Vampire Mist: Ballad of the B-Team, Book One

by Adam Thomas

  “Why didn’t you tell me your secret before?” Shonasir asked.

  Selenel stared out to sea for a long moment before responding. “I’ve never told anyone. Secrecy is a hard habit to break.”

  “So this is why you fish alone, why you don’t have a crew?”

  “Yes. I have no desire to bite or eat anyone.” Selenel looked over at Rhys, whose mangled arm was held in a makeshift sling. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Am I going to be like you now?” Rhys asked.

  “Not necessarily. There’s a potion you can drink. It didn’t exist back when I was bitten. As long as you take it before your first full moon, you’ll be fine.”

  “Great, another potion,” Jeral said.

  “If the potioneer who sent you to Starfall is worth his salt, he can make this one easily.” Selenel’s voice was tinged with regret. They fell silent and dropped their gaze to their lap.

  “Perhaps the potion we’re making to restore Jeral can help you too,” Alurel offered.

  “I appreciate your concern,” Selenel said, still averting their eyes. “But I’ve been a wereshark for so long that I’d rather not get my hopes up.”

  “Besides,” Jeral said, “we still have no leads on a vampire, let alone two.”

  “One thing at a time,” Shonasir said. “We’ve got the basilisk venom. As long as we keep our eyes open, an opportunity will present itself.”

  “Grem Axehaft mentioned something called the Kindred Society,” Emric said.

  “Sindar mentioned it too,” Alurel said. “Bunch of half-elf hating rich people.”

  “And perhaps vampires?” Rhys said.

  “Let’s ask Lord Day about it when we get back to Thousand Spires,” Emric said. “Hopefully, he’ll have another job for us while we are on the lookout for a sun-avoiding person of the undead persuasion.”

  

  They reached the halfling town of Avilee late that afternoon and bid farewell to Selenel after helping them unload their catch. The Freedom’s Wake set sail into the darkening sea, its lone crewmember standing tall at the wheel.

  The companions ate a fine meal at an inn that catered to the big folk, though Jeral nearly got thrown out for persistently wondering aloud what a halfling was half of. The kinmikron owners did not seem to think his question was as humorous as he did.

  After dinner, they went window-shopping on a quaint street of family-owned businesses, stopping at one to purchase some wine for Helmen Pint, the potion-maker. Emric spent a full ten minutes staring at a lute in the music store’s window before striding into the shop and buying it on the spot. The lute was enchanted with healing magic, and the only reason Emric could afford it was that it was pawned to the music shop for a fraction of what it was worth. It seemed the previous owner had been quite desperate indeed.

  They returned to the inn and spent a night in rooms that could have been described as either cramped or cozy, depending on one’s disposition. They chose the latter and spent their first night of ease since their single night in Eredaen weeks ago. Jeral and Emric slept late into the next morning, and the party did not arrive at Avilee’s gateway until almost noon. They paid for passage to the Diamond Spire and a few minutes – and one Ethereally magical transport – later, they stepped out into the oppressively manicured streets of the wealthiest district in Thousand Spires.

  fifteen

  The B-Team

  The small dining room of the Day Manor held Lord Sondal Day and the five companions with room to spare. Next to it was the large dining room, which could accommodate five times their number. Alurel did not like wealthy people as a rule; they had no idea what it was like to grow up in a slum on the outskirts of an even bigger slum like she had in Craterside on Starfall. And yet Lord Day seemed kind and courteous, and he gave away lots of money. Still, he had plenty left if the multiple dining rooms were any indication, which meant he could have been giving away plenty more. Alurel kept her face somewhere between impassive and judgmental as Day welcomed them to join him for lunch.

  “There has been news since you left on your journey,” he said as they took their seats. “The coup in Kelen has failed, and Elena Willingham Montague has returned to Destiny Park to take up her position as regent until her son comes of age.”

