“Have a rough night, friends?” the guardsman asked.
Coragan nodded. “We most certainly did.”
On the road to Drisdak, the three companions pulled up short to address the company of guardsmen. They had been traveling for three hours now, ever since dawn, with Galladrin and Coragan both riding the same beleaguered horse. A dozen guardsman, led by Mathagarr the watch captain, had appeared just minutes earlier, riding down the road with desperate urgency. Galladrin studied the small party of men as they reined their horses in. The sounds of snorting equines drowned out the rest of the forest. “How did you find us?” he asked.
Mathagarr glanced to the mage at his side. The red-robed wizard simply shrugged. “Mage Morcallenon did a divination to locate you last night. The mages have made a discovery. It appears the jar you found had necromantic sigils on it, which leads to the possibility that undead may be involved—”
“We know,” Coragan said. “We’ve already encountered them.”
“You have?” Methoin asked, only mildly curious. “Did they cause any difficulty?”
Galladrin smiled thinly as the fire mage spoke. Obviously, the man did not consider the threat of undead very serious. For a wizard, he seemed bored, unconcerned, like a man sent on an errand as a penance for some wrong. “That depends. How much difficulty do you think two vampires could cause?” The effect of his words did not disappoint.
The mage straightened in his saddle immediately, his eyes wide. The distant distracted look vanished like smoke, replaced by one of keenest concern. He stroked his chin nervously as he spoke. “Vampires? Are you certain?” A shadow of doubt crept into his eyes. “No, that cannot be.” He looked back and forth between the three men, studying them for signs of deceit. His gaze lingered a long time on the rogue, as if his eyes might bore holes into the depths of his soul.
“They were vampires.” Borak’s tone left no room for question.
Galladrin watched as the mage’s lips tightened in irritation. He cast a disapproving glance toward Mathagarr, but the night watchman, like the rest of the guards, did not seem to take much notice. They had not reacted to mention of the vampires. The mage cast a challenging stare toward the huge warrior on his horse. “If what you say is true, and you did encounter vampires, how then did you escape? Were any of you bitten?”
Borak, though pale and weary, still met the wizard’s gaze without flinching. He straightened in his horse, and stared back while he spoke. “We made camp on a river island. It was past midnight, so the flowing waters kept us safe. However, the vampires sent a pack of wolves to drive us out, but fortunately we defeated them.” Borak’s voice was firm and steady, despite his evident weariness. “And as for being bitten, none of us ... were ...” The warrior trailed off, circling his gaze toward the rogue and suddenly looking very worried as well as tired. “Galladrin, did the woman drink your blood?”
Galladrin scratched his chin and shrugged. “What?” he asked, a little confused. Who cared? They were safely on the road to Drisdak now. As long as they didn’t waste the whole day discussing vampires in the middle of the forest, they’d be fine.
“I asked you if the woman drank your blood,” Borak said. “I seem to recall her licking the wound on your chest.”
Both Borak and the mage were staring at him now, and Galladrin started feeling irritated. He glanced toward Coragan, but the bounty hunter only shrugged. He didn’t understand their interest either. Annoyed, Galladrin forced a tight smile before speaking. Play games with him, would they? “Don’t you think that’s a little personal? After all, what I do with women is my own business, be they vampires or otherwise.”
“This isn’t funny, Galladrin,” Borak said. For once, anger showed clearly through in the warrior’s voice. Shocked, Galladrin didn’t know what to say.
Mage Methoin, however, did. “The bite of a vampire is a curse. Such creatures sustain their lives by drinking the blood of humans. That is also how they procreate.”
Coragan turned and frowned at the mage. “What are you talking about?”
The mage hesitated before continuing, his face grim. “A man bitten by a vampire, but not slain, can expect to be revisited. Over the course of time, he will slowly be transformed until he becomes a vampire himself. There is no cure. The process is irreversible by all means save one.”
Galladrin’s heart started racing. Become a vampire! Perhaps his attempt at humor had been a bit premature. “And what is this means?”
“A man bitten by a vampire must ensure that vampire’s complete destruction or be doomed to an eternity as its undead minion.”
