The vampire cackled as he pulled back Pradak’s head to expose the young man’s unblemished neck. The walls of the kitchen echoed with Priscinta’s horrified scream, a sound so terrible it chilled Deothen’s bones. Before the creature could strike, though, the knight stepped forward and held his burning sword high before him. Its flames licked the ceiling.
“Abomination!” Deothen said to the vampire in a voice that rolled through the room like thunder. “You are an affront to the purity of the Silver Flame, and for that you shall be consumed!”
As Deothen spoke, the vampire froze in place, and his eyes wide in fear. Like a moth to the flame, he seemed unable to wrest his eyes away from the light of the flaming sword before him. He dropped Pradak and unleashed a final, horrifying cry, like metal scraping dry bone. A moment later, it turned into a column of dust that cascaded to the kitchen’s cold stone floor.
Deothen grabbed Pradak by the shoulder and guided him into Levritt’s grasp. “Escort him back to the dining room,” the eldest knight said, “and this time keep him there!”
The young knight jumped to obey.
Deothen glanced around and listened for the sound of further threats. The only sounds were the breathing of the knights and Priscinta whimpering softly near the fire. “We seem to have repulsed the first assault,” he said to Brendis and Gweir. “Resume your posts for the moment and prepare for battle. We will take this fight to them soon.”
As the others left, Deothen knelt down to examine Mardak’s body. The vampire dust coated the mayor’s head and shoulders, the blood and ashen remains mixing into a thick, black paste where they commingled. The knight brushed the mixture aside with his mailed hand.
“I’m impressed that you were able to defend yourself so well,” Deothen remarked to Priscinta as he examined the wound that had laid Mardak low.
“I was once a knight of the Sovereign Host,” said Priscinta through her tears. Her voice was raw with sorrow and, from what Deothen could tell, rage. “I am no stranger to such creatures.”
“It is too bad you couldn’t say the same of your husband.” The knight ran his finger along the length of the wound. The blow had nearly taken off Mardak’s head. The cut was clean. The vampire had carried no weapon. Such creatures usually preferred to kill their prey with their bare hands.
“No,” said Priscinta as she struggled to her knees, the cleaver still clutched in her hand. “He was a creature I knew far too well.”
Deothen nodded and then ducked to the side at the last moment. He knew that Priscinta had seen him examining the wound, that he knew of her guilt. He’d hoped she’d simply confess to him, but she apparently wasn’t going to make it that easy.
The cleaver in Priscinta’s hand glanced off the steel spaulder protecting Deothen’s right shoulder. Still kneeling next to Mardak’s body, he whipped about and planted the point of his sword against the woman’s chest. She froze.
As the knight stood, his blade’s point still on Priscinta, he gazed at the woman. She had barely come out of the kitchen since the knights had arrived to break bread with Mardak. Her right eye was puffy and bruised from when Mardak had struck her earlier in the day. Her lip was broken and bleeding, but that wound was fresh. Fear warred with righteous anger in her eyes.
“It… it was the vampire,” Priscinta said, stumbling over her words.
Deothen didn’t need the favors of his god to know the words were lies. This had been a good woman, he could tell, and such deceptions did not come naturally to her. He winced to hear her continue on.
“It bent Mardak’s mind to its will,” Priscinta said. “He attacked me.” She fought back a dry sob. Madness danced in her eyes. “I had to defend myself.”
Deothen pulled back his blade but held it at the ready. Priscinta dropped the cleaver and sagged. She looked a great deal older than she had that afternoon.
“Did you fear these dusty remains might have done the same to me?” Deothen whispered.
Priscinta shrugged and looked away. A single tear ran down her bruised and beaten face. “We live in a strange and unknowable world. Who can say what is possible?” Her gaze fell on her husband’s corpse. Deothen could see that Mardak’s eyes were frozen wide in surprise, although they were buried blind under a patina of the vampire’s dust.
“Please don’t tell my son,” Priscinta said as she fell back on her knees, tears streaming down her face. She pleaded madly with the knight. “Isn’t it bad enough he’s lost his father?”
Deothen felt ill.
Chapter
13
A single light burned in the front window of Kandler’s home as he approached it. No sounds came from within.
The justicar had left Burch and Sallah in the center of town to rally the townsfolk who had fled there. Burch had insisted on accompanying Kandler, but he had refused. “Esprл needs me,” he’d said to his old friend, “but Mardakine does too. Stand here for us both while I find her.”
The shifter had slapped Kandler on the back and wished him good speed as he dashed off toward his home.
The shutters on the front window of Kandler’s home swung loose and wide. The hook that normally kept them shut after dark had been torn from its mooring. Kandler stopped and listened. Still no sound, not even the sobbing of a girl.
Kandler crept up his front stairs and over to the window, which gaped as wide as a dragon’s maw. His sword before him, he poked his nose over the weathered, wooden sill. The lantern burning on the table in the center of the main room shed a flickering light on the scene. For a moment, the justicar saw nothing wrong. He blew out a long, silent sigh.
The sigh caught in his throat as the blood splashed across the room’s rear wall caught his eye. It looked like it had been flung there by a careless artist working with red paint.
Kandler grimaced and ducked back below the sill. He considered sneaking around the back, but there was no telling who was hurt or how much time she might have left. He drew in a deep breath, stood, and wound his way around to stand before the door. He launched himself and threw his shoulder right at the point he knew would shatter the latch, but the door did not resist. It smashed open and bounced off the wall behind it.
The justicar’s eyes darted about the room as he entered it. The stove was cold, as it always was at this time of night. Some of the furniture had been overturned. The table blocked his view of the bottom of the bloodstained wall. He barged past it, and he found a small body there, crumpled across a broken, toppled chair.
Kandler reached down with his free hand to pull back the girl’s dark, matted hair, although he already knew what he would find. Norra’s eyes were frozen wide with fear in a face still puffy from weeping most of the day. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose. It was too late for her.
A mixture of relief, terror, grief, and shame washed over Kandler. He was thrilled that the body hadn’t been Esprл’s, but that meant that his daughter was still out there somewhere. He mourned Norra, but the guilt over his relief colored that emotion.
The justicar lay Norra down on her back and tugged her eyes closed with the palm of his hand. He could do this much for her now at least. She might have given her life defending Esprл. He only hoped her sacrifice would not be in vain.
Kandler held his breath and listened again. A floorboard creaked low and soft in the back of the house. He recognized the noise. He heard it every time he stood next to the footlocker at the end of his bed.
His sword in hand, Kandler crept along the main room’s back wall until he reached the door to his chamber. The door itself was a thin slab of wooden planks held together by a pair of crossbeams. It cleared the top and bottom of the frame by a few irregular inches. A dim light shone under the door, but as Kandler watched it went out.