“You’ve all been naughty, naughty children!”
The knights all backed up, lowering their weapons. They held their heads low, as if suddenly ashamed of themselves.
“You can’t do anything right! You disgust me! You’re all terrible children! So weak! So pathetic! You make your mother angry!”
All at once the knights began to tremble. Bolt-throwers fell from their hands, as if they were suddenly too heavy for them to hold.
“Look at you, you’re all pathetic! Worthless! Weak! Crying brats, the lot of you!”
The knights all fell to their knees, trembling and weeping. Loretta loomed over them, glowering, and they huddled together like frightened children. From her gown Loretta produced a menacing, iron paddle. Dried bits of flesh clung to the rusty spikes that covered its broad, flat end.
“Mother will punish you! Mother will punish all of you!” She raised her paddle and brought it down on the first knight. He wailed like a child in agony. She raised the paddle again, blood and gore dripping from it, and she brought it down once more.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Sir Spengle stood in the shadows of an alley between two shops at the perimeter of the town square. A handful of his most trusted knights stood by him ready for any orders he might have. Beyond the tall shops and inns he could see the spires of the church in flames. His knights and the townspeople had taken care of the Saints and clergy there and he felt some satisfaction knowing that there were no more threats within the city. Castle Valdaria, however, still had him on edge. To the east he could see some fires raging from the windows of the castle and wondered if the King and Queen and their Saints were dead, or if he and his men might be set upon at any moment. His finger nervously tapped the handle of the bolt-thrower strapped around his shoulder.
“Sir, perhaps you should leave this to the townspeople?” asked one of Spengle’s knights. “Our skills might be better put to use aiding our men within the castle?”
“No.” said Spengle. “I must see her burn.” At the center of the town square, in front of a great topiary in the form of a raven, his knights had set a number of wooden posts and were in the process of binding Agana, the Priest and his Oracle and Sin Eaters to them. Townspeople worked quickly to pile wood at their feet, tossing armloads at a time. The Priest, Oracle and Sin Eaters were already dead—all of them had been shot or taken down by swords—so burning them was more for closure’s sake than anything else. But Agana was still alive and the little girl was beginning to come to.
“Sir, perhaps we should help with the pyre then?” asked the knight.
Sir Spengle shook his head. “No. I need you here by me.”
“But Sir, if we get this over with quickly we may yet be able to help the others within the castle.”
“No.” said Spengle. “Let Saint Tiffany handle all of that. We’ve done our part.”
“Sir, with all due respect,” began another knight. “They may need our help in there. Look how many we have here. At least let me lead our knights to the castle. While Tiffany and the others strike from within, we can strike from without. We can end this all quickly.”
Spengle shook his head. “You there!” cried Spengle. He stepped from the alley and grabbed a passing man by the arm. “Find a torch. Burn them now! The Vampire is awakening.”
“I’ll do it.” said another man. He was a strong, tall fellow with a bolt-thrower over his shoulder. Spengle thought he could see the flicker of regret in the man’s brown eyes. “I should be the one. If she must burn, it should be by my hand.”
Spengle nodded. “Quickly then. Get a torch.”
“Ophelia?” Spengle turned to see Agana lift her head. She looked around, confused. “Ophelia?” She squirmed against the post she was bound to and Sir Spengle suddenly worried that she might slip from the ropes that wound around her body.
“Burn her! Quickly!” yelled Spengle. “Burn her now!”
“What’s happening? Where’s Jackson? What are you doing to me?” Agana’s voice was getting more frantic as consciousness began to return to her.
Spengle stepped back into the shadows of the alley. He watched as the man he had spoken to came up to Agana with a torch in hand. Beneath Agana some townspeople began splashing kerosene on the wood. Others began shouting obscenities at her or spitting in her direction.
“Where’s Jackson?” cried Agana. “I want Jackson!” She looked at the man with the torch. “I want my mommy! I want my mommy!”
“Burn her! Burn the Vampire!” The rest of the townspeople were becoming as restless as Spengle, wanting to watch the flames cleanse her from the world. As much as Spengle had wanted to end her quickly, nothing but fire would do for the people. Agana had taken many of their children. Agana was a nightmare that kept parents awake at night. They would not settle for a silver bolt through her head, or an axe upon her neck. They wanted her ashes carried away upon the winds; to know that not even her bones remained to haunt them. “Light her! Burn her! Cleanse her from this world!” they shouted.
