She calmed her mind and reached out to the Light. She was no master healer, but she could channel enough to sooth her back and erase the bruises from her fall. It was dark down in the pit, but her natural darkling vision allowed her to locate and retrieve her sword.
Karl either believed her dead or thought her trapped down here. If the former, he was unfamiliar with Kaldorite armor. If the latter, he was unfamiliar with Kaldorite training. Scaling city walls and running over rooftops were routine. Any simple recruit could get out of this tower.
She looked up at the doorway, seeing the silhouette of Dart’s head looking down at her. The horse snorted in agitation. She quickly scaled the walls, finding easy handholds in the old stone. Seconds later, she was out under the dark sky, standing beside her warhorse. Karl had been stupid, or Dart had been smart. Maybe it was a bit of both.
The paladin mounted her stallion and turned to descend on the village as the last of the sun’s weak light through the clouds surrendered to night’s rule.
Arda left Dart on the outskirts of town and walked down the main street, sword on her back and revolvers at her hips. She wore her hat, keeping the rain from her face, and more importantly, her eyes. The dull roar of rainfall masked all other sound. Not a soul moved on the street. Doors were locked, and windows shuttered, framed by the lines of dimly lit windowsills. Golden light shined from the saloon’s open doorway and the tops of windows that rose taller than the shutters that covered them.
A field of puddles pockmarked the road between her and the doorway, frothing with rainfall and spilled tavern light. Mud sucked at her boots with every step as she moved purposely towards the door. They would be there. The inn was public, unlike the homes that were barred to them without invitation.
She stepped through the open doorway out of the rain.
The saloon was full of people. Karl sat at the bar, surrounded by about a dozen more men. Picking out the vampires was not hard. They had extremely pale, almost translucent skin with a waxy, lifeless pallor. The colors in their eyes were as they had been in life, but with bolder, saturated hues. When they moved, their bodies flowed with almost serpentine grace.
Mary stood behind the bar, held from behind by a man. He cradled his arms around her waist. One of his hands pressed flat against her hip, the other snaking up the side of her torso with his fingers extended wide, like greedy spiders. His face was bent over her neck, and she listed to the side, eyes fluttering in sad rapture. The man’s—the vampire’s—lips were locked on her skin, and a faint outline of blood glistened between his lips and her neck. A different man fed on Karl’s wrists, and there were groups spread throughout the common room in similar clumps.
The man who had Mary looked up when Arda entered. All eyes focused on the paladin. Mary seemed… angry to see her. Arda’s eyes narrowed. The living humans traded blood for an illusion of safety. No more. Arda would liberate them from this madness.
“Oh, Karl, how delightful!” the man exclaimed with a smile. “You told us you killed her. Your bungling earns your absolution. I think she’ll prove delicious, and she isn’t protected. It’s been a long time since I drained someone to death.”
Karl looked relieved to see her, but Arda could tell it was not for her sake. His eyes now openly shared Mary’s anger towards the paladin.
Bullets may not have been lethal to the undead, but they were still effective in controlling the battlefield. As her answer to the vampire holding Mary, she drew her pistols and fired two rounds through his head faster than any of them could react. The force of the gunshots threw him to the back wall away from his captive. He frowned and struggled to rise from the ground.
She saw his flesh push the bullet from his skull and the wound start to close, but she had no time to dwell on him. As the other vampires reacted, she fired shots at them, dropping them to the ground and slowing their advance as she backed out the saloon door.
As she had intended, she hit the proverbial hornets’ nest and drew them away from the living humans. The undead followed her even as they healed, but she had already jumped and climbed to the rooftop of the saloon.
The vampires were only momentarily confused. The rain cleaned the air from the scent of her blood, but it did not take long for them to notice her. Probably because she dropped two more of them to the mud with her guns.
