I Bring the Storm III

[Esplandia]

(OOC; Part 1 https://forum.thenorthpacific.org/topic/9078440/)
(OOC: Part 2 https://forum.thenorthpacific.org/topic/9170320/)

---

“I’m so honored to have you in my home, your majesty.” The woman greeted Jadzia with open arms.

“Nastazja,” Jadzia cried excitedly and rushed over to give her a hug. But she immediately backed up embarrassed when she remembered the belly. “I’m so sorry.” She apologized.

The Lady Nastazja dismissed her apology. “I’m only pregnant, give me a hug.”

Jadzia complied. She then noticed Gaelen looking at her, a rare smile on his face as the King hugged his wife. “I’m also happy to see you,” he said. Jadzia responded by hugging him too.

“I’ve missed you,” she told him.

“Someone must guard the west. I wish I could spend more time in Bravondy, but I have duties here in Stejarzid.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But I still miss you.” She then turned back to Gaelen’s wife. “And How is little Gaelen?”

Nastazja rubbed her belly. “The doctors say he is healthy. And he’s quite a kicker.”

Jadzia had never been to the capital of Granzludgrad. It had been to dangerous to cross the mountains during the war. But the west had escaped most of the devastation from the Rebellions, so her focus had always been on the east, and the Halkensfels. The castle overlooked a picturesque city, one untouched by time and conflict.

Gaelen led the King to the dining hall where a hearty meal was set out. Jadzia talked and her hosts were gracious. It was nice to forget for a time about the issues still facing a rebuilding nation.

After dinner Gaelen excused himself. “I have something for you,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Jadzia was happy enough to speak to the duchess alone. “How is he actually doing?” She asked.

Nastazja looked forlornly at the door Gaelen had left through. “He’s worried about the child,” she answered. “As far as we know there’s never been another child like this.”

“Do you think it will be a werewolf?”

Nastazja looked down at her belly, placing her hands around it. “I don’t know. The doctors couldn’t find any presence of the disease when the took their tests. But we don’t really know.”

Jadzia put a comforting hand on the other woman’s hand. All she could do was try to smile disarmingly, but truthfully she doubted she’d be able to help much. This was an unexplored path.

Gaelen returned carrying an object wrapped up in a red cloth. He smiled again (something that always startled Jadzia when he did it) upon seeing the two women holding hands. “Did I interrupt?” He asked.

Jadzia assured him he hadn’t. Her eyes were now fixed on what he was carrying. She knew it was important by the way he held it, gently and carefully, as if it would break. He set it down on the table in front of her and it made a heavy clunk as he did, despite being wrapped up.

“What is it?”

Gaelen looked at her eagerly. “Open it up and see.”

She carefully unwrapped the object, holding back excitement. She lifted the cloth, opening it like a present, at last revealing what was inside. She felt kind of disappointed to see what it was: an old sword hilt, dulled by age and use, the blade long ago having rusted away. Three runes (she couldn’t recognize them) were engraved into the cross guard. Otherwise it was very plain looking, and unremarkable. She knew if Gaelen was giving it to her it was important but she just couldn’t see why.

He must have read her thoughts because he began explaining what it was. “The hilt is made of argent silver,” he said. “Not very pure, but forged well enough to prevent rust. It was made around the year 1100. The three runes are similar to ones used by the Hagra peoples.” He pointed to each in turn. “This one means rain, this one is wind, and the last is lightning.”

She still didn’t understand, but Gaelen had said the meaning of each rune in a whisper, awe in his voice. “But what does it mean?” she asked.

“I can’t be completely certain, but I believe this might be the hilt of Stzurmwezlac, the real one, the sword of Aureljus the Stormbringer.

 

[Esplandia]

The Arranfels
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Aureljus was summoned to his father’s tent. He went with trepidation. He knew his father was dying. So with heavy steps he made his way across the war camp and entering his father’s tent he knelt next to his bed.

The older man stirred and looked at his son. Aureljus could not believe how weak he looked. His father, the most terrifying of the Arrand lords, the descendant of Bajoras Ironhand, looked frail and timid as death approached.

“I have ordered the execution of your brother,” his father rasped. “Should he try to return.”

“You didn’t have to.” Aureljus took his father’s hand in his, feeling how cold and clammy it was. “He knows not what he’s done.”

Karatas, mightiest prince of the Arranfels, coughed up a clot of green phlegm. A servant wiped it away. “He lost two thousand men and then bartered his life in exchange for his betrayal.”

Aureljus could not think of any words of argument. His father was right. The Arrandi did not forgive betrayal, especially when they were betrayed to the hated Argents. Yet he still loved his brother and did not wish to harm him.

“Dalieja is coming for me,” his father continued. “Soon death will take me and I shall look upon the faces of my forebears. But there are matters in this life to attend to yet.” He was racked by coughing again. Aureljus waited until his father was able to speak again. Karatas continued, his voice weaker than before. “The Argents will send their legions against us. You must take the army north into the Vlakonval. They will not pursue.”

“I promised to crush their army,” Aureljus protested.

“And so you shall,” his father agreed. “But not this day. Head north, into the highlands, and bide your time.” He coughed again and this time their was blood with the phlegm. “But beware, there is an ancient evil in those mountains, guarded by the Vrykozlak.” He closed his eyes, his breathing labored. He spoke only once more. “We are surrounded by enemies. But we are Arrandi and we will not go into the dust without fighting.” And then he closed his eyes, asleep.

Aureljus left the tent, his heart heavy. He thought of his father’s advice and realized it was sage wisdom. He would flee north, and the Argents would retake the midlands. But they would survive and one day he would return to retake what was there’s.

He thought of his brother, Sergonis, now leading their enemies to find them. He knew he would see his brother, likely on the field of battle. One day.

His father passed that night and Aureljus found himself now commanding what was left of the Arrand armies. Despite the protests of his lieutenants, he ordered his army north and escaped into the Vlakonval ahead of the Argent legions.

 

[Esplandia]

Inflorirval
2019

“Let the Vulki tell you your fortune,” the barker said, noticing the disheveled man standing on the edge of the street. “She can see into the beyond and glimpse the infinite secrets. Would you like to know who you’ll fall in love with? Perhaps how you’ll die? For thirty Draak any question may be answered.”

“For thirty Draak I could have two hot meals maybe three.”

The barker’s laugh dismissed the disheveled man’s concerns. “What’s a meal or two when you could know the secrets to investment. Vulki Surjanni could tell you that.”

The man didn’t look convinced, and his bright blue eyes looked past the fortune tellers wagon, as if it wasn’t there. The barker decided that he was wasting his time. He saw a young couple, holding tightly to each other, passing up the roadway and had decided to try and entice them in when the disheveled man spoke again. “I’ll do it.”

The barker put his smile back on. “Very good,” he said. “But I must insist you pay first.”

There was something off about the man’s knowing smile. “Of course,” he said, pulling the bills out of his pocket.

The barker took the money. “And your cloak as well,” he apologized. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

The disheveled man looked up at the sky and the gathering storm clouds, taking a moment to think. He took the cloak off and the barker hung it from a hook next to the wagon’s door.

The barker knocked on the door and called out in a theatrical voice, “one who seeks answers of the universe wishes council.”

“Let them in,” came the reply.

The barker stepped aside and pulled the door open. The man stepped into the dimly lit interior. He peered into the darkness but could make nothing out. A match was struck, and then a candle was lit. The wagon was packed with cub boards and drawers, decorated with curtains, obscure much of what there was to be seen. The Vulki, a fat woman, sat upon a pile of pillows. She smiled at him as he closed the door.

“What fortune do you seek?” She asked.

The man continued his look around, his eyes stopping on a great oak cabinet, before settling on the Vulki.

He sat down on the floor, pushing pillows away. “I’ve recently returned to Arrandal,” he said, his tone flat. “I want to know if my endeavor here succeeds.”

“And What is this endeavor?”

“To take back what is mine.”

“And what is that?”

“That’s unimportant.”

“The more details you give me the clearer an answer I can provide.”

“I’ll accept your unclear answer than.”

She frowned, but he didn’t seem like he’d change his answer. “Very well,” she said. She reached behind one of the many curtains and retrieved a glass ball, placing it on the floor in front of them.

“No,” the disheveled man said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I want the cards.”

She looked around nervously. “I prefer the glass.”

“Please,” he said. “I’d prefer the cards.”

She complied, putting the ball back and bringing out a tarot deck. She shuffled it, and as she shuffled she muttered an incantation, or a blessing for the cards.

She placed the deck face down. Looking into the man’s eyes she spoke again the question he had asked. “Will this man’s endeavor to Arrandal succeed?” And she drew the top card.

Death.

She knew that death would be the top card. It had come up in all her card readings recently, thus why she’d moved on the the glass.

“Do not fear the death card,” she spoke. “Here alone it means only a new...”

The man moved, and his speed was uncanny. His arm shot out and slashed at her neck. She blinked and then a second later felt a sharp pain at her throat. She grabbed with her hands and felt the warm blood on her hands. He was upon her, prying her hand away, drinking at the blood.

She didn’t struggle, and died quickly. The disheveled man, a vampire, drank hungrily, satisfying himself. Once finished he stood up, returning his attention to the oak cabinet.

“You grew fat,” he said quietly, addressing the dead woman. “And you forgot my face.” He then leaned down next to her again, patting her down and checking her pockets. Finally he came up with a ring of keys.

He studied the keys carefully, running them silently through his fingers. At last he decided on one and put it into the lock on the oak cabinet. It turned and he opened it.

Inside there were books and papers, a few hats and discarded gloves. Other assorted articles of clothing hung in a mess from hangers. He pushed them aside, finding a metal box at the bottom. He pulled it out. Again he went through the keys, deciding on one, and unlocking the box on the first guess.

He pulled out a small book, bound in old cracked leather. He smiled, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth. He put the book inside his pocket.

There was only one other thing inside the box. A knife. The blade had a glossy, milky sheen. He balanced it in his hand and was amused to see his skin blacken.

“Argent Silver?” He asked the corpse. “Didn’t help much.” He grabbed up a scarf from inside the cabinet and wiped the blood from his lips.

He stuck the knife through his belt at his back. Satisfied he blew out the candle and stepped to the door and exited. The barker had taken a seat on a bucket next to the door. He stood up as the man exited.

“Were your questions answered?” he asked.

“It was illuminating.”

The barker must have been suspicious, because he was looking at the dark interior, and he moved to step past the man. Instead he found himself with a knife stuck deep into his side, and a hand across his mouth.