“Wait! There is something I must confess!” cried the man with the torch. “She was my doing! She was my sin! Before she burns, let the Goddess hear my confession!” He looked at Agana. “Ursula.” he said. “That was her name.”
Agana looked at him, tears rolling from her eyes. “Why do you keep calling me that? I want my mommy! I want my mommy!”
“I… I wanted to tell you before, back at the house.” said the man. “I… I must confess my sins to you.”
“Please! Please!” cried Agana. “I want my mommy!”
The man looked down for a moment. “Your name was Ursula.” He looked back at Agana. “You had a brother named Rook, as I was told, but your parents had died of starvation. You came from the country of Jerusa.”
Agana looked at him with red eyes. “Why are you saying that? My name is Agana! My mom is Queen Loretta and my father is King Verami!”
The man shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “I bought you from a slaver to save my own daughter. When Saint Ophelia came, we gave you to her and said that you were our daughter. My wife, her name was Britina. She held you as a baby, and Saint Ophelia tore you from her arms. She… she didn’t want to give you up. She had only held you for a short time, but she wept for a week after you were taken.”
Agana shook her head. “Why are you saying this? I want my brother! I want Jackson! Mommy, mommy! Help me!” she screamed.
“Do it now!” yelled Spengle from his alley. “Do it now!”
“I’m so sorry.” said the man, his voice breaking with tears. “Aeoria forgive me.” He tossed the torch into the pyre.
Flames began to spread, engulfing the pile of wood. To Agana’s left, the fingers of fire began to lick at the ends of the Priest’s long, black robes. In the cracked mirror-mask of the Oracle, bright, red flames flickered.
“Help! Help!” shrieked Agana. “Mommy!”
Screams, but not from the pyre. Heads began to turn and then people began to run. Sir Spengle peeked around the corner of the alley he stood in. Like an approaching wave, blood and limbs shot above the rooftops, rushing toward the town square. Men screamed and bolt-throwers fired. Townspeople ran. And then Sir Spengle saw him. It was Exalted Lord Kalarus. He bounded down the avenue, his jaws and claws ripping through the ranks of those unlucky enough to be in his way.
Sir Spengle, threw his back against the wall and sunk into the alley’s shadows. His hands trembled and his teeth began chattering. His breaths came in frantic pants.
“Sir,” said one of his knights. “Come, we must fight!”
Spengle looked at the man.
“Sir, hurry!”
Spengle took his bolt-thrower in his hand. The knight turned from him. JINK!
The rest of his knights turned, stunned by the sudden burst of blood and armor. One of them looked at Spengle. “You
son of a bitch!” The man lunged at him.
JINK-JINK-JINK! JINK-JINK-JINK! The knights all fell, torn armor and chunks of meat painting the alley walls.
Spengle stepped over the fallen knights and into the town square. JINK-JINK-JINK! JINK-JINK-JINK! “Kalarus! Kalarus!” he cried as he mowed down the knights and townspeople in the square. “Quickly, we must save the Princess!” JINK-JINK-JINK! JINK!-click-click.
Sir Spengle tossed his bolt-thrower to the ground and grabbed a fully loaded one off the body of one of his fallen knights. Then he raced toward the pyre where Agana cried as the flames began to lap up around her. “Kalarus!” JINK-JINK-JINK! JINK-JINK-JINK! Spengle shot down everybody near the pyre before they even knew what was happening. He slung the bolt-thrower over his shoulder and began kicking away the burning wood at Agana’s feet. “Don’t worry! Don’t worry, Princess! I’ll save you!”
Spengle felt a tremendous impact as he tumbled across the cobblestone road. He looked up and saw Kalarus’s monstrous, wolfen form in the flames. With a roar, Kalarus ripped Agana, pole and all, from the fires and bounded out of them. He stood over her on all fours, snapping up a man in his jaws and shaking him so ferociously that blood and limps flew high into the air. Knights and men ran up, firing at him with bolt-throwers. The beast’s thick, gray fur jolted from every blast but seemed to have no effect on him.
