A Hero's Tale

A Hero’s Tale

*

         “How long?”

         “Our sentry scouts sent word about fifteen minutes ago.”

         Vargo sighed. The black stallion he was mounted on trampled its hooves, snorting in a reflection of its rider’s annoyance. In the chill night air the animal’s breath looked to be thick smoke billowing from its nostrils, made all the more ominous by the fae light pouring down from the half filled moon setting on the horizon. Vargo removed a chain mail gauntlet, revealing a pale (even in the eerie half light of the moon) delicate hand, with neatly trimmed fingernails. He reached forward patting the warhorse’s neck soothingly, his hand lingering to feel the animal’s warmth and its powerful pulse.

         Replacing the gauntlet, Vargo turned his attention back to his Lieutenant. The pale man had light blue eyes, an almost hawkish nose, and long white hair that spilled out from the half-face helmet he wore. He was gazing into the forest with predatory vigilance. His armor was an exact match to Vargo’s own, supple black chain mail covered by plate studded strips of black leather.

         He looked claustrophobic in his attire and it made Vargo feel all the more confined in his own helmet and he removed it. The winter breeze picked up, blowing and whipping his short white hair about briefly, a lick of cold that his Vampire skin never felt.

         “Which means it should be sometime before he arrives,” Vargo stated, placing his helmet on the pommel of his saddle. “Our Lord honors us, Dair,” he said with little conviction when his Lieutenant glanced his way.

         “Honor,” his Lieutenant spat the word distastefully. “Our Lord comes. He comes long after the fighting is done, and weeks since we’d claimed our prize. He comes with no daylight reinforcements, and as undermanned as we are he will leave us with just that, your so called honor.” Vargo lifted his eye from the red stain, and into Dair’s eyes. “Sir,” Dair followed up, only a fraction too late.

         Vargo kept eye contact with his Lieutenant, but didn’t respond. The two stared at each other for a moment that stretched on longer than it truly was. Dair gave in, lowering his eyes and bowing his head, then looked back into the thick forest surrounding the small town.

         “It isn’t right that Gerbon will just come in and take the prisoner like this. We should be the ones bringing him to Lord Hamide. Not that pompous, bloated…”

         “Lord Gerbon,” Vargo interrupted, tired of Dair’s complaining but knowing there would be no end to it. “And we have other orders. We’re to move to Iliamgard to reinforce, and join the campaign in Tungsten. We don’t have the time to deliver the prisoner to Lord Hamide ourselves.”

         “With a man like Lord Gerbon,” Dair said the honorific with as much contempt as possible, “In command of this hunt, how can you speak of such things as honor? He could spare some of the resources he has, and we could be in Tungsten in two weeks time. Hell, we could have delivered him ourselves in the time we’ve been here waiting for our Lords arrival…”

         Vargo turned the black stallion towards the road leading into the small town. “Inform me when his entourage arrives, I will be with the prisoner.”

         Over his shoulder as he rode away, Vargo could hear Dair cursing Gerbon, and the whole situation, with less restraint then he did in front of his Commander. Vargo wanted to do much the same.

*

         Vargo rode through the single street, the only sound his horse crunching through the fresh fallen snow. The street had transformed from forest foliage, becoming lined by small wooden buildings covered in crystalline ice spears of varying sizes, all neatly lined up along the road. All the buildings were devoid of light, but far from empty. Many of his troops were within the walls of the buildings. The imps-—daylight guardians of his soldiers—were asleep for the night, while the Vampire were looking for any manor of food they could find. Vargo would also have to hunt for anything he could find, but for now he had other things to attend to.

         Vargo pulled his horse into an alleyway between two of the largest buildings. The alleyway was large, but the buildings seemed to engulf the sky making it more of a tunnel than a throughway. As Vargo neared the end of the alley he dismounted.

         The moon had set and to humans the back of the building would have seemed impenetrable darkness, but Vargo’s sensitive eyes could see everything. A cage, large enough to fit two large men sat against the building guarded by three pale faced women with white hair, dressed in black robes. Of his forces, the three were his most powerful weapons. The Priestesses were able to call upon mystical forces, of which Vargo had little knowledge, and had proven time and again their worth. The caged man couldn’t be trusted with anything less.

         He was immense in size, large even for his race. At almost seven feet tall, the man seemed cramped within the confines. With his large shoulders, and well-muscled arms and legs one could imagine him merely stretching and breaking free of the cage. His face, and skin that were visible through the furs he wore, was darkly tanned, if not a bit blue from the cold. The man had his arms wrapped about himself trembling, his breath coming out in long steaming clouds. His feet were bare, and his head was shaved bald. His features were best described as hard, as were his penetrating green eyes.

         “It is cold this night,” Vargo stated, turning his attention from the man to the tallest of the three women. A head taller than Vargo, the woman was still a head and shoulder shorter than the caged man.

         “He is protected from exposure…”

         “I-I…have my doubts,” the man interrupted through chattering teeth. Rubbing his arms to emphasize his point.

         “He has been rather docile this night,” she finished. The priestesses’ eyes shifting to the prisoner, and his chills intensified, though most definitely not from the look she gave him.

