Necrophobia (11 page)

“Here we are.” Claire set the lantern on a desk covered in scattered books and trinkets and looked up at him. “See one of the death-cults she investigated used a three-eyed owl as their symbol. When I was talking to Razakel the other day he showed me a similar symbol and said the cults Inquisitor Haures manipulates tend to use similar imagery.”

“You think maybe she stumbled across some of his handiwork?”

“Quite possible. I mean this was over twenty years ago. Not sure how long he was in the Inquisition but he looked old to me. It might have been a similar time-frame.”

“You said the cult was wiped out though?” He eased himself into a chair and flicked through the hand-written accounts.

“Believed to be. They were experimenting with vampirism and resurrection. Based in Kriegsfeld. Well funded too. She said the cult was likely a splinter-cell of several other cults with similar interests, but the Inquisition couldn’t find anything. And then of course, she had me not long after and came here for a quiet life…” She trailed away staring at the mounted head of a snow-wolf.

“You don’t suppose it was one of Haures’ then. And that he silenced her.” He watched her reaction as he suggested it.

She bit her lip. “Possibly. I’m not saying for sure but it fits.” Tapping her foot on the stone floor as she sifted through the journals.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Well…” She folded her arms with a slight frown. “It seems like they worked together on a few cases. His name is mentioned a few times. Maybe he had her killed when he turned traitor? I know it’s not damning proof, but it’s all I’ve got. When you factor in the death-cult and that three-eyed owl as one of her last few investigations.”

“I think you may be onto something at least. But that’s twenty years ago. How do we prove anything?” Sevaur conceded. He wished to avoid false hope but his own curiosity was piqued.

“I’m going to investigate some more of the journals. Maybe find some local information.” She shrugged and avoided eye-contact. “It’s a long-shot but I think it’s worth a try.”

Sevaur leaned back and thought for a few moments.

“You could come with me. If you wanted, that is. I’m going either way mind.” She flashed a half-hearted smile. “But it’d be nice to have back-up.”

“Well to be honest Claire,” He said leaning forward again, keeping his face as deadpan as he could manage. Her smile flickered but she remained determined. “You had me at ‘I’ve found something interesting’.”

She rubbed her hands together and grinned. “Good man.”

“But we don’t know anything about the mainland.” He protested, trying to find holes in the plan. Always one for preparation.

“Did you forget? We have a friend in Kriegsfeld. I’ve already told him.”

“Adrian?” He shook his head. “It’s been three years. What about—”

“I’ve already booked transportation. You can pay me back later.”

He threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “Fine. You got me. Least it’ll get me out of the house and off the island for a bit. Reiner was pretty disappointed I turned down Amelia’s offer.”

Her smile faltered.

“Ah.”

“What? What is it?”

“I meant to say, I’ve heard Reiner’s travelling to Kriegsfeld as well. To speak with the High-Priestess and the Inquisition. Commander’s orders apparently.” She hesitated and looked away from his protesting face. “On the same ship.”

Seeing his dejected face, she laughed. “Your brother casts a long shadow doesn’t he.”

“More than you know.” He stood up and sighed. “I’d better pack my things then. Don’t suppose you did that for me too?”

What do I get myself into?
he thought as he stepped out into the fresh sea-air.

CHAPTER THREE

The docks of Kriegsfeld teemed with life and bustling commerce, trade ships unloaded their cargo and despite the heavy downpour merchants continued to peddle their wares under drab canopies and rooftop overhangs. The darkening clouds soaking the market in thick sheets of rain, drains overflowed and gutters spilled into the streets. Even over the salt-drenched air the unmistakable smell of ash and burning filtered down throughout the port from the nearby factory districts. Smokestacks billowed black smog into the evening sky as metalworking factories drove forward industry and technology. The printing press, iron mines, thriving Spellstone-fuelled machines and textile industry propelling Kriegsfeld to be one of the Imperial leaders of commerce and innovation. Despite recent developments the city-port still bore signs of its ancient, paranoid ways, a constant vanguard against the threat of vampiric invasion from the northern cursed lands. Watchtowers loomed over all those entering the city, heavily reinforced stone walls stood guard.

