I Bring the Storm II

Esplandia

Esplandia

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(OOC: Part 1 https://forum.thenorthpacific.org/topic/9078440/)

Obozkot, Molvadzina
2011

Nikolas Valkiric watched his column march doggedly along through the mud as they made their way westward towards the Obozkot Range and the Tangledwoods beyond. What was left of his artillery was being pulled by horses, as any fuel for their vehicles had run out a week ago.

Inflorirval has been lost. The Crimson Dawn now controlled all of the Verdantlands. The last two years of fighting had come to an abrupt end. His position had been overrun and though surrounded they’d managed to break out.

Valkiric’s son had found a gap in the enemies lines and broken through, allowing the Arrandalian forces to break out. Valkiric didn’t know where his son was now. He hoped he had made it north and headed towards Bravondy where Orlan Valteren would need him.

All Valkiric could hope for right now was to make it to the edge of Silviclas and the Tangledwoods before the enemy caught up.

As he mused another rider rode up followed by a scout. “Wojtek,” Valkiric greeted the approaching rider. “Sergeant,” he addressed the scout.

Wojtek, a young man dressed in tattered garb of the Azure Dawn, held his palm up in salute to the Grand Marshal. “The first of your scouts have returned,” he said.

The scout came forward and saluted in the military way. Valkiric just raised his palm in response. He’d never been military and so didn’t feel comfortable returning the scouts salute.

The scout gave his report. “The caves were located right where you said they’d be. But it looks like about a hundred Czaltori are holed up there. I approached them, figured I could at least let them know that the Crimson Dawn are on their way. They seemed pretty equitable. They’d like to speak with you though, Grand Marshal.”

Valkiric stroked his chin. He could see the edge of the woods not far ahead, and the rocky promontory that marked the site of the caves, and what he hoped was shelter and a defensible position.

“Alright,” he responded. He then issued orders to Wojtek. “Keep the column moving. The Czaltori are friendly enough so I’ll go speak with them.” He then turned to the scout. “Lead me there,” he commanded.

A group of two dozen armed Czaltori men awaited Valkiric and his party as they rode up. They each held rifles, and were dressed in colorful scraps of clothing, that seemed to be more wrapped around them than actually worn. Their leader was shirtless, exposing a number of intricate tattoos across his chest. He had a pistol tucked in his sash and a saber in his hands.

Valkiric, the scout, and three Dawnguard approached the awaiting men. Valkiric dismounted and left his sidearm with his horse. He then drew his own sword and approached the waiting men, the hilt of his blade extended in a peaceful gesture.

The leader approached as well, extending the hilt of his blade as well. They then stopped a few paces apart and laid their blades down. “You seek shelter,” the man stated.

“Yes,” Valkiric responded. “There’s only about six thousand of us. These caves have more than enough room for everyone. If you’ll have us.”

The man looked out past Valkiric to the grasslands and the column of approaching soldiers that could be seen below. “We have agreed to share our sanctuary,” he said pausing. “On the condition that you bring her before the Anjavulki.”

Valkiric considered the terms. He didn’t need to ask who they wanted to see. Of course they would know exactly who all traveled, especially if an Anjavulki was with them. He doubted they had ulterior motives for wanting to see her. “Very well,” Valkiric agreed.

Jadzia was lead by a half dozen of her Hussars into the caves. Tents and awnings had been set up as a makeshift town within the caverns. Electric lights were strung up along the cavern roof, giving light.

At the center of the tent city were two dozen wagons in a circle around a single larger wagon. It was here that she was lead. Two of her Hussars were allowed to enter the wagon first and inspect it. They came back out and gave the all clear.

Jadzia felt a bit of foreboding. She had never met an Anjavulki, but she’d heard stories about their magic. They were powerful sorceresses and could put a curse on her or turn her into a frog. Or that’s what she’d heard. Valkiric had promised her it wasn’t true. The eleven year old king-apparent stepped up into the wagon as bravely as she could muster.

A single kerosene lamp lit up the interior which was decorated with curtains of blue and red and gold and silver. Pillows were scattered about the floor and a single table in the center. Sitting and awaiting her was an old women dressed in the motley clothing preferred by the Czaltori, sitting cross legged on a red pillow. A nasty scar on her scalp peaked out from beneath her braided hair.

“Hello King Jadzia,” the old woman greeted her in a voice that sounded like a strummed harp. “Please have a seat,” she said motioning towards the pillows on the floor.

Jadzia found a large blue pillow and sat down on the opposite side of the table. She found herself starting at the old woman. She knew she should say something but had no idea what to say.

The old woman cackled. “I don’t bite,” she promised. Jadzia finally managed to respond with a weak hello.

The old woman sized her up and cackled again. “You don’t look much like a king,” she said.

“I am a king!” Jadzia angrily assured the old woman.

“Truly? The last king I met was a great and terrible man who expected me to bow and pay homage. To call him grace and highness. You don’t even know what to say to me.”

“You met my father?” Jadzia asked excitedly, focusing only on part of what the old woman had said.

“Did I say your father? No. There have been many kings who’ve ruled since I was born. You’re nothing like them. They were all strong and powerful and commanding men. You’re a small and scared little girl.”

“Why did you want to meet me? Just to make fun of me?”

The smile never left the old woman’s face but she still somehow seemed to be more amused than before. “No,” she said. “I was curious about you. But I asked to see you so that you could ask me one question. They say I am a very wise woman, and others say I can foretell the future. Perhaps there’s one thing you desperately want to know, hmm.”

Jadzia didn’t even have to think about what she wanted to ask. It didn’t even cross her mind that the old woman might just be playing with her. She’d heard many stories of the Czaltori witches.

“How do I defeat the vampires?” She blurted out.

“How do you...defeat the vampires?” The old woman repeated, leaning back. The smile had faded from her face. “What a specific question,” She mused. “Though I doubt you meant it to be. Still it deserves an answer.”

She then reached beneath the table and brought out a deck of cards. She deftly shuffled them, the cards dancing between her hands, as she cut and shuffled. Then she lay the deck down on the table. “Draw one,” she instructed the young king.

Jadzia reached out hesitantly but drew a card. She then put it face up in the table.

The old woman leaned forward and studied the card. “The Tower,” she said. “This card represents a sudden upheaval and disaster. Look here at its strength, it’s foundations of stone and yet a storm swirls around it, lightning strikes it and soon the tower will crumble. It’s destruction is inevitable. What we think is strong will breakdown and fall. The storm can not be stopped.”

Jadzia’s heart sank at the news. “The tower is Arrandal?” She asked timidly.

“Yes,” the old woman replied.

“So I can’t stop the vampires. They’re the storm and Arrandal will be destroyed.”

“I don’t believe that is so. Draw another card.”

Jadzia drew a second card and placed it next to the first. Once again the old woman studied it. “The Nine of Wands. This card represents Resilience, the will to push forward, and a strength to fight to the last. There will be struggles and battles, but victory can be grasped if you persevere. You will come to the point of exhaustion, but that will mean your goal is at hand.”

“That’s good,” Jadzia beamed.

“Yes it is. Draw one last one.”

Jadzia drew here final card, placing it next to the previous two. “Judgement,” the old woman read from the card. “Here is a reckoning. Following the last two cards this reckoning can only come after all has been brought down, after all seems lost. The storms shall tear down the old, the sins of our forebears will be brought full circle. The price will be exacted.”

“The Vampires are the storm?”

“No, they are caught up in it as well. Their sins will also demand a price. None can escape the storm. The storm is fate, and it swirls around you.”

“I hate the storm,” Jadzia pouted. “I wish it would follow someone else.”

“The storm doesn’t follow you,” the old woman said, her voice dropping in register to a conspirational tone. “You bring the storm.”
 
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Bravondy, Present Day

Jadzia inspected the throne room of the Palat Roz to make sure everything was in order. Her great grandfather Alexander, former Keizer of Maloria was set to arrive soon. Banners lined the walls, the Malorian flag on one side and the Arrandal flag on the other.

She only had a moment before she’d have to spend the next couple hours being dressed up in the Royal Regalia to welcome their guest when he arrived. It was also an excuse to get away from the line of petitioners that wanted to speak with her. Chancellor Rozalvic wasn’t happy with the former Keizer’s arrival, and wanted to express his discontent for the dozenth time. The Lords Paramount each petitioned her for the coveted position on her immediate left during the coming ceremony (the right was reserved for Alexander). And others still wanted to complain about the petty and mundane; the aid from Syrixia had been distributed to the farmers first instead of the city and others wanted to have the Malorian flag replaced with the Severyn flag in the throne room.

She had stood her ground on all the issues, much to the annoyance of many of her subjects. So she was glad to see that the decorations were almost done and done to her specifications.

She was approached by one of the castles liverymen with a note. He bowed and presented it to her. She studied the envelope but only saw her name written in a thick blocky script.

“Where’d this come from?” She asked.

“It was delivered here this morning,” the liveryman said. “It passed inspection. Nothing dangerous inside so I was instructed to go ahead and deliver it. We’re not sure who sent it I’m afraid.”

She thanked him and he saluted before retreating back out of the throne room. She opened the envelope and was surprised at the contents. Instead of a letter there was three tarot cards: the Tower, the Nine of Wands, and Judgement.
 
Crowds gathered on the sidewalks of the city waving little Malorian flags as the golden carriage ride up the streets to the Rose Palace. They waved and cheered as the carriage went by however the guards kept them at bay. The former emperor now turned archduke inside didn’t hold back as he waved back at the masses while his carriages was being pulled past them.

What new life awaited Alexander in Arrandal, he did not know but what he did know was that he would serve to the best of his abilities in any capacity that he could for his great-granddaughter the King of Arrandal. For years everyone had thought her dead and now she was alive and well. He never had the chance to spend time with her but now even in his old age he would try and make up for the time they lost together helping her with what he could in his old age.

As Alexander waved at the crowds he started to stare at them his hand not waving just him staring. The carriage pulled forward but Alexander didn’t seem to even notice, his arm stiffened and he began to daze. It was cut short however as the carriage then finally pulled to a complete stop and he snapped out of his trance.

The doors to the carriage opened and with that he walked out of the carriage and onto the brick street outside of the rose colored palace. He was dressed in a gray tunic with a heavy collar. The tunic was embroidered with several lions into it and a large blue sash that hung over his shoulder. Alexander then turned and waved one last time to the crowd as he then entered the palace. He was directed to the entrance of the throne room with the doors being closed in front of him with two guards serving as sentries for the room. The guards waited and as they did the massive doors opened up and Alexander emerged to the inhabitants inside.

As the doors opened the imperial fanfare began to play while Alexander slowly made his way to the throne which held his great-granddaughter and the King of Arrandal. The room was flooded with foreign dignitaries and ambassadors, nobles, and more as to the left of the monarch were the Lord Paramounts of Arrandal themselves. He looked up and saw the banners hanging from the walls accompanied by the flags of Arrandal and Maloria. Thus when the fanfare stopped so did he in front of the throne and did something completely foreign to him. He bowed before the King and said in his deep voice in Arrandalian with his Malorian accent being very strong “Your majesty.”
 