         Vargo suppressed a smile. “Thank you, I will watch him for now.” He knelt onto the ground. Next to the cage was a small stack of wood, and Vargo picked up a few large logs. Restacking them to better suit a fire, he glanced at the robed women. All three stared back, their dead eyes revealing nothing.

         Vargo, already exasperated, spat, “I’ll not have him die. Nor will I have the light of this fire destroy us all.” The huge man in the cage snorted at the comment. Vargo continued, “Unless you’d rather stay here? I imagine you’re, all three, quite ravenous. There’s little to feed upon here so by all means stay if you wish.”

         The three women bowed, curtly, and all three joined hands. An ominous humming came from the trio. There was a spark of something over the fire. Not light, but more accurately anti-light. An area a good distance around the fire simply vanished. Blackness so dim, that even Vargo’s night-seeing eyes couldn’t penetrate. The women stopped humming, released hands, and turned to their leader.

          “Leave us,” he said.

         The three bowed again, and turned to leave.

         “Ladies,” the man in the cage crooned. He pulled back a fur-lined sleeve revealing a muscular forearm. He made three quick fists, his other hand squeezing the upper part of his revealed arm. A large vein protruded from the exposed skin, and hearing the strong pulse Vargo himself was almost overtaken with the desire to feed. “We’ll see you later.” The man wore a devilish grin, waving.

         The three priestesses stopped, and turned, their eyes dripping with the desire to feed, or maybe just kill. Vargo wasn’t sure, but didn’t want to find out. He didn’t say a word, just stared at the three women, one by one stealing their gazes from the prisoner. Stiffly they offered another bow and strolled off.

         Watching them go Vargo shook his head, turning towards the man. “You taunt them, yet it does little other than make the time you spend with the harder.” He stated.

         The man responded by making a fist of his hand a few more times. His blond colored eyebrows rose invitingly, and he moved the arm back and forth outside the bars, like a butcher selling his latest cut.

         “You should know by now it won’t work on me,” Vargo smiled, and turned to the spell-darkened area.

         He looked up to the man in the cage, who was now hugging himself and rubbing his arms more fiercely, stripped of the Priestesses magical warmth. Vargo reached into a pouch on his belt. Producing a small book of matches, he pulled out a stick, and struck it beneath the spell darkened area. In moments the sound of crackling could be heard within. No light came from the fire, but thick billowing puffs of smoke arose from above the hidden flames.

         “You taunt me,” The large man said with little conviction. Slumping forward on the bars, he seemed to melt into the warmth emanating from the lightless fire.

         Vargo turned back to the woodpile, and stacked a few on the snow, using them as a makeshift seat. He reached into the satchel he carried, and handed the man a loaf of bread, some kind off green colored cheese, and a bottle of dark brown liquor Vargo had found in the local tavern.

         “But you taunt so well,” the man said, tearing into the loaf of bread. He eyed the strange cheese, as a small dog would eye a porcupine after he’d tangled with it, before he tore into it as well. Vargo let him eat in silence, and tried not to think of his own hunger. When the man was finished he opened the bottle and began to drink it, at a moderate pace, wincing with each gulp.

         “So, tonight I get bread that only tasted two years old, you try to poison me with cheese.” Vargo actually laughed at that, having been somewhat dubious of the cheese to begin with. The prisoner continued, “And I get to get stinking drunk. What’s the occasion?”

         “Lord Gerbon comes. To retrieve you for Lord Hamide.” Vargo said while refusing the man’s customary offer of the bottle.

         The man almost dropped the drink into the snow at the mention of Gerbon’s name. He sat there for a moment wide eyed, his eyebrows making their way up as far as they could go.

         After a pause he sat back, picked up the bottle and took a large pull. A deep baritone laugh followed his drink. He laughed for a good long while, seemed to gain control for an instant, and began to laugh again. Vargo sat quietly staring into the void where the light of the fire would have been, watching the billowing smoke dissipate into the air.

         “No, wait…did…did you say Gerbon? You mean,” He puffed up his cheeks, and stuck out his stomach as far as it would go in the sitting position, chuckles escaping his puffed cheeks, “Gerbon?”

         Vargo nodded not taking his eyes away from the void.

         The man continued laughing for a good three minutes before he was able to gain full control of himself, and even then a slight giggle escaped from time to time.

         He turned his attention to Vargo. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost sounding apologetic. “That’s gotta be a real kick in the teeth for you. You captured ‘The Great Auron Opin’ and the sorriest excuse for a supposed 'House Lord' in the history of your wretched race, I might add, is going to take the claim.” He howled again, and sighed ruefully. “Glad I’m not the only one having a pisser of a day.”

         “It matters little. I’m a solider and I follow orders.” Eyeing Auron he added. "In that respect we are, in many ways, alike."

         “I don’t burst into flames under sunlight, so I’m happy we can still share that difference.” Auron said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

         Vargo gave a small chuckle. “You would be singing a different tune if every night were True Night.” Singing a different tune? He had been spending far to much time with this Hopvin.

