Blood of the dragon, p.1
Blood of the Dragon, page 1
part #4 of Relic Hunters Series
Contents
Also By Martin Ferguson
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
The Relic Hunters
Historical Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Blood of the Dragon
Relic Hunters
Copyright © 2020 Martin Ferguson
FIRST EDITION
All rights reserved.
No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover by Tom Roberts of Zoom Illustration
Editing by Karen Sanders Editing
Formatting by Pink Elephant Designs
Also By Martin Ferguson
Relic Hunters:
Eagle of the Empire
Curse of the Sands
War of the Damned
Blood of the Dragon
FOR MY FELICITY
1
VASILE—Ruins Of Poenari Castle, Romania
‘Where is the gold?’ Gregor demands. ‘Where is the silver? Where are the jewels you promised us, old man?’
We stand in the cold, abandoned halls of the decrepit ruin, soaked from the rain. Our small flashlights guide us as we peer into the darkness. Any more light and the military who cordon off this area will spot us.
‘I… I don’t know,’ Nicolae stutters. He hurriedly rummages through his pages of notes, dropping half to the floor in his haste. ‘Vasile… I know… I swear I know.’
‘Easy, Nicolae,’ I encourage him. ‘Take your time. The army must have ruled this area off limits for a reason. You know its history and we all know who once lived here. Take your time and find us his treasures. And you, Gregor, take it easy on our new friend here.’
‘Just hurry it up, would you?’ Gregor mutters as he turns on me. ‘You promised us a decent pay day, Vasile.’
‘And I am sure my husband will deliver,’ Mihaela, my loving wife, replies. ‘Has he ever failed us before?’
‘You know he has,’ Gregor says. ‘That’s why we’re penniless.’
‘Just be ready to carry all the loot,’ I say, forcing a smile.
Nicolae is our historian, Mihaela our best thief, and Gregor is our muscle, but I am the brains behind all this. I am the leader of this team, and as such, I have to keep it together. I found us this prize, and I found Nicolae to guide us. Okay, it was more like he found us. I heard about some crazy old man seeking supporters for his grand venture and promising untold riches of some long dead prince. How could I say no? I did find the way past the armed guards and their fences though.
‘Ah, this way,’ Nicolae says, wiping sweat from his brow despite the cold night.
‘You better be right, old man,’ Gregor warns.
‘Calm, big guy,’ Mihaela says softly. She is the only one he will listen to and worth her weight in gold for that ability alone. That and she can steal anything from anyone, including my heart. ‘Come on, Vasile,’ she says to me, kissing me and displaying all the excitement I love about her.
We follow Nicolae on through the dark halls, careful of our footing and wary of the large gaping holes in the roof above us.
‘This place could collapse at any moment,’ I whisper to myself.
‘It was once a mighty fortress that kept at bay the army of…’ Nicolae tries to explain before I interrupt him.
‘No history lessons. Just take us to the jewels,’ I advise before Gregor can say worse.
‘Yes, of course. Now we are passing into the monastery.’
I slow my pace as we reach these rooms, finding most of them covered in rubble, debris, and dirt. Mihaela seems to spot something and begins clambering through the ruins. Once beyond large sections of stone from the fallen walls and roof, she kneels and sifts through the mounds of dirt. She unearths shards of old, faded stained glass before revealing two small coins.
‘Not much, but it’s a start,’ I say as I kneel beside my wife.
‘We’d better find a few hundred of them to make climbing up here worthwhile,’ Gregor says.
‘We will,’ Mihaela says as she kisses me again. She continues to sift through the dirt, as if homing in on a great prize she knows is below us.
‘You will have more luck in the next chambers,’ Nicolae says. ‘The throne room and the crypt await.’
‘Not just yet,’ I say. ‘I do believe that my wife has found something.’
From the rubble, Mihaela pulls a cup; a goblet of some kind. She rubs away the dirt to reveal silver beneath.
‘Engraved with a dragon,’ she says with excitement. ‘This should be worth a few pennies.’
‘Look at that inside,’ I say with surprise. ‘It’s carrying water yet the rain hasn’t reached this part of the castle for many months.’
‘Yeah… it’s… not water,’ Mihaela says as she at first sniffs at the residue and then dips her fingers into the cup. Mihaela lowers her fingers to her tongue but her eyes immediately clamp shut as a hiss escapes her lips; a wince of pain.
‘Mihaela?’ I ask with concern.
