Realms of Glomora: A Trail of Blood

Veran studied the patch of dirt before him. There was just enough moonlight that he could make out the dark blood that stained the soil.

             Around him, the music of the night sounded from the deep confines of the forest.  When he had heard that there were disappearances in the village of Cathus over the past couple of months, he decided to investigate. The missing people, the spots of blood, the lack of signs showing a break in. Everything about it stank with the stench of a vampire. Now it seemed he had found the trail. 

            He fingered the black jewel in the hilt of his sword,  deep in thought. The blood spatters were old. He could tell by their dark, rusty color. They should have been brighter. Another victim had been stolen away just a few hours ago before he had reached the village. A young girl named Bhunda, who was only thirteen years old. He prayed to the gods that she was still alive, though he thought it was doubtful. If she had been a grown woman, the vampire may have kept her around for a while, preferring to dine on her in increments. But a child? The monster would suck her dry and cast her aside like a corn husk.

            There was a snapping of a twig in the darkness in front of him. Scowling and alert, he rose to his feet, slowly drawing his sword. He crept forward. His eyes were unnaturally akin to the darkness. He did not see as other men did. To him, the deep gloom was the color of a gray dawn.

            It was what made him such a fine vampire hunter.

            He doubted that the snapping twig was the vampire; they were much too careful for that. But maybe it was Bhunda. A dim hope glowed in his heart, though he did not kindle it to a flame. He had seen the slaughter of too many victims to have hope that this girl would be any different, though on occasion, the gods did grant a miracle.

            He stalked slowly into the trees, as quiet as the shadows that surrounded him.  He stopped every few steps to listen, trying to discern the noises of the summer insects and soft calls of owls. There were no more snapping twigs. But there was a rank scent on the air. The scent of blood.

            He came around a large oak and the ember of hope winked out. 

    Bhunda hung by her neck from the branch of a tree. Her mop of mouse-brown hair covered her face, and a rivulet of blood trickled down her body, from her throat, to the tips of the toes on her right foot. Her body did not stir, and the rope was totally still.

            Veran gritted his teeth. Where was the bastard? He would slice him into a thousand pieces.

            As if in answer to his thoughts, a violent shadow roared at him from the darkness, catching him unawares. The thing crashed into him, knocking his sword from his hands. Veran cried out and raised his arm, keeping the vampire from sinking his teeth into his neck. He was mere inches from his face, his eyes a wild scarlet, his black hair hanging over his face as the fiend cackled.

            “Oh, a vampire hunter? Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I’m afraid you’re too late for the little girl.” He snickered, and as he did so, a cold chill ran through Veran. He knew that laugh. He knew this vampire.

            They struggled until Veran was able to wedge his foot to the vampire’s abdomen and give a sound kick. The creature went rolling as Veran scrambled to his feet and took up his sword. It glinted wickedly in the moonlight, the engraved runes along its blade shimmering with magic. The vampire scuttled like an insect up the side of tree until it crouched in its boughs. Consternation plagued his face.

            “I know that sword…” he looked from it to Veran. “And I believe I know you…” Sudden recognition flashed in his eyes and he barked out a laugh. “Veran! As I dine and bleed. It is you. I didn’t recognize you beneath that cowl.” He cupped his chin in his hand. “My, fancy meeting you here.” 

            “Viktor.” Veran held his blade in front of him, not taking his eyes off his old acquaintance. He knew how fast he could move. And now all the disappearing children made sense. Viktor always had a particular palate for children.

            “It’s been what, fifteen years? I can’t believe its been that long since you left Crimsonfall.” He was silent for a heartbeat. “And your eyes. They’re as blue as summer sky. So I guess you really did find it. I’m surprised you survived the Forest of Abomination.”

            Veran’s muscles were rigid. He knew this fool’s tricks. He would lash out at Veran while he was distracted. Viktor had the advantage, and for the time being, he would play his little game.

            “You’re a long way away from Crimsonfall,” Veran said. “Have you been turned loose?”