  Rhys blew out a sigh of satisfaction. Duna’s organization had been working behind the scenes with Elena to help restore her husband’s family. Surely Papa Paddy had extracted many lucrative promises from the new regent in exchange for his help. Yes, Duna was a crook, but he also took in and cared for children no one else wanted, children like Rhys and his sister Sonya. A victory for Elena was a victory for Duna and for orphans all over Kelen.

  “What about the Forest-Betwixt-the-Rivers?” Alurel asked.

  “The forest is being returned to the Oruana Kir,” Day said. “After all, the coup began when disaffected Kelenite nobles grew upset over Sovereign Montague’s giving away the forest.”

  “You mean giving it back to its rightful stewards,” Alurel cut in.

  “I won’t pretend a great disservice was not done to the Kir during the Three Sisters War. Decisions made under duress often have repercussions down through history. All that to say, Elena is fulfilling her dead husband’s wishes. Hastings did the right thing and it got him killed.”

  “Better than dying doing the wrong thing,” Rhys said. “And speaking of doing things, do you have any jobs for us? We’re a bit stuck in our mission and need to make some coin.”

  Day took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “There is a task I was going to give my daughter’s team, but then they decided to take a well-deserved break after all their heroics in Kelen.”

  “Heroics?” Rhys echoed.

  “Would this have anything to do with a certain green dragonborn who I keep getting mistaken for?” Jeral asked.

  Day smiled in sudden recognition. The smile did wonders for his features, which, while handsome, were dragged down by the weight of perpetual exhaustion. “I can see the resemblance, though Nadarr Kasdann is broader in the shoulder. You’ve obviously read the papers. They only know part of the story.”

  “You could tell us the rest,” Emric said.

  “Much of it is classified by the Guild of Secrets. Let me just say that my daughter’s team has helped avert several catastrophes over the last year, the coup in Kelen being the latest.”

  Shonasir took an educated guess. “The orcs threatening the city and then disappearing?”

  Day studied his sandwich, pretending not to hear Shonasir, but his silence was just as good as confirmation.

  Jeral rocked back in his chair. “Kasdann. Of course. Nadarhorn Kasdann. This team of your daughter’s must have been responsible for the death of Harringhorn and his sons. I was there. It was right before I fled.”

  “That one I can confirm,” Day said. “There are many witnesses. I will say they did not intend to start a civil war. They were rescuing Nadarr’s mentor from torture by his brothers, and the deaths of the tyrant’s family touched off the conflict. But Nadarr has returned to Dragonclime to sort out the mess, and I have every confidence he can do so.”

  “The orcs, Kelen, Dragonclime – your daughter’s group gets around,” Emric said. “And here I thought your other daughter, the little one, was exaggerating the last time we were your guests.” Emric looked around at his companions, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I’m beginning to think we’re the B-Team.”

  “Best Team,” Alurel said to her plate of salad.

  Lord Day raised his glass in a toast. “Whatever you call yourselves, I am glad you are here, and only partially because, if you’re the ones off adventuring, I don’t have to worry about my Elendithas.”

  “To us dying instead of your daughter,” Emric said, raising his own glass.

  “No one’s dying on the mission I’m offering you,” D
ay said, and then he chuckled at his own joke before he told it. “Actually that’s the problem. People are not staying dead. We have reports from all over Torniel of dead folk coming up out of their graves.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Shonasir asked.

  “Investigate the claims. I’d call them rumors, but Elend’s team had a run-in with some of these unquiet dead a few months ago, so I know the threat is real. The questions to answer are where, why, and when? Also,” Day added in an offhand sort of way, “Zombie disposal would be appreciated.”

  “Where do we start?” Rhys said, his mouth full of lunch.

  “Head straightaway to Torniel-by-the-Sea. My daughter’s ally, Captain Gaius Naryn, is studying at the library these days. He can fill you in on their encounter and give you more local knowledge.”

  “The B-Team finally gets to meet a member of the A-Team in person,” Emric said, his voice full of mock excitement.

  Jeral scratched his scaly head. “So that name is sticking then, is it?”

  

  Upon their arrival in Tornby, the B-Team took a short detour to the Cobbles and stopped in to see Helmen Pint at the Phoenix Wing. The Potioneer was busy measuring various liquids into a small cauldron set atop his counter above a green arcane fire. He beckoned them in with a smile and received their ingredients for the restoration potion.

