It was interesting, travelling with Collin Baird. Interesting for several reasons.

He was not immune to fatigue, Hexeri knew that much. He may have appeared mechanical and tireless to humans, but her senses were advanced beyond such shortcomings. Even with his face still and his breathing forcibly steady, she could hear the pounding of his heart as it widened capillaries and pressurised arteries to compensate for the prolonged demands of his body. The men around him- Rangers, all of them- were louder by far.

In this, they were all as fragile as normal humans. Vigour did much for the raw, explosive prowess of a creature, but it could never match the tirelessness of an undead body.

And yet they persisted.

Hexeri had seen some humans with a measure of the discipline on display, now, but not many. They were rare, and all noteworthy. Stories told of King Galukar scything apart castle walls and grinning as bodkin-tipped arrows bounced harmlessly from his skin. They should have told, instead, of the serjeants responsible for rendering men like this from raw recruits.

In her experience, discipline was ten times the equal of strength. It was that, above all else, which made her kind so desperate in their fight for survival.

“Getting hungry?” Baird asked, snapping her from her thoughts with the abrupt question. “Or do you just find the sound of my heartbeat particularly satisfying?”

Hexeri grinned.

Always alert, too. That was the thing Baird had that his men didn’t, though all of them were cognizant of threats and ever-ready to move if one came. It was that natural, perpetual, slightly paranoid awareness that truly made her feel a kinship with the man. Because that wasn’t something native to those without Vampiric blood in their veins.

It was something learned by those hunted for who or what they were. Neither of them needed to exchange a word to see that much in the other.

“Not at all.” Hexeri replied, knowing full well that Baird was among the few quick enough to notice the minute fraction of a second her pause had already lasted. “I just find it quite amusing watching you pant away as we go, like seeing a child try to march uphill. Not used to walking this long?”

A few scowls and a few more choice words flew her way at that, and Hexeri smiled. Uphill, certainly, was a way to describe the near-sixty degree angle they now scaled. It was a testament to each man present that he was still sustaining a quicker pace going over the jagged mound of earth than their forces still circling the base.

But it was necessary. Baird had insisted on that much, he wanted sharp eyes propped high in the sky to survey the landscape, and Hexeri found herself in agreement. It was increasingly common, these days, that she concur with him. He made a lot of poignant observations, for a human. She wondered what sort of things his native genius might pick up on with another century to mature in a brain not slowly rotting with each new year.

Hexeri recalled the other humans then, the ones who’d smiled and laughed right up until the burning torches and decapitating cleavers came out. Her grin dropped away to the dirt under her feet, and she crushed it with the latest in a never-ending line of crunching, thudding footfalls.

No, better not to wonder such things. Most human potential, after all, was in the threat they posed. And the less expected, the more severe. They were a weak species, but weaklings could kill if given a moment of relaxation to strike in.

It didn’t take more than a few additional minutes to reach the hill’s top, despite its height and steepness. Baird remained standing, which Hexeri had expected, but so did his other Rangers. She could hear their fatigue, smell the lactic acid in their muscles, and yet they remained vigilant as ever. Perhaps they were the undead ones.

“What do you see?” She asked Baird. He glanced at her, surprised.

“You can’t see better than me?”

Hexeri felt a stab of irritation at that.

“I can smell adrenaline, and hear a heartbeat at twenty paces, but no. I can’t see better than a Ranger, not one of your calibre.”

Not even so late in the evening, and that had been the most irksome realisation of all. Hexeri’s eyes might be the superior ones in the pitch black of midnight, but even then he’d have the advantage in pinpointing firelight to locate any enemies.

She really did prefer being around ordinary humans, far more satisfying.

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Baird took a few moments to scan the area, and so did his other Rangers. Soon enough, one of them spoke.

“Over there.” He breathed, gesturing to a distant point to the west of them. “See it boss?”

Baird narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “No, point it out?”

“The ground.” His subordinate clarified. “See that section of it, it’s hard to make out but-”

“Burns.” Baird gasped. “Yeah, you’re right, and the earth is disturbed, indented. There was a fire there. A big one. I’d make it a yard wide, sound right boys?”

“Four feet, I’d say.” Another cut in, but most agreed.

“So we’re dealing with a few dozen, but no more. Otherwise they’d have needed several. Still, fair numbers. Could be a threat depending on what they are.”

Hexeri followed their gazes, and thought she saw the point being indicated. It was certainly hard enough to make out, though, even with her own Vampiric sight. Rangers indeed.

“If they need fire, they’re living things.” She noted. “But if they’re with the Dark Lord’s forces…”

“...Then they could’ve had numerous times as many undead around them that simply didn’t need other fires built.” Baird concluded. “Right.”