Jadzia watched Alexander approach. To her left were three of the Paramounts: Kaspar Asachi, Valerjan Beckencroft, and Gaelen Marishkov. She had chosen Gaelen to stand at her left side because he’d deserved it the most due to his unwavering loyalty and recent victory over Iskaya Bathory. To her right were Alvydas Drakovic, and Ryszard Saponariak, though they stood with a single position left open between them and the throne. That spot was for the final Paramount.

As Alexander bowed Jadzia was deeply moved. She couldn’t truly understand how it must feel for him to she reverence after having ruled completely for so long. She was touched. In response she stood and greeted him familiarly, breaking from tradition in a show of love and admiration. “Grandfather,” she said, dropping the Grand in order to show how close she felt they were. “Arrandal welcomes you. What we have we offer in welcome. What is mine is yours.”

She stood before him and was brought a red and gold shawl. She placed the shall upon his shoulders and said triumphantly, “I name you Duke of Walsthalkensfel, Lord Paramount in full standing, and Warden of the Crownlands.”

As the crowd cheered Jadzia then lead her grandfather to the open position right of the throne. She leaned over to him and whispered, “I’ve also given you Tolstaf Manor here in Bravondy so you’ll be closer to the action.” She smiled and then took her seat upon the throne.

The former Keizer was now in a position to affect politics in Arrandal, a move that many had opposed. She caught the glance of Czeslaw Rozalvic, he looked troubled, but he returned her gaze and bowed after she acknowledged him with a nod. She wondered how others would feel about this new order of things, especially those outside the Kingdom.
 
Zaplatacbor, Silviclas

They found the body of the last missing Dawnguard just after the noon zenith. It was hanging from a tree, stripped of gear and shirtless, with marks from surgical gear where it was drained of blood.

Nikolas Valkiric studied the poor man, or what was left of him, while his men carefully removed the remains from where he’d been strung up. An entire patrol had gone missing, but now all five men had been found, all similarly drained of blood.

Around the former Grand Marshal the forest remained oddly quiet and gloomy. Here the forests were thick and wild. Ancient growth dating back centuries, and thickets of undergrowth so dense they were like walls. The region was called the Tangledwoods, an apt name.

Now he was leading fifty Dawnguard, most of them barely more than recruits, deep into the heart of vampire territory. They were operating from a stronghold somewhere in these woods, but so far no one had been able to locate where it was. A handful of outposts had been located and cleared out, but their home base remained illusive.

“Have the scouts returned?” Valkiric asked, turning to the man standing next to him.

“The first couple have,” answered Valkiric’s second in command, Wojtek. “There’s some kind of structure hidden by overgrowth about two kilometers west of here.”

Valkiric nodded at the man. The two had served together for a long time, and he was as close to a true friend as Valkiric had. The men called him the Hammer, assumingely because of the way he smashed vampiric strongholds. He was considered the order’s best when it came to these covert search and destroy missions.

“Alright have a detail prepare the body to be taken out of here,” Valkiric said. “Then have the rest prepare to move out.”

The orders were quickly given and Valkiric watched as his troops moved around getting ready to march on the enemy. So many of them were young and green, never faced off against a vampire. How many am I going to lose, he wondered to himself.
 
Bravondy

One such person from outside the kingdom who was privy to the investiture of Alexander Severyn as Duke of Walsthalkensfel, Warden of the Crownlands, and a Lord Paramount of Arrandal was Avinash Suryanshu Daltovic, the ambassador of the Syrixian Empire to Arrandal. The son of an Arrandalian father who had emigrated to the Empire and his Syrixian wife, he had entered the foreign service, and after serving various rotating positions, had been appointed as the Imperial Ambassador to the Kingdom of Arrandal just after Diwan Sahab's reelection in 2015.

When the crowd cheered, he did not join them, merely standing in silence. Both he and the Imperial government knew what this meant. Though he was happy that King Jadzia was alive and well, she was still related to the Severyns. Now, Malorian and Arrandalian flags hung in the same room. Alexander had knelt before Jadzia, but Daltovic knew that, in reality, it would, with time, likely become the reverse. Severyns were both a stubborn and a conniving folk- this could only lead to trouble.

Daltovic sighed. This only exacerbated the new political reality in Craviter. Though Maloria and the Empire were great trade allies, politically, the two states were the opposite. For decades Maloria had been biding its time, and at the tail end of Alexander's reign, it had finally acted. Whether they knew it or not, or even cared, Bergum had directed a major upending of the political order in the region, and with so many natural and historical allies near them, Pataliputra could do nothing to stop it.

It remained to be seen whether Alexander's great-grandson Marten, the new Keizer of Maloria, would act on the opportunity he clearly had to bend Arrandal, a fragile state led by a teenager in which his great-grandfather was an active politician, to his will. Whatever happened, though, Daltovic would above all, keep Pataliputra informed and keep an eye on the situation in the country to which he was assigned, in order to allow his government maximal mobility in this new Craviter, so Maloria couldn't tip the scales too far.

"In Honor Bound" spoke the Severyn motto, but though the house to which it corresponded had none at all, Daltovic would do his duty.
 
The Road North of Inflorival
Jadzia fanned the three cards out in front of her, staring at them, studying them as her motorcade made their way westward, away from Bravondy. She wondered why the Anjavulki had sent them to her. Was it a sign, a message, a warning? Whatever it was about, it was likely important.

Now she just had to find where the old witch was. There had been reports that the Czaltori had been gathering along the Camden, near to the forest edge. Reports said there was a couple thousand gathered near the old Argent ruins of Caenin. That was the most likely location to find her.

Palat Roz, Bravondy
Katja Aszenhall entered into the council chambers where the Lords Paramount had gathered, awaiting their meeting with the King. SHe was flanked by Peter Artois, Jadzia's Chamberlain. Katja marched to the head of the table and placed the few documents she'd brought with her down.

She took a moment to make eye contact with everyone in the room. She caught the eye of Gaelen Marishkov, who just gave her a curt nod. A couple others looked bemused. The former Keizer (now Duke) was unreadable.

She swallowed nervously. "I regret to inform you that Her Highness can not attend," she said. "A matter of some importance is keeping her indisposed. I am Katja ze Aszenhall, as most of you are aware, and I will lead this meeting today. Before we begin I would like to offer the floor to anyone who wishes to speak."
 
The fighting had stopped. Valkiric could still hear the cries and moans of the wounded and the dying. There had been six vampires in this fasthold. Only six but he had lost more men than that.

They’d waited to attack at noon, with the sun at the zenith, when the vampires were weakest, but even then they were stronger. Underground, the vampires could use the dark to their advantage. They were masters of the shadows. And Valkiric’s Dawnguard were untested. They weren’t prepared.

Wojtek was still below in the old ruins, sorting through the vampire’s belongings, seeing what intel could be gathered, and placing charges to destroy the place once they were done.

Valkiric was above, supervising the burning of the vampires. If they weren’t burned they’d be back. Vampires always came back. He was also waiting for the casualty report. It would be higher than that of their enemies.

His men would look at him as they passed by, some terrified, others in awe. They had all heard about how many engagements he’d survived against the vampires, how many personal kills he had. Now these young men and women had context for that, they fully understood just how difficult surviving a single engagement was. No one in the entire order had as many confirmed kills as he did. And now they understood the full import of his demotion.

He was here to redeem himself from his mistakes. He’d tried to wield the power of a nation to destroy their enemies, and in so doing given the order a black eye.

Valkiric looked around at the dark woods and felt a surge of disgust and hatred. He was likely going to die here, at the very heart of the Vampire’s domain.
 
Alexander sat in his chair located beside Alvydas as Lady Aszenhall entered the room. Chamberlain Peter Artois was at her side. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her beside a glance in her direction as she made eye contact with the rest of the room.
Besides his short glance it would’ve seemed as if he wasn’t even aware that she was in the room.

He looked up at her, however, as she spoke. He could tell by her voice she wasn’t confident. Who would be when you’re meeting with an old emperor, a strong willed elderly blind man, a werewolf and so on.
He continued to listen to her though and when she said the floor was open for them to speak he waited a moment before he got up. He casually made his way to the corner of the room and poured himself a cup of wine. He then made his way back, sipping as he reclaimed his seat.

He spoke in his old deep voice, his Arrandi still tinged by a prevalent accent.
“I would just like to say that Malorian aid distributions amongst the populations in the cities have been very successful and we plan for more aid to be continued to be given throughout the year hopefully. Unlike the Syrixians, whoever, who despite being able to build gold palaces can still cut the people of Arrandal short when it comes to aid they desperately need. Maloria is giving all she can with current circumstances on Northern Craviter.” He stopped and raised his glass up a little bit in the air and took a drink and waited for whoever was next to speak.
 
“We are grateful for Maloria’s continued support,” Katja said, ignoring the comments about Syrixian aid. It would be best not to continue that conversation. Katja was sure that those comments had earned favor among some of the Paramounts though.

“The first order of business I wish to address is the rise of these reformist pagan groups that have been harassing our aid workers in the west.” And so the meeting continued with the young lady bringing up the issues facing the nation. While much of the problems would end up being addressed by the Waiczyn, it was the duty of the Paramounts to lead the charge as it were.

There were plenty of issues to address. The rise of Neopaganism was only one. Pirates continued to operate along the Arrandalian bank of the Dangour river, the Czaltori were moving into settlements in large number causing clashes between them and the locals, the one road running across the Capasheans was in dire need of repairs and landslides had left a stretch of road nearly untraversable. How it was decided here that they would proceed would shape the coming years and the kingdom’s restoration projects.



Gaelen had a headache. A scent had come into the room that made his sinuses ache. He’d smelled it before, but not this strong. It was the same smell his father had as he got sicker. Though it wasn’t the disease that had ultimately gotten his father, it would have killed him eventually, just as assuredly as the assassin’s blade had.

He wondered who it was, looking around the room as Katja opened the meeting. He couldn’t quite sort the scent out, that was until Alexander got up and poured himself some wine. It followed the old emperor across the room.

This disturbed him. If the smell was that strong, then it was likely Alexander had an advanced form of cancer. How long did he have to live? Gaelen didn’t care much for the Malorian, but his death would throw more uncertainty into the mix. And Arrandal had enough uncertainty. Could something be done? He fell in to deep thought. Most the others present just assumed he was being his same surly self.
 
A city stretched itself out before them as Jadzia’s motorcade made its way across the rocky plains of northwestern Molvadzina. And it was a city, even if the city was built of tents and wagons, painted in bright colors and vibrant hues. The people living there dressed as colorfully as their makeshift city. Jadzia has never seen this many Czaltori people in one place. She doubted anyone had.

