by Eve Langlais
“Vhampir!” she yelled, now cursing the fact that they wore helmets only at night.
There were more than a few screams. For some, this wasn’t the first time they’d encountered one. For others, the fear of the unknown terrified.
The Ghost Brigade, of which four had remained outside, trotted in. A pair flanked the open portal, and the others fanned out from it. All wore thick metal helms. The Soraers put on what they had, which in some cases was only a leather cap.
“Why aren’t they closing it?” Agathe muttered as she quickly climbed down. Her long stride brought her within berating distance. “Shut the door.”
No one paid her any mind. Were they also mind-captured?
“I said close the damn door, you idiots. Don’t let the Vhampir in.” To think the Ghost Brigade had survived this long without learning the basics of defense.
As she planted hands on her hips, ready to yell some more, a low voice rumbled by her ear. “They only take orders from me.”
Startled by the proximity, she whirled and beheld the general who’d snuck up behind her. Unlike the other soldiers she’d met, he’d chosen to remain clean-shaven, a stark contrast to those who braided sideburns to mustache and beard. He stood way too close and tall. It wasn’t often Agathe felt diminished by someone’s presence.
She moved too quickly and stumbled over her own feet. A hand shot out to steady her, and her heart pounded as she looked at him.
He stared right back, a frown forming between his brows. “Are you sure we haven’t met?”
Tearing free, she snorted. “I think I’d remember.”
“You remind me of someone I used to know.”
“How unlucky for her,” was her retort.
He didn’t have a chance to reply, as one of his men stated, “It’s here.”
No need to specify the it part. The general ignored her and strode past, shoulders broad and pace bold, yet unhurried. Unlike his men, his helm remained strapped to his belt.
Hadn’t he dealt with Vhampirs before? Their mind tricks were what made them dangerous. Some had more skill at it than others. Just like some people were more susceptible than others.
The general knight didn’t pause in the doorway but went right outside to meet the monster, meaning his men would never close the door now.
Idiot. Not to mention, if he died, the Soraers would probably somehow be blamed. It was obviously up to her to make sure his dumb ass didn’t get killed. Agathe stalked after him, grabbing the helm handed to her as she passed. Someone only stopped her as she went to breach the threshold.
“You probably shouldn’t go out there, Soraer,” said a big, burly fellow with the darkest, lushest beard she’d ever seen. Rather than braids, he’d chosen to groom the strands into curls, small and tight against his cheeks, dangling and spring-like from his jawline and chin.
“Someone’s got to help him,” she retorted.
“You gonna wrestle the Vhampir with your bare hands or bore him with prayer?” was the sarcastic rejoinder by the slim fellow who bore no facial hair at all; the lobes of his ears were pierced on both sides. A man-lover showing his availability. Funny how their society tolerated it among the males, but with women? They had to hide their preference or be banished. That was how Venna had originally joined the Shield.
“Must be hard toting around that arrogance all the time,” she muttered. A tug at her robe’s hidden seam along with a yank, sent it flying to the side, tangling the bald man. She drew both of her long-bladed daggers.
Finally, she saw more than boredom in the soldiers’ faces.
“You know how to use those pointy metal sticks?” teased the bald one as he put on his helmet.
“Would you like me to gut you as proof?” The Soraers still had work to do when it came to rebuilding their reputation. It didn’t help that the Valley Abbaes still refused to follow the Goddess’s original mandate.
Agathe strode out of the Abbae, noticing the wisps of mist even though it was only mid-afternoon, and the sigils hadn’t yet failed. It probably had to do with the thick banks of clouds moving to cover the suns, bringing an unnatural shadow to the land. In the King’s Valley, that would bring a needed rain. For the cliffs, it meant an early night that allowed the Vhampir to boldly stride into view along the path, a handsome and young-looking specimen with silvery, shoulder-length hair that curled at the ends. Like other Vhampirs, he had pale skin and a thin body. They’d yet to meet any fat ones. Was a lack of food what drove them up from the Abyss to feed on people? He wore all black—boots, pants, shirt, coat. The hue matched his empty eyes.
