Vero did not give any sign that she had finished her examination of the shrines. “And which do you worship?”

She watched Pentarch’s reaction from inside the dark space. Vero was tired of the way he kept setting tests for her and tut-tuting her like an indulgent schoolmaster since she had arrived.

Before then as well.

Now that she knew the true nature of the fortress, everything that happened before her arrival took on a new cast.

The first fellow slayer she met since the death of her master was so welcome to her that she had not questioned it in the moment. He was curious about her, but as she was also curious about him. Nothing seemed odd about it at the time.

How did a dire wolf come so far to the south? Had he led it to the Whitewood? Even infected it with rabies himself to make it a more dangerous test? What about the people that wolf killed?

She did the tracking, she performed the workings to protect them before the hunt, and he even watched her skin it and preserve the organs. Then departing so suddenly…

He claimed to have a contract with the Baroness Stirba, but that he needed all the money to pay off debts. Instead, he offered her the dubious tome which led her all the way out there. Vero never spoke to the Baroness, and she now seriously doubted the contract was real at all.

He claimed the book would lead her to an ancient abandoned fortress of their order where she could salvage relics, or perhaps even lost formulae. Bait targeted specifically to lure her there.

It was not an easy journey across half the continent. Especially as it had run mostly through Teutonia, plunged so deeply into a long interregnum that nearly the entire country had devolved into factions. The only thing that prevented a full-scale civil war was the sheer number of cliques, and the relative weakness of each warlord. That still meant local conflicts could erupt in any domain at any time. The roads were rife with brigandage, both by genuine outlaws, and by the robber barons who proliferated in the anarchy.

Dora said that she heard Vero moving and found her already bandaged after that vampyre hunt in Whitegate, Vero was certain she lost consciousness the moment the elder was destroyed. How long had Pentarch been watching her?

Vero realized she had become lost in thought.

Pentarch was still declining to answer. He appraised her coolly, but not with any malice or frustration. Evidently, they had entered a standoff to determine who was the observer, and who was the observed.

At last, Pentarch relented. “Most of the fortress doesn’t come here to pray at all. It’s not very convenient to come out so far from the hall and dormitories. You notice no one has entered since we’ve been here. It’s empty like this most of the time.”

“But you must be one of the few who do come here, because you wouldn’t know it to be empty otherwise.”

The corners of Pentarch’s mouth twitched upwards into his wry smile briefly, before vanishing again. “Perhaps you’re right. No clever evasions then-” He cleared his throat. “-I’m simply not going to answer you.”

Of course, in the end Pentarch remained the observer and she the observed. Vero was, after all, still a prisoner.

He took them out to the courtyard where the men were still sparring, both with weapons and hand to hand. Others ran through a circular path of hard packed snow, and some lifted stone halteres to build strength. Finally, a small coterie practiced their archery on a series of targets.

Pentarch took them to the marksmen and Vero examined the targets. They each showed a gambit of different skill levels. Only one had a bullseye, and every other shot in that same grouping was within the central circle.

“Excellent work, don’t you think?” Vero was surprised to hear a woman’s voice from one of the figures in the yard. “The man who shot them must have been very skilled, isn’t that so?”

The woman in question stood taller, not only than Vero, but every man in in the yard- by more than a head. She must have had giants’ blood in her.

She was wearing heavy furs, as everyone was. From what Vero could see of her body beneath them, she was very full figured. Her medium length brown hair was kept tightly braided behind her. Vero thought she was an average beauty, but from the friendly cock-sure smile, she could already tell this woman was much fairer tempered than the sorceress had been.

That made her much more welcome company, in Vero’s opinion.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Vero smiled back. “Indeed. Do you know the fellow’s name? I’d like to meet him.”

“Diana.”

“Strange name for a man.”

“So is Dame Veronique de Loix. Or is it journeyman slayer Virgil-no-surname? I’ve heard conflicting reports.”

“It depends who I’m speaking to. My friends call me Vero.”

“Then I’d like to call you Vero.”

“I believe I would like that as well.”

“Master slayer Diana oversees training,” Pentarch stated blandly. “You’ll report to her after the morning meal, starting tomorrow. After myself and our librarian, she has the next highest authority.”

Vero was impressed, but regulated her tone so as not to sound overawed. “An important post.”

“That’s right. It means I have a whole castle of men at my beck and call.” Diana made a sweeping gesture with her arm.

“And one woman now, it seems. How do your other charges find your discipline?”

“A few still chafe- most are used to it… and a handful have come to enjoy it very much.”

