Fast, urgent knocking stirred darkness incarnate from her cookbook. Matti scowled, then shut the page she’d been studying to answer. A blade behind her back, a trinket altering her visage, and a deceptively warm smile on her face, she opened the door.
“Pokle? What is the matter? Dennis is still out for the wedding.”
The haggard blonde panted, her face red from exertion. She stammered before a deep breath. “I need– I need to borrow Pyroshir.”
A pause. Matti felt questions come and go, but chose something simpler. Gracefully, she flicked the stable key off the keyring by the door, and placed it in Pokle’s hand.
“Then it is not I who you must convince,” she stated matter-of-factly. In order to pursue this intriguing turn of events, she also had to pursue the still-hurried woman to the stable. “May I ask why you require him so urgently?”
Pokle undid the lock and threw the door open, finding a blackened statue of a horse. Without hesitation, she passed the key back and took up the barding from its shelf.
“My sister called. Something bad is happening back home. Strange monsters attack every night, and the town guard is barely holding them off. It’s a 5-day ride on a normal horse, and they need help now.”
“Pokle…”
The saddle impacted Pyroshir’s back with frustrated force. “I don’t care what you think of me. I can fight. I remember everything Dennis taught me, all the equipment. Don’t try and stop me.”
“Pokle!” Matti nearly shouted, halting the tirade. “You are capable of fighting, but you are trained foremost for pests, vermin, asymmetrical battles. Not peers, nor militants. I, meanwhile, am capable, bored, and still indebted to you.”
“I…” the flustered blonde trailed off. Before her thought could complete, the stone form beside them stirred, mane and tail catching aflame.
“Afternoon, llladies,” he greeted in a sultry tone. “Hope y’don’t mind eavesdropping, but, lil’ miss sunshine, when’s the last time you killed a guy?”
Pokle turned her head slowly toward the core strider. “Um… last spring, before my promotion. There were 2 bandits.”
He nodded sassily. “Mmmhm, we’ll be generous and call that a ‘guy’. ‘Kay, now miss doom and gloom, when’s the last–”
“Yesterday.”
“Mmm. Wait, say whaaat?” Pyroshir grilled with astonishment, leaning in close along with a very alarmed Pokle.
Matti put her hands up. “I was hungry, and we already established that bandits count,” she explained innocently. A big, toothy smile to show off her fangs did not help her image.
After a moment, Pokle shrunk. “Well, um, you’d do this for me?”
The vampire sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Pokle, I must be honest. I don’t much care for you. I would have quite happily never dealt with you again after our last… incident. But Dennis was very clear that I owed you more than a simple ‘sorry’. So much so, that after you left that apology dinner, we had a small spat. I want to pay back this debt to you so that we can return to mutually ignoring one-another, understand?”
Pokle pursed her lips, then took several rapid breaths. “Alright, I… um…” she trailed off, looking anywhere but her conversational partner. Then, rather abruptly, she hugged Matti, who squirmed immediately. “Thank you for being… reliably honorable.”
“Aww, now kith,” Pyroshir mocked as Matti snarled threats to bite if she was not released.
“Don’t do that again, please,” she groaned, trying in vain to wipe away the smell of Pokle’s cheap perfume. The vampire offered a handshake. “Go do your job, and I will do mine.”
Pokle accepted and shook vigorously. “Yes, of course, thank you. You should know that there is a toll. Please, pay it with this.”
Matti accepted the sizable wood bowl. A familiar piece of company equipment, empty until a ribbon is cut to reveal the food, hot and fresh as the day it was cooked. There was also a sealed letter attached. What in the world sort of toll is this for? she wondered.
……
A hooded figure streaked across the countryside in the afternoon sun, her horse black as ash, her cloak fluttering in the wind as the hooves beat against the dirt roads. Through towns, over bridges, and past many forks they rushed with great urgency. Night would fall soon. To the eyes of many, it was merely a speeding blur of shadow, the hoofbeats clattering past the only sure way to know it was a horse. Citizens rushed aside, travelers sought cover, and guards almost finished asking her to halt.
All were ignored.
