12

Bernhard felt a little disappointed. They hadn't found a castle, as such, but, rather, a large house in the Bavarian style, pressed against the side of the mountain. He had expected something far more grandiose. More intimidating. Yet this appeared the only dwelling. A stable, off to the side, housed the carriage, where the coachman now unfastened the horses, leading them to their stalls. Of the Vampire Lord and the girl, Bernhard could see nothing.

Steps led up to a door upon a porch area and all the windows looked dark on either side of the door. Here, at the end of the ravine, the rays of the dawning Sun had not reached a height where it made the place any lighter, but still, there were no lights within the two-storey house. Bernhard didn't like it. It looked too normal. Undefended. No-one would believe a vicious, evil creature resided within those wooden walls.

"It's a trap. It has to be." They had left their horses further along the ravine and now crouched against the mountainside. Bernhard assessed the situation. "Only one door that I can see. The coachman is alone and I see no others. No patrol. Nothing."

"Of course it's a trap." The Maestro stood, his hand digging into his coat and emerging with a hazel baton in his hand. "But she's in there. I can feel it."

"She?" Bernhard noticed the Maestro rubbing his throat through the scarf hiding his 'inflammatory infection'. "You mean your beloved? How can you tell?"

"I can tell." Beethoven caught Bernhard's glance and dropped his hand. Then his face lightened, as though he pushed away dark thoughts. "Come on, then. Let's give these blood-suckers what they want, eh?"

Without any warning, the Maestro began to run from their hiding place. He covered the ground to the stables with such speed, Bernhard could hardly believe Beethoven had it within him. Even as he reached the stables, the coachman caught sight of the mad rush and turned to face Beethoven, but it did him little good.

A hiss escaped the coachman's lips, a snarl parting his mouth that turned into a look of surprise as the Maestro plunged the hazel baton into his chest. The coachman's fingers flexed and the look of surprise faded from his face as he crumbled into dust. The hazel baton didn't survive the attack and Beethoven tossed the snapped remains to the side as he moved onwards.

In truth, Bernhard had wondered about the great man's fighting abilities. Each time Beethoven had killed a vampire, before, he had caught them by surprise. Attacking from behind or at such speed the creatures could not react fast enough. Yet the Maestro clearly had some skills. Bernhard glanced at the pile of dust, that was once the coachman, and wondered how many vampires the Maestro had killed before meeting Bernhard.

That question had to wait for another time, however, as the Maestro continued upon his course, heading towards the door to the house. They both crouched as they traversed along the long porch that encircled the building. Bernhard tried to glance through the windows but could see nothing. As though the Vampire Lord had painted the insides black, or had shutters closed on the inside. They would find no entry there.

Taking the steps to the door with slow, deliberate movements, Bernhard stood to one side as Beethoven moved to the other. The composer now had hazel batons in each hand as he flattened himself against the wall. Bernhard drew his sabre and reached a hand towards the handle of the door. With a nod from the Maestro, Bernhard opened the door, pushing it open on well-oiled hinges.

"This is definitely a trap." Bernhard had expected something to happen at this point. "Maybe we should take a moment to assess the situation?"

"Nah. Best get it over with, if you ask me." The Maestro peeled himself away from the wall and stepped through the door. "Oi! Düsterburg! Get out here and fight, you evil wretch!"

Mouth gaping, Bernhard followed the Maestro through the door, brandishing his sabre, ready to defend himself from hordes of vampires. And found nothing and no-one coming to attack them. In the low light, he gazed around the room they had entered and found the place completely empty. No furniture sat anywhere within sight. No chairs, no tables. Nothing.

With a glance to the side, he saw that the windows were, indeed, painted black. With the pommel of his sabre, he smashed the closest one, using the blade to clear the glass from the frame. There seemed little point in trying to remain quiet after the Maestro's loud challenge. Morning light, little though it was, began to stream into the room, revealing that it was, for certain, empty.

