“Let me answer for you, dear,” Xavier politely interjects. Moving in the blink of an eye, he uses one finger to lift Stephanie by the chin and grows a long nail that pierces her skin. “For the last time, you are denied your request. We need your magic to stay ahead of our enemies even if you can’t spy on Clyde and his people specifically. Kai and his agents can handle that while you search for anything that can be of help. There is no guarantee that you will be able to cast such magic after being infected and we refuse to take such a risk.”
Gripping her husband’s arm, Nadia lowers the limb and casually plucks her loyal servant off the dagger-like nail. “There’s no reason to take your rage out on Mistress Talon. She may be irritating with the same request, but she means well. Do not think that this means I agree with you, Stephanie. Lord Tempest is right. Your scrying abilities and rituals are too important for us to risk you losing them. You and I will talk over my bath and see if we can find another way for you to get what you want. It could be as easy as having you use Dawn Fang blood instead that of mortals. We all know of one abomination that we can take.”
“Chastity Sullivan is too public a figure for us to attack. Her disappearance would raise too many questions from her loyal customers, many of which are mortals,” the Lord of Nyte bluntly states. He takes a seat on a windowsill and peeks through the window to stare at the dark stone city that surrounds his castle. “Clyde is right about one thing. The mortals cannot know that the Dawn Fangs exist. If they knew then old-world vampires would be seen as weak and we would lose what little influence we have left. Times are hard enough with our side losing so many battles over the years. Nyte is beginning to look like an abandoned city thanks to Clyde’s recruiting. We need to create more vampires, but Nadia and I are unable to do so. Mr. Stavros, once the survivors of the failed raid return I wish for you to put them on turning duty. Each one needs to give me fifty new vampires before the end of the month or they will be destroyed.”
“I will meet them at the front gate,” Kai declares with a bow. He picks his night cloak off the floor and puts it on, but keeps the cowl off to continue speaking. “This might be nothing, but I have been getting some strange reports. Old-world vampires have been disappearing around Ralian with no rhyme or reason. I assume the Dawn Fangs are doing this, but my agents have said there is evidence of wild animal attacks. Perhaps one of Clyde’s more troublesome children has turned a pack of wolves. Once I discover more, I will let you know if we should take action. Unless you want me to handle this myself.”
Xavier scratches his chin, which sprouts a silver beard that he dislikes enough to rip out of his flesh. “Gather information for now. We have called enough of our people back to Nyte to remain cautious and you said it is only on Ralian. We can always focus on the other continents until the danger has passed. If you hear of this occurring on Canst’s Fields or Cerascent then come to me immediately. More than likely, this is one of Clyde’s plans that has gone out of control. That monstrous fool undoing his own work is not my concern as long as he does not take me down with him. The Dawn Fangs destroying themselves means old-world vampires will retain their status as the ultimate predators of Windemere. Please take any opportunity you find to make this happen, Mr. Stavros. The chances are slim that this will happen, but I would greatly appreciate you ending this ridiculous war if you can.”
Grinning at what he takes as a heavy responsibility, the spymaster bows his head and backs out of the throne room. Xavier turns to speak to Nadia, but finds that she has already transformed into a swarm of moths that is going out the window. Left alone with Stephanie, the Lord of Nyte can only stare at the silent calico who is casually licking her arms until they are clean. Knowing that her loyalty is more to his wife than himself, he is unsure if she will follow any orders that he gives her. Before he can speak, the ritualist seems to snap out of her trance and frantically looks around in a daze. Ignoring Xavier, she wanders to the door and sheds her clothes as she steps into the hallway.
“There is a strangeness in the air this day,” the nobleman mutters, his goblet floating to his open hand. Tearing down a curtain, he stands in the sunlight and growls at how he does not feel any weaker. “I hate what you have done to me, Clyde. Even after seventeen years, I cannot stand the touch of the sun. One day, I will be given an opportunity to destroy you and then this little war will be over. I swear on the fangs of every old-world vampire that you will never be the ruler of our new world.”