The general stood waiting, hands tucked behind his back, weapon still sheathed—either very brave or very stupid. She’d wager a combination of both, actually.
He didn’t move as Agathe neared, but a sudden twitch in his shoulders showed him aware of her at his back.
The Vhampir proved more blatant. It flicked a glance in her direction. Lost interest quickly.
Good. Let it underestimate her. She began flanking it, darting her gaze between the visible threat and the rising mist from the Abyss that could be concealing more.
“Marrrrr—iiii-ic!” The Vhampir knew the knight’s name, which stunned Agathe for a moment. Usually, the Vhampirs projected thoughts, and only very little speech.
“You’re out of bed early,” the knight taunted, still weaponless.
“Hunnngry. Smell blood. Tasty.” More surprising words. Maybe she’d let it chew a bit on the knight first before she dispatched it.
“Are you? Then come and get it.” The knight beckoned, and the dumb Vhampir didn’t hesitate.
And neither did Maric. He moved so fast she never saw the sword even leaving the sheath, just the result. A flying head.
Okay, so maybe he had earned some of his cockiness.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” was her dry reply.
“Don’t be so sure we’re done.” The sword remained in his hand as he looked around. “Tell me, Soraer, don’t you find it a bit odd that a Vhampir this weak would risk attacking an Abbae full of fighters during the day?”
“It probably didn’t know you were here.”
He snorted. “Think again. Or did you miss it saying my name?”
She frowned as he pointed out the incongruity. She shifted her stance into a more battle-ready one. “You think it’s a trap. There’s another one out here.”
“Try at least three. Maybe more. Start backing slowly toward the Abbae,” he advised softly.
Knowing his men watched, she had to trust they’d guard her back as she began sliding backward.
She paused almost immediately as a new Vhampir stepped from the mist. “Ma-rrr-ic!” It moaned the same thing, and for a second, she expected the general to cut off its head. Only he once more surprised by instead lunging for it. He grabbed it by the shirt, dragged it up, and demanded, “How many of you are there?”
It showed pointed, black teeth as it gleefully said, “Leeee—jun.”
“Minus two,” Maric muttered. Moving faster than she could follow, something cracked, the Vhampir’s head lolled, and the body hit the ground. Only then did the general join her in her paused retreat.
“You should have cut it off,” she said as he came alongside.
“He won’t recover quick enough to aid in the attack. We’ll burn him when the battle is done.”
“Assuming we’ll win?” she sassed as they came within two paces of the door.
Rather than reply, a man overhead yelled, “Incoming!”
She immediately crouched, and just in time.
The thing that flew at her wasn’t quite a Vhampir, but it wasn’t all animal, either. Dark fur covered its body, but it had stunted wings and a horribly humanoid face. Her dagger soon discovered it bled black, not red.
It was the first of many. With the suns hidden and the mist adding extra shadow, the denizens of the Abyss flowed up over the edge. Some climbed, and others flew to attack, more than she’d ever seen at once. Fan
gs. Claws. Wings. Tails. This wasn’t her first battle, but it proved annoying fighting alongside a man who kept getting in her way as if she needed saving.
She finally had to hiss, “Stop blocking my shots.”
“Just keeping you alive, Soraer.”
“Your bumbling actions,” she grunted as she swiped, “are more likely to get me killed.”
She darted from him, heading for an ugly creature scuttling on almost-human hands and feet but with the head of an arachnid. Agathe leapt and, when she came down, penetrated its thick body. Her blade made a gross sucking sound as she pulled it free just in time. She spun and whirled, daggers in both hands, a dervish of death. Monster after monster fell at her feet. More than six for her alone by her count.
When there was finally a lull, the general knight yelled, “Get inside. There’s more coming.”
More? An attack by so many different creatures at once was unheard of, but she didn’t argue. She bolted for the door, flanked by his men, who wore a layer of gore.
