Necrophobia (12 page)

“Come on!” He grunted. Around them they could make out the fearful faces of citizens within the shops and houses watching from the safety of their barred windows.

“What are they going to do to her?” Sevaur asked as he massaged his head.

“You don’t want to know.” Adrian replied, his face dour and seemed much older and world-weary. Claire winced as the scream behind them echoed down the narrow street. She watched Sevaur’s face as he tried to glance behind him but was stopped by Adrian. “As I said. Necessity.”

Claire followed in silence as Adrian lead them out of the city towards the surrounding hamlets where the outdoors-men, farmers and lumberjacks lived. She wondered what had happened to her old friend these past three years since he’d left Caelholm to return to his birthplace.
Nothing good,
she thought.
Nothing good at all
.

Past the wrought-iron gates and checkpoints from Kriegsfeld a surrounding hamlet of labourers and farmers formed a community on the outskirts of the impenetrable Faunus Forest. Their wooden houses built into the uneven ridges and ground forming differing levels of overlooking houses and guard posts. The flattest sections of land stretched off into the distance to form crop fields and contain livestock to feed a thriving city. Adrian’s house was a two-storey house overlooking one of the main paths throughout the hamlet, its structure reinforced with stone blocks and supports. The doors and windows blocked with both iron bars and wooden shutters, both of which were locked and shut. Etched into the woodwork of the door Claire recognised several common religious symbols and icons which she presumed were to ward away vampiric assault. Adrian fumbled with his keys in the series of locks, checking over his shoulders at odd intervals watching the empty paths with narrowed eyes.

Once inside and freed of their belongings and rain-soaked coats and boots they settled around a small log fire grasping warm mugs of fresh tea and home-made snacks. Adrian as it turned out had expanded his palette from beef jerky and steaks to a wider range of healthier and more varied food. Living on his own forced him to try his hand at cooking and more inventive meals, he’d discovered a talent that had surprised him. After a long journey they were grateful for a satisfying meal, and sat content talking about old times.

“Not done bad for yourself these past few years.” Claire said with a wave around the living room. “Fancy.”

Adrian shrugged in a non-committal manner. “Cursed houses go cheap.”

“Hilarious.” Claire replied with a smile which soon faltered when she saw the sincerity in Adrian’s face. “Really?”

“Locals thought it was. Couple of strange murders that sort of thing. Owner couldn’t wait to sell it.” Adrian drank deep the last of his tea and set the mug down on the table. “Good thing to, this was before the plague. I don’t reckon any of these refugees would be so picky these days.”

“What curse? Does it lure idiot lumberjacks to live here?” Sevaur asked with a half-smile, though his tone lacked any humour.

“Relax. It’s been surveyed. Priests didn’t find any such curse. “They’re a superstitious lot around here.” Adrian leaned closer. “And I’m sorry you guys had to see that whole mess back in the city.”

“That sort of thing happen every day around here?” Claire asked as she suppressed the memory of those screams.

“Not every day.” Adrian replied, missing the point as usual. “Night Guard have really stepped it up lately. The Lord’s getting jumpy and doubled patrols and the curfew’s gotten tighter. They’ve been finding more and more cults worshipping those things. Seeps in like a rot.”

“People worship vampires?” Sevaur shook his head. “Can’t see the logic in that.”

Claire remembered some of the journals left behind by her mother, the vampires could alter people’s perceptions, twist their minds and prey on their insecurities. Offering immortality via the dark gift and service to their vampire master or mistress. Sometimes persuasion or temptation didn’t work and they would rely upon their ability to psychically compel people against their will through their voices. The effects whilst temporary could drive their victims to do anything they desired. She also knew of a far darker method — enthralment. Often they could enthral someone in a position of power or a neighbour to guard and serve them, or to act as cattle. The vampire’s will completely dominating their mind and the effects were said to be permanent. She recalled the blank-eyed cultists she’d fought back on the island, enslaved to the rogue Inquisitor.

“Who knows why they do it. Maybe they hope the vampire will spare them? Maybe they’re deluded enough to think those creatures deserve worship.” Adrian’s voice dripped with bitterness. “An army of feral vampires lurking just north of the Great Wall and all sorts of fish-maws running rampant and people turn to the suave and sophisticated ones like they’re some sort of saviour.”

“Fish-maws?” Claire asked.

“You know? Vampreys?” Seeing the lack of recognition of her face he stood up and walked towards the bookshelf. “Sometimes their forms twist and warp them. They get bigger, stronger, stupider. Their mouths fill with fangs, hundreds of them from every angle and stretches out-wards. Looks a bit like the local lampreys the fishermen catch. Hence the name. Disgusting, mindless and slimy.” He set a book down on the table opened to a stylised drawing of a ‘Vamprey’. The creature’s face and sunken eyes seemed to stare into you with unrelenting hunger, its mouth dangling and twisted into a lamprey maw. It’s shoulders hunched and bulging with muscles, its skin tinged dull-grey and dripping with viscous slime.

“There’s other types too but that’s the most known ‘round here. Water doesn’t hurt them anymore. Regular kind are bad enough if you ask me, super-fast, super-strong mind-controlling psychic predators that shrug off most injuries.”

“You could be a Night-Guard spokesperson, y’know.” Sevaur joked trying to lighten the mood but his eyes never strayed from the depiction in the book. “Fire works right?”

“Fire works on most things doesn’t it? Even you know that Sevaur.” Claire replied.