*****
Trudging through the forest, the surviving raiders grab whatever animals they can find and leave a trail of corpses in their wake. Very few sizeable creatures can be found, so the starving predators end up wasting more energy than they gain chasing squirrels and rabbits. Lacking night cloaks, the defeated warriors are weakened by the sun and struggle to continue walking in the direction of Nyte. Those who lag behind are left to fend for themselves and eventually disappear from view. Several let their hunger get the best of them and attempt to feast on a bear or dread boar, which results in a violent mauling that they are unable to recover from. Any who survive such encounters are either mercy killed by the rest of the pack or abandoned. By the time the sun begins to sink below the horizon, there are only ten vampires left and they are nearing the end of their self-control. The smell of prey mixed with chimney smoke draws them to the top of a hill and they stare hungrily at a small farm. With a rumbling growl, the starving pack stays low and makes their way towards the unsuspecting mortals.
Halfway to their target, those in the lead sense that something is wrong. Looking over their shoulder, they realize that three of their number have disappeared. Rustling bushes cause them to stop, but all they see is a bunny hop out with leaves in its mouth. Ignoring the rodent, the pack prepares to go back on the hunt until a blur rushes across their vision and another vampire vanishes. This time, the severed feet of their friend remain where he was standing, the ankles eerily hollowed out as if the rest of the body was simply popped off the joints. Still weakened by the setting sun, the warriors gather into a circle and scan the forest for their attackers. With a yelp, one of them is yanked into the ground, which has become muddy around her feet and hardens as soon as she is out of sight. Two more vampires gasp in pain when curved stakes explode from below to keep them in place and noose-like vines drop down to catch them by the neck. Instead of pulling, the strange plants drain the pair of all their blood and moisture until they explode into curtains of drifting dust.
Fearing for their lives, the three survivors sprint towards the farm in the hopes of getting help from the mortals. They are within sight of the barn when a lightning bolt comes from the sky and turns the slowest one into ashes. One of the other vampires stumbles at the sight of the unexpected death and screams as he falls over the edge of a cliff. The man screams at the top of his lungs, his mind filled with the sensation of plummeting into a gaping abyss that reaches up to infect his body with slithering tendrils. Unable to see through the visceral illusion, he tears at his flesh until he manages to rip off his own head. The lone survivor bolts away as fast as he can, the dwindling sunlight allowing him to regain his strength. He is within reach of the barn door when he sees that the mortals are frozen on their porch. The moment of hesitation is enough for an unseen enemy to strike the vampire in the back with a ball of sunlight that leaves him squirming and gasping on the ground.
“We put the tasty ones to sleep,” a young man says as he emerges from a tree that stands next to the barn. His body resembles mossy bark until he rips it off to reveal dark brown skin and a shock of beautiful blue hair. “My name is Eighty and I have a question. We’re looking for someone and think they’re around here. They’re very good at hiding and disguising themselves, so it’s been a difficult journey. Are you Lost?”
“I don’t understand the question,” the vampire whimpers as more of his attackers come out of the nearby woods. Their beating hearts echo in his ears, revealing that they are Dawn Fangs, but he senses that they are different f
rom the others he has encountered. “My loyalty is always to Lord Xavier Tempest of Nyte. Whatever nasty trick your creator is trying to play won’t work on me.”
“This one isn’t Lost,” an orc with leopard spots grumbles. Picking the prisoner up by the leg, the creature’s perpendicular ears wiggle in delight. “I want to see how many strips I can make out of this one. The last one was fifty. I think I can do more. Can I kill him? Please let me do it, Eighty.”
“Everyone gets to take a strip because we’re all hungry,” their leader declares before sniffing the dangling vampire. His nose wrinkles and he nearly vomits, a blinding light briefly appearing in his mouth. “This thing smells terrible. Maybe eating the last one is why so many of us got sick. They are nothing more than walking corpses after all. I’m going to ask it a different question.”
“Please let me go and-” the vampire begs, his skin mysteriously burning.
The Dawn Fang calling himself Eighty crouches and stares into the man’s eyes before whispering, “Tell us what we want and you can go. Where . . . is . . . Lost?”
