"Grand Maestru, Dhampir Karen was seen entering the northern gallery entrance fifteen minutes ago," a breathless Vetalas told him, his face paler than normal. The man was visibly shaken by something, and the older Shtriga looked worriedly at the Vetala's painful, drawn face. Gerald knew this man. He was one of his own Bloodline. A Vetala was loyal to the sire, which at the moment was Gerald. Once The Grand Maestru was dead, gone to be with the ancestors, then the Bloodline's loyalty bonds would rest with Joshua.
"What is it, Sabastian?"
"She...she was carrying a body with her." the middle-aged man sputtered out.
Gerald's two-hundred and fifty-year-old heart almost stopped in his chest. His heir, the very thing that would ensure that the House of Baciu would continue after his death, was dead. He reached out, fumbling for his chair. The Vetala helped his Maestru to the seat at the table. The candles sputtered loudly in the now deathly quiet dining room where Sebastian had found the Grand Maestru.
"Go..." Gerald ordered in a bare whisper.
"But Sire," Sebastian began.
"I said, GO!" Gerald roared as his fangs came to full extension. The older Shtriga lunged, latching his opened jaw onto the struggling impures throat and ripping with one smooth motion. The blood sprayed in pumps, covering Gerald with a warm spray, soaking the ceiling above, causing the nearby candles to sputter. Gerald spat a mouthful of flesh to the side, shoving the thrashing body to the ground.
The old Shtriga sat on the hard, cold stone, amidst the blood a wept. The sobs wracked his body as he waited for his beloved Dhampir to bring him to the end of his line.
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Karen walked at a slow, stately pace. Two of Gerald's houseguards soon found her and took up positions on either side of her as an honor guard. Neither offered help; each kept their eyes carefully forward. Karen was known as one of the most dangerous and volatile Dhampirs in Maramures. With her hard eyes, full of anger, grief, and tears, staring forward, no Shtriga nor Vetalas felt comfortable doing anything but the same.
Slowly a funeral march formed behind her, and by the time she got to the far eastern gallery where her Master's estate lay almost two hundred walked in the slow march through the city. Most were of the ancient Baciu Bloodline, but there were a few in attendance who had been allies, now distraught at the turmoil that would soon be served on one of the oldest houses known to exist.
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Karen carefully kept her head forward. She knew there was more than one house that would be smiling, even now, planning the death of her Master. Without a known Shtriga child, if Gerald were to fall, there would be a void to be filled. Every city was run as a city-state. Governed by a council, which was headed by a Grand Maestru. Then there was the Grand Maestru council to help keep the peace between the different cities across the globe. It was a coveted position among the elder council, and the Grand Maestru appointed his successor, typically his son. Until the line broke or a son was disfavored, only then was left to the council's vote.
The gates to the estate loomed as each step brought the elder Dhampir closer to what she was sure was her termination. The void beckoned her. No ancestors were waiting for her. A Dhampir was not welcome in the afterwards. But rest, eternal sleep, there was that promise. She stood straight. Even after the three-mile walk through the city, she would show no signs of weakness.
The gates parted, and a voice called from inside.
"Only the Dhampir!"
There were looks of alarm. This was most unusual. Normally the funeral procession was allowed to witness the remains' cremation as part of the grieving process. Karen continued forward, down the flagstone path, into the courtyard of the estate. All around, beautiful statues and underground fauna grew. Ponds with naturally occurring marine life inside them. The stalagmites and stalactites formed into the front entrance of the manor.
She proceeded under the guards' direction into the dining room, where she found Gerald in a pool of blood. Not his, Sebastion lay dead on the floor, his neck almost torn in two. Karen gently laid her burden on the table, and a silver goblet clattered to the stone floor below, and her Master jumped with the sharp sound of the metal on the flagstone.
"How?" he asked hoarsely.
"We were proceeding to track Heath to a small town in southern Arkansas, and we had him trapped. I surprised the boy from the top of a building, but Heath...he has senses that are unparalleled in a Dhampir. I have told you, that they are more in line with Shtriga.--"
"And that is why I sent my SON!" Gerald yelled, coming to his feet.
"I know!" She yelled back. She knew she was dead, and it would be at the hands of a man she loved dearer than life itself, "it should have been enough, but Joshua got to sure, too cocky of himself. You know he was like that. Just like the rest of those new bloods."
"Yes," Gerald's light grey eyes softened, "they see no need for Dhampir. But this wound would not have been lethal to you, would it?"
"No," she confided, "A mere splinter grazed the heart. I tried to warn him weeks ago about it too."
"He always was an arrogant one. Where has the traitor fled too?"
"Out of reach. He is in Bucharest territory. I did not break Territory Truces." She said softly, "I have already done enough to deserve my sentence."
"Joshua's killer is still out there," her Master looked at her, a brief wash of longing crossing his aged face before going ice cold, "and what I am going to ask you to do is reckless and could bring us to the brink of war but it will get us what we want...revenge."
"And what is that?"
"Bring me Heath's head, no matter where he is."