The 3rd town came and went, giving way to the final stretch. Plains and farmland to the left, eerie woods to the right, the road a careful line between. Only late in the afternoon, following another hour and a half of gallop, did the first stop of the day come. A shabby little wooden fort in a valley, with a shabby little gate. And it was manned by none other than her favorite snacks. Highwaymen. Black and green clad, faces covered, odious.
Long before they saw or heard her, Matti slowed Pyroshir’s pace to something more believable. The duo came to a halt at the closed gate. A spearman stood either side, crossbowers peeking over the palisade. The one to her right spoke first.
“Fancy fancy! I like your colors, lady. What brings you out in the middle of nowhere, on such a deserted road?”
Matti fixed him with her brown eyes—or perhaps blue, she was not sure which disguise she had snatched in haste—cold, calculated thoughts roiled under her shrouded, unreadable face. A fight was coming, that she knew, and perhaps that justified an early meal. Instead, she reached into her cloak and handed him the large wooden bowl.
“I have urgent business. Your fee. Simply sever the ribbon.”
Cautiously, the bandit accepted the dish, backing off to do as instructed. With a swish of his pocket knife, a great bounty materialized, piled so high it nearly spilled over the sides. He smelled and counted aloud.
“Chocolate chip, lemon crumble, and cinnamon shortbread.” He visibly smiled, even through the mask. “OPEN THE GATE! WE EAT WELL TONIGHT, BOYS!”
Cheers erupted from the camp within and the large wooden gate swung open. The 2-dozen bandits rather cheerily ushered her through. All sense of hostility had vanished, which bred a strangely higher tension. Matti quickly spurred Pyroshir onward, into the forested roads beyond. What a strange toll it was, and a letter, too. Who writes letters to bandits? she wondered briefly.
But there was little time to muse. It was mere minutes of hard riding until the evening lights of the podunk backwater came into view. A passel of houses, a few fields of farmland running alongside the hill—halfway sliced into by a little quarry—and surrounded on nearly all sides by a dark forest, with cobwebs and mushrooms abounding. A thorpe of 300 that could disappear without a soul noticing. Certain to do just that if left unaided.
The town had no walls of any sort. Matti simply rode in, turning heads among the locals as a dark herald entered the sleepy burgh. She glanced left and right at the simpletons. Her citizens of Sidia had a quarter the available resources, thrice the threats, and still made out better. It was as if the cattle before her weren’t even trying. But that was a mindset from another lifestyle happily abandoned. It was time for action.
Many strategies had come to mind during her day-long ride, but, with the sun setting, there was little time for underhanded tactics. She merely selected the nearest citizen.
“You. Who is in charge of the defense, and where are they?”
The homespun-dressed villager stepped back under her gaze. “M– Mayor Sachney, m’lady. He’s in the square.”
“Thank you,” she replied in a dangerous tone.
Sure as the moon, in the stone-cobbled town square was a gaggle of tents and tables, strewn with many a farm tool turned weapon. There was a gathering of infantry too, bowmen, pitchforks and the like. She sighed; they were quite hopeless. The clopping of Pyroshir’s hooves garnered further attention as she made for the least shabby tent, dismounted, and strutted inside. Her ears betrayed the talk of tactics, or, the words associated with tactical thought, arranged vaguely like a plan.
Speaking them was a man at the opposite end of a large map-covered table. He was older than those around him, with a few gray hairs upon his brow, an air of authority. She approached the open end brazenly.
“Mayor Sachney?”
He immediately waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, volunteers to the other tent. Can’t you see that we’re–”
Matti threw her arms wide, causing her cloak to flare out. Instantly, a burst of wind tore the stakes from the ground and sent the tent flying high into the air, leaving them exposed for all to see. Before anyone knew what happened, she had vanished, reappearing behind the mayor, turning him about, lifting him up by the neck, and—rather gently, all things considered—slamming him onto the table. Then, she spoke in a voice oft reserved for misbehaving henchmen, or imposing speeches.
“I am Mattirina of house Runil. I am the Duchess of Sidia and vampire royalty. And I owe one of your villagers a favor. Because of this, I am here to solve your monster problem. You are here to do exactly as I say. Understand?”
One could quite easily hear a pin drop anywhere in town. The onlookers were flabbergasted, quivering in their boots. Those at the table, fighting fit and braver than most, were nonetheless frozen in place. She looked around, feeling intoxicated by their terror.
