Sister of the Dead

by J. C.

  He pulled the brass plate from his pack and placed it on the ground with its domed bottom surface facing up. Murmuring soft words, he cut the stub of his little finger and let a drop of his black fluids strike the dome's center. It clung there for a moment then shifted slightly across the surface to the east. Welstiel roughly wiped the plate clean and repeated the act, but the result was the same, so he tucked the plate away and crawled from the tent.

  Chane stood waiting with the horses.

  "Is there a village nearby?" Welstiel asked. "Have you checked the area at all?"

  "There is smoke rising east of us, " Chane answered. "Since the dhampir travels upriver, I assumed that's where we would head next. What is wrong?"

  "I'm not certain, " he answered. "I think she has stopped again and not far off. "

  Chane frowned but mounted up, waiting for Welstiel, and the two moved off through the forest. It was not long before Welstiel noticed the first dead tree—and then another.

  They emerged to see a settlement next to the river almost large enough for a town. The main road ran directly through it. Fading smoke rose from shops at the near end, as well as from a few other chimneys up the way... too few chimneys for this cold time of year.

  Welstiel looked back over his shoulder. In the distance down the road, the forest was lush.

  Chane's horse stumbled and wheezed.

  "Can you feel it?" he asked, and the tall undead slid from his saddle, clutching his mount by the bridle. "Whatever is happening here, it's affecting the horses. "

  Before Welstiel could answer, a familiar sound carried down the road—the eerily drawn-out howl of a dog.

  "They are here, " Welstiel said. "On a hunt. "

  Chane was already back up on his horse, urging it forward.

  * * * *

  Magiere suppressed the urge to charge from around the shop's corner where she hid. She peeked out to see the lone figure walk steadily down the center of the main road. Leesil needed time to circle around behind their target, and she hoped to get in at least one strike before Vordana could act.

  She had dragged Wynn behind a water trough across the way, and Chap waited there, too. Wynn was still sickened from what she'd done to herself to spot Vordana's approach, but Magiere could do nothing for her at present. She told Chap to hold until she emerged to face what came, and the dog grunted once in agreement.

  Hunger grew in Magiere's stomach, but it was different from before, wrapped around a cold core rather than heated rage rising into her head. She let it seep out until her night sight expanded and the approaching figure became clear.

  Grayed, emaciated flesh stretched over the bones of his face and hands, and filthy white hair hung in mats out the sides of his cowl. The front of his white shirt beneath the soiled umber robe was stained dark by old blood. There was no sign of the brass vial Stefan had mentioned in his tale.

  Magiere grew wary and uncertain. Among her fights with the undead, this was the first time one walked into the open with no concern for revealing itself. Falchion in one hand, she held her torch back and low behind her. The tripod braziers at the town's crossroads provided enough light that the torch shouldn't give her away.

  She peered farther up the road to the town's east end, but she saw no sign of Leesil. Whether he was there yet or not, Vordana was only a building's length away. She leaned back, counted five more of his steps, and spun out from hiding.

  Chap's savage wail cut the silence.

  Vordana turned toward the sound, and Magiere swung her blade at his throat. Without a glance back, he stepped away, and the blade tip passed in front of him. Magiere swung the torch around at his midsection, and Vordana was forced to retreat again.

  Up close, his eyes were filmy and clouded in sunken sockets. He glared back at her and raised a hand.

  Chap dashed out and leaped, snapping at the outstretched arm. Vordana jerked his hand back, and the dog landed to wheel back to the left. Magiere inched forward on the right.

  "Stay wide!" she shouted to Chap. "Don't let him face us both at the same time. "

  Behind Vordana, a flicker along the rooftops caught Magiere's eye for an instant. It had to be Leesil closing in.

  She rushed Vordana, swinging falchion and torch in wide arcs to drive him toward the right side of the road. Chap stayed left, but he was a snarling mass of jowls and teeth. Magiere didn't know how long the dog would hold off.

  A shape dropped from the dark above. Though Magiere knew it was Leesil, the image slowed her for an instant.