As the barker slipped to the ground thunder rumbled and the rain began to fall. The disheveled man lowered the dying barker to the ground, propping him up against the wagon’s wheel. He removed the knife and quickly slit the barker’s throat.

Rain was pouring now, and anyone who might have been out to witness the murder had dashed to cover. The man stood up, grabbing down his cloak from the hook by the door. He wrapped it around himself. He wiped the knife on the barkers clothes and then put it inside a pocket of his cloak. Pulling the hood up he walked out into the street and disappeared into the rain.

---

Vampire Smile by Kyla La Grange

 

[Esplandia]

The Halkenfels
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They were being followed. Aureljus peaked back over his shoulder but could see nothing. It was only a feeling, but he’d learned that his feelings were rarely wrong.

Mountains towered over them, five men making their way up a narrow wooded valley, the sun setting behind them casting long shadows ahead. Too many shadows to hide in.

He gripped tighter on the reigns, wishing the terrain would allow him to go faster.

One of his men rode up next to him, looking over his own shoulder nervously. “I think something’s back there,” he said.

Aureljus pushed down the desire to look back again. “I think you’re right, Klukis.” His horse picked its way across broken rocks, the trail becoming more dangerous. He felt the steed stumble, something which was becoming more common the higher they went. “I think we’ll have to abandon the horses soon.”

Klukis looked forlorn at that. “We’ll be moving too slow.” He looked behind him again.

“We’re already moving too slow.” Aureljus brought his horse to a stop, turning to face the rest of his men. They all looked haggard and nervous. “You’re all aware there’s something back there.” None of them replied. It didn’t need to be said, it was on all their faces.

He stared for a moment at the fading light, the last rays of the sun disappearing behind a far off ridgeline. He steeled his nerves and made a decision. “We leave the horses here,” he said and dismounted.

He heard grumbling but his four men complied. They moved quickly and hobbled their horses.

“Alvys,” he called and a stout man twice Aureljus’ age stepped forward.

“Yes, my prince.”

Aureljus passed him a crossbow and a quiver. “You’ll lead the way. Be wary for wolves and mountain cats.”

“What of the horses?” Another of his men asked. “Someone must watch them.”

“Do you volunteer, Bruso?” Aureljus asked jovially. “To be here to defend our steeds when whatever follows catches up?” Bruso looked both afraid and ashamed of his fear, so Aureljus decided not to tease him further. “Better we leave them then sacrifice ourselves.”

The last of his men stepped forward, his saddle bag slung over his shoulder. “Tell me we don’t go to our deaths in the high fels and I’ll follow you to the gates of the underworld.”

Aureljus gripped the man’s shoulders and smiled. “Brzyn, our goal is atop these mountains. We will not fail.”

Brzyn nodded, reassured. He buckled his sword on, as did the rest. Alvys headed out first, moving quickly up the trail. The rest grabbed what bags they could carry and followed.

Aureljus lingered for a second, thinking he saw something moving aways off down the valley. But it could have been a trick of the eye. He then looked at the looming mountains ahead and prayed to the gods that what he sought was here.

---

They’d been climbing for an hour, the gloom of night settling in around them, when Bruso called out, “Listen!”

They all stopped and immediately heard it. Horses screaming in terror. It carried up the valley, wailing screeches that one by one went silent. “We should have set them loose,” Bruso whimpered.

Aureljus listened to the gathering silence. “It’s an hour behind us. That’s good to know.”

“You hobbled the horses on purpose?” Brzyn asked, his voice shaky.

Aureljus didn’t answer, instead turning around and continuing his climb.

---

The trail had turned into a thin walkway along a steep mountainside. One wrong step and they’d tumble to their deaths below. A thin quarter moon gave some light, but it also distorted objects and hid loose rocks on their path. But Aureljus’ determination had been renewed. Standing starkly atop a bastion of crumbling stone stood a mound, too perfectly shaped to be natural. He was sure it was what he was searching for, an ancient cairn placed here by the ones who’d come before.

So he pushed his men, not too hard least they fall, but hard enough that they’d make better time. Because the thing that was following them could now be seen. A black shape creeping along the same thin path they’d already traversed.

He couldn’t see what it was, the poor moonlight distorting the shape of it. Was it human? Or something else?

There are dark and ancient things in the highlands, he reminded himself.

They pressed on, Alvys in the lead, then Brzyn followed by Klukis, with Aureljus next and Bruso taking up the rear. Each of them had seen the shape coming up behind them and remembered the screams of the horses. And so they pushed themselves faster.

The trail now turned and began to climb up along the ridge. The cairn now stood out against the starry sky directly ahead.

But the trail was most dangerous here, passing over cracked and loose stones. Their footing was not so sure, and they found themselves at times crawling ahead on all fours so they could get purchase.

Bruso then cried out. “Vajkrina, save us!”

Behind them, displayed against the quarter moon stood a shadow. Aureljus did not hesitate, he began rushing ahead. “Fly!” He cried, scrambling across the broken rocks. “Before it catches us.”

He heard them start to follow. He didn’t dare to look back, knowing if he did it would cost him time. Ahead loomed the cairn, and with all the speed he could muster he closed the distance, throwing himself over the last ridge of rocks. He came to rest at the base of the cairn and right behind him was Alvys and Klukis. They all stood, inhaling deeply to catch their breath, and drew their swords. Alvys readied his crossbow.

They could hear the last two coming quickly behind, almost there. “Please make it,” Aureljus whispered.

A loud scream broke the night, echoing into the dark valleys below. It rose up, a wail if pure horror and pain. And then Brzyn came over the rock face, tumbling next to them.

“Bruso?” asked Alvys.

“No!” Aureljus answered.

Brzyn dropped the saddle bags, the ones he’d carried up the mountain and drew his sword as well. “Come and get us you shade!” He screamed at the darkness below them.

They all stood ready, waiting. But there was nothing. It did not come. They could hear only the breeze rattling across the empty stones.

Aureljus looked around. “It’ll try to come behind us. Let’s move.”

He took a step and then a voice rose out of the darkness, as if coming from every direction at once. The voice was cold and raspy, as if it was being spoken by the wind.

“Why do you come here, Arrand Princes?” It asked. “What do you hope to find in this lonely place?”

“Come out and face us,” Brzyn cried.

But Aureljus was calmer. His heart raced in his chest like it would explode but he found himself feeling only elation. He had made it, and he would not be stopped. “I’ve come looking for victory.”

The shade spoke again. “You’ll find only despair here.”

Aureljus stepped forward, facing into the dark. “And you’ll find only steel. Come forward and taste it.”

And then it came, leaping out of the darkness. A twisted and foul figure, it sticks its claws into Brzyn’s back and buried its teeth into his neck, ripping away flesh and tendon. Brzyn’s wails turned to gurgles as he bled out.

Alvys fires his crossbow and the bolt stuck into the things shoulder. It then let go of Brzyn and leapt again, strait at Alvys who was reloading. But Klukis and Aureljus stepped in, striking the thing with their blades. Klukis cut off its arm, while Aureljus struck low, driving the blade into and through its chest.

As the thing hit the ground, Aureljus was already upon it. He drove his blade through where he hoped its heart was while Klukis chopped off its head.

“Was that a vampire?” Asked Alvys after he’d finished winding up the crossbow. He kept it trained on the headless thing on the ground.

“It looks like it,” Aureljus said.

“I thought they were just tales,” Klukis said, his sword shaking in his hand.

“Apparently not.” Aureljus looked around, seeing the body of one of his men, then looking down at the thing at his feet. “We need to burn it. And quickly.”

 

[Esplandia]

Bravondy, Present Day

“Blessed unto Christ for he watches over the faithful,” droned on the old priest, consecrating the newly restored Sepulcher of Anastazias. Jadzia sat half listening, a whimsical smile on her face. She was thinking of the hilt which Gaelen had said could very well be the hilt of Aureljus’ mythical sword. It was away with an expert who would hopefully be able to clarify.

“...and he has provided unto us houses of worship...”

She’d asked Gaelen where he had acquired it, but the ever terse man had simply answered that it had been purchased from a trader. Jadzia suspected there was a deeper story behind it, but knew she’d get no answer from him no matter how much she pried.

“...and defend the faithful with a fiery sword of righteousness...”

She could have commanded him to answer, she was his king after all. But she felt like doing so would be dishonorable to herself. So she’d have to imagine what adventures he’d gone on to get the hilt. Perhaps he’d even had to fight a vampire for it, wresting it from one of their supposed hordes deep in the Tangledwoods.

“...blessings upon us. Amen. Now her majesty, the King of Arrandal.”

Jadzia shook herself out of her thoughts. It was time to perform her duties. She stood up, and stepped to the podium. A large crowd had gathered for this event and they all cheered her. She beamed her brightest smile, happy to see her people happy.

“It has been a long road here,” she spoke as the cheers died down. “For many of us all we’ve known is hardship. Our land and home, scarred by war. There are those among us who do not remember the beauty of this city as it was. I am one of you.”

More cheers erupted at that statement. But she continued. “The Sepulcher has been a symbol of Arrandi perseverance, our faith in god. And today, once again, it stands as a reminder to all: We Endure!”

She spoke on at length, touching upon the state of Arrandal and the brotherhood between them and the members of the Bergum Pact. And when she finished she was first through the doors into the Sepulcher. A handful of lords and special guest were allowed in with her enterouge, and the common citizen would be allowed to enter later. But for now the place was quiet aside from the conversations of those around her.

She remembered her coronation, what seemed like a lifetime ago, and all the hope they’d had for the future. It had nearly crumbled a number of times since then, but now at last, this place looked as it did before the war.

Youths, dressed in the brown robes of church sparrows, flitted about, placing candles and hymnals in preparation for the crowds that would soon come. Jadzia stepped away from the group, lighting a candle for her father and another for her mother.

A sparrow came up to her, a plain young girl with dark hair and brown eyes. She was carrying a bucket of water and a towel. “Can I wash your feet, your majesty?” She asked with nervous enthusiasm.

Jadzia felt a bit embarrassed, but realized this girl was only trying to be like Christ who had done the same for his disciples. “Yes, of course.” She took a seat on a nearby pew and kicked off her shoes.

The girl dipped the towel into the water and carefully began to wash Jadzia’s feet. Jadzia couldn’t help but feel awkward, but she refrained from looking to see if others were watching. She was a king and she would not be judged by them.

“What is your name?” She asked the girl.

