by Pete Clark
“This is problematic,” Morgan added. “What if they have other groupings like this all around the colonies? Stockpiles of soldiers just sitting around, waiting for the leader to lead them?”
“We’d be screwed.” Marion scratched his knee and leaned back. He nearly plummeted off the backless rock but corrected his balance in time. Unperturbed, he continued. “Oliver, what do you think of these creatures?”
“At first, I thought it was good. They provided an easy food source, although many of them, like the ones I threw into the lake, are not edible. Now, there are too many. They are loud and dirty and I am sick of them coming into my cave. They never talk; they just want to break things and bite me.”
“What if I told you that we and some friends of ours, including Boone whom you met, are in the process of stopping the generation of these monsters? If we are successful, there will be no more creatures that randomly spawn from the air.”
“That would be great if you were, in fact, telling me this,” said the dragon.
“It’s true,” Arnold added. “If we can defeat the British invading army and finish our quest to solve the issue of the spawning rippers, this land would be back to how it was a hundred years ago.”
“That would be nice,” said Oliver. “I suppose you are telling me this because you would like my help?”
“Yes, Oliver, we do want your help. But it is in your interest as well as ours,” Morgan argued.
“Spare your sales pitch,” said the dragon, who was never much of a fan of rhetoric. “Just tell me what you want from me and I will decide if I will help.”
“Fair enough.” Marion stood in order to gather himself. “Of course, we could use you in a military aspect. Your ability to fly and melt large amounts of things would be helpful.”
“This I am lax to do. I do not want my existence revealed on a large level. Dragons are rare and hard to find. If you walking snacks had true proof about us, we would be hunted. I feel as if I would not want to do this unless my own safety was called into immediate question.”
“Fair point,” Marion continued. “We can do the fighting. We have a talented and large army. The problem is we are fighting both the British and the rippers. This is very difficult and expensive. We need help being able to pay our soldiers and produce our weaponry.”
The dragon shifted as he began to realize where this was going. “You want my shinies? Snacks always want to take my shiny stuff.” The dragon did not look pleased.
“First of all,” said the ever tactful Marion, “we will take nothing from you. If you say no, then we will still remain your friends, and we all swear that we would never attempt to steal from you.” He looked to Arnold and Morgan, both of whom nodded vigorously as they hated being burnt to death. “We only ask if you would be willing to part with a small amount of your shiny stuff. You, of course, could choose the pieces. You see, they are valuable where we come from, and even ten percent of your pile would be enough to help us immensely. Such assistance could very well be the difference between us winning and losing.”
The dragon considered. “You have made a fine case. Indeed, you are wily like a fox.”
“Funny you should say that, as my nickname is the Swamp Fox.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Morgan. “He is the only one who calls himself that.”
“Perhaps, but it seems a fitting nickname. So Swamp Fox, I will give you ten percent of my shiny and you will use it to win your war. When you win, you will visit me and we will be friends and, from time to time, if you find more shinies, you will give them to me. Is this acceptable?”
“Yes, Oliver. It is very fair and we accept these terms and are grateful.” Marion was as happy as a ghoul rooting around in a morgue. Not only could he now return to the Continental Army with enough funds to support the war, but a cool dragon had used his nickname as well.
“Thank you, Oliver,” said Arnold. “We have just met, but I can tell that you are a wise and fair being. I want to make no promise that I cannot keep. Our duties call Morgan and me to New York to do battle with the British. If we are able, we will return, but, if we do not return, I want you to know that it will only be because we are unable, not because we do not wish to.” Morgan nodded to support Arnold’s speech.
“I understand. I should warn you, however. I believe I have seen a vampire from time to time. They are rare even for a dragon to see and you must be careful, as they appear when you least expect.”
With these words of warning, the three men packed up the shinies, er uh, the treasure and, after building some sleds out of the trees in the forest, they were prepared to go back to the war. The Swamp Fox was to head south and hold the line, while Morgan and Arnold were to join General Nathaniel Greene up in New York; where the most important battle of the revolution was about to be fought. Important for the outcome of the war between the British and the patriots, but important for the fate of the rippers as well.
****
Hannah Dare looked at de Lavoir and the host of Minotaurs and shrieked at Boone. “You led them here.”
“What? No,” Boone stumbled. “We didn’t know they were here.”
“Do you have any idea how much work my ancestors and I have put into remaining hid?”
“Actually, yes; it was a real pain in the ass to find you.” Boone regretted his comment immediately.
“I am not supposed to come out of hiding until the path is clear. Now you brought my enemies literally right to my doorstep.” Hannah drew a large curved blade from behind her back.
de Lavoir stared at Hannah. “The last descendant. With your death, my armies will be unstoppable”
“Come and get me if you dare. Wretched vampires. You are nothing but leeches trying to stay alive by sucking on the edges of humanity. Your species will be extinct before me.”
“Let’s see.” de Lavoir lunged forward in a blur that could not be tracked by human eyes. He slashed at Hannah’s chest, but she flipped backward out of reach with a smooth fearlessness that let everyone know she was more than human.
