Lost (War of Nytefall Book 2)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “You know the rule. If Bob talks coherently and makes sense then we have to listen,” Mab declares while putting an arm around the vampiric elf’s shoulders. She jumps away when he tries to put a sugar cube in her mouth, the treat dripping a light green liquid. “One a day is enough for me. Don’t want to get spoiled. So, we have a general idea of where Lost went, but felt that you would want a report before things went any further. Bob also thought that you could come along since she might be scared of the two of us. Only other person who is free is Titus and my little brother is rather imposing when you first see him.”

  “Also, Chastity told us to get you out of Nytefall because you’re whining like a petulant child,” the lanky elf bluntly adds.

  “That actually sounds more believable than making me the friendly one,” Clyde admits as he leads the way to a distant door. Stopping at the entrance, he looks around to make sure his memory is right and he is not entering another closet. “So, the plan is to return to where you lost her trail and search from there. Being a vampire, I assume she’s going to travel to the nearest village for food. Hopefully, she knows not to kill when eating. Chances of that are good since it sounds like she was born of the fang. Those don’t have the same predatory habits as those made by my blood. Without a path of destruction, she’s going to be very hard to find, but I did want a challenge. You know, I think I’m feeling better about being in charge already. I’d prefer a battle, but a hunt is just as good, especially if the target is as elusive as you say this girl is supposed to be.”

  “We have a really big problem, Clyde!” Luther shouts, the exhausted Dawn Fang arriving in his raven form. Diving into the courtyard, he transforms and staggers a few steps in order to grip the wall for support. “An entire village was destroyed and people are saying vampire-like creatures were responsible. It’s hard to tell because there are only a few survivors and all of them appear to have been driven insane by torture. Still, three mentioned Dawn Fangs by name before going comatose. Chastity is already putting out false information to discredit them, but we need to investigate. The only thing I can say for sure is someone named Lost was involved in the massacre.”

  With a guttural growl, Clyde strikes the door and sends it flying from its hinges, the cracked wood clattering to the floor. Red mist rises from the top of his head, but he quickly regains control of his temper and cuts off his Lord’s Rage. Seeing the worried expression on Bob’s face, the annoyed Dawn Fang stops himself from jumping to the conclusion that Lost must be executed. Getting absorbed by his own thoughts, Clyde puts up no resistance when Mab takes him by the wrist and sinks into the shadows where the dimension of floating monsters awaits them. To both of their surprise, none of the horrifying creatures dare to come near, their keen senses picking up on the barely restrained bloodlust that is looking for the slightest reason to be unleashed.

  *****

  Standing in front of the smoldering ruins that used to be a Garian Temple, Clyde cannot shake the idea that he is missing an important clue. Having created an illusion of the destruction a few miles away to distract the Serabian military, the vampire is sure that they have enough time to do a thorough investigation. Even without being rushed, he still finds himself wanting to get the search done as quickly as possible. The stench of death has no effect on him, but it is the torn down buildings and trampled animals that send a chill down his spine. Having been the perpetrator of several rampages himself, the Dawn Fang cannot shake a sense of inhuman sadism that wafts from the carnage. Clyde walks through the rest of the town that was once known as Crivet and makes sure to examine every corpse. Most of them have been reduced to meat by multiple stab wounds while a chosen few have been hung up by their ankles. Getting closer to the foul-smelling bodies, he finds that those singled out for a torturous death are all priests and priestesses. One young woman in particular has been strapped to the crossbeam of a central well, her flesh stripped off and left dangling from her feet. Disgusted by the act of cruelty, Clyde yanks the corpse out of its bonds and does his best to put it back together before placing it in a pile of shredded blankets.

