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CHAPTER 17: PATHS FORWARD
“Mortals proved they cannot be trusted to rule! Ten centuries ago great works and glorious causes were inherited by petulant children and squandered by them. I will not allow such mistakes to occur again. Only the worthy shall rule, and their rule shall be eternal as the night! ” - Ferenc Drakovich, Duke of Dux Bucuros, first among the Blood Duchies
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Cole and Natalie left the ruins of Lungu worse for wear but victorious. Before they left the abandoned hamlet, they scavenged a few things to help their trip. Natalie found a solid piece of wood to act as a makeshift walking stick, while Cole just used his Halberd to support his weight. Battered and exhausted the two of them retraced their steps out of the village, passing between lifeless houses, and overgrown gardens,, with the Dwarven skull of Buri safely tucked in Cole’s pack.
They walked in silence, Natalie still trying to absorb everything she’d witnessed; while Cole focused on just staying conscious. Eventually, the smell of rot and death started to fade. The clear cold breeze coming off the mountain washed away the horrid stench, and Natalie felt like she could breathe properly again. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been taking shallow uneven breaths while in Lungu until they were a kilometer from the village and back in clean air.
Finally reaching the safety of the rock, Cole’s legs gave out as he collapsed into its shadow. Slumped against the huge boulder, Cole took in deep, ragged breaths, reminding Natalie of an exhausted Horse. She’d seen a Horse run itself to death once, and that memory sparked new concerns. Cole survived the fight, but there was no guarantee his injuries still wouldn’t kill him. Such thoughts didn’t seem to cross Cole’s mind as he dropped his pack and shakily got back to his feet, using the rock’s leverage to stand. Natalie started to move towards him, words of concern on her lips. Cole didn’t seem to notice as he positioned his useless left arm against the arrowhead rock and shoved his weight into it. A sickening pop, followed by a sharp hiss of pain, told Natalie that Cole had got his arm back into its socket.
With that over, Cole dropped to his spot on the ground and went through his bags with shaky fingers. Natalie pushed his tired hands away and said, “You look like you’re about to keel over dead. Let me help.”
Cole didn’t fight her and just grunted, “There are bandages and ointment somewhere in there.”
It took Natalie only a few seconds to find a small glass bottle wrapped in strips of cotton. Unwinding the bandages, Natalie looked to Cole, preparing to bind his worst wounds. This close, she could actually get a good look at the extent of his injuries. His entire upper body was covered in lacerations. There must have been three dozen cuts across his arms, chest, and head. Only a few were still leaking blood. The majority had been cauterized during Cole’s mad leap onto the Charnel. Natalie just glanced down at the bandages and then up at Cole. She doubted they would be enough to dress his injuries. Even if they were, where the hells would she start?
His eyes shut and his head leaning back, Cole rasped: “Take care of any injuries you have first. Mine can wait.”
In a moment of pique, Natalie reached out and jabbed his chest in one of the few unscathed sections. Eliciting a pained yelp from Cole as she continued her not so gentle prodding.
With a quiet anger only a caregiver can muster for an unruly patient, Natalie said. “I’m assuming you are going into shock or are delusional. Otherwise, you’d not entertain such foolish ideas. Ideas, like thinking your injuries can wait. So sit still and let me help you.”
Cole let out a groan of surrender and asked. “If you thought I was going into shock, jabbing my bruises seems a curious choice.”
Natalie got to work measuring out the bandages. Before responding with feigned innocence. “I’m not a healer of any kind. So I was forced to improvise. Now, what does this ointment do?”
Cole managed to open his eyes and peer at the bottle Natalie held out for examination. “A drop or two on a bandage covering an open wound will prevent infection. Be careful to not get any of it in your eyes or mouth.”
Natalie had just popped off the bottle’s cork and was sniffing its contents when she got his warning. Sheepishly she set the ointment down and started prepping the first bandage for use. The ointment was a dull metallic color and had the consistency of thick grease. It smelled like tarnished silver and easily dribbled onto the bandages. Scrunching up her nose, afraid to inhale more of the pungent substance, Natalie started to fasten a bandage over a nasty cut on Cole’s left arm.