‘It’s… it’s…’ she struggles to say between sharp, heavy breaths. Mihaela rises to stand but can only take two steps before she doubles over in pain. I try to help her, to hold her, but she forces me away.
‘What’s wrong now?’ Gregor asks.
I can only watch in horror as the veins around my wife’s skin darken and spread across her body. Her eyes redden and then darken before she lets out a long, deafening scream of agony.
‘BLOOD!’ she manages to yell before throwing the goblet to the ground.
She turns to me, her eyes begging for help, but suddenly, all our torches go out at once, plunging us into darkness. My wife screams once again, her cry becoming that of an enraged animal.
‘Mihaela?’ I call out as I reach for her in the darkness. ‘MIHAELA?’
Hers is not the next voice I hear.
‘What are you doing?’ Gregor says. ‘Mihaela, is that you? Stay away. Stay away from me! Argh! AARRGGHH!!’
I hear Gregor’s heavy body crash to the ground and the sounds of a struggle. Gregor’s gun sounds out three times before he ceases to move and silence overwhelms. I try to find a weapon; a rock, a stick, anything, as I panic in utter fear.
‘I… I can’t stay here! I can’t stay here!’ I hear Nicolae cry. I hear the old man hurry away as fast as he can before he too screams in terror and agony.
‘Mihaela?’ I call out. ‘Mihaela, please answer me.’
Without warning, I am thrown to the ground and feel a body climb on top and pin me down. By the feel and weight, I know it is my wife, but something is terribly wrong. I feel something dripping down onto me, something warm taken from the two men she killed. Blood.
‘Mihaela?’ I ask with a terrified whisper.
‘I can hear it,’ she replies with a voice that is not hers. ‘I can feel it.’
‘What?’ I beg of her.
‘The blood coursing through your body.’
The animal roars once more before she lowers her teeth—her fangs—to me in a frenzy of pain, terror, and blood.
2
PROFESSOR MELISSA MOORE—Fleeing in the night. London, England
‘Hurry, Henry! Hurry!’ I urge my driver. ‘As fast as you can!’
‘This old rust bucket won’t go any faster,’ my rotund driver snaps back. ‘What you in such a hurry for? The British Museum will be closed this late at night anyway.’
‘I pray they remain open for me,’ I reply under my breath.
I check over my shoulder and peer out the rear window of the taxi. I see streetlights and the occasional cars, but nothing out of the ordinary. Why do I have suc
h a terrible feeling, like I am being watched and followed?
I know exactly why.
I’m a fifty-eight-year-old history teacher who found her office turned upside down, every drawer and box rifled through and contents tipped out. They were searching for the pages. They, whoever they are, didn’t find them though. They can’t have since I have kept the pages on me ever since I found them. Ever since they came into my possession, I have been plagued by calls and visitors giving warnings and demands. I wish they had never come to me. The office was one thing, but to find my own home similarly ransacked was the last straw. I need help and I know of only one place I can go.
‘Take the next left,’ I instruct my taxi driver. ‘You’ll miss the roadworks at the junction.’
‘I know the way, thank you very much,’ he says before making the turn.
I open my mobile phone and call the same number I have tried five times this night already.
‘C’mon, Charles! Pick up! Pick up!’ I utter as the phone rings without answer and goes through to voicemail.
‘Charles, call me back as soon as you can,’ I say in the message. ‘I hope you got my last voicemails, but in case you didn’t, I need your help. I have stumbled on to something that I…’
The car lurches hard to the left and my phone slips from my grasp.
‘This joker on the right nearly hit us!’ Henry yells as he unwinds his window. The other vehicle speeds up from behind until it is level with us.
‘Hey, you idiots!’ Henry yells at the other car. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
The blacked out windows of the vehicle lower to reveal the driver and passengers. All are armed in military combat gear and look to us with determined focus. We are the prey.
‘Henry, turn!’ I yell, leaning forward and grabbing the steering wheel.
‘What the…’ Henry begins to yell before he is silenced by the thunder of gunfire.
Our windows shatter and metal thuds with the impact of bullets. I duck down as low as I can, hearing the bullets soar over my head.
‘Get us out of here!’ I scream.
‘You don’t have to tell me twice!’ Henry turns the car away from our attackers and sends the damaged taxi down a narrow alleyway.
