With the benefit of hindsight, we should probably have taken some measures to blend in, like helmets. Or shields. But such practicalities were dismissed in the heat of battle, in our rush for the frontline. Raymond brushed people aside with his voice, his hands, the flat of the sword, but I suspected Michael were nudging them aside also with nothing but his mind’s power.

We got three of ours killed, when we came up from behind and distracted them. I had no time to consider the mistake before we were in the thick of it, tearing through their ranks like they were paper. Raymond taunted them, he laughed them in the face. I worked methodically, imitating Michael while trying to keep my cool.

We were upon them. The ranks melted away at our thrust, dying or fleeing without hesitation. It bothered me. Hard, veteran soldiers did not even flinch before fleeing when they recognized us what we were.

Then I saw a man, further up the soft slope, a man watching us as he took a horn and blew it. The sound rolled through the battle like a warning. I saw Michael pale as a group of riders rushed to us halfway from the chapel, led by a furious man armed with a lance, and a long, slim axe in his belt. I recognized him from that group which had chased the Viscount’s men, on that first fight against them. It then struck me, from the way everyone looked to him for inspiration and guidance. The archbishop of Bourges himself! The man with the axe! It sent shudders down my back. A battle-cleric.

He came upon us hard and fast, and we reeled, because we were distracted and there was no easy escape. Instead, we spread away from the charge. Raymond was either too slow or too bold and he was hit in the shoulder by the lance, as he drew away from the huge, pale warhorse which pranced and beat his hooves at us. His mind was like a flare, burning through mine and I had to fight control over my limps, they went sluggish and wild. My movements remained powerful but they were terrible unprecise and overreaching as I compensated. One of the riders with the archbishop came upon me with a longsword, but he was too cautious and only the tip slipped through my arm. And I reeled again, face contorting. Their blades were silvered! The wound itself hissed and steamed.

But before the advantage could be pressed, we were swept by a tide from both sides. The Circle’s men rammed through the opening in the ranks, breaking the enemy lines, while reinforcements streamed down from the hill to refill it. The chaos was complete.

And there was no time to think. We were separated and stupefied and half of us were wounded, but we were fighting still and returning to our senses. But by the time my strength had returned, and my mind lucid again, not even Fetinja was by my side. Yet I could vaguely sense them all out there, in the mess. They were alive still.

I decided to fight my way up for the view. We needed to rally together. Behind me, the Circle’s men pressed hard, they cried and killed and died. The first ruin of the monastery presented itself to me with the scream of a man dying by my hand. I jumped to it and latched on, staring over the field. I saw the Viscount press himself through the breach with his knights, fighting fiercely. Then a pack of arrows whistled to my position and forced me to abandon it.

But in the chaos, I was tall, and a small mound was all I needed to get another view as I fought my way to the chapel. I saw Michael fight the Archbishop of Bourges. He was pinned down by several clerics, his voice was absent, but his mind was screaming defiantly, fighting. A spear that should have skewered him tore up his hard flesh, and blood flowed, and the archbishop, whose horse was dead, rushed him and lifted the axe.

Caterina roared like I had heard no one roar before. It was pure rage. She tore her way through the fighting to reach him as the axe sunk into Michael’s neck. His despair and fear rippled through the battlefield to those who could feel it. They all came down upon them, a dozen armed clerics and more knight and men-at-arms, cutting and thrusting. Caterina reached them like a fury and joined him in death, for their spirits were blazing fires and the unwavering archbishop had no fear of us, only anger. When Michael was torn limp from limp, they turned to her, and she met them with death-defying madness.

I was too far, I could only watch in despair. With my heart fluttering in fear, I returned to the fight, cutting my way to the chapel. It seemed the only way to win this.

And then I sensed Fetinja. She was suffering a deep wound in her shoulder, almost taking her arm off, and I caught glimpses of her as she fled the battle, full of confusion and fear. Her escape left me more afraid, feeling more alone, but I was a small part of me was also relieved.

At the time, I of course did not know that this was the last time I ever laid eyes on her. The distractions of battle banished her from my mind, and I fight for my life like a beast.