The man who had fed on Mary roared as he looked up at her, his mouth wide open and serpentine fangs extended. His eyes flashed with the red light of his anger, and he leaped into the air, his undead strength carrying him in a graceful arc through the rain to land on the roof in front of Arda.
That was his mistake. As he leaped, she holstered her pistols, and in one fluid movement, drew her sword in a deadly arc that sliced through his neck as he landed. The angry light faded from his eyes, and a startled look opened across his face. His body fell to the roof and his head tumbled back to the ground below, in front of the open door.
“Noooo!” a woman wailed from within. It was Mary. The other vampires stood frozen for a moment as she rushed out into the rain, falling on her knees at the lifeless head of the undead man. She took it in her hands and cradled it to her chest, rocking back and forth as she wept. She turned her tear-streaked face up to Arda. “He was my husband. My husband! They kept us safe!”
The other vampires transformed into mist, joining into a thick blanket of smoky fog that climbed the house like a noxious vine. Streams of the dark mist rose from the rooftop and solidified back into their vampire bodies.
Arda stilled her mind and flowed into the fighting trance she had been taught, finding her calm center through her connection to the Light. She held her sword high for a fraction of a second, and it flared to life with Light’s radiance. Then it descended, and she whirled to follow it. Her dance of death had begun.
She kept moving over the rooftop. They were fast, dark blurs as they came for her, but she trusted in the Light and in her training that she would be where she needed to be, when she needed to be there. With her blade.
First one, then two and then three vampires went down, heads falling from their bodies. Then there were too many. She bought herself time with two more shots from her left pistol and then jumped off the roof. In one fluid motion she holstered her firearm and tucked her sword as she landed and rolled through the mud below. Extinguishing the light of her blade, she disappeared down a side alley, stealing a few seconds to catch her breath.
The rain intensified, covering the village in a blanket of white noise. It made it almost impossible to see, but it also masked her from them, whether by sight, sound, or smell.
She stepped back into the street and closed her eyes. What her body could do when trained to its utmost perfection amazed her. She slowed her mind until she could hear the fuzz of rain spread into the sounds of thousands of individual drops around her. By all accounts, vampire hearing was heightened and they could do this too—if they could slow down long enough to overcome their bloodlust. They were powerful, but at the end of the day, they were hasty. Sloppy. Not like her.
To her right was a gap in the rain’s roar, water splattering upon human shoulders instead of hitting the mud. Arda struck, and the body fell to the ground without its head. Four more came at her. They fought blindly in their rage, clawing with their hands to grab her so they could sink their fangs through her skin. She grew tired. She dropped two more of them, and then she slipped.
A female vampire took advantage of the opportunity and jumped on her. The force of the vampire’s strength threw Arda to the ground, face first in the mud. The paladin’s grip loosened, and the sword was flung away from her body. The vampire hissed triumphantly and bit at the meat above Arda’s shoulder, below her neck. The fangs would have been sharp enough on their own to penetrate the armor-resin, but the zorium weave caught it, distributing its impact enough to trigger the fibers’ hardening response. The vampire snarled in frustration and bent Arda’s head back, exposing her naked neck to the sky.
“It’s okay,
” the vampire whispered in her ear. “It only hurts a little, and then you’ll like it.”
Arda suddenly relaxed, loosening the vampire’s grip. She found her pistol and shot the undead woman in the chest, knocking her away.
The vampire screamed in rage, clutching at her wound. Arda fumbled through the mud and water, hands splashing as she searched for her sword. Two more vampires loomed in front of her, and she realized she wasn’t going to make it.
Suddenly, there was a whinny and a snort, and Dart was there, hooves flying, kicking the two away from her. The woman vampire stood and crouched as if uncertain. Arda saw the sword in the mud behind her.
The paladin bent over and cupped her hands in one of the water puddles. She channeled the Light and knelt, whispering to her hands, “I bless you by the power of the Light. Let all that is Dark flee from you.”
