“And what is a vampire, exactly?”

We were back on the ground and on the move at dawn, Rhydion and I being in agreement—albeit for separate reasons—that it was best to respect our hosts’ terms strictly and not impose on their hospitality any further. As such we had had a quick breakfast from our own supplies rather than suggesting they should feed us again, and lingered only long enough to have someone unroll a ladder for us and be escorted to the periphery of the khora grove in which their village was built. Now we were off again, heading through the frigid forest toward the southwest, where the witch supposedly was.

That was all we knew: “southwest.” This promised to be a very annoying camping trip.

“You’re asking me?” I couldn’t help being surprised at finding myself somehow the expert on fantasy bullshit. “You’re the folks who’ve got one in your own country. Aren’t you all professional monster-slayers, too? I figured you’d know all the details.”

“Each part of that was more wrong than the last.” Dhinell seemed even grumpier than usual when cold and sleep-deprived.

“I have never heard of such a thing,” Rhydion answered, still as patient and seemingly calm as when he’d asked a moment ago. “And I am probably the closest to a professional monster-slayer out of any of us. I assumed it was something rare from your homeland, Lord Seiji.”

“Oh, they’re not from my homeland. We don’t have vampires—in fact, where I’m from, these are myths. Nobody believes they’re real. I think the original stories are from Eastern Europe.”

“And where the hell is that?” Harker grunted.

“Even farther from here than my own country. Which is really saying something.”

Actually, in the cosmic sense, Europe was more or less exactly as far from Ephemera as Japan. It felt farther, though. Japan was seemingly where the abduction portal came out.

Dhinell suddenly stopped mid-stride and turned toward me with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression, so I braced myself for something very annoying to happen.

“You came here by Spirit, didn’t you.” By her tone, it wasn’t really a question. “It happens from time to time, someone appears seemingly from nowhere, speaking arcane gibberish nobody understands. They failed a Spirit’s trial or just said the wrong thing to it and were sent here from another archipelago with no landbridges to this one.”

Huh. Well…that wasn’t so bad. In fact, that was actually what Lord Arider had assumed during our very brief acquaintance. It was, as I’d decided at that time, as good an explanation as any.

“The language was the hardest part,” I said, putting on a small smile. “Not the worst part; Fflyr Dlemathlys is a nightmare for anyone who understand anything about economics, political science, or basic morality. But definitely the hardest. Honestly, what is it with you people and consonants? A syllable needs a maximum of one.”

“You keep saying things like that,” Aster said, shaking her head. “I don’t believe any language could work that way and have enough vocabulary to actually communicate anything.”

I turned my most aggrieved look on her. “Et tu, Aster?”

Harker grunted. “And he speaks Latin, too. Somehow that seems about right.”

It was all I could do to keep my own surprise contained at that. How the fuck did this guy know what Latin was? I thought back to the corrupted Spirits in Kzidnak, and the unidentified European language in which they were coded. Yoshi had suggested it was Latin, but… With this whole place being made by celestial weeaboos, that would be a weird and really random thing to toss into the mix.

“That other boy around the Guild,” Dhinell commented, still staring at me. “The one with features like yours. He’s cagey about where he came from, too. Not that I’ve talked to him in any depth. The people he hangs around with tend to discourage civil conversation.”

I had to grin at that. “Yeah, Flaethwyn’s a treat, isn’t she?”

Dhinell narrowed her eyes at me. “So you do know him.”

Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I know, I know, Seiji opened his mouth without thinking, stop the fucking presses. Well, on the other hand, denying it could lead to problems if Yoshi contradicted me later, or Rhydion’s helmet had the kind of truth-detecting feature I was starting to suspect it did.

“I’ve met Yoshi a few times,” I said noncommittally. “Bailed his party out of jail once—that was also Flaethwyn’s fault, for the record. She’s like if the goddesses designed a whole person based on nothing but offensive stereotypes about highborn. Yoshi seems like a good kid, though. We don’t exactly hang out.”

“Even though he’s from your country?”

I shrugged. “Aren’t there people in Dlemathlys you don’t like? I’ve talked with Yoshi enough to know we have very little in common. I wish him luck doing the adventurer thing, but I’ve got my own stuff going on.”

