Calling On Fire (Book 1)

by Stephanie Beavers

  “Esset!” With a shout, Toman was next to his brother and hauling him up to his feet. Esset glanced at his brother—the dirt all over his coat betrayed that he’d bailed off the fire horse as soon as Esset had lost control.

  “Esset, the horses,” Toman said.

  “Already got them,” Esset said hoarsely. What was summoned sometimes had to be unsummoned; even the relatively tame fire horses could cause a lot of mayhem if left to their own devices.

  “The sergeant?” Esset asked, and the sergeant herself answered, only a few paces behind.

  “Here.” She held her sword loosely in one hand, ready.

  “Well, Mr. Johnson was right. There’s something here, but there’s no way that was a necromancer or anything that had been raised. Too fast. Too strong.” Esset said. He summoned another wolf, making it sound more like a curse than an incantation. The wolf streaked after the first, and in seconds they converged on their target. Toman, Esset, and Sergeant Warthog sprinted to catch up, curious to see what they were fighting.

  Once they arrived, it was difficult to determine what exactly the wolves had engaged, for the only light in the graveyard came from the wolves themselves. The clearest illumination came just before their jaws opened and the light within was cast upon their target: humanoid, pale skin, fast, strong—

  “Vampire,” Esset finally identified the figure before them. No wonder the statue that had saved Esset hadn’t been able to get a hold on it—stone was persistent, but not particularly quick. Vampires were quick.

  The wolves were equally quick. Using numbers to their advantage, one of the wolves lunged and got a solid grip on the vampire’s arm, creating a momentary lapse in defense that allowed the other to latch its jaws around the vampire’s neck. There was an inhuman screech as the wolves’ internal fire scorched through arm and throat. The vampire didn’t die, however, until its neck was burned entirely through: decapitation by fire.

  Esset banished one of his two wolves, and Toman called over the statue that had the torch as the three of them walked the remaining distance to the fallen vampire. The remaining wolf dashed off into the darkness, circling them, hunting for any other opponents.

  “So, undead. Just not the undead we thought,” Toman observed. At least they could kill with a clear conscience. Vampires were purely evil; anything good or even human in them wiped out when they turned.

  Esset twitched at the inaccuracy of his brother’s statement. “Actually, there’s a controversy over whether vampires actually die when they transform, so ‘undead’ isn’t really an accurate term,” Esset said, unable to resist the correction. He knew Toman already knew that, but he didn’t know if the sergeant did. Sergeant Warthog, however, didn’t react, and Toman just rolled his eyes and otherwise ignored the comment.

  “I’ve got that packhorse I animated earlier headed this way. The village will want proof that this is what Mr. Johnson saw—and that it’s dead,” Toman said.

  “We had better make sure there aren’t more,” Esset said grimly, examining the corpse of the vampire.

  “Well my sentries certainly aren’t picking them up, or there’d be a lot more movement in this cemetery,” Toman replied. Esset nodded.

  “That being said, stone soldiers aren’t particularly smart, and their senses aren’t all that keen, so it’s possible they missed something, especially with vampires.” His explanation was for Sergeant Warthog’s benefit; Toman already knew intimately the limitations of his animations.

  “So it’s up to me,” Esset said. “I’m going to look through my wolf’s eyes. I’ll need you two keeping an eye out for me, since I’ll be totally oblivious to my own body.” Had it just been him and Toman, he wouldn’t have said anything—they’d worked together more than long enough for it to go unsaid—but Esset assumed Sergeant Warthog would want to know what was going on.

  Esset sat down on the ground and crossed his legs, settling into a meditative pose. It was important that his core was balanced and that he would be able to maintain the position without conscious effort. Meanwhile, Toman was calling up the statues in the immediate vicinity to come and form a protective guard around the two of them.