At the center of this makeshift city were the ruins of Caenin, an Argent city which had been abandoned after the legendary battle of Niantz. It had been left to the elements ever since the more recent war, but now the Czaltori were using it as a town center of sorts. Among the crumbling walls there were a handful of larger wagons, each the home of an Anjavulki of a different tribe.

The motorcade followed the old road towards the ruins. As they passed among the tents the Czaltori gawked in wonder. There was no fear in their eyes, and Jadzia saw only a handful of men armed. She had a feeling they were expected.

The road was mostly clear as they approached (a few stray animals had to be herded out of the way by locals). There was an open area near the first walls of the ruins, and here the motorcade stopped. They’d have to walk the rest of the way.

As she and her guards got out a group of fierce looking men approached. They were shirtless, wearing only loose fitting trousers, with sashes around their wastes. A few wore leather vests, but each had a scimitar tucked into their belt.

Jadzia’s guards, members of the Royal Hussars, stiffened as the men came closer, but no one reached for their weapons.

The fierce group of men stopped a dozen paces away and bowed, a sign of submission to the Czaltori. Jadzia was startled by the gesture. She stepped forward and bowed back. The men then drew their swords slowly and placed them on the ground at their feet.

The eldest of the men, a fierce man with many tattoos and even more scars, spoke up in broken Arrandi. “We welcome King Jadzia. Please follow. Our Anjavulkun await.”

So they followed. Jadzia noticed that the men did not retrieve their weapons as they walked away. The Czaltori were breaking ancient customs to show their submission. It was odd and alarming. She felt trepidation as they walked into the ruins.

They arrived at a large pavilion, it’s walls made from the wheelless hulks of wagons. The pavilion was at least an acre in size.

“We wait here,” the leader said, motioning to his people and the Hussars. “You must enter.”

Her guards didn’t like it but Jadzia motioned for them to stay and they complied. A flap was parted and Jadzia entered.
 
Zaplatacbor

“Knight Commander,” one of the Dawnguard called out.

Valkiric turned from overseeing the disposal of the vampire corpses to see a young man, with fresh bandages around his head. Valkiric recognized him as one of the Malorian recruits. What was his name? He was the one from Bergum.

“Ensign Anton,” Valkiric addressed him, remembering his name. “What can I do for you?”

“Commander Wojtek sent me to find you, sir. He says you’re needed below.”

Valkiric acknowledged the young man and then flagged down a sergeant, letting him know to finish overseeing the disposal. He made his way into the catacombs below the old ruins.

He found his second in command waiting for him outside a room near the bottom of the warren of tunnels. “You’ll want to see this,” he said, motioning for the Commanderto follow.

The ducked through the low doorway. The room was not very large, just wider than the stone sarcophagus laying within. The lid had been removed, pushed off the side onto the floor. A women lay within, perfectly preserved, white wispy hair combed neatly. Her skin was gaunt and pale, almost translucent. When Valkiric saw her face he inhaled sharply.

The companies surgeon was examining her and he looked up as the two officers entered. He straightened to attention.

Valkiric waved him to at ease. “Is she...” he asked, trailing off.

“She’s in blood-stasis,” the surgeon reported.

“So she’s one of them,” he said looking down on the face of a woman he’d once known. A woman that should be dead, but wasn’t.

“You know her?” Wojtek asked. Valkiric nodded. “Who is she?”

Valkiric remained silent. He had to think but too many thoughts were racing through his head. Finally he responded, “we need to contact the Grand Master. And prepare her for transport.”

“You intend to keep her alive?” Wojtek asked. “You intend to go against the Order, again?”

“I intend no such thing. The Grand Master will decide and I will carry out his orders. But once he knows that she’s still alive, I think he’ll want us to carry her to Bergum.”

“And why is she so important?” Wojtek asked.

Valkiric looked down at her face again, remembering back to a better time. A world before the Rebellions. “She’s the daughter of Mirek IV. That’s why she’s important.”
 
Jadzia sat on a large pillow at the center of the tent, some two dozen old women sat in a circle around her. They were the gathered Anjavulki of the different Czaltori bands. Sitting front and center was the woman who’d read her fortune before.

They all sat in silence, the old women staring at the King before them. Jadzia, for her part, just sat in silence pretending to be meditative. She would let them speak first, after all it had been their invitation.

The silence continued for some time. Jadzia was vaguely aware when a handful of young girls brought in a platter of food and a glass of wine and put them next to her. Still she sat silently.

Finally the silence was broken when one of the old women spoke. “Are you not hungry,” she asked.

Jadzia brought her full attention back to the Anjavulkis. “I am quite alright, thank you,” she said.

Silence fell again and Jadzia feared they’d continue to make her wait. But this silence didn’t last very long.

“You have done well for your people,” spoke the Anjavulki that had before read her fortune. “Peace has returned to the land. The vampires once again fear to move openly.”

Jadzia greeted her, “Thank you, mother.”

The old woman smiled wryly. “Call me Ibha. Mother seems to formal.”

“Ibha,” Jadzia said. “You were the one who sent the cards? I took it as an invitation. Something private and important.”

“We are representative of all Czaltori tribes within Arrandal.” Ibha said, gesturing to the gathering of women surrounding the king. “Every Anjavulki of our people, every tribe represented. We have never gathered like this before. We do so now because things are graver than you know.”

She paused as each woman gave their support, assenting to Ibha speaking for them. “Jadzia,” she continued, her voice rising authoritatively, “King of the Arrandi, and Sovereign of the Argenti, we beg you for help.”
 
The Azure Dawn troop moved through the woods. A detail had been chosen to carry the sarcophagus with the vampire body inside. They were marching towards the border of the Dryadic territory.

Valkiric knew that every second they were in the Tangledwoods they were in danger. If the vampires knew that they’d kept one of their own alive, they’d come after them. So they marched quickly.

He hoped to reach the dryads border after nightfall. If the vampires came they’d never survive the night. So he drove his men hard, each person there taking a turn to carry their prisoner, resting rarely.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, the forest grew darker. His rear scouts returned and informed him: they were being followed. He ordered the pace picked up, but the woods became darker, more dangerous. Electric lanterns were turned on. The vampires already knew where they were, and the light would give them an advantage.

They weren’t very far from the border as night fell and the first vampire rushed out from among the trees. Moving at twice the speed of a man it buried its fangs into the shoulder on one of the Dawnguards. The young man screamed in pain and terror, but one of his comrades came to his rescue, driving an Argent Silver tipped spear into the vampires back.

The vampire howled inhumanly and disapeared back into the surrounding forest. The attack had lasted only a few seconds.

““Tighten up!””Screamed Wojtek. The Dawnguard moved quickly to comply, forming up around the six men carrying the sarcophagus.

Valkiric looked at Wojtek. “”We have to keep moving.””

The younger man nodded and gave the order. In tight formation they moved ahead, flashlights now pointed in every direction.

Another vampire came screaming out of the woods but a quick shot from a pistol sent it smashing to the ground. Two of his men rushed forward, one pointing his weapon towards the woods, the other pulling a blade and driving it through the vampires heart. The body crumbled to dust as they left it behind.

Shadows moved between the trees, but no other attacks came. Wojtek fell in beside Valkiric. “”They’’re waiting on something.””

The old man just stared out at the woods, having realized the same thing. ““There’s not very many of them yet,”” he replied. “”But that won’t last. I hope Daz Komkat got our message because I doubt we’ll make it to the border.””

They continued on in silence, alert for another attack. And then they heard it, a cacophony of howls. The howls were almost like a wolfs, almost like a mans, but still something not quite like either. There was a malice in the sound.

Valkiric heard his men whispering to each other, the word werewolf being passed around. But he knew what they really were.

““Everyone ready,”” he called out. ““Luprazvat!”” Even as he called out the first feral werewolves lunged out of the darkness, their fangs and claws bared. His men opened fire.
 
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Jadzia’s Hussars came to attention as she left the tent, and they fell into step behind her as she walked towards a crumbling tower deeper into the ruins. She had much to think about. The Anjavulkun had told her much, things that spoke of dark tidings rising out of the Tangledwoods. And one name that made her truly terrified. She needed to clear her head.

The tower had long ago lost its peak, and now broken jagged stones reached up towards the sky. Still a stone stairway spiraled it’s way upwards, most the stones still solid.

She left her guards at the foot of the stairs and climbed up as far as she could go. All that remained at the top was a landing, facing northward out of a crumbling gap in the wall. Looking out she could see over the dry brown plains and towards the southern Capasheans. But nearer to her, still off in the distance but closer than the mountains, a dark green line stretched east to west. The great woods.

She shuddered as her mind dwelt on the things that were likely lurking in the shade beneath those thick, ancient trees. Ibha’s words came back to her. “Children have been disappearing,” she’d said after pleading for help. “At first only a few, but over time more and more often until a few dozen every night. And all from camps near to the woods.”

The disappearances spooked the Czaltori. Spooked them so much that they were willing to abandon all their ancestral ways and kneel in submission to an Arrandi monarch. Yet Jadzia had no solutions for them. Where had these children gone? Who’d taken them? And for what purpose? Too many questions without answers, only suspicions. Vampires were likely involved.

But the fears and uncertainties of all those questions paled in comparison to a single name, a name that the Czaltori had heard from Werewolves who had made their home deep in the woods. A name that spoke of the boogeyman of old tales.

“Basilikos,” Jadzia said the name out loud, as if by saying it she could shake the fear that it had brought to her heart. “The enemy of the world.” Saying it out loud only made it more real. The woods, so far away, now seemed closer and darker.

She heard a commotion below as her guards spoke to someone, but a few moments later Ibha came up the stairs. She offered no words, but only stood with Jadzia looking towards the forest.

“You told me a storm was coming,” Jadzia said after a few minutes. “I thought that last battle had been its end. That the storm had passed.”

“There is always another storm,” the Anjavulki answered remorsefully.

“Can your cards read the future again?” Jadzia was startled by the desperation in her own voice. She now regretted saying the evil name aloud.

Ibha did not answer, but she took out a deck of cards and shuffled through them quickly. She then cut the deck and offered it to Jadzia. “Draw the top card,” she said.

Jadzia took the card and looked at it. Death.

Ibha retrieved the card, placed it randomly into the deck and began shuffling. She did this a dozen times before splitting the deck and offering it once again to Jadzia.

Again she took the top card. Again it was death. And again Ibha put it back randomly, shuffled, and cut the deck, offering it to Jadzia once again.

Death.

“Is this a trick?” Jadzia asked.

“No,” Ibha answered forlornly. “Whenever I try to read the future the first card I draw is death. Others have similar experiences. Miarni plays the bones, and always her first cast shows the skull. Kopmi draws the runs and she sees the word of Ruin spelled out each time.”

Silence passed between the two women. Jadzia realized that the Anjavulki was terrified. Being unable to see the future left her blind.

Then Jadzia, without thinking why, took the deck, and shuffled it a dozen times. She cut the deck and without looking drew the first card and set it face up on the flat surface of a crumbling wall stone. It was death.

