CHAPTER 7.5: HINTS OF DEATH
“Music and dreams, music and dreams, that’s all the peasants prattle on about when Vindabon comes up. Whatever the city government is paying those bards to spread that poppycock, they should double it; for they hide the truth of Vindabon. Behind those garish pink walls lies a prostitute of a city where coin is all that matter. Merchants and bankers sit beside scions of noble lines and are treated as equals because they've bought respect and propriety.” - Countess Lutisha Luitpold of Baiuvar and member of the Lion Knight Lineage.
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With every passing day, the River Barge faced greater and greater traffic. The mighty Alidon was congested with all manner of vessels. Dinghy, Barges, Ferries, Yachts, and every other breed of river-craft devised competed for space on the semi-frozen river. The flowing two-thirds of the Alidon trying to hold a number of boats it would struggle with in the Summer.
Soon the Stream Skipper was stuck at a glacial pace. It's Barge Otters doing little more than giving the hulking thing half-hearted tugs to keep it from smashing into its neighbors. The reason for this slowdown was plain for all to see. Vindabon was in sight.
Natalie stood at the foredeck, staring out at the incredible vista before her. A stew of ramshackle buildings covered the shore and beyond. Stretching as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of houses, shops, businesses, warehouses, and every other form of structure crowded together in a morass of civilization a dozen times larger than Glockmire. But this startling display of life and livelihoods wasn’t what had Natalie’s attention. What she’d first assumed to be Vindabon was, in fact, little more than the accreta of urban living built up at the foot of the city walls.
Impossibly tall slabs of salmon-colored stone stuck up into the sky. Forming a colossal wall that stretched around Vindabon-proper. Beautifully carved ramparts were broken up by baroque watchtowers, each overseeing a hulking gate of oak and steel. Behind the mighty walls were hints of the true city. Spires of silver and stone peeked up from behind the pink walls. Tantalizing tastes of the City-State hidden by those defenses.
Upriver, just in sight yet still an eternity away, was the Grand Canal. A split in the Alidon, where part of the river was channeled through Vindabon and then returned to its mother. A bypass crafted through clever engineering, magical secrets, and pure grit. Where countless ships entered Vindabon through the Canal-spanning Wine Gate and unloaded their cargo into the City of Music and Dreams.
Natalie drank in the incredible sights of the city's exterior and was practically buzzing with excitement. After everything, after all the loss, madness, and suffering. She was finally here, in the City she’d fantasized about since her youth.
Next to her stood Cole, his own mood much darker. An insistent cold tug pulled him towards the city. Master Time wanted him here, and some gut feeling told Cole his and Natalie’s questions weren’t the reason. Leaving Cole to wonder what possible reason a Paladin would be needed in Vindabon? A few possibilities came to mind, none of them good.
Slowly but surely, the Stream Skipper made its way down the Grand Canal. The walls of Vindabon growing closer and closer. The Wine Gate was now truly visible, and Natalie drank in its details. The river-spanning Gate was too large to be barred by traditional means. No grated doors or mammoth portcullises hung over it; instead, a system of heavy chains stretched across the river and held up near the Gate’s arch. At a moment's notice, any or all of those chains could be lowered to some other section of the gate. Sinking into the river to keep out deep-keeled vessels. Or hanging loosely in great metal curtains to catch the wings of Monsters. Maybe simply covering the entire gate in loose bands of steel. The Wine Gate could be adjusted to defend the city from any threat while also keeping the Canal open to friendly traffic.
As the Barge started to pass beneath the Gate, the grinding clatter of thousands of chains blowing in the winter winds became audible. Natalie looked up at the bizarre contraption and marveled at its engineering. Even now, small figures in gray robes scampered up and down the wooden gantries that ran through the mechanical edifice like veins through a body. The Clockmonks hard at work, Natalie guessed.
Kistine soon joined Cole and Natalie. The matriarch was followed by four young children, the newest members of the Shohgard pack. Who’d never seen Vindabon. The little Werefolk stared up with wide eyes and slack-jawed amazement. Natalie was right there with them. Beyond the Gate, the true wonders of Vindabon were visible.
