“Local baron will try to escape through the sewers or catacombs. Stop him by any means necessary,” Druscilla told Pen. “There are also going to be papers and documents. Try to salvage as much as possible - Baron of Fineby is a close ally to the Redfields. No doubt he’ll try to burn any correspondence. Be careful, fire is especially harmful to your health.”

“Got it. And what will you do?”

“See if I can do something about the local garrison.”

“By yourself?”

“I can handle it. I want to test the limits of what I can do. I should be able to take on about a hundred soldiers without much trouble.” Druscilla thought for a moment about Penelope’s motivations. “Listen, Pen, a lot of people are probably going to die tonight. How does that make you feel?”

“The cause is just and I trust your plans.”

That didn’t answer the question, but no matter. Penelope would do what she was told. “Will you have any problem finding the baron’s manor?”

“Isn’t it the biggest of the Nobles’ Quarter?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a small city with little in the way of nobility - but there are a lot of merchants - or so I am told. We don’t have a reliable map so look for the one with a coat of arms or banners in the wind.”

“Got it.”

“After you.” Penelope took to the sky as a small black bat. It was a cloudy and dark night - pregnant with rain - and Pen melded into the inky blackness.

For the moment Druscilla was alone. She leaned against the city wall. Patrols regularly passed overhead, but they had not spotted Penelope’s and Druscilla’s dark figures in the night. Not that it mattered anyway.

Druscilla had chosen to utilize the full extent of her power. After tonight, the lid would be blown wide open. Friend and foe alike would know that she was a supernatural being. It would plant a very large target on her back. But based on what she had seen so far, she could handle herself and whatever mundane threats mortals threw at her. She was not as foolhardy and headstrong as Morrigan. She would be fine as long as she didn’t get too comfortable or cocky. One thing was clear though, she needed more Vampires. I should get Dixie and Pen to work on that.

She had told the Marshal that she was planning to infiltrate the city alone with Pen. The man was giddy at the prospect of finally being rid of her. ‘A fool’s errand’ his eyes seemed to say - but he did not voice his apprehension.

As far as Druscilla was concerned the problem was that Gwen was alone. Technically she was surrounded by armed guards - but all of them combined were no match for Penelope alone. I’ll just have to do this fast. Gwen would be hard to replace. Young and naive, she would be Druscilla’s vessel of power.

Druscilla herself didn’t look combat-ready. She was wearing a simple shirt and breeches under a long, black, supple coat that would be more in place at a gala or similar event. Presentation matters, after all. At her hip was her sword. The coat had been given to her by Gwen. She ardently hoped she wouldn’t stain it tonight.

With her long, sharp nails she bounded up the stone wall and onto the ramparts. She crouched low as she scanned around. The closest sentries were an armoured pair chatting about twenty-five metres away to her right. They hadn’t seen her yet. To her left, another sentry was doing his rounds at a similar distance. He was coming towards Druscilla.

Fineby had four gatehouses corresponding to each of the cardinal points as was convention in Boshamia. Gwen’s armies were to the north, so she needed to open the northern gatehouse for her armies to march into the city and take their foothold in the North. The building in question was about a hundred and fifty metres to Druscilla’s right. Between her and her objective was about a dozen sentries, grouped in pairs.

Druscilla stilled, waiting for the sentry to get in range. She became hyper-aware of her surroundings...she could hear his breathing as his leather boots scraped the ground, the heart in his chest sending blood through thick arteries. It felt as though she had been living off goat blood since forever. The lust for the taste of human blood was mind-numbing.

Sure enough, before the sentry could even react, Druscilla pounced. Arms around her victim, fangs extending from her gums, blood exploding from his neck and flooding her mouth and pouring down her throat. The taste ignited her every sense and overloaded them. With each gulp, she came more alive. She felt his warm skin, his ragged ecstatic breath, the roughness of his beard on her chin as she stole his lifeblood. At that moment she felt awake...fully alive.

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And then, all too soon, it was over. She had drained him completely.

No turning back now. Next, she planned to find out the exact limit of her summoning ability. In her mind, she pictured a large Doberman with winged forearms. She could see its gleaming teeth and shining claws standing out from its pitch-black fur. She could see its deep red eyes that could see the tiniest of details and large ears that could pick up the slightest noises.

From the shadows below her rose the familiars. Dark bat-like forms seven feet tall. She called forth a dozen until her nose began bleeding and her head began pounding. Her legs became wobbly and her insides felt like they were being churned. A stark contrast from the euphoria she had experienced earlier. Her vision blurred and darkened at the edges as she fell onto her knees.

These were the biggest tulpas she had ever summoned. The mental exertion addled her mind. What was I about to do? Her familiars sensed her disorientation and took perch around her. The garrison - that’s right. The wall. Her mind still spinning and pounding Druscilla gave them the vague mental command to attack the sentries.

And thus they flew off in all directions, leaving Druscilla trying to reorient herself. The local guards did not know what hit them. As if to mourn the calamity that was about to unfold, the sky began weeping.

