Darian woke with a start, sweat pooled on the pillow beneath him. He blinked into the darkness, his eyes scanning for some object of familiarity. But then he realized where he was, and he sunk back down into the bed.

He had been dreaming, but not of the lake of blood that had so often plagued his nights, but of home. Of his mother and father, their little house on the edge of the forest. A few brief months had passed since his death, yet it felt as if his old life were truly nothing but a dream.

Sliding off the bed, Darian tested his sore limbs. His passive regeneration had healed him overnight, but the stiffness of a hard-fought battle still dogged his steps. With a groan he walked and then stood beneath the orange rune on the ceiling. Heat rolled off it in great waves, the warmth soothing Darian’s aching body.

There was the shuffle of heavy feet in the hall, and Darian turned to listen. Jorg by the sounds of things. While Darian naturally rose when the sun fell, the same could not be said of the other vampires. The boys especially had a habit of trying to sleep the night away. But if Jorg was awake, Darian probably needed to talk to him.

He still wasn’t sure what the paladin had said the previous night to send such a flash of anger to his heart. But they could not continue with this much tension between them. He walked to the dresser and donned his armor and clothes. His chainmail was split along the shoulder, the rings torn apart by the nightmare’s claws. Because of his [Blood Squire] class, Darian had some knowledge of repair. But that wouldn’t help him in this case. What he needed was something new.

This is a fort. I’m sure there’s some armor that will fit me around here somewhere. Maybe even something a little warmer. Fully dressed, he left his room and made for the stairs.

Without a lantern, the only light came from the dim glow of the dwarven runes. They served almost like cheap overhead lights, and Darian followed them until he reached the first floor. It was nearly pitch black, but the glow of distant starlight shone from somewhere down the hall. Following it, Darian was able to navigate the twisting halls of the officer’s barracks and reach the exit.

Jorg was out in the courtyard, a pile of wood shards and a broken chair before him.

“What are you doing?” Darian asked.

“Lighting a fire,” Jorg said, striking something together between his palms.

Light flashed in the pile, fire springing to life a moment later. Jorg reached his hands toward it, his fur cloak tugged by the wind.

“Don’t think a fire will keep you warm out here,” Darian said as he moved to Jorg’s side.

“It’s not for warmth.” Jorg crouched, the firelight dancing in his crimson eyes. “Routines. They help clear the mind.”

“Did you light lots of fires during your time as a Justicar?”

Jorg smirked. “More than my fair share. Lots of folk have skills that let them start fires with nothing but a thought or a wave of their hand. But that can cause problems when none of those people are around.” He shook his head. “We lost a lot of men during our first war with the demons, and the mages were the first to fall. When winter hit, there were a whole lot of people in need a of a fire to keep them company during the long road home.”

“Why were the mages the first to fall?” Darian asked, settling down on the ground opposite Jorg.

“Demons don’t play well with certain kinds of magic. And they’re expert raiders and ambushers. They whittled down our forces long before we could reach the front lines.” He spat into the fire. “Bastards, the lot of them.”

“And now Lonelen is fighting them again.” Darian stared into the flame, wondering what a war between the Justicars and demons must look like.

“And we do not have our God with us this time.” He looked into Darian’s eyes, worry creasing his face. “I fear my nation will not survive this war. Not unless we find allies.”

“I’m sorry to say, but the Justicars don’t seem very popular.”

Jorg, to Darian’s surprise, nodded his agreement.

“We have lost our way since the first war. And now we scramble in the dark trying to find meaning in a world gone mad.” He nudged his head toward the prison. “My faith tells me what is righteous and what is not. Yet my faith has not saved my people.” He stood and stretched. “I will leave the fate of the prisoner up to you.”

“To be honest, I don’t know what to do with him. Him or any of this.” He waved his hand in an arc. “I’ve tried doing what I think is right, and it’s worked out alright so far. But things are more complicated now. I have other people I need to consider, responsibilities that weigh on me. And to tell you the truth, I feel directionless.” He stood and dusted the dirt from his pants. “I came to Vizzera with the hopes of finding a safe place for me and my kind, but all I’ve found is more violence.”

“The world is a violent place, Darian. More so now than perhaps ever before. But you are powerful. Maybe that will be enough to see your goals realized, whatever they end up becoming.”

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Darian laughed. “Never thought you’d give me a compliment like that.”

“Not a compliment,” Jorg corrected. “Simply an observation.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Might as well ask him now. “Jorg…why exactly did you follow me all the way out here?”

