Tim Waggoner - Thieves of Blood

“We need to move.”

The halfling nodded and together they stepped several paces away from the gate. Yvka was just about to turn back around and speak the three words that would activate the magic seed, when her foot came down on something slick and almost slid out from under her. She gazed downward and saw a pool of blood on the floor, along with a line of thick drops stretching off down the corridor.

The guard whom Hinto had stabbed was gone.

Ghaji and Diran jogged through the domed city. They’d found their way here easily, thanks to Tresslar’s directions, but the place was deserted. The half-orc ran with an axe in each hand, keeping a sharp eye out in case something should be hiding inside the domed buildings, ready to pounce on them.

A sound like breaking surf came from the direction in which they were headed. At first Ghaji wondered if the vast cavern that housed the domed city opened onto the sea, then he realized that what he was hearing wasn’t the rise and fall of crashing waves but rather chanting. Ghaji glanced at Diran, and the priest nodded grimly. The companions increased their speed and ran as fast as they could toward the sound.

The chanting grew louder and the domed buildings fewer and farther between. Then the buildings were gone, and the stone floor of the cavern sloped downward to make a large bowl-shaped depression in the ground. Bald-headed men and women garbed in black filled the amphitheater, sitting in descending rows. Now Ghaji understood why the city was deserted: everyone was here. Diran and Ghaji stopped at the top level of the amphitheater, hearts pounding and lungs heaving. The denizens of Grimwall were so engrossed in their chanting that they didn’t notice the newcomers, though Ghaji didn’t think they’d remained unnoticed for long.

He leaned close to Diran and spoke softly. “I thought the resurrection ceremony was supposed to take place in the lower catacombs.”

“Tresslar was merely giving us his best guess,” Diran said. “Perhaps Erdis Cai has made some changes to Grimwall in the last forty years.”

The chanting, which was in a language Ghaji didn’t recognize, grew louder still, rising to a crescendo. Diran gripped Ghaji’s shoulder and crouched, pulling the half-orc down with him. Ghaji understood. Diran wanted to observe for a moment and remain unseen as long as they could.

A figure sitting on the bottom row stood and walked into the center of the amphitheater’s stone floor. The audience was shouting now, some of them raising their fists in the air, though they stayed seated. The man was garbed in obsidian armor with jutting spikes at the shoulders and elbows, and he wore a broadsword belted at his waist. His head was uncovered, and even from this distance Ghaji could make out the man’s chalky complexion and crimson-tinted eyes. This, at last, was Erdis Cai.

Ghaji glanced at Diran and saw that his friend’s eyes had narrowed and his jaw was set in a determined line. This was the foul creature that had sent the Black Fleet out roving to capture and sacrifice who knew how many innocents over the years and who also held Makala prisoner somewhere within this ancient series of caverns and tunnels.

“Do you see the symbol on his breastplate?” Diran asked.

Ghaji’s upper lip curled in disgust. “The Mark of Vol.”

Erdis Cai raised his arms and the crowd fell instantly silent.

“My children,” he began. The vampire lord didn’t shout, but his voice filled the amphitheater. “All of you were either brought here over the yeas by my Black Fleet or are the descendants of those who were, and when the dark glory of Vol was revealed unto you, you chose to join me and enter into Her service.”

Ghaji didn’t have to wonder what happened to those captives who refused to worship Vol. They were pressed into servitude, sacrificed, or used as food.

“Most of you were not here at the beginning when the first sacrifice was made in our mistress’ dark name, but you will all be here to witness the end, for only three more sacrifices are needed to restore the ancient warriors to life. Tonight we shall conduct all three sacrifices, and Vol shall have her army at last!”

The crowd roared with excitement, some people clapping, some stomping their feet, many doing both. Ghaji looked at Diran and saw that his frown had deepened into a scowl. Not only had they arrived on a night of sacrifice, they’d arrived on the last night, when Erdis Cai would complete the spell to restore the warriors to life and place them under his command.

Diran would have said that that the Silver Flame itself had led them here to this place and time in order to prevent such a monstrous evil from being unleashed upon the Principalities. Ghaji figured they’d just gotten lucky. Either way, it didn’t matter. The two of them were here and there was work to be done-the kind of work they did best.

“Shall we?” Ghaji said.

A pair of silver daggers appeared in Diran’s hands as if by magic. “Let’s.”

They stood and began making their way through the crowd toward the amphitheater floor. The crowd’s exuberance drained away, and their cheers fell silent as all heads in the amphitheater turned to look at the priest and the half-orc. No one tried to stop them, perhaps because they were so surprised to find intruders in their midst. Then again, perhaps it had something to do with the way Ghaji bared his teeth at everyone as they passed.

If Erdis Cai was surprised to see the pair of newcomers striding through the crowed toward him, he gave no outward sign. The vampire lord simply stood, watched, and waited.

As Ghaji and Diran drew near the amphitheater floor, the half-orc spied Onkar sitting in the front row next to a beautiful raven-haired woman wearing a red bustier and a black skirt. The Black Fleet commander jumped to his feet, eyes blazing red and fangs bared in a hiss. Onkar reached for his sword, but Diran hurled one of his silver daggers and the blade pierced the vampire’s hand. Onkar howled in pain and held his hand up to inspect it, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. The dagger had completely penetrated his undead flesh and bone, the hilt pressed against the back of his hand and the blade emerging from his palm. Black ooze dripped from the wound, and a foul stench filled the air as Onkar’s hand began to sizzle and burn. The vampire grabbed the hilt of the blade and attempted to pull it free, but the handle was also silver, and he yanked his hand away, the palm burnt and smoking. The hand impaled by the dagger continued to blacken until it was little more than bone covered by charred skin. Then the flesh on Onkar’s wrist and forearm began to smoke as the silver poisoning started to spread.

Erdis Cai had only watched up to this point, but now he moved faster than Ghaji’s eyes could track, becoming an obsidian blur as he drew his broadsword and sliced off Onkar’s wounded hand before the infection caused by the silver dagger could spread any further. So swiftly did Erdis Cai move that he’d returned his sword to its scabbard before Onkar’s severed hand hit the floor. The hand continued to burn until it fell away to ash, leaving the silver dagger, smooth and clean, lying on the ground.

Onkar stared at the stump where his hand had been, then he looked at Diran with hate-filled eyes. The vampire’s body tensed, and Ghaji knew Onkar was going to attack.

The half-orc was about to activate his fire axe when Erdis Cai said, “Hold.”

Onkar’s body jerked backward as if he were a hound and his master had yanked on an invisible leash. He shot Erdis Cai a sullen glare but otherwise didn’t protest.

“Welcome to Grimwall,” Erdis Cai said to Diran and Ghaji.

He smiled, showing his fangs, but it was a cold smile devoid of any trace of humanity. His eyes glowed with the smoldering red flame common to all vampires, but beyond it Ghaji saw only a great vast nothingness, and this frightened him more than the fangs and crimson fire ever could. He’d seen similar empty gazes on the battlefield from men and women whose minds had retreated far inside themselves to escape the horrors of war. In Ghaji’s experience, a person with such emptiness inside himself was capable of committing any atrocity without hesitation or remorse, or indeed, without any recognition that he was doing anything unusual at all. It was this emptiness far more than Erdis Cai’s undead state and whatever dark magic he might command that made the vampire lord so very dangerous.