by David Combs
“I’ll be certain to get in a clean strike for you, and each of your men who have fallen because of him,” swore Nestor. He shook the knight’s hand firmly.
“Do not underestimate him, though. He is powerful, both physically and magically. Expect no quarter to be given by him.”
“He’ll certainly get none in return,” said Tyrell. Nestor solemnly drew Shadow Reaver from the sheath belted around his waist, and the men all gazed reverently upon the weapon as it glittered like a dancing rainbow in the low light of the room. “Join us in Tarnath as soon as you are well.” The barbarian resheathed the elvensteel blade, farewells were made, and arrangements for Drayton’s care were provided. As the sun set slowly over the horizon, three very determined riders raced southward towards Tarnath.
***
Tessarin stumbled down the darkened street toward his apartments. The young nobleman didn’t think his recent luck could get any worse. First, his father had nearly disowned him for losing his family signet ring, he had lost heavily at the gaming tables tonight, and now worst of all, he was going home alone.
“Things just can’t get any worse,” he slurred to no one. His unreliable vision could barely make out the stairs to his rooms yet fifty yards away. He staggered, turned his ankle in a hole, and crashed heavily to the ground. Mud spattered his face and clothes. “Damn it,” he cried out.
In the distance, something hissed. Tessarin looked around but saw nothing in the dark gloom of the alley.
“Hello,” he called, but only silence answered him. The young man quickly forgot to lament that he was sitting in the mud with a nearly empty coin purse, and stood up. He strained to hear something, anything, but the alley remained as quiet as a tomb. Truly frightened now, Tessarin limped down the road toward his door. He glanced repeatedly over his shoulder for any sign of pursuit, but there was no one behind him.
Something crashed in the shadows ahead. Rats squealed and scurried in search of new holes to hide in. “Please, is someone there,” he called out again. Tessarin guessed that he was still about forty yards from his door, but decided to let dignity fall second to terror as he bolted for the stairs as fast as his injured ankle would allow. Thirty yards, then twenty, now only ten.
His ankle betrayed him, and he fell again. He sprawled face first on the cold ground. His cheek stung from where the cobblestones had rubbed away his skin. He began to rise but froze when he saw a dark silhouette in the shadows only a few strides beside him. The shape crouched down, and he saw cold red eyes gleaming from beneath the cowl of a black hood.
“Took a nasty fall, didn’t we, milord?” The voice was a harsh, hissing whisper whose tone assured malevolence to the nobleman’s ears. Tessarin jumped to his feet, racing past the thing in the shadows. The throb in his ankle was pushed aside as he dashed up the stairs with terror driven speed. He grabbed the door handle and pushed only to rebound off the heavy locked portal. Tessarin fumbled at his belt for his key pouch when his terror reached new heights. The silken bag where he kept his keys was lying on the street in the muck where he had fallen.
“Such a pity,” came the hissing whisper from somewhere nearby. Tessarin spun frantically, searching in vain for either his stalker or an escape route. He saw neither.
And then the darkness descended.
.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Night had just fallen when the companions reached Tarnath. Two days of hard riding had brought the trio to the city gates, weary and saddle sore. Yet despite their fatigue, fury and determination pushed them forward to the avenue that led to Kellen’s home.
“So what do we do when we get there,” growled Nestor. “Knock first and then skewer whoever opens the door?”
“I was hoping for something a little more discreet,” said Tyrell. He wasn’t certain whether the barbarian was joking or not.
“Right,” said Galen. “Don’t even bother to knock. Just kick in the door and start swinging.”
“Sounds good to me,” replied the warrior.
The mage shook his head helplessly. “Could you two be serious for a moment? We need to catch him unaware. If we can make him believe that we are none the wiser, then we can get close enough to take him completely off guard.”
Nestor scowled at his friend. “I’m not going to waste time coaxing him into revealing his master plan. The bastard gets the sword between the ribs at my earliest convenience.”
“Sounds as though thieving wasn’t enough. Have you moved on to murder now, gentlemen?” Tyrell turned in his saddle and saw Captain Knarya closely followed by four guardsmen. “There’s enough trouble in this city without the likes of you hunting down the natives.”
