as a conjurer when I was just a child.”
“Wherever he is, whatever he may have become, Kivar will not rest until the Chalice is his, until he has destroyed it,” the dwarf said to Simon. “He knows its power; for a thousand years, he has craved it.” He looked around at the slaughtered knights. “When he heard of your duke, an English noble, laying siege to a palace already within his control, he knew that his moment had come.”
Roxanna had been watching the corpses as well. Suddenly she lunged forward with her axe, and Simon, turning, saw Sir Alan rising from the floor, looking dazed and unhappy. Before he could speak, Roxanna had lopped off his head. “No!” Simon shouted, horrified. “He was alive—”
“He was not, idiot,” she shot back, staking the headless stump. “No more alive than you or me or my brother, Alexi—remember what happened to him?” She turned back to Simon, dropping the stake and brushing the hair back from her forehead, her face once more spattered with gore. “He was a vampire.” Behind her, Alan’s body was dissolving as Kivar’s had done, and Simon saw other streaks of the same sort of slime smeared all over the polished floor.
“All of them?” he said weakly, feeling sick again.
“No,” she answered, softening her tone. “Most are dead already, their souls released. The victim must consume the monster’s blood to become undead himself.” She picked up the axe again, then let it fall as if she were suddenly too tired to hold it any longer. “I’m sorry, warrior.”
“Simon, you must find the Chalice,” Orlando said. “Kivar misjudged you—he could never have expected you to be able to destroy even so much of him as you have. You can destroy him utterly, and in so doing, save yourself and Roxanna. The Chalice is your salvation; drink from it, and you will be restored.”
“Orlando, enough,” Roxanna said, this stranger who was now his sister in cursed blood. “Leave him alone.”
“The Chalice?” Simon repeated, barely hearing her. “You really mean the Holy Grail?” He almost laughed aloud. The son of a bard, he had grown up on tales of Arthur and his knights, of their quest for Christ’s last drinking goblet, the vessel of first communion. But Simon was a real knight, not a mythical creature of chivalry; he knew what a real knight was, and he had seen enough so-called holy relics in his day to know what they were, too. “I’m no Galahad, Orlando,” he said with a bitter grin.
“Your Holy Grail is a story, a tale told by your priests,” Orlando scoffed. “But the Chalice is real.” He drew a scroll from his conjurer’s cloak and unrolled it. “This belonged to Kivar himself, an ancient text stolen from the tomb of a holy saint. Whe
n Kivar found it, he knew the Chalice had indeed gone to England, just as the legends say.”
Simon looked down at the rough map of what could have been Britain, he supposed, its shape surrounded on every side by writing, the same queer symbols as on Kivar’s ruined robe. In one corner was a drawing of a plain, undecorated wine cup with lines drawn coming out of it as if to represent God’s light. Below it was a cross made from a sword and a rough stake of wood. “If this Chalice is real, it is a holy thing,” he said, handing the scroll back to Orlando. “Only the purest of knights could ever find it, the most blessed—”
“Another fairy tale,” Orlando scoffed. “Are you not a warrior? Are you not on a quest?”
“I was a warrior for him!” He pointed to the duke’s dead body, suddenly choking with grief. “I came here only because he wished it—I would gladly have followed him to hell.” His vision clouded over red again, this time with tears of blood. “And so I have.”
“You are blessed, Simon,” Orlando said, smiling. “Think of what just happened in this hall. Look at your companions, all dead—none of them even bothered to fight.” He picked up Simon’s fallen sword and offered it to him. “You are blessed, sir knight.”
“He is right,” Roxanna admitted. “A thousand of my father’s men could not do what you did.” A blood tear of her own slid down her cheek. “Perhaps this chalice does exist; perhaps it still may save you. But not me.” She took the sword from Orlando and offered it herself. “If you are a knight, I ask for your help as a woman, a damsel under a curse. Finish me before you go.”
Simon took the sword, uncertain what he meant to do, and Orlando flung himself in front of the girl. “You will not,” he insisted, his whole manner turning to fury. “You will need my help to find the Chalice, and if she dies, I will never help you.”
“I never said I wanted to find your Chalice,” Simon protested, but neither of them heard him.
“Wizard, let me go,” Roxanna begged, falling to her knees before Orlando. “I only lived so long to save Alexi; you know that.” She touched his bearded cheek. “Now he is dead.”
“But you can live,” the dwarf insisted. “You can be as you were once before, before the monster came—”
“I cannot!” She framed his face in her hands, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Even if my soul were restored to me, even if I could once more walk in the light, I could never be the maid that I was then. I have murdered… so many, not just because Kivar forced me to do it but because of my own thirst. You want to call me blameless, but I know in my heart I am not. I have tasted blood.” Her tears flowed like an open wound. “Please, don’t make me do it anymore.”
“No,” Orlando promised, taking her hands in his. “I promise I will not.” He drew something from his pocket, the ruby-colored bottle Simon had seen him take out in the garden. “Trust me, beloved,” he said, taking out the stopper. “I will keep you safe.”
She looked first at the bottle, then at Simon. “And if he should fail?”
“I will do as you wish,” the dwarf said, holding it out to her.
Simon expected her to take it, to drink some potion it held. But slowly she began to fade, her form turning transparent in the flickering light. As Simon watched in wonder, the vampire melted into mist. A sweet scent filled the air for a moment as the vapor flowed into the bottle. Then suddenly both vapor and perfume were gone, and Orlando put in the stopper.
“She… ?”
“She is safe,” Orlando said, putting the bottle away in his cloak. “It’s a vampire trick; you can do it, too, and more besides.” He turned back to Simon. “You have three choices, sir knight.” Outside a lark began to sing, a harbinger of the dawn. “You can live as the un-dead, feeding on the living with no greater purpose. You can wait for the sun to consume you.” He held out the scroll again. “Or you can embark on your quest.”
Simon took the map with its drawing of this Chalice, this magical prize the wizard spoke of with such faith. In a thousand years, he could never hope to claim it. But he had to try. He wanted to go home.
1
Isabel hurried through the cellar, ignoring the voices of her household calling after her. She was as frightened and worried as anyone in the castle; she had no answers to give.