“So what is this stuff? You say not to get it in me, but want me to rub it into your own bleeding wounds?” said Natalie as she tied the bandage on.
After a moment’s hesitation, which Natalie chalked up to exhaustion, Cole answered. “It’s a poison.” Natalie frantically dropped the next bandage she’d been working on and stared at him incredulously. Now it was Cole’s turn to look sheepish as he explained. “At least it is to most people. Silverub is meant for Dwarf use, but some non-Dwarves are immune to its dangers.”
Gingerly Natalie picked up the dropped bandage and got back to work. Examining Cole’s injuries, she half asked, half mused. “How are you not dead?”
Cole let out a pained-sounding chuckle and said with a hint of amusement. “As I said before, I’m very very very difficult to kill.”
Natalie simply made a huffing sound at that and grumbled. “I hope so. I don’t think there are enough jagging bandages here.”
She was correct. By the time they ran out of cotton strips, about a third of Cole’s wounds were still uncovered. Natalie had debated tearing bits off her skirt, but Cole had her simply pour a few drops of Silverub into the exposed wounds. An act that got more than a few pained grunts from Cole. With the worst of his injuries dealt with, Natalie decided she needed to gather material for a fire, while Cole was incapacitated.
The wind was starting to pick up again, and the occasional shiver was the only real sign of life Natalie saw from Cole. His breathing was shallow, and he looked worse than some corpses she’d seen. Taking a final worried glance at him, Natalie left the shelter of the outcropping and started gathering anything that looked dry enough to burn. With one arm busy holding onto an improvised walking stick, Natalie was limited in how much she could carry. Making multiple trips, checking on Cole every time she returned. When she did, Natalie always paused for a moment and watched to see if he was still breathing. A few times, she swore he stopped, and she almost moved to shake him once, but each time his breath returned. They were shaky and shallow but still there.
On her sixth return to the outcropping, Natalie smelled smoke. Cole must have awoken and started a fire. But as she approached, Natalie realized he was still unconscious, and her pile of dried brush was unlit. Nervously she whirled around, trying to find the source of the smell. It didn’t take long to spot the cloud of dirty smoke billowing into the sky from the south. Natalie watched the roiling column of smoke in the distance, taking a moment to pay her respects. The fire was Lungu. Enough of the Walking Charnel had been smoldering to ignite the abandoned town. Natalie watched the distant tower of ash, feeling a strange sense of closure to the whole ordeal. The Undead monster had been destroyed, and now Lungu was its funeral pyre.
Returning to her task at hand, Natalie found Cole still unconscious, so she set to work setting up a campfire. Natalie hadn’t slept outside the town walls before and had never needed to make a fire outside of a hearth. But she figured enough of the skills of managing an indoor fire had to transfer, and she got to work. After arranging the wood and tinder in what seemed a reasonable shape, Natalie looked for something to ignite it.
Rifling through her bag, Natalie found the tinderbox she’d packed. To her confusion and dawning horror, Natalie realized the small metal box, and its contents were soaked. In fact, much of her pack was wet; which she somehow hadn’t noticed it earlier in all the chaos. Searching through her bag, she found the culprit; one of the two waterskins Natalie had packed was split open. The leather was in worse shape than she’d thought and must have torn when she fell. Natalie shut her eyes in annoyed exhaustion. Drenched tinder would be useless, and she had no clue how to start a fire without it.
Before real desperation could set in, Natalie remembered the other source of easy fire she had. Turning to Coles’s sleeping form, Natalie saw what she was looking for. The spark-stone was still fastened to his hand. Scooting over to him, Natalie set a hand on Cole’s shoulder, about to wake him. But seeing his worn face made her hesitate. Even unconscious, his face was still twisted with pain. Cole had fought and bled for the sake of her home. He’d trusted her, listened to her, helped her, and treated her with nothing but compassion. If she could let him sleep a bit longer, then Natalie would.
