The Present
If there had ever been a road leading to the estate, it was long since gone.
There was a small path towards some of the farms north of the city, but the area was only sparsely populated. When she passed an inhabited place, everyone quickly shut and bolted their door. However, most of the structures she passed were gutted by fire or otherwise abandoned. Soon these became less frequent, and then Vero was marching through wilderness.
As she traveled further and further the snowfall became heavier. It was still autumn, but already cold enough to chill her to the bone, and freeze piss at once when she stopped to make water.
She had invested in thick winter clothes. It was enough to keep her alive, but not comfortable.
The cold was not so disconcerting, however, as the silence.
Past the last farms there were no longer birds or animals of any kind. She could not even hear the howl of wolves at night, and she knew the silence must be influencing her when she found herself wishing for that kind of company.
All there was to listen to were the frequent gusts of wind, which sometimes played tricks with her mind, and made her believe there was someone unseen calling to her.
The Von Richlaus resided in a castle built on a high hill, surrounded by mostly flat terrain. It was hard to tell how impressive it might have been when it was whole and occupied.
The top of the tower had collapsed inwards. When she got closer, she found the remains of a wall which was stripped for its stone a long time ago. The old oak doors that led into the great hall hung off their hinges. The house showed all the signs of having been looted, and Vero’s heart began to sink.
She stepped inside.
The hall was empty except for the fallen rafters she stepped over, and snowdrifts blowing in through the shattered windows. At the back of the hall was the entrance to the tower. She left her bag by the old hearth, where she intended to camp for the night, and continued on.
The base of the tower held the traces of a firepit, and was probably a kitchen. It was difficult to determine, because all the implements were taken away long ago.
Rotten wooden stairs led up. There was a ceiling over her, so there had to be at least one intact level between her and the collapsed roof. Vero conducted a quick working to lighten her steps – out in the hall, so that the alteration of physical laws would not risk collapsing the tower on top of her – and trod very carefully as she climbed upwards.
The stairs creaked ominously, but they held her weight and took her into a solarium.
This room was also stripped bare, aside from a faded mural painted directly onto the wall. It was a pleasant idyllic view of a horizon, which looked like it came from the top of the tower on a bright and sunny day. Vero believed the mountains should be painted higher on the horizon, but that may have been a stylistic choice on the part of the artist.
The stairs also continued upwards to another level; Vero took them.
She arrived at what she supposed was the family bedroom, but the roof’s collapse exposed it to the elements. Everything there had been either stolen or blown away by the wind. She looked for something, anything left behind that might have given her journey there some purpose.
There was nothing.
Just the empty home of a dead family.
She went back into the solarium and slumped down against the wall. She held her knees and shivered against the cold stone. She considered crying, but laughed bitterly instead.
All this way, and all this time, for nothing.
Vero stayed curled up for a long time.
She watched the bright sun and clear sky in the mural until, slowly, she began to feel better.
Eventually, she decided that she would go down into the main hall and make camp before dark. At least she would have some shelter to rest in before starting back towards Burgorad in the morning. She stood up to leave.
And then stopped.
The day in the mural was clear, and – very small – on the tip of one of the furthest mountains… there was a tower.
She went upstairs again.
The visibility in the snow and fog was far too low to make out anything at that distance, and the line of the mountains was definitely rendered for style rather than realism. Still, by using her map and the position of Burgorad as reference, she was able to mark the tower’s approximate location.
It would only take a day or two longer to investigate, perhaps up to a week, if the going became rougher as she went up the valley.
She returned to ground level in high spirits, until one of the steps broke under her and sent her crashing the rest of the way to the bottom. She was far enough down already that her injuries were slight, but as soon as she had landed, she heard a terrible rumbling above her.
Vero scrambled out of the tower moments before the entire remainder of the staircase finally buckled and smashed itself into massive deadly splinters just behind her.
She made certain that she was safe and whole.
Once she discovered she was not seriously wounded, Vero collected some suitable pieces of the former staircase to try building a fire and shoring up her shelter with. With some warmth, she finished laying out her camp and ate supper.
After her meal she finished her preparations for the night, and then finally slipped into her bedroll to sleep.