“Alexiana,” she answered, not looking up, keeping her focus on the feet.

“How long have you been a sparrow?”

“A long time. Since my parents were killed.”

“In the war?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry,” Jadzia tried to to sound comforting. “I lost my parents too.”

“I know.”

“Do you like doing this work?”

This time the girl did look up, and there was a sad reproach in her eyes. “I serve god, and he provides for me.”

Jadzia didn’t know how to respond and so she lapsed back into silence. The girl finished up, and with a second towel dried her feet. She bowed respectfully, thanked the king, and then hastily left to get fresh water and towels.

Jadzia stood up after replacing her shoes. She saw a few of the others getting their feet washed and she felt guilty at having worried for a moment that she was being judged. She had to keep reminding herself that it was her who would set the example.

She approached the priest, who had done the opening prayer.

“Ah, your highness,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Tell me about the sparrows.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Who are they?”

“Truthfully. Most of them are nobody. Urchins. War orphans. Children abandoned because their parents couldn’t feed them. The church recruits them to service the many churches and temples across the realm.”

“Why would they want to serve?”

“The church provides food and shelter, and above all, education and security. Which they would get nowhere else.”

Jadzia watched the youths move about, executing their duties, and she felt immensely sad. How the world often seemed so cruel. “If I had not been born to lead, I would likely have been like them, choosing to serve the church for a chance at a better life.”

The priest smiled, a warm and comforting smile. “That is something I wish more leaders would remember. We are not all born to greatness, but we all deserve a chance at life.”

Jadzia nodded to him, thanked him for his words, and then stepped away. She had so much to think on.

---

We All Bleed - Roenin

 

[Esplandia]

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They buried their fallen companions as best they could in the rocky terrain. The vampire they just burned, and then scattered the ashes to the winds and the god’s judgement. But Aureljus knew that another trial still lay ahead, one that would likely be far deadlier than the one they’d just passed.

The cairn stood stoically against the stormy skies of the Kranzean peaks, a dome of rough stone piled high by a people now long gone, lost to the shadow of times passing. But it was what lay beneath, entombed, that drew the Arrand Prince’s attention. A dark power, ancient, imprisoned.

The entrance to the cairn faced northward towards the peaks still above them, a large cover stone placed in front. Nine runes were carved across its front. They did not draw Aureljus’ attention, but his companions were both interested by them.

“I’ve never seen any like them,” Alvys said, tracing their strange design.

Klukis made an affirmative grunt. “Aye, there not Arrandi or Hagra. And they’re certainly not Nordic.”

“You know runes?” Alvys asked, interested.

“My mother was a green seer, she taught me. She knew the runes and markings of every ancient tongue. I wasn’t a good student, but some I do remember.”

“And you don’t remember these?”

“No, these i was never taught.”

Aureljus stepped forward. “Because they’re Elvish.”

Alvys withdrew his hand in disgust, wiping them on his trousers. Klukis took an involuntary step back. “Another myth come to life,” he spat. “Gods watch over us.”

“So Elves are real as well?” Alvys asked, looking around the mountainside as if the very earth would spew forth all the evils of myth and lore.

Aureljus shrugged. “Mayhaps,” he said. “But the creatures we tell of that once roamed the forest were likely no more than myth and fancy, confused over time with the Aed Kaene. Nay, this script though is elvish in the ancient meaning. Ethereal and Primordial. Not a language but a marker.”

Klukis stepped forward, asking in a hushed tone, “How do you know this?”

Aureljus did not answer. “We must break this stone,” he said.

Alvys and Klukis both studied the coverstone, but it was a solid block of rock. It would not be rolled or pushed.

“We’ll not be unable to move it,” Alvys said.

“Which is why I said we must break it.” Aureljus stepped away from the stone and strode a ways up the mountain. He stopped, studying the rocky ledges above. “And if not the coverstone, then we shall break the cairn open like an egg.”

He called his remaining two companions to him, and they climbed up to where he was.

“There, you see,” he said, pointing at a great boulder up the hill. “That we can push, and it will break our way in.”

 

[Esplandia]

Castle Aszenhal, Present Day

The halls of Aszenhal felt cold and empty. For Katja they always felt that way which is why she avoided coming back as much as she could, but today the emptiness felt oppressive. Her father’s ghost still haunted the halls. The staff felt it and many preferred to live across the bridge in the old guardhouse than to stay in the castle.

She’d gotten rid of much of her father’s old staff, and she’d hoped new faces wouldn’t feel the same trepidation of the place, but that had not proven to be the case. She too had chosen to keep her childhood room instead of moving into the master bedroom.

For a moment she wished she hadn’t dismissed the staff for the night, maybe having another person here would alleviate the emptiness. Yet she would have felt guilty for forcing someone to stay. And besides, she was capable of taking care of herself.

So she’d gone to the kitchen, got the stove going, and started making herself a late dinner. Cooking had been something she’d enjoyed once. After she’d been sent away following her mother’s death. In another life she might even have cooked for a family that she knew she’d never have.

She dumped some pasta into a pot of water, and fished a jar of sauce out of the walk-in refrigerator. Her chef would have made it from scratch, but she had lived as a commoner for a time and appreciated the simplicity of convenience.

She got the sauce going, adding some anchovy paste and olives to bulk it up, and then salted the pasta once it was boiling. She hummed as she moved about the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad on the side, forgetting for a second the ghosts of the past.

“What a wonderful tune,” a cold voice said, startling her. She looked up seeing a rough and tumble man standing in the entryway to the kitchens. He had a scraggly growth of beard and his hair was long and unkempt. His smile showed too much teeth and his eyes shone with anything but warmth. “Do you think the King cooks for herself?” he asked. “Not very fitting of the nobility, I’d say.”

She knew who he was. The voice and the cold eyes. Even looking like a weathered vagrant he couldn’t hide the evil and cunning that she’d once known him for.

“Varic?” She asked, in shock and confusion.

His smile was genuine this time, pleased she’d recognized him. “That’s Duke Vlakonval to you.”

“No it isn’t. Not anymore.”

His smile turned unpleasant. “It will be again,” he stated flatly. “I was sad to hear of your father’s death. I considered him a friend.”

She realized she was tightly gripping the knife she’d been chopping vegetables with and placed it down on the counter. Close enough she could still grab it. “Why have you returned?”

“You’re rigatoni is going to boil over.” She turned and reduced the heat, keeping him in the corner of her vision just in case he tried to move. “Last time I saw you, you were what, nine years old?” he asked ,avoiding her question.

“Eleven,” She stated tersely. “Is the Shroud aware you’re back?”

He laughed, a derisive mocking laugh. “They have no clue. But they will soon.” He reached inside his dirty ragged coat and produced a book which he then tossed on the counter in front of her. She didn’t look at it, knowing what it likely was.

“So you’ve come for my father’s work?”

“I’ve merely come for what’s mine.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Your father’s obsession is just a means to an end.”

“He didn’t leave it here,” she assured him. “I’d have destroyed it if he did.”

“I see why he sent you away. You’re fearless!” He stepped into the kitchen, sniffing at the sauce bubbling on the stove. “That smells good. I figured he would want to hide it after your mother. No, I already know where his work is. But he wrote it with a cypher and I just need the key.”

“And you think I have it?” She asked. “Because I would have destroyed it as...”

“Oh sweet Katja,” he interrupted, stepping right up to her. “You are the cypher.”

---

All Along the Watchtower —Bear McCreary

 

[Esplandia]

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The great stone crashed down the hillside, leaving a scar of turn up grass and shattered rock. It struck hard against the side of the cairn, cracking it open, and then bounced off, continuing its journey down the mountain, disappearing into the valley far below.

Aureljus stretched, his muscles sore. “That worked,” he stated, his companions still standing in awe at the stone’s destruction. It’d taken them until past midday to work it free and finally send it crashing down.

“Let’s get into this tomb,” Alvys finally said. “I’d rather not spend another night up here.”

So they made their way back down to the cairn, stepping carefully as the ground had been torn up and new obstacles littered their path. The side of the cairn was cracked, though the cover stone was untouched. They picked up broken stones and tossed them aside, digging their way in. After a few hours of work, they had an opening large enough to get through.

Klukis lit up two torches, passing one to Aureljus, who then climbed through first. Alvys went second and Klukis came last. The inside of the cairn was dusty and cramped. The chamber inside was oval shaped, with an entrance at either end. Littered about were the remains of clay pottery, broken apart from nothing more than time as they crumbled into dust. Sitting in the middle of the room was a great stone sarcophagus, its lid carved from a piece of black quartz. Seven runes were carved into its lid and the rough edges of the carvings caught the torch light and reflected a red glow back, making it easy to read.

Klukis examined the markings, as his two companions looked about the chamber. Aureljus kicked at a cracked pot, and it fell apart. Whatever had been inside also had withered away long ago. Klukis traced his hand over the rough runes. “They look like more elvish,” he confirmed. Aureljus nodded with out surprise.

“I wish one of us knew how to read them,” Alvys said. Of the three he seemed the most put out about standing inside an ancient tomb. The places of the dead were not meant to be disturbed, and doing so carried curses.

Aureljus seemed perplexed. He looked towards one end of the chamber, then to the other, seemingly as if confused, studying both entrance ways. Finally he pointed to the one on his left. “That is the door facing up the mountain?” he asked his companions. They both agreed it was. “Then that is facing down?” He pointed to the other.

Alvys was the first to catch on. “There’s no second entrance on the outside.”

“Perhaps there’s a chamber beyond,” Klukis said.

Aureljus studied the walls and measured the chamber with his eyes. “I don’t think so. The chamber isn’t much smaller than is to be expected from the size of the cairn outside.” He walked over to the downhill doorway, and reached out and touched it. He traced his fingers up and down, and then he laughed. “I need a cloth to clean with.”

Klukis pulled a blanket out of his pack and tossed it to Aureljus. The prince wiped at the stone covering the doorway. Except it wasn’t a stone. As he wiped away centuries of dust a marvelous thing happened. The light from their torches was cast back at them in a perfect reflection. It wasn’t a doorway, but a mirror.

Aureljus wiped as much as he could, then stepped back looking at himself reflected back in the mirror. He put the torch down, propping it between two loose stones in the wall. He had seen something interesting in the reflection.

He motioned Klukis forward. Klukis passed his torch to Alvys and then stepped in front of the mirror. “Look at the runes,” Aureljus said.