“Far be it from me to dissuade you from getting to know one another, but we are on pressing business.” Rhydion’s interjection served to bring us back to the present; he then accentuated the point by turning to head off again, forcing the rest of us to hurry along with him. “Lord Seiji was about to tell us about vampires. I would prefer to know what can be known as early as possible before we must confront one.”

“Right, vampires.” I frowned in thought, trudging along through the snow and underbrush. “Shit… I was sort of counting on you to know how best to deal with them. The thing is, they are mythological creatures, or so I assumed until last night. There are hundreds of different stories and the rules are different in each of ‘em. I’m afraid anything I tell you in terms of strengths or weaknesses will turn out to be wrong and we’ll be screwed for going into this with incorrect expectations.”

“How the hell are you so sure this is a vampire, then?” Harker demanded.

“She’s immortal and has to drink blood to live. That’s it, those are the basics, the only universals of the vampire mythos. Beyond that…”

“Incorrect expectations are indeed a risk,” Rhydion agreed. “One which must be weighed against the risks of utter ignorance, however. We must trust your judgment, Lord Seiji. What can you tell us that you deem likeliest to be relevant?”

I chewed my lip as we walked, considering. Once again, here I was being screwed by the fact that I had never been all that interested in fantasy media.

“Let’s see… All right, it’s a fairly common part of the myth that they are physically superior to humans. Much stronger, faster, et cetera.”

“Lovely,” Dhinell muttered.

“As for other extremely common elements… Well, a lot of the stories depict vampires as averse to sunlight. The possible effects of them being exposed to the sun range from instant fiery death to, uh…a weird visual effect that draws more attention than they want.”

“What, so they live underground?” Harker demanded.

“No, they only come out at night.”

“What the hell difference would that make? You mean it’s only the full intensity of direct sunlight?”

It took me a second to remember where I was. Right, Ephemera was a broken, fragmentary planet where the nights never got fully dark because sunlight always streamed through the misty space where the mantle and crust should be.

“Yeah, I guess so. As I keep saying, these are old stories and I’m not an expert. Only other thing that seems extremely likely to me is that vampires are often described as being harmed or at least repelled by holy symbols. I’m not sure how much weight that has in and of itself, but it seems relevant here if the squirrels are right about where this one came from. Supposedly she was with the Dark Lord.”

“I suppose they would know,” Harker grunted. “Yomiko brought them here, as well. Dount didn’t have any beastfolk before she came.”

“Thank you, Lord Seiji,” said Rhydion. “We will keep these things in mind and proceed with care. If this creature is as dangerous as you suggest it may be inadvisable to confront her directly without more forces. In the absence of more evidence than we presently have, however, gaining further support will be difficult. I want to press on and attempt to confirm as much as we can about the source of the undead before withdrawing, but let us not take undue risks. Any danger which can press this group into retreat will justify a full response from the King’s Guild.”

There was some nodding and mumbled assent in response to that; it was early and we were all tired, not to mentioned stiff with the chill. If Rhydion was disappointed with the lack of enthusiasm, though, he gave no sign of it. No shocker there, he didn’t generally give any sign of much.

“Psst, boss.” Biribo was pretty good about not squirming around, at least not to the point of making the movement in my scarf visible. Now he extended his nose just enough to whisper right below my ear. “We’re being stalked. That Vylkher guy and four other squirrels following on both sides and behind, out of sight in the khora. No sign of hostility; they’ll probably keep an eye on you until you’re out of their territory.”

Well, that stood to reason. Also, it suddenly occurred to me, it provided an opportunity to investigate the capabilities of my party members. One party member in particular, whose ability to detect an ambush was in fact immediately relevant to my interests.

“Hey, Harker,” I called. “Are the squirrels following us?”

“Definitely,” he replied without hesitation. He was still letting Rhydion take the lead, but Harker had moved to walk parallel with him in the front, a few meters to his right and with eyes constantly roaming the surrounding khora, clearly on the alert for threats. “They’ll watch anything we do until we’re far enough away they feel comfortable. Don’t worry, Lord Seiji, after last night I highly doubt they’ll attack us. We’re just as mysterious and scary as before, and now they also kinda like you. Some of ‘em, at least.”

“Well, yeah, makes sense,” I said, disappointed. “I was asking whether you can actually detect them, though. You being the scout and all.”

