As they hurried forward, pockets of mist solidified into vampiric husks. What once had been people were now nothing more than blood-starved revenants, shambling forward with the lethargy and unfocused awareness of zombies. This was not at all like the reports of vampires in the Covenant being youthful, energetic, and charismatic. The gnomes had studied Covenant towns in Astia’s eastern-most city of Farpoint. These pitiful things must be the fate that Count Markus wanted to avoid.
They were careful to keep moving lest the walking dead catch their scent. Eszhira knew that once she dropped her invisibility, they would lose their apparent lethargy and become ravenous predators intent on her blood.
She had been born into this world in this city. The crime guild here had facilitated her addiction to the drug called Malahkma’s Milk. Now, the entire city was consumed by a thirst for blood, under the curse of the actual goddess Malahkma. She shuddered, remembering the cravings she had once had for the mundane opiate; she pitied what these people had become under the yoke of a divine opiate. Eszhira knew what it meant to be a slave to a lie, to lose one’s will and capacity for joy and become completely dependent upon something else for any sense of fulfillment.
This was something totally different from Malahkma’s Milk—a substance that was named after the goddess, but at the end of the day, was simply a natural poison from a mountain flower. When she had been addicted, all she could think about was her next hit. She had no desire to make others become like her.
These vampires, however, needed to make others share in their emptiness. They drank blood to fill the emptiness in their soul. Their purpose was not to kill. It was even more pitiable than that. They were empty, and they desired above all else to feel alive again. They drank from the living out of envy, exulting in the intoxicating rush of their blood. They could not stand to be dead and devoid of happiness while those around them still lived. They drank and they killed, filling their prey with the venom of their disease until their victims rose the next night, just as empty as they were, and with the same need to fill desire’s void with the blood of others.
The withered vampires gathered in a knot at the far end of the city. Eszhira knew Kristafrost couldn’t see it, but at the mob’s center underneath the city gate was the faint outline of another light elf. The vampires had stopped and faced the space where the elf stood. A sea of hissing rose from their midst, and they all held their mouths open and fangs extended. All one of them had to do was step forward, and it would touch the elf. For some reason, they had stopped. She guessed it was because they smelled his presence, and it was enough to guide their weak minds, but their eyes saw nothing. They stopped in unconscious confusion.
“There’s a seelie,” she whispered. If this person was like most of her kind, he couldn’t move without losing the protection of his invisibility.
Kristafrost’s faint outline stopped, and Eszhira froze behind her. They needed a distraction, but then what?
Some of the vampires at the periphery broke off from the knot and started moving towards her. They had caught her scent. The two seelie stood as magnetic poles, calling to the infected blood in the hungerbound undead.
Realizing she couldn’t stay in one place, she hurried around to the left, towards one of the guard towers. All the mist had cleared from this area of the city, but she could still see tendrils of it farther away—wandering vampires too distant to sense them.
She dropped her invisibility, coming into full view. She opened her arms wide and shouted at them. “What are you all staring at? I’m over here!”
They turned, slowly at first, and then they saw her. Their hissing changed to unholy screeches of inhuman rage.
Gods, how many were there?
She rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, bounced once, and then sprinted away.
They ran after her, some on foot, moving faster than she could hope to escape. Others shifted in and out of flowing mist. The mob became an undefined roiling mass of running bodies and rushing fog.
She made the mistake of looking back.
Oh shit, I’m going to die.
Seconds before they overtook her, she ducked inside one of the shorter towers at the city’s edge and crouched. She focused and stilled herself, dropping out of phase with the world once more and waited for them to pass.
After a moment, she turned to leave, but the vampires stood in the doorway, staring into the room. Their gaze went right past her, but they stepped inside, searching and sniffing.
With no better alternative, she hurried deeper into the tower and climbed the stairs, looking for another way out, maybe a low hanging balcony she could jump from. The stairs kept rising.
The vampires did not immediately drop back into lethargy. They had seen their prey, and knew she was somewhere in the tower. Despite their prior behavior, Eszhira reminded herself that they weren’t actually zombies. They were vampires, intelligent predators. The promise of blood had awakened their minds, and they would not be denied.
At least they were walking now. Not aimlessly, and not slow, but walking was better than their frenzied run.
She hurried ahead of them at a brisk pace, leaving the stairwell behind. A tower corridor opened up into a low platform, which led to a bridge spanning the streets and ascending into the neighboring tower.
As she moved in front of the predatory pack over the bridge, mists licked at her invisible feet. Her seelie scent enticed more vampires to solidify and emerge. These still held the same mindless, vacant appearance as the ones before, for they had not seen her. Meanwhile, the awakened pack moved past them.
She hurried through the next tower into an upper level, which again had a wider platform and bridge spanning into another adjacent tower. She kept going, climbing ever higher as the skyline rose back to the city’s center, passing clusters of houses and buildings that had been built on the balcony platforms and high bridges.
She couldn’t stop. They kept moving towards her. More were awakening. Even those that now fell out of the mists caught the excitement of the hunting pack and emerged with conscious intent. The sense of frenzy enticed the mists of the entire city.