Uncertain but gently, Natalie set a hand on Coles’s face, wishing his pain away. He twitched in his sleep, reacting to her touch. Natalie quickly pulled her hand away as Cole muttered a single word. It was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it but Natalie still made out the name on Cole’s lips.
“Isabelle,” he whispered in an almost pleading tone.
Something twinged inside Natalie, a slight ugly feeling she didn’t recognize. It passed as quickly as it came, and Natalie resumed her task. Unwrapping the burned leathers from Cole’s right hand. Natalie found the spark-stone. Gingerly, she picked up the palm-sized oval of polished stone. It was still warm to the touch, and Natalie realized Cole’s palm was burned badly where he’d fastened the stone. That brought a moment of hesitation to Natalie, but it quickly died as the wind howled louder.
Nervously, Natalie returned to the make-shift campfire and held out the stone. She’d used a magical tool like this once before. It had been an enchanted ring one of Glockmire’s alchemists had let the children play with. By wearing the ring and focusing on it, you could get it to spit streams of multi-colored light. A harmless but dazzling magical effect meant to impress and not much else. So, in theory, the spark-stone shouldn’t be any different.
Holding the stone with more than a bit of concern, Natalie brandished it at the unlit campfire and focused on the stone. She willed her intent into the rune etched on the stone and imagined it shooting a stream of fire. After a few seconds of concentration, it worked, a little too well, in fact. A jet of fire erupted from the stone and hit the dry tinder. Natalie let out a surprised yelp and dropped the spark-stone. The moment she let go, the flame died, but it had already spread to the dry brush and wood she had gathered. As the campfire crackled to life, Natalie picked up the spark-stone. Cautiously she examined it in the setting afternoon sunlight.
Tiny flecks of red and brown covered parts of the stone, and Natalie realized with slight disgust that it was Cole’s blood. Perhaps that had given the spark-stone that extra boost. Natalie doubted it had been anything she had done. Part of the Rite of Birth was testing a child's magical potential. Natalie didn’t really have the mind or body to take any arcane paths. Something that hadn’t ever really bothered her, unlike many other children. As far as she’d been concerned, being pretty, strong-willed, and clever were plenty advantageous without magic on top of that.
Some had accused Natalie of being arrogant; she wouldn’t be the first beautiful young woman who let it get to her head. But those who really knew Natalie realized she had something infinitely rarer than arrogance, especially among young people. Natalie had confidence fueled by self-awareness. She understood what she had and what she did not and spent little time angsting about that fact. Still, she’d be lying if she said catching the attention of numerous suitors hadn’t brought her a measure of joy and inflated self-confidence. But those relationships or, more often, trysts proved to be nothing special. Which brought her back to Cole, who, despite Natalie’s insistence to herself and others, had caught her eye.
Sitting next to the fire, letting its heat soak into her bones, Natalie turned towards Cole. He was perhaps a meter away, still unconscious and breathing fitfully. Tentatively, Natalie crawled over to where he lay. The fire was starting to produce a fair amount of heat, enough to warm up Natalie. But she had layers of clothes and her cloak. Cole had little more than singed tatters to protect himself from the cold. Natalie briefly considered rolling Cole closer to the fire but quickly decided against it as she got a better look at him. She’d assumed the dark splotches that covered his skin were ash and dirt. They weren’t. They were bruises. So many that they fused together in great expanses of discolored skin covering most of Cole’s exposed torso. Slightly stunned, Natalie muttered to herself.
“How are you even alive?”
Cole gave no answer, and Natalie decided moving Cole was not something she wanted to try. So seeing few other options, Natalie unfastened her cloak and laid it over Cole as a makeshift blanket. It barely covered him, he was at least two heads taller than her, after all. Taking a moment to admire her handiwork, Natalie sighed and plopped down next to Cole. His face was uncovered and was still twisted in pain. Crossing her arms and hunkering down from the newly invasive cold. Natalie examined Cole’s features.