A hundred docks of all manner of sizes contested the river while fields of warehouses fought over the shoreline. In the near distance, a huge structure hung over the river. At first glance, Natalie saw its size and assumed it to be a castle, but on closer inspection realized it was a bridge. A monster bridge held up on pillars of quarried stone formed five arches over the river. At the apex of each arch was a huge statue of marble. Each depicting a winged man with arms outstretched. The Four Brothers, Lesser Gods of the Winds. The Patrons of Travelers welcoming all to the city.
Farther away, the gothic spires of true Castles and other structures were visible. Above all others were ten towers spaced across the city. Each the Belfry of one of the ten Temples, one for each God. Elsewhere a trio of domes marked the Opera Houses. While a silver spire covered in golden runes hid close to the City center. The Arcanum Scholastica of Vindabon; its Ivory Tower and center of magical learning. Overshadowing all of this was the hulking fortress-palace of the Elector-Prince. The primary holdfast of the City and its seat of government. While not particularly beautiful like its rivals on the skyline. It carried a brutish presence making it impossible to ignore. The sleeping dragon among its treasures. Awaiting anyone foolish enough to steal from it.
As the initial surprise and wonder at the city wore off, Natalie looked to the nearby wharf. Where dozens of other barges were docked. The crew of each scurried about unloading goods in a never-ending stream of bodies. Soon the Stream Skipper started to turn slightly, its complement of Otters carefully nudging it towards an open berthing. Before long, the first ropes were thrown from the Barge to the wharf, the Sailors working together with their Barge Otters.
Safely in her berthing, the Barge’s crew finished their final checks and let out a loud cheer as the boat’s Cook appeared from downstairs holding a steaming vat of soup. Setting it down, the Cook started to ladle out bowls of the soup to the crewmembers. Natalie was forced to cover her nose as the smell hit her. Pungent and fishy the broth was painful in its potency. Once the last Bargemen was fed, the Cook took the vat over to the boat’s side and whistled. Glancing over, Natalie saw a dozen furry faces poke out of the water. Carefully the Cook poured the remainder of his creation into the river below. Excited squeaks and chirps erupted as the Otters feasted on their portion.
Bewildered, Natalie looked to Kistine, whose nose was also wrinkled in disgust. It seemed only Cole, and the Crew were unbothered by the smell. At Natalie’s unspoken question, Kistine just shrugged. “It's a custom. One of those strange things Sailors tend to develop like calluses.”
Nearby a loud thunk echoed across the ship deck as the first gangplank was set down and the Barge officially made port. Approaching Cole, Kistine spat into her hand and held it out for him. “I believe this marks the end of our arrangement Sir Paladin. But if we ever cross paths again, my family would be glad for your company. May Moonlight guide your hunt and fortune favor your family.”
Cole returned the handshake, spit, and all. “Thank you for your hospitality, First Mother. I hope your Pack has a successful Moonmoot and a good New Year.”
Turning her focus to Natalie, Kistine narrowed her eyes. “While our meeting was inauspicious, I am glad my fears about you were unfounded, Natalie. My offer to the Paladin stands for you as well. I hope you find whatever you are looking for in Vindabon.”
The rest of the Pack gave their farewells to Cole and Natalie. Jaks and Jokin giving Natalie a necklace of boar teeth. Ametza exchanged hugs with both of them. Bruto presented Natalie with a crudely carved practice sword and instructions to continue her training. While a quick nod shared with Cole was a fitting conclusion to their odd friendship. Backpacks ready and debts settled, the odd pair of Vampire and Paladin left the Barge, exchanging final waves and entering the city of Vindabon.
Cole pushed through the crowded dock while Natalie followed behind. Relying on Cole’s height to keep from getting lost. The bombardment of sounds, smells, and sights was dizzying. Natalie repeatedly found herself stopping to gawk at something. Street vendors offering food she didn’t recognize. Extravagantly dressed nobles and their entourages. All of it was proving as intoxicating as it was disorienting. Yet Cole made sure to gently pull her with him every time. His presence and intimidating appearance doing much to protect Natalie from any who might see an obvious country-bumpkin as an easy mark.