  Every time Esset looked through the eyes of one of his summons, he was soundly reminded how unearthly they actually were. Simply inhuman didn’t cover it; their perception was more than simply altered. It bordered on indescribable. Everything was afire to their eyes; there was constant motion and flickering, and everything was cast in the colors of flame, from white-hot, to blue and yellow, to red. The senses mixed; scents were not just smelled but seen and heard and felt, and every other sensation was experienced in every other combination. And further, Esset knew that “looking through his wolf’s eyes” really wasn’t an accurate description, for he experienced everything that the wolf physically did. There were no shared thoughts or emotions though, thank Hyrishal. It was difficult enough to learn and adjust to the altered perceptions as it was, even after the innumerable times he’d experienced this before. To share thought and emotion with the summon would have been utterly unbearable. Madness would ensue.

  Esset took a few moments, as he always did, to accustom himself to the change. The wolf’s head swung back and forth, taking in every little sight, sound, smell, and sensation. Esset filtered the inputs and then set the wolf in motion towards the mausoleum where Mr. Johnson had first reported seeing movement. Esset had the beast move at a lope—fast enough to cover ground but slow enough to take everything in. Even so, Esset felt like the wolf was flying, for the altered, flickering perception made their movement seem faster. The wolf paused at the entrance to the mausoleum before carefully stepping inside.

  A rank smell washed over the summon’s senses: the scent was an ugly brown and as discordant as nails on slate. So overwhelming was the sensation that Esset almost missed the movement inside.

  Esset’s consciousness fled back to his body, and he surged to his feet.

  “We have to get to the mausoleum. Now.” He was moving before he was finished speaking, and Toman and Sergeant Warthog were right there with him.

  “More?” Toman asked as they ran; it was a relatively obvious conclusion.

  “At least nine,” Esset replied, not wasting much breath to answer. “Get your statues there. We can’t afford to let any past us. They’re still in coffins now, but they won’t be for long.”

  “Nine is bad news,” Sergeant Warthog said grimly. Toman was already calling on his animated soldiers.

  “Nine is bad news, but if we can trap some in their coffins, even temporarily, we can even the odds enough to get them all. They’re strong enough to smash their way out of their coffins, even stone ones, but they’re usually loathe to do so, since revisiting and sleeping in their original burial place allows them accelerated healing. The destruction of a coffin is the destruction of a great future advantage for a vampire,” Esset explained as they ran. He wished the mausoleum were slightly closer. At least Toman had some statues ahead—they would get there first and hold them off until the three of them could arrive.

  “But when it realizes that it’s dead now if it stays in the coffin…” Toman put in.

  “Then the coffin is worthless, and they’ll be out in seconds,” Sergeant Warthog said, easily reaching the correct conclusion.

  “Exactly,” Esset said. They were almost to the entrance of the mausoleum. Esset had left his wolf in place, and it was already wreaking havoc on the first vampire to emerge. Esset wasn’t currently in control of the summon, but it was naturally inclined to attack anything that moved, and at the moment, there wasn’t anyone around that Esset didn’t want hurt. He figured the crypt’s current denizens would keep it both busy and happy enough that it would stick around and do damage where it was supposed to. And if not, well, the cemetery was far enough out that Esset would have plenty of time to get it back under control before it could get anywhere else.

  Esset and Toman burst into the mausoleum first, Esset with an incantation on his lips and
Toman with a belt unraveling from his waist and flowing up his arm. The belt flew from Toman’s hand—it almost looked like he’d thrown it, but it moved of its own volition. It whipped towards the nearest vampire, winding around its feet and trying to trip it up.

  Esset’s incantation spawned a second wolf, which immediately launched itself at the nearest vampire. Five coffins had statues keeping them shut by the time they’d stepped inside, and only two of the other vampires had woken up and emerged—both were engaged with Esset’s second summoned wolf.

  Esset chanted the syllables twice more, and three wolves ganged up on a single vampire and tore it to pieces. Inhuman screeches filled the air, and the rest of the vampires were suddenly very awake and aware of threats. Wood splintered and exploded outwards as one vampire smashed its way out around the stone sentry holding the coffin lid in place. The statue tried to grab the vampire, but the emerging creature lashed out with both feet and staggered the stone soldier for long enough to get out of reach. As this transpired, a second vampire used similar tactics to escape, only it bashed and broke the fingers of the statue guarding it so it couldn’t grasp it and hold it in place. Both vampires hissed and bared their fangs when they saw the nature of their foes, seeming more animal than human as they found themselves facing fiery creatures from another plane.