The fire scorched his short hair to nothing, and a few ugly burns joined the mess of scars already covering him. Yet he still had appealing features. The scars masked the handsome, confident face of a man in his prime. It was difficult to tell how old Cole was. Aside from the burns and scars, his face lacked any signs of age. There were no wrinkles or crows’ feet to mark the years, nor were their laugh lines or gauntness to indicate good or bad times. In fact, Natalie started to wonder if Cole wasn’t that much older than she was. She’d guessed him to be in his mid-thirties when they first met. But as she deciphered the puzzle of scars obscuring his features, Natalie had to reconsider that initial estimate. Cole had said he’d been serving as a Paladin for a decade. Which she doubted was a position you could get as an inexperienced youth. So did that mean Cole was older than he looked, or was there something else at work?
Natalie leaned against the cold stone, sitting next to Cole and looking out at the wind-swept piedimontes stretching out around them. From where Natalie sat, she could see the billowing smoke of Lungu. The view was beautiful in its own bleak way, ancient and worn mountains leading into rolling hills. Every breeze sent a wave of motion across the tall grasses and made them dance.
Zaubervold was a mix of mountains, forests, and bleak plateau, like most Blood Duchies. With the Dragontail Mountains coiling around the region like some colossal serpent, these lands were isolated but prosperous. Natalie didn’t know much about the Duke who ruled this particular Duchy. Other than that, he ruled from Zaubervold’s capital of Chortburg in the south. All the rulers of the Blood Duchies held the title of Duke or Duchess. But everyone knew the implied equality of that shared title was a farce. Drakovich, founder and master of the Blood Duchies, ruled over his fellow Dukes but technically refused to take a higher title. An idiosyncrasy leftover from the Old Empire, some said. Drakovich had survived the collapse of that civilization, and would only take up the title of Emperor when he’d restored the Empire in his image.
The politics of countries and Vampires had once been a distant hypothetical thing to Natalie. That was no longer the case with all of Cole’s talk of the “Feeder” and the plots around Lord Glockmire. Natalie had been forced to reevaluate her knowledge and understanding of the world around her. Partially out of necessity, she wanted to continue being a useful ally for Cole. Partially to try and reclaim some modicum of control. It seemed slightly silly to her, but on some level, Natalie hoped that by gaining understanding, she’d reclaim some of the security she’d lost. The illusionary shield of ignorance was gone and needed to be replaced with something sturdier.
She sat for hours, pondering the problem facing her town. Checking on Cole’s still sleeping form and fueling the fire occasionally, but mainly, Natalie focused on what to do about the situation in Glockmire. From what he’d told her, Cole’s plan seemed a good one. Cripple the enemy piece by piece while his Vampiric rivals closed in on him. While there were many unanswered questions, one, in particular, bothered Natalie. Why had Cole been called to this particular crisis? Paladin’s couldn’t be common enough to spare for every wayward Vampire. But a God had decided it was necessary to risk a powerful asset over the safety of Glockmire. While Natalie didn’t give any credit to the idea that the Pantheon was secretly malicious, a heretical line of thought propagated by the bitter and the mad. She also didn’t think a being responsible for running the universe would spare much for her little town. Raising the question; shouldn’t Cole be off doing more important work?
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That question led Natalie to a simple answer, simple, but incredibly worrying. Whatever was happening in Glockmire was not something Master Time could ignore. Something brewing in her town could potentially have consequences even a God felt. According to the Temple, the Gods do not intervene lightly, instead, preferring to give their worshippers the tools they need, trusting them to find the best path. When a God did choose to directly involve themselves, which was what sending a Paladin was tantamount to doing. It meant something extremely bad would happen without their interference. So finding out exactly what crisis Cole was meant to prevent would be crucial. A task Natalie found annoyingly beyond her current capabilities. She lacked information, and her best source was currently lying half-dead next to her.
Eventually, the Sun started to dip down, its rays turning scarlet and the shadows lengthening, it wouldn’t be long till nightfall. Unconsciously, Natalie found herself edging closer to Cole. She’d been fearing this, night arriving with Cole still being incapacitated. While she hoped the fire would deter most mundane threats, nothing stopped the more unnatural dangers from attacking them while she slept. The necklace Cole said would protect her was destroyed and its power used by the Paladin. So that left her with one option. Natalie found the bag of salt and silver. She ran the sparkling and shining powder through her fingers while debating her actions. Getting up, Natalie moved to the edge of the little overhang they sheltered under. With uncertain fingers, Natalie grabbed a handful of the dust and started sprinkling it in a line at her feet.