She knew she had only one choice: move or die. Fear kept her moving. She hoped Kristafrost had figured out some way to get the other elf to safety, but it was out of her hands now.
Vampires crowded the stairs, flowing up from the city streets. She could go up, but not down. The tower bridges now spanned thousands of feet above the ground, and she drew ever closer to God Spire.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be, she thought. We were supposed to scout and study first. What awaits us in the heart of Artalon?
She lost her focus once and fell out of invisibility. The mob saw her. She faded from view again and moved as fast as she could. She couldn’t keep out of phase with the world and run at the same time, but she was discovering she could walk faster than she thought possible.
Focus. Breathe. Focus. Move.
She was now in God Spire. The bridge connected midway up its height. They followed her. She had no choice but to go up. Ever up.
Move. Faster. Careful. Focus. Breathe. Don’t panic.
Every instinct inside her told her to run. She wanted nothing more than to drop her invisibility and bolt as fast as her feet could carry her. Up the stairs. She would run until she could run no farther, and then she would throw herself off the balcony so she could die a clean death. She would not let them drink her blood.
No. Don’t run.
She maintained her cool by a supreme effort of will.
Kristafrost, I hope you’re safe. I’m sorry I brought you back into this.
She passed through the throne room, noting the burnt sphere in the center of the Stag Throne where Valkrage had died. She couldn’t linger. They were right behind, lured by the scent of her blood. There was no shaking them. They knew she was there. They knew she was hidden. They tasted the heat of her life in the air.
She came to the outer balcony high above the city.
This was where they had escaped onto the ratling airship many years ago when Valkrage’s corpse exploded. How ironic.
There was no ratling ship today. If only she had a way to signal Fizzdrits, who had promised to remain in the vicinity should they need an escape. But no, she had not brought any flares with her.
She looked over the balcony’s edge. Silver strands of mist still flowed through the streets, illuminated by moonlight and starlight, into the base of God Spire. She turned back to the tower. The balcony opened wide into the throne room as an extension of its great hall. Vampires crawled over the throne and massed towards her.
Then she saw him.
He was old. Shrunken.
She would recognize him anywhere.
A man of hate. Eyes that had consumed her with greed, eyes that had violated her with their gaze. Hands that had clutched at her, and fingers that had taken what they wanted, penetrating the secret places of her body with painful lust. A mouth that had drawn blood in the bedroom before it had ever known vampire fangs. A man that had taken his fill of her, beating her into submission and making her want more for the promise of Malahkma’s Milk.
Pavlin.
He stood at the head of the throng.
No, she would not kill herself. She would kill him, even if every other vampire drank from her. Her blood sacrifice would be his end. Her blood for vengeance.
She dropped her invisibility and drew her daggers. They were gifts from the gnomes, enchanted with the light of the sun. Pavlin recognized her.
Good!
She held her daggers high, fueling their magic with the vengeful thrill in her heart. Flames danced and licked along the blades.
“Hold!” Pavlin roared to his brethren. The throng fell back at his command. “She is mine. She has always been mine.”
They obey. He must be the first! If she were lucky, the gnomish theory was true, and his death would be the death of all the others.
But that didn’t matter in the end. Only vengeance.
He opened his mouth wide and hissed, fangs fully erect. He leaped at her even as she leaped at him.
In the back of her mind, she noticed a woman standing still behind the mob. An elven woman. Her eyes glinted with orange light, and her mouth pressed closed, but not without revealing two little pinpoints where her fangs pushed over her lower lip.
Elves can’t become vampires… can we?
Not seelie. She was sidhe…
And then her mind was back in the moment as she hurtled through the air towards Pavlin.
He reached for her.
She twisted her body and sliced her right blade in a precise arc. She cut into his ribs, and he rolled away from her, coming to land on all fours.
He leaped to his feet, but she faded from view. Then she was behind him, sinking her blades into his back. He tumbled to his knees.
She knocked him to the floor, planting her knees on his chest. She stabbed with her daggers until blood flowed and splattered over her and the ground.
The mob of vampires had parted. The crimson-haired sidhe vampire stood before her now. The undead woman was not like the others. She was beautiful and vibrant in a way that Eszhira had never seen. The undead blood flowed in her, but it held a dark allure. Her lips curled into a dangerous smile.
Pavlin sputtered beneath her legs. Her thighs were slick with his blood.
“No…” he gurgled, “… you cannot kill me…”
“Kill him,” the sidhe vampire said.
Eszhira cried out in anguish and plunged her knives into the sides of Pavlin’s skull. The flames licked at his hair, and light flowed into his head, overtaking the blood-lit glow in his eyes. His body thrashed, and then exploded in a red mist. His flesh dissolved into fog and dissipated, leaving only his skeleton behind.
“It is finished,” the sidhe vampire said.
Eszhira looked up into the woman’s eyes and found herself entranced. The world fell away, and she could hear only the hissing of a multitude of unseen serpents.
“You’ve been granted your vengeance,” the young woman said in a silky voice. “The Dark Queen heard your prayer. Vengeance for blood. Now, surrender unto me.”
Eszhira calmly stood. She dropped her daggers to the ground. Strange. She felt nothing.