         The big man fell silent, and Vargo knew he had broached a touchy subject. Vargo knew his history well, and the history of war between the three races of Gau was long and detailed by all three sides. There had been many shifts in power, but it was widely believed among his people that the Vampire would have long since conquered the Humans, were it not for the Hopvin. They looked upon the Humans as and older brother would look after a younger sibling, while the Vampire viewed them as inferior beings, a way to sustain life that no amount of animal blood could compare too.

         The Hopvin had always aligned themselves with the Humans, and sharing similar traits of the Vampire had proven to be a considerable menace when it came to their war with men. After many years, and wars all over Gau, an unsteady balance was maintained. The Humans were able to flourish over the lands of Gau, and under Hopvin guidance were even able to prosper. Over the past thousand years all that had changed.

         The Hopvin’s numbers began to dwindle. The Ancient Vampire speculated with words such as ‘planet’, ‘eclipse’ and ‘solar system’, but the truth of it was no one knew what the True Night was, or what had brought it about, Vampire, Human, or Hopvin alike.

         True Night was inescapable for the Hopvin. While the Vampire could seek refuge in the earth during the day, when True Night came the Hopvin could not escape it. It came at least twice a year, though it had been known to come more than that. The Ancients had once tried to explain to him what many speculated True Night was, but Vargo hadn’t understood. Thoughts of the sun, much less the characteristics of it, were not among his favorite things to dwell upon.

         All he knew was that it happened, and because it did it had been a tremendous advantage to the Vampire in this seemingly never ending war. When True Night came every Hopvin in the world was overcome by a terrible sickness. Only the very strong could remain mobile, the young and very old and weak usually didn’t survive the night.

         Over the centuries, this process had dwindled the population of the Hopvin to an unheard of low. Conquering the Humans since then had been simple, and now there were a mere three populace Human countries not under Vampire rule, and one populace Hopvin city remained. In that time the Vampire numbers had swelled to a point none of even the oldest of Ancients could recall.

         There was an unfortunate side effect for the Vampire. The Hopvin, though small in number, had become much more powerful. The True Night, while a devastating plague among the Hopvin, also seemed to be making them more powerful. The Ancients liked to say, ‘That which does not kill them, makes them stronger,’ and it couldn’t be said any truer. The Human Country of Sallian was believed to be unconquerable, being that the last Hopvin city of Rialic lay within its borders.

         True Night was the only reason this Hopvin sat caged before him. He had been captured, and kept from sunlight and firelight since that night. Auron was as helpless as a human deprived of the very thing that gave him his strength. Even so, he had already killed two of the seven priestesses he’d brought with him unfortunately they had underestimated the Hopvin, where Vargo would not.

         The night itself had always weakened the Hopvin, but never enough to slow them much. Continuous night, though, and being shut away in the day had left Auron weaker than he’d ever been in his life. The calmness with which Auron handled his weakness was surprising to Vargo at first. Two dead priestesses later he had been taught what a competent warrior the man was, and he was no longer surprised. He also learned to never underestimate this strange man, and had even developed a queer, grudging, respect for him.

         “A truer statement if ever there was one.” The big man returned somewhat gloomily, taking one final sip and setting the half filled bottle down.

         Vargo trailed a finger through the snow. “Tell me Auron,” He said, not taking his eyes from the delicate shapes his lithe fingers made in the snow “how did I catch you?”

         Auron shot him an incredulous look, and seemed on the brink of another gale of laughter. “I’d say it’s been, what, ‘far too long’ since you’ve fed? Seven priestesses, an entire Hoard, imps, not to mention you and your cavalry cutting off any chance of escape I didn’t really have.” He glanced into the void, his eyes seeming to strain to see what lay beyond the darkened area. “And the night bled.” He said softly.

         …the night bled. That was what the Hopvin and Humans called it. When the dark of night became red, and all the stars in the sky, and the moon itself dissapeared. “I do not mean that. I mean, what were you doing in this abandoned relic of a Human city? There may have been human raiders camped in here even two months ago, but certainly not since long before we found you. And we’re three thousand miles inside of Vampire controlled territory.”

         Auron laid his head back against the bars, sighing deeply as if some agitated mythical dragon. “I was on my way to Iliamgard. Since Fortis has fallen the only way there is through infested lands. I knew the night would bleed soon so I figured here was as good a place to hold out as any.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, and sighed again.

         Vargo nodded, not quite believing the bigger man. It was only by sure luck that an imp and managed to stumble upon Auron the day before True Night fell. The creature was more than likely savaging for some type of meal, too stupid to realize that the human town had been abandoned much longer than the imps very short lifespan. Vargo had always been in the practice of knowing exactly how many troops he had, and the search for the missing imp had led to the town. The search of the town had led to the finding of an extremely weakened, but still very powerful, Hopvin.

         Both men sat in silence, dwelling about the same thing though with two radically different outlooks. After a moment Auron raised the bottle in a toast “Too fate, may she give a day that never ends.” He doffed the bottle towards Vargo, took a small sip and replaced the bottle in its resting place. Vargo nodded his head respectfully.