  Waving to Mab, who is checking the highest points of the wreckage, he makes his way to the far side of town. Trampled ground and scattered garbage have replaced the first quarter mile of trees, which have been reduced to uneven stumps. Four circles of stones taken from the destroyed buildings have been partially buried, the inside of each one a swirled mix of dirt and ashes. Picking up a partially eaten turkey leg, Clyde watches as a line of red-tinted drool falls from the tip. Hiding his disgust, he throws it as far away as possible and heads to where he sees Bob and Luther. He can already tell that the pair are having one of their usual arguments, so he takes his time walking through the garbage. Stepping on what he thinks is a safe spot, the vampire’s leg sinks into a hidden hole and he yanks it free to find that it is now covered in shimmering blood. There is an acrid stench to the liquid and his fingers tingle when he touches the sticky muck.

  “Please tell me one of you has an explanation,” Clyde declares as he hops the rest of the way. He takes off his defiled boot to find that the sole is partially melted, so he quickly tears off the muck-covered part of his pants. “Is this an acid mixed with blood? There’s no reason for these things to be combined unless it’s a vampire trap. I’ll add that to the list of things that make no sense here.”

  “Maybe this Lost person secretes a preservation acid and she hid some victims to feed on in an emergency,” Luther suggests with a shrug. Picking up Clyde’s discarded pantleg with his sickle, he drapes it over a rotting piece of meat to see what happens. “It breaks flesh and bone down pretty quickly, which disproves my theory. Not that a vampire couldn’t drink the blood after cleaning it, but I’ve seen this acid before. Dawn Fangs who make a living off selling bottled blood use it to get a purer product. From what I’ve been told, this girl doesn’t seem the type to be in that kind of business. It looks like this was done to destroy evidence instead of harvesting too, which is disconcerting. I still think it is strange that this massacre is around the place you ran into her.”

  “I told you this couldn’t have been her,” Bob insists while he tends to his steed. The bat-winged horse whinnies as he runs a comb through its thinning mane. “Lost seemed more curious and nervous to cause so much destruction. Besides, the Garians have been friendly towards us and kept our secret all this time. They’d never antagonize a Dawn Fang, which is the only reason I would think of her going berserk. We should ask that talking raven to get another look around the area. Where did he go, Luther?”

  “For the last time, that’s me!”

  “I’m still not used to your powers.”

  “Even after seventeen years?”

  “That isn’t much for vampires.”

  “I transformed into a raven all the time prior to becoming a Dawn Fang.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t live in the past.”

  “Why must you poke at my sanity on a daily basis?”

  “To make sure it’s still there?”

  Clyde claps his hands to make a deafening boom that startles and silences his bickering friends. “As entertaining as this is, we need to focus. Someone in that Serabian army is going to see through my illusion at some point and we better be gone by then. Now, I agree with Bob that this doesn’t seem like the work of one Dawn Fang. Our people are powerful, but only a handful of us can dole out this much destruction on our own. This kid doesn’t sound like she’s been around long enough to be at that level. Also, there’s a sense of brutality here that doesn’t match the girl I was told about. This much rage and aggression doesn’t match someone who would run away. If this was her then I’d expect Lost to have attacked Bob and then Mab. No, this is something else entirely.”

  “This was a targeted massacre,” Luther states, his voice faint enough to betray his own doubt. Snapping his fingers, he rushes out of town to the nearest ring of stones and scoops up the sooty ground. “Actually, this could be random and these people we
re in the wrong place at the wrong time. There are bone fragments here, so some bodies were thrown into the fires. I’ve seen corpses disposed of using so many different techniques at once that I can only think of two possibilities. First is a murderer with centuries of experience who is either showing off or doing this out of boredom. The other is an army of murderers, each with their own style. All of the food and riches were taken, so it could also be bandits and we’ve been overthinking this. The Dawn Fangs and Lost connections could be coincidental.”

  “How did you say that with a straight face?” Bob asks, his head cocked to the side. Pulling a pair of dirt-covered pants out of a saddlebag, he throws the garment to Clyde and politely turns his back. “Let’s be positive here. This wasn’t done by Duragians or hunters, so we don’t have to worry about another war with them. It could be old-world vampires trying to frame us. I don’t know how Lost fits into this though. Could an enemy have run into her and think she’d make a perfect scapegoat?”