Finally, squeezing from the mad bustle of the docks. The pair found themselves on a relatively empty street lined by four-story tenements. Finally able to breathe, or at least pretend to breathe, Natalie gripped tightly to Cole’s hand and asked. “You know where we are, right?”
Cole shrugged. “We’re in Weinstadt, the thirteenth district. We need to find an Inn. But I need to make a quick stop before that.”
“Oh, where?” asked Natalie, curious to learn more about the city and its layout.
Gesturing at an alley not far off, Cole said. “I can sense something. I want to make sure it's nothing important.”
They approached the alley and, upon entering, were greeted by an annoyed-looking Guard. Clad in loose leather armor with the City Seal of Vindabon painted onto them, the Guard leaned against the alley wall, his spear propped up next to him. Seeing them, the Guard stifled a yawn and said. “Oi, no looking about.”
Cole looked past the Guard to see part of the alley was partitioned with sheets emblazoned with the City Seal. The Guard snapped his fingers at Cole. “Turn back now. This isn’t a place for civilians.”
Unconcerned, Cole kept looking at the partition, the cold throb in his chest growing stronger. “What happened here?” he asked quietly.
The Guard tried to shove Cole back, failing to do more than ruffle the Paladin’s cloak. “None of your business, now run along!”
Never acknowledging the Guard, Cole turned and left the alley, Natalie right behind him. Sparing a glance at the annoyed guard, Natalie tightened her scarf around her face. “What was that about?”
Shutting his eyes in momentary sadness, Cole answered. “Death and an ugly one. Something bad happened in that Alley. I can feel it. It seems I might have other business in Vindabon.”
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:: An Army Camp in the Southern Marches. ::
Varga was a soldier. He had lived as a soldier and honestly expected to die a soldier. The officer who came to his village when Varga was sixteen had used silver coins and a silver tongue to get him to join. Twenty more years of digging ditches, polishing armor, and cutting up turnips had robbed him of anything resembling hopes and dreams. Now an old man by the measure of soldiers, Varga just carried on as he always had. Following orders during the day. Then spending his coin on cheap liquor and cheaper whores during the evening. Creating a life others would consider sad and lonely. But for Varga, it was the only one he’d ever known.
This pitiable path had led him to his current post. Standing in a rickety watchtower at the edge of a fresh Camp. In the middle of the night, his only company was the cold weather and the half-asleep green boy standing next to him. Varga gave the boy a swift kick in the shin, rousing the dozing recruit from his stolen sleep. The recruit, who Varga thought was named Orban, yelped in pain but otherwise didn’t respond. Orban knew better than to mouth off to the old veteran sharing the watchtower.
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Staring out at the blackness beyond the camp's walls, Varga watched as snowflakes swirled down. Finding patterns in them was his only form of entertainment. It had been like this for five hours already, the engrossing life of a soldier. Varga didn’t mind. Having survived a war, a Giant hunt, and years of minor skirmishes, he’d learned to appreciate the boredom.
The rattle of wheels and crunch of snow pulled Varga from his petty amusements and brought him instantly to full alert. Someone or something was out there. While his camp was far away from the front, existing to train fresh meat. A Night Raid wasn’t impossible; in fact, considering they were fighting the jagging Leeches, it was almost likely.
“Who goes there?!” Varga bellowed into the night. His words escaping in a great plume of frost.
The creaking of wheels stopped, and a voice shouted back. “Uh…I’m a villager from Marmezo. I found something while looking for firewood and was told to bring it here.”
Squinting his eyes at the dark, Varga shouted. “Approach slowly, no sudden movements; I have a crossbow trained on you.”
Jabbing Orban, Varga pointed to the crossbow and then out at the dark. The bewildered green boy grabbed the weapon and aimed it out at the dark. The rattling started again, and soon a slim figure pulling a hand cart came into view. Confused and a little nervous, Varga ordered the recruit to keep watch and then descended the Watchtower. Arriving at the camp gate, he grabbed the two soldiers there and went to see the cart-puller.