Galladrin paled. He had hoped it was over, that they could leave well enough alone and avoid the vampires in the future. In retrospect, he realized that notion had been foolish. In all likelihood, the vampires were involved in Arcalian’s disappearance and their search for answers regarding that was bound to lead them to another confrontation. This new information sealed it. Clarissa had drunk of his blood and bound him to her in a way he did not wish to comprehend. Either she must die, or he must join her. However, just as he was about to give all up for lost, a sudden thought occurred to him. “You said that this is true of men who have been bitten, correct?” Galladrin asked.
“Yes,” the mage responded.
“Well, then, your fears are unfounded. She never bit me. She only licked my wound.”
Borak looked up, an odd thoughtful expression on his face.
Meanwhile, the mage scowled and studied the rogue intensely before speaking. “But she did drink your blood.”
“Well, yes. But she didn’t bite me.”
Methoin looked to Borak and the warrior shook his head in confusion. The mage turned back to Galladrin. “That is an interesting point. To the best of my knowledge, vampires have always bitten their victims to bring about the conversion. However, it would stand to reason that the puncturing of the flesh by vampiric teeth is of no consequence, and it is the transference of blood from victim to vampire that is the root cause of the transformation.”
“That assumes the nature of a vampire has a rational ground, that it behaves in a logical, coherent fashion,” Borak pointed out.
“Well, of course it does,” Methoin replied. “All things ultimately have a rational explanation. It is only reasonable that the blood is the agent resp—”
“Only reasonable?” Borak asked, turning to the mage. “What is reasonable about a creature that is thwarted by a rose? Or garlic? Or its own reflection? We speak of creatures that are incinerated by sunlight—”
“That is because they are Undead. They are creatures whose ties to darkness are so strong, that the light of the sun is fatal to them. It severs them from the evil which is necessary to sustain their existence. Thus, they are destroyed.”
“And the running water?”
The mage looked angry, no doubt from the simple fact that his authority was being repeatedly questioned by a man who wielded an axe for a living. “I have a considerable amount of knowledge concerning undead in general, but I do not consider myself an expert, particularly in regards to such minute details as these. However, I suspect that the power of water is in part due to the symbolic attachment that the liquid has with cleansing. You will find that symbolism has a great deal of influence over matters of good and evil and water has always been a symbolic agent of purification. What is in more need of being cleansed than the taint of evil?”
Borak was undaunted. “Did you know we saw a vampire walk through a table?”
“So?”
“If a rose is placed in an archway to stop a vampire, why can’t a creature that can walk through a table simply walk through a wall? How is it that I find myself capable of grappling with such a creature? How can a creature be barred from entering a building, simply because it has not been invited? How—”
“Enough. I concede your point,” the mage said, raising his hand to cut the warrior off. “However, I would suggest that even though you cannot be certain that Galladrin
has been affected by this vampire, you must assume that he has. This leaves you with only two options: lock him in a room for observation and take the necessary actions if he does change, or hunt down and destroy the vampire in question.”
“What are the ‘necessary actions’ that must be taken if I start to change?” Galladrin asked.
Borak’s voice came across flat and toneless. “We would have to drive a stake through your heart.”
Galladrin’s eyes widened in alarm. “Well, then, let’s start back after those vampires right now.”
“Then you risk battling the vampires again and infecting others.” The wizard’s voice echoed Borak’s: flat, toneless, cold.
“Excuse me. I’m not about to let someone drive a stake through my chest if there is another way. Come on, Coragan, turn the horse around.”
The rogue reached for the reins, but the bounty hunter shrugged him off, wrapping them securely around his own wrist instead. “I suspected we would have to deal with these creatures again before everything was finished,” the bounty hunter said. “They may even be responsible for Arcalian’s disappearance.” Coragan turned to the wizard. “Would a vampire be capable of generating black time?’
Methoin shrugged. “That is a question best left to Morcallenon. I know very little of that field.”
Coragan nodded in thought. “If that is the case, our course of action is obvious.”
Galladrin started. “It is?”
“Borak’s arm is still broken, my friend, and we have questions in need of answers. The Abbey of Drellenor is on the way back to the guild. I suggest we make a brief stop there to have our injuries tended to, then follow these men back to Regecon. We can discuss further plans with the guild master.” Coragan paused, and looked around at the surrounding trees. “The presence of vampires definitely complicates things.”
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 46