“And if anyone thinks I am an evil to be driven out… step forward and do so,” she taunted.
What a joyous moment it was. All, save a single man, cowered before her. He was brave, removing his hands from the table to draw his woodsman’s hatchet. His fingers had almost closed around the grip before she was upon him, delivering a single, decisive backhand to his stomach. There he lay, folded in half and gasping for air.
Matti placed a foot on his shoulder as the 5 others backed away. “Would anyone else care to step up, or is it time to join me in defending your home?”
The mayor finished gathering himself as he turned to lean against the table. “Milady,” he coughed out. “Forgive my rudeness, but… how do we know the beasts are not yours?”
She smiled for the sliver of intellect. “Ah, the Olvais gambit. I would have waited a week at least, to arrive in your most desperate hour. But I do not care what you think of my motives. I am taking control of this crisis, and there is nothing any of you can do about it.”
“We could–” Mayor Sachney started to protest.
Matti placed a hand over his mouth. “I will HYPNOTIZE THIS ENTIRE TOWN IF I HAVE TO! You are all defending yourselves tonight,” she hissed, dumping out a sack onto the table, revealing 40 scutum shields, and 40 shortswords with scabbard and belt. They fell into a disorganized heap, spilling off the sides. “FORM UP!”
The hypnotic energies imbued into her bellows immediately overcame the weakest of minds in earshot, earning her 6 volunteers. The regathering crowd watched in a fascinated horror as people they knew all their lives submitted effortlessly, taking up sword and shield as ordered. Not understanding the very real extent of her grip on them, many villagers mistook the half-dozen for brave volunteers. Thus, 6 became 10, then 20, until the armaments she brought seemed perhaps… insufficient.
The vampire smiled, jumping onto the table as she prepared the next note of her speech, a little reassurance after frightening them all so much.
Then, the tent she flung into the air nearly a minute ago crashed into the square, loudly splintering its wooden poles, ripping its canvas, and even sending a piece flying into one of the only nearby glass windows.
Which shattered, of course.
All hints of smugness vanished from Matti’s face. Indeed, she appeared rather unamused, especially for the fact that there was no one to blame but herself. Alas, she recollected herself and shot her grinning horse a dirty look before resuming.
“Now, given time I would teach you the art of combat, but the sun already sets,” she declared, waving toward the red horizon. “Instead, I give a gift often reserved for our own personal legions. You, come hither.”
The frightened young lad looked left and right, then approached. Matti gracefully stepped off the table and looked him in the eye. Placing a hand on either cheek, staring deep as her eyes began to glow crimson. “Do you know how to wield the blade and shield?”
His jaw fell slack a moment, then he blinked and shuddered. The glow had gone from her gaze. “I… I do now.”
“Demonstrate.”
The boy sprung into action. Plucking a sword off the table and lashing it to his waist like a seasoned professional, he completed it with a shield. Matti held up one of the more tattered maps to her left and gave him a nod. Without hesitation, he drew his blade, raised the shield, then lunged forward, bashing the whole shield into her body and stabbing the paper held off to the side. He backed off and she grinned dangerously.
“Careful, boy, I almost felt that,” she teased. “Next!”
……
Fear rose and fell like the tide, growing and dying by the moment. Some were too afraid to be hypnotized, others feared the ire of their friends, should they be seen backing down. And then they looked into the void that looked back, the ruby eyes, and they felt nothing. Stillness. With sword, shield, and helm meted out for 40, Matti moved her plan along.
“Archers, bowmen, hunters, bow or sling, stand and be counted!” she yelled.
Once organized, the gaggle totaled 3 dozen and change, until the unexpected happened.
“Oi, count us in too, bruv!” called a voice entering the square.
Matti turned and was awash with great indignation. The very black-clad bandits had arrived, carrying their spears and crossbows, and to volunteer, no less. It was a crossbowman in front who spoke for all of them.
“And what in the world are you doing here?” she asked with no small amount of disdain.
“We got ya le’a. Said town was under ‘seegee’. I ain’t know much, but I know we go’a defend our biscuit source!”