  “Only one more to go,” he said cheerfully. “The most difficult, of course, but these will keep in the meantime. I thank you for the extra basilisk venom. That will pay for the potion and to spare.”

  “I might need the spare,” Rhys said, and he filled Pint in on the bite from the wereshark.

  Pint clapped his hands together with glee. “You’re in luck, laddie. Last year there was a spate of werewolf attacks here in Torniel, and I made a big batch of anti-lycanthropy potion. I don’t see why it wouldn’t work on other transformative bites.” He rummaged about in his back room for a few minutes and came back with a smoking goblet. “Drink it all in one go. It will burn on the way down, but that means it’s working.”

  Rhys did as he was told. It tasted like extra strong coffee mixed with whiskey and a hint of hazelnut. “Tasty,” Rhys said as he handed the goblet back to Pint. “You could sell that in the pubs.”

  Pint winked conspiratorially. “I do, laddie. Without the wolfsbane, of course. I substitute real hazelnut. They taste the same to less refined pallets.”

  “Speaking of refined pallets, we almost forgot,” Emric said, and he pulled out the bottles of wine they had purchased in Avilee.

  “A favorite vintage of mine,” Pint said. “Puts me in remembrance of home. The gesture is most appreciated.”

  They thanked the potion-maker and headed out of the Cobbles district and into the Fountain, the north end of which held the Eldasin Library. Underlibrarian Lorna Pell directed them to a study chamber, saying, “He’s been holed up in there for days. We keep needing to remind him the library is not open all day and all night.”

  The door swung open upon their knock to reveal a tall, whip-thin human man. Despite the early springtime, his skin bore a late summer tan, making it only a few shades lighter than the leather armor of the Sularin Joint Force he was wearing. His sharp eyes were shaded by a fetching fedora that he wore at a jaunty angle even though he was inside.

  “Gaius Naryn, at your service,” he said. “Lord Day messaged ahead to let me know you would be coming. Please, come in.”

  Lorna Pell cleared her throat and said, “Perhaps a walk, Captain?”

  “Fresh air does sound nice, yes. Thank you, Miss Pell. Shall we?”

  Gaius led the way to the park that comprised the central portion of the Fountain District. “Lord Day said you wanted to know about the undead we found on Hourglass Island. They were in a recently discovered burial site of the ancient Tornellans. The bodies were well-preserved despite the estimated two-thousand years since burial. They may have been the original human settlers on Sularil.”

  “What did you do to them?” Alurel asked.

  “We burned them with fire mostly.”

  “Excellent,” Shonasir said.

  “I took care of a few with this,” Gaius said, and he unclipped the hilt of a sword from his belt.

  “The not sharp part of a sword?” Rhys asked.

  Gaius raised his eyebrows and squeezed the handle. A blade of coherent gold-white light appeared, and Gaius gave it a few experimental flourishes before stowing it back on his belt.

  “That’s why he’s on the A-Team,” Emric said.

  “Where do I get a blade like that?” Rhys asked breathlessly.

  “You don’t, I’m afraid. This is the only one. A gift from the Heronkara. I am their champion.” Gaius said this without a hint of boasting. Rhys could tell by the way he spoke the Radiants’ name that his devotion was fervent, and so Rhys asked nothing more about the sword.

  “Do you know why there were undead in that tomb?” Shonasir asked.

  “I don’t,” Gaius said. “We went there looking for clues about something else entirely and stumbled upon them.”

  Shonasir unfolded a map and laid it in the grass. “Could you point out where the burial site is?”

  Gaius knelt and ran his finger from Tornby across the narrow strait to Hourglass Island, which, indeed, bore that shape. He tapped the port of Cold Harbor on the western shore of the island. “North-northeast of the city, a few miles into the forest. But I’m afraid if you go visit, you’ll find the crypt has been boarded up.”