He complied and looked towards the sarcophagus. “No, look in the mirror,” Aureljus said. He complied and then his jaw opened in shock at what he saw. “I can read them,” he said. It shouldn’t have been possible. It was still written in the ancient elvish runes, but he found the meanings just springing into his mind.

“As can I,” Aureljus said. “The mirror is apparently the key.”

“Well what does it say,” asked Alvys in irritation.

“Here lies my love, fairest of the nine,” Klukis answered. “And the last rune is a name. Aubrezen.”

Alvys seemed even more put out at this information. “What the hell is a nine?” he asked.

“Let’s find out,” said Aureljus, and he put his foot up on the sarcophagus lid and kicked it open.

---

Old Souls —Hans Zimmer

 

[Esplandia]

Present Day

"It's certainly old enough, and from the right period of time," the old man said respectfully. He adjusted the glasses on his nose, continuing to look down at the worn hilt. "The only known description of the weapon described it as an Argenti design, and this hilt is either Hagra or proto-Arrandi highlander."

Jadzia's heart fell hearing the news. The old man, an expert on ancient weapons of Arrandal had studied the hilt for a few weeks and now came to give her his report. She'd hoped Gaelan had been correct and the hilt was genuine. It would have been a victory for Arrandi culture, and for her reign, if it was. "So it's not the real Stzurmwezlac?"

"Well, that's difficult to answer," he said. "The source, one Brezic Kanzlik, wrote his description a hundred years after Aureljus' death. And by that point the sword had disappeared. So in truth we don't actually know what looks like."

"So it could be the sword?"

"Indeed, but without any other proof of it in fact being Stzurmwezlac, I'd have to say it very likely is not." He returned the hilt back to her. "It is very old though, and certainly a valuable item culturally."

Jadzia took the hilt, still disappointed that it couldn't be verified. "Thank you," she said. The old man bowed, and after she'd dismissed him, she was left alone with her thoughts.

She sat down by the window to her office, looking out at the courtyards of the Palat Roz. She started daydreaming, imagining what it would have been like riding into battle with Aureljus the Stormbringer, fighting the Argent Imperium. Could he actually command storms with his blade? She could see him defeating Konstantin X at the battle of Constanja, forcing him to kneel to Arrandi supremacy and declaring the Imperium disbanded. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

She found herself dreaming, walking down a dusty corridor. The stones were old and crumbling, their mortar long turned to dust. Cobwebs and dust floated through the air. A dull flickering light, from a candle or a torch, light up the corridor ahead. She could hear voices, muffled, but couldn't make out the words. She strode forward unafraid. She felt like she had to reach the voices, that if she didn't something terrible would happen.

She heard a loud crash, as if something heavy had fallen over broken. The noise startled her awake. Outside the sun was dropping below the Capasheans, the courtyard now cast in shadow. She looked around the room, still trying to figure out what had fallen, but nothing had moved. The palace was silent.

She picked up the hilt, which had fallen into her lap, and placed it on her desk. She must have slept for a couple hours. The day was fading and there was still some work for her to get done.

 

[Esplandia]

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Had he he heard footsteps? As he’d raised his foot to kick off the lid of the sarcophagus, for a second it sounded like footsteps racing up from somewhere far away. But as the sound of the crash faded he heard nothing.

Alvys whispered a prayer at the sight of what lay inside. The corpse was shriveled and pale, but not rotten. It was as if it had grown thin, fading away, but by bit, as if passing from our world into the next.

Aureljus could see that once upon a time she had been beautiful. Now though, the woman was nothing more than a husk.

But it was Klukis who noticed it first. “The teeth,” he said, and the calmness in his voice did not match the terror in his eyes. Her lips had dried up, exposing her teeth, neat and white. But the top row bore two fangs, long and sharp.

“A vampire,” Alvys said. “Another vampire. This is an accursed place.”

“What are we seeking here?” Klukis asked. “Why did four of us have to die so that we could find this place?”

“There’s a question I need answered,” Aureljus said.

His two companions shared an uneasy look. Aureljus suspected they were worried about him. If they’d known what price he had paid just to learn of this place, perhaps they would flee and leave him here. It didn’t matter though, he would see this through until the end.

“The question I need the answer to, one that has plagued me since my father’s death. How the Argents have managed to defeat us at every turn when their leaders plot and murder each other. How they manage to maintain their failing empire. My quest has lead me here.”

Klukis, who had long been a close companion of the Prince, stepped back. He did not want to hear more, but still he asked. “What does this all have to do with the Argent Imperium?”

“Everything,” Aureljus said. He out through the broken wall of the tomb seeing dark storm clouds roll past. He shivered, a cold dread settling in over his heart. “Four of the Nine still live.”

“What are the Nine?” Alvys asked.

But Aureljus did not answer, for a shadowy figure now stood in the broken wall, it’s features obscured by the darkening sky.

The prince drew his sword. Alvys drew his own sword, spinning to face the entrance but the shadow lunged forward, claws tearing at him. He died clutching his abdomen, stepping backwards and falling into the open sarcophagus.

Klukis vaulted forward you save his companion, and Aureljus followed behind. Klukis drove his own blade into the shadowy figure, but the thing only hissed and then grabbed his assailant. Silently he crushed Klukis’ skull with a sickening crunch.

Seeing this Aureljus stepped backwards, his back up against the mirror.

The shadow, another vampire, stood and stared. “You will die alone on this mountain, mighty Arrand Prince.”

“If that is gods will.”

The vampire laughed, a terrible raspy laugh and then he lunged forward. Aureljus dropped his sword pointing out. But the shade never made it. Something hit it from the side.

Another vampire, or so it seemed, pinned it to the floor and with an angry screech, but deep into the vampire’s neck. A sucking and tearing sound followed, and soon the first vampire was dead.

The second then stood up and faced the prince. The woman from the sarcophagus stared at him, blood covering her body, and dripping from her fangs. The faded and dry flesh had been somewhat rejuvenated. She no longer looked so pale, and her lips now covered her teeth mostly. She smiled warmly at Aureljus, and though he was suspicious, he felt it was a genuine smile.

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder to the mirror, then back to him. Then she spoke, in a dry raspy voice. “Both of you are here. The time has finally come.”

Aureljus sensed movement behind him, even though the mirror was still at his back. Keeping his eyes on the revived vampire he stepped to the side. He took a quick glance at the mirror. But it was now gone, in its place a torchlit corridor lead away into the distance. A young women dressed in a strange outfit of furs and silver buckles stood staring out in wonder at them both.

 

[Esplandia]

A fierce wind had come down from the north, followed by a bitter rain. No one had woken Jadzia, and so she’d slept in longer than she had wanted to.

The clock said it was nearly ten, which meant she’d missed her morning meeting with the Paramounts.

Irritated she climbed out of bed. It was cold in her room, as if someone had forgotten to turn on the heat. She tossed a fur robe around her shoulders and called out for a servant. No one answered, and there was no one in the hall either when she opened the doors.

The whole castle seemed cold and empty. She quickly dressed herself in her Hussar furs. She felt a mix of irritation and trepidation that no one was about.

As she fastened her last buckle she glanced out the window at the garden. Rains poured down outside but what really caught her eye was that the garden looked overgrown and unkept.

She stepped up to the glass. Beyond the gardens the wall and outbuildings all looked in disrepair, the windows broken or gone, the walls crumbling and in need of mortar, and the roofs overgrown with snodgrass and vines.

It was wrong. Was she still asleep? “What is going on?” she said aloud.

And then she heard a loud crash, just like the one from her dream the other day, coming from somewhere in the palace.

So she found herself heading in the direction she’d heard it come from. Down the hallways she walked quickly, ears alert for any sound. But the palace was quiet, empty, cold. The further from her room she went the more rundown the palace looked. Wood paneling gave way to rotten wood, then bare stone, then crumbling walls.

Something urged her on. Ahead she began to hear a new sound. Someone yelled, there was another crash, and then a short scream of agony. She turned a corner in the hall and now there was cobwebs and a thick layer of dust on the ground.

The hallway ahead was dark. She turned to look back, but behind her was only darkness, the palace hallway was gone. A light, as if coming from a doorway lay ahead.

The commotion had died down. An uneasy quiet now lay around her. She decided to move ahead. Her heart beating wildly, she Syria’s forward, her footsteps echoing around her in the dark.

She stepped through the doorway, finding herself standing in some kind of tomb, one wall broken open and a pale sky shining beyond. To her side a tall figure stood, his face in profile. He held a weapon drawn. He was facing a woman. She looked pale and shriveled, as if very ancient. She smiled as Jadzia stepped through.

“Both of you are here. The time has finally come.” Her voice was raspy, yet there was something kindly about it.

The man turned and looked at Jadzia. She saw wonder on his face. She marveled at his outfit, something out of one of her history books. He was an image of an Arrandi Prince from far off in the past.

The woman spoke again, bringing both their attentions back to her. “Aureljus Stormbringer, and Jadzia Whirlwind, the gods and fate has brought you here. For two great threats, in both your times, stand ready to doom all of mankind, unless you act. Will you serve the gods?”

 

[Esplandia]

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“What is this?” Aureljus asked, looking from this strange young woman who had just stepped through the mirror to the ancient vampire now reanimated.

“This is your descendent, Great Prince of the Arrandfels.” The vampire said. Even now her leathery skin was becoming more supple, color was returning to her flesh. And the old dry look was fading from her. She had fed and was becoming more alive, more human looking. Though there was still something different about her. Her brow protruded more than any human’s Aureljus had seen, and her hair was far coarser than any Arrand’s.

“I’m what?” the young woman asked. Her eyes were filled with wonder, though not fear. If this was his descendent, an impossibility as he had no children yet, then she had an Arrand backbone at least.

The vampire smiled pleasantly. “Jadzia, King of Arrandal, this is your great sire: Aureljus Strombringer, King of the Arrandfels.”

A dawning awareness and admiration lit up her eyes. “Oh, wow,” she said. Her words were strange to Aureljus. “Is this a dream?” she asked.

The vampire assured her it was not. Aureljus was getting irritated. “You have not answered me, shade.” He turned to the vampire, lowering his blade into position, ready to strike. “And why do you call me Stormbringer?”

The vampire laughed merrily, a pleasant sound in the gray light. “Oh how long I have waited for this day and now that it is here, I am not speaking as clearly as I should.” She held her arms out wide to show she was no threat. “I am Aubrezen of Taujren. One of the nine.”

“What is the nine?” Aureljus asked.

“One of the first vampires,” spoke the strange young woman, Jadzia. “A vampire lord, from whom all other vampires have come.”

