by Jesse Teller
They turned a corner to see Tristan standing in a room with a glass of blood in his hands. Beside him lounged a beautiful woman, pale in complexion and slight of form. Her hair was a warm rich auburn, her eyes pale and dangerous.
Standing in the corner waited Jetula, and at her feet the angry boy she had in captivity. His face had been slashed open and stitched hastily back together.
“So, Ivoryfist has found us,” Kat drawled. “Come to do what you couldn’t do before, have you?”
“Yes, milady, I am here to kill you both.”
She lifted a glass and drank slowly of the blood within the goblet. Her mouth pinkened before returning to milk white.
Rayph stepped forward, and Tristan stepped between them. “As you can see, Rayph, I am not ready for a confrontation with you,” she said. “If you would, be a dear and deal with my Tristan first. I will feed on your holy woman and be ready for your ire.”
Kat rose and slipped behind Tristan, turning her attention toward Dissonance. The holy warrior held her spear before her, closed her eyes, and murmured a prayer.
Rayph turned to Tristan, who slowly peeled off his shirt. His chest, from his throat to his waist, had been flayed of all skin. The tacky blood stretched in sticky lines as he slid his fingers and palms across the meat of his chest and pulled forth a bloody hand.
Tristan rushed forward faster than a blink of an eye. But Rayph was ready for him. The man’s bloody hand came within a breath of touching Rayph before a sudden swipe with Rayph’s sword severed the hand from the arm. Tristan screamed as he leapt back. The vampiress turned away from Dissonance, to her lover, and howled an unearthly sound that chilled Rayph’s blood and brought him near to panic.
The boy bound at Jetula’s feet screamed and thrashed against his chains and roared, “Free me! I can help!”
Jetula slapped the boy’s face and wrapped him in an embrace. In two jumps, she had made it to the window and was gone.
Dissonance thrust, catching Kat in the neck with the Ironwood spear. Kat screamed and pulled back. Tristan retreated to the corner of the room, and Rayph followed. Kat made to attack Rayph from behind, but Dissonance swiped her spear low with a word of prayer, slicing deep into Kat’s thigh. The vampiress spun and rushed at Dissonance with the speed of a pouncing tiger. Dissonance drove the butt of her spear into the floor and Kat impaled herself on it. She screamed as the Ironwood spear entered her gut. The doors burst open. Four monstrous vampires rushed in. They looked insane and vile beyond reason. They dropped to all fours and sprang forward.
Rayph closed on Tristan as the man bled. Rayph spoke a word. The air in front of him warped and shimmered. He grasped out, catching the handle of the shield as it formed in the air. Tristan swiped his stump at Rayph, throwing a gout of blood, and Rayph ducked behind his shield.
Kat screamed as she pulled the spear out of her gut. She backhanded Dissonance, tossing her away to the feet of the encroaching vampires. Dissonance flipped to her feet, noticing at once she had lost her weapon.
Kat threw Dissonance’s spear at Rayph. It caught him in the thigh, and Rayph screamed. Kat erupted into a boiling mist that rolled across the floor, stopping before Tristan. She grasped him tight in her arms and leapt out the window with him.
Rayph turned slowly, fighting to pull the spear from his thigh. He attempted to put pressure on it, but the leg folded under him. Dissonance rolled back, putting herself between Rayph and the vampires. She pulled the spear of her god from her side and held it to the left as it grew from a hand-sized grip to a full-length spear.
Dissonance closed her eyes, praying. The vampires rushed forward, and Dissonance’s spear was a blur. In seconds, she chopped her enemies to pieces, taking their legs from them, then their hands, finally stabbing out their throats until they could not move.
When they fed, they would heal. Rayph couldn’t let that happen.
“Dissonance, get me up,” he groaned.
The holy warrior gripped him by the arm and pulled him up on his good leg. “We have no time,” he said. “This place is filthy with vampires. We have to get these and get out.”
“What about Smear?” Dissonance asked.
Rayph cursed. “He is cleaning up our mess. If they come back, he will be in a fix.”
“We have to give him support,” she said.
Rayph spoke a word and levitated. As blood drained from his thigh, he growled in pain. “Can you take that out and bind it?”