         After a moment the large man rubbed his hand over his baldhead. “Well, at least there’s that light at the end of this very bleak tunnel.”

         Vargo raise an eyebrow quizzically, and Auron elaborated. “Well, when the almighty bloated one takes me off of your hands, where you off to then?”

         Vargo was still confused. “I am to head for Iliamgard, to enforce my Horde, than march them to assist in the siege of Tungsten.” He didn’t hesitate telling this enemy the movements of the Vampire army. His Horde, even fully enforced, was too small to make a difference in that campaign, and if Auron did escape, well, by the time he made it to Human lands to report his movement’s Vargo’s horde would already be in the thick of battle.

         Auron nodded his head his eyes alight with amusement. “And The Lord Flabby Bottom will be taking me to Carae?”

         Vargo nodded, an obvious assumption. Carae was where Lord Gerbon’s stronghold was situated, near the rocky shore of Lake Carae. Auron’s ultimate destination was Zifarian, the large Vampire stronghold controlled by Lord Hamide. Vargo had no doubt there would be a long stop for Auron in Carae before that.

         “Well then, I’ll have a much better chance of escaping when you and me are heading in different directions, Vampire.” Auron said, with a juvenile smirk.

         Vargo laughed almost as hard as Auron had earlier. Shaking his head as he laughed, he looked sideways at the odd Hopvin.

         Auron watched him for a time before Vargo stopped. He barked a quick laugh. “In all honesty, I’m truly pleased I haven’t gotten the opportunity to kill you yet.”

         Vargo bowed his head respectfully towards Auron. “As am I.”

         Auron again chuckled as Vargo heard the sound of horse hoofs coming down the alley. Had it been that long? Vargo stood and walked to where his horse was tethered.

         Peering down the alley he saw who he had expected too see. Vargo raised his eyebrows quizzically, and Dair nodded with a slight grimace on his face. “He comes.”

*

         The Large carriage approached creaked slowly down the main street. The sounds of many hooves could be heard crunching through the snow with eight Cavalrymen flanking the carriage. The conveyance itself was an immense angular block covered in what appeared to be silk tapestry. The wood, where Vargo could see it, was a polished black sheen of undoubtedly inexpensive wood material, knowing Lord Gerbon. Pulled by twelve horses, Vargo was rather shocked the thing even moved, and a bit surprised the imp driver didn’t fall off given the precarious nature of the carriage, and not having a proper seat.

         The carriage and cavalry approached Vargo and Dair, both mounted in the center of the street as the monstrosity rumbled towards them. It came to a stop, and the cavalry flanking it rotated smartly, encircling the carriage. Vargo saluted the man he recognized as the Captain of Gerbon’s Personal guard with an open palm to the chest.

         The Captain returned the salute but gave no further indication of doing anything beyond protecting his Lord from attack.

         A short moment passed before the sound of a hatch opening from the top of the square carriage clicked into still night, and a skinny vampire levitated from the opening out onto the snow covered street. The man had neatly trimmed white hair with eyes that seemed almost black. He wore long flowing silk robes decorated in strange runes that served no other purpose than making the robes ‘unique.’

         The man bowed slightly to Vargo and Dair. “I am Sten, my Lord’s secretary. Captain Vargo, may I present my Lord Farliunious Gerbon.” The man placed a hand on the carriage, and Vargo could hear the sound of a spring being released. A panel slid open revealing a window and upper torso of a man, apparently dressed in some kind of black velvet. You could make out little but the mans face, and even that was revolting enough. Overindulgences of feeding was never a good thing in any of Gau’s three races, and Lord Gerbon was the epitome of why that was. Vargo doubted the man could get out of the carriage and walk on his own two legs, and knew for a fact he couldn’t hunt for himself. Vampire such as Gerbon made Vargo reflect on the question, Is this to be our reward when this war is done?

         Gerbon looked bored, and glanced over at Vargo as if not noticing the panel had given way. His voice was a high-pitched nasally whine, and sounded very bored. “Yes, yes, Sten, we are here now. Can we get on with it? I wish to be back in our own camp before long. The sun will make its journey soon, and this drab place is so objectionable to our sensitive eyes.” Lord Gabon turned away, the panel sliding shut. Clearly introductions were over.

         “Yes, well, my Lord wishes to see this prisoner of yours immediately and speak with him.” Sten seemed to have the arrogant boredom of any other House Lord, so Vargo much preferred to deal with him than Lord Gerbon.

         “If you will forgive me, but as our Lord said, the sun will be rising soon. I do not believe we have the time for you to speak to the man, as well as prepare him for transport. It would seem you have no means of which to…”

         Sten interrupted him by pushing another button on the side of the carriage. A much larger spring was trigged and the bottom part of the carriage seemed to slide away out of the back. Large enough to fit Auron the compartment was lined with hay and bundles of cloth. Vargo assumed the wood would hold if Auron tried to break free as long as the compartment also kept the sunlight and any stray firelight out. Vargo didn’t bother pointing this out.