He was quick in making a decision, as quick as he was in all other things.

“We need to operate on the assumption that we’re not alone after all. Rangers, get into threes. I want you all moving ahead and checking the route for snares, sentries, anything else that might fuck us over when the main body runs into it. I doubt this is an army we’re dealing with but for all we know we’re about to run into a pack of Fomori.”

They moved like the components of a carefully lubricated machine, all setting off on their separate paths near wordlessly and disappearing down the slope of the hill.

“Is that wise?” Hexeri asked. “Splitting up?”

Baird shrugged.

“Rangers aren’t fighters, not really. We work best from afar, against enemies who don’t know they’re an enemy. Skirmishers.”

“There were only a dozen of you to begin with.” She noted. “Why not keep together?”

“Because twelve is a fuck sight easier to spot than three, travels slower, and runs the risk of all our Rangers getting wiped out in a single fuck-up. We don’t have enough to spare for chances like that.”

Hexeri understood when it was put like that. Numbers were not something a Vampire often had issues with, but when it came to their own elites- the century-old creatures of night able to kill a hundred times their number of mortal men- they were even harder to replace than any human killer.

Besides, even the ability to turn more into their kind didn’t make her eager to throw them away. A progeny was more than cannon fodder.

“What are you expecting to find?” Hexeri asked.

Baird hesitated.

“I’m not sure. The Dark Lord’s forces aren’t subtle, so hopefully we’ll have an answer soon.”

The two of them made their own way back down the hilltop, reuniting with the larger part of their forces. Conventional soldiers, these, spearmen and the occasional Shaiagraznian grotesquery. Five thousand Kaltan veterans, bolstered with support and training enough that they could have equaled four times their number of conventional troops. It said a lot about what exactly they were marching towards that Hexeri felt little in the way of comfort from their numbers.

Of course, that wasn’t just the Dark Lord’s fault. Thousands of humans were good for one thing regarding Vampires, historically. Protecting them was not it.

A day passed without any great incident, and the Rangers were back by the end of it. All seemed shaken, not molified, by their lack of any discovery. No snares, no pitfalls, and all the likely positions for enemies like them- those with Vigour put to improving precision and eyesight for long-range shooting- were empty and unused.

Hexeri understood their discontent. If they’d found evidence of some sort of trap, it would show they were fighting enemies who could be seen through. A total lack of that, however, may well have indicated they were the ones who would be confounded.

“Do we abort?” She asked Baird. He snorted at the very idea.

“Fuck no, we don’t even know for sure these enemies are still in the region. They could’ve just headed off into an entirely different direction, for all we know. They…” He paused, swallowing. “...They could’ve been behind us, and set the fire ahead to distract us by relying on our scouting abilities to take note-”

The arrow hit the ground right by his feet, exploding a great crater of silt and shale out of it, sending fractals of stone to glance off every face in a dozen yards. Everyone present froze, for the arrow had missed their leader’s head by inches. Deliberately, Hexeri thought.

“We have you surrounded, move and you die.”

Fortunately, nobody moved, because Hexeri recognised the cadence infusing the voice. It wasn’t one she was likely to forget.

“Our warriors will reveal themselves now.” The Dark Elf told them. “Once more, remain still. Any movements towards weapons, or of deliberate speed, will be seen as precursor to an attack. We will halt them with lethal force.”

Hexeri believed them, that was the way Dark Elves operated. Efficiently.

Sure enough, Dark Elf faces began emerging to match the voice. Hexeri scrutinised them for any she might recognise, but found none. It had been a slim chance, in any case. Her last meeting with their kind had been twenty years ago, and scarcely more to her advantage than this one.

They were a tall people, the Elves. And the Dark Elves were no shorter, averaging a height of six feet or more- both men and women- and differentiated in build only by a breadth of shoulder and mass of muscle uncommon to their fairer kin.

All were dark skinned, thus the name. Some in the way of humans like Princess Ado or her ancestors, others like corpses sometimes were. Grey or desaturated. All had crimson eyes.

It was annoying how often Dark Elves were mistaken for Vampires, because they really weren’t much alike on the inside. Hexeri could appreciate their more superficial resemblance, though. Seeing the Elves move, it was hard to compare them to clumsy, blundering humans after spending so long among her own kind.

Theirs was a grace only typically possible among nerves made still by death and muscles precise by coldness. This grace saw quick usage now as blades were pressed to necks, angles of attack covered, bodies woven out among the men closest her.

All to ensure that dozens would, as the Elves had said, die the moment any sign of attack was perceived among them.