Claire followed in silence as Adrian lead them out of the city towards the surrounding hamlets where the outdoors-men, farmers and lumberjacks lived. She wondered what had happened to her old friend these past three years since he’d left Caelholm to return to his birthplace. Nothing good, she thought. Nothing good at all.
Past the wrought-iron gates and checkpoints from Kriegsfeld a surrounding hamlet of labourers and farmers formed a community on the outskirts of the impenetrable Faunus Forest. Their wooden houses built into the uneven ridges and ground forming differing levels of overlooking houses and guard posts. The flattest sections of land stretched off into the distance to form crop fields and contain livestock to feed a thriving city. Adrian’s house was a two-storey house overlooking one of the main paths throughout the hamlet, its structure reinforced with stone blocks and supports. The doors and windows blocked with both iron bars and wooden shutters, both of which were locked and shut. Etched into the woodwork of the door Claire recognised several common religious symbols and icons which she presumed were to ward away vampiric assault. Adrian fumbled with his keys in the series of locks, checking over his shoulders at odd intervals watching the empty paths with narrowed eyes.
Once inside and freed of their belongings and rain-soaked coats and boots they settled around a small log fire grasping warm mugs of fresh tea and home-made snacks. Adrian as it turned out had expanded his palette from beef jerky and steaks to a wider range of healthier and more varied food. Living on his own forced him to try his hand at cooking and more inventive meals, he’d discovered a talent that had surprised him. After a long journey they were grateful for a satisfying meal, and sat content talking about old times.
“Not done bad for yourself these past few years.” Claire said with a wave around the living room. “Fancy.”
Adrian shrugged in a non-committal manner. “Cursed houses go cheap.”
“Hilarious.” Claire replied with a smile which soon faltered when she saw the sincerity in Adrian’s face. “Really?”
“Locals thought it was. Couple of strange murders that sort of thing. Owner couldn’t wait to sell it.” Adrian drank deep the last of his tea and set the mug down on the table. “Good thing to, this was before the plague. I don’t reckon any of these refugees would be so picky these days.”
“What curse? Does it lure idiot lumberjacks to live here?” Sevaur asked with a half-smile, though his tone lacked any humour.
“Relax. It’s been surveyed. Priests didn’t find any such curse. “They’re a superstitious lot around here.” Adrian leaned closer. “And I’m sorry you guys had to see that whole mess back in the city.”
“That sort of thing happen every day around here?” Claire asked as she suppressed the memory of those screams.
“Not every day.” Adrian replied, missing the point as usual. “Night Guard have really stepped it up lately. The Lord’s getting jumpy and doubled patrols and the curfew’s gotten tighter. They’ve been finding more and more cults worshipping those things. Seeps in like a rot.”
“People worship vampires?” Sevaur shook his head. “Can’t see the logic in that.”
Claire remembered some of the journals left behind by her mother, the vampires could alter people’s perceptions, twist their minds and prey on their insecurities. Offering immortality via the dark gift and service to their vampire master or mistress. Sometimes persuasion or temptation didn’t work and they would rely upon their ability to psychically compel people against their will through their voices. The effects whilst temporary could drive their victims to do anything they desired. She also knew of a far darker method — enthralment. Often they could enthral someone in a position of power or a neighbour to guard and serve them, or to act as cattle. The vampire’s will completely dominating their mind and the effects were said to be permanent. She recalled the blank-eyed cultists she’d fought back on the island, enslaved to the rogue Inquisitor.
“Who knows why they do it. Maybe they hope the vampire will spare them? Maybe they’re deluded enough to think those creatures deserve worship.” Adrian’s voice dripped with bitterness. “An army of feral vampires lurking just north of the Great Wall and all sorts of fish-maws running rampant and people turn to the suave and sophisticated ones like they’re some sort of saviour.”
“Fish-maws?” Claire asked.