But she ignored it and, copying the spread that Ibha had done so many years ago, she drew three cards and placed them in a row right below the death card.

The Emperor, the High Priestess, and lastly Justice.

She didn’t know what the cards meant; what they represented. She could have asked Ibha but she remained silent. There was certainly meaning there. These three cards underneath the shadow of death. She looked at the cards, studying the images, trying to feel out their meaning in her own mind.

When she looked at the Emperor’s face she felt like she recognized the man. For a moment it eluded her, but then she realized who it looked like. The Emperor of the card looked like a younger Alexander. Her Great Grandfather sat upon a black throne, a glowing orb in one hand, and a blood red staff in his other. The meaning of the first card now seemed to make a little sense to her.
 
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Amira walked through the courtyard picking roses out of the bushes and putting them into her little straw basket that freely swung off of her arm. Gracefully she handled each and every one of them. She did not fear being pricked by the thorns, if anything they should fear her.


Decades had passed since she had been to Arrandal. She once had been it’s queen but now she was the Dowager Queen Grandmother. Tragedy had once filled her heart with the death of her husband, children, and grandchildren but pride had never left her. She knew like everyone this was why she was Alexander’s favorite child.


He watched her from the large tower overlooking the manor’s grounds slowly drinking his wine in hand. He enjoyed watching her in the gardens and hearing the wilderness around him. It was something that they couldn’t enjoy in Bergum but he cherished at Castle Rock.


He enjoyed the wilderness for a little bit more until he finished his drink and went into the manor itself walking down the old halls of it and taking in the decor. Alexander observed the paintings and other art on the wall that told tales of Arrandalian battles and rulers along with other significant events in it’s history and that of the manor’s. Slowly he made his way through the hallways which he found to be occupied by at least one of his personal guard sent over from Maloria in their purple military uniforms and rifle in hand.


Alexander looked out one of the windows in one of the hallways to be met with a darkening sky as the sun began to sit. He continued to walk around the hallways for a little while longer until he eventually made it to his study. In it was located one of Alexander’s most prized possessions, his organ.


Severyn children are dictated by tradition in their youth to choose at least one instrument to learn how to play. Alexander’s father and brother chose the piano but he chose the organ. Ever since he had become a masterful player of it performing at mass and even for foreign dignitaries at times but this organ had been through so much with him. The Fascist Wars, the Kanadian Reconstruction, the Iterian War, and the Fall of Helmer until present day. It had become one with him.


He took his seat in front of it and started to play key by key at a time. Then slowly he began to play the organ letting it’s music soak into the manor. However Alexander’s slow music started to go louder and faster as memories and regrets flooded him about his life from his childhood, his reign, and now in his old life and that music began to boom throughout the whole manor as he continued to play on knowing that death would take him only a few months.
 
When Gaelen arrived at Tolstaf it was already dark. The sun had long disappeared behind the Capasheans to the west. He notified the guards of his arrival and was ushered in through the gates, climbing the short rise to the manor.


His car stopped outside the main entrance and he got out, waiting for the house chamberlain to meet him. Afterwards he followed the man towards the house.


He could hear music coming from inside. An organ pealed out a powerful, and brooding tune, expertly played. Alexander, Gaelen assumed.


He was certainly nervous about meeting with the old emperor. (Duke, he had to remind himself). He was about to make an offer that could very well turn the old man against him.


He had no idea how the Malorian would react. But one thing was for sure, he was dying, and Gaelen couldn’t allow that to happen just yet. For Jadzia’s sake.


The chamberlain lead him into the house where he was announced. “Gaelen Marishkov, Duke of Granzludgrad, heat to speak with you my lord.”
 
Nikolas Valkiric felt intense pain as long nails dig into the flesh of his right arm, and then he was pulled down and sideways by a snarling and crazed feral werewolf. He fumbled to raise the silver knife in his off hand, but the beast let go as a rifle sounded off very close and then it was rolling around in the dirt, howling in pain.


One of Valkiric’s dawnguard, a young women who’s blonde hair was matted with blood and mud, struggled to pull him up. He tried to push himself of the ground with his wounded arm, but the pain was too great. He cocked his leg underneath him and pushed himself up. With the help of the young women he was able to stand.


Carnage swarmed around him. His Dawnguard still held, long silver spears pointed outwards in a circle, warding off the Luprazvat and their vampire commanders, while rifleman fires from behind the human barricade. Every know and then a feral got through, like the one that had just clawed Valkiric, and they’d wreak havoc among the defenders.


Leaning down the commander picked up the pistol he’d dropped when the werewolf had mauled him. He lifted it up in his off hand, walked over to the still howling beast, and put a bullet through it’s hairy skull.


And still another attack came. The long night dragging on. Again and again a wolf would get through and too often would take a Dawnguard down before they could kill the feral werewolf.


A medic patched up Valkiric’s arm and gave him a shot to help with the pain. He saw Wojtek move from one side of the spear barrier to the other, wading into the thickest fighting, wielding an axe in one hand and a pistol in another.


The commander looked for the light of the coming dawn but still the forest was dark save for their own lanterns providing light.


Still another attack came, and this one was fiercer than any that had come before. A group of twenty ferals, lead by a tall and pale vampire, crashed against the spear wall. The wall held for only a few minutes and then the snarling horde broke through.


Weapons fired, and Man and beast screamed as battle was joined. Valkiric grabbed up a sword from the ground and jumped into the fray.


He fired his pistol from his wounded hand, and hacked and slashed with the sword in the other. His blade caught a werewolf under the jaw, slicing up, and taking off the side of the beasts face. Valkiric than twirled, avoiding a retaliatory swipe, lifted his pistol and fired, putting it down.


Valkiric turned again, prepared to strike at the next beast, and then he was face to face with the vampire. He fired his pistol but it clicked ineffectually, the gun empty.


The vampire roared and swung his own weapon, a broad sword of black steal, slicing towards Valkiric’s head. The commander raised his weapon in a parry, catching the enemy blade with a loud clang. The vampire then released the hold on his weapon and, with blurring speed, dropped beneath Valkiric’s guard and swung full force with his long nails and smashed them into the side of his head.


Valkiric howled in pain as he went tumbling sideways, sprawling across the corpse of a fallen werewolf. Valkiric realized that he was now only seeing out of one eye, as the vampire’s strike had likely destroyed his left eye. He looked up with his remaining eye. The vampire stood up over him. He had recovered his sword and he was now bringing it down in a high arc, aiming to cleave Valkiric in two. Valkiric didn’t look away or close his eyes. He would not turn away from his own death.


And then, Wojtek came flying from over the commanders head, slamming a shoulder into the vampire, kicking him over. The second-in-command rolled away and came back up to his feet, turned, and brought his axe down on the vampire.


The vampire had tried to raise his sword, but Wojtek’s axe fell true, and buried itself deep into the vampires face. Wojtek stepped forward, drawing a silver dagger from his belt, and plunged it into the heart of his foe. He pulled the axe out as the Vampire crumbled to dust.


Wojtek then pulled Valkiric to his feet and the two men looked at each other gravely. Valkiric looked around. They’d repelled this attack but nearly a dozen of their Dawnguard were dead, and their defense was now ragged. They would not make it to the dawn.


Valkiric turned towards Wojtek, preparing to give the order to terminate their vampire hostage as she slept in her sarcophagus, and then to prepare the men and women for a last glorious push towards the border.


But before he could open his mouth the woods seemed to explode into life. The foliage itself seemed to come surging forward out of the dark.


And then the Dryads were amongst the werewolves and vampires, their great wooden blades slicing through their enemies. Their foliage rustled with their movements, drowning out the howls of their enemies. And then the werewolves broke and fled, leaving only the vampires.


The vampires prepared to make a last stand but arrows came flying out of the forest, great silver tipped arrows as large as spears, and after just three volleys they all lay dead upon the ground.


And then one of the archers strode out of the woods and headed straight for Valkiric. He was a towering dryad, three times the height of a man, and in the lantern light his leafy covering looked blood red.


“Fear not, Dawnguard,” he called out in a great booming voice. “I am Gadraki Ni Mukat, first Guard of Daz Komkat. We are glad to see you are still alive.”
 
The organ continued to boom throughout the manor as Alexander masterfully played it. Not missing a beat and keeping a perfect tempo. His decades of practice finally paying off.


The music however was cut short as Gaelen entered the room and the chamberlain announced him. As soon as the Chamberlain announced him the room was dead silent. Alexander stayed at his organ for a moment overlooking it running his fingers over the cords one last time and thanked the Chamberlain.


He got up out of his seat and poured himself some of the vodka he had brought over from Maloria. The man might’ve almost been 100 years old but he could still hold his liquor as if he was 20. He took a sip of it and laid the cup down.


He left the room silent as Amira and his wife Wilhelmina walked into the room after hearing the Chamberlain introduce Gaelen. Gracefully they glided over the floor appearing almost as if they weren’t even walking and Amira extended her hand to him to kiss before saying “It has been too long hasn’t it?”
 
Gaelen stood stiffly as the Severyns approached him. He stood just inside the room, feeling like an intruder, despite having had visited Tolstaf many times. Already the house felt different, more imposing.

Amira extended her hand and Gaelen politely held it, kissing the back of her hand, as per the custom. “It has felt longer than it was,” he answered.

He turned his attention to Wilhelmina, and addressed her next. “Arrandal is the better for your presence, Doamna.”

Finally he addressed the former emperor. “I am sorry to intrude upon your evening, but I hoped to speak quietly with you.”
 
“Of course that would be fine” Alexander said as he moved the goblet around again in his hand before he downed another drink of it. Amira however had other plans instead of letting Gaelen speak to the old former Keizer. She interjected between the two men and looked at Gaelen with an almost sly but vicious smirk on her face with her eyes and face as still and stern as a steel beam, not moving in the slightest.


“How dare you” she told you him in a high pitched voice as Alexander put his silver lion ornamented goblet down. “How dare you have the audacity to come here and act like you haven’t done anything against my family or me. You just want to brush me aside as if I don’t exist and your crimes and all the other’s crimes didn’t happen. My family would still be alive if my son didn’t listen to you and those other fools. Him and all of his other children. You haven’t even apologized to me.”


“Amira” Alexander called to get her attention but she didn’t give him any care.


“I just want you to know something. If you ever think you will be able to make the same mistake you did with my son I will have you hunted down like the animal you are. You and everyone else involved because I do have the means and so help me God I will use them to seek vengeance” but then BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Alexander took his goblet and cracked it against the top of his organ silencing Amira and getting her attention.


“This is our home and this man is our guest. You have no right to speak to him like that and it pains me to think that I have taught you to be so disrespectful to those who come to your home. Get out” he said coldly and without hesitation. She shot him a look and then one back to Gaelen as she took her mother and left the room and on the way out Wilhelmina asked her “What did the dog man say to me” in Malorian.


