Dark Ages: Cappadocian

by Andrew Bates

Excerpt from Chapter One [©2002 White Wolf Publishing; ISBN 1-58846-819-4]

Constantinople

14 April, 1204 AD

Markus Musa Giovanni roused his considerable bulk from slumber even as the sunset stained the western sky. He was not normally such an early riser, but this was far from a normal time. His rest during the past two days had been disrupted by the terror and pillage that swept the city above.

Standing at the center of a storm of change, he had lacked a clear view of which way the winds blew. Too many possibilities existed to allow easy insight into his best course of action. Markus had spent the previous night weighing options. While he had at least narrowed his choices, none of the alternatives that remained was without risk.

Markus could return home, to Venice and to his family. Safe from the ravages Constantinople suffered this night, he could relate all that he had learned during his years in the Queen of Cities. Alas, there was precious little worth telling. He had yet to succeed at what he had once thought was a laughably simple task.

To stand before the great Augustus Giovanni with nothing more than excuses in hand...?

Markus dismissed the thought. He could claim that the challenges he faced were greater than anyone had expected, but that was nothing more than pathetic whining. It would be tantamount to admitting he was not worthy of the dark gift given him. At the very least, he would be an embarrassment, his name a joke among the family, spurned even by the shades who whispered in the deep chambers where the Giovanni performed their necromantic studies.

Instead, Markus could remain in Constantinople. He could see what opportunities for discovery presented themselves in the wake of the massacre still raging throughout the great city’s streets. The secrets he had been charged to find might more easily be gleaned under cover of violence. Yet to stay would expose Markus to mortal -- and immortal -- danger. His blood was more potent than many who bore the mark of Caine, but Markus was still young as vampires considered such things. Despite his power, he was not invulnerable. He might find that which he had sought for years, only to suffer ultimate destruction on the verge of triumph.

A third option -- to flee, spending his nights far from familial responsibility and physical danger -- was never more than a fleeting fancy. Markus was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

Sandwiched between the twin specters of admitting failure and chancing final death, Markus was not eager to commit to either course.

Yet lurking here accomplishes nothing. A grimace of resignation stretched across his broad features. He was a Giovanni, and a Cappadocian. In the search for the ultimate secrets of life and death, failure was unacceptable. The time for planning is done. Now is the moment to act.

*          *            *

"Look, Falsinar! A handful of Greeks approach. Ready the stone."

"You are certain they are Greeks?"

"Eyes like a hawk, my friend. You can tell by their armor; see?"

"You misremember your features, Beltramose. You have a nose like a hawk's beak, but your eyes are no sharper than a wooden spoon."

"I forgive you such a hurtful jibe, Falsinar. Your words are formed from the envy you hold for my unmatched beauty and intellect."

"Aye, unmatched indeed. I have never met a man as hideous and ignorant as yourself."

"Poor Falsinar. Count yourself lucky that I am such a kind-hearted soul as to accept you as my friend."

"Indeed, Beltramose. God is surely punishing me for some great sin."

"Ah, look now. We have missed our chance. They have decided not to try our door.

"Do not despair. See there, just turning yonder corner?"

"What? Ah, but they look to be Venetian. Would God forgive us for striking at our own countrymen?"

"I do not see why He would start now. Besides, look how they come unerringly for the lone stout door that remains standing on this street. Only the suicidal would dare try to gain entry to our humble tower."

"Truly, I can find no fault with your logic, my friend. On the count of three, then?"

"I am at your command, good Beltramose."

*          *            *

Markus Giovanni heard pounding from the heavy banded door two floors above his hidden lair. Even as he reached the landing, shouts of surprise erupted outside followed by a thunderous crash. The ground shook at some impact, but lock and hinges remained firm.