It took a few minutes and multiple retracing of her steps, but Natalie had enclosed the small camp with a semi-circle of protective powder. Admiring her handiwork, Natalie winced as she looked into the bag she’d carried. Most of its contents lay scattered at her feet, and neither material was cheap. With that finished, she returned to her earlier spot and looked out at the darkening hills. By now, the Sun touched the horizon, and the distant flames of burning Lungu were visible. The eerie glow of the village’s cremation became more pronounced with every minute. Night had come, and with it, new terrors.
Natalie felt it when the Sun finally fell into shadow. A visceral tug in her core, as fading light was replaced by true darkness. All she could do was stare out across the landscape as it faded away. The clouds were thick overhead, obscuring the moon and stars. Leaving only the dancing ghost lights of Lungu to illuminate the growing blackness. The fierce wind from that day had died down as dusk came, but it quickly returned as the last hints of sunlight faded.
The wind carried the bitter chill of winter-to-come and set Natalie’s teeth chattering. She put a few more pieces of wood on the fire. The pile she’d gathered was looking painfully small now. She’d drastically underestimated how quickly the fire would eat up her supply. A campfire and a fireplace, it seems, are very different beasts. It was too late to gather more, and it would only get colder.
Shivering with the worsening cold, Natalie realized another source of warmth was right next to her. Cole’s unconscious body was giving off a staggering amount of heat. He was wrapped up in her cloak and seemingly unbothered by the cold. Hesitating a moment upon realizing what she was considering. Natalie quickly decided as another bitter gust bit down on her exposed skin.
There was a space between Cole and the rockface, about enough room for her to squeeze into. After a few incredibly awkward attempts, Natalie nestled herself between Cole and the rock. Almost immediately, she felt warmer, the large sleeping form of the Paladin acting as a windbreak. Gripping her cloak, Natalie pulled it partially over her. Cole shifted slightly, and she guessed the Cloak wasn’t big enough to cover both of them easily. Letting out an annoyed sigh. Natalie swallowed any growing embarrassment and got closer to Cole. Her back was pressed against his sleeping form, and now, with this awkward form of accidental intimacy, the blanket could cover both of them.
Trying to get comfortable, Natalie was glad for the warmth Cole provided but hoped his injuries would ensure she awoke first. It would be better for her pride and forestall any potential awkwardness. Looking over her shoulder, Natalie looked at the sleeping face of Cole. He looked like he was in less pain, which was hopefully a good sign. Turning back to face the rock, Natalie muttered some choice words before trying to sleep.
“I was considering getting him into my bed, but not quite like this,” she said wryly as exhaustion started to take her.
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The past few nights had not gone well for Dietrich. He’d followed the claims of the half-mad Rest-Bringer and confirmed much of what he’d been told. After this “Cole” character left the Castle, he’d searched for evidence to corroborate or disprove the claims of unsanctioned necromantic experimentation. It hadn’t taken much effort to show that Cole was, at the very least, partially truthful. Which was exactly why things were not going well for Dietrich.
It would have been so much easier if the Rest-Bringer had been delusional or lying. Dietrich could have just killed the man, put his head on a pike, have his day thralls decry the interloper's actions as the lies of a zealot, and be done with it. But so far, everything Dietrich could investigate matched Cole’s words.
The first night, Dietrich tasked some trusted thralls to go through the ledgers and documents about the Castle’s Larder. The almost obsessive documentation in that regard quickly provided results. Innate paranoia over blood sources forced the court to keep extensive records about the Larder and its occupants. One of the most common sources of strife between Vampires is over food. Solitary predators by nature, sharing and storing food is not something the Night’s Children do well; a truth that clashes violently with the civilized ideals the Blood Duchies aspire to. A stable feudal society is not possible if every noble court constantly descends into paranoid butchery over hunting rights. So careful notation about feeding and blood supply helps keep the peace.