“Can I… What, sense people whose whole lives are built around moving silent and invisible through this particular forest? No, Lord Seiji, I cannot. I’m the best the Guild has; squirrel hunters are better. Your friend the Seer is the only kinda talent that can do that. I’m the wrong sort of magic.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

He reached up with one hand to pat the ornate bow strapped to his back. It was an artifact, of course, but I wasn’t supposed to be able to tell that at a glance, publicly being just a sorcerer myself.

Anyway, this had been a productive exchange. Firsthand confirmation that Harker could be snuck on by squirrel hunters. What a specifically useful piece of information, which I had a feeling I would be able to put to work in the future.

“Ah, so that is an artifact, then,” I said cheerfully. “I figured, it’s got that look. You don’t seem the type to blow coin on a fancy fake. What’s it do, then?”

Harker gave me an incredulously scornful look before returning his attention to the surrounding forest.

“This isn’t Lancor.”

I glanced back at Aster, who just smiled and shook her head. Thanks, faithful lieutenant, real helpful.

“I…have no idea what that means in this context,” I finally admitted.

“Lancoral culture is built largely around their code of chivalry,” Rhydion explained. “In particular, they have very refined customs surrounding dueling and personal combat. When a Lancoral knight or adventurer faces a foe they deem worthy, it is customary to exchange polite greetings, and then each party will briefly describe their spells or the capabilities of the artifacts they use. I believe only orc tribes share the custom, and not all of those. Most other cultures, including the Fflyr, consider this practice…strategically dubious.”

Yeah, no kidding. Forget chivalry, that was straight up shounen anime. You could really tell the goddesses—or at least one of them—had played a major role in the development of Lancor.

“Interesting,” I said aloud. “Are you from Lancor, or is that one of those things I’m not supposed to ask while the armor’s on?”

“Are you serious?!” Dhinell burst out.

“It’s quite all right, Sister,” Rhydion soothed. “Lord Seiji is foreign, after all. I find it quite a relief to be treated as the sum of my actions rather than my origins. To answer your question, no. I am from Fflyrdylle originally. I was graced with the opportunity to spend several years in the Empire, studying with the Radiant Temple and training in the borderlands. Some parts of Lancor’s outlying islands are nearly as wild as Dount, and it shares landbridges with several Viryan states which do not endorse the Savin prohibition on expansion outside of a Dark Crusade. While the Empire as a whole is an admirable example of stability, its fringes require exactly the kind of constant effort that produces seasoned adventurers very quickly. Many from other countries journey there to test and improve themselves in the Emperor’s service.”

“And just as many don’t,” Harker muttered. “The bureaucracy in that place is unreal. You gotta do more paperwork as an adventurer in Lancor than a court clerk in Dlemathlys.”

“Heads up, boss, Vylkher’s on approach,” Biribo muttered just under my ear. It caused me to miss whatever Rhydion said to Harker in response, but that was probably fine; this would undoubtedly be more important.

“South,” the familiar voice said suddenly from seemingly nowhere.

We all stopped and turned, Dhinell starting violently and Aster and Harker both instinctively reaching for weapons before they recognized the speaker and lowered their hands. I, and…interestingly…Rhydion just turned to regard Vylkher without surprise.

The squirrelman’s face had appeared above us, between the prongs of a kind of khora that I recognized would have a relatively flat top surrounded by a rim of branches, popular among hunters as ambush spots.

“You’ll want to veer more south,” he clarified in response to our silent stares. “You are presently on course to pass dangerously close to the southern shore of the lake on your way to the island’s edge. Risk of meeting a naga patrol, there. The witch’s lair is less west and more south.”

“Well, hey, thanks for the tip,” I said cheerfully.

“Indeed,” Rhydion agreed in a more solemn tone. “We are grateful for any and all help, Vylkher.”

“Not to sound ungrateful,” Harker added, “but can you be a little more specific? Nobody’s been in that whole part of the island except zombies and you people in a hundred years. Even bandits don’t go down there. ‘South’ is helpful, but…only up to a point.”

“Hum. Yes.” Vylkher’s face vanished momentarily, and then the entire squirrel came vaulting out of the khora. He landed almost soundlessly in the snow alongside us—impressively agile, even for somebody who hunted for a living. Also definitely showing off, that couldn’t possibly have been the most efficient way to get down. “I can take you part of the way.”