Dissonance jerked the Ironwood spear from his leg. She ripped a cloth from her garb and wrapped it around Rayph, tying it tight. He opened a portal to Ironfall. “Toss them in,” he said. Dissonance kicked the vampires she had mangled into the hole, and they rushed off to find Smear.
When they reached the ballroom, Rayph saw a massive, horned golem braying and chasing Smear. The monster seemed to have eyes for nothing else in the room. It rushed and swung with crippling power. Smear danced aside and cursed.
“It wants me, boss,” he said. “I’ll lead it away.” Smear rushed for the door, ducking as the golem swung. The door shattered, and Smear sprinted away. The monster brayed and followed.
Gore covered the room around them, with no bodies or sign of where anyone went.
“They are gone. We have to move,” Dissonance said.
Rayph opened a portal and went home.
They followed the sound of screams and found Dreark and Drelis in the Stalwart. Trysliana lay on a table, screaming and thrashing. Drelis fought to bandage her.
In a few short moments, Smear arrived and rushed forward. Dreark fought to hold him back.
Rayph floated to her side and gently pushed Drelis away. Rayph looked down at Trysliana’s naked body and cursed.
“Save her, Rayph. Don’t you let her die,” Smear commanded. Rayph pushed the sound away, concentrating on Trysliana.
“I can’t find a wound to bind,” Drelis said.
Rayph held his hand up over Trysliana and spoke a word. He looked down at her body, no wounds lighting up. “That’s because there isn’t one. I can’t explain it.” Rayph’s gut bunched, his skin crawled.
“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Drelis asked.
“Never. I told you all, I don’t understand Tristan’s power. I can’t tell what he did.”
“There is so much blood,” she said.
“Please, Rayph, save her. You can’t let her die,” Smear sobbed.
Rayph studied her as she seemed to sweat blood.
“Dreark, get him out of here,” Rayph said.
Dreark made to pull him away, but Smear was faster. Three solid hits and Dreark dropped in a heap. Smear rushed to Trysliana’s side and wiped an immense amount of blood from her face and mouth. He kissed her.
“Don’t die on me, Trys. Don’t go. I need you. Don’t leave me.” She raised a blood-soaked hand and gripped Smear’s. “She’s weak, Rayph, really weak,” Smear said.
“What do we do, Rayph? What is this?” Drelis asked.
Rayph looked at Trysliana again, and in a flash of insanity, realized what he was seeing. “She is sweating blood. Her body is hot to the touch. She is in fever, and as she sweats, she is sweating blood. We have to get the fever down,” Rayph said.
“I will get some water.”
“No time, she has no time left.” Rayph spoke a word and opened another portal. Harsh winter winds rushed into the room. Smear scooped Trysliana up in his arms and leapt through the portal. Rayph followed.
The sudden blistering cold stole all breath from Rayph. The blinding snow took his vision, making navigation a poor joke. Drelis slipped through the portal, and Rayph turned to them. “Drelis, I need shelter. Nothing warm, but something out of the weather.” Drelis nodded, her hair quickly coated in snow. She turned around, chanting.
“We need to get Trysliana in some clothes. She will freeze out here if we don’t,” Rayph said.
“But her fever, she will bleed to death,” Smear said.
“Without clothing, she
will die. Her fever is going to go down. There is no doubt about that, but if it drops too much...”
Smear set her down in the snow and ripped his shirt and pants off. In an instant, he was shivering to the point he could not speak. Rayph cast a spell that caused the clothes to slide onto Trysliana’s body. He turned to Smear.
“You have to get back to Ironfall and get some clothes.”
Smear tried to talk, but it appeared he couldn’t. He shook his head vigorously, and Rayph cursed. “Now, Smear. You have moments before hypothermia. Stop being stupid. I will keep up the portal. You can come back. Go now or I will force you out.”
Smear grabbed Rayph’s shoulder, putting his mouth close to Rayph’s ear, but he could not utter a sound, save the chattering of teeth.
“I know. I will take care of her. You have to go.”
Rayph pointed at Trysliana. She lifted out of the snow. He turned to the shimmering tent Drelis had summoned and moved her into it. Drelis had a small brazier for heat and light, and a cot for sleeping. Rayph set Trysliana in it and slumped to the ground. His thigh screamed. Rayph gagged back the pain.