“Believe it or not, fat man,” growled Nestor, “you will be thanking us once we finish our business.”
“If your business is murder gentlemen, kindly save me the trouble and come along quietly with us now. Men,” the officer said as he waved his hand forward,” take them into custody.” Knarya’s soldiers advanced slowly and with weapons drawn towards the riders. It was obvious to even the least skilled of them that the men they faced were no strangers to combat, and the utmost caution was called for.
“We have no time for this, Captain,” called Tyrell. “We intend to stop the Dockside Slayer for you, but we can’t do it if you continue to detain us here.”
“The Dockside Slayer has already been caught,” said Knarya. “I personally apprehended him.”
“How the hell did you manage that,” asked Galen. “The only thing you could apprehend on your own is a rogue sandwich.”
Knarya ignored the jibe. “Last night, young Lord Tessarin was caught in the act of tearing apart a sailor down at the Dock Quarter. Covered in blood, he was. Chewed the poor bastard’s neck to shreds. He must have been mad. His eyes were all glazed over, almost like he wasn’t in control of himself, and he didn’t even put up a struggle when I arrived on the scene.”
“Tessarin?” Tyrell felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Oh, gods above, Knarya. You have the wrong man. Tessarin is a simpering little fop. “Nestor could see the fear in the wizard’s eyes. “He’s no murderer. He has been set up by the real killer, who happens to be a vampire. Take me to him, and perhaps I can break whatever enchantment he is under.”
“If you wish to see him, then go to City Square. He’s still swinging from the gallows since he was executed there this morning.” Knarya glared quite pointedly at each man. “That’s what we do to murderers in this city. Now unless you lads intend to join the young nobleman, I suggest you make your way to a tavern somewhere and drown your aggression.”
Tyrell sat in mute shock. What had Kellen done to Tessarin? More importantly, why had Kellen given the guards a killer? “Oh my god,” whispered the mage after a moment of reflection.
“What is it,” asked Nestor.
“We have to move fast. Ambrose is about to make some sort of play.”
Galen cocked his head quizzically. “How do you know that?”
“He has decided he doesn’t need to hide behind the identity of the Dockside Slayer any longer. Whatever his scheme is, it’s about to erupt. I only pray we aren’t too late to stop him.” Tyrell wheeled his horse and spurred the animal into a gallop. Galen and Nestor followed right behind him leaving Knarya and his men in a cloud of dust.
“Hold it just one damn minute,” yelled Knarya, but his cries were ignored by the riders. “Come along swiftly, men,” he ordered. “Something big is about to happen.” I just hope we can handle it, he added silently.
The companions’ path met no further resistance, and the three men soon found themselves at Kellen’s townhouse. Tyrell took the stairs three at a time and pounded loudly on the door. Nestor and Galen flanked him with weapons drawn and ready.
The door opened slowly to reveal a thin, old manservant. “Yes,” he asked in a raspy voice.
“We need to see Kellen. Tell him that Tyrell Amalcheal and company are here. It’s extremely urgent.”
“My lord
has asked that he not be disturbed this evening by anyone as he has rather pressing business that cannot wait. Perhaps you could try him again tomor-.”
Nestor grabbed the little man by the front of his shirt. “Disturb him. Now.” The servant, cowed by the barbarian’s sudden fury backed away from the door. He did not move to fetch his master, but the way inside the house was now clear. Tyrell pushed past him and the three men found themselves once again in the grand foyer.
“Try the study first,” said Tyrell, pointing to the closed doors nearby. The companions charged the doorway, and Nestor shouldered the portal with such force that one of the doors was blasted from its hinges. Kellen looked up from behind a new desk where he had propped up his feet as he read over some papers.
“Do you three have some deep seeded hatred for my furnishings or just an embarrassing lack of manners?”
“Please, sir,” said Nestor mockingly, “would you be so kind as to hold still while I run you through?” Kellen took his feet from the desktop and looked at the warrior with knit brows.