  The wolves snarled as they darted, snapped, and lunged, their growls reminiscent of crackling flames. The vampires were comparatively quiet, despite their efforts to escape and attack the wolves and statues. Esset kept an especially close eye on one of the two who had gotten clear of its coffin; Esset swore it kept glancing at the three humans by the door. Vampires weren’t dumb, and it would be easy to figure out that killing the ones controlling the wolves and statues would solve all their problems neatly.

  From Esset’s left came a crunch of wood and a triumphant screech. Another vampire erupted from its coffin. The statue bracing it—a delicately-carved angel—caught it by the throat in a lucky grab, turning the screech into a gargle. The vampire flailed for a moment before regaining its self-control, and it aimed all its blows into one spot on the statue’s upper arm. Under the onslaught, the stone fractured, then broke—the angel’s grip slipped to the vampire’s shoulder, but with a vicious yank, the vampire broke away. Still, the vampire appeared weakened, and staggered erratically as it got out of range.

  Trying to take advantage of an opportunity, Esset diverted one of his wolves to take it down quickly—a mistake. The injured vampire dodged in time, and the vampire who’d been eyeing them earlier made its move. Quicker than expected, it slipped past the wolves and sprang at Esset, its fingers hooked like claws towards his face.

  “Look out!” Toman’s warning was slower than his action as he shoved Esset to the side, pushing his brother’s body into a pillar. A statue followed up Toman’s defense with a sideways swing of its spear, narrowly missing Toman to belt the vampire in the stomach and throw him back. The vampire ricocheted off a different statue but caught himself and tried to retreat, but instead found himself trapped between a statue and one of the fiery wolves. The wolf lunged forward. The vampire tried to dodge but erred too close to the statue, which grabbed him. The vampire went down in a screaming rage, held in place as the wolf tore off first its arm, then its head. The sickening scent of burning flesh flooded the room.

  The scream galvanized the remaining vampires into smashing their way out of their coffins. Esset noticed an earlier escapee—it must have climbed out when they’d been distracted with their bold attacker. Toman had a few statues in the fray, but there wasn’t the space to bring in more. Although Toman was cursing the close quarters, they didn’t dare move the battle outside where a vampire could easily escape in the darkness.

  Besides, the vampires were dancing circles around his comparatively slow statues. As he watched, one vampire ducked under the swinging arm of one soldier statue and then used it to block the attack of one of Esset’s wolves. The wolf’s jaws closed around the statue’s arm instead of the vampire’s, leaving a blackened mark upon the stone. At the same time, the vampire struck out at the wolf from behind the statue, stabbing down on its head with an ornamental dagger. The wolf vanished in a burst of sparks and ash.

  The statue tried to turn and grab the vampire, but stone was too slow once more. Esset cursed and then chanted, replacing the wolf that had been taken out of play. Another wolf materialized and lunged forward, but not before the vampire managed to clamber onto the statue’s back and bash the stone soldier’s head off. Fortunately, the statue could operate just as well without it. The vampire hissed and leapt away when it realized it had wasted its reprieve on a useless tactic, and the game of strike and evade continued.

  So intent was Esset on replacing his fallen unit that his attention to his other summon had slipped. Movement—too close—caught his attention. One of his own wolves, heedless of its summoner’s safety in its quest to destroy its target, was lunging sideways towards him. Esset started to dodge, but he knew he was too slow. He raised his arms to shield his face and braced for impact, only to find a stone form between him and the wolf.

  Toman’s guardian statue had intercepted in time. The wolf bounced off its rocky torso, leaving a scorch mark, but otherwise neither seemed to notice the interaction. The wolf tore into its vampire target again, and the statue stood guard. Only a glance between Toman and Esset acknowledged the close call as the battle continued. Close quarters indeed.

  The sergeant was still behind them, sword drawn. There was little else she could do in a battle like this. If she ventured into the battle, it wouldn’t take long before she was injured—or worse—by either a vampire or one of Esset’s wolves. The skirmish was simply too chaotic. She could only watch—and yell suggestions.

  “Esset, we could use more wolves!” the sergeant said. She was right—two wolves per vampire would be far more effective.