1
Named for being shaped like a serpent coiling around a crescent moon, the Cerascent region is an enormous archipelago composed of thousands of islands. Formerly referred to as the central continent, the area has moved north and is now home to a wide variety of ecosystems and kingdoms. Many believe that the source of the Great Cataclysm lurks within Cerascent, which is why it is so unique and, at times, disorganized. Mappers and adventurers have dedicated their lives to exploring the archipelago with the knowledge that they will die before uncovering even a fraction of the region’s mysteries. This is why it is the perfect location for Nytefall, which has claimed one of the hardest to reach islands. Sitting at the tip of the serpent’s right fang, the common way to reach the nameless island is to ride a narrow ocean current that begins at the tail and curves around the outer edge of the crescent moon. It is easy to move off-course and get lost due to the many sharp turns, sea monsters, and pirates that make it one of the most harrowing paths in the world. It is impossible to return to the path without going back to the starting point of the entire journey, which is why the island has become a fading legend to the mortals. The only other way to reach Nytefall by ship instead of magic is with the help of halflings who have become Dawn Fangs, but all of them know that such an act of betrayal would result in their destruction.
The island’s coast is split between a rocky side to the east and a palm tree forest to the west, a few odd conifers found in the middle. A cloak of morning fog lingers around the treetops and the interior resembles an open field of gas-spewing sunflowers. The permanent illusion hides the growing city of Nytefall, which is a messy collection of architectural styles. A fortified castle with a moat sits on a small rise in the middle, the remains of a front door hanging off rusty hinges. The broken shell of a large keep sits in the middle of the complex, the two halves having been transformed into two long structures. Each one shoved into the back wall, a series of cabins run up to the top and are connected by canopied ladders. The buildings around the undefended fortress share its simple aesthetic with peaked rooftops and turrets. It is when you get further away from the central structure that you find homes and businesses built to resemble the popular styles of the owners’ hometowns. Colorful flower buildings are sitting next to enormous tents while the marketplace is a spiraling collection of stalls, single-story shops, and hidden trapdoors that lead to subterranean storehouses. It is common to find two statues next to each other and not matching, both artists refusing to give up their claim to the spot. Regardless of the chaotic look of the city, there is an air of unity and calmness as the Dawn Fangs go about their business or lounge on the rooftops.
Perhaps the only uncomfortable resident of Nytefall, is the man people praise and cheer whenever he steps outside. Clyde watches his city from the highest cabin in the castle, which he has tried to turn into a throne room. Banners hang low from the ceiling to the point where they have to be pushed out of the way by Titus whenever the towering vampire moves. The open windows make the decorations more of a hazard as a strong breeze knocks them into people’s faces, which inevitably leads to them getting torn down. A suit of dented armor sits in the corner, the platemail having been worn once by Clyde in an attempt to resemble the king he thought he should be. Now, it collects dust until the Dawn Fang progenitor needs something to casually beat on out of frustration and boredom. Sitting up straight in a throne he stole from a nearby ruler, the vampire adjusts his furry robe and brushes his shoulder-length hair as he looks down on his two friends. Seeing that Luther is still wearing his dusty traveling clothes and has twigs sticking out of his red hair, Clyde is tempted to send the forest tracker away for a bath. His mouth opens to make the snobby demand, but the noise comes out a gurgling growl and he ends up slumping in the chair that he swears could double as a torture device.
“Didn’t you used to have a table in here?” Titus asks while looking around the room. He follows his friend’s angry scowl to a faint outline in the wall, which still reeks of sawdust and glue. “You really need to get out of Nytefall for a day or two. Last thing we want is you snapping and destroying everything we’ve created. By the way, you look like an idiot in that robe. I say this as your friend, adviser, and top General. Probably a good thing Mab didn’t come with me or she’d never let you live this down. Just stick to the black shirt and pants because color really isn’t your thing.”
“So, Mab came back,” Clyde says, ignoring everything else that was said. He stands and takes one step before his robe catches on the throne, the sudden pull nearly choking him. “Stupid thing needs to be stabbed, burned, and fed to an incontinent dragon! So, what did you two have to report? If this is about losing the hidden port then I know and figured it was bound to happen at some point. I’m sure we’ll find another way to get supplies. We turned a new mapper and a pirate captain last month, so they should be able to find us some new locations. By the way, I had to eliminate three of our people because they were raiding the surrounding islands for food. Let’s be a little more careful about who we recruit. Although, I guess we can lengthen the training period for new Dawn Fangs since Gregorio keeps sending me messages about wanting more company. Is this how a royal meeting is supposed to go?”