         Sten gave orders to Gerbon’s Captain, ordering six men to stay with the carriage while the rest made their way back to the camp. Turning to Vargo, Sten informed him that all the cavalry and priestesses under his command would escort Lord Gerbon back. Then the priestesses would be relieved into Lord Gerbon’s Horde, and only then would Vargo be allowed to return to the town and prepare for the journey to Iliamgard. Vargo made some protest in the foolishness of the idea, but Sten showed no interest. Sighing he relented to the insane demands of which there seemed to be no end for the Nobility of his race.

         “If you please.” Vargo said motioning down the street. He explained they were only three buildings from where Auron was kept. Sten gave an annoyed look upon learning the prisoner was kept in an alleyway, but knew well the benefits of depriving a Hopvin of sunlight and firelight, as well as keeping them out in the night for extended periods.

         Sten ordered one of the remaining Cavalry to dismount from his horse, and Sten lifted himself a bit shakily onto the brown steed. Vargo turned to Dair, informing him to mount up the cavalry, and to stop the Imps from digging. It didn’t look like they would be sleeping another night in the retched town after all.

         Dair rode off to rouse the rest of thier soilders who were undoubtedly preparing to retire. Vargo looked to Sten, and continued riding towards the alleyway. The unmounted cavalrymen was easily able to keep pace with the slow moving wagon, and before long the odd entourage pulled up in the back alleyway beside Auron’s cage, during the short trip Vargo had explained to Sten the events that had led up to the capture of Auron. The man couldn't have been any less interested.

         Auron seemed to be sleeping when they arrived, but with their time together Vargo knew different. He dismounted, as Sten did, and made his way to the cage. The three priestesses had returned when Dair and Vargo had gone to meet Lord Gerbon’s carriage. None of them so much as glanced at Vargo or his ‘guests’. Sten, instead of walking to the cage, walked to the carriage, pressing a button and a panel slid back again revealing Lord Gerbon’s flabby face.

         Gerbon took a moment before looking out of the carriage but when he did his eyes seemed to alight with childish glee. “It is here, Sten, we are pleased. Oh Sten, tell it to stand up so we can see it as it’s meant to be seen. Oh Sten now. Now!”

         Sten turned his glare towards Vargo.

         “Auron…” Vargo began, but he needn’t have bothered. Before Vargo could get the man’s name out, he had already wrapped a huge hand around one bar, pulling himself up while picking up the half full bottle of brown liquor with his free hand.

         Eyes still closed Auron uncorked the bottle, and took a swig of it. Swallowing, with what Vargo considered dramatic effect, he turned his head in the direction of the carriage, and opened his eyes. Sighing a horse grunt, he took another small drink.

         “By my own two eyeballs, I wouldn’t believe it, but you’ve managed to become a more pathetic, even shallower creature of your former self. Had I known it would come to this I wouldn’t have…”

         “Sten, is it truly it? Are we dreaming?”

         “…left you helpless and…” Auron continued.

         “My Lord, this is no dream, it is truly the Sishwwian. ” Sten had to talk over Auron’s continuing tirade.

         “…pathetic in your lords room, simpering,” Auron never took his eyes from the grotesque face of Lord Gerbon. “and crying begging for your own life, trying to squirm away from me. Why I didn’t finish you then is completely beyond me now, but since it seems I have to deal with vermin such as yourself again…”

         “Sten.” Gerbon’s voice quivered with rage, and Sten reacted quickly. Pulling a mace concealed within his robes, Sten jumped forward, swinging the mace deftly through the bars, and impacting on Auron's forehead with a snap the sound of wood breaking.

         Vargo saw the big mans eyes cross as his head whipped violently back slamming into the bars behind. With a low groan, he slunk slowly to the bottom of the cage. “I sure do feel that drink now,” he said in a weak sounding voice.

         To vargo, Sten’s mace seemed to disappear as fast as it appeared. He turned back to his lord, a questioning look on his face. Gerbon gave a slight nod of his bulbous head, and Sten back to Vargo. “You will leave us now, and take your priestesses as well. You will prepare to journey.”

         “Sir, I should leave a Priestess here with you. This prisoner is…”

         “I know all about this prisoner Captain. My own magical, not to mention physical, facilities will be more than enough. And our guard is more than sufficient, don’t you agree.”

         Vargo took a moment to look around him, and sighed. “With respect, even if we start to load the prisoner now that will give us little time to get to the camp before…” Vargo began, but Gerbon himself interrupted.

         “You have your orders Captain, and you will go, now!” The last part Gerbon virtually screamed. Vargo made a quick salute, and mounted his horse, ordering the priestesses to do the same.

         He gave one last look to the large man, who was curled in the bottom of the cage his hands covering his head, and rode at a quick gallop down the alleyway. The priestesses close behind. When he came back to the road he was surprised to see all his men mounted, armormed, and at the ready. The other two priestesses were also mounted, and the imps milled about, not looking too sure what they should be doing.

         Dair watched him through his helmet, and Vargo took his own from the pommel of the saddle and put it on. An imp quickly ran to his horse, handing him a lance. Vargo gripped it firmly and wheeled his horse about, riding close to Dair.

         “Well?” Dair asked after a brief moment of silence.

