A Secret Man of Blood

Chapter One

"They say lightning never strikes twice but I know a guy who's been hit by it seven times...now he eats through a straw." Sorley, the assassin, smiles through teeth broken as dice. "It's tragic, when you think about it."

Salian explodes with neurosis. "Why would you tell me that? That has no bearing on this situation!"

"It was just a thought."

The two men occupy a large cabin at the base of a mountain excavation, the windows shuttered, a few pores of light penetrating the handmade darkness. Salian's thin face is full of sharp angles and panes, brimming with fear that runs like an electric current down to his fidgeting hands.

"What's a spectre?"

Sorley's smile is steep and inaccessible. "When the Samarians want someone killed, they send me. When they want someone like me killed, they send a spectre. Spectres operate outside the law, working directly for the emperor and his council. If a spectre has responded this quickly, we're in way over our heads."

They turn as the door to the cabin opens and two men enter. The first is a white man in his early forties: his brown hair is flicked stylishly to the side, while a hand wrapped in a dark blue glove, the same colour as his armour, rests comfortably on the hilt of a longsword at his side. The second man is slightly taller than the first, halfway between six and seven feet, and about fifteen years younger. Everything about him is black: his skin, his armour, the gloved hands hanging calmly at his side. Twin swords are strapped to his back.

Sorley's eyes widen in shock and he mutters to himself. "Two spectres?"

The white spectre strides towards Sorley and Salian, while his black colleague scopes out the room and keeps an eye on the door. The older spectre's voice is calm and husky, as if it has been dusted with flour.

"I'm Lord Scipio and this is my colleague, Squad Fearless. What's the situation?"

Squad Fearless says nothing, but his eyes are alert, checking all possible danger points while Scipio talks to the others.

Salian steps forward hesitantly. "I'm the head researcher here. Two days ago, an item was uncovered which we believe to be of alien origin. I study the Drakh—"

"How big is the dig team?" Scipio interrupts.

Salian's voice is cavernous, reluctant. His eyes fill with terror as he looks at the ceiling, pointing through it at something unseen far above as if dark, breathing powers could snatch him at any moment. "They're all still up there...with it."

Lord Scipio nods gently.

Sorley jumps in, eyes filled with the gleam of arson. "We haven't been up there since the incident. It's got nothing to do with us."

A quick glance is enough for Lord Scipio to measure his interlocutor. "Private security?"

"Yes. The name's Sorley—"

Raising a glove, Lord Scipio interrupts. "You two stay here. Squad and I will deal with this. What's the best way to reach the dig site?"

"There's an elevator around the side of this building. That will take you straight to the top."

Lord Scipio smiles curtly. "Thank you." He begins to leave, then turns back with a warning. "And remember, both of you stay here."

The scene outside is tranquil and clotted with snow. The small town of Guggenheim can be seen a little way down the path as Scipio and Squad make their way to the open-sided elevator. Clearly, no one in the town has any idea that something is wrong at the dig site: the archaeological dig is only a peripheral oddity in their everyday lives. They don't know anything about aliens or ancient races or spectres, or any of those sorts of things.