French Alps, 1640
The castle seemed to appear out of thin air. One moment there was nothing; the next a grand and dilapidated edifice, with crumbling towers and crenellations bathed ominously in the light of a full moon.
Ryzac Beaumont was awestruck by the foreboding apparition, yet rather than feeling fear or apprehension, he thought it seemed an inviting shelter from the bitter chill and wet snow. He had been trudging through the mountains for days, fleeing the decimation of his Musketeer regiment at the hands of the Spanish. He was cold and hungry and tired. That he should be alarmed by the sudden appearance of this ghostly structure did not once enter into his thoughts.
Fanciful notions of a roaring fire warming his bones, and wayward rats roasting on a spit, drew Ryzac to a pair of massive oak doors. Instinctually, he knocked on one of the sturdy slabs of wood with a gloved fist before realizing how silly this was. Ryzac heaved with all his might, and the doors swung inward with a groan, the ancient hinges squealing in protest.
Much to Ryzac’s surprise, he stepped into an inviting foyer rather than the bleak darkness he expected from the building’s decaying exterior. Braziers burned on the walls, providing the first warmth Ryzac had felt in many days. A wide and elegant staircase rose in front of him until it came to a landing, where the grandiose escalier split in two: leading to different wings of the castle.
He stepped into what he judged was the drawing room, and was greeted by a magnificent fire in the hearth opposite the doorway. The room was lushly appointed, with comfortable chairs and sofas meticulously arranged, and plush carpets underfoot. Ornate paintings of beautiful, haunting landscapes and strangers with stern faces hung on the wood paneled walls.
Ryzac removed his cloak and draped it over the nearest chair, revealing a tattered blue cassock, with silver crosses embroidered on the chest and shoulders. He unbuckled his sword belt - which contained his rapier and dagger, as well as a brace of wheellock pistols - and hung these on the same chair.
The smell of fresh baked bread and tantalizing spices wafted into Ryzac’s nostrils. A buttered brown loaf and a steaming bowl of stew he was positive had not been there before now sat on a nearby table. Gnawing hunger made the uncanny food irresistible, and Ryzac soon devoured every last morsel. Overwhelmed by the coziness of his surroundings and the singular contentment of a full belly, the vagrant Musketeer collapsed onto a couch and fell into a deep sleep.
He awoke some time later with a start. Only embers remained of the fire, and the drawing room was considerably darkened. A chill ran down Ryzac’s spine as a blast of cold air blew in through the open door. He realized with unsettling dread that he was not alone.
“Have you enjoyed our hospitality?” a sibilant voice hissed. Ryzac’s flesh crawled.
“Who…who’s there?” he managed to stutter.
“You shall see soon enough. Now, tell me, did you enjoy the comforts of our home?”
“Y-yes. Thank you v-very much. You s-saved my l-life.”
“And now you shall repay the favor.”
Before he could respond Ryzac was thrown backwards by an unseen force. He somersaulted over the couch he had slept on, and the piece of furniture broke apart as it tumbled with him. A hauntingly beautiful woman emerged from the darkness. She had a pale face that was framed by raven black hair. Her skin glowed with ethereal light, and she wore a dress that had once been shimmering and opulent, but was now decrepit and torn.
Ryzac was bewitched. He sat against the wall, completely transfixed as the revenant approached. Her blood red lips parted in a charming yet sinister smile to reveal razor sharp fangs. Her mouth opened wide as she leaned down towards his neck. Just as her sharpened teeth were about to pierce his skin, Ryzac regained his senses.
He flailed desperately for a weapon. His scrabbling hands came upon a broken sofa leg, and he desperately thrust it into his assailant’s chest.
The specter reeled and shrieked in torment. Ryzac clapped his hands over his ears as the piercing screech echoed off the castle walls. To his horror the woman’s flesh began to melt - until only a rancid puddle of blood and ichor remained.
A deafening roar rent the air. Ryzac scrambled to retrieve his sword, but a clawed hand grabbed his arm and twisted him around painfully. He found himself staring into the baleful red eyes of a snarling visage with a flattened snout and elongated ears.
