The wooden palisade loomed ahead, encircling the city. A lone sentry stood upon it, staring westward at the illusion lighting up the sky. Erwan watched with horror as Argant opened wide his jaws, catching and tossing the soldier back into his gullet. The dragon swallowed its meal midair, gliding over rooftops without deviating from course.
An amphitheater opened up beneath the beast and its rider, a Roman built coliseum for chariot races and gladiator events. The pair glided to a landing in its center, sending a cloud of dirt in every direction. Erwan looked around worriedly. Have we been seen? he wondered. With all attention to the western sky, he hoped they had not.
A shout from the far side of the arena proved him wrong.
The man who spied their landing was no mere sentry. The legionary had already drawn his sword, faced with a decision to flee and sound the alarm, or to rush the new arrivals and attempt to slay the dragon on his own. His hesitation suggested the choice was difficult.
As soon as he reached the dragon, Argant disappeared from sight, reappearing behind the man. The dragon let out a roar, loud enough only to turn the man’s attention but not to attract other soldiers nearby. The legionary spun and lunged at the scaly beast, plunging his sword into nothingness. As soon as the tip of his blade pierced the illusion, it puffed away into a cloud of mist. At the same time the hulking black dragon reappeared, standing where it had been before. As the man turned, giant teeth snapped down upon him, slicing the leather cuirass in two. With one more bite, this soldier also became a meal.
“I will have such indigestion tomorrow,” the dragon complained, lumbering past a stunned Erwan as he belched smoke and sulphury flame. He led the human to a steel gate opening into a tunnel beneath the main structure. Argant heaved his entire weight against the barrier, ripping it from its hinges and leaving it to swing unsteadily. “Come,” he commanded and Erwan obeyed. “This tunnel connects to others, and one of those will take us beneath the palace. The nobility use these passages to avoid walking among the commoners.”
Erwan watched as the dragon squeezed his body into the opening, crawling low. Below ground the man felt less confident than before. There was barely room to swing his scythe should the need arise, much less for a dragon to turn and help if trouble attacked from behind.
For several hundred paces, the farmer could scarcely do more than breathe deeply and try to slow his pounding heart. What if they can hear it? he wondered, thinking of the vampure and voltur.
But Argant seemed unfazed by both the darkness and the potential dangers ahead, boldly crawling forward and lighting the way with puffs of flame that sizzled more than roared. After several minutes they emerged in a larger chamber.
“We are beneath the palace,” the dragon suggested.
Erwan cautiously eyed a side tunnel, afraid patrolling guards would suddenly step out of its shadows to give challenge. The metal grate blocking the opening remained firmly locked in place, virtually impossible to breech from the inside. Its well-oiled hinges showed frequent use, a sure sign Argant had assumed correctly and the Roman overseer waited ahead.
“He will be sleeping when we find him,” the Ancient One explained, “but his legion will not. They are tasked with guarding his slumber so expect a tremendous fight,” he warned. “Come, the temple lies ahead.”
“How do you know he’ll be sleeping? What happens if he isn’t?”
“He will be. A vampure cannot consume as much sanguis as Titus has, not without hibernating after. His body needs time to digest it all."
Erwan gripped his scythe, eyes locked on the dragon’s back. The passage here was larger, allowing the beast to walk upright with room to turn on either side. The farmer should have felt more courageous, but expectation of battle was always worse than the heat of it. The day before, when he had killed the voltur, was now a thrill he craved over this anxious waiting. The unknowing of what lie ahead consumed him, racing his thoughts and nearly sending his heart into panic.
What if I can’t kill again? he wondered.
He did not have to wait long to find out. A patrol of legionaries appeared as a tight group of bobbing torches. In the flickering light, Erwan counted four men draped in crimson robes. Gilded embroidery lined the hoods covering hidden faces, glistening against the torchlight and casting a glow of its own. Thankfully, the light muted the distance these Romans could see, so they were nearly upon Argant before he opened his eyes, revealing two fiery orbs. The men froze in terror at the sudden appearance, their hands too slow when drawing weapons.