And Raymond, Raymond fought like a demon. The white of his eyes had turned black, for he was consumed by the hunger, drinking from his victims and dancing around the clerics, evading their attention only to fall into their backs with glee. He would throw his weapon at them just to pick up another, I saw him back-hand a man into a cleric, I saw him throw his sword so hard the hilt of it exploded a priest’s brain. He was howling and laughing, but the archbishop was coming his way now. I roared his name, drawing his attention for a split-second, and pointed my sword at the chapel. He laughed. I hoped he had understood.

No time for cautiousness. Like the wind, I sprinted through the battlefield, through arrows and spears missing me or tearing at my skin, one arrow punched into my thigh, but warm blood ran in my veins, and my legs pumped me forward. At the chapel, five clerics stood with spears, shaking. The last defence! Only one had eyes of true faith, and inspired by Raymond I threw my only weapon at him and broke through the rest, though they burned my spirit thoroughly, cramping every muscle as I tumbled and rolled in the dirt and into the old chapel. Their spears had ripped my skin, also, but they had not bitten deep.

I was now in a small tower. The wood had long rotten, but the stone stood strong and uncompromised. Firewood was gathered here, thrown in by the open gate in messy piles. They had meant to burn the thing down. The firewood piled in such amount that it had pushed and rolled all the way to the altar, where the floor was collapsed.

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The room’s air was thick and heavy, and darker than outside. I smelled the sorcery, and in another time, it would have left me astonished, but not now. I was mad and obsessed, shocked to my very core, my mind was small and closed and razor-sharp.

Still reeling from the cleric’s inferno, I crawled to the crevice and tumbled down it, landing hard and heavy in such complete blackness I could see nothing. Heartbeats passed as I gathered myself and slowly stood up, before a corpse tumbled down next to me, a bloodied and wounded mess.

“Hey there,” a voice rasped. Raymond’s. He was even more battered than I.

Clumsily, I helped him up on shaking legs. He had two arrows in one calf. The other thigh was sliced open, nearly halfway through. A mortal would have died long, long ago of what he suffered. How he was standing, I could not fathom. As for myself… I was maybe doing a little better, but I had no shortage of injuries, and two arrows protruded my side and stomach. They made my belly cold. We were dying.

“Hold to me,” I whispered, as my vision swam. His hand found my shoulder, while my hands were extended and prodding. We slowly ventured forward as the sorcery came alive. Figures and voices jumped out at us, they felt as real as we were, armed and grave. An old, Norman knight towered over us and thrust his sword forward, right through my chest. It continued harmlessly and he went through us in a mist of grey smoke. “Smell,” I whispered, afraid and alert, “the Art can fool anything but our sense of smell.”

The illusions continued with every step, a beautiful, ghostly maiden arose and asked my help before crying and wailing and brushing me with her hands, I almost felt her touch, her warmth, and then her eyes widened, and her hands locked around my throat, freezing my heart in fear though I knew she could not be real. Suddenly, a sword swung, and I reeled back, warned by the metallic stank. Blood flowed from a new gash on my chest, and then Raymond and I threw ourselves at it, raging, but we found only bones, yet it moved, trashed against our grip as it rolled on the floor. It was stronger than anything mortal. It took all our preternatural strength to wrestle it and break its joints, slowly, one by one.

At one point, it stopped moving, having become too many broken, separate pieces. And then the darkness slowly lifted, and the little, faint light of our eyes penetrated the room. We saw the coffin of stone. Even the lid was of stone, thick and heavy. We limped over to it and pushed together, and stone raped against stone as it slowly came off.

“You bastard, let me have a taste,” Raymond croaked, empty of strength.

What we found was a corpse, a grey, wrinkled corpse. The lips had shrunk and were pulled from the teeth, showing the neat fangs which even now looked pristine and deadly. We stared it for a long, long moment, expecting its eyes to open and stare back. And then, finally, its hearted pumped ever so slowly, before stilling again.