“The child speaks clearly. That is what I am. Though no vampire descends through me, for I have never passed on the curse. I was duped, as were the rest, as to what we were accepting. You see we were offered eternal life, and all we had to do was serve. But it was a lie, and we were entangled by an evil from beyond this world. Nedzgrubal.”

Aureljus spat at the mention of the name. To speak of an elder god dared the fates and could bring misfortune on oneself. The girl, Jadzia, didn’t flinch. “He was killed by Azulnais,” she said.

“Indeed,” continued the vampire. “And it was after that battle that the truth of what we had become was revealed. For when the sun was returned, we could no longer stand it, and it made us weak. Soon after we began to crave the blood of the living and if we did not feed, then we fell weak. The others embraced it, save for myself and my sister, as well as the Anaukszaj brothers. I will not bore you with events that happened long ago. All I will tell you is that it was my sister, gifted with foresight, realized what would become of this world if we, the rest of the nine, were allowed to go on unchecked. We sought to eliminate the other nine, and so we fought each other. We fought and destroyed most of the nine, but in the end we lost, and my sister was killed. I and Rajko Anaukszaj fled here, with my sister’s last prophecy fresh in our minds. I was put to sleep so that I could warn the two of you of threats in your own time, and Rajko went to confront the mightiest of the nine.”

“Did he win?” Jadzia asked.

“If he had not,” said the vampire, “you would not be here.”

“And what do you need from us?” asked Aureljus, still not fully convinced. “What are these threats we face?”

“You, Stormbringer, face the dying beast known as the Argent Imperium. It has come under the influence of one of the nine. A cruel monster named Ajgos Straveri, the one who murdered my sister. He, as well as the imperium, must be brought down or else you will face a renewed empire, ruled over by vampires.” She turned to Jadzia. “And you, Whirlwind, face an even greater threat, one older than vampires.”

“Why do you call me Stormbringer?”

The vampire did not answer the prince. Instead she looked intently at the girl. “Did you bring the hilt?”

“No I left it in my room?”

“Are you sure?”

Jadzia put her hand in her pocket and surprise lit up her face. She pulled out a hilt, beat up and ancient, from her pocket.

“Give it her,” said the vampire.

Jadzia complied, handing the hilt to the vampire. When the vampire touched the hilt it began to glow. A bright light then lept forth from it, and lightning crashed from the blade, cracking the rocks of the cairn. When the storm had faded, the sword had been restored, blade and all.

“This was Rajko’s blade, a blade he took from an angel in the Shadow Wars. It can command the elements and bring forth storm and weather as needed. This was used to defeat the mightiest of the nine. Now it will be wielded by you, Aureljus the Stormbringer.”

Jadzia seemed puzzled. “If you’re giving it to him now, then where did it come from in my time?”

“Where better to hide a powerful weapon, but in the future.” The vampire gave a sly smile. She then turned to Aureljus. “This is what you were after, is it not?” She held out the restored sword. “A mighty and ancient weapon to help you defeat your enemies. Take it. Use it to destroy the Argent Imperium. Get vengeance against your brother. Destroy a vampire lord. Your destiny awaits.”

He looked at the blade, knowing that what the vampire had said was true. This was why he’d come to the top of the mountains. His men, his friends, had died so that he could get his hands upon this mythical weapon. But now that it was offered to him, he was hesitant.

“Take it,” the vampire commanded. “Take this weapon and leave here. That is your destiny. If you do not, than the world will perish.”

He hesitated only a second longer. He then sheathed his own blade and took the one offered to him. He felt its power the second his hand touched it. It felt like a storm was waiting within the blade, ready to be unleashed.

“Go now, return to your people and lead them to victory.”

“But what of this girl?”

“Her goal is more difficult than yours and there is more that she should know. But it is time for you to leave. If you are still upon this mountain by nightfall, then you will die.”

He clenched the blade. He felt destiny moving through him. He did not hesitate, taking one last look at the girl who was supposed to be his descendant. He felt pride in what he saw. She was a strong and fearless girl. He then climbed from the cairn through the broken wall, and in the gloom of the cloudy afternoon he set off back down the side of the mountain alone.

 

[Esplandia]

“Take my hand,” spoke Aubrezen the vampire. “There is much to impart before this night ends.”

Jadzia reached out, taking the ancient woman’s hand. It was thin and dry, but her grip was like iron.

“First I will show you three visions. One of what was, one of what is, and one of what could be. Is there a fire in your heart, young King?”

Jadzia pondered the question. She had always felt so small and that against the unjustness of the world she had no power. But her entire life she’d fought to defend the good that there was. She smiled. “I think so,” she answered.

“That is well. We shall begin.”

---

The Grey Woods, Granzludgrad
1999

They stepped through the mirror again, but instead of the crumbling walls of the Palat Roz they stepped through into a dark forest. The day was long gone and a full moon shine down casting deep shadows beneath the trees. Snow covered the ground and the bare trees. A road, carefully plowed, wound lazily through the woods and the rocky hillsides.

A car was making its way along the road, coming out of the west, it’s headlights shining dimly in the bright light of the moon reflected off snow. It was coming fast, the driver swerving dangerously around corners. As it went to pass where Jadzia and Aubrezen stood the car hit a patch of ice, slid out of control and rolled onto its side in the deep snow.

Jadzia made to rush over and see if they were okay, but the iron grip of the vampire stopped her.

“Where are you going?” the vampire asked.

“We have to help them,” Jadzia answered.

“We’re not actually here. This has already happened. We are only observers.”

Jadzia stopped trying to pull away and started to observe. A man dressed in winter furs kicked out the front window and climbed dizzily from the car. As he stood up a cacophony of howls rose out of the woods around them. Jadzia jumped, startled.

The man cursed and reached back into the car, pulling out a rifle. He limbed around the car, and pulled himself up into its side. He struggled with the rear door but pulled it open.

“Are you hurt, My Lady?” he asked.

A muffled answer came from inside. He reached down inside and pulled a woman from the car. She was dressed in fine white furs, and a turquoise feather stuck up from her Kolpak hat. She thanked the man.

More howls rose up, closer this time. She turned to stare into the woods and Jadzia could now see her face.

“Nastazja!” Jadzia called, and stepped forward before remembering she was only an observer.

“Yes,” Aubrezen confimed, “the Lady Granzludgrad, though not yet.”

Jadzia wondered if Gaelen was also inside the car, but she noticed how young Nastazja looked and guessed they had not met yet.

The man with the gun hopped down off the car and helped Nastazja down as more howls echoed among the hills. “They are coming closer, Bajoras,” she said.

The man grunted. “I’ll shoot everyone of them before I let them harm you.”

Nastazja made a startled cry which she tried to muffle with her gloves hand . Three shadows walked out of the darkness of the forest. Towering and terrifying, the three werewolves howled together.

The man, Bajoras, raised his rifle and took aim. But another howl rose up, this one louder and more powerful. The three werewolves looked around in fear, dropping to all fours, their hackles raised.

“Looks like my lord has come,” said Bajoras.

Then out of the woods another werewolf emerged. This one was much larger and his fur was a golden brown. He strode purposefully forward on his hind legs, his foreclaws bared and ready for a fight. Behind him another figure followed, a woman dressed in red and black, a large hood obscuring her features, though she followed well behind.

The three werewolves growled menacingly but decided not to attack and skulked away into the forest.

The golden werewolf dropped on all fours and bounded forward. Bajoras embraces the beast in a hug, scratching behind its ears. “My Lady, this is Duke Marishkov,” he said, introducing the wolf.

Marishkov licked her face and she giggled, pushing the beast away.

The other woman approached as well. “It’s strange to see a sparrow in such fine clothes,” the woman said pleasantly.

“A gift of the King,” Nastazja answered. “You must be the Lady Vrakul?”

“Well met,” she answered, placing a gentle hand on the Duke’s furry back. He responded by sitting in the snow, his sharp teeth presented in a friendly smile. “We don’t normally rescue fair maidens lost in the woods,” she joked, pulling her hood down.

When Jadzia saw her face she felt nothing but loathing. She recognized the woman who had orchestrated her parent’s death and nearly brought her kingdom to ruin. Iskaya Bathory, the Black Duchess.

Aubrezen put a steadying hand on Jadzia’s shoulder. “She is long dead. Save your hate for her masters.”

Jadzia stares at the vile woman before her as she spoke pleasantly with Nastazja. She couldn’t help seething at her.

But Aubrezen was already turning her about. “Come. We have another time and place to see.”

The mirror was now before them. Jadzia stepped through quickly.

---

Wolves in Winter - Demons & Wizards

 

[Esplandia]

Zymrokgrota
Present Day

They stood in a large room, empty, except for a couple of flickering electric lights. One side of the room had curtains and a humid breeze moved them slightly. A scent of rot and mildew filled the air.

Jadzia was curious about where they were, but was still preoccupied with what she’d just seen. “Why did you show me Gaelan and Nastazja? And Bathory? What was the significance?”

The vampire’s eyes seemed to sparkle in the flickering light, and a knowing smile lit up her face. “The significance? You.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What you saw was Gaelen first meeting the woman he loves. A young man, who’s life up until then was filled with anger and bitterness would meet a woman who would live him despite what he is. And he would come to doubt his allegiance with vampires, with Iskaya Bathory, and would change sides. His decision would be made and he would pull a young, scared little girl from the rubble of the Palat Roz and set Arrandal on a path to resist.”

Jadzia hadn’t realized that her life had been so entwined with Gaelen’s. “But why was I shown...”

She was interrupted by a man entering the room. His hair was long and unkempt, one eye sightless, and extensive scars covered his face. Behind him came a younger woman. She was y’all and elegant, her dark hair tinged with red.

They looked around the room, the man even peaking through the curtains to check the balcony beyond. When they were both satisfied no one was about the woman called back through the doorway.

Two more men entered, and between they drug a third. Jadzia recognizes the uniform of the man. He wore the colors of the dawnguard, a bright yellow sun printed on the front. The two men dragging him brought him before the man and woman, then cast him to the floor.

“Who beat him this badly?” The scarred man asked, seeing the blood and bruising.

The guards stood at attention, not answering. The scarred man stared at them, his one eye filled with wrath. The woman though knelt next to the dawnguard and carefully she gave him some water. He was conscious enough to accept the drink.

When he’d finished drinking she helped him to his feet. He never looked around the room, instead focusing on the curtains swaying in the breeze.