            Viktor’s smile vanished. “As it so has happens, I had to leave. The coven hasn’t been the same since you turned tail and ran.”

            “How interesting,” Veran said. Why didn’t he just attack him? If he got in range, Veran could slice off that loquacious head of his. He’s being wary, Veran realized. He knows how powerful ShadowWeep is. “Whatever befell the great lord who dyed the waterfalls of the valley red with the blood of hundreds of innocents?”

           Viktor’s eyes flashed like violent fires.  “You happened, Veran. You must realize that.”

           Veran couldn’t help take pleasure from the thought.  “And now you’re out here, dining on villagers, hiding out like a rabid fox in the forest.” Veran shook his head. “Oh, poor Viktor.”

            Viktor’s revealed his fangs. “I wouldn’t condescend if I were you, traitor. You were the catalyst that brought about our downfall. I am happy that fate had the sense to bring us together. Now I can repay you for your betrayal.”

            A stone flew from Viktor’s hand with the speed of an arrow. Veran spun out of the way, aware that it was a distraction and that within an instant Viktor would be behind him.  Though he was no longer a vampire and not able to keep up with Viktor’s speed, he did know of his old tricks.

            Sure enough, Viktor was behind him now, his fangs out, his scarlet eyes wild with hunger and vengeance. Veran swung ShadowWeep. For an instant, he saw the surprise in Viktor’s eyes that he had seen through his trick. He did his best to dodge the sword stroke and rose his arm to block the rest of the blow.

            ShadowWeep rived through flesh and there was an explosion of black blood. Viktor screamed as he went rolling in the dirt. His right forearm fell to the ground, the point where it had been sliced off already being cauterized by the blade’s magic.

            Veran did not wait for Viktor to regain his composure, but instead dove forward. Viktor got to his feet only to catch the blade in his belly. He screamed as Veran kept pushing, driving Viktor and the sword into the trunk of a tree.

            Veran stepped back, releasing ShadowWeep. Viktor was pinned, like fish that had been driven through with a spear. Viktor screamed in agony, the wound where ShadowWeep had pierced glowing like hot iron. He gripped the blade with his remaining hand, but that too burned him.

            “Take it out! Take it out, curse you!”

           Veran glowered at him. “All in good time, old friend.” He said the last word with an air of irony. “But first I have to do something.” He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a vial. Inside dark blood swished about.

            “I don’t want to do this,” Veran said. “But I made a promise.” He held the vial in front of Viktor’s face. “In my hand, I hold the cure to your curse. If you drink this, it will make you human once more. It will also heal your wounds. You can start over, Viktor. You can receive mercy for the untold graveyards you have filled with your hunger.”

            Despite the scorching heat of a thousand suns running through his veins, Viktor looked at him in astonishment. Then he bared his fangs. “Go to hell. I will never be human again, and I will certainly not be someone like you. A traitor to his own kind. One who puts himself above his coven.”

          Veran stared at him for a moment, then slipped the vial back into his pouch. “I gave you a chance at mercy, and you refused. Now all that’s left is wrath.”

            He drew out ShadowWeep from Viktor’s gut, and with a flourish, brought the sword down on the vampire’s neck. There was a sudden spurt of blood, and his head fell at Veran’s feet as the rest of his body toppled over against the tree. Viktor’s fangs were still bared in a defiant snarl.

            The vampire hunter sheathed his blade. He made his way to where Bhunda hung and cut her down with his dagger, taking her gently in his arms. Her hair fell back as he laid her on the ground to show pale blue eyes, as dim as stones. A sudden pain passed through his heart. He had seen much death in his existence, much of it doled out by himself. Whenever he thought his soul had become deadened to the presence of death, there would always be a death that pained him greatly. Sometimes it was a child, sometimes a grown man, sometimes it was even a vampire. He never knew when a death would break him.

            He shut her eyes and covered his face with his hand. Then he wept, as if she had been his own daughter. His tears spilled without restraint, falling onto the girl’s face. 

    When the tears finally ceased, he sighed. He rose and took Bhunda in his arms, cradling her gently, and began his walk back to Cathus.

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