Darian pulled at the edges of his wool hood with frosted fingers, grimacing as the wind lashed at him with jagged, icy claws. They’d spent the previous night huddled in a cave, Isaac and Krast greedy for the warmth Jorg’s meager fire provided. Their vampiric blood offered some resistance to the cold, but even Darian’s advanced protection was being tested by the elements.

“Perhaps we should turn back?” Jorg asked, his eyes scanning the patchwork of darkened clouds that hung overhead.

“This is but the first tooth of winter,” Krast said, nudging Isaac down the hill. “If we stay much longer, she’ll swallow us whole.”

Darian watched Krast and Isaac as they marched forward, their shoulders slumped against the frigid mountain air. The boys could be mistaken for brothers, a mistake Darian had himself made upon meeting them. They shared the same short, dirty blonde hair and thick shoulders. They were also both tall, and prior to becoming vampires they shared the same green eyes. But Krast had a different aura about him—a hint of barely contained ferocity. He out of all the vampires had the least control over his thirst. If the boy had stayed in the village, tragedy surely would have struck.

But bringing him on the road was not any less dangerous. Their only reprieve would be the weather, since that would mean very few travelers. But they would inevitably run across civilization, and that is where Krast’s true test would await. Darian had attempted to help the other vampires control their thirst, but there was only so much he could do in the week they spent together. He was lucky that Nathaniel, Aelen, and Jorg had proved to be resistant to their hunger. If they were anything like Krast…well, that didn’t bear thinking about.

“Will we even be able to find the second cave in this weather?” Jorg asked, thick snow falling around him.

“Fria’s instructions were clear,” Darian replied. “We follow the road until we reach a fork, then we go left. The cave will be behind the burnt out remains of an old inn.”

“Shame the inn’s gone,” Isaac said. “I’m not one for sleeping in dingy caves.”

“And I could use something to eat,” Krast said with a twisted smile.

“You’ll just have to wait,” Darian said to the boy. He’d had each of them fill up on cow’s blood before they started their journey, and Darian had dominated a few rabbits for the boys to drain the previous night. Yet Krast still had a hungry gleam in his eyes.

The road they traveled snaked down the mountainside. Yet the further they traveled down from the snowy peaks, the more ice-laced the air became. And with the snow falling harder and harder, visibility was poor. More than once Darian thought he heard or saw something stalking the forest, but each time it proved to be a figment of his overactive imagination. Still, he did his best to remain alert, for he could not shake a growing worry forming in his gut.

Jorg, despite the thick fur he wore, shivered. “How can you travel wearing that?” he asked, looking Darian up and down.

Darian wore his wool cloak and fur undergarments, but despite the cold he still donned his chainmail shirt. The rings were ice cold, but he ignored the sensation.

“My frost resistance is much higher than yours. But I will admit, I am starting to regret not wearing anything warmer.” He did have a few thick blankets and other materials stuffed into his inventory, but he would only pull them out once they reached their destination.

As the road turned from snow packed slush to the hardness of stone, Darian spotted a shape ahead.

“Stop,” he commanded, squinting through the haze. “There’s a covered wagon on the road.”

“A wagon?” Krast frowned as he approached Darian and Jorg. “It’s not the Justicars, is it?”

“No. Durance and his men would have turned off on that eastern road miles back,” Jorg replied, reaching beneath his cloak to pull out his mace. “This belongs to someone else.”

“I don’t see a fire,” Isaac added. “They’ll be mighty cold without one.”

Then Darian smelled it. It was barely a whiff, a strand of crimson sweetness that somehow reached his nose through the roaring winds.

“Jorg, stay here with the boys. Something isn’t right.”

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Jorg nodded and then pulled the boys to crouch by the roadside. Krast tried arguing with the old Justicar, but he eventually relented. Once they were out of the way, Darian retrieved Sparkblade from his inventory and advanced.

More wagons appeared through the snow, numbering three in total. And the closer Darian got, the harsher the scent of blood. It’s not quite fresh, but not quite stale, either. Once he reached the first wagon, he put his back to it and listened.

There came a gnashing from somewhere ahead, followed by the sound of tearing flesh. Darian did his best to listen closer, but the wagons rattled from the wind. He crouched and worked his way around, noting the dark shafted arrows that littered the ground.