Vero was awakened by the presence of another in the hall as he crossed her wards. She made no noise, or sign of waking, and waited for the intruder to come closer.
The vampyre was so certain he was hidden from her by his powers of illusion, he did not bother to hide himself through mundane means of stealth. When he was nearly on top of her, she could hear him muttering to himself. “Stupid fool… think I couldn’t track him here…? Hate to come out so far… have to pay you back…”
Vero pulled off her blanket and sprung her trap before the vampyre knew what had happened. Her crossbow bolt took the thing directly in the chest and it fell backwards, dropping its broadsword to the ground with a loud clang as it did so.
She got up with her sword and stood over it. The vampyre was the same which attacked her in the city. Its body was still covered in burns, yet to heal. Its face had just enough time to register a moment of complete surprise, before being frozen in rigor mortis by the wooden bolt in its heart.
Vero cut it off at the neck.
She checked the body for valuables, but found nothing. She brought the remains over to the fire, stoked it up, and watched them burn to ashes.
She was disturbed from her reverie when she felt another creature cross her ward.
A short dark figure stood in the entrance to the great hall. “Dame Veronique de Loix, may I enter?”
“I don’t think this house has a master to grant you entrance any longer.”
“It does. It’s myself, truthfully. Although I haven’t been home in decades. You seem to be sleeping here at the moment however, and I prefer to never enter a lady’s bedchamber without her permission.”
“Enter then.”
Von Richlau, or at least the creature claiming his name, stepped forwards. Closer to the light, Vero could see that he was wearing a rich ermine cloak clasped with gold. His features were hawkish and imperious, but he was only as tall as her shoulder. His hair was dark but very thin, like a man on the cusp of becoming bald.
“I know who you are, Dame Veronique de Loix-”
The Landgrave pronounced her name and title very slowly. Perhaps he thought she had not noticed him say it the first time.
“-and what you’re capable of. What I don’t know is how you learned about this place. Would you enlighten me, my Lady?”
“No.” Vero avoided his eyes and watched his posture.
“Please, at least consider cooperating with me. That man-”
Vero resisted the natural impulse to turn her head and follow the direction of his out stretched finger. She knew he was pointing at the pile of ashes in the fire.
“-was a fool. I could have eliminated him myself, but I wanted to give him to you- as a gift.” He smiled. “A sign of my goodwill. I have no more in common with a simple assassin like him… then you have with a peasant in the field. There are many fools like him I count among my enemies…”
“Come to the point.”
“When I heard stories about a female slayer, who dressed as a man, and had an affair with the new Marquis de Fer- ha! I presumed you were a charlatan or a madwoman. You southerners do produce both with some frequency. Now that you stand before me, I can see that – whatever accident of birth brought you into this world – you are truly noble in bearing. I believe the Marquis was very right to grant you rank.”
“Did you come here to court me, Landgrave?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’ve watched you very closely these past weeks. The fool came to me first when he discovered you attempting to infiltrate the cathedral. Don’t worry- I made certain he told no one other than me about your presence in the north. My plans require you to remain an unknown factor to the other elders for the time being. Especially that bastard with Imperial pretentions on the other side of the mountains.”
“I thank-you for your consideration towards me, my Lord. It will make destroying them much simpler, I’m sure.”
The way Von Richlau spoke suggested that he was unaware of the tome which brought her there. That did not mean it was not still bait in an elaborate trap. But if it was still a trap, Vero did not believe it was this vampyre which had set it.
“You enjoy japes. It’s a sign of spirit, and one I’m willing to tolerate- within reason. Making it easier for you to destroy those bloated old fossils is precisely what I have in mind. I will provide you with information, maps, weapons, equipment, reagents, hirelings, anything you may need. All I require from you is an oath of fealty. Swear an oath to obey me, and I will give you riches and honors beyond imagining. I am prepared to reward you with whatever your heart desires. If you serve me very well… I may even offer you immortality.”
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“I refuse. Shall we do battle now?”