“Silver!” cried a man. “We need the silver bolts!”
Spengle got up to his knees. JINK-JINK-JINK! He blew the man’s body apart. He turned his weapon on others, JINK-JINK-JINK! JINK-JINK-JINK! “Kalarus! Get the Princess to safety!”
With claws as black as pitch, Kalarus tore the ropes from Agana and cradled the crying girl under one arm, tucking her up against his chest. He leapt into a group of knights, scattering them, just as some townspeople fired, opening up a string of bloodless holes in his fur. Kalarus snapped his enormous, wolfen head toward them and roared out as Spengle turned his bolt-thrower and mowed them all down.
Kalarus fixed Spengle with his yellow eyes. “We must get back to the castle! The King and Queen are in danger!”
Spengle nodded. Kalarus turned to bound off when fur and blood exploded off his back. Kalarus fell and howled. He tucked Agana beneath him. JINK! JINK! A chunk was blown from the beast’s side, and one from his left leg.
Spengle looked up. From the rooftops were three men, each with long, slender-barreled bolt-throwers. They began reloading and in one of their hands Spengle saw the gleam of a silver bolt. He raised his own bolt-thrower to them. JINK!-click-click-click. Spengle looked at his weapon and cursed. He tossed it to the ground.
The men on the rooftops all trained their barrels down at Kalarus. Agana screamed as a volley of fire rocked his body.
Spengle scrambled to a dead knight and picked up a bolt-thrower. He turned it up to the roofs. JINK-JINK-JINK! JINK-JINK-JINK! JINK-JINK-JINK! Two of the men fell before they realized what was happening. The third turned his gun from Kalarus and pointed it at Spengle. JINK!
Sir Spengle dove as the cobblestone at his feet broke apart from the blast. The man on the roof started reloading as Spengle ran toward the fallen Kalarus and threw himself against the beast’s body. Kalarus stirred and struggled up to his feet. JINK! Kalarus made a terrible howl and then collapsed again. Spengle stood up and fired on the rooftop. JINK-JINK-JINK! The man screamed and tumbled from the roof. Spengle then turned around, scanning the streets frantically. The wounded and mangled were everywhere, some of them still moaning and writhing in the bloodied streets, but everybody who could flee had done so at this point.
Spengle heard Agana’s muffled cries beneath Kalarus. He pushed on him, hands sinking into wiry fur, but couldn’t budge the enormous beast. He ran around to Kalarus’s head and then froze before turning away in disgust. A silver bolt had blown the back of his skull out. Spengle ran around Kalarus’s other side and dragged Agana out from under him. She screamed and cried.
“It’s all right! It’s all right!” said Spengle, hugging her close. “I’m here! I’ll protect you!”
“You’re one of the bad men! You killed Ophelia! You killed Ophelia!” she cried.
“No! No!” said Spengle, hugging her and stroking his hand down the back of her head. “It was the others. I tried to stop them, but there were too many. Don’t you remember?”
“I want my mommy!” cried the girl.
“Shh,” Spengle cooed to her. “It’s all right now. I’m here. I’ll protect you.” He turned his eyes up to the hill in the distance. The eldritch forest was in a frenzy. Flames roared from many of the castle’s windows. He looked down the empty avenues of the city. He’d have to find a house to hide in with the girl until he knew what his next move would be.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Saint Tiffany couldn’t breathe. Verami held the back edge of his scythe blade against her neck and he had her sword arm pinned under his skeletal foot. The sickening green mist infiltrated her nose and mouth and she could feel the sores down her throat bursting and swelling her esophagus shut. Hollow, black eyes stared down at her from an ancient skull, yellow teeth chattering in laughter. “I defile your body and reap your pure soul for my master!”
Tiffany coughed and choked. She felt vomit bubbling up her throat. She closed her eyes and focused on her Caliber. She reached out her free hand and a flickering, yellow glow encompassed it. Within her Caliber she could feel Verami’s skeletal body beneath his black robes, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not budge him.
“Your Caliber is weak! Weak but precious! Your soul will be pleasing to the underworld!”