As the door shut Alexander took a seat with his goblet still in hand and looked at the lord. “I’m sorry for that outburst. She’s a stubborn woman and God knows when she gets like that there’s no stopping her. I hope you can forgive me.”
 
Gaelen silently listened to the berating from Amira. He decided not to respond and let Alexander calm the woman. Her anger was sadly misplaced, though understandable. Jadzia has been alive and for almost ten years they’d kept that secret for her safety. Amira has thought all of her children and grandchildren were dead and hadn’t found out the truth until Gaelen had announced it to the world right before Jadzia’s coronation.

But she was alive, and he would suffer an old woman’s wrath because he’d seen to it the last of Arrandal’s royalty had lived to take the throne.

After the two woman had left the room he turned his attention to Alexander. “How long do you have?” He asked. “Not long at all, I think,” Gaelen continued, not giving the older man time to speak. “No, the cancer has spread too far. You probably won’t make it to the new year.”

Alexander made as if to protest, but again Gaelen spoke before he could. “You knew you were dying and still chose to accept Jadzia’s offer of a place in Arrandal? You’ve shifted politics considerably with your presence. Your death will cause great harm now. I cannot allow this. There may be another option...”

The helicopter began to descend and Gaelen looked out over the moonlit landscape. Below was mostly wilderness, though before the war it had been farmland dotted with hamlets and villages. Now the forests and thickets had grown back and no lights twinkled in the night, except for one.

A single castle, standing atop a rock promontory, watching over the winding rivers of the valleys below. The Esthalkensfels were quiet tonight.

Gaelen avoided looking at his companion, though that was where his thoughts were. It’d taken him some convincing but in the end the former emperor had agreed to come along. There was no doubt Alexander doubted Gaelen’s proposal but he’d likely come along out of curiosity. The chance to aid Jadzia beyond his remaining time; how could the Severyn patriarch pass that up.

The point at which he’d still be able to change his mind would soon be passing.

The helicopter circled the castle once before coming down and landing in the inner ward, just next to a decorative fountain. A handful of the inhabitants were waiting for their arrival.

“Aszenhal,” Gaelen informed Alexander without much emotion. Gaelen would soon find out if Alexander truly had the mettle his reputation claimed.
 
The two men, Dukes of the realm, entered the near deserted hall of the ancient castle of Aszenhal. They’d been escorted by a handful of the castle’s guardsmen, but only to the door of the great hall. From there they would make the rest of the way on their own.

Katja watched them enter and then cross the hall, Gaelen a hulking mass of muscles, and Alexander a lithe and tall man slightly bowed with age. They stopped before her and Gaelen introduced her to his companion.

“We never had a chance to formally meet,” Katja said. “It was a busy day for us all and I was only filling in for the King.” She came forward and greeted Alexander. She regarded him but found he remained stoic and gave nothing of his inner thoughts away. “Gaelen explained my...abilities, to you?”

“He is not fully convinced,” Gaelen stated, regretfully.

“Who would be?” she smiled. She beckoned for her two guests to follow and she led them from the cold hall into a well lit room. A couch sat at the center of the room, facing a roaring fire in a fireplace. She sat on the couch and motioned for Alexander to sit next to him. Gaelen took up a position next to the hearth.

She looked around the hall, taking it all in. “I did not grow up here,” she addressed Alexander. “This place was always too cold for me and my father never wanted me around. My father was an evil man. I don’t say this lightly. Arrandal holds familial ties sacrosanct. But he was evil. He loved my mother in his own way, but the darkness in his soul drug her into a world that she didn’t fully understand.

“She was six weeks pregnant with me when my parents were turned. Neither knew as my mother had no morning sickness. The dark rite should have killed me, and my mother, but it did not. So I was born, the first child to a vampire. An anomaly. An abomination.

“I did not manifest any vampiric traits as a child, nor for a long time. But my birth drained my mother. She never recovered and she died weak and sickly when I was three. The dark gift had failed her. My father may have suspected I was the cause for he eventually sent me away to live with my aunt in Mystzpolst. It was well for I was 9 when my first vampiric abilities manifested. At this point in time King Bajoras still ruled, and the war had not yet started. By the end of the year he would be dead though and the Kingdom would be caught in the great storm.

“My first vampiric ability manifested when I fell from a tree and broke my arm. Within a few hours it had healed. As time passed more things happened. I could smell blood, and sometimes I would get cravings. Though I never indulged myself.

“After the death of Bajoras my father sent for me, and the Crimson Shroud took an interest in me. They despised what I was, but they were curious. Iskaya recruited me, though they soon grew tired of my refusal to partake.”

She paused for a moment, letting Alexander think on what she had told him. She tried to gauge his thoughts but he still gave nothing away. It was time to get to the point. “I will skip over much. Suffices it to say I was never fully on their side. After my father’s death I played a dangerous game, feeding information to the Azure Dawn while remaining anonymous. I sheltered Jadzia for two years, here in Aszenhal while acting as an agent of the Shroud, and they never suspected.

“It was Gaelen who discovered what I was, and we have had a partnership since. I serve the shroud, and act as his agent. One ability tha I have, that I have kept from the others of my kind, is my ability to turn someone else. They do not think I can and I have given them no reason to think otherwise.

“You will be the second person for me to give the dark gift to. If you accept. It will stop the cancers spread eventually. It may even reverse some of your advanced age, but expect no miracles. But most importantly, it will make you immortal. It will extend your life and give you more time to help Jadzia rebuild Arrandal.” She smiled at him, as pleasantly as she could, with her fangs extended. “Do you accept?”
 
As the helicopter flew above the moonlit forest the old-now duke had a lot to think about for which was to come with his life. Death had scared him but the thought of never having to worry about it seemed too good to be true however the opportunity nonetheless presented itself to the almost centenarian. This seemed to go against everything he stood for but almost equally the chance to help your own was what he was raised to live by his whole life and something he held dear to him in his old age.


The helicopter eventually landed as Alexander and Gaelan made their way through the old and dark castle’s hall until they were approached by their host. They exchanged their pleasantries with Alexander holding his vow of silence that he had taken since leaving the manor. She led them throughout the castle while Alexander tried not to make it obvious but he was peering around the castle as they walked until she led them into the well lit room which was quite a change from the previous hall. She motioned for him to sit and he did beside of her and he did.


There she told him of her life and her childhood however Alexander remained emotionless and cold. His face as solid as stone looking into the fire but his ears listened closely to every word she was saying until she finally said those words he had been waiting for.


“Do you accept?”


He kept his glare at the hissing fire and with a monotone voice he said “I accept.”
 
Katja only nodded after Alexander spoke. The words had been spoken and she hoped his heart was truly in agreement. If not, then he would perish sooner.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Lay back,” she said and helped him into a comfortable position. She pulled his collar down to expose his neck. “This will hurt. And it will be unpleasant. But you’re strong, and you’ll get through it.”

She then leaned down and, listening to his deep breathing, she hated her fangs and bit down.

Jadzia stirred in her sleep. Her dreams were troubled. She found herself walking the empty bombed out streets of Bravondy while above her the card of death hung in the sky like an oppressive cloud.

She stopped in front of the crumbling shell of a burnt out Sepulcher of Anastasias. Shadows moved inside and red eyes peered out at her. She could sense their malice and their hatred. They smiled and their mouths flashed white from off their fangs, and they whispered one word repeatedly. “Basilikos.”

She wanted to turn and flee, to find a dark corner and cry, but she felt compelled now by another sensation. She turned from the ruined church and made her way towards the river, crossing over a great iron bridge. The river below was the color of drying blood and corpses floated in it. Corpses wearing the uniform of the Royal Hussars, or the cloak of the Dawnguard, or the furs of the great nobles.

She did not linger but crossed to the other side and then stood before the gates of the Palat Roz. The palace was a pile of rubble, only the walls stood, though they were broken and cracked, and scorched from a great fire. And now she felt alone and she cried, tears coming freely.

“Why do you cry my daughter,” a soothing voice spoke. She looked up and saw her father, Bajoras, standing tall in his gray uniform, his Kolpak tucked under his arm. He smiled warmly at her, his eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. She ran to him crying “Father! Father!” and she buried her face in his arms and wept.

He stroked her hair and hugged her close. “Do not fear child,” he soothed. “My fate is not your fate. You are strong. There is a storm in you that will lead us all to salvation.”

She looked up at him and studied his face. The dark beard, the fierce blue eyes, the worry lines around his eyes and knew this was truly how he looked. She couldn’t really remember him as she’d been a child when he died but she knew this was no fanciful dream. Perhaps it was a memory from a childhood but she knew him.

“What do I do?” she asked him.

“Love your people,” he answered. “You’re already strong enough to save them.”

She woke then, sitting upright in the tent the Czaltori had given her for the night. She could still feel her father’s strong embrace, but he was gone now. The sounds of night sentries moved about among the tent city. She felt sad but didn’t feel like crying now.

She laid back down and was soon asleep. This time her dreams were pleasant.
 
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The Dawnguard was led out of the Tangledwoods and into Dryad territory. The border was easily found. A great hedge of brackens and vines walled off the free Dryad territory from the wild forests. They passed through a natural tunnel in the hedge and the woods beyond were as different as night and day from the woods they’d left.

Here the undergrowth had been tamed. Open grassy lawns grew around the trunks of massive trees. Hedgerows creates neat lanes to traverse. And up in the trees were Dryad homes, grown from the branches and leaves of the trees they inhabited.

The sun had come up casting warm morning rays down through the branches and the surviving Dawnguard felt the night’s terrors drawing away.

As they passed into the Dryad territory they were approached by two female Dryads. Valkiric had long ago learned how to tell the difference. Females were often taller than the mails and their foliage was more colorful. Males were stockier with darker colors, and larger limbs.

“Are the borders safe, Gadraki,” spoke one of the females. Her foliage was yellow and green.

The male who’d lead the Dryad rescue of the Dawnguard returned the greeting. “Yes, my love. The vampires were driven off.”

He took the females hands and they together made a low rumbling, a sign of close affection between Dryads.

The second female, with bright red and dark purple foliage studied the Dawnguard harshly. “And you did not pursue the survivors?” She asked.

Gadraki turned to her and spoke in a stern manner. “The vampires were all killed and their feral werewolf servants fled.”

“And now there are ferals loose near the border.” She then took one of the bows from Gadraki’s Dryads. “I will hunt them down.” And then she stormed off heading out the hedge gate they’d just passed through.

“Please don’t mind Alkoravakt,” the other female spoke. “She is single minded in her defense of Silviclas. I am Mirakitta Ni Akulza, vicewarden of Zielengrav.” She then lead them forward and the Dawngu followed.

Valkiric still limped from his wounds and was supported by one of his Dawnguard, the same young woman who’d saved him earlier.

She was quiet and she stared ahead unseeing, still in shock from the violence they’d experienced.

“What’s your name?” he asked her as they walked.

“Sonya Valerya,” she answered.

“Where are you from Sonya?”

“Bravondy.”

Valkiric gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Me too. My father was a factory boss in Little Argentus.”