“Fire’s good. You’ve seen what water does. Very effective on the fledglings and weaker vamps. What you really need is silver.” He raised his right hand and flexed his thick fingers. He wore three silver-rings, one on each finger. “Hurts them good, stops them healing as well. Works pretty well on humans too come to think of it. Got a silver dagger as well. Just in case.”

It was clear from his tone he meant every word of it with solemn seriousness. Three years in Kriegsfeld had changed him from a somewhat shy but friendly guy who liked hiking with them through the snowy-forests and mountains to a paranoid and worrying pragmatist.

“I didn’t know half of that…thanks.” Claire smiled and mentally filed that information away.
Never hurts to be prepared. Always know your enemy
. She thought to herself.

“Don’t mean to lecture you guys or anything.” Adrian said after a pause, a familiar old-time smile flickering on his face. “Just if you’re going to be around for a while it’ll keep you alive.” His eyes glanced towards Claire’s hand. “That silver too?”

She held up her left hand and the reflective-grey metal flickered in the firelight. “Think so. Used to be my mother’s.”

Adrian leaned forward and investigated it. “It’s pretty.” He gently took her ring-finger and examined the ring. “That’s silver alright. Any vampire gets up in your face just smack them with it.”

“I’ll try to remember.” She replied with a smile. She chose not to mention her reluctance to damage or destroy one of the few trinkets of her mother she had left. Claire didn’t often wear jewellery most of which she found impractical during a hunt but the ring was an exception. The ring and a stylish hair-bow or two to keep her hair out of the way.

Sevaur sighed. “No silver for me. I’ll just have to stick to my sword. And this.” He flashed a flicker of flame in his left palm and extinguished it.

“You’ll be fine with me.” Adrian reassured him, patting his shoulder. “So, I take it you’re not here on a social visit.” He raised an accusing eyebrow towards Claire.

“You didn’t tell him?” Sevaur shook his head.

She explained in length as the storm eased and clouded sun set. She told him about the undead assault, the Inquisitor and the connections she’d found in her mother’s old journals and notes. The death cults, the investigations. Adrian listened in patient silence, nodding at key points and steepling his fingers. Sevaur often chipped in with a wise-crack or two and exaggerated tales of his exploits defending the village. The more she thought about it the more convinced she became. At the end of her tale with her throat hoarse she heated a kettle for some more tea.

“So yeah.” She called over the whistling of the boiling water. “I did come to see you but I also want answers. Haures has a history with my mother and I want to know more.”
He might even be her killer.
She thought bitterly to herself.

“I doubt the Inquisitor is the talking type.” Sevaur said. “Are you sure about this? He nearly killed you up on that mountain.”

“No.” She shook her head. “He could have but he didn’t.”

“How do you plan to find these answers? Someone like that won’t be easy to find.” Adrian asked as he rummaged through the cupboards for more teabags.

“I’ve got a few leads.”

Reiner Soranus sat at a desk pouring over maps of the local area of Kriegsfeld, muttering to himself as the rainstorm outside rattled the windows. The room itself was spartan and impersonal with a small desk not big enough by far for the amount of paperwork he had to sift through and an uncomfortable looking bed in the corner. The lantern on the desk flickered and danced and the burning candles at least served to cover the faint but constant smell of mould seeping into the corners of the room. When he’d arranged accommodation with the church on Knight-Commander Rhae’s orders he’d hoped they’d be more generous with their choice of lodgings. As it turned out other orders were visiting on business as well. The room next to him housed a warden of Faunus, devotee to the god of nature and forests chanting his blessings above the rattling rain and wind. He’d been friendly enough, the orders tended to keep themselves to themselves and he knew few Faunites by name. He recalled the priest had an almost pine-fresh odour about him. It reminded Reiner of home, patrols and exercises during the forests during the brief-summer months. It’d been a busy few days organising the Caelites investigation and following Commander Rhae’s orders to the letter. The church gave little resistance, eager to avoid bloodshed from a rampaging dragon that might tarnish the church’s reputation. The Night Guard ever distrustful refused to relinquish any freedom to investigate without their knowledge or expertise, so far they’d turned up very little evidence to find either Falkner or his newfound master. In truth the trail was almost cold — Kriegsfeld was a warren of rat holes for the clever criminal to hide and become invisible.

A knock at the door snapped him back to reality, damp-rot and all.

Cynthia Verena stepped through the door and saluted him half-heartedly. She’d shed her Caelite armour and wore a warm woollen jumper. Dark circles forming around her eyes from lack of sleep and exhaustion.

“Any luck?”

“A little.” Reiner replied offering her a meagre chair. “Couple of eyewitnesses said they saw a black dragon crossing the city at different times. Difficult to pin down where it is now though. I believe it’s been over the wall towards Vemparia at least once or twice. But it came back and was last seen heading east.”

She sat down and experimentally tried leaning backwards but thought better of it upon hearing the strain in the battered chair leg.

“Makes sense. Hiding out in the mountains would be my best guess. Won’t be easy to find a dragon there.”

Reiner nodded and showed her one of the maps he’d marked. “I’ve found some possible locations the Inquisitor and Valdgeirr might use. No doubt Haures has some burrow somewhere within the city for riling up these cults as well.”

“Wonder why he needs Valdgeirr? He could lay villages and towns to waste with it but there’s been nothing as far as I know. Alvar’s been asking around but we’ve found nothing.”