  Both blades drawn and arms outstretched for balance, he leaped from the roof's edge like a steel-winged bird, one leg drawn up. As his extended foot hit the ground, both blades arched forward at Vordana's back.

  Again, the walking corpse shifted instantly out of reach.

  Leesil's blades bit the earth as momentum brought him into a crouch. His crossbow hung over his back, and the topaz hanging about his neck glowed brightly. Chap ceased wailing and dashed in from Vordana's left, snapping at the sorcerer. A flinch of uncertainty passed through Magiere. Vordana used something beyond sight to follow their movements. Then anger set in, and her night vision sharpened.

  This was just another undead. Strength flooded through her limbs on a wave of hunger.

  Vordana's dead face turned toward her.

  Magiere felt a sharp ache in her body, as if something were being torn from her insides. A rush of fatigue followed the pain. She shook herself, clinging to her hunger, and the sensation vanished.

  Vordana's filmy eyes widened. He sidestepped another snapping lunge from Chap, but his gaze never left Magiere.

  You... you are what we've been waiting for?

  Magiere heard his words though his lips never moved. She swung the torch at his face.

  Leesil spun in his crouch and kicked at the undead's legs, trying to knock him off balance. As Vordana hopped clear, Leesil rose up, driving a punching blade toward Vordana's throat. The creature twisted away, and the blade's tip snagged and tore through the side of his cowl.

  Vordana's head cocked to the side like a dead owl, inspecting Magiere with startled interest.

  All this time, watching... and this is how we find you again. You've come home to us!

  He grinned, yellowed uneven teeth jutting from receding gums.

  Magiere stood her ground. Who had been watching for her? Was she what Vordana spoke of when he'd told Stefan he could keep his watch behind a puppet?

  Vordana's gaze shifted toward Leesil.

  Leesil gasped, staggering to one knee, and Magiere saw a shudder run through his body. He tried to strike out with a blade but only fell to his knees.

  Magiere charged in, but Chap got there first, slamming into Vordana's legs and knocking him off his feet. The dog scrambled around, snapping for his face. The undead raised his arm in defense, and Chap's sharp teeth bit into the dead flesh. He began thrashing his head to tear it.

  Magiere stepped in to aid Chap. Vordana snatched Chap's rear leg, and with the dog's jaws still on his arm, heaved Chap at her.

  All she could do was swing the falchion and the torch out of the way as Chap crashed into her. They fell back together in a tumbling mass. As they rolled apart, Vordana stepped toward Leesil's crumpled form.

  Fear for Leesil washed away Magiere's rage, and she rushed in front of him as Chap charged straight for the sorcerer. Vordana stopped short, backstepped, and both his hands came up with fingers crooked.

  Magiere's head filled with humming words she couldn't understand. Vordana's whole intent was fixed on Chap. Magiere thought she saw a spark flash in the undead's eyes.

  Chap skidded to a stop, turning about to stare up and down the street. He whimpered. As he ran back and forth across the road, the whimper grew into a snarl.

  "Chap, get back!" Magiere shouted.

  The dog didn't seem to hear her. He spun around, eyes glaring at nothing in the spaces between the buildings. With a mournful howl, Chap took off down the inland road toward the manor.<
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  For an instant, Magiere froze in shock, then she rushed Vordana, slashing with the falchion.

  He dodged, but this time alarm flashed over his face. Magiere followed with the torch, hoping to light his cloak on fire, but again, he managed to duck and back away.

  Your elf is nearly gone, but he'll sustain me for a long while.

  Magiere flinched and glanced back toward Leesil. He was getting to his feet, no longer as stricken as he'd been just moments ago.

  She realized her mistake. When she whirled back, it was too late. Vordana had both of them in his sight line.

  A tingle crawled over Magiere's skin. She didn't understand the chant that echoed through her skull, but it fed an emotion into her flesh and bones that made the world fade.

  Fear.

  * * * *

  Wynn stood up on shaky legs, struggling with the crossbow, still dizzy with the blue-white mist that permeated everything she saw. Chap had fled, and her spellbound sickness had cost Magiere and Leesil. Both appeared to go mad before she could lift the crossbow to fire.

