Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 1: Enriched by the Blood of Men

Transylvania, 1462

My lips are numb from constant prayer, my tongue dry and leaden in my mouth. Beyond the chapel walls I hear the clamoring of my soldiers, the beat of our war drums. The cacophony of righteousness reverberates through me, a thrumming heartbeat that no doubt rattles the bones of my ancestors that rest in the crypt below.

I open my eyes and rest my gaze on the placid face of the suffering Christ where he hangs on the crucifix above the gilded altar. I search for such a certain peace, repeating my vows to the Almighty – even if we should fail, if I should die, it would be in holy combat, and I would be reunited with my family in the Kingdom of Heaven. Death would not be death, but an everlasting reward.

But we shall not fail. We cannot. Constantinople has fallen. The fate of Christendom hangs in the balance. The Lecters and those they lead must prevail against the unholy hordes.

Father Davies' hand touches my bent head with trembling, reverential fingers. "It is time."

I stand with the rustle of armor and turn away from the altar, letting him lead me through the candle-strewn chapel to join my sister near the doors. She is strapped into armor of her own, sleeker and lighter than what I wear, though each of us display the stag's head pauldrons and the Lecter family crest on our chest-plates. Her shield-maidens finish plaiting her long ash-blonde hair, wrapping it around her head before lowering her helmet into place.

A gentle wave of my hand and the maidens scatter. My sister regards me with our mother's cool gray eyes as I help her with her quiver and place her bow in her hand.

"Hannibal," she says, her voice gentle but resolute. "Smile, brother. Soon the very earth will turn red with heathen blood."

"God willing,"I say.

Mischa gives me a playful little shove. "I wager I'll slay more Turks than you."

"Nothing would please me more." Our parents died when we were young – I have always felt, in some ways, more like Mischa's parent than her sibling. If she surpasses my skills in battle, it would bring me a father's pride. I have taught her everything I know about the arts of war, though I always prayed to the gracious God above that she would not have to use them.

The forces of evil have said otherwise. At dawn, we ride for the borderlands to defend our homes and our faith.

My attendant brings me my sword and buckles the sheath to my waist. Father Davies blesses us one last time. "May your sword," he says to me, "burn with the holy fire of Archangel Michael, the same holy fire that drove the serpent back into the pit." To Mischa: "May your arrows strike true, as though they fly on the wings of angels, casting our enemies into the fires of Hell." He anoints each of us with oil to seal his words.

It is the final act of preparation. I can delay no longer.

I feel the resolute hand of God guiding me, and the fear leaves my heart.

There is only one thing that could make me hesitate, that could shake the iron grip on my sword as I leave my family's castle, perhaps forever. A sight that would make me want to turn my back on this holy mission.

And before we can leave, the doors part just enough for him to step in and stand before me.

Iliya. His eyes are red-rimmed and hollow, but, at the moment, he does not weep. Instead, he offers me a brave smile and steps forward to clasp my hand where it is encased in my gauntlet. He's wearing his bedclothes, one of my embroidered dressing gowns flung over it. Too big on him, it hangs free on one shoulder.

My husband. My beautiful boy, my dearest treasure. My bridegroom, prized above all else. We said our goodbyes last night. I thought it best not to see him before dawn, lest I abandon God's holy quest to rid the land of the Muslim Turks and flee with him instead. We would live in some obscure forest, he and I, with no regard for the rest of the world, or the Almighty. And I would die a happy man. The shape of his mouth and the flush of his cheek make me weak enough to imagine breaking my Christian vows.