The vampire jumped at Arda’s apparent surrender. The paladin flung her hands up to meet her enemy, and the holy water splattered over the vampire’s face, hissing and sputtering as it burned through the creature’s flesh.
Arda spun and kicked low, sweeping the woman’s legs from under her. The paladin rolled to her side and sprang to her feet, rushing to retrieve her sword.
Weapon in hand, she turned to the vampire, still clawing at her face on the ground and screaming in agony.
“It’s okay,” Arda said, raising the blade high. “The pain will be over soon.” The sword flared with light once more, and the paladin brought it down in a smooth arc, ending the vampire’s life.
The rain tapered off, and now the air was clear. House doors opened, and more vampires emerged. Arda bent her knees, taking a defensive stance. The night was far from over.
By early morning, Arda had fought through their streets and in their homes. Exhausted and covered from head to toe in bloody mud, she had survived to the final dark hours of the morning. Though the sky started to lighten from black to dark blue through the holes in the cloud cover, dawn was still only a hint of a promise.
Mary approached the paladin. “Why?” she asked.
Arda frowned, and suddenly the weight of exhaustion hit her. She had been up for twenty-four hours, and last night’s battle had continued without rest. She blinked and pressed her fingers to her temples.
“Why?” Mary asked again. “We were fine. They weren’t killing us.”
“They were vampires,” Arda answered flatly. “They would kill you eventually.”
“No. Not them,” Mary shouted hysterically. “Those were our own people, friends and family. We know what happened in Roenti. We’re not stupid. They could have killed us, but they didn’t. We learned to coexist.”
“By being food?” Arda countered.
“By giving those we loved what they needed to survive!” exclaimed Mary. “And they protected us! There are other vampires, hundreds of them! Has your Order cleansed Roenti? Have you done anything to end this? Have you even bothered trying to find a cure? You haven’t, have you? When more come, they’ll kill us or make us slaves. They won’t be our own people.”
“You weren’t free,” Arda answered. “You just can’t see it yet, but you will.”
“Are you staying?” Mary demanded. “Are there more behind you coming to protect our village?”
Arda shook her head. “No,” she admitted. She dropped her fingers from her temples and looked over the survivors. “No, that is not why I’m here. One by one you would have been turned, and you would have helped spread the disease further. Over time, you could not have stayed here. They manipulated you.”
“No, you refuse to listen. They were us!”
Arda shook her head again. “It is done, and I would do it again. Vampires are the enemy. Do not become collaborators.”
Karl clenched his fists. “How dare you!”
“No,” Arda shouted back. “How dare you! Now, at least, you can no longer hide. You must pick a side. When the others come, you will either resist, or you will die. There can be no submission in this.”
“How can we fight, missis?” Karl asked calmly. The bite marks on his wrist shown brightly. “I mean, we can be mad at what you done, but that don’t change nothin’. I want to live. How can we fight when more come? They will come, they will.”
Arda regarded Karl for a moment.
“I’m sorry I shot you, missus,” he said, “But I was scared.”
“What is it you do here, Karl?” she asked. He had betrayed her once already, but she had nothing to lose by teaching them to fight vampires before she moved on.
“I was the church groundskeeper here before Darkfall, when Karanos’ runes broke. Our priest… he was the first of us to turn.”
“Then I will teach you their weaknesses. Maybe you can hold them off long enough to survive to the end of this. But if you and those like you surrender, all will be lost.”
He nodded.
“Then come with me. All of you who would learn, come with me where we can talk.”
“The old church,” Karl said. “In the center of town.”
“The church,” Arda’s lips tightened. “As good a place as any.”
He led the paladin to the church and opened its door. The crowd of people followed them inside the dark building. There, in front of the altar, stood a young girl, maybe twelve years of age. Karl’s eyes lit with joy when he saw her. “We still have a chance!” he cried out.
“Do not forsake your Covenant,” she said. “Only by your blood are you kept safe from the hungerbound. Only by the Covenant do we free ourselves from gods and demons.”