“Don’t like the look of the Night Guard to be honest.” Sevaur said shielding his face from the rain.

Sorting through the incoming passengers and cargo the hooded and silver-masked forms of the Night Guard officers combed through the crowd. Their long black leather coats shielding them from the worst of the rain with a silver breastplate fastened underneath. Their leather gloves and boots lined with silver spikes. Claire noticed their weapons were always drawn, as they combed through the crowd, some wielding crossbows pointed towards the floor, others favoured longswords. The Night Guard seemed to favour ruthless pragmatism over the ornate and runic iconography of the Caelite armours.

“You’re not a fan of the masks?” She asked as a sudden gust of wind soaked nearby passengers in rain-water from a flat rooftop. “They’re not the friendliest of faces I’ll give you that.”

“It’d be a shame to hide a face like this.” He joked back half-heartedly, she could see he was too distracted watching the imposing masked figures. “Wouldn’t have thought you’d get many vampires out in rain like this.”

“You’d be surprised.” A familiar voice called out from beside them. She turned and saw Adrian waving them under the canopy outside a bar. His blond-hair sticking to his face.

“Been a long time.” They exchanged a brief hug and he shook hands with Sevaur. “You forget your rain coat?” She asked with a smile.

The lumberjack shrugged and pushed his hair out of his light-green eyes. His face framed with a thick beard growth since the last time she’d seen him He was wearing a silver-coloured breastplate wrapped with a teal scarf and his legs shielded by a teal threadbare half-cape. She noticed the dents and gashes in his plated-mail chest.

“Guilty as charged. It’s storm season. These things come out of nowhere.” He pointed upwards towards the rolling black rainclouds as lightning flashed in the distance. “Your voyage okay?”

“Nothing exciting. Sevaur gets sea-sick but that’s about it really.”

“No, watching other passengers
be
sea-sick made me feel off.” Sevaur managed through a mouthful of rain water and dragged his luggage into the shelter, setting it down on the floor.

“I wouldn’t take your eyes off that, not even for a second.” Adrian nodded towards it. “Not around here.”

Claire stared through the grubby windows of the bar watching dour faced citizens and travellers sit around in muted conversation, drowning their sorrows. Several times their glances would pass by her and linger, distrust evident on their miserable faces. The unmistakable pungent stench of hagfish soup and fresh lamprey reaching them even over the sea air as people walked in and out of the bar.

“I’ll walk you through the checkpoints, I live just outside the city limits.” Adrian piped up.

“What checkpoints?” Sevaur queried exchanging a dark look with Claire.

Adrian cracked a faint smile. “They take security against the vampire threat pretty serious around here. Curfews, checkpoints, random inspections. You’d never know when there’s one infecting a community and starting a coven. It’s why they’re all such a cheerful, trusting bunch around here.”

“I’d noticed yeah.” Claire shook her head. “Is it anything we need to worry about?”

“Well, you’re not burning up in the rain so you’re off to a good start.” He shrugged. “You’ll be fine. I’ve done it a million times.”