“We need some information from you,” the woman said, her voice kindly but firm. “Where did Valkiric take the body of Zieda Calagvic?”

The man said nothing. He managed to stand straighter and set his face motionless.

“We know you were part of his expedition,” the woman continued. “This will be quicker, and quicker for you, if you answer.”

The man shifted his attention to look at the woman. “I am a soldier of the light, Vampire!” he spat. “Do your worst.”

She smiled. “I intend to.” She nodded to the scarred man and he approached, pulling a particularly wicked looking knife out of his belt. He grinned maliciously, a look made more chilling by his terrible scars.

But then he stopped in his tracks. He whirled about, scanning the room. The woman and the two guards did do as well. Each put their hands to their weapons. The lights in the room darkened and the shadows cast by them deepened.

“What’s this?” an cold whispering voice asked. “A new guest? And nobody informed me.”

And then the lights brightened again. A new woman stood in the center of the room. She was unlike any person Jadzia had ever seen before. Her hair was the color of pale cream, her skin (decorates with black and purple tattoos) was even paler.

“This is Shroud business,” the woman said. “I didn’t feel I needed to inform you.”

“Silence!” the woman commanded. She approached the man of the dawnguard. He maintained his composure, but it was obvious it took great effort. He seemed to sink low and his hands shook. The defiance in his eyes disappeared and was replaced by fear.

“You’re waisting your time,” the woman said. She ran a pale hand over his cheek causing him to flinch. “He doesn’t know. His superiors are keeping their secrets close. You would do best to kill him.”

She turned around and as her gaze met Jadzia’s their eyes locked. The eyes were also white, no iris to be seen, instead they shone with an inner light, a light that pierced deep into Jadzia’s soul. A cold smile lit up the woman’s face.

“Your majesty,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise. And you brought a friend.” Her gaze then shifted to Aubrezen.

“Who are you talking to?” The scarred man asked, confusion on his face.

“You cannot see them,” the strange woman said. “They are displaced from time. Interlopers into our domain.” She took two steps forward, her gaze locked on Aubrezen. “And who are you? I feel like I’ve seen your face before.”

“You can only destroy me once, Katarzyna,” Aubrezen said. “But as you can see, I already had beaten you.”

The woman, Katarzyna laughed wickedly. “So I killed you in the past? How delightful.” She turned her attention back to Jadzia. “Return through your mirror, little Arrand King. Enjoy these days of light for they will not last. Darkness will fall and the sun will never rise again.”

Aubrezen gripped Jadzia’s arm. “Come, we have one more vision to see.” She pulled Jadzia towards the mirror which had just appeared. But a Jadzia has just had a terrible thought. She turned back to face the woman Aubrezen had called Katarzyna.

“You’re her?” Jadzia asked. “You’re Basilikos?”

“Yes. I am the last survivor of Prim. Queen of the Elder Race. Enemy of the World.” And she laughed again, her cackle shaking the walls around her. One of the lights in the room exploded in a shower of sparks. “Now you have seen the face of your true enemy.”

Jadzia turned in fear and leapt through the mirrror, the laugh still echoing through her head.

---

Dark Side of Her Majesty - Demons and Wizards

 

[Esplandia]

Jadzia stepped out into a small room, lit by a roaring fire, the light dancing on the wooden walls. It was the interior of a cabin. The furnishings were rustic. The couch was old and worn from use. The bearskin rug on the floor wore down from travel over it. An old woman sat at a desk in the corner. She was scribbling into a notebook. There was no one else in the room.

Jadzia noticed a picture on the wall and stepped over to it. She gasped, startled at the woman in it. It was her, though older. Wrinkles around her eyes and hair starting to grow old.

“Is this the vision of what could be?” Jadzia asked the vampire, remembering back to what she had been told before stepping through the mirror.

“This is the way things will play out if Basilikos wins.”

She looked around the cabin, seeing its homelyness, feeling the warmth from the fire. “It doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Doesn’t it?” Aubrezen walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. Outside the world seemed pale and gray, the sun hidden behind dense clouds. A vast forest of dead trees encircled the cabin. The grass was dry and dead, and a great scraggle of vines was dried and withered. Nothing moved outside, no animals, no wind. Iit was a cold and dead place.

“Who’s there?” the old woman called, having turned around when the curtain was pulled back. She stood up, a knife in her hand and at the ready. She looked around the room, but her eyes were filled with cataracts, and she looked blindly.

Aubrezen walked forward. “It is I,” she stated.

The woman’s face lit up. “I know that voice. The vampire? Aubrezen?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am here too? Come closer, let me see you.”

The vampire motioned Jadzia to step forward. “She means you.”

When Jadzia stepped forward she finally recognized the old woman. It was her. The same face, but wrinkled and worn by care and time. The old Jadzia took Jadzia’s face in her hands. Her old weak hands traced the younger her’s face, feeling the smoothness of the skin.

“I have been waiting so long for you,” she said. “I try to write what has happened, but my eyesight has failed and I feel it is nothing more than nonsense. I have so much I want to share with you.”

“You know you cannot,” Aubrezen said.

Jadzia looked dumbfounded at her older self, trying to comprehend. “What has happened?” she asked, thinking of the world outside.

“I failed,” Old Jadzia stated simply. In her voice was more loss and heartbreak than Jadzia had ever heard in anyone else's voice before. “I made all the wrong decisions and the end of sunlight came. The world was cast into shadow and Basilikos won.”

Jadzia turned to the vampire, her guide. “What do I need to do differently? How do I avoid the same fate?”

But it was the older Jadzia who answered. “You must trust. And love. You cannot stand alone, no matter how strong you think you are. You must gather allies, and prepare…”

“We are not here to change your past. We are here to explain what is at stake.”

Old Jadzia bowed her head down. “Is it too late for me then?”

“You are only a possibility. You are not an absolute.”

She smiled her old wrinkly smile. “I suppose this is all I deserve.”

“Why are you in this place?” Jadzia asked. “Why are you still here if the rest of the world is gone?”

“Because she is punishing me.”

“Who?”

“Basilikos. I dared stand against her and she let me live in my failure.”

Jadzia turned around looking for the mirror. “I’ve seen enough. We can go back.” But the mirror was not there. Not yet.

“You need one thing,” old Jadzia said. She ambled over to a large armoire in the corner of the room. “It was what old me gave me when I was here before. Like you are now.” She opened it and began digging through the stuff inside.

She brought out a small silver coin and placed it in Jadzia’s hand. It was intricately decorated. On one side was a beautiful carving of a tree and on the face side was an ancient Arrandi rune. Jadzia knew the rune, having seen it in a book she’d read as a child. It was the symbol for twilight.

“It is time,” Aubrezen said, and when Jadzia looked up she now saw the mirror. “It is time to return.”

Old Jadzia grabbed her hand one last time and leaned in closely. “When you meet him, you will want to hate him. But if you do, all will fail.” And then she stepped away, staring forlornly at her younger self with her dim eyes. Jadzia followed the vampire back through the mirror, one last time.

---

I Don't Belong Here - Klaus Badelt

 

[Esplandia]

Vatragav 1133 AD

The rain cleared up. It had come suddenly, a rainfall so fierce that it flooded the roadways and washed away bridges. The Argent Legions had been forced to stop their chase of the Arrand Prince and make camp. The nearby town, Vatrus, what the Arrandi called Vatragav, closed their gates to the legion out of fear of the new Arrand Prince.

“He can call forth storms,” the rumor went. And anyone was willing to share that knowledge with the Argents. “He broke the walls at Koramus by raising his sword, crying to the pagan gods, and calling forth lightning to crack open the city gates.”

Sergonis scowled at the Arrand peasant who was sharing this news with him. The Legate, Phillipas, rolled his eyes. “Superstition and fear. This Arrand Lord is no sorcerer.” He gave the man a coin and sent him on his way towards the city. Perhaps he’d find better luck being let in.

Phillipas gave Sergonis an exasperated look. “So now your brother commands the elements?” he asked, mockingly. “Will these stories never end?”

He wanted to dismiss the rumors, just as much as the Legate, but he had witnessed too many strange events. Fog at Czierka, lightning striking the ground during the battle at Aszenfel, and now a storm like any other in recorded history. “Perhaps not,” Sergonis said, couching his answer. “But he continues to win battle after battle.”

“Luck, nothing more.” The Legate started walking back to their camp. The rains had stopped but water still flowed down the roadway, and the fields roundabout were muddy and soaked. It would be a miserable night for the legions, as many of the men were being forced to sleep in the muck as their tents sank into the soggy ground. He continued to deride the Arrandi for their pagan beliefs in spirits and magic, but Sergonis walked quietly behind him.

His brother’s forces were growing, and he was winning. Two legions, wiped out in the south. Another legion broke and fled before him. And always the weather was on his brother’s side. Luck, maybe. But Sergonis still believed in the gods of his ancestors, even if his father and his grandfather and his grandfather’s father had embraced the Messianist god.

Two scouts rode down the road towards them, flying swiftly on their horses. When they saw the Legate they pulled up and one dismounted. “Aureljus comes,” he informed, panic in his voice. “We estimate his forces at six thousand strong.”

The Legate raised a hand to calm the man. “How far out are his forces? Will he be here tomorrow or the day after?”

“He is here now,” the scout wailed. “His army, it just appeared. A fog rolled in across the plains north of here, they lasted less than an hour, and then when the mist cleared his army was coming across the fields.”

“Impossible,” the Legate said. “He could not have passed our sentries with six thousand men.”

Sergonis felt a sinking in his stomach. Whatever doubts he had were gone. “Unless he truly can command the weather and the fog covered his approach.”

---

Sergonis sat, dazed. His head ached and the wound on his side continued to bleed. He looked at the carnage around him, the butchered legionnaires. His brother’s forces had come at them like a hurricane and trampled the camp. Bodies, tents, supplies, they all lay in huddled masses sinking into the mud. Next to him lay the body of Phillapas, struck down by a bolt of lightning. Lightning that had seemed to only strike the Argents, and only those that stood bravely to fight.

Sergonis ignored the three Arrandis with spears standing near him. They knew who he was, and knew that it was their Lord’s command to not harm him. All Sergonis could do was wait for Aureljus to come.

It was not long before his brother rode up. He stared at his brother from atop his steed before jumping down. Sergonis stood to meet his brother.

“Your Argent masters are dead,” Aureljus said.

Sergonis looked for hatred in his brother’s eyes, but saw only sadness and pity. He would have preferred anger. “Then kill me and be done with it.”