Up until that point it had been a rather tense night for the siege defenders. They had heard word that the besiegers had formed their ranks to the North of the city. A full-on assault on the walls would be suicidal - yet it seemed to be a serious tactic considered by the foe. The local sergeants had decided to wait and see how this would pan out. Surely the Usurper wasn’t foolhardy enough to throw her men blindly to their deaths...right?

As such, the alarm had not been raised. Much of Fineby was still asleep. A feeling of nervous apprehension had built up in the gatehouse facing the besiegers. A gateman was trying to dispel the tension by telling stories of how he one time saw a deer with antlers the size of a small tree. In the middle of his anecdote, he was plucked from the ramparts and disappeared wailing up into the gloomy sky.

A brief moment of shocked silence. And another man was grabbed by the face and carried upward into dark oblivion. Several hundred hours of training per man was not enough to repel the flood of primal fear within the hearts of everyone.

In the pandemonium that ensued some tried running down into the gatehouse while others tried fighting back against their supernatural assailants. Their short iron swords were useless in the situation. They barely slowed down the familiars.

Eventually, their cries washed through the night and into the ears of those who were asleep. The barracks near the gatehouse stirred to life. Lamps and torches were lit to dispel the darkness. Curious faces peeked out windows only to be pulled out by dark appendages.

The familiars flew in through the windows and made off with men who were still half asleep. These malicious dark forms were akin to silent executioners; they never made any sounds of their own. No shrill shrieking, no loud roaring, just cold, silent abduction and murder.

That is not to say the night was quiet, however. The night was very much alive with screaming men. The sergeant on duty desperately tried to establish some semblance of order by howling orders at the top of his lungs from the armoury. “Brace! Brace! Brace!” His voice cracked as he tried to be as loud as possible. It was the safest place around considering there were no windows.

The men who managed to hear him in the din made a beeline for the beckoning open doors. They trampled over each other trying to get to perceived safety. Some of the creatures made off with a couple, and the sergeant had to order the doors closed lest they enter and compromise the armoury.

Without even needing to be instructed a hardy table was used to bar the main double doors. Finally, they had a moment to catch a breath. The sergeant looked over what remained of the garrison, analyzing the conditions and environment he found himself in.

“Count yourselves!” he barked.

The nearest soldier yelled: “One!”

“Two!”

The armoury was stone-walled with no windows, and the weapons on the racks could probably be enough to fully equip everyone present. For the type of enemy they faced, spears and pikes would probably be best - keeping those winged monsters at range.

“Fifteen!”

“Sixteen!”

There were three main entryways into the armoury, the main double doors that opened to an open area outside, and two doors on either side of the room that led into the corridors of the rest of the gatehouse. This particular gatehouse was not particularly big, so it was safe to say the armoury took up about half of the building’s space.

“Thirty!”

“Thirty-one!”

Ominously loud scratching sounds were coming from the outside of the main door. The sergeant was the nearest, so doubtless, he would be the first to go if those things got in.

“Thirty-nine.”

“Forty!”

The sergeant did not know how many of those things he was facing. They could number anywhere from ten to fifty.

“Forty-five!”

“Forty-six”

Priority would be to send for help. There were several options; there were four gatehouses each with a hundred men in nearby barracks, and then there was Baron Brownmound himself - who from his estate was in an excellent position to coordinate some sort of response.

“Fifty-one!” yelled the last man.

A pit opened in the sergeant’s stomach as he realized they had lost half their number. The pit only deepened as he saw their faces - grim and trusting - fully expecting him to get them out of this mess. It was a weight on his shoulders that he had to bear without buckling - else why was he made a leader?

“Four men. Four volunteers. To get the word out to the baron and the rest of the city - give them a description of the situation.” the leader said.

“With respect sir, we don’t even know the full picture ourselves.”

“Well, let’s start with what we do know. We were attacked by winged creatures unlike anything we’ve ever seen or heard of. They are probably malevolent summons called forth by the Usurper - meaning she has taken to the foul Arcane arts. They number between a dozen and a score and are seemingly impervious to iron. They don’t bite or attack - they carry someone into the night - and we don’t know where they are taking them.” he paused for a moment. “Does anybody have anything to add?”

A short ruddy soldier bleeding from his shoulder answered: “Them things almost took me - but I was holding a torch. Managed to beat it away…” a murmur went up. It seemed that nobody holding torches was attacked.

“This is good news. Very Good news. We have a way of fighting back - I want a torch in everybody’s hand.” Thank the Light they were in the armoury where they kept their fuel. “Four men. Four volunteers. To take word to the Baron and the other Gatehouses. Whom amongst you will step up?”

Four brave soldiers answered his call. Cloths were wrapped around stakes and dipped in paraffin to make torches. They struck flint to steel and fire came into existence.

“The four of you make a beeline for the stables. The rest of us will try to fight those things. Understood? Good. Now somebody open these doors…”