The moment he said that, a number of cheers erupted. She snarled softly, causing Sachney to break his silent observation and speak to them. “Gents!” he greeted as he jogged over. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t know you’d come for something like this, the road being your purview and all.”
The crossbowman looked around to his lads. “Well iss not much good si’in on the road if the trouble comes from the forest, innit?” he asked to a chorus of low yeahs from his followers. “So we’s ‘ere to solve the problem.”
As the conversation persisted, Matti righted herself and dispelled her anger at their unwashed scents. She strode over confidently and pointed to them. “All of you, split into 2 groups, melee and ranged.”
They did as ordered and formed into separate crowds. 11 spearmen, 14 crossbowers. Her eyebrows raised at their surprisingly decent numbers. As if nobody had cleared them out in years. But that was another aside for another day. The sun was minutes from vanishing. She returned to the table. There was a map of the town, which she studied a few vital moments.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“I will return in 6 minutes. When I do, I want everyone ready to move, understand?”
Before anyone could respond more than a single word, she mounted Pyroshir and rode off to the edge of town. There, she dug into the extra-dimensional pockets sewn inside her cloak.
“I’m tellin’ Dennis about the tent.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He snorted. “Do I dare indeed. You ain’t doin’ shit to me, and that wuz the fuckin’ funniest shit, I swear.”
“Fine.”
Defeated—even if privately—she found the necklace she sought, massive square beads made like castle walls of brick and parapet, with a centerpiece of a purple gem hidden behind 2 castle gate doors. She held up the relic to the vanishing sun, seeing one last glint off its polished surface. The doors opened to reveal the gem.
“Take me there, right where the town cuts into the side of the hill.”
Once there, she opened the clasp of the necklace and touched an end to the wall of the quarry. Then, she seized the reins and rode around town in a very deliberate shape, speaking orders to Pyroshir seconds ahead of time so he could make the precise turns she demanded. Behind them trailed dots of light, will-o-wisps in the night. Together, they traced a horseshoe around the village, with triangles jutting out, a ring around the road, and another facing the forest.
5 minutes later, they reached the other side of the quarry, where Matti touched the other end of the necklace to the other end of the quarry. The whole relic began to glow and sparkle, humming with emergent energy. They returned to the center, finding much apprehension. Matti held the necklace high and pressed the gem with her finger.
The ground began to rumble, buildings shook, panic gripped a few with its claws. The ground she had traced split in twain as stonework rose from it. All around the town, a castle wall with parapets and braziers emerged from the ground, rising higher and higher until it stood no less than 30 feet tall. A Gate rested at the road, and another from whence the monsters came.
“Archers, bandits, to the wall! Half at the forest gate, the rest spread across the parapets! Legionaries, follow me.”
……
Armed men and women patrolled the stone walkways, the only sound to accompany them the rare snap of the brazier flames. Wind swept the moonlit grasses as the shield bearers waited anxiously at the gate. Slowly, the unarmed were stocking the length of the wall with rocks from the quarry. Matti held one of the parapets above, watching intently with her keen eyes. Beside her, the mayor regaled her as to what attacked the nights prior, and when.
“They were quite foul. Like mud wrapped in vines, walking about like man or beast. Reeked too, smell like death the lot of them.”
“Detrites, Mr. Sachney. What skeletons are left in the forest are given flesh of earth and muscles of flora. Usually made by scrounging, but you can speed up the corpse collection with quicksand.”
The mustachioed man grimaced. “And who would make them of all things?”
She watched as subtle movements crossed between trees, hid behind bushes, closing in slowly. “Few. There are superior undead. But there is a creature I know that has a talent for them: The dingeling. A broken little puppet, wood for bones, skin of painted rags. They delight in making helpless people scream in terror with their little armies of twisted, deathly revenants.”
He tapped the wall nervously. “And that… thing is responsible?”
“Very likely so. Many things enjoy raiding little villages, but I cannot think of another that makes detrites.”
“But why? There’s not much here to take. Did it just show up?”
Matti opened a bag on her hip and slid out a glaive taller than herself. The haft blackened wood, and the blade gleaming with murderous energy. “It’s not impossible for a wild one to have found a target. More likely, someone fetched an inert one from its box and woke it up, then sent it here. Either wanting you dead, or so scared you drop to your knees and thank them when they ride in on shining steeds to drive out the evil.”