Aureljus lowered his head, shaking it. “There is something I need to know. Among the court of the Dominar, is there a man named Ajgos?”

Sergonis was confused. “He is Konstantin’s friend. They drink together. What is this about?”

Aureljus didn’t answer right away. Instead he was looking at the corpse of the Legate. A smile, a wry smile, crept across his face. “It is about this,” he said, pointing his finger at Phillipas.

Sergonis turned to look and his eyes went wide as he saw the legate push himself up on his knees. It was impossible. He’d been struck by many arrows, one passing through his lungs. A deep raspy wail was spilling out of the Legate’s throat. Two great fangs were protruding from his upper teeth.

Aureljus nodded to one of his men, and they approached, drew their swords, and beheaded the Legate. Aureljus picked up the head and showed it to his brother. “Look upon the shadow that is hiding amongst the imperium. Their true nature is always revealed as they regenerate. Vrykozlak. And Ajgos is one of their chiefs.”

Sergonis said an Arrandi prayer to ward away evil. He spat three times at the end. “I did not know,” he wailed.

“None of us did,” Aureljus agreed. “They have used the Imperium to hide among. For centuries perhaps. Or perhaps they are behind the decline of the Argents. Who can say. But they are our true enemies, and they intend to enslave and feed upon us all.”

He reached out and offered his hand. “Join me. Help me defeat them, and all will be forgiven. Because if we fail, the world will be theirs.”

 

[Esplandia]

The Upper Vlakonval, Present Day

Katja stopped to rest beneath a tree, keeping out of the drizzling rain. Her unwanted companion Varic ze Vatragrav also stopped, though he seemed less put out by the weather.

“How did you find my father’s workshop?” she asked pushing her wet hair out of her eyes. “I looked for a long time and figured it was lost.”

He shrugged as he looked about the woods. An eagle came gliding through the forest before rising back up above the canopy. “I’ve been to it, many times. I was a patron of his work.”

She scoffed. “You we’re looking for a cure?”

He turned to her, one hand resting on his waist. “You don’t think I’d like to be alive again?”

“No.”

“Well you’re right,” he said. “I love being what I am. Still, the idea fascinated me. A cure for vampirism. Now wouldn’t that be something? It would give me a power over the Shroud that would make me their master. I could administer a cure to my enemies, turn them human again, and then feed on them. That is something I could get behind.”

She rolled her eyes. She pulled her hood back up and started back up the deer track they were following. “So what was the problem?” she asked as he passed her and took the lead.

He stepped carefully over a series of exposed roots, slowing to give her a hand over them as well.

“It didn’t work,” he answered. “At least not how we wanted. It did stop the vampiric virus, but in a rather ugly way.”

“Ugly?”

He stopped, giving her a devilish smile. “It made the test subjects combust.”

“Unpleasant,” she said in a flat tone.

“I didn’t feel any remorse for the outcome either, but like your father, I too thought the experiment was a failure at the time.” He leapt across a stream that trickled across the path.

He turned to assist her across but she expertly jumped across the stream as well.

“How was it not a failure?” she asked. “It obviously didn’t work.”

“It didn’t revert a vampire back to human, that’s true.” He said. “But I should have realized the potential of what we’d discovered back then.”

“What potential?”

He stopped and pointed to the left of the trail towards a cracked rock face in the hill. “There’s the entrance,” he said setting off into the brush.

She followed behind, crashing through shrubs and ferns behind him. “What potential?” she asked again.

“A potion that makes a vampire burn themself to ash?” he said looking over his shoulder at her as he climbed up among the rocks. “I can think of some applications.”

She climbed up behind him and saw a narrow passageway into the rock face ahead of them, and just back in the gloom a steel door.

He pulled out a key and held it up for her. “Shall we explore the secrets your father kept hidden?”

 

[Esplandia]

Palat Roz

Jadzia woke up in a start. She sat up, clutching the covers around her. It was still dark, but the early predawn light was coming through the window.

She remembered vividly traveling through the mirror, seeing the different points in time. Had it been a dream?

“It was not?” a woman spoke and Jadzia recognized the voice of Aubrezen.

“Am I back?”

The vampire nodded. “I suppose you’ll have questions?”

Jadzia did, but she took a moment to think about which ones she wanted to ask first. Of all the questions she had, there was one that seemed the most pertinent. “When does Basilikos kill you?”

“Five and a half centuries ago.”

“But it hasn’t happened for you yet,” Jadzia said. “That means it doesn’t need to happen...”

“But it already has,” Aubrezen interrupted. “Some things can’t be changed. I cannot escape my fate, the same as Ajgos can no longer escape his fate at the hands of the Stormbringer. The wheel of fate has been set in motion and we must now ride it until it’s inevitable conclusion.”

“So the future I saw is set?”

“Not yet. Your fate has not yet been decided.”

Jadzia didn’t feel comforted by that. How could anyone just accept that they were going to die? But she had other questions that needed to be asked.

“How many of the Nine are left?”

“Only one,” Aubrezen answered. “Don’t ask me which as that knowledge is blocked from me.”

Jadzia furrowed her brow in frustration, but she didn’t ask as the vampire had requested. “Who are the Nine?”

Aubrezen leaned back, her gaze drifting into the distance as she remembered back. “That’s difficult to answer. But I will tell what I can. We were the first to meet the Shadow-King after he arrived upon Eras. We didn’t know it then, but his powers were weakened. That was why he needed us as servants and why he offered us the ‘eternal gift’, as he called it. Some of us doubted, but it was Telikkis, the greatest among us, who accepted first, and we all followed his lead. There was me, and my sister Wensilka, and the Anaukszaj twins — Rajko and Rejno. There was Ajgos, his wife Berszka, and the princess Niemez. And there was also Telikkis’ sister Myzidas. We accepted the gift of power and everlasting life, and so we became accursed. The shadow servants of a being of pure darkness.

“My sister had been gifted with foresight, and the dark gift enhanced it. She was the one who saw our fates, saw how we would become consumed by the hunger for blood and power. We tried to undo the harm we’d caused, but we failed.”

Jadzia reached out and squeezed the hand of the ancient vampire. Aubrezen gave the girl a thankful look. “If not for Azulnais we would have therm responsible for the destruction of Eras and the age of shadow would have never ended.”

The light outside the windows was growing, soon dawn would come and the sun would rise. “I must go soon. Is there any other questions you would ask?”

“What should I do now?” Jadzia asked. “How can I fight Basilikos?”

“You must gather together those who would stand against the darkness. Bring the mightiest men and women together from across the world. No one person, no matter how strong, can stand against the tide that is coming.” She gave Jadzia’s hand one last comforting squeeze.

“I must go,” she said. “I will return to my time, to the cairn upon the mountain. I will wander the world for a time and then face my fate.”

The mirror had returned, standing like a doorway behind Aubrezen. The broken stones of the cairn could be seen, now bathed in the glow of morning. Aubrezen gave Jadzia a smile and then stepped through. The first rays of light came through the windows and as they touched the mirror, it faded away.

 

[Esplandia]

“I expected it to be dirtier,” Katja said, looking around her father’s secret laboratory.

“It was,” Varic said absently shuffling through a stack of notebooks. “I cleaned it up after I found the place.”

She noticed a bed set up in a back alcove. It had fresh linens on it. “How long have you been living here?” she asked.

“About three weeks.” He finally found the notebook he was looking for. “I thought I’d figure out your father’s cypher on my own, but...”

“I’m the cypher,” she finished.

He nodded, passing her the notebook. She opened it up. It was filled with odd shapes and squiggles. Definitely some form of script, but it was all gibberish to her. “I don’t understand it,” she said handing the notebook back to him.

He didn’t take it. Instead he turned around and found a chair to sit on. “I didn’t think it would be that easy. Your father was a clever man.”

She tossed the notebook down on a table next to the broken remains of some kind of scientific instrument. “I wouldn’t know. He never had much time for me. He never wanted to talk to me, or be in the same room. Because of what I am.”

Varic leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “He was trying to find a cure for your mother. And then after she died, he kept looking for a cure for you. He truly did love you, but he also hated vampires. The duality of man. He was doomed to fail simply because there is no cure for vampirism. You might as well try to cure humans of their humanity. Because you have to choose to become a vampire there’s no going back.”

“I didn’t choose,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. “Which makes you special. It’s why I convinced your father to send you to the Shroud. And it’s why even now you’re working to overthrow them. You feel as if you were human. It’s something the rest of us had to give up.”

She scoffed at his comment. And she didn’t ask how he knew she was working against the the Shroud. Varic was always playing his own angles. “How am I the cypher?” she asked. “I want to get this over with.”

He stood up, producing a small coal of blood from his coat. She eyed him suspiciously but he just shrugged. “I didn’t kill anyone for it,” he assured her. “But the cypher is blood activated, so...” he passed it to her.

She looked at it with disgust, but then popped the top drinking the contents. The familiar sweet-metallic taste washed across her tongue. She rarely fed. Unlike natural vampires she didn’t have to and do she’d never acquired a taste for it.

After her disgust passed Varic handed her the notebook. This time she could make out some of the words and as the seconds passed she could read the sentences.

“What are you going to do with my father’s work now that you have it?”

He smiled, a large grin lighting up his face. “I’m going to present it to your King. A weapon to kill vampires, one that is harmless to humans, in exchange for all that was once mine.”

 

[Esplandia]

The Black Grotto, Argintdrast
1136 AD

“Tell your mistress that I’m grateful for her advice, but I’ll not run away like a coward.” The redheaded man towered over the woman delivering the message to him.
She smiled disarmingly. “Lord Ajgos,” she said with a disarming smile, “your forces have already lost nine battles over the last two years. This Arrand Prince threatens to expose us. For the sake of the Shroud…”

“Damn the Shroud!” he roared, pounding his fist on the table top, his voice echoing among the caverns. “I care not that you are Myzidas’ favorite, if you do not silence yourself I will tear your tongue out.”

Her smile changed to a wicked grin. “As you say, my lord.” She then bowed. “If you are determined to fight, you’ll do so without my forces.”
He roared curses at the woman but she had already swiftly marched out, her guards following.

---

Aureljus could see the entrance to the caves from his vantage point among a rock outcropping. Nearly three full legions were camped out in front, but it was the unknown numbers inside that worried him. He’d just seen about 200 troops of unknown origin march out and head away from the caves, marching towards Bagnomur. Scouts had been sent to follow them in case they turned to flank his own troops. But the way the legions had boo’d those departing, he felt it wasn’t a ruse.