Prescott was astoundingly fast but even he could never have moved like her. Lucky for him, he was able to spin away fast enough to avoid the nearest Minotaur’s deadly charge. The beasts were huge. Ten feet tall and all muscle. Topped off with razor horns. Just in case they were not in the mood to gore or trample you to death, each one carried a large lethal weapon. Usually a double bladed battle-axe or barbed spear.
“Spread out,” commanded Marchand. “Make them stay on the move.”
“But keep an eye on each other’s backs. Try to get them to charge. Get them off balance, strike at their backs; it’s where they are weakest,” said Prescott. He dodged a wild arcing swipe from a battle-axe. He looked around the room. His fellow adventurers were running haphazardly around trying to avoid mutilation. They needed to take back the initiative.
“What is this room for?” Prescott shouted to Hannah. The space was large and wide open. It must lead somewhere, but he could see no door other than the one they entered.
“I use it for practice.” He looked over at her as she spun gracefully through the air and sheared off the face of a Minotaur. It dropped to the ground in a quivering lump.
Prescott thought maybe they could just try running away until she killed all the monsters. But he noticed that Boone and Grant were getting slowly cornered by a pair of the beasts. “Rally toward Boone and Grant,” Prescott shouted. Dawes and Marchand were at his side quickly and they ran toward the two trapped men. Guyasuta seemed to have disappeared and Hannah had no idea whom anyone was so she just did her own thing.
They advanced on the three Minotaurs who had their backs to them. Boone and Grant had shot them a few times but this had only managed to anger them. Prescott could not find de Lavoir, but he knew he had to be around. He was not about to leave at such a time. Boone caught one of the monsters in the eye with a rifle blast. The creature staggered back. Prescott approached the creature from behind and drove his sword into its bac
k. He aimed upward so that the blade buried itself up to the hilt along its spine and eventually the point came to rest in the monster’s throat. This inconvenienced the beast enough for it to die. Unfortunately, this drew the attention of the other two, one of whom backhanded Prescott in the chest, sending him to the cool ground with a rattling crunch.
Boone drew a short blade and stuck it into the leg muscle of one of the other creatures. It roared and jabbed its spear at Boone, catching him in the lower left side of his stomach; he could feel a hot rush of blood. The Minotaur withdrew the spear; luckily, this one was not barbed, which likely saved Boone’s life. Dawes fired his pistol, as did Marchand. Each shot caught one of the two monsters in the throat. They turned to their respective attackers.
Hannah came in, leaping like a whisper along the mist. Her sword flashed and one beast’s head landed smoothly in Boone’s lap. He did not express the proper gratitude. “Ahh,” he exclaimed instead.
Hannah continued her seemingly weightless glide as she landed soundlessly before fluttering back in the air, sailing over the Minotaur’s spear thrust and driving her blade down through the top of its head. It gurgled quizzically before collapsing upon Boone, who was having a rough couple of minutes. Hannah stopped to admire her work. This pause was nearly fatal as another, previously unseen Minotaur, reared back to strike her with his axe. Grant, who had been wisely holding in reserve and had affixed a silver bayonet to his rifle, took this moment to lunge. He slashed across the monster’s belly and its insides spilled out in a grotesque collection of ooze and organ. Marchand finished it off with a sword strike to the throat.
Grant swaggered over to Hannah and the others. “That was all 48 of them.”
“It was five,” said Marchand.
“No matter. As Dawes would say, I believe that constituted Deus ex marrr—”
A crimson fist erupted from Grant’s chest. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the floor as shimmering puddles of blood cascaded from his body.
As Grant fell, de Lavoir was revealed behind him. “That’s one,” he said. He disappeared in a blur as a wave of lead shredded the air where he stood a second before.
“Stay sharp,” Prescott said, as he spun slowly in the darkness. “He didn’t go far.”
He spared a look at Grant. He wasn’t moving and the size of the blood pool spilling from him made it clear that they had heard the last bit of bad math from General James Grant.
****
Guyasuta had slipped away during the conflict. He had noticed something was odd with one of the walls along the far side of the room. When he got close, he could see that a pair of walls overlapped in such a way that made it appear as if it was one solid structure. However, when Guyasuta examined further, he could see that there was a small room hidden behind the overlap. He slipped inside.
Within the tiny room were a small bed and a wide variety of sharp objects that could certainly be utilized for great acts of violence. There was also a workbench. Being a scientist, Guyasuta made straight for the bench. He could not find any type of notes or anything. He was confident he had stumbled upon Hannah’s room and that she must know something about the vertex and how to destroy it, but there did not appear to be any solid information here. From the main hall came a series of gunshots and growls. He could not tell if things were going well or not. He wanted to get back out there and help, but he also did not want to miss this opportunity. He stumbled upon a container that held several small needles attached to glass tubes. Syringes. This was pretty advanced for the time, but Guyasuta was a near genius and he quickly grasped the situation. Hannah knew that her blood was needed, so she had taken to storing some of it in these vials. Guyasuta grabbed two. He looked at the case and thought about taking more, but, for some reason, he felt as if they were safer here. He figured it was a good idea not to keep them all in the same place.