From skeleton archer, by the looks of them. He peered into the roadside trees. What are the undead doing out here? Then he turned the corner, ready to hack at any skeletons or zombies that stood in his way. But the creatures that squatted amidst the bodies were not what Darian had expected.

The first looked up at him with a wide mouth filled with gore drenched teeth and eyes that blazed with golden fire. Its body was thin and small, almost like a goblin, but its skin was dark grey and covered in jutting scales. And atop its back was a set of wings, though they almost appeared to be made of stone. On the ground were three other creatures just like the first, and they fed on the frozen bodies of dead travelers.

It screeched, its mouth opening impossibly wide. Then the two behind it leapt through the air, their jaws snapping at Darian’s face. He backed away, startled by the small creatures’ sudden speed and ferocity. But then he activated [Bulwark] and with the aid of [Determined Strike], split one of them in half.

To Darian’s surprise, the creature’s body rolled on the ground and then evaporated into bright green mist. The remaining three did not take kindly to this, and the largest of them reared back, an orb of flame forming in its small, clawed hand.

With a [Dash Strike] Darian brought his blade through the beast’s neck, severing its head. But the others jumped at him from both sides, and he could not dodge them both. With his elbow, he caught one along the cheek, knocking it to the ground. But the other sank its tiny, razor-sharp teeth into Darian’s leg.

Grunting, he reached down and gripped the monster’s head, his fingers melting into its skull from [Corrosive Touch]. It howled and rolled away, giving Darian time to spin and drive his sword through the other monster’s chest.

As it became mist, Darian turned his attention on the remaining beast. But it was gone. He could vaguely hear it scamper into the trees, but he made no attempt to follow it. There could be more of them hiding in the forest. He scanned the other wagons, the bodies, watching for signs of life. When no more creatures appeared, he relaxed, letting his eyes take in the carnage.

Seven corpses lay in the middle of the wagons, a few of them belonging to children. Further off were the bodies of dead guards, black arrows jutting from them. But the dead before Darian had their throats cut, most likely executed by whoever attacked them.

The remains of two skeleton warriors sat beside one of the wagons, their rusted armor collecting snow. The wagon doors rattled, and Darian peeked inside to find the wagon empty.

“Ransacked by the look of things,” Darian whispered to himself.

He checked another wagon, finding little left behind. It seemed the undead, most likely led by a necromancer, had attacked and robbed the caravan. Why a necromancer would do such a thing but leave the bodies, Darian had little idea, but the thought of it sent a fire to his steps.

When he opened the flap at the back of the last wagon, he took an involuntary step back. There was a man sitting at the other end, his knees up to his chest and his pale eyes wide open. It took Darian a second to realize the man was dead. But he had no wounds that Darian could see, meaning he most likely froze to death.

“A horrible way to die.” Darian closed the flap, looking once more at the devastation before he marched up the road.

As he walked back to Jorg and the boys, he spotted some of the strange creatures’ blood on the cobblestone road. But it did not smell like blood. In fact, it had no smell at all.

“What news?” Jorg asked, lowering his mace as he saw Darian approaching.

“The wagons belong to some kind of caravan, possibly a merchant family.” Darian paused, remembering the bodies of the children. “They were attacked by undead. There are no survivors.”

Jorg hung his head, then glanced at the boys behind him. “Should we go around? The blood might be too much for them.”

“The bodies are frozen, and that includes the blood. Even my greatly enhanced perception could hardly smell it. And I can’t be sure there aren’t more of those creatures hiding in the woods.”

“Creatures?” Jorg frowned. “What kind of creatures?”

Darian explained the small monsters to Jorg the best he could, the old Justicar’s face growing more grim with each detail.

“They sound like gremlins.” Jorg said. “They are minor fey, but they should not be here. Not unless…” He gripped his mace tightly. “We must move on from this place, and quickly.”

Darian nodded his agreement. Gremlins? Fey? Darian didn’t know much about the creatures, but if that is what Jorg thought they were, he had little reason to argue.

But then he realized something.

I never received XP for the battle being completed. Then he heard chittering in the shadows and spun, the road overcome by a sodden fog, the vague shape of a woman at its center.

“Gather behind me,” Jorg said to the boys, fear cracking his voice. “The fey have come.”