Those records matched what Cole said and provided more details. A prisoner by the name of Felix Mihai had been taken to the Castle for crimes of unwarrrented bloodshed. Felix was quickly sentenced and dropped into the Larder, where the three youngest Vampires in the court, Corneliu, Camelia, and Bogdan, drank him to death. Such excesses were tacitly permitted in such inexperienced Vampires. With barely two decades each of Undeath, that trio lacked the influence and power to easily acquire blood. So they were forced to curry favor with their betters or hunt for scraps like Felix. It was a crude but effective method to teach fledglings politics and survival within a Vampire court.
Corneliu, Camelia, and Bogdan glutted themselves, then reported the Blood-Slave’s death. Dietrich confirmed this with a few quick words to each member of the trio. They knew better than to lie or even annoy him, there used to be five members of their generation before they last caught Dietrich's attention. So they each eagerly told Dietrich everything they knew, including how they left the body of their meal to be processed. The trio could, of course, be lying, but only if cowed into doing so by another. Dietrich intended to follow that possibility, but the rest of his night was spent tracking the missing corpse from the other end of the matter.
Felix’s body ended up in the Temple’s mortuary, which was easy enough to confirm. So was Cole depositing the corpse and his general movements in Glockmire. Dietrich knew where the corpse had been created and where it was now, but the details between were uncertain. The eyes and ears of thralls and spies would only do so much. Dietrich needed to personally investigate.
On the dusk of the second night, Dietrich left the Castle to trace Cole’s steps. He didn’t bother taking the switchback route down to the Town and instead bounded along the cliff face. Despite wearing a full suit of plate armor, Dietrich was incredibly agile. Taking a path only a mountain goat would dare, the scattered clefts and bluffs in the cliff let Dietrich reach the town walls without passing through Glockmires streets.
Dietrich did this to avoid attention. While some of the court’s Vampires loved to bask in the populace’s terror, taking every opportunity to haunt the night and frighten the livestock, Dietrich found such immature behavior foolish and counterproductive. The entire point of the Blood Duchies was to keep the mortals pliant, obedient, and dependent on the Vampires. A good shepherd has no need nor desire to frighten his flock, acting like a wolf.
Descending off the cliff face, Dietrich made it to the city walls. He scaled the old stonework with a single good jump. Barely letting his feet skim the parapet before leaping down to the ground below. Years of practice let him land with little noise. Only the faint sound of scraping metal betrayed his presence. Other court members found Dietrich’s habit of wearing a full suit of armor ridiculous; claiming their kind’s natural speed and resilience was more than enough protection. Those words betrayed their arrogance and ignorance. They’d never stood on a battlefield where the sky turned black with falling arrows. Arrows with silver heads dipped in holy water or flaming pitch. Nor had they faced warrior-priests whose very presence burned undead flesh. Dietrich kept his armor on out of healthy paranoia, something required to survive for centuries.
Still, he acknowledged that speed and stealth were valuable tools. And he’d learned to use them in his own manner. Moving away from the town walls, Dietrich reached into the reservoir of blood that powered him, dipping into the stolen life-force that granted him unlife and myriad boons. Dietrich let the sinister power flow up and out of him. Droplets of black blood dribbled from his mouth and nose, before evaporating into a crimson fog as they touched the cold night air. That red mist started to swirl around Dietrich, enclosing him in a cloud of magical power.
With focus born of decades of practice, Dietrich forced the mist to congeal into a shape. A shape that formed around Dietrich like another suit of armor. Dietrich felt the lines between his own flesh and the enveloping mist blur. His body melted into the new form he pictured in his mind. Dietrich shut his eyes and let the transformation complete. A sizzling noise like burning flesh and a few wet pops let him know he was ready. Dietrich opened his eyes and adjusted to his new flesh. Where the armored knight once stood was now a hulking black wolf. Easily twice the size of any true wolf, with eyes that glinted red, this new form would serve Dietrich well in his task.