Sachney frowned, both at the statement and the polearm. “Who could possibly want to wipe us out, or seize our land?”
“Hold this.”
Matti shoved the polearm into his hands, then removed her cloak and coat, revealing a close-fitting breastplate that ended at the sternum, giving way to scalemail that draped down to the waist. She spoke as she removed them.
"Once their assault is destroyed, I will seek its den and kill it before it can flee. I trust you can maintain my victory until I return."
Both removed articles found their way into his arms, and she retrieved her weapon.
“Hold a lady’s cloak, like the gentlemen you are.” She hopped up onto the ramparts and whistled; a loud, shrill note that carried farther than a common man could hope. As the black horse ran out the front gate, she glanced over her shoulder. “As for who and why, it’s a good question. Or, it would be, if I cared.”
And then, she jumped, landing on the saddle with all due grace. “Defensive formation. They are coming,” she ordered the shield bearers behind her.
The shield wall swiftly formed, 12-wide, 3-deep, the rear lines holding their shields over their heads. Matti spurred Pyroshir forward to meet the threat head-on. The smell of every phase of decay wafted over her as forms shambled and darted through the shadows in the woods before her. She clutched the reins, counting no less than 30.
“Use no flame, Pyroshir. Effective as it may be, it can cause them to burst violently,” she whispered.
He bucked his head. “No fire neva. A single spark and peeps might figure out whose horse I am,” came the hushed retort.
The first form broke the treeline. A human-shaped gaggle of dying vines, rotting leaves and dripping mud, shambling with a clear, focused intent: Inflict. Suffering dogged its every motion, but it was doing exactly what it wanted to. Matti spurred forward and they picked up speed. The glaive in her hand slid down as she gripped it nearly by the end of the haft, raising it high and swinging with great force as Pyroshir swerved past the creature.
The detrite’s head flew off its shoulders, falling to the ground with a splat. Its form froze in a shocked backward lean, until it righted and continued to advance. As she circled around, arms shot out from a passing bush and she ducked the attack. More were coming. A lot more. A dozen came out into the open. She rode up and down the line, slashing and stabbing to little avail. Limbs flew, heads rolled, feet marched anyway.
“Fire at will!” Sachney ordered in the distance. Instantly, the whistle of arrows and bolts filled the night as projectiles flew all about. The wet thumps of hits mixed with the hoofbeats as the thrill of battle took hold. A maniacal, tight-lipped smile appeared as she severed limb after limb, feeling weak hits deflect harmlessly against her enchanted garb. But it soon faded, as she took in the field of battle.
Dogs, deer, men, bears, detrites of all shapes were pouring into the open, at least 50, and only 4 laid dead. She halted her ride and focused her power. A crackle of light leapt between her fingers and she loosed a bolt of lightning, striking a muddy bear and bursting it into a mess on the ground. With a breath, she rode on, seeing several more breaking off to seek another entrance. That would not do.
A young man watched as the horde approached. The headless man-thing was but feet away. Swallowing his fear, he found his voice. “Rear!” he called, the order to lean back, to wind up. The beast broke into a run as it careened toward them. “Strike!”
In unison, the whole formation swung forward, bashing against the runner and knocking it on its back foot. Then, in perfect synchrony, the swords nearest the monster shot out and stabbed it four times over. “Rear, strike!” he repeated as the formation waved like grass in the wind, bashing the foe rhythmically as they stabbed and slashed it relentlessly. Only after many repetitions did they realize it had stopped moving.
But that was one. Next came a man, a deer, and two wolves, one of which leapt at him. He ducked behind his shield and felt the impact as the canid monstrosity clambered over the top. It stared down on him, kicking and scratching as it salivated rancid mud. A sword pierced its skull as the woman behind him drove it back, those either side of him slashing its sides.
The wolf fell back and he scrambled to his feet, seeing the chaos unfolding as more and more foes were crowding in. Another man had taken up the song of death, and everyone struck to his tune. Bash, strike, bash, strike. He cut vines, shattered bones, and sprayed mud. With each kill, a slick sludge spilled out at his feet. Arrows rained down from left and right, screams flared moment by moment. It was all he could do to breathe and stab.
