Underworld: Blood Enemy by Greg Cox Read Free Book Online Page A

on the hearth!”
    An arrow came from out of nowhere, spearing Nasir through the throat. The Saracen clutched at his neck as hot blood sprayed from his jugular. His mouth gaped wide, revealing wolf-like fangs, before he tumbled forward over the battlements. Lucian watched in horror as his fellow servant disappeared into the chasm, joining the bodies of various ill-fated mortals.
    Yet there was no time to mourn his fallen comrade, not while the relentless battering ram continued to pound against the castle gates. Again and again, the prodigious timber collided with the portcullis, so that the iron framework resounded like an enormous drum. Each powerful blow reverberated throughout the castle, shaking the entire stone edifice. How many such strokes, Lucian wondered, could the portcullis and the oaken doors withstand?
    That same rancorous voice called out again, urging the ramming crew to greater efforts. “That’s the spirit, men! Keep pounding away at the demons’ defenses! The good Lord will grant you the strength to prevail against our Satanic foes!”
    Who is that miscreant? Lucian reacted angrily. Peering out over the battlements, his eyes finally located the source of the hateful rants: a portly monk lurking at the back of the mob. His black robe proclaimed his calling, while his tonsured skull shone like an egg beneath the glaring sun. A gilded crucifix rested on his chest, and his florid complexion grew ever more scarlet as he endlessly spewed his venom.
    “Take heart and fear not, brave souls! The foul masters of this palace of sin dare not brave the cleansing light of day. ’Tis only their inhuman vassals that oppose us now. Break down the demons’
    door and slay the undead monsters while they lie helplessly within their unhallowed tombs!”
    In fact, the castle’s vampiric inhabitants preferred comfortable beds and mattresses to coffins, but the daylight left them vulnerable nonetheless. Determined to silence the rabble-rousing monk, Lucian snatched up a cracked paving stone and flung it with all his strength at the black-robed figure standing at the bottom of the winding road leading up to the castle.
    Alas, the deadly missile fell short of its target, striking instead an anonymous peasant, whose skull was instantly pulped by the descending brick. Lucian drew little consolation from this incidental kill; it was clear that the nameless monk was the true provocateur of this dire emergency.
    The gates trembled beneath the repeated strokes of the battering ram. Driven by the force of two score men, the wooden juggernaut was dashed against the iron portcullis, which began to buckle before the persistent assault. Oak splintered, and wooden chips flew from the bolted doors behind the portcullis. Mortal varlets cheered in anticipation of the inevitable blow that would reduce the gates to pieces, breaching the fortress’s defenses.
    Atop the gatehouse, only partially protected by their own row of battlements, lycan sentries struggled in vain to fend off the besiegers. Lucian watched as his embattled comrades jabbed at the ramming crew with their forked poles, only to be driven back behind the battlements by the never-ending hail of flaming arrows. A club-footed lycan retainer retreated too slowly and was skewered by a blazing shaft that set his coarse garments ablaze. He thrashed wildly, howling in pain, while his brothers in arms batted at the flames with wet blankets.
    “Well done, my children!” the red-faced monk crowed. He turned a sizable tree stump into a podium upon which to preach his noxious obloquies. “Give the godless fiends a taste of what awaits them in hell!”
    Tortured metal screamed in protest as the portcullis came apart at its hinges. Now only the stout double doors stood between the besiegers and the interior of the castle. Once they were inside, Lucian realized, there would be no stopping the invading horde from setting the keep’s many tapestries and furnishings afire, igniting an