The inner warrior inside the farmer awakened, his arm moving as if it belonged to someone else. He attacked the nearest sentry, stepping forward and slicing upward into a soft armpit. With that artery severed, a crimson geyser erupted. He wrenched downward, pulling free his weapon and reaped again, this time into an inner thigh. With a pivot he moved behind the squad and paused before striking another.
Something was wrong, he smelled it more than sensed it. The scores he had just cut now steamed where they once bled, the result of iron making contact with vampure skin. The vapor burned Erwan’s nostrils with the sickening smell of rancid meat.
That sentry, who should have fallen to the ground by now, turned angrily to face Erwan while his comrades squared off against the dragon. As he feared this was no man, staring up with bloody orbs lacking the whites of human eyes. These swirled hypnotically, angrily searching for the farmer who only paused for less than a heartbeat. That brief hesitation nearly cost Erwan’s life as the legionary attacked with blinding speed and surging thirst.
Erwan moved as fast as he could to fight off the creature, backing as the scythe swung wildly, avoiding sharp claws that should have been hands. These sliced his skin, reaching for the weapon. Protruding from bloody lips, two fangs bit for the human’s neck.
Beyond this vampure Argant engaged the other three, biting and clawing with a fury of his own. Like a dueling pack of wolves, the soldiers attacked the dragon who seemed to watch as if seeing them move in slow motion. Each bite was met with an attack or parry of his own and they never gained advantage.
Finally, Erwan managed an offensive move, one that paid off with another contact of sharp iron upon skin. The Roman was accustomed to fighting trained warriors, not farmers skilled at reaping wheat and rye. When Erwan moved, he threshed, sweeping low across the ground while the vampure moved high to bite his neck. As the iron scraped across two ankles it severed both calf muscles, sending the creature snapping forward off balance. It crashed hard on its face, both fangs bared and biting hard into solid stone. They, and the surrounding teeth, shattered upon impact.
Erwan finished his reap with a solid swing to the creature’s neck, sending sparks as the tool scraped rock. Then he turned to watch Argant. With two soldiers lying dead on the floor, the dragon finished off his final adversary with a chomp and a fiery burp. After the fighting had ended, the severed remains of three vampure glowed brightly in his surging flame.
“Well done,” the dragon told the farmer, pointing a bloody claw further down the tunnel. “You go on, continue down that corridor alone for two furlongs but be careful. This is the last of the patrols, but there will be guards around Dominus Titus.”
“You want me to take them on by myself? I barely handled one!”
“Yes. I cannot sneak or move stealthily like a man, and so you must do the next part alone. I will be there when you need me, but not a moment sooner. I assure you, the vampure will be sleeping. You will only have to fight his lesser formed kin.”
“Lesser formed?” Erwan demanded, pointing to the burning bodies. “Is that what these are, a lesser form of vampure?”
“Yes. Like dragonkind, the vampure take on many forms during their evolutionary process. They were once great beasts, but each form takes them closer to the appearance of man. Many of whom you encounter will be recently turned by Titus himself, and he will not allow his subjects to achieve a higher form without his blessing. Their hierarchy is unique to them, with one lord dividing power among many vassals. Those most trusted are bequeathed a new form when given a new region to rule over in their lord’s name. The process ensures allegiance and demands fealty if not loyalty.”
“I understand,” Erwan lied. He knew little even about the Roman lords, and this new system confused him even more. He changed the subject. “I have only seen a few of your forms,” Erwan asked, “and the Elderkin is far from human, but the wyvern is closer. Why do they seek human form while you seek the opposite?”
“We once believed the form of Elderkin was the highest we could obtain on this earth. We ruled this land, looking down our snouts at mammals and seeing a lesser species. We were wrong. Our dwindling numbers are proof of that. We should have embraced the resilience of man and respected their intelligence. Instead of making them serve us, we should have led mankind toward greatness. Our pride may result in the final destruction of dragonkind.”
“And the vampure? How are they growing in numbers instead of dwindling? Why haven’t we noticed them among us?”