Bodies littered the ledge, some downed with arrows. His men, obviously, since the Soraers had yet to find someone to teach that skill to the acolytes.
The door slammed shut once everyone was in the Abbae. His men bolted it. A few seconds later, the pounding began.
Let them bang. Once morning came with the first of the suns, the monsters would have no choice but to flee.
What she didn’t count on was not making it to dawn.
Chapter Eighteen
With the Abbae’s outside door closed, it was time to regroup. Venna herded the younger acolytes into the communal hall to prepare the evening meal. The Soraers who’d fought mingled with the King’s soldiers. The flirting between the sexes was expected, as was the pairing off as the evening went on.
Agathe, however, couldn’t relax. Despite having sealed the viewing slits for the night, she chose to rest in the alcove, head leaning against the rock wall, eyes closed, listening to the noise outside.
The thumps. The guttural shrieks. But most insidious of all, the whispers. It appeared at least one more Vhampir was on the other side of the door.
She was almost tempted to listen and meet it on the field of battle, but common sense prevailed—never fight them at night when they were strongest.
As the Abbae quieted, the Soraers going to bed while the soldiers chose to encamp in the courtyard, she found her quiet place invaded by the big knight who was more silent than a man his size had a right to be. Sensing him, she opened her eyes then narrowed them as he suddenly appeared, choosing to sit with her on the balcony far enough away she’d have to stretch to touch him, close enough she scowled.
“What do you want?”
“What I came for.”
“You’re despicable.”
“Because I’m following orders? At least I’m not a liar.” Emphasis on the last part.
“Can you blame me?”
“So feisty.”
She growled at the facetious remark. “You find this amusing?”
“Nope. On the contrary, this constant fighting, even with those who should be allies, is tiresome.”
“Allies?” That arched her brow. “Since when do the King’s Elite have any outside their ranks?”
“Since someone realized that we can’t face this threat alone. We need every advantage. People like you. You fought well.”
“For a woman?” She couldn’t help the snarky reply.
“Despite your smaller stature, you did better than many men.” A begrudging compliment.
“You should tell your King.”
“He’s aware of the Shield Soraers’ reputation.”
“And yet he’s not asked us to fight with him,” she pointed out.
The general shifted. “Why would he bother when you’re sworn to protect the Valley?”
A valid point. “Nice to see the King’s Elite are more than just men in fancy metal suits.” She just couldn’t help herself. Something about him roused her irritation.
He made a disparaging sound. “We didn’t have a choice when the monsters returned.”
“Is it known why this is happening now? Is there a reason why it’s getting worse?” Despite not liking soldiers, Agathe couldn’t help her curiosity.
A creak of metal and armor went with his reply. “The balance between the King’s Valley and Abyss has shifted.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“It means that what used to hold back the mist is failing. As we weaken, it strengthens.”
“How do we shift it back?”
“We can’t.”
“That sounds rather defeatist, considering you’re the King’s right hand.” She blurted it without thinking and, for a moment, wasn’t sure he’d answer.
When he did, it was disparagingly. “You have no idea what we face.”
“I live in the Seventh Abbae. Do you really think we haven’t seen our fair share? Tell me why you think we’re doomed.”
He glanced at her. “What we’ve seen thus far is only the beginning. More monsters are coming. Vhampirs, too, strong ones who can penetrate even steel helmets. There aren’t enough fighters left to deliver us from evil.”
Before she could question him about his use of the word evil, there was a shrill scream. The kind filled with terror and pain that sent a chill through her.
“Monsters!” A Soraer ran out of the archway leading into the communal hall. It was one of the older women, hands waving, expression terrorized.
It could mean only one thing.
“They’re inside,” Agathe whispered, rising to her feet.
Predictably, panic erupted as Soraers, roused by the cry, emerged from the halls outside the communal hall. The Ghost Brigade, as if never truly asleep, rose and reached for weapons. Since the general knight was already using the ladder, Agathe made for the spiraling stairs and took the steps in leaps and bounds. Maric was already on the ground by the time she made it to the bottom.