Frustration started to show around the edges of the Von Richlau’s mask of superiority. “I know you’re not a fool, so don’t play the stupid woman with me. There is much good we could do together. The petty feuds of ancient inbred families, alive and undead, are destroying this land. The people would be glad to have a strong hand to guide them. To no longer be afraid of roving bands of brigands killing and raping as they please.”
“I have no interest in politics or law enforcement. My code prohibits me from them. And I don’t make alliances with monsters. I destroy them.”
“I-” Von Richlau started to raise his voice, before he stopped himself. “-respect your decision. I’ve already told you I’m no assassin.”
He unclasped and removed his cloak, revealing thin silk clothes beneath. He drew a long estoc from an elaborate scabbard marked with runes on his belt. There were more runes along the hilt, and the blade looked covered by a thin layer of frost.
“We will duel. One of us will live and the other will die. I swear I will not taste your blood or turn you; unless you yield to me. Say you will yield, and my previous offer still stands. You're too valuable a commodity to waste, if I can help it. Otherwise, I assure you, this death will be permanent.”
Vero moved first, without speaking. She kept two hands on her sword and focused on striking her enemy's blade. Most enchanted weapons relied on precise alignment of the metal and rune-work; thus, they were very fragile.
Her own weapon was unique, and she was confident it would have the better of the contest.
The vampyre struck back at her. Its weapon did not allow it to make easy use of its superior strength, but it was still capable of thrusting at her with inhuman speed. Vero fought defensively and fell back, concentrating on deflecting each strike with all her strength. The vampyre feinted and stabbed at her almost faster than could be seen.
There was a sharp cold pain in her left shoulder.
The vampyre moved back and smiled. Vero felt her entire arm go limp.
She shifted into a single-handed style and the vampyre attacked again. It pressed her, but not so dominantly as it had previously. It moved slowly and deliberately now that it felt it had gained the initiative. She felt her back pressed against cold stone and lowered her guard by just a fraction.
The vampyre lunged.
Vero let herself fall to her side. The frosted blade struck the stone wall, bent, and then burst with a sudden release of intense heat that seared her exposed skin.
A cloud of steam rose from the floor temporarily halting battle. The vampyre retreated backwards, but it slipped on the floor which was slick from the sudden snowmelt. Vero was after it at once and cut it across the chest.
The vampyre recoiled back and launched itself upwards onto one of the remaining rafters. It touched its chest, and mumbled aloud in total confusion, “I… bleed?”
Vero tried to use the intermission to shake life back into her arm.
The vampyre realized that it was still in combat and swooped back down towards its assassin’s fallen broadsword. Vero tried to intercept the monster- but arrived a moment too slow. She threw herself backwards to avoid an upwards swing, which would have cleaved her in two- if it had struck.
The creature swung at her again and again, attacking recklessly at incredible speeds. The sword flew so fast it sent sparks flying on contact with the stone walls and floor.
Vero stayed well back from the whirling blade and retreated into the tower base where the monster would be forced to reckon with the mass of fallen timbers. Its first blow sunk deep into the wood rather than rebounding away.
Vero leapt forwards, and the cut the undead noble along the length of its dominant arm before it pulled the weapon free.
She could hear the creature snarl and red eyes shown out at her in the gloom. Just as she thought it might lose control of itself completely and leap at her with fangs and claws, it moved the weapon into its other hand, and restrained itself to a more conservative method of attack.
The battle continued, but the vampyre was no longer willing to take any chances. It pressed her relentlessly with unending stamina, while Vero’s limbs started to burn with fatigue.
It pushed her further and further back, turning the terrain against her by forcing her into a smaller and smaller space. Each time she tried to strike back it would retreat at once, only to return a moment later before she could catch her breath.
At last, she was trapped in a cul-de-sac of sharp shattered wood. The vampyre stood directly in the narrow gap which offered her only means of escape. Vero drew breath heavily through her mouth and moved back to a two-handed grip for one final burst of offense.
She swung directly at the vampyre’s neck. The monster ducked and struck her hands from below. She cried out in pain and her weapon was lost somewhere in the debris. Her thick leather gauntlets caught the now-dulled blade and saved her hands, but she felt for certain that bones were broken in the impact.