  “A Dawn Fang with very little knowledge about how we operate would be useful for our enemies,” Clyde admits as he finishes getting dressed. Glancing at the town, he barely makes out Mab bouncing and waving on a distant rooftop. “I think she found something. Looks like she jumped off and landed near the well. There was a body strung up there with a lot more attention than any of the others. I thought it was a high priestess that these people wanted to turn into a message for other mortals. Guess I was wrong.”

  Hurrying back into the town, the three Dawn Fangs walk more carefully when they see that Mab’s eyes have turned black. She is whispering in a low voice and occasionally flails at an invisible figure behind her. With an angry growl, she whirls around and hisses at whatever has her annoyed. Muttering apologies and holding up her hands, she goes back to speaking to a spirit that only she can hear. Her insistent tone gets harsher and she becomes less coherent to her friends, who stay on the opposite side of the well. They jump back when putrid water bubbles out of the opening and flows over the edge, the liquid receding after Mab hastily utters a few soothing words. With a final curse, the burglar gives up on talking to the spirit she had cornered and goes to the well. Spotting a balled piece of parchment in the ejected muck, she picks it up and hears a distant sucking in of air as if someone is nervous. Carefully unfolding the paper, she ignores the feeble begging for her to throw the picture back into the well.

  “Is this what Lost looks like?” Mab asks, handing the torn piece to Bob. A gust of wind yanks it from her fingers and it is carried over the broken buildings. “This spirit is determined to hide something from us. She was a priestess in the Garian Temple and says Lost was here looking for her father. Our target . . . Sorry, our runaway Dawn Fang left within minutes of this strange army appearing. Some guy named Archillious is leading a couple hundred people in search of Lost. The spirit doesn’t know why and won’t tell me where either of them went. She thinks we’re enemies even though we’re Dawn Fangs too.”

  “Figures that an army of mortals did this and we take the blame,” Clyde mutters with a short snarl. Walking to an overturned house, he scratches his head before lifting the crumbling structure with one hand. “Did that spirit mention if this Archillious or any of his people have strength enhancement relics? This building wasn’t flipped by a spell or tools. I can see dents that resemble grip marks in a few places. I would say about three people worked together to destroy this house.”

  “That would explain one of the few things the spirit said when it wasn’t rambling about the pain and that we’d never find Lost,” the burglar claims as she checks a crumpled store. Climbing to the center of the wreckage, she finds deep sets of footprints in the middle of the collapsed rooftop. “Going by your theory, this one was taken out by five people jumping on it like kids on a bed. She told me that this army wasn’t made of vampires, but they weren’t mortal. At first, she and the other Garians thought they were Dawn Fangs because they ate food and Archillious held her close enough to catch his heartbeat. It was when the massacre really picked up that she realized these people lacked fangs and could be injured. They called themselves the Utukku and were pretty strong. Could someone have made half-vampires? Not sure how Lost would fit into that since Bob is sure she is a real Dawn Fang.”

  “It’s possible someone used blood, parts, or aura from Lost to make these Utukku,” Luther says as he changes into his raven form. Perching on top of the well, the vampire licks at the air to pick up any lingering emotions. “There was a lot of fear and anger here, but it’s been too long for me to get anything more than that. Wait, I taste a slight undertone of glee coming from a single source. This Archillious if I’m not mistaken. We should be careful of him since he could prove to be a very sadistic individual. I would even say he’s the most bloodthirsty and unhinged creature we’ve ever faced and that’s saying a lot.”

  “Then we really need to find this Lost,” Clyde declares, his voice quickly losing its strength and energy. Gazing at the sun, he finds that his mind is practically blank and there is a stiffness in his shoulders. “Things might be too dangerous for us to go wandering by ourselves. Bob and Luther will check to the east, which is the most likely path that the army took since the Serabians didn’t find them. Don’t let these Utukku see you, but try to get around in case they’re following Lost. Mab will go back to Nytefall and get Titus. You two will search in the opposite direction in case she pulled a fast one and got away without this army seeing her.”