Tiffany wanted to cry. Her body burned. She felt boils and blisters exploding beneath her bodysuit and her Star-Armor. She wanted to give up and die, but the ghostly voices whispered into her ear that she must live. “I can’t! I can’t!” she screamed in a voiceless scream. You must! You must! came the whispered voices in her ear. There were a thousand of them all speaking at once, all haunting her and torturing her with their disparate cries. Be strong and live! Sing to us! Your Caliber can overcome! Sing! He killed me! There is no light here. Sing to us! You must live! Why am I dead? We’ll lead you to your love if you live! Sing us a song! Tiffany held out her hand again. She felt it warm with Caliber energy.
Verami laughed. “Weak!”
Tiffany wanted her Caliber to be strong—strong like her love’s—but it wasn’t. She was weak and frail and haunted by those her Caliber couldn’t help. But her Caliber had been strong once. It was strong the day she mustered the courage to confront the Holy Few and tell them that the dead whispered to her about the sins of Saints, and those of her love. It was strong the day she received her Call to Guard. It was strong when she first donned the Star-Armor, preventing herself from being consumed into it. She had thought about her love and his voice and the way it soothed her to sleep and it had become strong. Yes, be strong! Your love! Sing to us! I was murdered by a Saint. Think of your love! Where is the light? Sing us a song! We’ll take you to your love! He killed me! Sing! Sing!
Tiffany closed her eyes. She thought of her love. She felt her hand slide through his ruby hair as she lay in his lap. She could hear his singing, so soft; so soothing to her. The voices went silent and she felt his Caliber. His was strong. It was strong and white and shone like a star in a sea of blackness. She reached for it. She felt her own Caliber begin to touch upon it. Her fingers burned as she took it up, and then she felt shards of steel pelt her face and a terrible shriek broke her reverie.
The pressure on her throat was gone and breath tore its way into her lungs as her eyes went wide. She saw Verami stumble back from her, the blade of his scythe broken and shattered all over the floor. She grabbed her sword and struggled to her feet, blood dripping from her face. She wiped her hand down her cheek and shards of broken scythe came off.
“Your soul is mine! I shall harvest you yet!” Vera
mi pointed a bony claw toward her.
In a silent scream, Tiffany leapt at Verami, swinging her sword. He caught her by the throat and whipped her against the wall, then he dragged her across it, her breastplate shattering stone and tearing a gash through to the outside. Then she felt herself tumble across the floor and her armor cracked against the far wall.
She looked up and saw Verami storming toward her. Wind howled through the broken wall across the room. Loose stone crumbled and rained down from it. Sing to us! He’ll kill you if you don’t move! Why aren’t you singing? Move! Fight! Sing to us! You must live to see your love again! It’s so dark here. Sing! Why am I dead?
A bony hand wrapped around Tiffany’s neck. She felt herself lifted into the air and tossed across the room. Her breastplate hit the floor with a thunderous crack and she rolled. She felt damp storm winds upon her face, ruffling her amber hair. She looked up and saw black clouds flashing with lightning. And then a dark form loomed over her.
“Time to complete the harvest!” Verami knelt and his skeletal hands clutched her neck and squeezed.
Don’t die yet! Sing to us! They took my baby! It’s so dark and cold here. Live and we’ll bring you to your love! Sing! Sing to us! Tiffany tried to breathe but couldn’t. Her head was hanging out of the broken wall, and hundreds of feet beneath her she could see the dark, green lawn of the courtyard. The placid Graymere Lake spread out and in the distance she could see the endless cemetery. She looked up and peered into the lightless sockets of Verami’s laughing skull. Die and you’ll sing for eternity! I was killed by Saint Ertrael! Where is your lantern? Sing for us! Grab his neck and let yourself go!
Tiffany reached her arms up and wrapped them around the back of Verami’s neck, grabbing on tightly to the collar of his black robe. She felt her vision fading; felt her limbs going numb. Her mouth opened and closed, but no breath could be had. The sharp tips of Verami’s fingers dug into her neck. What little Caliber she had began to fade. With it, she felt her Star-Armor becoming heavier and heavier. The damaged floor beneath her cracked. Part of the wall beside her crumbled and tumbled down the length of the tower. She felt her flesh crawling up into the frigid star-metal of her armor. And then, in her hands, she felt bone crack.
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