“Oh, that’s subtle, Nestor,” muttered Galen.
“I do trust there is an excellent explanation for all of this. Tyrell, you are generally the most reasonable of the group. Explain yourselves.”
“Why Tessarin, you bastard? How many innocent people have died because of you? Nobody uses us as pawns, Ambrose. We’ve done your dirty work, but now we’re here to set things right.”
Kellen regarded each man with his mouth agape. “I am at a complete loss,” he said at last. “Would someone please explain to me why the hell the three of you are behaving like lunatics?”
Nestor ripped Shadow Reaver from its sheath and punched Kellen across the jaw with the hilt. The nobleman spun from the blow and collapsed to the floor. “We know the truth about you now, you bloodthirsty murderer. We’ve found the blade that chased you from Khasharsta, and tonight we’ll finish the job that Gilgorad couldn’t.” As he spoke, the elvensteel sword began to pulse and hum in the barbarian’s hand. The shimmering blade glowed with a pure pale light that steadily grew brighter and brighter.
Kellen drew himself up slowly from the floor with his back still to the companions. As he turned to face them, though, Ambrose’s look of confusion had melted away into a snarl of unbridled fury and murderous hatred. Despite the warnings of the true nature of the man before them, the trio gasped at the sight of the glistening fangs that slowly grew in Ambrose’s mouth.
“This is unfortunate.” Kellen’s voice had lost the cultured formality to which they were accustomed, but took instead a more ferocious hissing quality that the friends knew all too well from their previous encounters with ‘Darian.’ A gleam like red hellfire burned in the depths of the vampire’s eyes that was a stark contrast to the light from Shadow Reaver. “I had hoped to retain you as my agents for a bit longer, but it is of little consequence. My forces await my command to strike. For all your bravado, tonight Tarnath will be mine.”
Nestor raised the elvensteel sword, but Kellen moved with supernatural speed. The vampire grabbed the corner of the desk and flipped it at the lunging warrior. The barbarian ducked far enough to avoid getting his skull caved in, but still sailed through the air when the huge missile clipped his shoulder. He slammed against the hardwood floor while Shadow Reaver skittered across the study.
“Did you expect to find me unprepared for this,” roared Kellen. “It was inevitable that you would learn the truth. I chose the three of you for one simple reason. Although you are formidable, you would never have the necessary might to defeat me.” Ambrose grabbed the edge of a towering bookcase and launched it across the room where Tyrell and Galen stood. The two men narrowly dodged aside as the bookcase splintered on impact. The mage spared a glance at his friend who raised his eyebrows in awe. Nestor pulled himself back up to one knee and cradled his bruised shoulder.
“You have no hope of stopping me,” snarled the vampire. “My strength is superhuman, my magic is born from timeless evil, and my cunning has kept me alive for centuries. I am invincible!”
“Shall we add arrogant,” asked Tyrell.
Kellen moved in a blur and grabbed Galen as the thief tucked and rolled towards the sword of Gilgorad. He tossed the thief over his shoulder like a rag doll, and the young man slammed into the far wall with such force that the beams within groaned. Ambrose whirled to face Tyrell, throwing out his outstretched palm to the mage. Tyrell’s mind raced to prepare a defense as arcane syllables rolled from Kellen’s fanged mouth, but the vampire lord’s casting proved faster. A dark fog coalesced around the wizard, and Tyrell collapsed to the floor as the mystical energy sapped the strength from his limbs.
“Thus the Night of Terror begins,” said Kellen. The vampire dusted his hands off in arrogant insult to the fallen trio. Tyrell boldly met the vampire’s gaze as Kellen knelt beside him. The wicked smile on the vampire’s face melted however as he saw hatred rather than fear in the wizard’s eyes. “And even now you think you may win,” he hissed. He grabbed Tyrell’s hair and drew back his fist when a crossbow bolt suddenly zipped past the monster’s face.
“Halt in the name of the ...,” Captain Knarya started to yell as he and his guardsmen charged into the room. Kellen bared his teeth and tore through the room like a black shadow. He crashed through the window and disappeared. “Search the grounds,” commanded Knarya. “I want Ambrose brought back here for questioning.”
