This chapter is a bit of an experiment, so I hope you all enjoy what I have to present here. Some of it is shorter than I had originally intended but I think it works a little better than it would have been had I drawn it out. Step once more into Gwenhwyfar's world.

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Chapter 13: Shadows and Shades

La Perla's extravagant face looked out over the lagoon to the west. Bright light streamed out into the night through tall windows to shimmer across the surface of the water. Strands of ivy ran along the three balconies and up the corners of the brothel, drawing the eye away from the wooden walls, their once rich colours fading with age and the harsh environment. Gentle laughter and the soft music of harps and flutes carried down the street, reaching Gwenhwyfar's ears.

Reaching behind her back to feel the slim dagger sheathed and concealed amongst the lace of her bustier, Gwenhwyfar let out a sigh. She would not need the weapon against any thugs or thieves that roamed the night, however should another one of her kind attack her, the sharp point would help even the odds.

Passing quietly through the door into the light and sound of the brothel, Gwenhwyfar could smell the spice of incense in the air. Women in tight dresses and thick cosmetics coyly conversed with potential patrons, a few troubadours in the corner played their music to instil a relaxing mood; to calm and soothe patrons' coin purses as much as their minds.

Gwenhwyfar could not blame these women for using their bodies to obtain wealth; this society left very little options for a woman to do anything on her own. Gwenhwyfar herself had seduced both men and women to get her own needs fulfilled, whether it be food or power. It did not always turn out so well.

The influence of the Christian church was felt even in this house of carnal pleasure. As Gwenhwyfar moved carefully through the brothel, not one of the girls approached her, though eyes tracked her with suspicion; an unescorted woman who did not work within these walls. Gwenhwyfar kept her eyes moving, searching the women, noting some with a neck band of a deep red, who looked up at her with a hint of fear; they were the concubines who had a deal with the Dragon, offering blood where others would give only their bodies.

On the second floor, leaning slightly on the railing, was a woman with long blonde hair bound tightly back in a pony-tail, her make up more subtle, her dress looser around her figure. Most would assume her just another concubine, while not bothering with her in favour of the ones who prettied themselves up to appeal to the base desires of a man.

With a gentle smile, Gwenhwyfar climbed the stairs, ignoring the looks thrown her way by patrons and whores alike. She approached the woman, earning a slight glance with a hint of annoyance on her features.

"Unless you have an appointment I suggest you move along. I'm very busy," she said dismissively.

"Hella McCormick?"

That got the woman's attention. She stood up straight and turned to face her visitor. A frown creased her brow and her arms crossed across her chest. Gwenhwyfar couldn't help but notice that Hella covered her breasts, rather than pushing them up with her arms; this was definitely no prostitute.

"A friend told me to find you here, to hire you for some select services," Gwenhwyfar said, pulling a small pouch from within her cleavage. The contents tinkled with the sound of coin and Hella raised an eyebrow, holding out her hand.

Handing over the pouch, Gwenhwyfar watched Hella open it, and count the money within.

"There's enough here for three nights, one outside the brothel. What information are you seeking?" Hella whispered, now walking along the railing, gesturing for Gwenhwyfar to follow.

"Do you know of the merchant Amadeo Castrogiovanni?"

"Very little, but I do know he has been getting rather wealthy the past few years with trades from the Middle East. He has a warehouse and a small villa down by the docks. He seems honest enough."

"Yes well he ties do not lie in the mortal world. I need you to find out whatever you can about him. Contacts, trade routes, messages, dealings from the Middle East. Everything."

Looking down at the pouch in her hand, tossing it up and down gently, the spy was quiet as she thought.

"Meet me here tomorrow night, with the same payment, and you'll get your information," Hella finally said.

"Another payment sounds steep," Gwenhwyfar said.

"Welcome to Venice, the city has no shortage of spies, and some quite cheap. You want quality work you hire the best, and I rank amongst them. Another payment for the information, I will not be haggled."

"Very well. I shall be here tomorrow evening," Gwenhwyfar said, and turned away, leaving Hella alone.

