Blood Legacy: Heir to the Throne (28 page)

Ryan quietly made her way through the stone entrance, pausing only long enough for her eyes to adjust. She traversed a long, narrow corridor that seemed to slope slightly downward. She sensed she was not alone, but beyond that could not sense much of anything. The corridor gradually widened, then opened dramatically into a huge room. She stared around her in wonder.

The room was lit by candles and lamps, the scented oil pleasantly burning. Various couches were strewn about, draped with fine, sheer, linens. Beautiful women lounged about the chamber, their exotic features indicating they were from many lands. All eyed the newcomer with interest, a few giggling shyly.

Ryan was quite astonished to realize they were her Kind, although quite different from the European version she had met. The overt sensuality of these creatures was almost irresistible, without the complicated, underlying power struggles that seemed so prevalent among the Others. A man in flowing, military garb approached her, and Ryan recognized the uniform of a Janissary.

“Please come with me,” the man said in heavily accented English. Ryan was surprised he spoke her language, and admired the melody of his speech. She followed him down another long corridor which exited into another large room. She was left alone in what looked like a study, filled with scrolls and elaborate gadgets. One such piece of machinery had all sorts of intricate gears and small parts, fascinating Ryan. She delicately touched the device, trying to fathom its purpose.

So fascinated was she by the strange objects, Ryan was not aware she was being watched.

The dark-skinned man watched the creature in his study with delight and amazement. Strikingly beautiful, her light hair was a stark contrast to the almost universally dark-haired occupants of this land. But it was not her physical beauty that stunned him, nor was it the power that flowed through her veins, power he had sensed miles away. Rather it was her fearlessness in approach, her casual inspection of his prized possessions, the utter concentration of a distracted child.

Ryan finally tore herself away from the intriguing device, standing upright. It was only then that she became aware of the presence behind her and turned toward the man watching her. She became very still.

The man was gorgeous, physically older than Victor with the handsome, swarthy features of the men of this land. He wore a beard and mustache as custom, but unlike convention both were neatly trimmed. His eyes were intense, black as night but filled with both wisdom and humor. He was definitely her Kind, and most definitely an Old One. And although she had never met him before, in this instant she recognized him.

“Salah al-Dīn,” she said slowly, using his formal name.

Saladin was now even more stunned. “You know me?” he asked.

“I have my mentor’s Memories,” Ryan said slowly, “and it is he who knows you.”

“That is not possible,” Saladin said, “there is only one outside my troupe who knows of my existence, and he is too powerful to initiate Change.”

Ryan did not speak, merely standing beneath Saladin’s intense scrutiny. It was he, who at last spoke.

“And yet you bear Victor’s mark, this is certainty.”

Ryan was trying to remember through Victor’s mind. It was very difficult because she was still young and not supposed to have such an ability. Although she possessed many of his Memories, some sat inert in her blood, triggered only by some familiar smell or taste. Then the Memory would rise to the forefront, creating the strangest sensation of clearly remembering something she had never experienced. She had such a sensation now, of clearly recognizing someone who, before this instant, had not existed for her. She realized Victor had lied to her about the presence of her Kind because he had been keeping a promise to Saladin.

“Victor met you during the Crusades,” Ryan said slowly, “he greatly admired and respected you.”

“The respect was mutual,” Saladin replied, “your mentor was, and probably still is, a great warrior and an honorable lord.”

Ryan was thinking through the implications of two of her Kind fighting such a battle. She assessed Saladin, thinking him very close to being Victor’s equal. “How did it come to pass that either side could win such a war?”

“You truly are Victor’s offspring,” Saladin said, smiling. “The truth of the matter is that neither side could win, that what was gained would soon be lost, that what was lost would eventually be regained, and that as time stretched on, none of it made any difference.” Saladin glanced up at an intricate map. “Jerusalem will continue to change hands, perhaps for centuries.” He turned back to Ryan. “It was Victor who convinced me to withdraw, as did he, after the Treaty of Ramla.”

Ryan was curious. “But history tells a different story of you. It is recorded that you were born in the 12th century, but you are clearly older than that.”

Saladin nodded.

“It is also recorded,” Ryan continued, “that you had children, and that you died. None of our Kind can reproduce other than by Sharing, and obviously you are not dead.”

“History is written by the victors,” Saladin said, pausing slightly, “and I won.”

“Ah,” Ryan said, understanding. Victor had on many occasions encouraged confusion regarding their existence, including once staging his own death. It was the only way they could survive through centuries without attracting unwanted attention. But Saladin had chosen an extreme path.

“So you have withdrawn completely,” Ryan said, “even from the Others.”

Saladin nodded. “I have everything I want and need, and I can think of nothing that would make me break my solitude.”

Ryan found the man very curious, fascinating in fact. She understood Victor’s admiration of him.

For Saladin, the fascination was mutual. This Young One, if she could even be called that, was mesmerizing. It was not unusual for their Kind to possess power and sensuality, although possessing it to such a degree at such a young age was remarkable. What attracted Saladin, however, was the air of mischief about her, as if she could at will and with great merriment create complete chaos.

“If Victor and I were not such close friends,” Saladin said, watching the girl, “I think I would have to keep you here with me.”

“Then it is a good thing we are close friends,” Victor said, coming through the door. He glanced at his wayward offspring. “I see you have met Ryan.”

Saladin stood. “Assalamu alaikum,” he said, grasping Victor’s forearm.

“And to you be peace with God’s mercy,” Victor replied.