With Kellen gone, the black fog dissipated around the mage and Tyrell found his strength returning to him. He sat up and shook his head. Across the room, Nestor helped pull Galen from the wreckage of the furniture.
“Thank you for the timely entrance, Captain,” said Tyrell.
“Shut up. I want some damn answers, and I want them now. What the hell is going on here?”
“We already told you that Ambrose is the Dockside Slayer and a vampire. After what you just saw him do, surely you can believe us now,” replied the mage.
Knarya rubbed his forehead under his helmet. “I am not going to say I believe in vampires, but I will agree with you that what I saw wasn’t natural.” His brows knit together as he regarded the three men. “I don’t suppose there is any chance that I could persuade you three to help us catch that . . . thing?”
A rasp of metal filled the room as Nestor scooped Shadow Reaver from the floor. “It would be my genuine pleasure, Captain. Galen. Tyrell. Let’s go. He couldn’t have gotten too far yet, no matter what he is.” Galen nodded, falling in behind the big warrior as he moved towards the door. Nestor looked over his shoulder and paused as he saw Tyrell standing in reflection. “Are you coming, Tyrell?”
“There’s something he said that is nagging at me. He called tonight the ‘Night of Terror’. He also told us that his forces were ready to strike.”
“Perhaps it was a bluff,” suggested Knarya. “What fool would be willing to serve in a vampire’s army? Too great of a chance that you might get called to feed the general.” The officer started to chuckle but stopped as he saw Tyrell’s face turn pale.
“You have to alert every man you have in the city. Alert every garrison. Kellen plans to take control of Tarnath, and he will do it with his army of fledgling vampires.”
“Do you ever have any good revelations,” asked Nestor.
“Fledgling vampires,” asked Knarya.
“You mean like the girl in the sewer,” said Galen.
“Exactly, only gods know how many people he’s turned. Every murder he committed as the Dockside Slayer was done to add to his ranks. In the sewer, he mentioned something about bringing vampires from other places also. There could be no limit to the number of undead waiting to attack at his command. We have to find him and stop him immediately, or the entire city is doomed.”
“Tarnath is a big city, Tyrell,” said Nestor. “Just where the hell do you think he’s hiding them?”
“He’s right,” said Galen. “They could be anywhere.”
“The list he sent us to recover from t
he knights in the Fen. There were graveyards, old warehouses, and abandoned buildings. Those were the types of places on the list. Those are the places you should have your men start searching, Captain.”
“And what do we do if we find something?”
“Put a stake in anything with pointy teeth,” said Galen.
Knarya nodded. “Where will the three of you be?”
Tyrell looked at his two friends. “We’re going back into the sewers.”
***
Tyrell held a torch high above his head as he and his two friends moved down the slimy corridor beneath the streets of the city. They easily retraced their previous path, and the three men soon found themselves standing outside of the dark temple. The sewers were eerily quiet, without any trace of the foul denizens that had plagued their prior journey.
Nestor carried Shadow Reaver, and the blade glowed softly as they approached the evil sanctuary. Galen melted into the nearby darkness as Tyrell and the barbarian boldly marched through the great doorway. The room was lit by the flickering glow of thousands of candles that made eerie shadows tremble and shudder across the gruesome murals.
Upon the altar was the still form of a pale young woman. The tattered rags of her simple dress looked as though fierce claws had shredded the material. Tyrell’s fists clenched, and a silent snarl found Nestor’s lips as they looked on yet another of Kellen’s poor victims.
“A pretty thing, isn’t she?” Ambrose’s chilling voice broke the stillness of the chamber. The vampire lord flowed from the shadows behind the altar. “However, I have always been an admirer of the aesthetic beauty of such baubles.” He caressed the woman’s cheek, and then regarded the two men. His fury blazed as his eyes met Tyrell’s. “You should have left Tarnath when you had the chance. I cannot allow you to live, nor can I even afford now to make you my servants. I could never trust you. Did you not realize that now your only course is to die a cruel death at my hands?”