         Vargo, still stewing over his frustration and impatience with his ‘Lord’ took a moment to answer. “We’re waiting.”

         Another pause. “For?” Dair questioned.

         Vargo sighed, readjusting his helmet. “For Lord Gerbon to ‘question’ the prisoner.”

         Dair stared at his Captain for a moment, than shook his head. “We’re going to burn.”

         Vargo agreed, but kept his tongue. “We have more than an hour before it begins to become uncomfortable. A half hour more after that before it becomes too dangerous. Short of some discomfort we will find shelter in Lord Gerbon’s camp.”

         Dair said something, but Vargo’s attention was drawn elsewhere as a faint sound of hooves crunching through snow, riding hard, tickled his ear. Not long after the other’s heard the sound and formed up smartly, the imps scattering about trying not to be trampled.

         A single rider broke through the forest, and drove his horse towards Vargo and his men. Vargo recognized the man as one of Gerbon’s personal guard who had only departed minutes before. As the rider approached Vargo noticed that the man’s sword was drawn, dripping redness, and Vargo knew he’d seen battle.

         As he approached Vargo shouted out. “What news?”

         The man didn’t answer until he rode right up next to Vargo. “Marauders, Human.” The man said, sheathing his blade and taking a lance that an imp ran to him.

         “This far out?” Vargo asked, unable to keep surprise out of his voice.

         The man nodded. “Lots of them. They were waiting in ambush as we rode back to Vargo’s camp. We did not stand a chance, I was lucky to make it here.”

         “Were you followed?” Dair asked, reigning up to the two men.

         “Undoubtedly, but with how they executed that ambush there can be no doubt they knew we were coming, and already knew of this town.”

         “Damn!” Dair cursed, and turned to Vargo.

         Vargo only looked at his Lieutenant for a brief moment, and then turned to the rider. “Report to Lord Gerbon of the situation. Tell him I am riding out to assess, and more than likely meet this threat.”

         The man saluted, turned his horse and rode down the alleyway. In the silent winter air all his men had heard the news, so Vargo simply rode hard out in the direction that the rider had come from, his men forming ranks alongside, and behind him quickly. The imps, able to keep pace even though on foot stayed close.

         When Dair rode close enough he had to yell to be heard over the sound of thirty horsemen galloping through the snow. “Sir, we may be riding into a trap.”

         Vargo nodded, and yelled back. “We’ve already been caught in a trap Dair. If we don’t do something before sunup, we're dead anyways!"

         Dair grimaced, tightened his hands on the reins and his lance, and followed his leader into battle.

*

         After watching Vargo ride away down the alleyway Sten turned his attention back to the caged man. “So, are we feeling more docile?” he asked looking down at the Hopvin curled up at the bottom of the cage.

         Auron merely grunted, his eyes still closed with his hands gingerly cradling his head. The bottle had fallen from his hands and lay on the ground, half empty.

         “Excellent then, now that we have some relative privacy my Lord has some questions. Simple questions and I assure you our time together won’t be short even if the sun’s coming up, so no reason not to answer them now. Unless you want to bleed.” Sten squatted down in front of the cage facing Auron.

         Auron grunted again, and pulled his palm away from his forehead, showing it to Sten. It was stained with blood, and a rivulet of the redness ran down the length of his nose and off his chin, staining the light brown furs he wore a deep crimson. A slight twitch of his razor thin lips was the only change in Sten's pale skinned face. “Further.” He intoned, and leaned closer.

         “Now, it is odd you were found here. Even more odd is you being found here amidst the rise of marauder attacks upon these lands in the past few months. Why have the humans increased their activity in these lands?” His eyes never left Auron’s own, though the Hopvin’s eyes were still closed.

         Auron sighed, bringing his hand back to his bleeding forehead. “I’ve already told Vargo, as I’m sure he would report if you…”

         “I have asked you.” Sten interrupted. An almost childlike giggle came from within the carriage. “So tell me.”

         Auron opened his eyes, and looked to the carriage. Gerbon flashed him a fanged smile, breathing heavy in his obvious excitement. Auron groaned a sigh, closing his eyes. “I was headed for Iliamgard.” He said simply.

         Sten’s thin lips twitched slightly downwards. “For what purpose.”

         “A comrade was inside of the city when it fell last year. I had thought him dead, but three months ago he got message through to me, asking for help. I was going to see what I could do.” Auron whispered the last bit, but Sten heard every word.

         “And you came alone?” Sten asked.

         “Yes, if there are humans here there probably just refugees from Iliamgard doing the right thing and…”

         Sten sighed slightly, and shook his head. Lightning quick the mace reappeared in his hand and came down on one of Auron’s exposed feet. The big man howled, his hand cradling his bleeding, broken, foot. Another giggle, and the sound of clapping hands came from the monstrous carriage.

         Auron's bloodshot eyes, now very alert, locked on Sten like the penetrating stare of a snake eyeing its next meal. Tears, and blood streaming down the big mans face made the look all the more ominous, and Sten was taken aback for a moment by the ferocity of the man’s stare. Had Vargo been there he would have stepped in and ended the 'interview'. Vargo had seen that look on only a few occasions, and whenever he did he knew he was about to gamble his life with this Hopvin. Sten unfortunately was only slightly intimidated. Composing himself, he continued.