“They walk among their prey as wolves hidden among sheep, eating at will, but know better than to draw attention. They have mastered humankind by whispering into ears, nudging society into whatever direction best serves their masters hidden in shadow. While humanity believes they are in charge, they always do the bidding of Goro, his lords, and their vassals. We should have sought out a similar form long ago, one which would allow us to disappear among humans just as they have.”
“Is that what you demand of me?” Erwan asked. “After we slay Titus, will you use me to create this new form?”
“I told you I would! When the time comes, after your revenge is complete, I will allow you to make your sacrifice. At that time, I will merge our bodies into one form.”
Erwan gripped the reaping scythe silently, considering. It was a fair trade, for he had nothing left worth living for. After killing Titus, he would choose death. The dragon could have his form. He held the blade closer while inspecting the iron. It had become a part of him over these past few days, and he hated that it represented death instead of bounty. He only needed it a bit longer.
“Time is wasting, human. Go. Find the vampure and kill him in his sarcophagus.”
The farmer nodded without looking at the dragon. Bending over, he pulled a robe from the least bloodied corpse, shook it, and placed it over his head. Then he went on alone. Each step took him closer to facing the killer, the monster who consumed his family. He struggled against the urge to sprint ahead, to rush headlong into danger and end himself while avenging this nobleman’s crimes.
Carefully he crept, with weapon held ready.
As he rounded the final bend, his eyes adjusted to flickering lights ahead. Fires burned beneath the temple, lighting the catacombs and casting shadows. Erwan quickly pulled the hood lower, hiding his face. The cavern was a temple of its own, hidden beneath the larger place of worship above. Crypts lined the walls and a dozen worshippers knelt in the middle, cloaked by the same gilded robes as Erwan.
Chanting echoed through the chamber, a harmonic summoning of their god. “Life Bringer,” they sang, “bless us with longevity. Lord of Blood, grant us sanguis.”
Atop a raised pulpit, standing over a grooved altar meant for the collection of blood, stood their devil lord.
Dominus Titus was not asleep, nor was he hidden away in a sarcophagus as Argant had promised. With arms raised behind the altar, dressed in his finery, he led the cultists in their incantations. He had changed. Instead of a man, he loomed with outstretched wings, each leathery and bat-like. His face still resembled the Roman, and was most certainly him, but his skull was now lined with boney protrusions that stood out like horns around the crown of his head.
“May this sacrifice be pleasing,” the worshippers sang in unison, “a gift from your chosen few."
The eyes of Titus scanned the room, pools of swirling blood locked in glassy orbs. “Our lord finds it pleasing,” he intoned, “and blesses all his children with eternal youth.” He leaned over the sacrifice, placing his arm on the altar and using it to brace his full weight. His lips curled into an exaggerated smile.
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Only then did Erwan notice the sacrifice, a child tied to that altar. Her head lay between his arm and his mouth. Dressed in a flowing gown of pure white linen, the young girl never struggled. She slept as if in a drugged state, peaceful as the cultists chanted louder.
“Her life to us, our lives for you, Goro!”
Titus’ teeth, pearly from his privileged position and noble breeding, transformed as they came closer to the flawless skin of the offering. Long fangs slowly extended from his gums, sharp and ready to draw nourishment from her lifeforce.
The girl’s head turned toward his arm, awakened and looking through the cultists. flinching with pain as the monster touched lips to her neck It was then, during that brief moment she seemed to draw pleasure from the intrusion on her body, when Erwan recognized his daughter.
“Racinda!” he screamed.
Every hooded head turned toward the intruder. The shocked, staring faces were not human. Like Titus, their crimson eyes swirled and fangs descended from pale gums. But these worshippers, like the legionaries in the catacombs, were different than their dark lord. They were without wings or the boney protrusions Erwan now recognized as horns. They still appeared more human than voltur or vampure.