“Yes,” she murmured.
The sidhe vampire grinned and approached her. “There is strength in you,” she said. “It is a pity you cannot rise to rule with me.”
Eszhira listed her head to the side, offering her neck. She couldn’t look away from the vampire’s eyes. Serpents squirmed in her mind. Where were they? They must be in the walls.
Behind the vampire queen she saw the countenance of a human woman with a mass of red vipers for hair. She was there for a brief moment, and then faded.
Suddenly, the sidhe frowned in anger, and her face contorted in frustration. “No,” she hissed. “Damn you.” The charm was broken, and Eszhira took a step back.
The vampires that once seemed intent on drinking her blood all retreated, slowly at first, and then more quickly. They dissolved into a single thick blanket of mist, receding back into the building and down the stairwell, leaving Eszhira alone.
She stood there, confused as to how she had escaped death at their hands.
The warming sky outside answered her question.
She turned to the balcony’s edge and grinned. She held her arms open and hailed the sun as it broke the horizon over the glistening wave tops of the Sea of Wrath.
Later that morning, she descended the steps of the half-mile-high tower and returned to Artalon’s streets. She made her way to the docks, hoping that Kristafrost would think to meet her there. There wasn’t enough time in the day to search every street.
She was right. The little gnome stood on the dock, waiting next to the light elf from the previous night. He stared out over the water with his back to her. His blond hair fell past his shoulders. His long ears were copper hued, as were his hands, which absently played with sheathed dagger hilts.
“Oh good,” Kristafrost said as she approached. “I thought it likely you had somehow survived, but I’ve been wrong once before. You got some blood on you.”
Eszhira looked down at herself. Kristafrost was right, but “some” was an understatement. She was all but covered in the dried, caked red of vampire gore.
The man turned. A thick beard and long hair framed his coppery-gold face in a mane. Deep blue irises were accented by flecks of glowing gold.
Eszhira’s jaw gaped wide. “Tiberan?!”
“Ezzie,” he greeted her calmly. “Kristafrost tells me its been nine years.”
She nodded. It had been—“Wait. Why did Kristafrost have to tell you that? Oh! You’re the chronometric event!”
He nodded. “She’s filled me in on the vampires. Apparently, I’m lucky to be alive. I had the fortune of reappearing in the heart of the contagion. Is Aradma well? I’d like to see her.”
Eszhira shook her head. “I don't know. We haven't seen her in years either, since you killed Valkrage. We went our separate ways, and only now have I returned to this part of the world. It was too dangerous.”
“What brought you back now?” He looked down at Kristafrost. “Were you expecting to find me?”
The gnome shook her head. “No. That was luck. We came to kill Pavlin.”
“He's still alive?”
“One of the vampires,” Kristafrost corrected him. “Maybe the first of them, but we don't know for sure. We still don't know exactly how vampires came into being, but the infection hit right after Valkrage died.”
“He's dead,” Eszhira said. “Truly dead. This is his blood on me.”
“Great!” Kristafrost said. “I'll call Fizzdrits. Let's get out of here.” Then she paused. “So are the rest of them dead?”
Eszhira shook her head. “No. He wasn’t what we thought, but I saw the first vampire. A sidhe woman. And I saw Malahkma’s countenance behind her. We can’t leave. We need to find and kill the sidhe.”
“You’re right,” Kristafrost agreed. “Our mission parameters have changed. There’s another breathing amulet in our base that I can bring back up for Tiberan. Let’s get down there and regroup and get some rest. We’re going to need it.”
Kristafrost retrieved her pack and stripped down to her swimwear. She fastened the swim fins to her ankles and was about to jump into the water when she turned and gave Eszhira a stern look. “Oh, and be careful this time!”
36 - Time Grows Short
Attaris sat on a wooden bench in Torchlight Tavern, holding a tall mug of ale. The tavern was one of Windbowl’s most popular establishments and had been serving food and drink to the downtown citizens of the city for generations. He was on his second mug, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. He knew he shouldn’t be there, but he couldn’t bear to go home to the city apartment above the pub. He still felt her everywhere.
The black elf sat across the table from him. Athaym had been there since breakfast, although he drank nothing. The elf spoke warmly and listened attentively, but no matter how much he smiled, his eyes had a cold, studious light to them.
“Really, you don’t need to sit with me,” Attaris said. Athaym made him feel uneasy, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. The man was nice enough.
“It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be right now,” Athaym responded. “The gypsies haven’t worn out their welcome yet. When they do, we will move on.”
Attaris snorted. “I doubt they’ll wear out their welcome any time soon, after the gift of Faerie’s Breath’s little secret. Life is…” he trailed off. He’d been about to say it was getting back to normal. It wouldn’t be normal without Hylda. He was getting old. Maybe he should start thinking about returning to Farstkeld.
Suleima entered the tavern. She saw Attaris and went over to sit beside him.
“Hello, Suleima,” Attaris greeted her. “Life busy at the temple today?”
“No more than usual,” she responded.
The waitress took Suleima’s order for lunch while Athaym regarded her with that same cold stare hidden beneath a smile.
When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 79