“We would appreciate that very much,” said Rhydion. “Are you sure it won’t get you in trouble with your leader?”

“The tribe is deciding, today,” Vylkher said with a shrug. “There will be discussion all day, about you, and what to do about you. Where there is not yet consensus, I have room to exercise…judgment. I will not bring you too close—not enough that the witch might see me with you and take offense. I will not risk bringing her wrath on my village. But I can bring you close enough to find the rest of the way yourselves. The leader has not forbidden it. Anything which brings you quickly away from our lands will satisfy even the most hostile voices, I think.”

“Then we shall be in your care,” Rhydion intoned, folding down his hands in a gesture that made Vylkher tilt his head inquisitively, “and in your debt. Please lead on, friend.”

----------------------------------------

Our first encounter with the undead went much the same.

Vylker led us deeper into the forest, by midmorning passing a point Harker identified as the furthest the King’s Guild had sent scouts within living memory. Our guide was as taciturn as ever, speaking only when spoken to and even then only if he felt a reply was necessary.

The whole time, the tension slowly but inexorably rose in all of us, due to the lack of any monstrous encounters. Zombies had clearly made it as far as the eastern edge of the forest, and north into the very heart of wolf territory, and yet after over two days on the move we’d yet to encounter a single one. Neither Harker nor Vylkher could propose an explanation for this; Rhydion said that given the numbers of undead and sheer size of the forest it could be attributable to random chance, but advised us to beware the possibility of some strategy at work on the part of the witch.

The vampire.

Biribo quietly kept me updated on the movements of our known stalkers. Over the course of the morning, Vylkher’s friends silently peeled away and turned back one by one until he was truly alone with us before we stopped around noon for a break and food.

It was less than an hour after lunch that we finally met our first zombie, and it went down very much like Vylkher’s own appearance, starting with Biribo’s warning.

“Zombie contact, boss. Dead ahead; one target, doesn’t seem currently aware of us. We keep on this course we’ll see it through the khora in a couple minutes.”

I casually adjusted my scarf and rested my left hand on the pommel of my rapier, saying nothing.

At the pace we’d taken it was less than two minutes before anyone spotted it. Even forewarned, I wasn’t the first.

“Hsst,” Vylkher suddenly growled, dropping into a crouched stance.

“I see it,” Harker muttered. “Rhydion, Delavada, best get front. They don’t hit hard but they’re filthy, we want armored fighters in the van.”

Both of them drew weapons, Aster stepping up to stand parallel with Rhydion and moving to the side into a cleared area where she had room to fully utilize her greatsword.

“It’s seen us, boss, going on the attack,” Biribo whispered, and a second later I saw it.

The body of a human man, decomposing and apparently half-mummified, came staggering awkwardly out of the shadows beneath the khora directly in front of us, arms outstretched in a grasping motion and emitting a wet, rattling hiss from its gaping mouth.

For once, I found that fiction had more or less prepared me for this. A corpse is a corpse; if you’ve seen them walking around in movies, real life isn’t much different. If anything, my basic familiarity with zombie media probably lessened the impact compared to what my companions must be feeling. What was surprising was the coloration. This thing was tainted green, and not from any decomposition. Its eyes glowed a vivid, pulsating neon green, and drooling ichor of the same color was visible inside its gaping mouth, and peeking through breaks in its rotted skin.

The zombie’s gait was awkward and halting, but not slow, and it was coming right at us with clearly murderous intent. Rhydion and Aster braced themselves, Vylkher and Harker drew arrows and aimed past their shoulders, and Dhinell began murmuring a quiet prayer to her goddess. In seconds it would—

It tripped over a root and went sprawling in the snow.

We all stood there watching in bemusement as the felled zombie fumbled about like an upturned turtle. Poor thing was seriously lacking in coordination. It clawed at the ground, flopping ineptly over onto its back, and then began laboriously trying to drag itself back upright by a grip on the nearest khora.

Shaking my head, I stepped forward past Harker and held out one hand, aiming for the zombie through the gap between Aster and Rhydion.

“Shock.”

Damn that was fun! Lightning arced very satisfyingly from my fingertips to zap the undead. It immediately ceased its efforts, flopping onto its back in the snow angel it had just inadvertently made, smoking slightly and twitching.