She trailed him as he ran for the communal hall, which had a handful of acolytes streaming from it. Screaming, wild-eyed, wailing, forgetting their training. In their defense, they never expected to have bug-like creatures the size of cats clinging to their backs, mandibles dug in and suckling.
Where had they come from? The Seventh Abbae had no catacombs, not even a cellar, just a large pantry, and the walls were secure.
As Agathe rushed past a sobbing girl who bled from the punctures in her flesh, she noted the bug on the ground, its limbs twitching, stabbed by a soldier ahead of her. It appeared like a pesky roach, if larger and mutated with a blood-sucking propensity.
Entering the main hall, she saw Hiix, hammer in hand, trying to maintain order. She’d shed her gown and, now in simple linen pants and shirt, tried to direct the disorganized Soraers by waving her hand and barking orders—not that anyone obeyed.
Until the general yelled, “Kill the bugs. Find out where they’re coming from.” He began jabbing the critters with his sword, killing them quickly and efficiently with the aid of his men and the lucid Soraers, until the creatures lay dead on the floor.
But they weren’t done. He repeated his order. “Find out how they got inside.” It didn’t take long. as more scuttled from the latrine. Entering, they found two dead Soraers.
One of the general knight’s men paled as he muttered, “Few minutes sooner, and it might have been me getting me arse bitten off.” Not a pleasant way to die.
Of more concern, the Abbae had been compromised. They barricaded the door to the latrine and left two of the King’s soldiers to guard it. Agathe remained quiet as she trailed the knight back to the courtyard where the Soraers had gathered, their sobs and wails louder than Hiix, who appeared flustered as she tried to calm them down.
Just as Agathe prepared to put two fingers into her mouth and whistle for their attention, the general knight boomed, “Quiet!”
It resulted in almost instant silence but for some sniffles. Enough calm to notice a lone bug coming from the kitc
hen.
Had they missed one? Agathe headed back into the communal hall and found Maric flanking her.
“Do you think they broke through the latrine door already?” she asked. It seemed unlikely.
“More like they found another entrance,” he declared as they entered and saw more bugs scuttling past the trestle tables and benches.
The pantry door remained closed with the bugs trundling from the kitchen prep area at the rear of the room. They split up and worked their way to the counter and its massive sink, killing everything that moved. The drain had been cracked open, so that the bugs might better squeeze through.
“We need something to jam over that hole,” she remarked. “Find something heavy while I poke at the ones trying to come up.” She jabbed at a bug and pushed it back toward the drain before another could emerge.
“You do realize it’s only a temporary solution,” he remarked as he clobbered the bug squeezing past its dead cousin.
“Yes, but it’s better than standing around whacking insects all night,” she huffed, jabbing at the next.
“Meaning they’ll just find another hole to bust through. They’re coming up the waste pipes. Under how many floors do they run?”
“I don’t know.” She kind of assumed they went straight down.
“Meaning they could come through anywhere.”
“So what do you suggest?” was her sour query.
“That you start speaking with a little more respect,” he growled.
“Is the big, bad soldier feeling emasculated by the words of a mere woman?” She couldn’t help but provoke him because she’d long ago vowed to never take orders from anyone. Especially a man.
“It’s like you want to die. Far be it from me to get in your way. Have at it.” With that, he left her alone at the sink as a wave of bugs pushed at the dead ones on top, spilling out in a wiggling mass that had Agathe biting her lower lip.
The first bug to reach her got slapped aside, but before she could swing again, another grabbed hold of her blade and began climbing it!
She yelled as she slammed it against a shelf holding stoppered urns. Its body cracked one of them open, and liquid spilled. Vinegar by the smell. Useless in a fight. But she thought of something that might work. She grabbed the urn beside the shattered one. She swung it and clocked another bug. It didn’t break the hard pottery, so she slapped it off the edge of the sink with its roiling mass of bugs.