Jorg looked back into the flames, his face falling slack. “I was instructed to follow you.”

“Instructed?” Darian didn’t like where this was going. “By who?”

Before Jorg could answer, a pair of purple lights descended from the sky.

“Dwarves!” Tellal said between rabid gasps for air. “On the road. Headed…this way.”

Jorg jumped back from the fairy. “Fey.” He said with a growl.

“She’s friendly,” Darian said, dismissing the paladin.

“Fey are nothing but clever monsters. They cannot be trusted.”

Tellal stuck her tongue out. “Seems we’ve found another bigot, Lallet.”

Lallet fluttered down to her sister’s side. “Why are they always so ugly?”

Jorg started forward. “You insignificant—”

Darian grabbed him around the shoulders and pushed him away, the old Justicar nearly pitching into the dirt as he floundered for balance on the icy ground.

“Ignore him,” Darian commanded. “Now, what is this about dwarves?”

“They’re part of the mercenary band that attacked the fort,” Tellal answered.

“And there’s a lot of them. Way too many for even you to fight,” Lallet added.

“Damn this nonsense,” Jorg said.

But then Darian heard it. The stomp of dozens of boots on the eastern road, the sound of something bigger and slower moving along with them.

“They’re telling the truth,” Darian said, cold fear nestling in his chest. “Wake the boys. We have to leave.”

Jorg hesitated, looking between the eastern gate and the sisters.

“Go!” Darian demanded. “Or it will be too late.”

Thankfully the stubborn paladin relented. He broke into a sprint, his body disappearing into the officer’s barracks.

“Thank you for the warning,” Darian said, turning for the prison.

“Not a problem,” Tellal said. “But now we have to go. Good luck!”

“Please don’t die!” Lallet called from above.

Darian strode for the prison. He still needed to find out where Oliver was, and Alistair would tell him or suffer the consequences.

He found him in the same corner as always, but his breaths were shallow, muted by slumber.

“Get up,” Darian said as he entered the cell. “The dwarves have returned.”

Alistair woke with a start, his eyes wide and frantic. But then he calmed, his usual lax demeanor returning.

“They’ve come back already? Figured they would wait a little longer before they decided to take this place.”

“You knew this would happen?”

“I had my suspicions.” Alistair slowly rose. “But even I don’t know what they and the lich cult are up to. Not completely.”

“Oliver,” Darian growled. “Where is he?”

“Now now,” Alistair said, tutting. “That’s not the kind of thing one gets for fr—”

Darian’s fist crunched into the necromancer’s stomach, doubling him over. He coughed and slid down the wall, his hands wrapped around his ribs.

“I don’t have time for this.” He pointed at the door. “You think they will let you live? You either tell me where Oliver is, or I leave you in here for them to deal with.”

Alistair laughed. “There’s that,” he coughed. “Killer. Knew it was in there somewhere.” He groaned. “But you make a fine point. Oliver is to the north in the lich cult’s fortress. Follow the edge of the mountains north, then turn into the forest and follow the river. You won’t be able to miss it.” He raised his shackled hands. “Now please, hack these damned things off me before the stunted ones break in here and things get really nasty.”

“Fine.” Darian reached into his inventory for Sparkblade.

But it wasn’t there. It was still sitting beside his bed where he’d placed it the previous night.

“Shit,” he said. “Will a regular sword be able to break the null ore?”

“Without breaking my wrists? Probably not.”

Darian closed his eyes. Of all the times to leave my sword behind.

“I’ll be back.” He turned for the door.

“That a promise, killer?”

Darian didn’t answer. He sprinted into the courtyard. With his speed, he could probably retrieve Sparkblade and be back to Alistair before Jorg had even finished raising the boys. But he slid to a stop as he approached the officer’s barracks.

Emerging from the far end of the courtyard was a trio of dwarves. They stood hunched together, two wielding crossbows, the other a hammer and shield. When they noticed Darian, they fell into a defensive stance.

“Who in the hells are you?” the shielded one asked.

“Thought no one but the dead were supposed to be here,” another added.

Darian was about to speak when Jorg and the boys stepped into the starlight.

The shielded dwarf stared at Jorg, recognition flashing across his blocky face.

“Jorg?” he said, a hint of rage in his voice. “Thought we wiped this place clean of your kind. But there’s always more rats, isn’t that right boys?” He turned to the dwarf on his left. “Fanrel, get that gate open.” His shield began to glow, two shapes appearing in the doorway behind him. “We’ve more vermin to kill.”