After a few shaky steps, Dietrich fell into the rhythm of a canine body. A transformation like this, was not a talent his breed of vampire specialized in. It had taken not insignificant effort to reach this level of skill. But all that toil paid off as Dietrich bolted out into the night with unnatural speed, like some mirage of death, the black wolf ran north of Glockmire, sucking in great lungfuls of the night air. Dietrich had no need to breathe, even in this body, but his sense of smell was magnified like his speed. Canine instinct and Vampiric intelligence sifted through the glut of scents until the tell-tale smell of a corpse caught his attention. Even days later, Dietrich could easily identify the odor of a drained body. With the scent in mind, he bolted off after the trail.
Dietrich ran through the dark night, breaking away from the road and into the forest. Here the smells of civilization that wafted from Glockmire were quickly replaced by the odors of nature. Most were familiar to Dietrich; he’d run through this forest and ones like it hundreds of times. So following the abnormal scent proved easy enough. At first, he simply followed the corpse’s trail, but then other odd smells mixed in. A hint of something floral, lily perhaps? Alongside ash, leather, and…blood? Dietrich stopped his hunt, he smelled blood, but it was wrong. The smell was a few days old, but that should not have changed it, only weakened it. This blood smelled like nothing Dietrich had ever scented or tasted. It was rich and potent, yet also alien and cold. Trying to sort through the strange smell, Dietrich was baffled . He’d drunk the lifeblood of almost every lin on the continent, Goblin, Human, Werefolk, Elf, and Dwarf, but he still had no context for the bizarre, unnatural blood.
That mystery could be added to the growing pile. For now, Dietrich returned to his hunt. Following the trail he soon caught the scent of rot and fire. He was where he needed to be. A forest clearing stretched out before him, with a pile of ash and burnt bone near its center. Dietrich padded up to the cracked and ashen bones and examined them. It was hard to tell with all the damage, but the bones seemed to be warped human remains. These might be the Vryko Ghouls; it was impossible to tell now.
Leaving the clearing, Dietrich continued after the scent and reached the cliff and ruined cave of the Ghouls' creation. Here the smells of death, rot, and that same unnatural blood was thick. And if he really concentrated, he could also pick up hints of Direbats. So far, Cole’s story was lining up with the evidence. A deep growl of annoyance started in Dietrich's chest as he tried to follow the smell of the Direbats. It was too faint, beyond even his lupine form’s ability to track; but Dietrich would not be so easily deterred.
The only Direbats in the area were bound to Castle Glockmire. Roosting in a great Hibernaculum burrowed into the mountain the Castle perched on, where swarms of the useful creatures were bred and trained by the court. Dietrich had the scent of this particular brood and should be able to identify them to continue his investigation. With this information, Dietrich loped back to the Castle. Enjoying the cool night air on his fur and the momentary freedom of his expedition.
Upon reaching the walls of Glockmire, Dietrich let his concentration slip. The focus he’d put into changing shapes started to fade. Black fur fell out of his skin in clumps, followed by rivers of black blood. The massive wolf started to melt, its flesh returning to its true form. Soon Dietrich was on his hands and knees, in the center of a great pool of the tar-black substance. He got to his feet as the vampire blood poured back into him. The pool drained into his body in an inverted exsanguination. The whole process took a little under a minute and left Dietrich unsteady on his feet for twice as long. Not for the first time, he envied the Strigoi and their ability to shift between bestial forms with ease, if not their feral temperment.
In his true body, Dietrich finished the last leg of his journey, returning to the Castle and ready to continue the investigation. Upon arriving, Dietrich spared no time for his thralls or any other servant he passed in the dimly lit hallways of the Castle. Instead, prowling towards the Hibernaculum with predatory focus. Castle Glockmire clung to the mountainside, its turrets and spires carved from living rock. A mountain face chiseled into a gothic fortress in true Blood Duchy fashion. This structure that loomed over the town below was, in fact, only part of the Castle's entirety.