“Y-you’re him!” Ryzac gasped with fright. “The legends are true!”
“You trespass in my home, take advantage of my hospitality, and then you kill my bride?!” the beast snarled.
“Sh-she was a monster! She was going to e-eat me!”
“No! She was only going to take what she needed to slake her thirst. But since you have repaid kindness with murder, I will drink until your lifeblood runs dry.”
Ryzac squealed in abject terror as he was wrenched by the arm towards slavering fangs that clamped down on his wrist. A bright object clattered to the floor. The bloodsucking creature relinquished his iron grip on the whimpering young man and retrieved the bauble with great interest.
“What have we here?” he growled curiously. In his talons rested a small, oval picture frame inlaid with the portrait of a dazzlingly beautiful woman. The painter had devoted such careful attention to his subject that her blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and her blonde hair held a lustrous glow.
“Who is this wondrous beauty?” the fiend queried with rapturous fascination. When no response was forthcoming, he grabbed Ryzac by the cassock and slammed him against the wall. “Who is she?!”
“Marie,” the Musketeer whispered shamefully. “Marie Valentin.”
“And does she belong to you?”
“Sh-she is my fiancé.”
The vampire cackled ominously. “What great fortune this is! You have killed my bride, yet you are too much of a coward to pay the price! I will make a bargain with you: Tell me where I can find this beguiling creature, and I shall let you live.”
“B-but you have already bitten me! I am already dead!”
“You will live. But you will no longer be human. However, if you do not agree to my offer, I will feast upon every last drop of blood, and cast your corpse out into the cold for the wolves to devour.”
“I…I could never do that to her!”
“So be it,” the beast growled, almost mournfully. He bared his powerful fangs and bit into the man’s neck.
“Gévaudan!” Ryzac wailed as blood cascaded from his wounds, and his strength ebbed. “You will find her in Gévaudan!”
He was flung violently to the floor and found himself alone once more in the darkness. The only remnant of his monstrous assailant was a menacing laugh that echoed all around him. Curled up on the floor in a pitiful heap, Ryzac whimpered and pleaded for forgiveness - pledging himself to God’s service if the Lord would free him of the vampire’s curse.
All of a sudden, Ryzac found himself surrounded by blinding white light, and his pain and fear began to melt away.
City of Andelplatz, French-German Border, 1789
Rain lashed against the stone facades of elegant buildings, and flowed in great torrents through cobblestone avenues. Hazy moonlight filtered through the storm clouds, while the guttering flames of street lamps cast the city in a celestial sheen. The streets were barren, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of the evening crowd. Nobody in their right mind would be out on a night like this.
A solitary figure stalked through waterlogged alleyways and thoroughfares. A tricorn hat kept the rain off his head, and the collar of a shadowy highwayman’s coat was turned up to shield his face. His gloved right hand gripped a swept hilt rapier with a silver blade - a Musketeer cross stamped on the pommel.
Ryzac Beaumont had spent decades trying to right the wrongs of that fateful evening all those years ago. God had answered his prayers, sparing him the fate of transforming into a bloodthirsty creature of the night: instead granting him long life to fulfill his quest. He had become Europe’s foremost expert on the undead, and their most relentless adversary.
In recent years Ryzac had chased one report after another of people being attacked in cities and towns all over France. Some disappeared, never to be seen again, while others were found in the gutters with their throats torn out and their bodies exsanguinated. A powerful vampire, hiding behind wealth and nobility, was always to blame: The common folk were starting to notice.
The tension was about to reach a boiling point, but the plight of the lowborn did not concern Ryzac. What did concern him was that a mercurial duke and duchess had recently moved to Andelplatz - the city he called home - and the same pattern was starting to play out all over again. He had caught a glimpse of them during an evening stroll and suffered a great shock at discovering the duchess was none other than his beloved Marie. Ryzac had little doubt as to who the duke really was.
Tonight, as he stealthily approached the palatial ducal residence, Ryzac was surprised to find the front doors of the mansion thrown wide open in spite of the torrential rain. Cautious and determined, he walked up marble steps, past imposing fluted columns arrayed on each side of the entryway, and into a richly decorated front hall.
