“Follow him!” the knight roared.
Berrytrill had already done so, vanishing almost as quickly as the vampire. Charles chased after, ignoring the pain-racked sobs of the Pope and surprised anger of his captain and guards. As his guide hunted for Lazarus, Berrytrill left a trail of fairy magic dust—a trick of Heliwr guides centuries old—and Charles followed this, having already called on the spell that would allow him to do so.
It became quickly apparent what path the vampire had chosen. The trail glowed on the air before Charles, for his eyes only.
And it led into the Vatican Library.
Back the way they had come.
Charles sprinted, the Dark Thorn still called forth. The Heliwr could not believe what had just happened. Knowing he could not help Urban, he followed the magic trail back into the Library. The magic Berrytrill employed showed Lazarus retracing his steps toward the Secret Archives—and likely back through the passageways beneath Vatican City the vampire had used to gain the archives in the first place.
Lazarus planned on returning to the portal.
The vampire might have had another destination in mind but that did not feel right. He had come from Annwn; Annwn is where he’d return. Charles could locate the creature every few minutes with the Dark Thorn but those were precious minutes he would not lose, minutes that could make a difference.
It was a risk Charles would have to take.
He broke from Berrytrill’s glowing trail and, rather than entering the Secret Archives, sprinted into the Cortile del Belvedere toward St. Peter’s Basilica. He ignored the parking lot, the Borgia Tower, and the Sistine Chapel. He instead tore through corridors both secret and well traveled during the day, hoping he did not make a mistake. The only chance he had was cutting the vampire off before he entered Annwn. If Lazarus did, Charles would have a much harder time tracking him, killing him, and retrieving the powerful relic. The creature was unnaturally fast, able to cover distances with great speed. But the tunnels beneath the city were long and meandering. Charles had to hope he was quick enough to take advantage of a more direct route. He had one chance, and speed was his only ally.
Charles burst into St. Peter’s Square. The grandeur of Vatican City met him, ornate buildings of architectural beauty dwarfing humanity. Several dozen people still milled about the Square, some walking hand in hand, others photographing the splendor of the city at night. Charles ignored their surprise and eventual protestations at his erratic appearance with the Dark Thorn. He left them all behind. In seconds, he entered the heart of Catholicism, St. Peter’s Basilica, purpose driving him. Down through the nave he ran, into the heart of the massive structure. No one stopped him. Soon the Papal Altar and Baldacchino rose over him, the tomb of Saint Peter beneath. There Charles gained the entrance to the Secret Grotto that held the hidden door into the catacombs beneath, sweat freezing his burning skin even as he ran faster into the world’s depths.
After numerous twists and turns through the catacombs, Charles came to the corridor that led to the Secret Archives in one direction and the portal to Annwn in the other. Breathing hard, he peered around him with spell-empowered eyes.
The trail Berrytrill created had not yet reached these corridors.
Which meant Lazarus likely hadn’t either.
Hoping that was true, Charles waited.
Just when the knight thought that he had made a mistake and was about to use the Dark Thorn to locate the vampire, he sensed movement coming toward him from the direction of the Secret Archives, a disturbance of air, a quiver of sound that could mean only one thing.
Calling the fire of the Dark Thorn to bolster his need and senses, he waited.
When Lazarus tried to pass in a blur, Charles tackled him.
Both of them went flying.
The vampire’s momentum threw them down the corridor a dozen yards. Magic kept Charles mostly safe as he skidded to a halt beneath Lazarus, lashing out with fire born of anger, determination, and need. Caught by surprise, Lazarus fought back immediately. The vampire was faster than the Heliwr and quickly had the knight by his front clothing, fangs bared in anger. He brought the Holy Lance up in defense against the Dark Thorn, the dead fingers of the Pope still attached to it, both of them vying for an advantage.
“Give this up, Lazarus!” Charles roared.
“I go to fulfill a debt that comes with my death!”