“You know? Vampreys?” Seeing the lack of recognition of her face he stood up and walked towards the bookshelf. “Sometimes their forms twist and warp them. They get bigger, stronger, stupider. Their mouths fill with fangs, hundreds of them from every angle and stretches out-wards. Looks a bit like the local lampreys the fishermen catch. Hence the name. Disgusting, mindless and slimy.” He set a book down on the table opened to a stylised drawing of a ‘Vamprey’. The creature’s face and sunken eyes seemed to stare into you with unrelenting hunger, its mouth dangling and twisted into a lamprey maw. It’s shoulders hunched and bulging with muscles, its skin tinged dull-grey and dripping with viscous slime.
“There’s other types too but that’s the most known ‘round here. Water doesn’t hurt them anymore. Regular kind are bad enough if you ask me, super-fast, super-strong mind-controlling psychic predators that shrug off most injuries.”
“You could be a Night-Guard spokesperson, y’know.” Sevaur joked trying to lighten the mood but his eyes never strayed from the depiction in the book. “Fire works right?”
“Fire works on most things doesn’t it? Even you know that Sevaur.” Claire replied.
“Fire’s good. You’ve seen what water does. Very effective on the fledglings and weaker vamps. What you really need is silver.” He raised his right hand and flexed his thick fingers. He wore three silver-rings, one on each finger. “Hurts them good, stops them healing as well. Works pretty well on humans too come to think of it. Got a silver dagger as well. Just in case.”
It was clear from his tone he meant every word of it with solemn seriousness. Three years in Kriegsfeld had changed him from a somewhat shy but friendly guy who liked hiking with them through the snowy-forests and mountains to a paranoid and worrying pragmatist.
“I didn’t know half of that…thanks.” Claire smiled and mentally filed that information away. Never hurts to be prepared. Always know your enemy. She thought to herself.
“Don’t mean to lecture you guys or anything.” Adrian said after a pause, a familiar old-time smile flickering on his face. “Just if you’re going to be around for a while it’ll keep you alive.” His eyes glanced towards Claire’s hand. “That silver too?”
She held up her left hand and the reflective-grey metal flickered in the firelight. “Think so. Used to be my mother’s.”
Adrian leaned forward and investigated it. “It’s pretty.” He gently took her ring-finger and examined the ring. “That’s silver alright. Any vampire gets up in your face just smack them with it.”
“I’ll try to remember.” She replied with a smile. She chose not to mention her reluctance to damage or destroy one of the few trinkets of her mother she had left. Claire didn’t often wear jewellery most of which she found impractical during a hunt but the ring was an exception. The ring and a stylish hair-bow or two to keep her hair out of the way.
Sevaur sighed. “No silver for me. I’ll just have to stick to my sword. And this.” He flashed a flicker of flame in his left palm and extinguished it.
“You’ll be fine with me.” Adrian reassured him, patting his shoulder. “So, I take it you’re not here on a social visit.” He raised an accusing eyebrow towards Claire.
“You didn’t tell him?” Sevaur shook his head.
She explained in length as the storm eased and clouded sun set. She told him about the undead assault, the Inquisitor and the connections she’d found in her mother’s old journals and notes. The death cults, the investigations. Adrian listened in patient silence, nodding at key points and steepling his fingers. Sevaur often chipped in with a wise-crack or two and exaggerated tales of his exploits defending the village
. The more she thought about it the more convinced she became. At the end of her tale with her throat hoarse she heated a kettle for some more tea.
“So yeah.” She called over the whistling of the boiling water. “I did come to see you but I also want answers. Haures has a history with my mother and I want to know more.” He might even be her killer. She thought bitterly to herself.
“I doubt the Inquisitor is the talking type.” Sevaur said. “Are you sure about this? He nearly killed you up on that mountain.”
“No.” She shook her head. “He could have but he didn’t.”
“How do you plan to find these answers? Someone like that won’t be easy to find.” Adrian asked as he rummaged through the cupboards for more teabags.
“I’ve got a few leads.”