On closer inspection, the stranger was a waifish-thin girl with bright red hair and skittish eyes. Meekly putting her hands up, she started to babble. “My father said to bring him to you as soon as possible! Please don’t shoot me.”
Varga pushed past the girl and looked at the cart's contents. It was a Knight, or at least what was left of a Knight. A suit of dented armor lay in the cart, its stinking contents giving no question to the wearer's status. Symbols of pedigree bedecked the armor, and its intricate make gave clear signs of what sort of person it belonged to. Varga had a dead fucking noble on his hands.
Cursing, Varga motioned at the girl and her cart. “Bring him inside.” Then he gestured at one of the two gate guards. “Go wake up, the commander. Tell him we have a dead Knight on our hands.”
Soon Varga and the Girl found themselves in the Captain’s tent. Standing across the desk of Captain Jeks One-Fist. The scarred old officer tapped his remaining fingers on the cheap wooden table he used for business. “So what you are telling me is you were looking for firewood in the forest near your village, and you found our dead Knight there?”
The girl nodded vigorously. “Yes, m’lord, I-”
Captain Jeks One-Fist cut her off with a wave of his stump. “I’m no lord. Call me Captain or Sir. Now first, what's your name?”
Varga’s lips quirked at that. One-Fist was like him, a peasant boy who’d joined up. Finding a place in training fellow peasants after his maiming. Happy to be away from the Nobles and their glory-seeking ways.
The girl collected herself and spoke. “I’m Mara. And as I was saying, I was looking for firewood and found what I thought was a downed tree. But it wasn’t a tree. It was a dead Hippogryph all covered in snow!”
Mara then pointed behind her in the vague direction of the cart. “And he was there with the Hippogryph. All rotten and stuff.”
One-Fist cursed and shoved a nugget of Pipeherb into his maw before asking. “You see anything unusual around your village? Or anything in the area?”
Mara shrugged weakly and said. “Things have been in a bad way. You lot have run off most of the bandits, but before the army came, we had some disappearances. Farmsteads abandoned, peddlers not making it to the next village. We’ve kept our heads down, so I don’t know.”
Just then, the tent entrance flapped open, and a sour-faced Priest in stained robes entered. Eyes wide and mouth peeled in a grimace, the Priest ran to Captain One-Fist. His necklace of amulets and totems jangled as he went. Once to the Captain, the Priest hissed something into the officer’s ears. One-Fist’s expression became deathly calm. Getting up from his table, he grabbed his sword from where it leaned against his desk and calmly strewed out of the tent.
Varga grabbed the Girl, and they followed behind. Finding One-Fist barking orders at any soldier near-bye. “Rouse everyone! Get the Battlemages up and ready. Priest. check the wards. Someone find the Seer and get her ready to send a message.” turning back to Varga, the Captain pointed at the girl. “Soldier Varga, keep watch over her. Make bleeding sure she never leaves your sight”
Within minutes the camp came to life. Three units of Scouts galloped out of the Camp. While squads of nervous Green Boys stood at attention near the four gates. The Priest could be seen circling the outer wall, making strange marks with Ochre and Salt on the ground and palisade. While two sleepy-looking Magi, neither older than twenty-five, sat by a campfire, twisting its flames into crude shapes to amuse themselves.
Eventually, One-Fist stomped back over to Varga, having finished haranguing his soldiers to action. Pointing his stump at Mara, the Captain growled. “That Knight you found was killed by a Vampire. This whole situation went from a mess to a potential disaster. I need details, anything you can remember, and I need them NOW!”
Trembling, Mara looked frantically around, her eyes darting about like a frightened animal. Only stopping as some recollection pulled itself to the forefront of her mind. “That wood, where I found the bodies. I’ve seen people near it, strangers. But that was weeks ago!”
The Captain grunted. “The body was there for a while, even starting to stink in this cold. Go on, girl.”
