Boots thundered down the stairwell. Dwarves ran down the steps, barrels of food and booze in hand, Shank holding up the rear.
"Quickly, through here!"
The dwarves scrambled through a doorway, into a section of the fortress that hadn't seen use in some time. They passed the old barracks, then through the abandoned archery range, around the execution pit and into the gulag. First built by Rhaken to house goblin POWs until their execution, the many chains in the room now held more exotic prisoners. A mantis woman, a thrips man and a family of albatross people, shrieking and cawing at the dwarves that had barged into their prison. Shank directed them through the massive lead door at the back of the room, into a long hallway of side-rooms and row upon row of restraints.
"Are you sure it's safe here?"
"As safe as can be for now," Shank told the dwarf. "There are several doors between us and them. If the demons come around, I'll hold them off."
The refugees began to settle in as Shank went to secure the doors, setting down the food and unpacking what meager belongings they had managed to bring with them. The royal guard had come to them promising safety, and they had all followed his instructions. Now, a great drowsiness came over them, a weariness in the bones that demanded them to rest. Within minutes, not a single dwarf stirred in the old POW camp. Not even when Shank put them in irons, one by one, chuckling and talking to himself as he went.
"Segregation, that's what we needed, oh yes. The mask was right, of course. I can't believe I didn't figure it out earlier." he wrapped chains around a dwarf's wrists. "Separate the mortals from the immortals! Brilliant. Simply brilliant. The chief would have been proud of me."
He tied chains around a child's legs. "Too bad I couldn't get them all. At least this lot wasn't hitting each other over the head just yet. It wouldn't do to lose them now, oh no. We're going to need every mortal we can get."
His work done, Shank dusted himself down, then helped himself to a quart of blood from a nearby fisherdwarf. A bit saltier than he liked it. He fished out out the golden mask from his backpack. Twirling it this way and that in his hands, the spymaster assessed the bound dwarves in front of him.
"Hrm. Two breeding pairs and a calf. I'd hoped for more, but that will have to do."
Time dragged on, and his cattle began to awaken. Finally struck by the madness that had gripped the fortress, they began to scream and thrash, trying to claw at themselves, at each other, but kept from any such foolishness by their restraints. Shank felt more than heard the heartbeat of the one leaving the cage stockpiles in the other room. The unnatural rhythm of a vampire, one that Shank recognized. Asmoth was finally done with Kivish. If the mad doctor tried to barge in on him, she would find the door locked and bolted.
Once she was gone, Shank stepped outside, toward the cages. Following the trail of fresh blood, he reached his prize.
"Kivish."
Asmoth had done quite a number on the queen. Though her wounds were beginning to close, Shank could see the monarch's liver. Her entire right arm was gone. Her skin had been flayed, peeled apart with surgical precision, and was even now in the process of knitting itself back together, crawling over Kivish's exposed flesh like taupe slugs trailing blood. Her left eye had burst, and was now sluicing back into its socket, trying to return to its correct shape but not quite managing.
She looked up at him. "Shank... blood. I must have blood."
"Thy will be done."
Shank dragged the queen of the realm into the new cattle pen, directed her to the howling carpenter. The scent of circulating blood flooded Kivish's mind. She began to pant, mouth gaping so wide it tore slightly at the corners.
"No killing," Shank admonished. "We only have two breeding pairs."
Kivish sank her fangs into the carpenter's thigh. She began to feed. More screams all around, from the carpenter, from the other cattle, even from Shank. Because why the hell not, he figured. Everyone else is doing it.
He pulled the queen away before she could kill her victim. The fresh blood triggered her regeneration, and within minutes she looked presentable again.
"So. This is all we have?" She eyed the wretched dwarves, disappointed at how few had been salvaged from the madness.
"They are the only ones the mask could save," Shank offered. "The others will succumb to your rule, once the madness is done taking hold. Corley did well."
"Our rule, Shank," Kivish corrected, putting her one remaining hand on his shoulder. "Our rule."
The two vampires kissed like lovers lost in passion. Then they began to bite one another, savagely, without restraint, cackling in pleasure. They wouldn't kill each other. They were just having some fun.
In the depths of Steelhold, the dead stirred. Their shrieks held pain, rage, and most disturbing of all, triumph.
The King and Queen of Steelhold danced to the music of the dead.