Reiner Soranus sat at a desk pouring over maps of the local area of Kriegsfeld, muttering to himself as the rainstorm outside rattled the windows. The room itself was spartan and impersonal with a small desk not big enough by far for the amount of paperwork he had to sift through and an uncomfortable looking bed in the corner. The lantern on the desk flickered and danced and the burning candles at least served to cover the faint but constant smell of mould seeping into the corners of the room. When he’d arranged accommodation with the church on Knight-Commander Rhae’s orders he’d hoped they’d be more generous with their choice of lodgings. As it turned out other orders were visiting on business as well. The room next to him housed a warden of Faunus, devotee to the god of nature and forests chanting his blessings above the rattling rain and wind. He’d been friendly enough, the orders tended to keep themselves to themselves and he knew few Faunites by name. He recalled the priest had an almost pine-fresh odour about him. It reminded Reiner of home, patrols and exercises during the forests during the brief-summer months. It’d been a busy few days organising the Caelites investigation and following Commander Rhae’s orders to the letter. The church gave little resistance, eager to avoid bloodshed from a rampaging dragon that might tarnish the church’s reputation. The Night Guard ever distrustful refused to relinquish any freedom to investigate without their knowledge or expertise, so far they’d turned up very little evidence to find either Falkner or his newfound master. In truth the trail was almost cold — Kriegsfeld was a warren of rat holes for the clever criminal to hide and become invisible.
A knock at the door snapped him back to reality, damp-rot and all.
Cynthia Verena stepped through the door and saluted him half-heartedly. She’d shed her Caelite armour and wore a warm woollen jumper. Dark circles forming around her eyes from lack of sleep and exhaustion.
“Any luck?”
“A little.” Reiner replied offering her a meagre chair. “Couple of eyewitnesses said they saw a black dragon crossing the city at different times. Difficult to pin down where it is now though. I believe it’s been over the wall towards Vemparia at least once or twice. But it came back and was last seen heading east.”
She sat down and experimentally tried leaning backwards but thought better of it upon hearing the strain in the battered chair leg.
“Makes sense. Hiding out in the mountains would be my best guess. Won’t be easy to find a dragon there.”
Reiner nodded and showed her one of the maps he’d marked. “I’ve found some possible locations the Inquisitor and Valdgeirr might use. No doubt Haures has some burrow somewhere within the city for riling up these cults as well.”
“Wonder why he needs Valdgeirr? He could lay villages and towns to waste with it but there’s been nothing as far as I know. Alvar’s been asking around but we’ve found nothing.”
“It’s possible he’s biding his time. You see those watchtowers in the city? They’ve got siege weaponry and ballistae.” Reiner folded up the map and drew a second one from the rucksack he kept on the floor.
“Reckon those siege weapons are enough to take down a dragon of Valdgeirr’s status?” Cynthia leaned forward trying to make out some of the other notes on Reiner’s desk but he moved to block her vision.
“They might give it pause for concern. If its own death didn’t stop it I don’t think a ballista would do much.”
“How are we supposed to take it down then?”
Reiner paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “We don’t. We can’t. The Knight-Commander told us to track it and then request back-up.”
“Anything else?” Cynthia asked in an even tone. Reiner watched her for several moments, she was quick-witted and he had no doubt she’d make it to Captain one day. With an eye for detail and sharp on the uptake it would be a natural fit. She’d probed the church hierarchs for information during their investigation earlier with remarkable subtlety. “What are our orders, Captain?”
“Your orders are to follow my orders.” Reiner replied folding his arms across his breastplate. “We track the dragon and the Inquisitor and figure out what they’re doing. Then, if we can’t stop them alone we wait for backup.”
“What about Falkner?” She pressed on.
“We don’t know for certain that it is Falkner we’re after.” He raised an eyebrow. “Commander Rhae insisted we not jump to conclusions.”
“If I’m honest Captain I think we’re past suspicion now. Everything we’ve managed to find despite the Night Guard’s interference suggests it was Falkner.” Cynthia’s mouth became a thin-lipped smile and she raised a single finger towards him. “You know that. I know you do.”
Reiner leaned forward with exaggerated care. “What did the commander tell you?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head and avoided his gaze. “Anya’s the gossip out of those two.”
Reiner nodded. Her younger sister — Anya was good friends with most of the Caelites especially Cynthia and tended to talk more than was wise.
“I see.”
“Don’t be angry with me, she told me when she heard we were heading to Kriegsfeld. It’s true though isn’t it. Falkner really is the traitor.”