Mara made a disgusted face but kept talking. “Two of them on the road. One was a giant, not an actual giant but the tallest man I’d ever seen. He wore a black cloak, and his face was scarred. I thought he was a mercenary, but he traveled with a woman. At least, I think she was a woman. She was covered head to toe in a shawl. But she moved like a woman, and the big man listened to her.”
Listening to this, the Captain asked. “The scarred man, where were his scars?”
Mara let out a nervous snort. “Where weren’t his scars? I thought he might be a Ghoul when I first saw him. His face… it was just covered in marks. And his eyes were wrong. They were too blue and kinda unfocused. Like he wasn’t really paying attention.”
Recovering herself, the girl continued. “They passed through my village maybe two or three weeks ago. They bought a Pig from my uncle and asked for directions. They were headed North-West, I think.”
Shutting his eyes, the Captain sighed, an exhausted noise heavy with worry. “You did good bringing this to us, Girl. Stay in the camp till dawn, then return home when it's safe.”
Nervously, Mara asked. “Uh… Can’t I leave now? I want to get home to my parents. They will need my help in the morning.”
The Captain gave her a serious look. “It's not safe to be out this late. It was foolish of you to bring the Knight to us. Brave, and I thank you for it, but it was still foolish. Especially with Vampires and their minions nearby.”
This didn’t seem to change the Girl’s opinion at all. “Sir, please! My Father is missing a leg and needs my help with the morning chores. I need to get home.”
One-Fist waivered for a second but stayed resolute. “Girl, how would your parents get on if you died to a Wolf or worse. Be smart.” pointing to Varga, the Captain ordered. “Keep an eye on her, and make sure she is comfortable. She did a good thing bringing this to us, even if she’s now being stupid.”
So Varga was stuck watching the nervous girl as the Camp awaited the scout reports. The Mara-girl said little, just looking about skittishly. This suited Varga fine. He was exhausted. His shift had almost been over when the Girl and her mess of trouble arrived. As his head started to throb and his eyes ached, Varga was reminded of his age. Staying up all night wasn’t something he could do as easily anymore. Getting close to the nearest fire, Varga warmed his hands. The heat felt so good, and his bones ached from standing watch all that time.
Yawning, Varga shut his eyes just for a second, letting his heavy lids fall. The next moment a swift kick knocked him onto his back. Stunned, Varga looked up to a furious Captain One-Fist. “ONE JOB! YOU HAD ONE FUCKING JOB!”
Confused, Varga looked around and realized two important things. It was dawn, and the girl was gone. “Shit,” the old soldier exclaimed.
Red-faced, One-Fist roared. “YES, SHIT! YOU LET THAT GIRL RUN OFF TO HER FUCKING DEATH!”
Even more confused, Varga said. “She knows the land, the stars are bright, she’ll be okay.”
One-Fist growled. “The scouts have found three destroyed villages just in the last four hours!”
Eyes wide, Varga started to sputter in confusion before One-Fist cut him off. “That brave, stupid Girl might have just saved all our lives. Something has been culling the locals over the last three days to amass an army. She probably left her village just before it was destroyed. We’ve already lost two scouts to Ghoul ambushes, and Appo’s Squad isn’t even back yet.”
Pointing at Varga with his stump, the Captain continued. “I expect better from old meat like you, Varga. Now go prove to me you aren’t a complete cock-up. Get the Greens ready; we don’t know how many Rattlers and Ghouls are out there.”
One-Fist stomped away, shouting. “AND SOMEONE FIND ME, THE BLEEDING SEER!”
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When Dietrich Freymond awoke from his daily slumber, the news was good. His improvised army had been massacred. Normally that would be poor news, but the bones and flesh he’d conscripted proved their purpose. Stirring up the local Soldiers and spreading the information he wanted spread.
Slowly, Dietrich started to flex his body. His armor scraped against the frozen ground, entombing him. Getting a pocket of free space, the Vampire found some leverage and started to push up. Cold hard soil cracked and snapped as the Vampire pushed himself up into the early night. Exhuming himself from the improvised lair, Dietrich looked over to the small camp next to his burial. Yara sat by the fire, warming herself, but upon seeing him, scurried over. A large smile on her face.