Completely empty. Bernhard could see no dividing walls at all. The space that they found themselves within had only one room and, at the back of that single room, he could see more doors. Double doors that looked far older than the Bavarian style building itself. No stairs led to the upper floor, either. The place was little but a mask that hid nothing.

"I think it's clear where we have to go next." He pointed his sabre towards the black doors at the other side of the space. "I can't help feeling like Theseus, about to enter the Labyrinth. This is foolish. We should retreat and recruit others to our cause, or we shall surely die here."

"Nonsense, mate. Per ardua, ad astra!" The Maestro began to head towards the doors and grinned over his shoulder. "Or, through adversity, to the depths. Whatever that is in Latin. Not my strongest language."

Upon reaching the doors, Beethoven grasped both handles and flung the doors wide, revealing a set of steps carved into solid rock. Bernhard joined the Maestro and ran a hand over the surface of the rock. It appeared the same material as the mountain itself and he realised that the true home of the Vampire Lord was the mountain, not the Bavarian style house. The mountain was the castle.

He didn't like it in the least. The steps, bevelled and worn by countless footsteps, fell downwards, with lit torches leading the way on both sides of the tunnel. Bernhard would never consider himself an expert in anything but battle, but, if he had to guess, he surmised that this tunnel had sat here for centuries. Carved from the face of the mountain before Christ had walked the Earth, perhaps.

His fingers played against the surface of the tunnel, feeling the almost imperceptible marks of chisels that had once dug down into the bones of the mountain. Their footsteps echoed from the walls as the Maestro led the way down into the bowels of the Alps. Even with the torches, at regular intervals, Bernhard could not begin to estimate how far down the steps descended.

Once again, he considered retreating. Everything they had done flew in the face of every military doctrine he had learned. There were some benefits to sending a small force into enemy camps, but that tactic relied on stealth. Hiding from the opposition. The Maestro had thrown any chance of catching the Vampire Lord unawares when he had shouted his challenge.

Of course, that presumed that the Vampire Lord did not already know of the impending assault upon his home. For certain, he may have believed the ghastly, bat-like vampires had dealt with Bernhard and the Maestro, but Bernhard doubted that. When the creatures did not return victorious, that would have told the Vampire Lord everything he needed to know.

No. The creature knew they were here. And yet, he had not sent any vampires to attack them. That, more than anything, suggested to Bernhard that they should fall back and reconsider their plans. Though they had bare enough any plans to speak of in the first place. No plans, other than to find the Vampire Lord and destroy him.

Bernhard knew he had to shoulder as much of that blame as the Maestro. He had allowed his anger at the loss of his beloved and his hatred of the creature that had took her from him, to blind him. He had fallen for that most terrible of foes for a soldier. Emotion. He had let the Maestro lead him onwards with little thought, in awe of the great composer. Not seeing the dangerous path he walked.

"We should leave." He grabbed Beethoven's shoulder, stopping him from taking another step. "We should burn down that house above. We should go back to Salzburg, purchase kegs of black powder and destroy this tunnel. Seal the creature away forever."

"And if there are more ways than one to leave these tunnels?" In the flickering torchlight, the Maestro looked almost as sinister as the beasts they hunted. "And what of that girl, eh? Should we leave her to that most horrific of fates? No. We go on. My beloved is here and I must end this now."

"Why? Why now?" The Maestro had turned to continue down the steps, but Bernhard spun him back around. "I do not wish the girl to suffer, but you, yourself, said the Vampire Lord could kill her at any time. She is already lost! Why must it end now, while we are woefully unprepared?"

"Because I don't think I have much time left!" The Maestro snapped his shoulder from Bernhard's grip and stepped backwards. "Because I fear I cannot control my hunger for much longer!"

The Maestro stepped back until he stood beneath one of the torches. His hands rose to the scarf about his throat, reaching behind to untie it. Then he unwrapped the scarf until it fell away, revealing two puffy, painful-looking puncture wounds in his neck. The mark of a vampire bite.