  “Where are you going?” Mab asks, her face barely able to hide her frustration.

  “The place I also go to when I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Tell Gregorio we say hi then.”

  *****

  Clyde stops when he comes to the gaping entrance of Gregorio Roman’s lair, which is fringed by glowing mushrooms. Thinking he is at the wrong location, the vampire does a handstand and covers his right eye to see through a complicated illusion that he has not had to check for in centuries. A message telling him that he is not lost appears above a ledge where a mountain lion is tending to her cub. The words vanish as soon as Clyde rolls back to his feet and walks into the home of his eccentric maker. He feels a ticklish sensation run along his veins until he reaches the top of a stairwell, which he gingerly tests with a foot. Finding no illusions, he shrugs and continues on at as slow a pace as his impatience allows. Expecting his steps to be interrupted by a slide, the vampire is unnerved at the sight of Gregorio’s lab abruptly looming out of the darkness. The disorienting effect gives Clyde a headache and he is barely able to notice the frail, old gnome standing amid the collection of long tables. The inventor stands with his arms behind his back, the stance causing his simple robe to open a little at the front. Due to spending years in his sunless lair, he keeps a pair of tinted goggles on top of his bald head in case he has to go outside.

  “What happened to the security, old fang?” Clyde asks, his maker’s silence making him uncomfortable. He takes a few more steps into the room and checks for illusions, but continues to find nothing suspicious. “For that matter, where are all the new turns who are supposed to be training here? I know you’re probably annoyed that I’ve only talked through portals instead of visiting for the last year, but I’ve been busy. That’s why I brought a box of vanilla beans, which you said you wanted to try. Mind saying something, old fang? Do I have to remind you that I’m Clyde? Thought you were over these games where you guilt me into something. Bet you wouldn’t do this if it was Nadia. By the way, I still don’t know how you’re managing to remain neutral during this war.”

  Seeing Gregorio open his arms wide for a hug, Clyde sighs and goes in for a friendly embrace. He is halfway to the gnome when the floor sinks beneath his feet and every table collapses like they are flimsy extensions of the ground. As if he is standing on a large tarp that has been stretched over a chasm, the vampire plummets with the stone-colored fabric folding around him. Struggling to escape, he repeatedly bangs into the walls of what he assumes is a long shaft. The bl
ows are not enough to tear the fake floor, which gently ties itself off at the top to trap the growling Dawn Fang. Making sure to use only a fraction of his strength, Clyde tries to punch his way out and curses at how it feels like he has struck solid stone. He is about to strike with all of his power when he hits the beginning of a slide and he chaotically rolls along for a few minutes before getting launched off a ramp. He hits the ceiling, which is sticky enough to catch the fabric and hold it in place. The tarp billows up to release the vampire, who falls into a pool of warm water that is similar to a hot spring, but smells of vanilla. Standing up, Clyde hears a few screams and looks around to notice five Dawn Fangs who were bathing before his surprising entrance. He ignores their terrified expressions and heads for a door, which swings open before he can touch the handle.

  “What do you think of my new security system?” Gregorio asks, handing his favorite son a towel. He turns on his booted heels to lead the way into his busy lair, which is filled with hard-working Dawn Fangs. “The mushrooms were created by a young man who can make a variety of fungi with different functions. If put around an entrance, they make it visible to a vampire and hide it from mortals. The fake floor was a creation of the halfling over there, but she’s trying to find a way to make it more durable. For now, her fabric alterations make for some interesting traps. You might be wondering why you couldn’t see through the fake me. It wasn’t an illusion, but a projection of the real me from all the way down here. Dawn Fang twins did that with one hiding in an alcove upstairs and the other in the lair. Rather surprised they got the drop on you, my son. I’m going to miss having so many people here, but I guess times were bound to change on me again.”