Knights of the Blood Read Online Free PDF

bided their time at Noire Garde, waiting for word to come concerning the movements of Ibn—al—Hassad. During that time, only one visitor had come to the fortress of the Order of the Sword–a Greek priest called Father Georgilas. He had stayed for three nights, breaking his journey to the Patriarch of Antioch, and during that time he and de Beq held several long talks on the subject of afreat and Ibn—al—Hassad.
    “Of course I know of such things.” The Greek wiped his greasy hands on a disreputable—looking beard before pouring himself another mug of wine. “As a boy in Greece, I was reared on the island of Santorini, where we had many troubles with the vrykolakas and the vrykolatios. They are like these afreat you speak of.”
    He drained half the mug in a single quaff and wiped his sleeve across his drooping moustache before continuing.
    “From what you have described of what happened at the oasis, there can be no doubt about it. This Turk you are after–he must be a vrykolatios of the most evil kind.”
    “A broucolaques?” De Beq’s command of Greek was limited, and his phonetic pronunciation of the language twisted many of the words into the Franco—Norman patois common to the knightly class in the Holy Land. “What exactly are these broucolaques?”
    “Vrykolatios,” Father Georgilas corrected, looking at his empty mug and reaching for the wine jug. “Put most simply, they are the un—dead. They drink human blood and shun the sunlight, and often they leave their graves at night and come out to torment their relatives.”
    “Excuse me, holy Father,” de Beq interrupted, “but Ibn—al—Hassad doesn’t live in a grave. He does drink blood, but he moves across the desert and kills Christian and infidel alike, and is not afraid of the sunlight.”
    “Ah ha!” roared the priest. “Exactly why I said he was a vrykolatios and not a vrykolakas! He does not fear the sunlight. He moves about with others of his kind, and from what you tell me of the little child who attacked you, he creates other vrykolatios when it pleases him. The vrykolatios feeds on the blood of his enemies, and his enemies are the devout, be they Christian–“ the bearded cleric crossed himself twice “–or heathen Saracen.” In his outburst, Father Georgilas had spilled some of his wine, which he mopped up with the sleeve of his habit and squeezed out over his mug.
    “But tell me, Father.” De Beq leaned forward and topped up both their mugs with the sweet Cypriot wine. “How did Hassad become a vryko– vryko–“
    “Vrykolatios,” the priest supplied. “Holy Church teaches that there are eight ways in which a man may become vrykolatios. Those who are buried without the rites of the Church as well as those who commit suicide or die unavenged will surely be so condemned. So, too, will children who were conceived on one of the great Church festivals, as well as those who die unbaptised or apostate.”
    Father Georgilas took another long, thirsty pull from his mug, surrendering a clarion belch before continuing.
    “Let me see, what else? Yes. Those who led an immoral or evil life, as well as those over whose dead body a cat or other animal has passed, will also become vrykolatios, as will those who have eaten the flesh of a sheep that was killed by a wolf.”
    Father Georgilas leaned back in his chair, his eyes suddenly looking startlingly glazed as his head lolled slowly from side to side. De Beq had been trying to keep count of the eight ways as the priest rehearsed them, ticking them off on his fingers, but he was afraid he had lost track at seven–and that Georgilas had, too.
    “Father Georgilas,” said de Beq, “you said there were eight ways in which a man could become–“ here de Beq tried his hardest to pronounce the Greek word “–vrykolatios, but I think you’ve mentioned only seven. What is the eighth way?”
    The priest drew himself upright in his chair and with great effort forced his eyes to