Gunfire follows us as we speed down the alley. Another black-windowed vehicle slams into our side as we emerge onto the next street. Henry does not take his foot off the accelerator as we continue to flee. Our attackers in the two vehicles don’t give up and pepper our taxi with more gunfire until smoke begins to stream from the engine, choking us inside.
‘C’mon, girl. C’mon!’ Henry urges his taxi on before shouting at me. ‘What the hell have you got me messed up in?’
‘I wish I knew,’ I reply before our car is hit again by the others slamming into its sides.
‘You’re paying for every penny to repair the…’ Henry says before a single bullet tears through the windscreen from ahead of us. It hits my driver who pulls hard on the steering wheel and sends us careening off the road. We crash through anything in our path until the car overturns and sends our world spinning.
I must have blacked out for a few moments, because when I come to, the car is still but upside down. My body aches all over and I feel a trickle of blood run down my forehead. My arm aches horribly too, as does a leg.
‘Henry! Henry!’ I call out to him as I try to pull myself up.
‘I’m all right. I’m all right,’ he calls back as the nearest door to me creaks open. ‘You okay, Miss?’
His shoulder is bleeding heavily, but that does not slow him as he reaches in and helps pull me out. Just as I am nearly clear, Henry is roughly shoved aside and someone else drags me from the ruined car. I am held by the throat and thrown against the overturned taxi. My attacker wears full military gear—black ops by my guess—with a helmet that conceals his face. Red glowing eyes like a demon stare deep into mine.
‘Are you Professor Melissa Moore?’ the masked man asks.
‘I… I am…’ I struggle to say. ‘What… what do you want?’
‘This is for the greater good,’ the man warns as he draws a handgun and raises it to my head. ‘I am sorry.’
There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Fear ceases me utterly, but all I can do is close my eyes.
As I wait for the gun to sound out and end my life, I hear the sound of engines grow closer and closer around me. They’re different though; not those of the cars and vans that had chased us. They’re motorcycles, and so close that I fear I will be run over. I open my eyes and back away, but it is my attacker who is forced to move.
The gunman fires a round but misses as a motorcycle nearly collides with him. The masked man retreats and fires again, but his attacker, a woman with purple and red hair hanging beneath her helmet, fires her own handgun back at him. My saviour clambers off the bike and charges the masked man, leaping at him and striking him hard. He reacts quickly, overpowering the woman with speed and strength. The masked assailant knocks the woman aside repeatedly but she still keeps coming, doing all she can to keep him from reaching me.
A second motorcycle, an old military Honda, screeches to a halt beside me and the rider lifts the visor of his helmet.
‘Get on!’ the young man yells at me.
‘Who are you?’ I ask in confusion.
‘Adam Hunter of the British Museum,’ he replies quickly as he throws something towards the two black-windowed vehicles and their occupants as they disembark and head towards me. The projectiles erupt with a blinding flash that disorients all in their path.
‘We’re here to rescue you, Professor,’ Adam calls to me. ‘Now get on the bike!’
‘You have no idea what you’re doing!’ the red-eyed masked man yells towards us. He has fought off the woman again and left her sprawling on the ground and struggling to recover her motorcycle. He raises his handgun to us but another projectile soars towards him, an arrow this time, that impales in the shoulder of his armour before exploding in a cloud of smoke.
‘I generally have no idea what I’m doing, even at the best of times!’ Adam cheers back as he lowers his bow and revs the motorcycle engine. ‘See you another time, Hawke!’
With that, my rescuer sends us hurtling away into the night, with the woman joining us on the road.
3
ADAM—The British Museum. London, England
‘I can’t believe all of this is down here, buried beneath the museum,’ Professor Moore says with wonder as we walk through the hangar in the lower levels of the British Museum.
‘That’s exactly what I think every time I see it,’ I reply as we pass all manner of vehicles, transports, aircraft and equipment.
There are work crews all around us running maintenance and repairs, despite the late hour. I hand my motorcycle to one mechanic and make him swear not to leave a scratch. That bike was my father’s and it has taken me months to get it running and roadworthy again after near destroying it in Scotland.
‘You think this is something, you should see what else we have down here,’ Emma says as she removes her helmet and joins us. Her eyes, one green and one blue, bring a smile to my lips every time.
Emma Lovell is a year or two older than me, with red and purple hair and a taste for adventure, along with a fantastic sense of humour. Yes, I like her more than I should and she has been very clear more than a few times that those feelings are not reciprocated, but I still hold out hope.