  Leesil dropped his blades and turned about, searching the night. He stumbled off between the buildings.

  Magiere backed away from Vordana. She did not seem to see him as she cast about, eyes wide in fear of something Wynn couldn't see. All Wynn saw was Vordana's presence. Unlike the dying tree with its lingering essence, he was completely shadow within.

  The world's glimmering essence drifted toward him. Where it touched him, it was consumed like water into a black pit. Trails of the blue-white currents clung briefly to the moving ribbons of shadow in Magiere and then pulled away to drift on to the undead sorcerer.

  "Magiere!" Wynn called out.

  Vordana turned toward her.

  His eyes, like Magiere's, were ebony pits even darker than his form. His composure returned, and so did his grin. He stepped toward her, and his voice filled her mind.

  A treat... before I return home with good news of my find. I can taste you from here!

  Wynn heaved up the crossbow and fired. She tried to aim for center mass as Leesil had once instructed her, but when she pulled the lever and the bowstring snapped forward, the crossbow bucked in her grip.

  The quarrel struck Vordana in his right eye. His head jerked to the side on impact, and the quarrel head punched out of his temple. Vordana cried out, grasping at it as smoke sizzled from the wound to envelope his face.

  Wynn did not wait and turned to run. In her spellbound sight, she stumbled along the buildings hedging the main road and nearly tripped over a tripod brazier. Its flame blinded her for a moment—but an idea flashed into her mind.

  Magiere and Leesil used fire to fight the undead.

  The iron vessel was too hot to touch. It looked too heavy to lift by its suspension chains, and there was nothing about that she could light in its flame. She remembered one place where she might find something of use.

  Wynn stumbled on toward the smithy down near the common house. They had seen smoke rising from its chimneys when they had arrived the night before. If a smith lived and worked here, there might be smoldering coals left from the day's labor. As she reached the forge room door, she panted in relief. It was not locked. She heard footfalls pounding from behind as she slipped inside.

  * * * *

  Chane bullied his weakening horse toward the town's inland side, forcing it to run through the trees. He heard Chap's eerie wailing and needed a vantage point to see what was happening. He did not care if Welstiel followed or not.

  The dog's voice fell silent.

  The land here was flat, but he found enough of a rise to let him see over the short buildings around the crossroads. With his sight opened wide, Chane saw a bizarre scene play out in the town's midway.

  Dressed in her hauberk, with a torch in one hand and her sword in the other, Magiere faced a soiled figure in a short, hooded robe. Chane focused his whole awareness on the dhampir's adversary. What he sensed disturbed him.

  The figure's presence wasn't blank, like Welstiel's, but there was no life in this man. Not like one of his own kind, but a lingering deep emptiness of death he'd never encountered before... at least not in anything that still moved.

  Chap charged into the creature's legs, tumbling it to the ground, and turned to snap his jaws closed on its arm. Leesil was on the ground, but Chane couldn't tell if he was injured. Suddenly, the creature threw the dog at Magiere, and she fell under its weight. Both dog and dhampir were quickly up again. The dead man was already on his feet and stretched out his hands in the air, gesturing at Chap.

  The dog whirled several times, and then ran off wailing up the inland road. As it passed out of sight, Chane dismounted and jogged down to the same path between the buildings for a better view. Magiere swung at the creature again, and Chane found what he sought.

  Wynn huddled behind a water trough across the main road, a loaded crossbow in her hands. As he looked back to the fight, the dead man gestured at the dhampir standing before the half-elf.

  "Magiere!" Wynn shouted.

  Every sinew of Chane's body clenched as she gave her position away.

  Magiere and Leesil ran off in separate directions between the buildings and inland through the forest. They abandoned Wynn, and the dead man turned to look at her. She fired the crossbow.

  Chane got up to run toward Wynn, but something snagged his cloak from behind.

  "Stop!" Welstiel ordered.

  Chane whirled around, slapping away Welstiel's grip. "She's alone down there!"