“Do you believe it Cynthia?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to believe it at first — Falkner was always loyal, always caring. But when he lost his family he was a broken man.”
“I can only imagine what he went through. But that doesn’t excuse leaving us vulnerable to people like Haures and Morveil. Good people died because of him.”
“I don’t see who else it could be. Maybe it wasn’t his choice. Maybe he’s enthralled like those cultists.”
“I doubt it. We must not get our hopes up.” Reiner stroked his fresh-shaven chin and shrugged. “Those thralls aren’t the sharpest, you’d need your wits about you to do what he did. Falkner lost everything: His wife, his unborn child. He was never the same since. Haures must have made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“You don’t mean—”
“—Resurrection. In exchange for betraying us, betraying everything he stood for.”
“He wouldn’t…” Cynthia’s protests faded and she stared at the maps, folding her arms before her.
“Love makes people do strange things Cynthia. Haures got him when he was most vulnerable; made him consider the inconsiderable. You were right — I did find something earlier. Eyewitnesses have spotted him in the area disguising himself as a worker.”
“Why here though? What does Haures still need with him?”
“Who can say. Perhaps he’s the only one who can communicate with Valdgeirr. Razakel thinks Haures is after information from the dragon, I suspect he’s after power. But either way he’d need to be able to speak the dragon’s tongue and only a Captain knows that.”
The Caelite nodded her head in slow agreement. “It all adds up.”
“I would have told the both of you sooner, but I wanted to be sure first. Falkner’s an old friend and I’d hate to drag his name through the mud but I have no choice. Tomorrow we’ll set off for Lychgate.”
“Lychgate?”
“The cemetery, up by the church. That’s where Vara Falkner’s remains are. Soon as curfew lifts
tomorrow we’re heading there. That’s when we’ll know for sure.”
Cynthia shook her head and stood up. “No. Even if Haures could do what he says, that wouldn’t—”
“He’s lost everything Cynthia. He’s not thinking clearly. Have you never cared about anyone or anything enough, to be so desperate you’d do anything?”
She stared at the window watching the rain drizzle against the grubby glass. “What are our orders? To kill him?”
Reiner eased himself to his feet, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Not if we can help it. Our priority is to capture him alive, but we both know it may not be that easy.”
He released his hand and walked closer to the window watching the murky skyline, framed by storm clouds and the infrequent flash of lightning.
“Have you? Captain.”
He turned to see her staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and reluctance.
“Have you ever felt that desperate?”
He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck with the cool-metal touch of his gauntlets.
“I’m sorry Captain. We’re all entitled to our secrets. Forget I asked.” She looked away and waved her hands apologetically before excusing herself and leaving the room.
Left alone Reiner stood before the window again watching the rain for some time before he returned to his work.
Over the next three days Claire set out into the city of Kriegsfeld, her mother’s journal stashed within her hunting coat and tried to follow the leads the journal mentioned. It was tiring and almost fruitless with most contacts passed on or out of the city, the journal itself over twenty years out of date. They’d made the most of the dead ends and wasted afternoons seeing the sights of the city and exploring the surrounding area. Today she was tired, her sleep disturbed and restless. She claimed it was because of the curse upon the house Adrian mentioned despite his insistence otherwise, but in truth it was a mixture of frustration and disappointment eating away at her. The scruffy knight-errant trailing behind her seemed well-rested and cheerful at least; though his hand never strayed from his sheathed sword. With the storm passed Kriegsfeld wasn’t much prettier in the daylight, the buildings and streets still covered in years of ash and grime. The smoke billowing from the industrial district factories drifted lazily across the cityscape blocking out most of the sunlight. Between the patrolling Night Guard, the citizens going about their day and horse-drawn carts crossing through the mud-soaked streets there was little room to move. The city built from overlapping defensive walls, re-purposed strongholds and multiple watchtowers made for a series of winding and confusing streets criss-crossing each other. Kriegsfeld was designed for withstanding siege weaponry and assault first, comfort and ease of navigation second. The nobility and their estates were to be found at the highest points of the city, above some of the smog and filth, overlooking both the sprawling complex below and the ever-present threat to the north.
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