“Cut the vines! Cut the vines!” someone cried.
It barely registered to him. After multiple repetitions, he realized the order. With a downward chop, he gutted the man-thing before him. Its insides spilled out and it deflated like a torn sack of grain, spilling across the ground and losing all fight. The small triumph filled him as he slashed again and again, but it was a short victory.
His ankle lit ablaze with pain and he fell backwards from the shock. He saw a wolf skull wrapped around his calf, gnawing with all its strength. His shield dropped forward, opening the way for more. Just as a goat made to charge for him, the man to his left stepped in and filled the gap. He kicked desperately at the wolf skull, its teeth further rending flesh until it was dislodged.
“Wounded! Make way!” yelled the woman behind him as she grabbed his shirt and dragged him back, out of the mud.
His own cries of pain were all he could hear at first, his sword forgotten like his shield. Someone leapt to tend to him, but he was fixated.
“Bull! Shoot the bull!” the mayor’s voice echoed. “It’s not stopping! Get out of the way!”
The block of purple and silver shields parted before him as the unmistakable horns of a bull ox charged forward. The creature wrapped in vines would surely miss the legionaries, but not him. He closed his eyes, praying the deathblow would be swift and painless.
CHOOMPH
A brilliant flash of white pierced his eyelids and he dared to look. 3 muddy creatures were frozen solid, shattering to renewed bashing, and the bull was like a statue. A black blur passed in front of it in the blink of an eye, reducing it to fragments with a single strike from the hellish horsewoman. The mix of blinding fear and searing pain mixed into blissful silence as his head fell back. His battle was over.
Matti felt flesh and bone sever once more under the slash of her glaive as she reached the end of the enemy horde. Pyroshir turned about and she spotted a problem. A bear climbing the wall. “Yah!” she yelled as her steed burst forth with his boundless stamina. Her feet slipped from the stirrups and she stood on the saddle, leaping forth to run along the side of the wall. The bear was halfway up as she closed in.
A moment before impact, a stone thrice the size of her head crashed into the bear from above, sending it careening to the ground with a cartoonish splat. She glanced up, seeing a bandit and townsfolk peering over the edge at their handiwork. Her focus returned to the fields below as she leapt down. Pyroshir was not there, as another had blocked his way. Matti hit the ground and ran, slicing madly at everything around, slinging bolts of lighting whenever she could, and spinning her glaive so fast it whirred.
The urge to hiss, to bare her fangs was strong, but she dared not. Rancid mud flew all about with each blow, a taste not to sample. In all the battle and chaos, she wondered why that thought occurred above all else. It all became a blur as she dismembered, decapitated and dispatched foes by the dozen. Slicing their vines and watching them melt into pitiful heaps.
“They’re routing, they’re routing!” Sachney’s voice echoed.
“Suck my bolts you ugly cunts!” the bandit leader added eloquently.
Hoofbeats came toward her and Matti halted her wild strikes. She sighted Pyroshir and leapt for him, deftly landing in the saddle and flicking the reins. “Hold formation!” she bellowed as she disappeared into the forest.
Riding fast and low, she slipped a gem from her pocket. It glowed softly as she held it forward. As the seconds passed, it grew brighter. “Strong magic ahead, keep going!”
The shine intensified as they navigated the woods, passing retreating detrites. A clearing appeared. A likely candidate, with several larger detrites milling about. There was a large, dead tree in the middle.
“You take the ones on the left. Nobody around, fire away!” Matti barked as she leapt from the saddle once more.
Her glaive bisected the first ogre-thing twice, shoulder-to-crotch and waist-to-waist. A bolt of frost slung from her hand and froze 2 more solid. The rest were burnt or kicked by Pyroshir. Matti rushed forward and smashed the hollow, standing log to pieces. Splinters and shards of log flew through the air as the husk of a tree vanished, revealing a passage into a burrow of unknown complexity.
With no patience left to her name, Matti focused the last of her reserved energies and slammed the ground with the base of her glaive. The earth trembled, cracking and spewing hot air as the underground tunnels ripped themselves apart. Stones, bones, tiny furniture and tools were slung into the air as the earthen shelter spewed its contents.