Hate filled Erwan, surging forth and entering his hand in the form of his scythe. The tool seemed to raise on its own as it swung on the nearest worshipers. Filled with rage he struck down what appeared to be a Roman man and woman by the garb worn beneath their vestments. Blindly the farmer reaped, with eyes locked on Dominus Titus, walking forward and striking down any creature who dared step in his way. He cut down six before angry thirst consumed the others. They leapt on him at once, clawing and biting at the dragon scale collar around his neck.
“Do not consume his sanguis!” Dominus Titus bellowed from the altar. “Hold him there but do not feast!”
Erwan felt only a dozen hands latch onto his body, but it may as well have been a hundred. The strength of these vampure gripped him so tightly he could not even struggle. One of them ripped the scythe from his hand, flinging it aside with a sizzling cry.
“Iron!” it screamed, wincing from the pain. Erwan grinned up at the beast, a Gaulish man, well-bred and properly groomed. Though not a Roman, he was certainly treated as nobility in their city.
“Move aside,” Titus growled, stepping forward. He had taken the time to free little Racinda and led her toward Erwan with a held hand. “Who is this man to you?” he asked her calmly.
“He was my father,” she replied dryly, without any bit of emotion in her voice.
“Was your father,” Titus agreed. “Farmer, what is your name?”
“I am Erwan and she is Racinda, but… I don’t understand. How are you alive, my dear? I found you and Rupert bled out by this beast!”
“Rupert…” Titus considered. “Ah yes. The boy. That was his name.” Turning to the Gaul with the singed hand he ordered, “fetch the boy.”
“Yes, fetch him and hand my children over to me,” Erwan demanded, “and we’ll be leaving.”
Titus laughed, his devilish horns pointing upward while his fangs glistened downward in the torchlight. “My,” he said, “aren’t you a bold one. Erwan the Bold is what I’ll call you. But no, these are not your children. Yours have died and these have been raised as mine.”
The Roman released Racinda and knelt, crawling forward, then slithering like a snake atop Erwan’s body, breathing close and sniffing his skin and clothing. Deft fingers unlaced the dragon scale collar, the feeling of the creature so close to his neck repulsed Erwan. With his arms and legs still held by the vampure he could only turn his head toward his daughter while bracing for the bite to come.
Her eyes had changed, now dull and dark but so unmistakably red. A bit of blood dripped from the side of her mouth. He scanned her for injuries. Other than the gaunt paleness of her skin and a pair of sunken cheeks, only her eyes appeared changed.
“My daughter,” Erwan begged, “don’t you want to leave with me?” He felt the foul body of the vampure press harder against his own, but Erwan only focused on his child, standing and staring at her father with strange curiosity. “Why don’t you stop him?” the farmer asked his daughter. “Draw the dagger from his side and use it. Help me, daughter.”
“I don’t want to help you,” she answered. “I’m too hungry!” She lunged, pushing past the Roman with bared fangs and biting wildly for Erwan’s neck.
Titus reached out a hand, grabbing the girl and stopping her just before making contact. Her hot breath burned her father’s skin, so close he could almost feel her fangs. “No. Do not taint your recent meal with his blood,” the vampure warned.
The words made no sense. Erwan again noticed the trail of blood on her chin, realizing she must truly have feasted. His eyes then slowly focused on Titus’ wrist. Two small puncture marks bled only slightly, with the same spacing as Racinda’s descended fangs. He had it wrong. Titus had not drunk of his daughter. She had consumed him!
A feeling of dread wracked the farmer’s insides as bile rose in his throat. He coughed and sputtered as it burned his mouth. His beloved daughter, whom he had buried on the farm, had risen as the damned.
By then the Gaulish nobleman had returned. Rupert followed, holding hands with a Roman woman and wearing the same white gown as his sister. His skin was just as pale as hers, and stretched against his skull as if he had not eaten in weeks. He licked his lips wildly as the vampure led him in, snapping and biting the air between him and his father on the ground. He too dribbled blood from the fangs protruding from his little mouth, and the wrist of the woman’s robe was coated in the same.
Both of Erwan’s children had risen from their grave and drank of vampure sanguis.