“Archery is one of the things I want you to improve while you’re with us,” Pentarch remarked idly. “Diana is the best marksman we have.”

“I’ve always used a crossbow,” Vero replied defensively.

“I know,” Pentarch countered. “That’s why you’ll learn to use both the long hunting bow and the short elven style of riding bow while you’re here.”

Vero did not like the way Pentarch had already started issuing her orders, but she decided not to object for the time being. “As you wish.”

“Good!” Diana gave a very toothy grin with slightly crooked teeth. “It will be a fine thing to have another woman to speak to besides those empty-headed scullery girls- or that evil witch.” She spat on the ground.

Vero felt much the same way. Only she did not say so out loud, or spit.

Pentarch patted Vero’s shoulder and motioned for her to follow him. “I’ll take you to meet the last master slayer in current residence.”

They started to march back towards the great hall. This time they moved to the outbuilding on the reverse side from the library.

Inside was a kitchen and Vero found it wonderfully warm from all the cooking ovens. There were several domestic servants at work there. It was mostly women, but there were also a few men whom Vero judged as either physically or psychologically unfit for more active service.

Pentarch asked them for ‘Lothair’ and they were directed back underground, towards the cold storage. They climbed down into the tunnels from another passage inside the kitchens. Now they took one of the turns in the hall between the infirmary and the chapel. It became even more deathly cold as they went.

At last, they emerged into a massive chamber which appeared to be a natural cave. It was filled with food stores, and there they found Lothair. He was taking inventory of the final deliveries, which arrived just before winter sealed them off from the rest of the world.

Lothair was a squat figure, shorter than Vero, but very wide and solidly built. There was a certain piggishness in his upturned nose which, along with the near presence of so much frozen pork, made Vero think of him as a wild boar. He had a thick grey mustache which gave the illusion of tusks in the dim light. His head was also bald, so perhaps he might have been a walrus instead.

They were both strong animals, so her first impression of the man was a favorable one.

He must have been eager for the distraction, because he handed his records away to an assistant at once to speak with them. Lothair approached them with a limp and a smile almost as broad as he was.

“Old rascal, so this is the girl you can’t stop talking about. Looks like a fit sort of filly to me, but I haven’t seen her run yet.” He barked out a laugh and held out a hand to her. “Lothair. Master slayer. Quartermaster. My job to keep you well fed. And you look like you could use some more flesh on your bones- if you don’t mind my saying so.”

He appeared to be friendly, and despite his off-color humor he was not leering at her. She took him by the forearm in a firm grip and he did the same.

“Vero. And I certainly won’t object to having three square meals.”

He stamped his good leg and rubbed his hands together. “Good. Good. Going back up to the kitchens now. Warmer there.”

Up in the kitchens Pentarch excused himself, and Lothair regaled Vero with a plethora of stories in the meantime. Their quartermaster was a man with such a love of conversation that he clung to it the way a shipwrecked man clings to flotsam.

Vero learned that he was born a merchant’s son in Teutonia. His family were not wealthy, but they certainly were not poor either, to hear him describe them. They spared no expense on his education, but he had the ‘hot blooded temper of a young man’ as he put it.

When he came of age, he demanded his portion of the inheritance and left for Burgorod. His first priority was to lose his virginity. Which he did by way of a short girl with stumpy legs, but yellow hair, who took advantage of his inexperience to charge him twice her usual price.

His second priority was to contact the provisioners for this very fortress. The slayers went to great lengths keeping their presence hidden, but they were required to send agents down into civilization to purchase supplies. They kept those supplies stored in certain secret locations until transport could be arranged to the fortress itself.

Vero suggested that they must have some way to reach the keep easier than the path she cut through the wilderness, given the presence of the – Thing – under the mountain.

Lothair replied with a look which told her he could not respond to any discussion along that line. He continued with his own story.

He met with the slayers’ purchasing agents he knew from his work for his family’s trading company. When he found them, he threatened to expose them publicly if they would not take him to their academy.

They immediately struck him over the head, and he considered himself lucky they did not kill him then and there. Instead, they tied him up and bundled him with the next shipment. He did not mind though, since he was being taken exactly where he wanted to go, he explained to Vero cheerfully.

When he arrived, he told them how dreadfully boring he found his old life. Now he wished to train as a slayer.

The master slayers of that time – all dead now, he informed her, save Iosephus and Konstantin – presumed that he was mad. However, as he had already arrived, there was nothing to lose by allowing him to try.

He had not much aptitude for either combat or occult science, but through much diligence and effort, he managed a passing grade in both. Even if it was a close-run thing.