The spy leaned against the railing once more, tucking the pouch of coins into her dress and watched the other woman leave.

"You better vampire. Not even your ancient blood will save you should you cross me," she whispered.

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As Alan opened his eyes, he immediately spotted the soft glow of a fire, illuminating the rock walls of the caves he was lost in. As feeling and consciousness flooded back through his body, pain shot through all his limbs and up his spine. His head felt like it would explode it was throbbing so violently. A groan started to pass his lips before a hand clasped over his mouth.

Fear shot through him, his hands desperately grabbing for his sword, a loose rock, anything he could use as a weapon as he tried to yell out screams of defiance. The shadowy figure holding Alan down leaned forward, revealing itself to be Karim who had a single finger pressed against the cloth where his lips would be.

Quieting himself, Alan slowly sat up as Karim removed his hand and shuffled quietly back to the campfire. Picking up Alan's longsword the Afghan tossed it over without a word. Alan took the sword up from the ground, just noticing the thin wrappings around his palms and the dirt caked over bloody flesh where most of his fingernails had been. Everything throbbed, every part of his body vying for his attention. Pulling the sword close he examined the blade; the finely crafted English steel had nicks along the edges, and deep gouges dug along its length.

With a sigh he laid the weapon across his lap, and moved closer to the fire, noting that it seemed to be made out of torches. The very ones dropped in the cavern above.

"Do you have any plans to get out of here?" Alan asked his companion, wondering in the back of his mind if any of the others had escaped.

Karim's response was to press his finger across the cloth once more. Alan looked at him for a moment, wondering if anymore was coming, but there was nothing else save that simple gesture. He didn't know why he even tried; the nomad couldn't even speak his language.

Pulling up the sleeve of his now filthy robes, Karim revealed a bloody bandage tied tightly around his forearm. Slowly he began to undo the knots and unwrap the material while Alan simply watched. As the bloody bandage was tossed into the fire, blood spurted from a deep gash along the Afghan's forearm. Alan wanted to help but saw Karim had it under control as he grasped his own sword which had been resting in the embers of the flames. The steel of the blade glowed red from the heat and the nomad pressed the weapon against his flesh.

Face twisting in pain, Karim held the sword against the wound, not making a sound so Alan could hear the flesh sizzling, searing the wound closed. Eventually Karim pulled the blade away, showing seared flesh with blisters already forming around the edge. His eyes still showing the intense pain, Karim tore off a piece of his robe and wrapped it tightly around the burn which almost immediately began to turn crimson.

'The light cannot save you,' came the voice from earlier, breezing across his mind.

Karim looked around holding his sword close as his eyes tried to peer into the darkness. So the demon could speak the Afghan's tongue as well.

The dark seemed to be pulsating, encroaching on the small haven of light that the two men were relying on for sight, the only advantage they seemed to have over the shambling creatures that lurked somewhere within the tunnels.

Alan tore off a long strip of cloth from his robes, and quickly began to wrap it around his blade. Karim glanced at him curiously before turning his eyes back into the shadows. Shoving his blade into the flickering flames, the cloth around his weapon lit up. Now standing, his head almost brushing the ceiling, Alan moved beside the nomad that had led him here and pushed his flaming sword out towards the darkness.

He had expected to reveal the demon, had expected to see the face of the thing that spoke to him. What he saw instead was Curtis, the scout's face torn to shreds, dried blood crusted on what little was left of his skin and the tattered remnants of his clothing. Empty white eyes stared back at Alan and Karim, his mouth hanging open as he stood and stared.

"Oh God," Alan muttered as he saw the ghoul before him, hoping that it was just an illusion. That hope was dashed when he saw Karim raise his blade out of the corner of his eye.

Out of instinct Alan extended his free hand and placed it gently against Karim's chest. The Afghan looked at him with confusion as a hiss came from the ruins of Curtis's throat. Trying to think of how to communicate with this man that could not understand a word, Alan simply slapped his hand over his heart, and stepped forward, long sword held off to the side so as not to hit the ceiling.