“It’s alive,” I whispered, and leaned into the Old One’s thigh. Raymond looked at me, tired and empty-eyed, and imitated me. Our fangs sunk into the shrivelled flesh. There was almost no blood left, but I drew a drop, and then another. It was pristine. Sublime. How could this nectar of the Gods come from such a destitute cadaver? The blood flowed into my heart and ignited something. It was not warm, like human’s blood, nor was it really energizing, for there was so little of it. It felt cold, but fresh, and brisk, like it stiffened and flexed every fibre in my physiology, before relaxing it again.

For a long while, we drank and sucked, each from one thigh. When the corpse dried out, I had gotten maybe two or three mouthfuls. I had the brief, angry thought that Raymond had to be taking it all, for I was getting so little. But that made little sense, did it?

We sucked a little more, just to make sure, but there was nothing left, and then we rose from the corpse and sighed gratefully, feeling numbed, somehow, which was a relief with all our wounds. I stared into Raymond’s eyes and smiled, and he returned it, closing his eyes. Then he stirred. Not Raymond. We reeled back and stumbled, our broken bodies bringing us straight to the floor as the Old One sat up, eyes open, they were pale, almost entirely white. Glassy.

His fingers grabbed the coffin’s granite. It fissured under his grip as he rose from the coffin, body straight, and there he stood, but his eyes stared only ahead. Terror took my mind. I was tetanized. His mind was closed, but it felt immense. Massive. But he had not an ounce of blood left! He must have felt me brush against his mind. His head turned. My heart dared not beat. I made my mind small and balled it up into nothing, into a closed, little cocoon. His head was still turning… but it was slowing.

He never finished the movement. There he stood, a statue, eyes empty. Raymond scrambled away. His motion jolted me awake and I tumbled after him.

“Smoke!” He cried, and I almost broke into a wail, for yes, there was smoke. The firewood was smoking. How had we not noticed? Too engrossed by the Old One’s blood. Too terrified of his rise. Too wounded, too tired. Above us, the entire chapel was burning.

Raymond stared emptily. The fire was thick and hot above us. Eventually, it would collapse and tumble down into the crypt. Trapped. After all this, we were trapped. And they were probably waiting for us above. I almost cried in despair. After all this… Michael and Caterina dead, Fetinja wounded and fleeing… we were trapped. Fetinja had been the sensible one. Michael too. I had led us into this! My fault. Unquestionably.

“Raymond!” I vociferated, growled, “Raymond!” He stared at me. He was empty. We needed blood. Warm, human blood, to energize and heal our broken bodies. “We go through!”

He liked the idea, but he was uncertain. Maybe our chances were better down here? But the first pile above us collapsed and threw braises down into the crypt, and we reeled to the left, the embers burned our dry skin. “The embers are hotter than the fire!” I claimed, I guessed. When more collapsed, it would be hell down here. Already, the crypt was becoming an oven.

Suddenly, Raymond crouched and threw himself up with an ear-deafening, wrenched scream. He disappeared in the fire. I held my breath. Would he make it? I listened. Nothing. I couldn’t tell. My mind was weak and numb, my senses unreliable. Blast it. I crouched and hurled myself after him. An inhuman shriek came from my vocals, high and ear-drilling, worse than Raymond’s, probably. I hadn’t even meant to. I was simply that hard-pressed. Then everything became red pain, my limps flared, my vision went black as my eyes boiled, and as I mindlessly shot out through the door.

My nose was burnt, my eyes burnt, my skin charred, but my mind sensed another mind, and I acted on instinct, throwing after it and biting into it, drinking, devouring. Then I sensed more minds, and I was taken with fear. I fled. Invigorated by the blood once more, but blinded, I scrambled through the forest, hitting tree trunks, going through thorny bushes and stumbling over rocks and stones and roots.

But how was I to find shelter in this state? My strained mind found only one solution. Like an animal, I dug into the earth, dug and dug and dug, until I was in a deep hole, and then I dug sideways and down. More and more. At one point, everything collapsed behind me, and the earth swallowed me. But I was afraid, afraid they would find my hole and I dug further down. Insects and small pests fled me like the plague.

Finally, feeling safe in the cold, earthy darkness, I cuddled up my mutilated, charred form, and waited for the Sleep to take me, hoping I would never wake up.