Arda drew her sword, but the crowd moved around her and surrounded the girl. Karl turned to Arda. “I’m sorry, missis” he said. “We’re not strong like you, and she’s kin, my baby girl. You can’t understand.”
Mary knelt before the girl and offered her neck.
“Tonight you shall be reborn,” the girl said. Her mouth opened wide and her serpent fangs extended. She bit into Mary’s neck.
“No!” Arda shouted. Her left hand drew her pistol, but the people pressed in close around the child vampire.
Mary’s body fell to the floor once the girl was done. A man now knelt beside her. “Tonight you shall be reborn,” the girl said again, and then drained the blood from him, sucking greedily at his neck until he too died.
“No!” Arda shouted. “Please, move away! No!” Her mind reeled in the horror of what was happening, after all that she had endured the night before. She did not know what to do, how to handle this. They were innocents, but yet they were not. Arda fell to her knees, clutching at the nausea in her stomach.
“I’m sorry, missis,” Karl said again. “We won’t let you kill her. Please leave us alone.”
Arda looked up at him, her black eyes glittering. She channeled the Light and healed herself of the exhaustion of the night’s battle. She was a paladin. She would not let this evil continue. She pulled herself to her feet and raised her sword.
4 - Assault in the Night
Anuit was the first necromancer the world of Ahmbren had seen in eleven thousand years. Necromancy had been an elite discipline within sorcery, reserved only for the darkling nobility of the first Artalonian Empire. When Archurion destroyed Artalon, all who knew its secrets perished with the city.
Necromancy was not, as common legends said, the art of speaking with or raising the dead. The dead were gone, and there were no such things as ghosts, ancestral spirits, or any other entities from other religion’s teachings of an afterlife. Necromancy was nothing more than tapping into the latent Dark power of ambient wisps of Ahmbren’s dead soul-matter.
Belham had once compared the elemental energy to water. Each sorcerer’s link to the Dark was like a faucet connected to the ocean. Each learned to open the faucet, but they could only tap into so much. That was the sorcerer’s natural limitation. Anuit’s innate link had a large capacity that her early training had only begun to push. Necromancy, however, allowed a sorceress to channel beyond her limit. Each mote of soul-dust was
like an additional faucet. She could open them all, and suddenly the power of the ocean was hers.
The demon lords of Dis had granted Belham permission to initiate her into the secrets of necromancy, driving her to learn skills it took other sorcerers years to uncover, for the simple fact that they also had to strive to open their own natural potential. Power was never a problem for her. She had not yet found the limit of what she could channel. She didn’t trust the demon lords who taught her through Belham, but she exploited their teachings.
For her, darkness wasn’t simply the absence of light. It was a thing, a field to be manipulated. It had form and shape, a comforting substance of secrets and safety. When Belham whispered his warning into her ear, she immediately disengaged from watching the demon fuck Lord Sandovos. She touched the darkness around her and bent it to her will, molding its viscous waves and currents to form an inky black portal that might have been visible to mundane eyes if it wasn’t masked by the pitch black of the closet. Her sorcery gave her the privilege of seeing through natural darkness, a simple trick learned by all initiates early on in their training. She could discern the edge of the mystical portal’s blacker void.
The top of her home was an open terrace with red tile surrounded by a square roofline of orange clay shingles, common for homes in the region. The stairwell that led to the terrace was also devoid of light, and she tied the portal to it, linking the closet’s darkness to the staircase’s. She moved through the doorway and then up the steps, opening the door to the terrace and walking out under the open night sky.
Stars shone overhead, but the new moon thankfully didn’t add more light to the land. She closed her eyes and concentrated, summoning a veil of shadow over the city to blot the stars above. This would cause some concern among the guards, for they had come to see it as a sign that there were vampires close by. Their belief that it was caused by the undead—and not her—was quite all right with her.
When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 42