"Walk with God brother. Find peace," Alan muttered quietly, unable to think of anything else to help ease the moment. The blade swept through the air, cutting a brilliant orange arc in the air before cutting through flesh and snapping through bone, severing the head of the scout commander and causing the corpse to collapse to the floor.

Karim bowed ever so slightly to Alan, showing his respect before turning back to the fire, only to find the re-animated remains of Salaam standing before him, reaching out with severed stumps where once had been arms. Acting on pure instinct Karim slashed with his blade across the Saracen's midsection, splitting open flesh and spilling cold guts out onto the floor. With a yell Karim kicked out, sending Salaam stumbling backwards and falling into the fire.

Moving quickly Karim launched forward and brought his sword down onto Salaam's head, the sharp bite of the blade crunching through the skull and into the man's brains. Alan could only stare at the man that had been enemy, then friend, and now corpse. He felt empty, drained.

It happened so quick, just a flash and two close friends were torn forever from this world, and he couldn't even stop to mourn them.

"I am sorry," Alan said to Salaam's corpse as his flesh began to blacken and burn in the fire.

Karim grasped Alan's arm and began to pull; now was not the time for this, they had to move. Down the tunnels, from all around came the sound of shuffling feet. The dead were coming to pull the two into their embrace, and through it all, that demonic voice simply laughed.

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It had not been such a long time since Andrzej last sat in this tavern. The inn keep's daughter even recognized him and offered a smile that hinted at other services. It seemed like months, or even longer though. His hired thugs butchered, torturing a man of cloth, and finding himself involved in something much deeper than the vendetta he had carried with him for years.

Draining the mug of ale before him, Andrzej let out a loud belch, his head light and buzzing. The joy and relief that usually lay at the bottom of his cups was not to be found this night, yet still he ordered another pint.

The night was late, business was slow, and Andrzej was pushing enough coin out to have the inn keep take notice of him, making sure his curvy daughter watched after him. She smiled and laughed at him, touching his hand whenever she took his coin and handed him another mug. Andrzej knew what she was doing, wanted him to fuck her so he could dump more of his coin into this little piss hole of a tavern.

It wasn't entirely working, but he began to wonder if he could find solace this night between a woman's thighs, where the bitter ale had failed so miserably.

When she came over for the next round he grasped her arm, and in a drunken slur asked her how much it was for a room. The answer was ridiculously overpriced, but he didn't care, knowing what the extra gold was going towards. Quickly finishing the last drink he grasped the serving girl by her arm and went up the stairs, stumbling along the way. The girl had to help him, and his vision swam so horribly that he couldn't see the look of disgust that washed over her face whenever she got a whiff of his breath or the sweaty reek beneath his clothes.

Reaching the top of the stairs he crashed against the far wall and nearly fell before the girl helped him to his feet and pulled him along to his room. She unlocked it for him before he stumbled inside and fell onto the bed.

Rolling her eyes, the girl locked the door behind her and began to undress while Andrzej fumbled with his clothing managing to get his trousers down around his ankles before falling to the floor. Managing to get to his feet he turned to see the blur that was the naked girl on the bed, laying on her back with her legs spread.

Climbing on top of her, roughly grasping at her flesh, he shoved himself inside of her without any hesitation. She grunted, though it wasn't from comfort, but Andrzej didn't care and simply began to thrust, his head spinning.

Then his vision cleared, and beneath him was Malina, her pristine face pale from years beneath the ground, blood still gushing from the hole in her neck where the beast had torn into her. She looked up at him, just an empty stare. There was no joy, sorrow, anger, or even an accusation. It was empty, and Andrzej yelled out, hot tears burning his cheeks.

"Oh God... I'm sorry!" Andrzej howled to the ceiling, pulling the corpse of his wife close to him, sobbing in her hair.

The body in his grasp squirmed, before finally pushing him away and letting out a scream. Stumbling backwards over his own trousers Andrzej fell to the floor, smashing his elbow against the floorboards as he watched Malina flee the room.

"Come back, please... come back," he sobbed before vomiting across the floor boards and collapsing once more. He laid there in his own filth, body shaking as the joy he had been searching for was crushed by the sorrow that had hunted him for years.