Ryzac was struck by the unsettling sensation of déjà vu as he took in his surroundings. Many of the ornaments and furnishings were the same as in that cursed castle. The biggest difference was the ornate staircase, which descended from the upper level to the foyer in two separate and graceful arcs. On one flight stood Marie Valentin, pale and ravishing in a scarlet evening gown of unparalleled opulence. Opposite her - on the other flight of steps - was her master, wearing a blood red tailcoat and vest. They both regarded Ryzac with bemused expressions on their airy faces.
“At last we meet again, my craven friend. I’ve been expecting you,” the vampire said conversationally. He turned to Marie. “You remember Ryzac Beaumont don’t you, my dear? You ought to. After all, you wouldn’t be here were it not for him.”
Marie laughed: a clear and resonant sound. “Of course. We were to be married once upon a time.”
“Yes, and he willingly gave you up to save his own skin.”
“And I am eternally grateful that he did so. I was saved from a miserable existence as the harried wife of a destitute soldier,” Marie said scornfully. “Instead I have lived three lifetimes as though I were a queen.”
“Marie,” Ryzac pleaded, “you cannot mean what you say. You loved me, and I you.”
“But not as much as you loved yourself,” the undead lord interjected.
“I am not the same shameful and cowardly boy I was that night in your castle.”
“So I’ve heard. You have murdered so many of my children these last many years.”
“And now I am here to put an end to it,” Ryzac spat through gritted teeth, brandishing his rapier.
The vampire grinned malevolently, threw off his coat, and unsheathed the basket hilt saber at his side with a flourish. “Let us end it then, shall we?”
Ryzac drew a flintlock pistol from his pocket and fired both barrels. The discharge slammed into empty marble steps with a thunderous clap. The revenant was nowhere to be seen. Ryzac felt a whisper of movement behind him, and turned just in time to parry a series of elaborate strikes.
The shimmering blades of the two combatants clashed repeatedly, whirling and flashing as each sought an opening in the other’s defenses. Marie found herself mesmerized by the intricate dance. She had spent decades nursing a burning hatred for Ryzac Beaumont over his betrayal, yet part of her yearned for him to emerge victorious and free her from enslavement.
Ryzac had trained his body to the peak of human conditioning, but it was becoming impossible for him to keep pace with his devilish opponent. He attempted to twist away from a saber thrust, but failed to move quickly enough, and received a slash across the midsection. However, he smiled with grim satisfaction when he felt his own weapon slice into his enemy’s sword arm. The vampire let out a pained growl as the silver in the rapier’s blade burned his skin.
“Enough of this charade!” he snarled. His handsome visage transformed into the monstrous creature he truly was. The beast dashed forward with lightning speed, grabbed Ryzac by the coat, and slammed him to the ground. He hefted the man once more and flung him across the room.
A sharp crack reverberated all throughout the expansive atrium.
The hideous brute staggered and wheezed. A whip with silver studs embedded in the rope was coiled around his neck. Ryzac gripped the other end in his fist, and his trajectory through the air was halted as the cord snapped taut. The monster’s skin smoked and charred as he desperately clawed at his throat.
Ryzac impaled a dagger into the wounded creature’s heart with ruthless fervor. The vampire could only gurgle in despair as his flesh melted; his liquefied remains sluicing onto decadent marble floors. Marie swooned and collapsed on the stairs.
Satisfied that his nemesis was finally vanquished, Ryzac hurried up the steps. Marie’s breathing was shallow, but steady. Her once pale skin now gleamed with a healthy pinkish hue. He peeled back her upper lip to see she no longer had the telltale fangs of an undead thrall.
Ryzac gathered the unconscious woman in his arms and carried her out into the night. The downpour had ceased, and a lustrous full moon now lit up the sky. For the first time in his long and tortured existence, Ryzac Beaumont felt peace in his spirit, and the renewed hope of a promising future.
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Great tale and another Beaumont! :) Coincidence! He's a special kind of Van Helsing. This could be a nice setting for a serial!
Wow, so many interesting threads woven together in this tapestry. Great job! And just in time for Halloween.