Dark realization filled the farmer, and he returned his gaze to Dominus Titus. “Where is Adelia?” he demanded. “Where is my wife?” She too may be nearby.
“Something isn’t right,” Titus said absently, ignoring the question and sniffing Erwan’s neck. “Your blood is different than your children!” He breathed deep and added, “They only took after their mother.” He sniffed once more then recoiled. Behind his fangs Titus frowned. “You are fully human and only reek of dragon! You’ve recently been around their forms!” He sniffed again. “Elderkin, most recently!”
These words confused Erwan. “My wife is also human,” he stubbornly rejected the notion she could be anything else.
“She is of dragonkind, and that’s why I called your children to me, to drink of my blood in this current form. They have chosen a new form, a mix between two Keryx and far nobler than any single vampure or dragon! They have chosen to serve Goro!”
“I don’t believe you! My wife is as human as them and me! Where is she? I will ask her myself.”
“Adelia is dead where you buried her. She could not be raised because of the trinkets of iron you left in her grave!” the vampure snapped. “Now answer me, Erwan the Bold, how is it I smell dragon on your body? What is this form you have taken?”
“I am not of their blood and this is no form. I am merely a vinculum.”
Titus looked up hungrily, watching the tunnel from which Erwan had entered the sanctuary. “You are bonded? If so, you are the first to do so in a thousand years!”
“My lord!” the Gaulish nobleman remarked. “If he has brought his dragon here, we should feast on its sanguis and our youthful blessings will last decades!”
But Titus wavered, suddenly concerned. His blood filled eyes betrayed fear. “I smelled Elderkin. What is the name of the aerouant you have bonded?”
The farmer smiled. “His name is Argant!”
Everyone in the room gasped. Whispers of pure blood and greatness rippled through the assemblage. The Gaulish nobleman cried out, “Argant is the oldest, the first! He is the Lord of Fire! If we drink from a Keryx our blessings will endure immortality that rival only Goro’s!”
“You fools,” Titus warned without taking his eyes from the tunnel. “None of you can match Argant in your present forms! Nor do you have permission from Goro to do so!”
As if in agreement, a mighty roar echoed down the tunnel and into the sanctuary. The walls shook and torches flickered.
That was all the vampure needed. Greedy for the sanguis, the six vampure holding Erwan released him, sprinting from the sanctuary with all the others.
Still atop the farmer, Titus watched them leave, shaking his head at their foolishness. “You all rush to your deaths!” he called out, then returned his eyes to Erwan. “How are you not bonded to an aerouant instead? Why did Argant leave the safety of Mount Sapientia?” He paused, not waiting for an answer and worriedly added, “And why did he send you to face me alone?”
“He’s helping me to slay you,” Erwan spat, “and then I’ll give him the means to defeat Goro!”
The Roman again eyed the tunnel through which his followers had foolishly rushed. Shouts and screams now echoed through the catacombs, mixing with an angry dragon’s roar. Titus pulled his eyes away, locking them on the woman now holding the hands of Rupert and Racinda. She seemed eager to flee and so now did Titus. He shifted his weight just slightly, taken aback by the sudden change of events.
Erwan pushed with all his strength, sending the vampure rolling to the side. As the dominus toppled, Racinda let go of the woman’s hand and lunged forward. Her fangs barely missed her father’s neck, just as his hand drew the Roman dagger from the dominus’ belt. While his daughter’s momentum carried her past, he plunged the blade forward, aiming between Titus’ ribs.
The vampure let out a gasp, a silent scream as the steel struck his side, but that gasp quickly turned to laughter as the blade shattered into pieces.
Erwan stared at the useless hilt in his hand.
Titus found his balance and rose to his knees, shoving Erwan away as if he had flung a small animal. His strength rivaled ten men and the farmer skidded across the sanctuary. The dominus stood over the fallen man, flanked on both sides by Rupert and Racinda, shadows of their former selves now craving the lifeforce within their father. Their hunger was all that drove them, and two sets of bloody eyes stared lustfully, craving a meal. Both lunged.
Erwan spied the discarded scythe laying nearby, but it was out of reach.