“Huh,” I commented to no one in particular. “For that to have worked, they must have some semblance of a functioning nervous system. Interesting.”

Rhydion turned his helmet to face Aster, still keeping his body and sword angled toward the fallen zombie. “You have the superior reach.”

She nodded once and stepped forward, grim-faced. Aster paced to just within range of the zombie, which was still jerking but making nothing that looked like a concerted effort to get back up anymore. Bringing her greatsword up overhead, she brought it down in a wide vertical slash that cleaved the thing in half along a diagonal and sliced into the earth below it.

Aster pulled the blade loose and stepped back again, grimacing at the livid green smear across its blue akornin surface, and reached into her coat for a cleaning rag. The rest of us, meanwhile, crept forward to rubberneck at the slain zombie.

Her attack had clearly finished it off. There was only a bit more twitching before its separate pieces finally went still. From the bisected halves, livid and slightly glowing green goo was seeping out to form an acrid-smelling puddle in between.

“An astute observation, Lord Seiji,” Rhydion said quietly. “At a glance, this appears very like those slain beyond the forest. They do indeed appear to have some kind of nerve activity, as well as a circulatory system. Damaging most of the organs in the torso has little effect, but we have observed that destroying either the heart or brain stops whatever force animates them. That alone speaks to the nature of their creation. Undead made through pure magic are often harder to kill; these seem to be the work of a skilled alchemist attempting to reproduce…life.”

“Hmmm.” I narrowed my eyes, watching the slime pouring steadily out of the corpse’s two segments and gooping together. Something about that was twigging my memory… “D’you suppose she’s trying to engineer a permanent food source for herself?”

“I think it would be a mistake to conjecture about her motives at this juncture. We have little chance of stumbling upon the truth and risk prejudicing ourselves.”

“Good point. That green stuff… I don’t remember seeing that in the ones back at the Ardyllen estate.”

“Those ones were pretty well burned by the time you got there,” Harker replied. “They were the same when freshly killed. Fortunately that stuff burns off pretty good once you light some asauthec on it.”

“Which we should do here,” Dhinell suggested. “Goddess only knows what devilry is seeping into the earth beneath us from that filth.”

“Waste of oil,” Vylkher said laconically. “This is far from anybody. Animals aren’t stupid enough to eat it. Shouldn’t spread disease, in this cold.”

“I’m not certain I agree, but considering how many more of these we are likely to encounter from here, we cannot afford to properly burn each one,” said Rhydion. “Best move forward.”

“Hang on.” I leaned forward, kneeling in the melted snow to peer closely at the zombie.

“Ugh, please don’t touch it,” Aster begged.

“This…” I pointed at the livid green goo. It was moving together—slowly as chilled syrup, but with more motive than gravity alone could account for. “Did you guys investigate this stuff before you burned it?”

“I declared it too hazardous to touch,” said Rhydion. “We lacked a sufficiently specialized alchemist to make use of any samples. Do you recognize anything significant, Lord Seiji?”

“It’s…it’s slime.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we brought him along,” Harker said solemnly. “Each new insight is more valuable than the last.”

“No, I mean it’s…”

I stood up, shaking my head, and stepped back. Pointing one hand at the puddle of green muck, I inhaled and projected in a dramatic way that I explicitly do not need to for spellcasting, both because it helped obscure my ability to silently cast and because I just plain enjoy things like that.

“Tame Beast!”

Connection.

I felt it, just like every other time I’d done this. The awareness in the back of my head, my ability to reach out with my thoughts and seize control. It wasn’t the same this time; the connection felt weaker, my instructions coming through but the response sluggish. Still, it worked.

Right before our eyes, the glowing puddle began to shift, drawing its lingering traces out of the zombie’s decaying circulatory system with more effort than before. It all congealed in the melted depression it had made in the snow, then drew together and rose upward, finally building a form from its previously melted state.

There it sat, a quivering, melon-sized ball of luminous green slime, clearly filthy with detritus from the forest floor and the inside of a corpse, not to mention diluted from all the melted snow it had absorbed, but still recognizable.

“It’s slime,” I repeated. “Or more accurately, it’s a slime. This crazy witch isn’t raising the dead, she’s figured out how to turn corpses into slime-powered puppets.”