Blood swelled from injuries on her wrists as well as her other wounds.
A shoulder charge knocked her down the ground, and the vampyre was mad with delight as it prepared to impale her.
“I yield!” Vero pushed herself back against the rubble with her feet and held up her bleeding hands to be sure he saw them.
Suddenly Von Richlau was caught between his own overwhelming bloodlust and his sense of noblesse oblige. He held himself above her with his sword poised to strike, but frozen with indecision. He closed his eyes to avoid seeing her blood and clenched his jaw tightly.
Vero wasted no time in grabbing the thing by its belt and collar, pulling it down onto an outstretched shaft of wood above her.
She rolled out from under it and frantically searched for her sword. The moment she found it, she turned towards the vampyre and struck off its head.
She watched the body slide farther down the shaft which had impaled it as she regained her wind.
Slowly, she became aware of the excruciating pain she was in, and returned to her makeshift camp to treat it.
Vero considered returning to Burgorad to warn Ramiro and the others that Von Richlau was aware of them. However, if the vampyre had sent agents after them before he left, they would already have done their work. If he had not, then his destruction would be enough to keep them safe without further intervention.
The prospect of the slayer’s fortress loomed in front of her and led her onwards. Her injuries made climbing difficult, but she dulled the pain with poppy milk and forced herself forwards.
After the battle in the castle ruins, she traveled by night and rested only during the sparse hours of daylight, so that she could not be taken in her sleep. If any other vampyres were following her though, she could not detect them.
Eventually the ascent became so steep and treacherous that she could not climb farther in the dark, and traveled by daylight once again. More than once, she had horrible visions of falling to her death on hard ice.
Or perhaps worse, to fall and break her back. Then lie helpless until she froze to death, or was asphyxiated under snow fall.
Even with hours after hours of darkness to rest, Vero found herself becoming more and more exhausted. The air was so thin, it was almost impossible to catch her breath. During the day she slept uneasily, but when she tried to sleep at night, she was haunted by the most horrifying night terrors she had experienced since she was a child.
She remembered them only slightly, but they became more and more clear the closer she came to her destination.
She would lay on the ground paralyzed, and a figure, cloaked in shadows, would appear at her feet. The figure would strip her of her weapons and armor, and then with a single ragged claw, it opened a gaping wound from the base of her ribs to her navel.
To her side was a horribly bloated and rotting thing which resembled a sow’s carcass, except that it was still breathing. Maggots chewed away at its narcoticized flesh, while it struggled to gasp for air and looked at Vero with the most pitiful expression.
The fiend with the claw drew a large egg-like sack from out of the husk, and finally the poor creature died.
From that point, she could remember no more. But no matter how long she slept, she never found any rest.
She began to pass the nights by waiting, awake, in her bedroll for hours. Until the sun finally rose, and she could travel again.
She trained for years to withstand mental and spiritual assaults, but Vero could tell that her sanity was fraying without sleep. Time was becoming distorted in her mind, and she could no longer remember how long she had been on the mountain.
How many days had it now been since the battle with Von Richlau?
It should only have been one, perhaps two, but her rations were dwindling. Worse than that, she was certain that she would go mad if she could not escape this dread valley soon.
Though closed eyes, Vero noticed a change in the light. When she opened them, she saw it was a full moon. She had not seen a clear sky in…
Vero could no longer think of how long it had been. And even now, there was only a sliver visible through the thick clouds. She drove her sword into the snow in front of her and clasped her hands together in prayer, placing herself in the shadow of the moonlight.
“Mother Luna, please hear me. Please lead me from this place.” There was no response, of course. Vero knew only rote prayers in Liturgical, and none of them seemed to apply. She continued on in plain Velian anyway. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a good daughter to you. I’m sorry-” The light started to fade. “Please, don’t leave me here. Mama, don’t-”
The clouds passed back over the moon, and it was lost from sight.
Vero desperately wanted to cry, but when she tried, she found that she could not.
She was no longer even certain whether she was awake or asleep. She had a horrible sensation that she was sitting on only a thin layer of snow and ice, and that beneath her was a hideous yawning void of darkness, drawing her downwards. She saw that she was slowly sinking down into an unconscionably vast maw, feeding some evil creature of proportions which defied her comprehension.