  “Sorry, Sergeant, four is as many as I can summon at a time. We have to work with what we have,” Esset replied. The sergeant cursed as only sergeants could.

  “But she’s right, Toman, we need a new tactic,” Esset said. More wood crunched across the mausoleum, and Esset saw two vampires grappling with their stone guards. That left only one more still struggling to become free of its coffin.

  “It’s arriving,” Toman replied. “I’ve got all that rope loaded on our packhorse. It ought to speed things up in here.” He’d given up on his belt earlier—the shorter length was too easy for the vampires to dodge.

  True to his word, a long length of rope slithered into the mausoleum just as the last vampire burst from its coffin; it was smarter than the others, and it had kicked out the end of the coffin, getting clear before the statue could pin it down. It recoiled away from the battle, climbing up into the rafters to survey the battle-scene. Esset could see it decide that fleeing was preferable to fighting. He saw it come down just above the door, but his wolves were busy—he couldn’t intercept its escape. He could only hope Toman had something up his sleeve.

  Before the vampire knew what was happening, a thick rope on the ground had snaked its way up and around its body, constricting around its legs and arms to pin it helplessly so it fell over onto the ground. Three of the statues outside came forward and picked the vampire up. One grabbed the vampire’s head, another its shoulders, another its legs. They tore the head off the prone vampire, oblivious to its struggles. By then, Esset had already turned his attention back to his own battles, leaving Toman to his.

  That was when he noticed that both of the vampires that had been grappling with statues had gotten free—and one was missing entirely. Esset did a head count twice to confirm, then cursed.

  “Darkfires, we lost one.”

  Sergeant Warthog cursed too.

  “Well, we still have to finish this battle,” she said. They’d have to worry about the other one later.

  The rope-snake and the statues hadn’t lingered around the dead vampire. The statues made a protective ring around the mausol
eum, ready to stop any others from escaping. The rope-snake struck out at another victim, entangling the vampire. The fiery wolf it fought lunged and dragged the vampire down by the shoulder; once on the ground, it snapped its molten jaws around the vampire’s neck and finished the job. Then it whirled and lunged again, this time at the back of one of its kindred’s opponents.

  The vampire was knocked forward into the other wolf, which made good the opportunity. It snapped down on the vampire’s arm and jerked it sideways. The other wolf locked its jaws on its midriff, holding it down as the first wolf’s glowing hot fangs closed on the vampire’s face and dissolved it to ash.

  Esset glanced up and noticed one of the vampires had escaped to the rafters to hiss down at the battle. It couldn’t escape, but it knew that if it came down, it was dead. The rope-snake harried another vampire—it slithered and struck, but the vampire stayed just ahead of it. Then two wolves cornered it against the outer row of coffins; they came from opposite sides, one high, one low. The vampire charged the left one head on, defiant in the face of certain death. The wolf tore out its throat, then melted through the rest of its neck with a second bite.

  Fleeing two wolves of its own, the last vampire on the floor made to join its kindred in the rafters. It leapt at a pillar and started to scale, but the wolves could leap as high; one sprang and clamped its jaws around the vampire’s ankle, dragging it down. The other sprang higher and tackled the vampire off the pillar entirely. The vampire wailed as the wolves tore it apart.

  The last vampire could only hiss at them from above as the wolves paced below.

  “Toman, Sergeant, go,” Esset said. “I’ve got this.” The two departed to hunt the escaped vampire as Esset banished two of his wolves before they could get antsy.

  In place of the two wolves, he had summoned a bird. The bird was huge, large enough to carry a person on its back or in its talons—or both. It made the small space of the mausoleum even smaller, and Esset could feel the scorching heat that flooded from its feathers. The summoner was forced to raise an arm to protect his face from the heat of the fires. Sparks flew everywhere as it beat its wings, flipping its underbelly up so it could grab the rafters with its talons. The vampire didn’t stand a chance; it was too shocked by the appearance of this new foe to move, and it was only just starting to react when the bird struck out with its great beak. Moments later, it was over, and Esset let the bird hop back down and fly out of the mausoleum to spiral up into the night sky.