         “Now, there is no coincidence to be found here. There is something being planned by the humans and you foul creatures. I will know what it is, and you will tell what you know if we have to break every…” Sten was interrupted by the sound of a horseman approaching fast.

         “My Lord Gerbon, Humans approach. They have slaughtered the small escort we brought with us not ten miles into the woods. I was cut off from escape to the main camp, so I came here. Captain Vargo has taken his Horde to meet them…”

         A squealing whine escaped from the fat lord’s lips, and a fearful voice called out. “Sten?”

         “Nothing to fear my Lord, any human's that may be near is no match for Vargo’s horde, we are quite safe with our own horsemen…” Sten took his eyes from the Hopvin's glare for a moment to give the newly arrived rider orders. That proved to be the final mistake he ever made.

         Auron reached out of his cage with blinding speed, he snatched the bottle and hurled it at the still squatting Sten. Sten, catching the movement from the corner of his vision, was quick to react and his mace appeared, parrying the bottle. With a crash it exploded, spilling what remained of its thick, brown, contents all over Sten’s face and clothing.

         Wiping the liquid form his eyes Sten frowned. “My Lord had no intention of you dying tonight…” He stopped when he saw the large man reaching out again, this time into a spell darkened area which the usually perceptive man had failed to notice until just now. His eyes went wide as a shower of red-hot and flaming embers flew out from the black void, showering him.

*

         The flames that leapt from the slim mace-wielding vampire were more beautiful to Auron’s eyes than any sunrise he could recall. He had suspected the drink would make a good fuel, but hadn’t taken into account the extremely flammable clothing the slim Vampire was wearing. The bright flare that leaped up from the thin man was stunning. He basked in the light that illuminated from the burning Sten, and for a moment ignored the commotion going on around him. A pain that had been with him for far too long was instantly burnt away by the light of the flames.

         The burning vampire slunk to his knees screaming. Auron, snapping out of his daze reacted quickly, he reached out and snatched the small mace. Gripping the blunt tool he shoved the burning vampire back, standing. He brought the mace down quickly on the metallic lock keeping his cage closed, his only true captor at the moment. He was dimly aware of another Vampire closing in on him, but he ignored that particular threat, continuing to smash the thick lock.

         The mace and lock sparked, and finally with a sharp crack it gave way, just as the vampire solider on foot reached the cage. With a guttural roar Auron stumbled from the cramped confines, and turned on the charging Vampire. The solider had a vicious looking long sword drawn, but Auron met his charge anyways. The vampire could only slash at the big man once before Auron was able to swiftly close the distance between them.

         Grabbing the vampire’s arm and pinning it with his mighty grip, Auron swung a punch with his free hand. The jarring impact of his massive fist lifted the vampire off his feet, violently throwing him back. Before the solider could regain his feet--much less manage to come to a skidding halt--Auron had leapt on him, turn the Vampire’s own blade into its chest, easily puncturing his heart.

         Auron stood as he saw a charging cavalry soldier, the one who had recently arrived, bearing down on him. Fortunately the confined alleyway with loosely packed snow prevented the horse from gaining much momentum. Auron was able to dodge the shining black lance, and large steed as the rider stormed past.

         The other Cavalrymen, seeing the disadvantage that their companion was at, dismounted and drew their swords stalking towards Auron. The mounted cavalryman held his position watching his five companions encircle the man. Sten had stopped screaming, as well as burning but Auron put the slim vampire from his mind, concentrating on more immediate threats.

         With a smile Auron spread his arms, flexing his massive shoulders, his green eyes began to reflect a strange golden glow, and his skin held an errie golden hue, that began to make the Vampire wince. “You shoulda’ stayed on the horses.”

         A sobbing whimper came from within the carriage.

*

         Vargo was trying to come to grips as to what had exactly happened as he rode slowly back into the town. His thoughts whirled around the night’s battle, and still he couldn’t figure out how he had survived. He was sure the scant ten other riders, including Dair, were pondering the very same thing. Well, that, and the need to be underground. The usually black sky was beginning to turn a slight blue from the east. The itching had already begun, and shortly the burning would start, but he wasn’t overly concerned being as close to the town as he was.

         There were still ten imps remaining, more than enough to dig, the already half finished, holes for the remaining vampire. Vargo tried to concentrate on the events of the battle, but he could only remember sporadic moments. He remembered crashing through the thick forest into a clearing, and being stunned to find more humans than he would consider a ‘marauder gang’. There where maybe fifteen cavalry, and at least fifty pike men, dressed in polished silver armor that seemed to reflect the light from their torches far into the night, all were formed up with military precision. Vargo also remembered seeing two large, bald tanned men mingling with the foot. Both men were visibly much younger than Auron, but other than that small difference they could have all been brothers. Hopvin shared many of the same traits with each other.