  "The sage is not part of this, " Welstiel said. His dark cloak cast him as a deeper shadow within the dark. "Magiere is in danger. We must go after her. "

  If Wynn's need were not so urgent, Chane would have set upon Welstiel right then—and severed his head. He took two steps back, turned, and ran between the buildings into the crossroads.

  Chane halted between the braziers and searched about. He heard running footsteps to the west along the main road and followed them. Ahead, he saw Wynn disappear into the wide door of a building, and the dead man was close behind her. The air around the building smelled of char and metal. Chane drew his sword as he reached the smithy's open door.

  Looking inside, he saw the creature as it peered into the empty stalls to one side. In the center of the room was a brick forge pit of glowing coals.

  "Wynn!" he called out. "Wherever you are, stay down!"

  The cloaked creature spun around.

  Chane had tossed aside many a corpse in his short time among the Noble Dead, but it had been a long while since he'd seen one that had succumbed to decay. The quarrel Wynn had fired into his left eye was gone, leaving a blackened hole that oozed down his gray and sunken cheek.

  "You like spells?" Chane asked. "Come try one on me. "

  A mere boast, since he had no clear idea what magic this thing had used upon Magiere and Leesil. Yet he did have a few tricks of his own.

  The undead took in Chane's fine cloak and sword and smiled with shriveled lips. His one eye narrowed in concentration. For an instant, Chane felt a pulling sensation from within his flesh; then it vanished.

  The corpse stopped smiling.

  It looked down from Chane's face to his chest, and Chane followed its gaze to catch the object of its interest. His own brass urn for binding familiars lay in plain view.

  You think you can match me... vampire?

  The words filled Chane's thoughts.

  Through long years of study, Chane knew of few reputed methods of conjury and thaumaturgy that might produce projection of thought. He froze for a moment, at a loss for what to do.

  He was facing a sorcerer.

  And that meant he was in serious trouble... as was Wynn.

  Chane lunged forward and swung, burning up the life energies he had consumed in past nights to bolster his speed and strength. He needed to take the thing's head without warning. The creature ducked under the blade, not even startled. It seemed to know what he planned even as he began to move.


  The creature grabbed a smith's heavy iron hammer from the wall and swung back at him. It was not skilled at combat, but the action took Chane by surprise. He stumbled back into the forge, and his hand pressed briefly through the ash into hot coals. He snatched it away at the sound of searing skin.

  Perhaps it needed time to cast, as Chane would when the moment came. When it swung clumsily again, Chane backed away, his thoughts turning quickly.

  Crafting lines of scarlet light with his thoughts, he visualized them overlaying his view of the creature and began whispering his chant. First the circle, then around it a triangle, and into the spaces of its corners appeared glyphs and sigils, stroke by stroke. He sighted through the diagram's center at the ground beneath the sorcerer's feet.

  And he heard the creature's laugh inside his head.

  A conjuror? And I worried you might be dangerous.

  Suddenly, Chane could not move. He could feel his body, and there was no ridid clench of muscle, but it would not answer his will to step away.

  As the last of his incantation rolled off his tongue, he shuddered at what he saw through the diagram in his thoughts.

  All the room's fixtures shifted in his sight. He saw the forge that should have been behind him and the smithy doors. He saw himself viewed from the room's far side, as if he looked through the eyes of someone facing him... the eyes of the dead sorcerer.

  A flicker of elemental flame ignited from the ground beneath his own feet, instead of his target's.

  The creature had slipped into his thoughts, fed him its own sight, and Chane had unwittingly turned his own con-jury on himself. Searing heat filled his boots as the hem of his cloak ignited. And he still could not move.

  Then the sorcerer's face contorted, and his mouth opened wide into a silent scream.

  The creature's arms twisted around behind his back, reaching, as smoke rose behind him.

  Chane felt control return to him. He dropped to the floor, rolling in the dirt to extinguish his cloak. The brief flame he had conjured was already gone, but his breeches were blackened and seared above the tops of his smoldering boots. He scrambled up again, suppressing the pain in his feet.