She wanted to flee, but was too weary to force her way through the snow. She knew that the thing was so impossibly large that she had no hope of escape, no matter how hard she tried.
It was all much too late.
Vero forced the thoughts back with mantras. Reality began to come back into focus, but she still felt an utter dread and sense of despair hanging over her.
“Something is trying to control you. But you are master of your own mind,” she told herself aloud. She did not believe herself yet, so she repeated it again, and again.
Eventually, the sun rose, and she moved forwards once more.
It was what passed for midday when Vero pulled herself up to the top of the frosted rocky ledge, and she could see a stone tower ahead of her.
There was no sign of a road or anything else other than the tower. She and the fortress were both on a flat shelf set into the side of a high mountain, and behind her was a far view of the valley she had traveled for a week, or perhaps longer.
So then, she pondered. Why have you not seen this tower ahead of you until now?
Past the cliff edge, the snow came right up to her waist. She trudged through it regardless. She saw movements on the walls and froze for a moment, before realizing there was not much point. She was in the wide open, and it was obvious whoever was inside was waiting for her.
Even supposing that she could run, she certainly did not think she could withstand another night in the dread valley. She had no food left.
The gates opened as she approached, and a figure emerged.
It was Pentarch.
Whatever trap he had set for her, she walked right into it. At the moment, she was too tired and hungry to care.
“Hello again, journeyman.”
If you’re going to kill me, I wish you’d just do it so I can leave this godsdamned mountain. Vero could not find the wind to vocalize her thoughts.
His wry smile again. “Come inside and we can talk.”
Vero hesitated.
She could barely think through the dull haze of madness which hung over her, but she retained just enough presence of mind to know that there were worse fates then death.
The sun still hung over the horizon, but within the keep she might be restrained and held until nightfall. A whole coven of vampyres could use her as sport for hours, perhaps days, and that death would not be permanent.
In her present state she could barely stand, much less offer any resistance, but she could still have time to fall on her own sword, if she so chose.
Pentarch was watching her.
He seemed to be waiting to see what she would do. “You have my word that you will enter freely, and go safely.”
Vero hesitated a moment longer, then started to trudge forward once more.
Pentarch waited for her, and she nearly collapsed reaching him, so that he needed to take her by the arm to hold her up. He took her into a gatehouse and sat her beside a lovely warm fire.
He vanished for a moment, but soon returned with a very welcome hot spiced cider. As she drank, some measure of sense returned to her gradually.
“Hap- hap. Wha?” She tried to question her guide, but found her ability to speak running behind the rest of her cognition, and all that came out was a mumbled word salad.
Regardless, Pentarch appeared to understand her intent. “There is a daemon bound into this mountain. Some say it’s the Fiend himself. We’re warded against his power here within the walls, so you’ll have already started to recover. I confess, I don’t enjoy lodging so close to the unholy thing, but it makes for excellent security… and a test. You made it all the way to the gate. Not too many do that.”
“What. They. Don’t?”
“We send out a team of scouts to find those that don’t quite make it here. The devil eventually drives anyone unprotected into a coma. About half recover once they’re brought in. It might take days or weeks. If it’s longer than a month then they’ll be lost in the nightmares forever. For them- we slit their throats to put them out of their misery. A few unfortunates die by accident during the climb in their delusions… or by purpose, if they be weak in spirit.”
“Who. Are. You?”
“I’m Pentarch. I didn’t lie to you about that. Although our meeting was not by chance, as I’m sure you’ve ascertained on your own by now. The final academy sealed itself off from the outside world, but it never ceased to function. For centuries independent monster hunters have passed on our secrets in an imperfect form from master to apprentice. Most of these so-called slayers are unlettered louts, like your master Aquinas. But we’re always watching them for potential recruits. We’ve been very impressed with you, Veronique. That’s one of the reasons I brought you here. The other is more delicate, but we shall have plenty of time to discuss that…”
Pentarch kept talking, but Vero did not hear any more of it.
She had already fallen asleep.