  “We’re just trying to get an idea of where these undead are popping up. Have you heard anything else about them? Lord Day said other places in Torniel had reported undead sightings.”

  “I haven’t heard of anything here in the capital. You might try out in Miresedge or perhaps Port Eldasin on the coast.”

  Shonasir folded their map and stood up. “Thank you, Captain Naryn.”

  “Glad to be of service.” He touched the brim of his fedora and trotted back to the library, leaving the B-Team in the park under a cool spring sun.

  

  They spent the night in Tornby and embarked early the next day for the long walk to Miresedge. They had left their horses in Shonasir’s hometown; thankfully, Selenel had offered to facilitate their return to Thousand Spires via the runegate in Eredaen. But for now, they were on foot. As they neared their destination late in the afternoon of the second day, the ground beneath them began softening. And Jeral began complaining about his boots getting muddy.

  But before his complaints could annoy his companions in earnest, they saw the evening candles flickering to life in a village up ahead. “Good thing we’re going to Miresedge and not Miresmiddle,” Jeral said.

  “Good thing the town is on the near edge of the swamp,” Alurel added.

  They knocked on the door of the only official-looking building in town. No one answered. They were about to knock again when a voice called from behind them. “You looking for the sheriff?”

  The party turned as one to see a portly man in his middle years. His long, lank dark hair framed a pale face girded by multiple chins. He wore a broadsword on his back over a regal half-cape, and on his head perched a wide-brimmed hat adorned with an elegant eagle’s feather.

  “We’re actually looking for the recently undead,” Emric said.

  The man sniffed and adjusted his belt. “You found the first. I’ll take you to the other.” He tapped a badge on his chest. “Rasmussen Wyle, Sheriff of Miresedge. Come on.”

  He led them across town, talking all the while about his exploits in the swamp catching smugglers and the like, about his goal of transfer to Tornby where he would revolutionize law enforcement. The companions would have found his self-aggrandizement off-putting if it weren’t so obviously couched in pitiable delusions of grandeur.

  Still, Rhys could not contain himself. “If y
ou’re such an incredible lawman, how come you haven’t gotten rid of the undead yourself?”

  Wyle did not notice he was being made fun of. “I locked them in the mausoleum, so I did. They’re contained for now, but the ritualists are worried we won’t have anywhere to bury the next person who dies. Or if they’ll stay dead, for that matter.”

  They arrived at the mausoleum, and Wyle said, “I don’t fancy wading in there with just my sword and good looks, but, you all, be my guests.”

  “We don’t need to wade anywhere,” Shonasir said, as they awakened a storm and rode it to the mausoleum’s roof.

  “Well, I’ll be a werewolf’s snack,” Wyle said, his meaty hand crushing his hat against his head.

  Shonasir let down a rope, and the others clambered up. Removing several slates from the roof, the party was able to peer down into the mausoleum. Several dozen zombies stood in a packed group, shambling back and forth with nowhere to go.

  “Like fish in a barrel,” Shonasir said, and they began raining fire on the zombies. Rhys added to the salvo from the kiniron karest he wore. Alurel mopped up the rest with a sphere of fire that she dropped on the zombies like a socialite bowling for pins. Within half an hour, all the zombies were burned to ash, and the hole in the mausoleum’s stone roof looked like a chimney.

  Wyle watched them work, his mouth catching flies as he started up at them in awe. When they had come down from the roof, the sheriff said, “Sure am glad I hired you for this job.”

  “Hired us?” Emric echoed.

  “Just go with it,” Alurel said under her breath.

  “If there were an inn here in Miresedge, I’d put you up. But you’re staying at my house tonight. I insist. I’ll have my chef whip up something special.”

  The special supper consisted of meat with a side of meat. Even the carrots and potatoes were covered in gravy. Alurel slipped Shonasir a conjured goodberry, and the elf made a good show of pushing their food around their plate. Sheriff Wyle sat at the head of the table in front of a large oil painting of himself and spent the meal regaling the party with stories of lost silver and werewolves and smugglers. Shonasir heard none of it because they were lost in thought studying the map of Sularil in their mind.