Among the waste, a small, humanoid form was thrown skyward, skin of burlap crossed by graffiti, bones of wood, and clothes of bark and leaves lashed with vines. She lunged forward and grabbed the dingeling. Her glaive fell to the ground as she grasped the struggling diminutive creature with both hands.
And snapped its neck.
The cracking repeated again and again as she fractured each bone and joint of wood. The detrites around them lost form and collapsed into heaps as Matti achieved catharsis. Broken, the form rested limp in her grasp.
“Dayum gurl! He’s dead, you can stop!”
Redness faded from her sight as she regarded the broken doll. Matti huffed and straightened, collecting her weapon and jumping onto the saddle. Along the journey back, she observed the remaining foes, slowed, pained, as if sick. Their magic fading. In minutes, the town gates came into view. The formation had held. Nothing made it beyond the wall. Shields parted as she made her way in, seeing the wounded and their tenders.
“Wash their wounds with alcohol, then feed them these,” she instructed, holding the glaive with her leg to pass a bound pack of healing potions.
Mayor Sachney ran down from the wall. “A brilliant show, Milady! We must have felled halfway to a hundred! How many more do you think there are?”
She looked him in the eye, coldly stating: “None, come morning.” Then, she tossed the broken doll into his hands. “That, my dear mayor, is a dingeling, or what’s left of it. With it destroyed, all its creations shall perish. See that the corpse is burned.”
She then turned to the gathered troops, all eyes falling on her. “The necromancer is dead! VICTORY!”
Farmers, hunters, potters, smiths, bandits, all were united in that hurrah.
……
With a flick of her hand, the empty hearth burst to life, with nary a scrap of wood to feed it. Sachney had asked her what she wanted as payment for her services, and it had been a simple list. Use of an unoccupied dwelling, 5 basins of clean water—3 to bathe and 2 for laundering—and the finest virgin maiden in town, aged 16-20. Whilst she awaited the last of her payment, Matti laid out a number of soaps and cloths on the lone table. With every movement, she felt the grime worming across her skin.
It seemed only natural to expect a knock, or, perhaps a shout. Instead, her sharp ears heard a struggle; the muffled noises of someone fighting with all their strength against a number of people. Then, the door was thrown open, and a young woman shoved inside before the passage shut behind her forcefully. Matti continued laying out her toiletries as the girl bashed against the door.
“LET ME OUT YOU BASTARDS!” she shrieked between shoulder checks. “DON’T DO THIS TO ME!”
Such delicious fear it was, impossible to ignore. It was a blonde, wavy, shoulder-length golden locks, shapely curves, and scarcely an ounce of fat - not that anyone in town had the luxury of fattening. Matti was as the spider, the borrowed home, her web. Upon the little dayfly in a moment, the girl had only finished turning around when a hand covered her mouth. The crimson eyes glowed bright, and all worry melted away. The vampire released her newest thrall.
“Welcome, girl. I presume you know why you are here?”
Even through strong hypnosis, the fear still seeped out into her answer. “It’s… Chaika, my name is Chaika. I have been sent…” she shuddered. “As your dinner. The bastards threw me in here to feed you.”
Matti chuckled darkly, openly licking her fangs. “I require a lot more than mere dinner, miss Chaika.” She placed a finger under the blonde’s chin. “I have just defended your home with all my might. And for my reward? I am coated in the stench of rot and death. You are my handmaiden for tonight. Now, unless you would like your clothes to stink too, I suggest you disrobe.”
So, for the next hour they worked with cloth and soap, the fire their only source of light in the windowless house. The water was willed to warmth, the soaps smelled of flowers, and the fair maiden’s hands only trembled slightly. How Matti had missed such pampering; one of the few things she regretted leaving behind with Castle Sidia. Together, they worked the filth from her skin, and combed the mud from her hair until the first basin grew foul.
Only after much toil was the stink gone, leaving her cleansed. Matti ordered Chaika to wash herself in the 3rd tub, then placed a little mirror on the wall, which grew many times its size.
“I thought vampires cast no reflection,” Chaika mused aloud.
“Hence why we must carry magical mirrors with us,” Matti replied, running a brush through her straight onyx hair.