Since the door remained secure, Markus spared a glance at the opposite wall of the squat tower that comprised the remainder of his home. Those who wished to gain entry from the street could not know that a significant portion of the tower's other side had tumbled in. That hole overlooked a series of ruined buildings to which the tower was once attached, part of a Venetian merchant's warehouse complex. The buildings still gave off a thick billow of smoke from the conflagration that had claimed them the previous day. Markus suppressed a shudder. Deep in his lair beneath the city, he had been safe from the deadly flames. Still, the bones of the blackened structures were grim reminder of how easily all things might fall no matter the care taken in their construction.

The cries outside of pain and panic roused Markus from contemplation. He slipped the rest of the way up the stone steps and entered the tower's top room. Peering out the jagged hole on the street-side wall, two men sniggered at one another as they levered another stone block into position.

"The city is in flames," Markus observed, "and all you fools can think to do is drop stones on looters?"

The man on the right jerked upon hearing Markus's basso rumble. The other fellow lacked the strength to hold the stone in place and barked in surprise as it fell three stories. Ignoring the renewed screams of outrage from below, the man on the left looked over at Markus.

"Ah, Signore awakens at last. You have a decision, then?"

"I have."

*          *            *

Falsinar and Beltramose huffed up the last few steps to the tower roof. Markus had sated himself with the victims of their rock-dropping stunt. It was left to the pair to remove the bodies and lessen the chances that other looters would take an interest in their abode. Markus stood at the tower's far side, backlit by the fires encroaching on the Great Bazaar. The men moved opposite their master and took a post over the tower's front entrance, leaving their lord to his privacy.

"That is something I never have grown used to," Beltramose confided. He nodded to Markus, who murmured at the air.

Falsinar looked over. "Aye, well. What is it his kind say? 'Different realms of being?'"

"It makes the things no less disquieting to be around."

"Hmm. And yet," Falsinar said, tapping a contemplative finger against his lips, "our gracious lord and master appears to have no problems trafficking with their ilk."

Beltramose frowned. "What a revelation! Truly, my friend, your insight is without limit."

"I must say that your compliment seems less than genuine."

"You know that I hold you in regard equal to that which you show me, good Falsinar."

"Indeed?" Falsinar quirked a bushy eyebrow at the taller man. "Perhaps we should each consider ourselves insulted, then."

Beltramose uttered a surprised gasp, his intended reply forgotten. He leaped to one side and shuddered, eyes darting in a mix of panic and outrage.

Falsinar cut off his chuckle in the face of Beltramose's murderous glare. "Apologies, my friend, but you looked like a distressed stork, flapping about like that. One of his pets having fun at your expense again?"

"Went right through me. Like being doused with ice water." Beltramose shuddered. "Why do they never bother you?"

"Perhaps because I am resigned to the inevitable, while you retain a sliver of hope."

"It is true that, compared to yourself, I am an incurable optimist. Yet I would never be mistaken for hopeful."

Falsinar shrugged. "So you think that your fate will be other than that shared by our unseen friends? That our fine liege will not some day add you to his collection? It is the price men such as ourselves must pay."

*          *            *

Preparations complete, Markus made a dismissive gesture. The seven ghosts bound to his service flitted away at speed, compelled to fulfill his commands without delay. He approached Falsinar and Beltramose with purpose, moving quietly for all his bulk. "Infantino claims that the Obertus monastery was sacked last night, not long after the crusaders breached the walls. He spied some activity within tonight, however. It is likely that some of the monks have returned to see what they may recover, now that the crusaders have moved on to the city proper."

Markus looked to the west. The Monastery of St. John Studius lay within the outer walls of Theodosius II, nine miles distant. It would not have been visible from the tower, even without the thick billows of acrid smoke and clouds of ash falling like black snow around them. Although he didn't see the glance that Falsinar and Beltramose exchanged, Markus knew his men well. "You need not worry yourselves, gentlemen. Remain here and guard the tower. Infantino and the others will offer me sufficient protection."

"You are certain?" Falsinar's voice was strong, but Markus saw the bright flicker of relief in the man's aura.

"Get some rest. I expect that there will be more than enough tasks to keep you both busy upon my return." Markus smiled. "If you get bored, perhaps more looters will oblige you with some sport."

*          *            *