“That’s Green Garden now.”

Valkiric smiled whimsically. “Things have certainly changed.”

****

Zielengrav was a beautiful city on a hill. Trees ringed the hill, and these trees were home to many Dryad homes (called Dreys). The hill itself had a city of human housing made of stone and brick and wood. But at the top of the hill was a great tree that toward thousands of feet into the air and held many Dreys. This was the home of Daz Komkat, the count of Silviclas.

The Dawnguard were seen to by Dryad and human physicians, their wounds dressed and cleaned. They were then lead before the Count. They climbed a great set of stairs into the Drey at the top of the great tree.

Daz Komkat sat upon a throne grown from the branches of the tree. His Hall was lined with Dryads, the Oakenguard of Silviclas, each carrying a sword grown from a tree and carved down into a deadly blade.

Valkiric limped to stand before the count, Sonya still supporting him. Wojtek came behind leading the Dawnguard carrying the sarcophagus. They set it down before the Dryad leader. Valkiric waited in silence.

Daz Komkat studied the sarcophagus silently but seemed unconcerned by it. His gaze drifted across all of the Dawnguard, stopping on each in turn before settling on Valkiric.

“The Vampires are recruiting ferals now?”

“It appears that way,” Valkiric responded.

“Hmm,” Daz Komkat murmured. “This is ill news. The numbers my people claimed they faced is too high. There is not enough ferals in all of the woods to justify that force.”

Valkiric didn’t respond. He’d already figured that much. The Count’s report just confirmed it.

Daz Komkat changed his focus to the sarcophagus. “You shouldn’t have brought that here,” he said quietly.

Valkiric unconsciously moved closer to the sarcophagus, as if to protect it.

“I should have destroyed its contents,” he agreed. “But these are desperate times.”

“Not as desperate as they used to be.” Daz Komkat looked out across the room, the branches forming walls and ceilings. He seemed disturbed. “I have contacted Kurzon and he agreed with your actions. He has sent a helicopter to bring you and your prize to Bergum. In the meantime, rest and heal. Your Dawnguard may stay here until they are ready to return to their duties. But I will keep that thing under constant guard.”

Valkiric thanked him. He hoped he had not brought any additional danger upon the Dryads.
 
The morning was cold, with a misty wetness that hung over the earth. Jadzia felt the tent city was no longer as vibrant as it had been the day before. Without the sun the bright colors and clashing patterns now looked dull and sullen. She felt rested though. A revival of her spirit had occurred. It was odd that she felt a sense of hope after the news she’d been given.

The Czaltori had sworn fealty to her, an outdated gesture, but a powerful one nonetheless. But it had been done out of fear. Something was happening along the forest edge. Children were going missing, and that was bad enough without thinking about the other things she’d seen and heard.

She was brought breakfast, a hearty meal of eggs and venison with sourdough bread and fried okra. She wolfed it down amazed at her own appetite. She vaguely remembered a dream, a dream that she felt comforted her, but the details had faded after she awoke.

Still she felt she had a purpose now. It was hard to describe how she felt, but if she could it would be that she felt she was now on the offensive. She had a name, a terrifying and ancient one, but a name of an enemy she could confront. There was a mystery to solve, and the vampires were beginning to move. She wouldn’t wait for them to be ready. She was going to bring the fight to them.

She left her tent with a purposeful stride, two of her hussars falling in line behind her. She made her way to the great tent of the Anjavulki’s. She found a handful of them awaiting her as she walked inside. They didn’t seem surprised at her arrival.

Ibha smiled wanly at her as she approached. The old woman motioned for her to sit but Jadzia ignored the pillows strewn about the floor. The time of council was over. She’d made a decision.

“Your people cannot abandon the forest’s edge,” she informed them. The old women gasped in shock and some whispered angrily.

“The forest has become dangerous for us,” one Anjavulki spoke. She was a thin woman, her gray hair very thin and her skin wrinkled with advanced age. “You would tell us to ignore whatever is taking our children?”

“I am telling you that your people cannot flee the darkness that id growing there,” Jadzia spoke firmly. “Move your children and families closer to the cities for protection by all means, build walls and fortifications to keep these monsters away, but do not abandon the forest edge. The absence of your people will only embolden our enemy. No, it falls upon you all to be the first line of defense against what’s coming.”

More murmuring arose and Jadzia heard the fear and anger in many of their voices. But she would not back down. Could not.

Ibha stood up and motioned her fellow elders to silence. She turned and faced the King. “We swore to serve you,” she said. “And you have commanded us. But we cannot hold the line on our own. We are a proud people, we have many strong young men who know how to fight, but we are not soldiers.”

“I will send my hussars to aid you, to train you, and prepare you to defend yourself and Arrandal. It’s not much but for now it’s all I can offer. We have a shared enemy, and thanks to you that enemy has a name.”

“Basilikos,” the name was whispered from many mouths.

“Yes, and we must know more. If we wait for our enemies to be prepared, we will be destroyed. I must find out more.”

Ibha stepped forward, a look of trepidation in her eyes. “How will you learn more?” she asked.

“I will seek the help of a Green Seer.”

Ibha nodded. She seemed resigned to Jadzia’s course but there was a look of sorrow in her eyes. “I will accompany you if you’ll have me. I too will seek council of the Green Seer.”

Jadzia nodded. Her course was now set.
 
It was drizzling rain as the helicopter landed in the inner courtyard at Voolts Tsytadel in the city of Bergum. Nikolas Valkiric stepped painfully out onto the landing field, assisted by Sonya. A number of the citadels guards and staffed approached. They lead Valkiric away from the helicopter while others unloaded the stone sarcophagus.

The Grand Master, Kurzon Panoika, waited at the entrance to the main citadel as they approached. He greeted the former Grand Marshal warmly.

He looked worriedly at the covering over Valkiric’s eye, but he just waved it away as if its loss was of little importance.

“I expected you to bring more of your men here to be honored,” Kurzon said cheerfully. “They just survived a coordinated vampiric assault. And where is the Fist?”

“Wojtek has stayed in Silviclas along with my men. I’m afraid most weren’t in a condition to travel.”

He nodded in understanding. “But this young lady proved herself, yes?”

“Quite. She is worthy of knighthood.”

The Grand Master than took her arm and greeted her as a brother of the order, before sending her off to fed and to rest. He then lead Valkiric into the citadel, followed by the men carrying the sarcophagus.

Kurzon dropped his cheery demeanor and now spoke to Valkiric grimly. “The paragons are displeased with your choice to keep this foul thing and not destroy it.”

“And how do you feel about it?” Valkiric asked in response.

“It was a wise decision and an opportunity we could not pass up. But you have exceeded your mandate once again.”

Valkiric lowered his eyes but said nothing. He was not going to feel guilt for his actions. He knew Kurzon understood but he suspected the Paragons would want further punishment. What would be, would be.

The trek down to the dungeons was taken in silence, only their echoing footsteps to be heard. They arrived at a room that was ready with a bed and medical equipment. Kurzon instructed the guards to prepare the vampire and then lead Valkiric into an adjoining room.

Twelve old men and women awaited, dressed in the dark purple uniforms of the Paragons. They had been sitting or lounging on drab wooden benches but they all stood as the Grand Master and Valkiric entered.

“This is a delicate matter gentleman,” Kurzon spoke. “We must be unanimous in how we proceed.”

“And you believe that she can be revived?” Spoke up a thin man, speaking with an accent that was from the far south on Iteria.

Valkiric answered his question. “She is undoubtedly in a blood coma from lack of feeding. Likely forced upon her for protection. She should revive without any complications.”

The Paragons erupted into argument, some excited at the prospect, others angry about the risk. Finally one, a dark skinned man with a scar down his face addressed Valkiric and hushed the room. “You knew her?” He asked without doubt of the answer.

“Quite well,” he said. “I grew up among the royal household as a playmate of her brother’s.”

“Did you ignore your duty as a Knight of the Dawnguard because you know her?” The question was asked firmly, but without a hint of accusation. Valkiric answered truthfully. “No. I did so because of who her father was.”

The man seemed content with that answer and turned to Kurzon. “We must interrogate her. The information she could have of the inner workings of the Crimson Shroud is worth the risk.”

There were some murmurs of discontent but most seemed to agree. Another Paragon spoke up. “Who will lead the interrogation? It should definitely be a Paragon. No one else can be trusted for this.”

Kurzon looked at Valkiric. “I think Nikolas will lead this interrogation. I think having a familiar face might throw her off balance and help us.”

Valkiric remained silent and was shocked to see so many nods of agreement from the gathered Paragons.
 
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Jadzia waited impatiently as the sun dropped towards the horizon. Behind her the Czaltori prepared to move their city out the following day. They’d be heading further south towards Inflorirval.

She’d given them permission to use a large area of royal land to set up in and they decided not to stay this close to the forests.

In the meantime Jadzia had sent two of her Hussars and a handful of Czaltori men into the forest on a special assignment. And now she worried as the day came to an end and they hadn’t returned. But a watchmen had spotted a number of riders heading their way, coming from the direction of the forest. So she’d gone out to meet them.

Soon the riders were in sight and she sighed in relief when she saw her two Hussars approaching, followed by their Czaltori escort.

She greeted them as they approached. “Were you successful?” She asked.

The lead hussar motioned a Czaltori forward and Jadzia saw a small shrub, it’s roots packed in dirt and wrapped in cloth, strapped to his saddle. “As requested, your majesty,” the Hussar responded.

Jadzia smiled and thanked them all. They had what they needed, and would be leaving in the morning as well.
 
She was sitting within a cell within a large empty space, each side a set of bars and slats made of Argent silver. The chair she sat on was plain and simple, with little cushioning. An IV drip ran into her arm, rehydrating her with blood. She still seemed pale and thin, but much of the color had returned to her and the way she looked about the room showed her senses had mostly returned.

A Dawnguard stood in each corner of the room, watching her intently. They held rifles at the ready, likely loaded with bullets coated with Argent silver. Valkiric took all this in as he stepped up to the bars. She looked up at him with no sign of recognition. He hadn’t expected any. He’d last seen her forty years ago and while she hadn’t aged, he most certainly had.

“You are Zieda Calagvic, second child of King Mirek IV of Arrandal?” he asked in a commanding to tone.

“I am,” she said dreamily. “Where am I?”

“Voots Tsytadel. In Bergum.”

“I see.” She nodded, her gaze drifting around the room again. She took stock of the guards, at least the two she could see, studied the bars, looked up at the bars over her head. Valkiric just watched her, scribbling in a notebook. He didn’t write anything of importance, pretending so that he could put her off, but he did watch her.

She returned her gaze back to him. “What year is it?” she asked.

Valkiric had expected her to ask eventually but not this quick. Still it didn’t change anything. “Two thousand nineteen,” he said.