“Dissension in the ranks?” his brother asked.

“One can hope,” he replied. He gave orders to his scouts to keep an eye on the entrance and then he and his brother headed back towards camp. Reports had put his enemy inside the caves, commanding the legions on behalf of the Dominar. So his encroachment on Argent lands had at last drawn enough attention to be considered a threat. He would have to crush them here.

Except he’d need to draw out this vampire, Argos, and any of his fellow vampires in the ranks, to fight him during the daylight hours. Already a plan was forming.

---

Aureljus’ forces started hitting the towns in the area, burning and pillaging. When they hit the third the Argent forces at last marched out from the caverns to meet them. The scouts watching the caverns reported soon after that the Vampire leader had not come out and remained in the caves. Aureljus left his army under the command of his brother, and they two armies met on the shores of the dead lake of Pustilac.

Aureljus though had rode away, swing towards the north before approaching the caves from the east where there was a back entrance with fewer guards. After dispatching the handful of Argent legionnaires they made their way into the caverns. Avoiding patrols, they went deeper. Aureljus expected that Ajgos would be located in the largest cavern. One of his men luckily knew the cavern system quite well.

They found the vampire deep where they expected. He’d set up his command post in the painted cavern, a place where ancient humans had long ago lived and decorated the walls with their simple pictographs and art.

Aureljus gripped his sword, the sword he’d been given by the strange vampire woman he’d met so many years ago. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind, and soon felt the familiar sensation of unbridled power welling up in the blade.

From its tip lightning jumped forth, reverberating around the room, striking down the human guards of the ancient vampire. And then Aureljus came forward, as a great storm built up its power within the cavern. He stood and faced the ancient evil.

Argos shed his human form, now fully revealed as an ancient and demonic form, with leathery wings and a howling distorted face. The vampire raced across the cavern, his claws striking at Aureljus. The Stormbringer lunged at his attacker, swinging his sword to meet his opponent.

 

[Esplandia]

Bravondy
After the journey Jadzia had had (though she was still unsure if it had actually been real), she felt it was probably best to get out of the palace for a time. With a half dozen of her Hussars she’d travelled in secret to the Sepulcher of Anastazias. She sat close to the front, near to the statue of the saint’s statue as she mulled over the dream/vision she’d had, wondering what it had meant. How much of it was true? She felt that if she looked into it she’d find a great deal of it was.

Mostly she thought of the older her she’d seen. Then she remembered the strange silver coin she’d given herself and dug into her pocket. She fished it out. It looked the same as in her vision. NMot a vision, real. The coin proved that. So what had the older her meant by “When you meet him, you will want to hate him. But if you do, all will fail.”

While she was in prayer the church sparrow’s, the orphan youths who tended the sepulcher, came out and lit candles. Jadzia noticed the one she’d met before. She stood up and approached. “How are you, Alexiana?” she asked the young girl.

Alexiana curtsied. “I am well, your highness,” she answered. “God be with you.”

“And with you. I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you and the other sparrows.”

The girl looked genuinely surprised. “I, um, don’t think so, Your Majesty. We are well taken care of.”

“I’m glad to hear that. But is there anything at all I can do?”

“Well, um,” she muttered. “Yes. The library. It was burned in the bombing. Perhaps you could get us some more books.”

“I can see to it,” Jadzia promised. “I’ll let you continue your work,”

Jadzia turned back to return to her seat. A man was sitting where she’d been. He was dressed in a ragged worn out coat. She was startled for a minute, wondering where’d he’d come from. Her Hussars though, were watching him intently. She decided she’d find a different spot to sit, but the man spoke before she could move. “Was this your spot?”

“It belongs to the Lord,” she said humbly. “I thought the church was closed off today.”

He looked around, noticing how empty the place was. “I was already here,” he said. “I was making confession.”

“The church has been closed since last night.”

“I had much to confess.” A smile lit up his face. “And what about you? Does the King come for her own confession?”

“I am here to pray,” she answered, starting to feel uncomfortable. Her Hussars must have sensed it because they began to slowly and quietly approach.

The man continued to look at her. “Do you pray for the souls lost in the war against the Crimson Shroud? Not the vampire’s of course, even I wouldn’t pray for them. What would you do if you had a weapon that could destroy them, root them out of society without risk to humans? What would you be willing to give for that?”

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Then he stood up, and with inhuman speed he spun around to face the Hussars who were approaching. He drew something out of his coat which looked like an airgun, fired six shots. Two of her Hussars exploded in a fiery flash of light and blood. The other four were unaffected by his weapon. One of them jumped over the pew to tackle the ragged man, but he easily sidestepped and cracked a fist down on the lunging man’s head, knocking him cold to the floor.

Jadzia had seen enough. “Stop!” she yelled, in a voice she felt was far too frightened and weak. But her Hussars heard and stopped, their Argent blades in hand. “What did you do to my men?” she asked.

The ragged man half turned towards her, never giving the armed men his back, a wicked grin lighting up his face. “They weren’t your men. They were vampire’s watching you on behalf of the Shroud. They were new, right? Only joined your Hussars in the last six months?”

She realized he was right. “And why would you expose them? Are you trying to defect from the Shroud?”

He laughed wickedly. “Oh I have a much deeper hatred for them than that. And,...” he held up his weapon just enough for Jadzia to see it. “I have a weapon that destroys them as you can see. And i’ll give it to you, in exchange for what was once mine.”

“And what belonged to you?”

“The Duchy of Vlakonval. The chateau of Vatragrav.”

“I will never give those to you. You’re a vampire.”

“A vampire who sided with your grandfather. I fought at Glaszgallov. I saw Merik die. Your father knew what I was. Yet it was the Shroud that convinced him to strip me of my titles. It was the Shroud that forced me to flee. You can hate me. You can even mistrust me. But I want what was mine. Kill me if you have to.”

Once again the words of her older self popped into her head. “When you meet him, you will want to hate him. But if you do, all will fail.” Was this who she had been talking about? She’d just seen his weapon in action. Could this be the way to defeat the Crimson Shroud, and even perhaps Basilikos?

She made her decision. “Let’s talk more,” she told him. “But one false step, and I will not hesitate to kill you.”

 

[Esplandia]

The fires in the city still smoldered. The last legions of the Imperium were defeated in their last attempt to break the siege.

Now the Dominar Konstantin X met the Arrandi Prince to make terms outside the gates of Mistport.
The lords of the opposing sides stared each other down. The Arrand lords in their red and black furs, their trimmed beards and long ponytails on one side. The Argenti in their shining armor, their thick beards and shaven heads glowered back at them and at the front were Aureljus and the Argent Dominar.

Aureljus presented the head of Ajgos, now formed into a grotesque demonic snarl with its fangs bared.
“Your loyal servant,” Aureljus said presenting the head to the Dominar. “But truthfully a servant of the Shadow King of old.”

Konstantin stared in horror at the face that had belonged to his friend and confidant. “A vampire?” he asked in disbelief.

“One of their lords,” Aureljus assured him. “Killed at great cost, along with nearly three dozen others amongst the ranks of your legions, and nine more here today on this field.”

The color drained from the Dominar’s face. He made the sign of the cross and called upon the messiah for protection.

“These are our terms,” Aureljus began. “You will surrender all Argent lands, you will disband your legions, and furthermore you will disband the Imperium, or we shall destroy you to the last man.”
“This cannot be so!”

“Look upon my forces, Dominar. You no longer have the strength to oppose me. The Gotics push you out of the north, the Epiphani will cross the river to the south soon if they are not already preparing to do so, and my armies have taken the east. The Imperium has died here today, do not die with it. You will be allowed to keep this city, but if you choose to fight I will burn it and all within to ash.”

Konstantin stared blankly upon the ground. He knew it was true. Still, to be the man to disband the empire of Azulnais himself. That was hard to swallow.

Aureljus had no patience to wait. “How many vampires are among you? Would you like me to find out for you?” He placed his hand upon his sword, the sword that many claimed commanded the very weather. “Perhaps even you are one of them!”

The Dominar stood up straight, a new resolve in his eyes. “I am a man. If I am to be nothing else, that I shall remain.” He then took his cloak off, the Cloak of Saint Azulnais, and folding it carefully he passed it to the Arrandi prince. “If the Imperium is no more, then I will not need that. I submit to your demands, mighty prince of the Arrandfels.”

And with that, the once mighty Argent Imperium came to an end.

 

[Esplandia]

Epilogue
“You’ll know one day your secret will come out,” Varic had told Katja in her father’s laboratory.

“I’ll put that day off as long as I can” she’d responded. “And if you reveal it to the King, you’ll have more than the Shroud to worry about.”

Now sitting in the cell he’d been placed in he considered perhaps telling and earning more favor. Eventually he decided to keep Katja’s secret. His cell was well furnished and he was being taken care of. The King had promised that he wouldn’t be harmed until the time came when he’d be given his titles and freedom.

He still worried she wouldn’t keep up her end of the bargain, but for now he had little choice but to trust. And wait.

He was so close to regaining all he’d lost. He only needed to be patient. And if all else failed, he’d use his knowledge of Katja as a final bargaining chip.

---

The room grew several degrees colder as the ancient being entered the throne room. Matylda Rokezys however, was not intimidated.

“Greetings, Lady Basilikos,” the child vampire said. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

The elfen-like woman looked around the room, taking in the dozen or so vampires and human slaves in the room. “A moment of your time, please. In private.”

Matylda ordered everyone out and they quickly obeyed out of fear of the ancient woman.

“As your two subordinates have likely told you, I had a fey vision of two of your enemies. One was of the child King that rules in Bravondy. The other was an ancient vampire, one of the nine.”

The incident had been reported to her, though they’d been confused on the details. She was surprised Basilikos had come to her. “The nine are dead. Only I remain.”

“Indeed. This one had come from the past to spy upon us. Dragging that Arrand welp along. This power she used, to phase between times, is something we must worry about.”

Matylda wrinkled her brow, and on her child’s face it looked almost innocent. “Time-travel?”

“Merely a magical illusion. One would need an Anfellum (a time mirror) for such a task. I destroyed the last of them five hundred years ago. Apparently it was used to bring the King back to a time before its destruction and then was used to show her moments in time.”

“And this worries you?”

“It can show moments from possible futures. If the girl has seen the future, it is likely she knows our plans.”

“Then we have run out of time,” Matylda said.

“No more waiting,” agreed Basilikos. “We must strike now.”