There was a pause as Matti felt her hypnotic grip waver a moment. “Thank you for heating the water.”
The vampire only continued to brush.
As the minutes slipped on, it came Chaika’s turn to stand before the mirror, tending to her hair. Then, her body went stiff as she felt her hair being pulled back over her shoulder.
“I believe it is time that we discuss your other duties,” Matti whispered into her ear from close behind.
Whatever words she had were stifled, forced to silence as the vampire plucked the hairbrush from Chaika’s hand, sensually pressing their flesh together and licking at her neck. A gasp took form, born of fear and unwanted excitement; the body sensing the beginnings of pleasure, forcibly blinded to the threats a clear mind could so easily identify.
Then the hand clasped her chin, the other wrapping around her side and caressing her belly as the fangs sunk smoothly into her neck. Panic and adrenaline clashed against the forced calm. She struggled and squirmed against a gentle grip that felt like clamps of iron. Her cheek felt the brush of a thumb, and her belly was rubbed playfully as the sanguine sips continued unimpeded. Every corner of her mind cried death and ruin, but, ever louder, her body spoke of pleasure.
As the darkness crept into the corners of her vision, as her perception began to swirl with her fading cognition, a noise escaped her lips. What could have very easily been her final utterance, and it was a pitiful squeak of an excited moan.
“Ah!”
Yet it was restraint that won out that night. The fangs left her flesh, and a lick staunched the bleeding. Gently, Matti lowered her to the floor, dizzied. Right as consciousness was surely lost, a vial of blue, lifegiving brew passed Chaika’s lips and vitality returned to her. Relief took hold, for she realized that death had not come.
“Now, as I was saying, your other duties. You will launder my dirtied clothes, and clean my armor. Then you will throw out the fouled water, and keep watch over this house while I sleep.”
Matti was already putting on her nightgown by the time the dumbstruck reply came. “W– what? My life was flashing before my eyes. Is that nothing to you?”
The vampire glanced over her shoulder, seeing the indignant girl clutching knees and neck. Then, she shook her head. “I have killed, spared, and scared plenty.”
“Can you at least pretend to care? Please?” she asked, on the verge of tears.
Matti sighed, then tossed Chaika her neatly-folded outfit. “Fine. Tell me about yourself.”
What followed was the thousandth tearful tale of a sickly mother and perished father. Years of hard work to fund medicine and magic, until neither worked any longer. Right up until the present day, with the mother in her final years. Such a mournful story, told with honest pain. It was plentifully familiar; so much so that Matti ignored most of it as she turned the little pocket-sized box into a proper sleeping coffin.
There was, however, a moment that brought Matti pause.
“I wish my sister was here.”
“Oh?” Matti asked as she made up the silken sheets in her coffin. “She’s run off, leaving you caring for your mum alone?”
“No, no,” Chaika sniffled. “She sends the best magics and medicines she can with the money from that God’s-Chosen-run company.”
Matti looked up from her bed making, then, very casually, stole a glance over her shoulder. Chaika was busy laundering the clothes, so Matti took a nice, long look. Golden locks, cool blue eyes, freckled cheeks, and a winning figure. She might have realized it sooner, had she cared to look and think.
Oh.
“It sounds as if your sister has made the best of a bad situation.”
Chaika smiled a tiny bit. “Yeah. I do miss her, though." Then, her face dropped. "Please don't tell anyone she works there, they'd start asking for money.”
Quietly, Matti shut herself in the coffin and locked it from the inside.
……
The next day passed in tense celebration. Scouting parties formed to scour the forest, finding not one functioning detrite. Villagers and bandits alike drank of ale and partied, exchanging stories and confectionery. Games were played, and the losers had to wash the creepy, supernatural horse. Matti spent it in the shadows, choosing to go unnoticed whenever possible. When the night came, she stood atop the wall, waiting for a foe that never struck. And when the sun rose, Sachney had signed an agreement, loaning him the swords, shields, helmets, and the wall for a number of months.
As payment, they offered her a basket of the local crops: Cocoa beans, morel, and truffles. She had assumed there was nothing of interest they could offer her. She was wrong. Thus began her slower ride home, fraught with a very important question.
How would she say ‘I met your sister’?