“What happened in there?” Drelis asked.
“My crew disobeyed me and may have paid for it with Trysliana’s life,” he said.
Regrouping
Like a rag, an empty sack, Aaron was thrown to the far side of the room. He bumped and rolled to a stop, fought to shove his way to his feet. Jetula grunted as she kicked him, and he dropped again.
“Whore.” He spat but, struggle as he did, he could not force his way to his feet. He sagged on the floor as Jetula slammed the door behind her and turned to him. He grabbed ahold of a standing candelabra and jerked his way to his feet. He swayed and curled his fists, feeling no power in them at all.
The raksa dismissed him. She called in one of her underlings, speaking to the beast as Aaron turned and gripped the candelabra. He cursed its heaviness as he struggled to pick it up. If he could just get it in his hands, he could kill them all. He drew in a deep breath and lifted. He staggered under its weight and cursed.
“Whore, look at me!” he screamed.
She ignored him. He closed his eyes. He was so tired. He needed sleep so badly. He shook his head to clear it, throwing his filthy hair in a storm around his face, and he shouted, “Redfist!” He felt power in the name. He shouted it again.
He felt Peter with him then. His king, his salvation. Aaron growled, letting the strength of Peter Redfist fill his body.
The raksa turned to him and laughed.
“Look at the big man standing on his own. Look at him pulling a weapon and threatening me,” Jetula said. “You strike such fear in me, little man.” She stepped closer, leaning in to smile at him. The way her leopard lips curled made him hate all cats. “Come now, mighty warrior. Bring your wrath. Strike me dead where I stand.”
Aaron heaved with every ounce of strength he could muster. The heavy candelabra barely moved. He sobbed.
“The great warrior, the mighty Aaron the Marked. Warrior and hero of the Madness Wars. The power you command humbles me.” She laughed and turned her back on him. He dropped the weapon and stared at her with all the hate of his nation.
“Was mighty enough to slaughter your friend,” Aaron said. “Oh, and how he died. Begging, weeping, calling out for my mercy.” He spat on the ground. “But a worm like that gets no mercy. Isn’t that right?”
She swung at him with a backhand that threw him in a heap. He collapsed to the floor, and she roared. The sound of it filled him with hate. His fear burning away in the face of his weakness, he stared at her and shook his head.
“You cannot break me.” He laughed, and she scowled.
“We should tie him up, mistress,” her man said.
Aaron looked at him, pointing in his mind at all the places he would cut and break and attack to reduce this man to naught but muscle and bone.
“I like him crawling,” she said. “Our mistress will never let him gain his strength again. Let him plot and devise. I will watch him crawl and enjoy the display.’”
The man nodded. Aaron slumped to the floor. When he made his move, he needed to be as rested as possible. She had just made her second mistake.
The door banged open, and Aaron rolled to his side. He did not fight his way to his feet. He simply lay on his side, looking up as Tristan stormed into the room.
Jetula turned to him and grinned from her throne. “Master,” she drawled, “How good to see you.”
“Get to your feet when I walk into the room, servant,” Tristan snapped.
Aaron saw Tristan’s arm cut off at the elbow, and he grinned. “You remind me of a guy I used to know,” Aaron said. “Big, burly, and black, furry,” Aaron said. “Had a tendency to misplace his limbs.”
The room went quiet. Jetula jumped to her feet. She stomped over to Aaron and slashed at his face. Aaron rolled back, and Tristan shouted.
“Leave him be! His blood is strengthening your mistress. You will not spill a drop of it in your wrath.”
Jetula snarled. Aaron grinned at her. “Maybe next time,” he said.
“Bring your prisoner. Bring the army we left you with. We are moving into the main castle,” Tristan said. “We can protect you there.”
“I don’t need your protection, and you need me out here,” Jetula said. “Since the attack of the Manhunters, the streets have been rumbling. The vampires that can think have started worrying about your ability to defend us, or even yourself. Word is that you ran from Rayph Ivoryfist. Is that true?”
Tristan curled his hand into a knot of bone and muscle and snapped his teeth shut.
“I need to keep my post here. I need to be your ears on the streets,” she said. “Think it through.”
