David McAfee - 61 A.D.

Voices came to him, quiet and distant. They seemed to come from the eastern edge of the village, where the fertile lands gave way to the Living Sands.

“No,” Ramah said. He dropped the elk and ran. There was only one reason the entire village would gather at the edge of the Living Sands. They meant to banish someone to the Wastes.

And he had a pretty good idea who.

“Mother!” he shouted as he ran. “Don’t do this!”

But as he neared the edge of his village, he saw his people gathered in a group. Several men spotted him and came out to meet him. He tried to shout a greeting, but they grabbed him by his arms and dragged him forward. As the crowd parted in front of them, he saw his mother standing on the edge of the Living Sands. The red mark of his hand was still plainly visible on her cheek.

Neeya was nowhere to be seen.

“Mother, what have you done?” he asked when he reached her. In response, she spat at his feet and slapped his face.

Ramah woke with a start, bolting upright on his makeshift bed of dried straw. The small bundle of cloth he’d used as a pillow was wet with blood. He picked it up and wiped away the tiny red trails from his cheeks. It had become a ritual of late. Every evening he woke with blood leaking from his eyes.

The dream. Every day this week it had come to him. Why? It was bad enough when he only dreamed once a month, but every damned day? What was the reason? He took the cloth away from his face, surprised to note the tremors that rocked his normally steady hands. Maybe he should see Lannis, after all.

He rose from the bed, shaking the memory from his head. The Living Sands had burned, like walking on coals…

No!

He had things to do tonight. Theron and Taras waited. He would have liked to kill them the night before, but by the time the Lost One finished with the Roman, the weakling had lost consciousness. Ramah needed to ask him a few questions before he allowed the bastard to die, and the sun was almost up, so he’d left him there, hanging from the chains in the wall.

But not tonight.

Ramah stood, shaking the last wisps of the dream from his mind as he set himself to the task at hand. Tonight Taras and Theron would both die, and he could return to the Halls of the Bachiyr and pay Lannis a visit. She might be able to cure him of the dreams, but she would want something in return.

Lannis always did.

“Goodbye, Theron,” Taras said, his claws sprouting from his fingertips. “I’d stay longer but I want to be gone by the time Ramah returns.” Taras stuck the tip of one claw under Theron’s jaw. Smart, Theron thought. He doesn’t dare get too close to my teeth.

A soft flicker of movement caught Theron’s eye just as the claw pierced his flesh. There was a brief flash of light, then Taras fell to the floor. Standing behind him was…

“Baella.” Theron said. “I might have known.”

“Hello, Theron,” Baella said. Her deep, husky tone igniting memories of Alexandria. “Have you been well?”

“I was fine until you walked in.”

“Ramah will return soon.”

“Then have a seat. I’m sure he will be pleased to see you.”

“You’re in no position, Ex-Enforcer, to be an ass.” Baella winked at him and tossed back her ebony hair. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Will you come with me or should I leave you to the Councilor?”

Theron chuckled. “Just kill me here. “That will anger Ramah almost as much as me escaping.”

“Why would I kill you?“ Baella asked. “I went to a lot of trouble to get you here, you know. You could at least be grateful.”

“I came here on my own. Looking for that one,” Theron nodded toward Taras’s prone form. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“And how did you know he was here?”

“I learned it from a drunken human, just before I killed him.”

“Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” Baella winked. “That a drunken human with knowledge of Taras’s whereabouts would just happen to fall into your lap in Spain.”

“Not really. I keep my ears open, and…” Theron eyed her, taking in the confident smirk and arrogant stance. “How did you know I found him in Spain?”

Baella smiled even wider. “Several months ago I sent out twenty humans to different areas of the world. Each of them was told to spread the news of a tall, yellow-haired man who attacked them in Londinium, then report back to me. Of the twenty, only one did not return. The one I sent to Spain.”

Theron shook his head. He should have known. This whole thing was just a trap to get him to Londinium.

“But why?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

Baella’s eyes sparkled. She leaned down to whisper in his ear, although it seemed like a wasted gesture on her part since they were alone except for Taras, who still lay unconscious on the floor. “Ramah.”

Ramah threw aside the limp body of yet another renegade Bachiyr, his third such encounter of the evening. Like the others, this one was very weak, as though she had just been created. They seemed to crawl out of the dark alleys whenever he approached, almost as if they were looking for him.

Ramah had left Theron and Taras under the watchful eyes of the Lost One at dawn, and had gone underground to sleep through the day. Upon awakening at twilight, he’d set out to gather the two renegades and take them before the Council, but almost immediately he’d been attacked by the first of the renegade Bachiyr. And then a pair of them together, and now this one. He was not far from where he’d slept, and already he’d had to dispatch four vampires.

What in the name of The Father was going on? Who was creating all these damn renegades? And why so many so fast? None of the ones he’d killed tonight could have been more than a few days old. It would take a very powerful vampire to create so many in such a short time. Could Theron have been producing an army of minions? It seemed unlikely. Not even Theron would have that much energy. There were only a handful of Bachiyr who could pull off something like that, and most of them were on the Council of Thirteen.

Could another Councilor be behind this? Ramah didn’t know, but as he walked away from his latest victim, he vowed to find out.

He stepped away from the alley into the darkened street, headed for the building where he’d stashed Theron and Taras. No lights were lit in this part of the city, which is why he chose it. Only the moon lit his way, but it was more than enough. Centuries of living in the dark, combined with his already enhanced vision, made the night seem bright and vivid. He could count the pebbles in the road from a hundred paces away, not that he would bother.

Right now his keen eyesight detected movement in the shadows ahead and to his left. He walked on, studying the movement in the alley from the corner of his eye, acting oblivious. If this was another damn Bachiyr, he The attack came from his right. A dark blur sped to his side and jabbed something sharp into his abdomen. Ramah stifled a yell and whirled to face the newcomer. A ragged Bachiyr stared back at him, gleefully chuckling as he twisted the knife in Ramah’s flesh. The creature’s canines gleamed red in the dim light, as though it had just fed. Its breath stank of blood, but Ramah noted the blood wasn’t human. What had it been feeding on? Animal blood would do little for a Bachiyr. It was too weak.

Ramah reached down, grabbed the Bachiyr’s wrist in his other hand, and started to pull back. The renegade’s face tightened with the strain, but he was no match for Ramah’s strength, and the blade began to slide out of the wound. Just as Ramah pulled the knife from his side, he was hit from behind by something heavy and solid. The movement in the alley. So, the two renegades had decided to team up.