Bowing to her master, the thrall spoke. “Master, it went all according to plan.”
Nodding, Dietrich wore a tight smile. Sending Yara to the camp with the Knight’s corpse had been a serious gamble. But one that might have paid off. “You gave them the description of our quarry, correct?”
Yara nodded vigorously. “I described the Paladin and said the girl was wearing a Sun-Shawl. I didn’t say what it was but gave a good description, I think.”
Certain spells and techniques could let a Vampire stay awake during the day. They were costly and rarely useful since they did nothing to protect from the Sun’s rays. But in the rare times a Vampire needed to be out during the day, they would combine those techniques with a Sun-Shawl. Praying to the Red Night, the thick multi-layered covering would be enough.
Dietrich assumed the Natalie-girl would wear one or something close to it. Not wanting to advertise her nature to the living or the dead. Combining that with the Paladin’s…memorable appearance and the massacre Dietrich had committed. Word of his prey would spread, fear and distrust going with it.
Putting a gentle hand on Yara’s shoulder, Dietrich said. “You did well, very well. You continue to impress me, Yara.”
A shiver of pleasure ran along the thrall's body at his words. Her eyes filled with adoration and subservience. In taking Yara with him, Dietrich had not realized how useful she would be. In retrospect, it was obvious. Raised by a drunken father and battered mother. Spending her teenage years among Vampires and their schemes. Yara had become a talented liar and competent manipulator. Much of this scheme's details had come from the Thrall. Dietrich had been skeptical at first, but after tonight he would be a fool to deny the asset that fell into his lap.
Brushing her short hair to the side, Dietrich leaned down and bit into Yara. Injecting her with the Sting and sipping just a few drops of her blood. Yara collapsed into Dietrich’s arms, the potent drug of his venom doing its work. Pulling his fangs free, Dietrich licked the wound shut and set a trembling Yara onto the ground next to him.
Half-delirious, with pleasure, she murmured. ‘Th-thank you, Master.”
Letting her fall into a drugged stupor, the Scarlet Knight shut his eyes and reached out with his magic. Seeing through the eyes of his undead minions and his avian spies. They told him an interesting story. Of boys playing at being soldiers fighting desperately against his army. While the local garrison braced for an attack that wasn’t coming. Through the eyes of owls and the ears of bats he heard a one-armed Captain spread the word of a Scarred Warrior and a Day-Walking Vampire. The old veteran clearly recognized what “Mara” had described for him.
Soon everyone worth a damn would be on the lookout for a Vampire far from the frontlines. Just not the one they should be really looking for. Dietrich was scoring two birds with the same arrow. Causing chaos behind enemy lines while pursuing his goal. Yet somehow, this brought little contentment to Dietrich.
All this scheming didn’t suit him. Fitting like another man’s armor. Dietrich would much rather track down his enemies and face them with steel and blood. Not dance about in the shadows letting others do his dirty work. While intellectually, he could see the value of robbing the Paladin of allies and alienating him from places of safety. In his cold dead heart, Dietrich wanted to settle this like a warrior. Forgoing all the lies and elaborate plots for the simplicity of battle.
Running his tongue along the socket where his fang once had been. Dietrich knew he’d surrendered the right to be picky when he failed the first time. His quest was one of redemption and grim practicality. With no room for any foibles or pickiness. Looking down at the drugged Yara, Dietrich found himself again surprisingly thankful he’d brought her along. Having a capable and devoted aide who knew the ways of shadow and subterfuge would be useful.
Deciding to let her rest a little and enjoy the reward. Dietrich started planning out his next move. The mortals would do the job of flushing out his quarry for him. He just needed to be at the right place and at the right time to catch them before anyone else. Another problem to be solved, but not an insurmountable one. Dietrich was used to hunting scared running prey. Driven from their dens and denied any help, the Paladin and the Alukah would prove far easier prey than Dietrich had feared.