“You are coming with me. If we do choose to leave you out here, then we will have to leave you with more guards. You will need to come before Kat, and you will need to be taught a lesson,” Tristan said. “Your insolence is unacceptable,” Tristan pointed at Aaron. “Bring him. We will need more of his blood.”
Jetula turned to Aaron who slumped to the ground. She stomped to his side and kicked him. He rolled. He flexed his hands. After the last three days of lying still and moving very little, he had recovered much of his strength. He forced a sob and lifted his arms only to drop them in mock defeat.
Tristan walked out, and Jetula kicked him again. “Get to your feet,” she said.
He fought to rise, and she laughed. “The great Aaron the Marked, what have you been calling yourself?” She nudged him with her toe, laughing.
“Executioner of the Nation of Four.”
“Yes, the mighty arm of justice for the Redfist king.” She chuckled to herself. “Useless after days of resting. You are dying a death slow and wasting.” She laughed. “I see it is humbling you.”
Aaron hated to do it, but he lowered his head and let out a sob. Jetula laughed. And beneath his filthy bangs, Aaron smiled.
She made one of her men carry him to the castle of the city. Kat had decided to take up residency in the Poison King’s home, and the lord had stepped aside, showing no resistance. Jetula was brought before Kat. The vampire queen smiled at Aaron.
The party was in full swing that night, vampires from all over the city coming to dance and drink and engage in excess and debauchery.
Kat wanted Aaron there. She had summoned Jetula for the night. Aaron looked around him at over a hundred vampires, and his heart nearly froze on him. He very well might have been the only living man here, except for Tristan, and he fought hard against the panic that rose within him.
“My banquet is here,” she said, clapping her delicate hands together. “Bring him forward.”
Aaron was relieved to be set away from the stench of the beast carrying him, but he dropped to the ground as they brought the goblet and the knife closer. Aaron snarled up at Kat.
“One last drink to fill your belly, huh?” he said.
“Oh, dear boy, I will drink of you for months,
for years to come. You are a vintage of hate I cannot let run dry. Your blood strengthens me like no other.” She stood and looked fuller and more powerful than ever before. “This blood I have been drinking has restored me, but your blood brought me to power, such power I was able to fight my enemies and save my love. One rich goblet of your hate, and I could fight. I will be drinking you for days, and by the time I face them again, I will be a goddess.”
“Well, goddess, I have sour news for you. I have been drained every night since I left your side. I am as near death as I was before, if not worse, and I will die if you take any more. The world is hanging close to the abyss for me now. So enjoy your last tap of this keg.”
Kat stood and crossed the floor in a blink. She had Jetula on her knees, her claws back. “I commanded no mouth taste him but my own. You will suffer for your disobedience!”
“He lies,” Jetula said. “He is rotten to the bone. He can only lie and connive.”
“Please kill her, but it is not her fault,” Aaron said.
Kat pulled her hand back and looked at Aaron.
“See, I knew I should have waited until you struck her dead. As much as I want this whore dead, it was not her mouth that drank of me.” Aaron looked around at Jetula’s men, finding the one he hated the most. He lifted a drooping hand and pointed at him. “It was him. He snuck into her chambers after she had left me, to drain me a bit and drink me.”
The man stumbled back and shook his head. “I did no such thing.”
Jetula jumped to her feet, swiping her hand out fast. She connected with the man’s throat, and he dropped to the ground. Vampires rushed from every corner of the room to feast on the man’s blood.
Aaron laughed at the raksa’s desperate effort to win back favor from her mistress.
Kat stooped to look Aaron in the eye. “Until you gain your strength back then. Like I said,” she patted his cheek and walked away. “Can’t lose you. Come, Jetula, I must talk with you,” Kat said.
Jetula kicked Aaron, and he crawled along behind them. They exited the room by way of a door to the left. The door was thrown open, and Jetula gasped. Aaron crawled to the edge of a balcony looking out over a great dining hall. The room was large the way a courtyard was large, the way a valley was large. Aaron looked down between the bars of the balcony’s banister. Thousands of vampires. They were mad with blood frenzy and feeding on everything they could. Commoners—men, women, and children—screamed as they were torn apart, the vampires filling with blood.