Guyasuta made sure his weapons were loaded and made his way back toward the secret opening. He heard Prescott yelling something about someone not going that far. Guyasuta poked his head out from around the entrance to get a good look. An arm whipped past his throat. He felt an odd pulling sensation; his chest felt extremely hot and then shockingly cold. He was having trouble understanding what was happening. His eyes blurred and he slumped against the wall. He straightened up for a moment and noticed a man who was both impossibly pale and dark at the same time. He appeared to be smiling; his teeth were pointed and looked dangerous. The man plucked the two syringes from Guyasuta’s hands. Guyasuta felt as if he should stop him, but he could not. He could not feel his limbs or make them move. The man stared into the Indian scientist’s eyes and, with a scowl of hatred, slashed him once again across the throat. Guyasuta felt another tearing pull at his neck. He fell and soon was staring at the rock floor as he lay on top of it. He thought that the rocks were surprisingly smooth and comfortable and that was the last thought that he ever had.
****
Prescott finally saw de Lavoir. For some reason, he had gone to stand next to one of the distant walls. Strangely, Guyasuta emerged from what appeared to be the wall itself. He was greeted by de Lavoir, who slashed his neck open and pulled something out of his hands.
“There he is,” shouted Prescott and he, Dawes, Boone, Marchand, and even Hannah ran to surround the monster.
de Lavoir did not appear to be concerned. He smiled as they surrounded him. “Too late. Your friend here is already dead and I have what I came for.”
“You aren’t leaving,” said Boone.
“There isn’t anything you can do. Only the last descendant can come close to hurting me and I don’t need to worry about that anymore.” With that, he lifted one of the syringes full of blood. “Here is to my invincibility.” He stabbed himself and pressed on the syringe.
“No,” Hannah shouted and lunged for him, but he sidestepped and she skidded past.
“Now the blood of Roanoke flows in my veins, the blood that gives simple humans the strength and speed of vampires. Imagine what powers this blood will give to me.” He stuck the needle in his other arm and pulled back on the plunger, filling the syringe with his own blood.
“I’ll feast on your corpse, night vermin,” Hannah screamed and flung herself at the vampire. He caught her and wrapped his hand around her neck, slamming her to the ground. The room shook with the force. While still holding her down, he injected her with the syringe of his blood. “Now, Croatoan, your blood is impure.” He stood up as the others approached. “With her tainted, you cannot stop the vertex. My armies will swarm over you like locusts and the time of the beasts will set upon the world.”
“Nice farewell speech. Time to die,” Boone said. He swung his sword, but it sliced mist as the creature had transformed into a swirling green fog. He drifted away, out of reach, and out of the maze altogether.
Marchand and Boone ran to Guyasuta, while Prescott and Dawes helped Hannah. The news was quick and bleak about Guyasuta. “Dead,” was all Marchand could mutter.
Hannah rose on her own. “I can’t believe I let him surprise me like that; I never should have let him escape. Who knows what he will be capable of now?”
“So it’s true?” Dawes asked. “He’s more powerful and your blood is tainted? We can’t stop the ripper curse?”
“Part of what he said is true. He is more powerful. My blood will make him the strongest vampire who ever lived. But he does not know his lore as well as he thinks. Purity of blood is not part of the spell. You cannot dilute or change the magical properties of the Croatoan spell simply by injecting me with vampire blood. We can most certainly still stop the rippers if we mix my blood with that of the vertex. There was one interesting side effect, however.” She turned so that some faint light splashed across her face; her smile revealed teeth that had lengthened and sharpened.
“You’re a vampire?” Prescott asked, gripping his sword.
“Half,” she said. “I’m still mostly human, but his blood has given me a gift or two as well.” She let her eyes
fall to the bodies of Grant and Guyasuta. “Come then. We need to give your friends an honorable burial.”
****
They carried the bodies of Grant and Guyasuta out of the maze with the help of Hannah. Unfortunately, they had to trudge through the swamp. The witch popped up again and, this time, it was Prescott who shot her in the face. Hannah shrugged.
“She’s used to it.”
Once they escaped the swamp, they found themselves on a small hill in a lush section of forest. There were rows of flowers along the paths of the hill and the colors were as varied the sky’s palate. This would be a fine place to bury their friends. Prescott had one small shovel. That guy had everything. They all took turns digging, even Hannah. It took many hours as the spade was small and the ground was dense. The morning sun crested the tiny hill as the final shovelful was turned. They laid the bodies in separate graves and stood in an awkward line, all five of them. Hannah, who knew them not, but had respect for the dead, and the four men who had grown to become friends and warriors with the fallen. They were not men of words. Had Washington or Franklin been here, there surely would have been an epitaph of rising emotion and the gravest sorrow and triumph. But, here on this little hill, there was only the silence of remembering and the soft twitter of a songbird. Hannah pulled flowers of varying colors from among the many nearby beds and laid them in rows on and around the bodies. “The flowers for the fallen shall help grow their souls in the afterlife.”
It was brief, but it would serve. Less than a speech, but each held the loss deeper than a speech could explain, and words, no matter the silver sound, would feel only hollow in the aftermath. As the sun drifted upward, they began to cover the fallen in the soil of the earth and so they would rest while the others turned to the duties of war.