They walked through the streets away from the port towards the first checkpoint. The city was more of a castle or a fort than a place of residence with overlapping defensive walls and watchtowers, even the canals supplying the factories were watched and guarded. The streets narrow and thin and overlooked by Night Guard armed with bows and water-proof search-lanterns. Refugees from the plague filtering into the city lurked around the streets under the ever vigilant gaze of the Night Guard officers and shielded themselves from the worst of the storm. The checkpoint was a dour and unwelcoming affair of different hurried rituals and a brief exposure of naked flesh to the rain. The Night Guard conducted their rituals in a lifeless unenthusiastic way, going through the day-day motions. The sight reminded her of the eerie nature of the enthralled mind-slaved cultists that had attacked Caelholm. They passed through the checkpoint and into the city major, avoiding the crowded main-streets leading towards the industrial district and headed towards the southern wall. They paused to let a horse-drawn cart by and Claire stared into the rain misting distance and saw the great northern wall that Kriegsfeld was famed for. Built with reinforced structures and parapets lined with sharpened wrought-iron spikes. Claire reasoned they were for use as make-shift stakes. The wall was at least twenty metres tall and made from dark-stone blocks and metal reinforcements. The Great Northern wall effectively sealed off the city of Kriegsfeld and the surrounding areas from the cursed northern wastes of Vemparia — source of the vampire curse. It ran perpendicular to the snow-tipped Palespine mountains resembling the vertebrae they were named after and opposite the coast forming a man-made blockade to keep the vampire menace contained to the lands north. The ruined and abandoned settlements left to the approaching hordes during the last great incursion that necessitated the construction of the Great Wall in the first place. It was a marvel of both human engineering and magical construction methods. Lesser walls sealed off different entrance routes to Vemparia but Kriegsfeld was home to the first and largest.

“Pretty impressive.” She pointed at the Great Wall looming in the distance, in the foreground she could see the upper nobles mansions, Strigoi Castle and Temple of the Four gods. Were it not for smoke-stacks and blackened factories tarnishing the skyline it would have been picturesque. “You were right. It’s like a fortress this place.”

“Or a prison dungeon.” Sevaur interjected, taking care not to say it in earshot of the Night Watch patrols.

“Necessity. Lord Strigoi’s got the right idea. Second you let your guard down that’s when the Vampires are in and turning people left and right. It’s all to protect the citizens from those horrors to the north.” Adrian replied with an uncharacteristic hardness to his voice. They turned another street passing downhill, the shops lining the street closed and their wooden shutters drawn for the day. Textile clothes shops and magic trinket and curiosity shops for the most part, a blacksmiths still lit up with glowing lanterns and smoke billowing out of the foundry chimney.

“I believe you.” Sevaur replied, glancing at Claire. “Just takes some getting used to.”

Adrian continued ahead and glanced over his shoulder and flashed a thin-lipped smile. “I know, don’t worry. It’s a big change.”

Ahead of them a hooded woman, no older than mid-twenties rushed towards them, both hands keeping the rain-hood over her head. Her face flushed with panic as she ran uphill with remarkable speed. Behind her came shouting and the rushing figures of the Night Guard, their leering almost draconic masks flashing in the rain. The woman sprinted past the trio shoving Sevaur out of the way as she brushed past. He flew across the street and smacked into the boarded door of an alchemist’s shop with a wet thud landing hard. Adrian reached for his axe with his right hand and pulled Claire aside without warning with the other. There was a loud noise and the fleeing woman fell towards the floor in an uncontrolled fall and hit pavement with a shriek. A silver-tipped crossbow bolt sticking out of her back. She struggled to rise as the Night Guard closed the distance, spinning around to see her attackers. Another bolt from one of the officers covering the reloading crossbowmen, the bolt struck her dead in the chest and she stumbled backwards. The rich-silk hood fell backwards as she fell exposing her flesh to the constant deluge, the rain water searing into her pale face with another ear-splitting shriek. Steam rising from her face as she tried her best to cover herself from the downpour but hindered by the crossbow bolts and tried to crawl away backwards.

“Get away! It’s a vampire!” A gruff female voice shouted from behind the silver mask as the Night Guard patrols circled the fallen vampire, their silver-swords drawn and their unloaded crossbows slung. Adrian helped Sevaur rise to his feet and dabbed the blood from the back of his head with a rag. Claire watched in a mixture of horror and fascination at the scene before her, her hands sliding across the pommel of her rapier. Adrian tugged at her and lead them down the street away from the scene behind them.