         Vargo remembered seeing one of the large men smile at his charge, and then all that remained was flashes of recollection and the fog of battle; flashes of running down humans, screaming orders to his men and the imps who never listened. He remembered the screams of the dieing, and the melodic chanting coming from the priestesses who accompanied him. Their chanting was cut short; the two Hopvin worked fast to dispatch them. Vargo remembered one of them crying out his name, pleading for help, but in the chaotic close quarter’s battle Vargo could do nothing.

         Vargo did clearly recall the moment in which he'd resigned himself and accepted his own death. He could see there were very few of his own cavalry left. The imps had scattered, and he knew the priestesses were dead or had fled with the imps. He couldn’t see the Hopvin, but he doubted they had fallen. He was about to make one final blind charge into the enemy when inexplicably two deep voices rang out in the night. The Hopvin began calling for their troops retreat.

         Vargo, not sure if the retreat was some kind of feint, quickly rallied his men and rode hard for the town escaping the field. The two forces had both been relatively small, but the battle had raged for many minutes. For Vargo, this close to sunup, retreat was the only option he had left.

         He hardly remembered his mad flight back to the town, and was only vaguely aware when Dair rode up to him, asking to set a slower pace, since many of the few vampire remaining were wounded, and in the pre-dawn those wounds would not heal quickly enough. He remembered being almost amused to see that a handful of imps had, at some point, rejoined with the riders.

         What remained of Vargo’s horde broke through the dense forest and into the main street, stopping in the middle of the town. Dair looked at him questioningly, a vicious wound bleeding heavily from his side.

         “Go, take the imps and rest.” Vargo said turning his horse towards the alleyway.

         “And you?” Dair asked, wincing in a pain that vampire seldom felt, and went to great lengths to avoid. Vargo knew the entire sky was turning a very pale blue, which was always a bad sign for any vampire in the open.

         “To speak with Lord Gerbon, and then be along to rest very shortly, be sure a hole is dug for me.” Vargo urged his tired mount forward and slowly made his way to the alleyway, a few paces away he stopped and turned. “Dair.” He called out. Dair stopped his own mount wheeling it about, looking to his Captain. “More than likely this day we are going to be unearthed and dragged into a sun I never wished too see.” He paused, sighing. “You fought well.”

         Dair sat straight in his saddle, and saluted his Captain. Then turned his steed and continued into the town. Vargo watched him a moment, and turned his own mount towards the alleyway, hoping that they had long since taken Auron inside.

         Before he even reached the alleyway he caught the strong scent of blood, and burning flesh. He urged his stallion into one last burst of speed, and it wasn’t long before the animal came to a skidding halt at the empty cage, and a scene of carnage.

         There were a few horses milling about. Many were still tethered to the burnt remains of the smoldering carriage. Though terribly frightened, none of the animals looked any worse for whatever experience they had gone through. Vargo could see the alleyway was drenched in Vampire blood. Looking into the smoldering remains of the carriage Vargo could surmise what became of Lord Gerbon, as well as the rest of the bodies. Auroun had had himself quite the bonfire.

         Vargo looked upon the scattered remains of fire he’d lit to keep the man warm, the spell of darkness had long since dissipated. The cage that had held the Hopvin lay open, the broken lock laid on the snow and blood covered ground. There were obvious signs of a mighty struggle, but by what remained Vargo knew who had come out on top.

         With a deep sigh, he turned his animal, and was somewhat surprised to find Auron standing in the alleyway blocking his path.

         The sky was turning very blue, and for Vargo the pain was beginning to become unbearable.

         “It was you who called off the attack.” Vargo stated through grit teeth.

         Auron nodded. “You're lucky I was able to finish up here in time. I didn’t see a reason to risk anymore of the men’s lives in a rescue attempt that was no longer needed. I'm just glad they finally found this wretched hole you caught me in.”

         “You could have easily finished us off.”

         Auron shrugged. “Your kind controls far too much of this world. The death of you and yours would have made little difference.”

         Vargo gave a cynical laugh. “I had you captured, I am more dangerous than you give me credit.”

         Auron gave his own mirth filled laugh, shrugging his massive shoulders. “Then lets say I did it in hopes of keeping my future interesting. I was never alone here Vargo. I was apart of a smaller scouting party that took refuge in this town. I can only assume the humans, who I'd thought escaped that night you found me, were killed. Being as it has taken the rest this long to find me.”

         Vargo reflected on that, and wondered which of his men had fed, without telling the others.

         Auron looked up into the blue sky, and Vargo could no longer contain the tremors he was experiencing. He did not follow the large mans gaze. “I must confess Vargo, I was never headed for Iliamgard, while I won’t say where my men and I are headed, I’ll say it isn’t there. If this coming night you, and what remains of your horde, leave for Iliamgard, I can assure you I'll be going the other way.”

         Vargo stared at Auron for a moment. A moment that he knew was closely becoming a moment too long in the rising sun. Nodding his head respectfully to the bald, obviously rejuvenated, large man Vargo turned his mount and trotted back down the alleyway.

         Auron watched him go, with a smile on his face. After a moment he caught one of the errant animals milling about, and climbed into its saddle. With a sharp call he urged the horse into a fast gallop, away from the town and into the rising sun.

**