“I think so, but it doesn’t feel natural for us,” Luther answers with a smile. Taking the robe off Clyde’s back, he throws it out the window and leans against the creaky wall. “We appreciate you taking this leadership position seriously, but you’re worrying us. Don’t try to be something you’re not since it’s the gang leader and thief we chose to follow in the first place. Before you get your hopes up, I’m not saying I have anything for you to get involved in. I do have a report, but there isn’t enough information to act on. All I ask is that you don’t run off and cause another Widowhorn incident.”
With a tired sigh, the black-clothed leader of Nytefall returns to his throne and takes a seat on the arm. “You split one mountain peak in half and people never let you forget it. In my defense, I was there to relax and those mortals jumped me. Something about being too close to a garden and accusing me of following some ancient evil. I would have left them alone if they didn’t start throwing spells and trying to behead me. That being said, I will admit that I probably went too far and should have held back a smidge. I know I asked all of you to make sure I don’t go too far, but I feel like a prisoner here.”
“But we only said you couldn’t go on missions or into battle,” Titus points out, his mouth full of bread. Swallowing the fluffy bite whole, he offers the last of the loaf to his friends who politely decline the drool-dripping snack. “There’s no reason for you to avoid traveling around Windemere. Just be careful if you do because either Xavier or a new enemy is up to something. I don’t mean the port attack, but there have been strange events going on. Dawn Fangs on Ralian are breaking into song or mumbling incoherently with no discernable cause. It goes away after a few minutes, but it has our
people worried. Bob is out there investigating since it happened to him, which is why he couldn’t join us.”
“Possibly a psychic attack or one of Kai’s enslavement experiments,” Luther interjects, the forest tracker calmly straddling a chair. Drawing his twin sickles, he gently rubs them against the rags that hang from his belt. “My news is more mysterious and I’m only sharing it in the hopes that you two have some insight. Vampires have been disappearing on Ralian. Not Dawn Fangs, but the old-world ones. I have been keeping my eyes on them as much as possible in case Xavier orders them to attack us, but most of them are gone. It was typically during a hunt and there are signs of an attack. Some may have been destroyed by holy magic while others were shredded by wild animals. I would normally believe that Duragians and beasts are the cause without there being a connection, but this feels different. Almost like these vampires are being targeted without the usual public declaration.”
“Could have a few rogue Dawn Fangs out there.”
“I thought so too, but I did a search and all of our numbers are accounted for.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“True . . . I simply don’t want us to start fighting amongst ourselves.”
“If the killers are Dawn Fangs then they might have a good reason.”
“At least these attacks haven’t been noticed by the mortals. What do you think, Clyde?”
Walking to the front door, the Dawn Fang progenitor kicks the entire wall out of the cabin and takes a seat on the edge. He dangles his corn-shaped necklace in front of his face, the ugly bauble catching the light. Waving for his friends to join him, he lies down and stares at the rafters where he has set potted flowers to add some color to the room. Having no idea how to care for the plants, many of them have wilted and are nothing more than dried stems. He watches as Titus takes a seat against the left-hand wall and Luther transforms into a raven, the bird’s tail feathers having a faint red tint. Enjoying the fresh air and drifting sounds of Nytefall, Clyde lets the silence linger and thinks about what the Vengeance Hounds have uncovered. He bares his fangs at the thought of traveling to Ralian and taking care of the problem himself. The urge becomes even stronger when he considers that it could pit him against Xavier Tempest, his former ally and hated enemy having escaped his grasp for over a decade. Rubbing his arms, the Dawn Fang remembers the pain of trying to enter Nyte once the powerful wards were erected to block his people. He knows that if he was anyone else, the potent spells would have torn him apart, which is why he has forbidden the others from going anywhere near their former home and held to the law himself.
Lost (War of Nytefall Book 2) Page 2