The children reached him, clawing at his neck. It took all his strength to hold them at arm’s length, snapping and biting and driven only by their need for satiation. Tears clouded the father’s eyes as he stared at the discarded scythe. He would have to release one of his children to grab it, but who? The other would be upon him the moment he did.
Erwan took a gamble.
Loosening his grip on both, he rolled toward the scythe. The children clamored and fell, each pulling the other away like drowning swimmers desperate for air. While they fought, Erwan moved out of reach. His grandfather’s words echoed once more.
Sever their heads, the apparition demanded.
Erwan swung the iron two times, once for each of his children, and began a journey no parent should ever endure. He no longer saw them as his own children, he didn’t even see them through human eyes. He had become the scythe and the tool cared naught but for reaping. Filled with fury he gave it that pleasure, until nothing remained that resembled his children.
“You idiot!” Argant bellowed as he lumbered into the room. “They had not fully changed and could have been cured by my blood! That’s the reason I let you go ahead, for you to sacrifice yourself so that they could be our future! You just squandered your last opportunity to live out your days as their father!”
Erwan, upon hearing the dragon’s words, fell to his knees beside the bodies of his children.
An amused Titus stared up at the massive Elderkin, slowly reasoning out the dragon’s plan. “You sent your child into the human world, hoping she would give birth in that form, producing mixed breed dragon-humans you could someday use against us? You wanted them to be turned vampure, so that you could intervene at the last moment when their minds had not yet accepted their new form. You hoped they would become hybrids, just as Goro had sought to create for so long?”
Erwan heard these words and looked up at the Elderkin. “Is this true?” he demanded.
The dragon moved clumsily, his belly swollen from so many devoured vampure. He let out a long and rumbling burp, his fire surging brightly and lighting the sanctuary, then made his way toward Titus, growling and hissing fire as the vampure backed away.
“You astound me, Erwan the Brash!” Argant said without taking his eyes from his prey. “What kind of father are you? You left alive the very man you sought to kill and instead hacked your own children into pieces!”
“Do not evade my question? Is what he said true!” the farmer screamed. “Did you let me come in here alone, hoping I would be bitten? That my own children would feed off me? Is that the evolution your kind hope to create? To become hybrids like Titus says?”
Argant roared again, swinging his broad tail at the ducking Roman. “You pledged me your life when we bonded, so it matters not what I do with your body or those of my grandchildren. You had already given up on living!” the dragon accused. “Knowledge they lived would have dampened your vengeance.”
Erwan paused. It was true. Had he known they had been raised, but could have still been saved, would he still have pledged his body to this beast? He might have looked for a way out of the bond. “I deserved the truth,” he argued, eyeing his scythe. Dark blood dripped from the blade to the floor. He no longer deserved to live, a failure as a husband, as a protector, and now ultimately as a father.
I know what needs to be done, he realized.
Argant snapped at Titus, his teeth ripping a gash in the vampure’s wing, but the Roman moved fast, stepping aside and plunging sharp claws between hard scales. With a heave, two ripped away. The dragon roared angrily, swatting the creature away with a massive arm. He loomed over the stunned demon, his teeth biting down to rid the world of one more vampure.
With a single motion, Erwan earned his title. He boldly pressed the tip of his scythe beneath his breastbone, gripping the handle with both hands. Though he promised Argant the use of his body, he would make the deceiver earn it while also paying for his lies. “You may have my form as promised,” Erwan yelled, “but Titus will also kill you if you take it from me now!”
“Not yet!” Argant roared.
Erwan plunged the iron deep, arching it upward into his heart, then slumped immediately to the ground. The ringing in his ears drowned out the battle across the room. Soon his vision tunneled and he could only see the dragon he had betrayed. Argant’s head reared. A mixture of shock and anger filled his fiery eyes. So, this is death, the human thought. He had expected more pain.
The farmer died with a smile on his face, his thirst for vengeance quenched against all who had stolen away his family, Dominus Titus, Argant the Ancient, and Erwan the Bold.