[Draft 1] Vampyre Necromancer (CoU: Vampyre War Trilogy: Book 1)

Chapter Two

Christian's royal cousins, Joshua Dodoya and James Gippslevin, were staying with his family for his eighteenth birthday celebrations. Their parents were the monarchs of the two other human-dominated relams in Uraethan. The Gippslevins ruled Firatedell Bohumír from Shawvirna, nestled in the crook of the Ianthe Nilofer. The Dodoyas rule Hagar Araxtye from Hywellen, almost as south as one could go in Uraethan. Both boys had come to Urthan while their parents went on their respective Royal Progresses around their respective domains. All the family had gathered in Urthan for the formal celebrations of Christian's eighteenth birthday, the age of manhood, and the two cousins had been allowed to stay for a few weeks after. Joshua's older brother, max, was heir to the throne of Hagar Araxtye and so was travelling with his parents. As James was only sixteen, despite being the only heir, he was not required to go on progress yet.

The three young men skirted around the back of the smithy, doing what they could to stay to the shadows. Christian led the other two boys along the base of the curtain wall of the Inner ward. Nodding to the guard, who smiled conspiratorially at the three boys, they ducked through the postern and rushed down the hill. They headed towards the desolate Church of Saint Radwan – named for the priest who built the church – at the edge of Urthan, to meet their friends, Brock Allaghan and Cameron Nankin. The church had been deserted before the Great Conversion, 187 years before; the time when the many races and creatures of Uraethan came together in a semblance of peace and understanding. Most of the humans in the cities were still oblivious to many of the less notorious human races, who were more well-known in the rural areas. Those who knew of inhuman creatures were still deeply ingrained with age-old suspicion.

The three young men vaulted the rickety gate, into the graveyard that stood in front of Saint Radwan's. The graveyard had not been tended to in over two centuries; the gardener died soon after the pastor abandoned the church. A great battle had ensued in the church thereafter, which made the church undesirable and unusable. The few scattered headstones – those that had not crumbled or fallen – were cracked and covered in moss. The grass and the once-magnificent gardens were tremendously overgrown. Spidery wines crept up the outside walls and stole into the church slowly taking over. Weeds threaded their way through the cobblestones that lead towards the front door and snaked through the necropolis, threatening to trip unwary visitors. The graves themselves had the look of being rummaged through; the ground broken up with tree roots and plants. On nights such as that night – when the moon was full and the sky was clear – white tendrils wove through the headstones; as though the spirits contained throughout the day could finally walk upon the earth and look again upon the face of their beloved moon.

Christian took in the sights and sound of the graveyard before he followed the boys as they tore through the remainder of the front door. They were greeted by Brock and Cameron toasting them with glasses of port. Christian looked around fondly at their favourite meeting place; the rafters were crumbling in most places, the pews were scattered and fallen and the doorways were rotting. Yet, the stonework was somehow still intact. Most of the wall sconces had fallen away, leaving great, dark wounds along the walls. The front door swung wildly on its hinges and the shutters on the tall, thin windows were long gone, leaving only the cracked stained-glass windows to protect the isolated little church against the often merciless weather. Cobwebs laced curtains across the corners of the church and from the rafters. Two hundred or more years' worth of dust had settled upon the flagstones in the corners, where the boys did not frequent. What candles the boys had found threw unearthly shadows over the lightless walls, like great hands feeling their way towards the boys.

A few years previously, the brave boys had dared once to take a candle and explore. Standing at the top of the stairs, they were met by a foul, wretched smell that wafted towards them. Sweat sprung upon their foreheads and they held their hands to their noses. The stairs themselves were covered in dark brown patches, which smelt of rotten blood. The walls were covered n scratches and other marks. Brock held his hand up to one set of marks and the boys guessed that the fingernails of something humanlike had made them.