Once again she took the answer in stride. “I see.” Her response was flat, unsurprised. “My father is dead then.” She looked directly at Valkiric’s eyes. She’d spoken it so assuredly that Valkiric involuntarily nodded a response. “He wouldn’t have let me sleep so long if he wasn’t.” She quickly glanced at the IV tube going into her arm. “The Black Duchess was never fond of me.” She looked at him again. “How did he die?”

“He died in battle. Orlan Valteren cut off his head.”

She shrunk from his words. He’d not meant to be so harsh but his distaste for vampires had snapped out anyway. She didn’t look away but he could see the hurt in her eyes.

“I know you, don’t I?” she asked. For a moment he remembered her from when they were children and his thoughts softened.

He ignored her question. “I know you’ve been asleep for a long time. Which means you can’t provide much current knowledge. But you can tell us who among your father’s court had been turned. Perhaps we can learn who might have escaped the purge.”

“I don’t know,” she said. She stared intently at his face. He shifted on his feet, pretending once again to write something in his notebook, avoiding her gaze.

“Give me the name of anyone you know who had been turned,” he said, his tone growing harsher. “The more you cooperate the easier it will be.”

She had no response. The quiet hung over the room, but then her eyes widened in recognition. “Nikolas?” she asked.

“Was Elgaz Saponariak a vampire?” he asked, pushing on. “We suspect Mirek Askavos had been turned, but he escaped the purge. Was he a vampire?”

“You look so different. And you’re eye? How did that happen, Niki?”

He slammed his notebook shut, startling her. “You will refer to me as Valkiric, or Grand Marshal!”

She hung her head, bringing her arm without the IV tube against her chest. “Have things changed so much? I was once your friend.”

This time Valkiric didn’t even bother to hide his distaste and he let out the bitterness and hatred that he didn’t even know he had. “I was your brothers friend. As was Ion Valteren. But your father butchered him. Strung him up and drained his blood, along with Duke Iancu. And he had been your father’s friend. You’re a Vampire. And you’re a traitor. Don’t you dare call me your friend!”

“Grand Marshal!” The command in the voice made him turn and face its source. Kurzon Panoika stood in the doorway to the room. His face was stony, and his gaze stern. “We must speak.”

Valkiric angrily complied, leaving the prisoner to her thoughts. The door slammed shut behind him.
 
“I’m sorry, I lost my cool in there,” Valkiric said after the door had closed.

“You did,” the Grand Master agreed.

Valkiric took a few deep breaths, calming himself. “It was hard remembering her how I knew here, but also seeing her for what she is now.”

The Grand Master faced the door into the room where she was waiting. He silently studied the doorway, thinking. He then turned back to Nikolas. “I’m sorry to have put you into that situation. An emotional outburst was inevitable under those circumstances.”

Nikolas felt a bit of shame. “Who’ll be taking over then?”

Panoika cocked his head to the side, smiling bemusedly. “She knows who you are now. That’s exactly what I’d hoped would happen. Nikolas, you may be her only friend in the world right now.”

It wasn’t a pleasant answer and Valkiric found himself irritated by it. “I’m not her friend, not anymore.”

“But you will be. You’re going to go back in there and be her friend. Even if you don’t want to.”

“It’s doubtful she’ll tell us who escaped the purge. If she even knows.”

“I highly doubt she knows the answer to that.”

Valkiric was shocked by the answer. “Then what’s the point of this whole thing then?”

Panoika put a firm hand on Valkiric’s shoulder. “Think about it? She’s a vampire but she’s been kept in a sarcophagus for half a century. It’s quite obvious that the rest of the bloodsuckers don’t trust her, or at least don’t care for her, otherwise they’d not have kept her asleep so long. So why is that?”

Valkiric didn’t have an answer. There were times where he felt exceptionally dense, and this was one of those times. The Grand Master saw the confusion in his eyes and so he answered. “She’s the daughter of Mirek the Vampire. Aside from that she has no value to them but they fought to keep her from us. Why? Because he knows...something.” Panoika let go of Valkiric and turned back to the door. “I have my suspicions. For now though we just need her to start talking. Even if that’s about the good ol’ days. So get back in there, and be her friend.”
 
Valkiric found himself standing before the vampire, the woman he’d once known, and as she looked at him he thought of Kurzon’s words and his heart softened. He turned and grabbed a chair and then took a seat facing her. The blood she was being given intravenously had returned much of her color to her face and she looked more and more how he remembered her.

He exhaled and then spoke, “I’m sorry about my outburst. These past years have been...hard.”

She stared at him intently. “What has happened since I slept?”

“War,” he answered. “Lots of war. Valteren’s rebellion was just the start. There were two more wars after that. We won the first easily, but the second...that one nearly destroyed us.”

“It was Iskaya?” She asked sympathetically.

“Yes. But she got hers in the end. We captured her and Gaelen Marishkov killed her when she tried to escape.”

“Gaelen?” She muttered. “Oh yes, Karatas’ sin. So Iskaya is dead.” She said it matter of factly. There was no remorse in her voice, and no sympathy. “She was the worst of them all.”

“Why did you choose to become one of them?”

She laughed, but it was bitter. “You should have seen Bravondy under my father. It was a city of light and culture. They called it the Nightcourt. The vampires are truly old and many of them are so wise, so experienced. It was easy enough to accept.”

“And your brother...?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.

“No,” she answered. “Valerjan was too noble for that.” Valkiric found himself grateful to know that. “You were truly his closest friend,” she continued. “The two of you, the picture of the perfect Arrandi sons. There was also that girl. What was her name?”

“Agnieshka,” he whispered.

“Yes, you and the youngest Valteren, Orlan, both chases her. What happened to her?”

“I married her. We had three children.” It felt weird to talk of his past but at the same time it also felt good. “She died a year after our third. During the second war.”

“I’m sorry.” And he heard the sincerity in her voice. He gave her a thankful smile. He felt tears welling in his eyes and had to take a few deep breaths.

She pretended not to notice. “My brother is dead isn’t he?”

Valkiric breathes deeply. “He died fighting for your father. I’m truly sorry. I...wish I’d been there.”

There was silence. She stared blankly at the floor. “I can guess what happened after. Prusas became King?”

“Yes.”

“Did my sister, did Sanja, die as well?”

“No, she survived. She married Bajoras Valteren actually. Her child...your niece, now rules.”

“What’s her name?”

“Jadzia.”

“It’s very fitting.” She looked at her hands, studying them intently. She made as if to speak a couple times, but then lost the words. Valkiric waited. He’d let her have her say when she was ready.

Finally she looked up at him. “You can’t trust Gaelen Marishkov,” she said at last. “He was Iskaya’s lover. He was part of the Nightcourt. He was part of their inner councils.”
 
There was only one word to describe Bagnomur: dreary. It was a land of swamps and bogs. The towns were small, cramped up on hills and rocky outcrops. A permanent haze seemed to drift aimlessly over the bleak, muddy ground.

Jadzia’s party had travelled north by backroads, and she’d had a chance to see the country that she’d been born to rule. But Bagnomur was a hard place to be fond of, and yet it held a beauty of its own. The city of Czenzid was their destination and it stood out against the horizon, the largest city around standing atop three massive hills and a handful of smaller ones. The road ran straight up to it along a dike and across a series of bridges.

The ancient stone walls were crumbling, and what remained standing was covered in thick moss and creeping vines. The castle though stood tall and imposing over the city still. Tor Barlok, the black tower, seat of Count Alexandru Sylvakro.

The people who populated the city were of a different stock than the Arrandi, descended from the a people called the Hagra. Jadzia could see it as the passed through the streets. They were a stocky people, with dark hair and darker eyes. Their faces were stern and weathered, but their dress was colorful and bright. They eyed the royal procession with suspicion, but also smiles and joviality.

Jadzia studied them and found herself wondering how they felt about her. About her rule. Did they care? Perhaps while she was here she could find out what their concerns were. Orlan, and even Valkiric, had always told her a king needed to know their people to effectively rule.

Soon her car rolled through the gates of the castle, and she was at her destination. They stopped in the courtyard and Jadzia was helped out of the car by a Hussar.

The count was waiting for them. He was a man in his late forties, his hair starting to gray at the temples. He was sitting in a wheelchair, a liveried servant standing behind him waiting to push the lord where he needed to go. A woman stood next to him, and it was her who drew Jadzia’s attention. She seemed a frail woman, but she stood straight and stared at the King with a bright interest. Her dress was much like the people’s of Czenzid, but her hair was done up in braids decorated with beads and feathers in the fashion of the Czaltori.

Jadzia approached them and Alexandru stood up shakily and attempted to bow. Jadzia bowed back. “Please sit Alexandru,” she said with a grand smile. “I am flattered by the gesture but your service has earned you the right to rest.”

He smiled back, and with woman’s help he sat back down.

“What can Bagnomur do for you, my king?” He asked.

“Actually, I’m in need of the ladies service.” She addressed the woman. “Lady Melaneszja, I’ve come to ask for your help.”

Melaneszja looked to her husband. He smiled warmly at her and shrugged. She turned back to Jadzia and nodded.

Jadzia smiled in return, then turned to her Hussar guard and nodded at him. She thought to herself that there was a lot of nodding going on, and she almost laughed. The Hussar turned away and waved back at the waiting cars.

Soon another Hussar came forward carrying the shrub they’d taken from the Tangledwoods. He was followed by Ibha.

As they approached Ibha walked all the way forward and held out her arms to the woman. “Hello child,” she said. Melaneszja beamed and embraced the older woman. After the younger woman looked at the plant. Her expression was filled with fear and loathing. Finally she turned to Jadzia and put on a stern face. She bowed to the king.

Alexandru spoke for her. “She knows what you ask,” he said. “And she accepts.” He then shifted in his seat. “But as her husband I must ask, where is that plant from?”

“The Tangledwoods.” Jadzia would not lie.

Alexandru scowled. “You ask a lot of her.”

Jadzia faces Melaneszja, smiling timidly. “I must know what is going on within that forest. And I can think of no other way.”

Again she looked to her husband. He sighed. “Yes. So it has to be.”
 
Jadzia found the way Count Alexandru and his wife communicated adorable. It also made her wish she had learned sign language. Melaneszja was very animated in her hand movements, gesturing wildly and putting her whole body into it. Alexandru was much calmer, more conservative with his movements and only used his hands and arms.

Jadzia wondered at their conversation as they were lead into a sitting room within the castle. The room was decorated with many plants; trees, ferns, and flowers. And while the natural light was poor quality, a number of artificial lights gave the plants the energy they needed.

“How do you know the Lady Melaneszja?” Jadzia asked Ibha as she remembered the familiar hug they’d shared.

“We are of the same clan,” the old woman answered. “And she is my sister’s child.”

The count instructed them to take a position around a table at the middle of the room. Jadzia’s Hussars places their plant on it and then backed away towards the edge of the room.

Alexandru had his own people stand close. “This plant was taken from a dark place. If the shadows prove to much for my wife, I will put a stop to this.”

Jadzia agreed. She needed information, but not at the cost of another life.