Although Ryan had seen Victor’s respect for Saladin through his Memories, she was still surprised to see the affection between the two men. She had rarely seen Victor display that type of warmth toward any of their Kind. Victor turned to Ryan.

“Why don’t you,” Victor suggested, “go wander about while I visit with my old friend?”

Ryan knew she had been dismissed but did not mind. There was much about the compound she wished to see, starting with the Janissary weapons. She thought she could find some helpful young soldier to show her the swords and firearms. She started toward the door with some enthusiasm, but was unable to keep herself from touching the intricate mechanism one last time before she left.

“That is quite something,” Saladin commented, watching the girl leave.

“You have no idea,” Victor said wryly. He shifted, perhaps with slight discomfort, as Saladin turned his unblinking gaze to him.

“And how exactly did you accomplish that?” Saladin asked.

“It is–” Victor paused, wanting to tell his friend the truth, but unable to do so. “It is complicated.”

“Hmm,” was Saladin’s reply.

Victor hesitated. He had never told anyone the truth, and Ryan herself did not know.

Saladin watched his friend shrewdly, then turned to look at the recently vacated doorway. His expression slowly turned to one of amazement.

“She is your daughter.”

Victor did not respond, but he did not need to.

“And she does not know,” Saladin finished.

“No one does,” Victor said.

Saladin was now more than amazed. “How is this possible?”

Victor simply shook his head. “As I said, it is complicated. Quite frankly, I am not certain myself.”

Saladin sat back in his chair. This was truly stunning. He had never heard of any of their Kind reproducing other than through Sharing. Some, mostly Young Ones, still engaged in the act of sexual congress, but none had ever had a child.

“That is why you were able to Change her,” Saladin mused, “because she was born transformed, or at least partially so.”

“That would be my assumption,” Victor said. He, too, gazed at the empty doorway. “There is much about that one I am not certain of.” Victor glanced about him, taking in much more than the room itself.

“I have always admired your way of life,” Victor began. “You have largely divorced yourself from the politics of our Kind. You have chosen your offspring wisely, not merely for their physical beauty or for their ability to satisfy you, but because of attributes such as wisdom and equanimity.”

“It has allowed us to live much more peacefully than most of our Kind,” Saladin said. “I am not so sure we could remain so isolated without that balance. But you,” Saladin said, eyeing his friend, “do not have that choice.”

“No,” Victor agreed, “someone must take responsibility for the hierarchy.”

The two men settled into silence, their thoughts very similar. As powerful and predatory as their Kind could be, considerable checks and balances were required. One of the most important functions was to make certain that Young Ones who were not worthy of immortality did not survive. That problem generally took care of itself, but every once in awhile there was someone who seemed about to slip into the ranks of the middle ground, and required elimination. There was nothing more dangerous than one of their Kind who was mentally unbalanced or too desirous of attention. All were allowed to do their time on the world’s stage, but then were required to slip quietly back into oblivion. Any time legends of the undead began circulating a certain part of the world, it generally meant someone was guilty of indiscretion.

“So you have taken the opposite approach,” Saladin said, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” Victor asked.

Saladin made an expansive gesture. “I have spent my time creating well-balanced, stable offspring, who in turn create more favorable offspring. You, on the other hand, have chosen to create only a single progeny.”

Saladin gazed at his friend. “One, perfect, offspring.”

Victor held Saladin’s gaze, sensing the other man’s misgivings.

“Perhaps it is because I am far more religious than you, my friend,” Saladin said, “but historically, a perfect only-child is generally sacrificed.”

CHAPTER 29

RYAN SLEPT FOR A VERY LONG TIME. Susan herself slept for awhile, and spent the rest of the time caring for Drake. Her captors obviously understood the boy needed nourishment because they brought him appropriate food on a regular basis.

When Ryan finally awoke, she glanced around quickly to ensure that her son and Susan were still present and unharmed. Ryan relaxed when she saw them sleeping on adjacent couches, noting that no one else was present. She stretched, gingerly at first, then encouraged by her lack of pain, more vigorously. She stood, still stretching, pleased that she seemed to be recovering. She again wondered if the pain was associated with the paralysis rather than the actual feeding.

Ryan glanced around the room. It was the first time she had been able to move enough to explore her surroundings. She walked to the far wall, certain she was seeing natural light, and was rewarded by finding a small window. She peered outward, unable to see much but clouds. At least now she would be able to mark the passage of time.

Ryan turned back to the room. The architecture, furniture, even the decorations seemed to have some arithmetical basis to them. The same, geometric patterns repeated themselves, the only difference being in scale. The walls themselves were either carved with the patterns, or if brick, set in the patterns. Ryan returned to examining the outer wall. The bricks were set perfectly, and did not appear to have much in terms of grout between them. Ryan ran her fingers along the spacing between the bricks. It was a pleasant sensation, the pattern very rhythmic as she moved her hands. Again, she had the sensation that the construction was much like the pyramids, but on a grander and more advanced scale.

The stairs leading up to the center of the room caught Ryan’s attention. Although she wanted to examine some of the furniture in greater detail, the large doors at the top of the stairway were a greater curiosity. Ryan stepped down into the main floor, crossed the chamber, then started up the steps. She had reservations, picturing Madelyn bursting through the doors and toppling her backwards down the stairs. The picture was humorous to Ryan and in no way daunting. Besides, she was not even certain if Madelyn was within the citadel, let alone within her chambers.