A cavernous network of tunnels and chambers were hewn into the mountain. The product of centuries of constant excavation. The vast majority of this subterranean system was still unused, with its rough corridors awaiting potential use decades after their creation. It was in these sprawling tunnels Dietrich navigated to the Hibernaculum. Despite living in the Castle for fifty years, Dietrich still did not know the entirety of the network. In fact, Dietrich doubted anyone other than Lord Glockmire, and his Steward knew the full extent of the tunnels. For it was by the Lord's command that the tunnels were constantly expanded and reinforced. Crews of undead workers chipped away at the rock night and day. Working to some enigmatic purpose only the Lord knew.
The Hibernaculum was one of the farthest caverns in actual use. Its external entrance actually poking out the far side of the mountain. Once a natural cave, it had been incorporated into the Castle’s tunnels, and its native population of bats quickly mutated to suit the court's need. Despite being deep in the tunnels, and rarely visited by Dietrich, he had no issue finding the Colony of Direbats. He simply had to follow the smell of bat shit.
The stink of thousands of Direbats filled some of the deeper tunnels and acted as a disgusting compass to guide Dietrich. As he stalked deeper through the dark tunnels, another smell accompanied the reek of guano. The smell of blood intermingled with the filth and brought new urgency to Dietrich's steps. As he approached the main cavern of the Hibernaculum, he heard panicked shouts. Moving with his full vampiric speed, Dietrich rushed into the cavern, throwing open the sturdy wooden door with enough force to crack its wood.
The main part of the Hibernaculum was a great arched cavern that opened up to the night sky but with dozens of smaller caves shooting off of it. A series of wooden walkways hugged the cave’s walls, providing easy movement for the mortal servants who tended the Direbats. Most nights, the cavern was all but empty. Its denizens hunted and patrolled the night as their masters commanded. That was not the case tonight as an entire brood of Direbats swarmed in the chamber’s center. Forming a whirling ball of flying shapes. At least a hundred oversized bats flew in the air in random twisting patterns.
As Dietrich entered the cavern, he gazed upon the strange formation of Direbats and realized what they were doing. A constant rain of blood fell from the swarm, accompanied by the occasional falling body. The brood was killing itself. All of the Direbats engaged in a vicious midair melee. Across the chamber on the wooden walkways and platforms, the four mortal tenders scurried about, shouting in panic. Sickly gaunt men, the tenders spent their entire lives maintaining the Direbat population. Keeping the Colony healthy with obsessive commitment, even as the diseases and waste of their charges killed them. Now they were helpless to watch the aerial battle as Direbats tore into each other with mad hunger.
Dietrich tried to reach out with his mind to the swarm. Calling upon his dominating psychic presence to bring these beasts to heel. They did not respond, not even acknowledging his call. A call that would bring almost any nocturnal predator to heel. Dietrich was forced to watch as the swarm killed itself, his repeated attempts to control the Direbats meeting with no success.
As the final few mortally wounded Direbats fell to the cavern floor, Dietrich went to one of the dead creatures that had crashed into the walkway. This close, he could smell it. This Bat was of the same brood as the ones used to transport the stolen corpse. Someone was covering their tracks. Forcing the Direbats to commit gruesome suicide before he could examine them.
Growling in frustration, Dietrich picked up the Direbat and slammed it against the nearby cave wall. Leaving a red smear as evidence of his pique. The wet splat caught the attention of the Tender, who only now realized a Nocturnal Noble was among them. The four men froze in terror. Expecting brutal punishment at Dietrich's hands.
“Gather up all of these dead Direbats and do not let anyone other than myself examine them. If anybody orders the carcasses destroyed, do not do so. Instead, send for me. Am I understood?” barked Dietrich, his old Eastern Marches accent slipping back into his words.
The nervous tenders nodded vigorously, and Dietrich let them do their foul work. He left the Hibernaculum with bitter anger growing in his heart. There were other possible explanations for what Cole had claimed, but what he’d just witnessed tipped the scales. Nothing proved a crime like an attempt to destroy the evidence. One of the Vampires of the court was behind this, and he needed to find out quickly. But before he could continue the investigation, he’d need to make one crucial stop. Dietrich needed to inform Lord Glockmire of what was happening and discern if he was involved in this matter.