Alexandru took his wife’s hand and looked at her, his face showing worry. She squeezed his hand and then signed something to her.

He answered quietly. “I’d rather your safety than to hear your voice.” She smiled, and then releasing his hand, stepped up to the waiting plant. She put out both her hands, one clasping the stock, the other caressing a single leaf. She closed her eyes.

A hush fell over the room as everyone waited. Jadzia didn’t know what to expect. The abilities of a Green Seer were well known, but she didn’t know how they could read things from plants.

Melaneszja’s eye flew open. But they were now strange. There was no pupil, no iris. Her eyes were now a cloudy green.

“A shadow has fallen on the Tangledwoods,” she spoke, and the power within her voice made Jadzia tremble. “A shadow deeper than the vampire’s. She has returned.”

“Who?” A voice asked, and Jadzia was surprised when she realized it was her own. She dreaded that she already knew.

“Basilikos.” One word, but it confirmed the news she’d already heard. “The enemy of the world. The last survivor of Prim; the first world that was. A bargain was struck when you captured Iskaya Bathory. The vampires have pledged themselves to her cause.”

The room seemed to spin and the light from the lamps had dimmed. Melaneszja was speaking of something ancient and evil.

“What is she doing with the children that have been taken from the Czaltori?” Jadzia asked.

“Luprazvat. An army of feral lycans. She is building an army.”

Jadzia’s heart sank as the implications hit her. Another war was coming, and this time it was with a being that was, according to legend, older than Eras. And she was making an army, one worse than vampires and their human supporters. Could Arrandal survive? Could the world?

“That’s all we need,” Jadzia said, motioning to Alexandru to have his wife stop.

But then she laughed, and the laugh was twisted and broken, and it sounded evil. And then Melaneszja looked at Jadzia and her eyes were no longer cloudy or green, but were now violet and black. And she spoke, and her voice seemed to echo as of from somewhere deep down or from far away. “So you are the little child playing at being a king?” she spoke. “You would stand against me?” And again she laughed. Jadzia was frozen in place, but Alexandru was not. Using what strength he had he lunged from his chair and knocked the plant away from his wife. As her hands came away, no longer touching, her eyes returned to her normal self. Horror and disgust filled her eyes and she opened her mouth in a silent scream.

Ibha came forward and embraced her, whispering soothing words. Alexandru had fallen to the floor and his limbs were jerking about, his eyes had rolled up under his lids, and he frothed at the mouth.

“Stand back,” cried one of Alexandru’s people. “He’s having a fit.” And he rushed forward and attended to their lord.

A Hussar came and pulled Jadziaback from the commotion. She looked to the man as he escorted her away. He must have seen the look of confusion in the kings eyes for he simply explained, “epilepsy.”



Later Jadzia found Count Alexandru laying on a couch, his head propped up by a stack of pillows. He looked weak and frankly, quite shook up. His wife had been put to bed, but he had requested to see the king.

“How are you?” Jadzia asked as she approached.

“Better, your majesty,” he answered. She sat on the edge of the couch and patted his hand in what she hoped was a comforting manner. “The things my wife spoke of have disturbed me greatly. Of this ancient one, and children being turned into feral werewolves. And that at the end, that took control of my wife, that was her wasn’t it?”

Jadzia couldn’t find the words to answer so she only nodded.

He stared at her intently, almost measuring her up. “I thought the time of conflict had ended. I thought I could spend the rest of my days in peace. But there is another war coming.”

“Yes,” She said, forcing the single word out.

He laid back on the pillows and closed his eyes. “I will do what I can. But I’m afraid I’m not ever gonna be ready.”

Jadzia felt the irony of it. She was never gonna be ready either.
 
Epilogue

The echo of boots on the red stone floors echoed down the empty halls of the Palat Roz. Valkiric, flanked by Wojtek, marched purposely towards the King’s study. He now wore a black patch over his missing eye, his uniform pressed and polished.

Outside the doors another man waited, also dressed in the uniform of the Azure Dawn. He stood at attention as Valkiric approached.

“Mikaelos!” Wojtek called happily. “You’re still lingering around these parts?”

The other man smiled warmly. “Someone has to be following orders, instead of glory hunting.”

They both embraced in a quick hug. Wojtek pounded Mikaelos firmly on the back. Nikolas remained aloof from the familiar address, but inwardly allowed himself to feel joy at the two men’s camaraderie.

Mikaelos however didn’t ignore the older man. “Father,” he said. Then he say the rank insignia on Nikolas’ collar. “Grand Marshal,” he corrected himself. “You have been reinstated?”

“I have,” he answered perfunctorily, but he returned his son’s grin. “And I have some other good news as well.” He took out a sealed letter and passed it to Mikaelos.

He took the letter, broke the seal, and read the orders that had been written by Kurzon Panoika himself. He looked up, shocked and delighted. “I’ve been promoted to Marshal of the Bravondy Parish.”

“Well done,” cried Wojtek.

“Congratulations,” said Nikolas.

Mikaelos once again stood at attention and then held his fist over his heart in salute. Nikolas returned to the salute. “Report to the Citadel and I shall give you my orders upon my return.”

Mikaelos saluted again, shook Wojtek’s hand, and then left.

They waited only a few minutes before the King summoned the Grand Marshal. Wojtek remained inside as Nikolas entered Jadzia’s office.

It was strange. He’d used this same room to command Arrandal for a few years, and it was mostly the same as when he’d left. Except for new, more colorful curtains, and a number of potted flowers around the room.

Jadzia was sitting at her desk, and she handed a packet of papers to a waiting Hussar, who bowed and left.

“That desk suits you, your highness,” he said warmly.

She looked up and smiled her warm smile. “Nikolas,” she cried out at the sight of him. She rushed forward and hugged him tightly. He laughed and gave her a firm squeeze.

She looked up at his face and saw his eyepatch. She looked worried. “What happened?” she asked, reaching up and touching his face next to his missing eye.

“Another sacrifice for the cause,” he said dryly. But he then softened his tone and added, “I’m quite alright.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push the subject. She motioned for him to sit, and then took a seat herself as he lowered himself into a chair.

“I’m so happy you’re back,” she beamed.

“I have served my penance and the Grand Master has seen fit to restore my position.”

“That’s good.”

Nikolas accepted her compliment. But he wasn’t here for idle talk. He shifted in his chair. “I heard you’ve been busy. The Czaltori have recognized you as their sovereign?”

She smiled sheepishly. “I had nothing to do with that. They needed my help.” She then told him all that had happened over the past few days from her trip to Caenin, the card reading, and finally her journey to Czenzid and what Melaneszja had seen.

He listened intently, shocked at the information she’d uncovered. He almost scolded her for putting herself in danger at Czenzid, but realized he was no longer her protector. All he said was “This explains much.”

He then told her of his mission into the Tangledwoods and of his battle with the vampires and the Luprazvat, now knowing why the fought alongside each other. He left out the reason why they’d been fighting, Jadzia’s aunt, as he was under orders to not yet reveal that information.

“We can’t allow people to know of this yet,” Spoke Jadzia as he finished. “People would lash out at innocent lycans out of fear.”

Nikolas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There was one other thing I learned while I was away.” He then told her of Gaelen Marishkov and his familiarity with the vampires of Mirek’s court, and his involvement with Iskaya Bathory.

Jadzia didn’t say anything at first. She met Nikolas’ gaze and he felt like she was measuring him up. He wondered where she’d gained so much personal strength. Or had she had it all along and he’d never noticed it before?

Finally she spoke. “I know all about that.”

He was shocked to hear it. “How?”

“Gaelen told me. Just before Szepsfel while we waited for the battle.” She cocked her head to the side. “Gaelen is loyal. He pulled me from the wreckage of this very palace and hid me from the vampires. If he was a traitor, I would not be alive.”

Nikolas felt ashamed. He’d certainly had those thoughts and her words had made him realize it was because he’d never liked the werewolf. But she was right.

“We have to trust each other,” she said. “We can’t doubt one another. We have a bigger enemy now.”

Nikolas sat up straight. He’d need to inform the Grand Master and the Paragons. The enemy of the world had returned. “We will be ready,” he promised. “We will destroy this evil.”



Paradise (What about us?) by Within Temptation
 
An older woman made her way through the halls of Tolstaf Manor with food on a golden platter in hand. Alexander for some odd reason had all of the silver put into storage into the attic preferring to use gold or bronze silverware but his command was their orders. The old Keizer had not been seen or heard from throughout all of the day and as night settled, Alexander’s personal maid saw to it herself to make sure the now elderly duke was fed and taken care of for the day. She admired the portraits as she walked by looking at the marble statues and paintings that were newly put up of the Severyn Family dating back from the time of Lambert up until now with a graphite bust of Helmer beside of Alexander’s room.


The maid opened the door into the room, letting well needed light into it that had not been seen for some time. She waited for an invitation to continue into the room but it was as silent as a nunnery during quiet hour. Seeing as there was no reply she assumed the Emperor was sleeping and slowly made her way into his study.


She peaked in one more time calling the Emperor’s name and once more with no response so she took it up herself to entree the room. The door barely creaked open leaving just enough light for her to see where she was going however the fireplace was lit too with a low and hissing flame that she could tell had been there for a while providing more ample light.


The Old Maid looked around the room as she moved through it slowly for the emperor while she had a feeling in the room. Something felt off, as if something colder had emerged into the air. She continued going through the room looking at the decorations on the wall seeing pictures from Alexander’s time with Helmer and other foreign leaders and paintings of his friends and family with a painting of his father hanging over his old organ. She also happened to see a mighty deer hanging over the fireplace with a rifle underneath it adorned in gold and a Malorian Mountain Lion’s pelt by it as well for the Emperor to rest his feet from his red leather chair.


She creeped upon the chair with the fireplace’s cracking and hissing growing ever louder and more intense with the fire shifting and moving due to the burning logs. Slowly she made her way closer sitting the golden tray onto the small table beside of the chair. Looking around once more she stared at the fire before turning around.


The woman than screamed in horror as she saw the Emperor standing behind her. Her scream soon turned into laughter as the Emperor’s solid pale face turned into a smile with her. Still she could not feel as if something was wrong with him. He was far paler than usual and his black attire camouflaged him almost perfectly into the darkness of the room.


“You scared me your Imperial and Royal Highness” the Maid said still recovering from the shock.


“It was a sick joke on my part” Alexander said as he walked past her almost in a way with just his walking he felt superior to her in every way. “I’m sorry for that, I took a nap earlier and I must’ve slept too long” he said putting a hand on her shoulder sitting in his chair.


“It’s alright Your Highness” she said with a warming glow. “Would you like for me to turn the lights on?”


“No but thank you” Alexander said taking his food from his table and taking a drink of his drink in it’s glass goblet with golden lions on the side.


“Your wish is my command Your Highness” she said as she bowed and preceded to leave the room. The door shutting to the room and leaving Alexander back into his darkness. Leaving him with just his fire and the night as company.
 
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