Tarmid shivered, feeling light-headed. His eyelids were heavy, his ears were ringing. He felt almost exactly the way he did after a night of excessive drinking. Except he couldn't recall getting plastered the previous night. He remembered giving the speech, then walking to his chambers and going to bed. Not a single drink in the meantime. After some effort, he managed to open his eyes.
And sat up screaming.
A figure jumped off of him, hissing and snarling, coming to rest on hands and feet like a sinuous panther. It looked like an average dwarf, except for the blood dripping from its elongated canines and onto its beard. A soulless, ancient hunger burned in its eyes. Tarmid clambered backwards, fingers scrabbling against his nightstand. His heart blasted through his ears, pumping what blood he still had in him.
The vampire lunged.
Tarmid ducked sideways, onto his nightstand. His assailant sailed over him, face-first into the scribe's headboard. Tarmid rolled off the bed, grabbed the first heavy object that came into his hands, not even registering what it was. The vampire stood, groggy, and lunged him again.
Tarmid swung.
The door hurtled inward, and Sir Brenzen ran in, pick in hand."Tarmid! I heard the scream. What happened? Are you alright?"
"Yes,"
the knight heard, faintly, from the corner of the room. "Yes, I'm... I'm fine."
The knight's eyes adjusted to the gloom, and what he saw baffled him. Near the far wall of the room stood Tarmid, facing the corner, a rumpled cloth in his hands. The other end of the cloth was tied around the wrists and ankles of a dwarf who lay face-down on the ground, semi-conscious. In the middle of the bedroom stood a broken mudstone nightstand, a spatter of blood on one of its edges.
Sir Brenzen approached the scribe, walking slow as a hunter around dangerous prey. "Tarmid,"
he pleaded, "what happened?"
"This thing attacked me,"
Tarmid replied, sounding less than wakeful. "I hit it over the head and hogtied it."
Brenzen pulled the scribe's shoulder, trying to get a look at the dwarf on the ground. As Tarmid turned, the knight noticed two puncture holes in his friend's neck, still dripping. Alarmed, he pushed Tarmid away and ducked to inspect the downed dwarf."Fangs,"
he concluded. "A vampire in Demongate."
He pointed a hard stare at the scribe. "You know what this means, Tarmid."
"Yes I do. But he didn't turn me. I feel fine. I-"
Tarmid fainted.
"How long was I out this time?"
This was getting repetitive."About a week,"
Brother Cornelius said. "You lost a lot of blood. Everyone in the fort is going on about how you gave a vampire a concussion with a piece of furniture."
Tarmid shrugged, blinked. "I panicked."
The doctor sighed. "You should be fine now, though I insist you take a couple of days off until your head clears."
"Very well, I'll do that."
Tarmid actually meant it for once.
A short while later, as he nursed a drink in the statue garden while poring over his blueprints, a hand clapped Tarmid's shoulder. He craned his head to find Gnora's smiling face looking back at him."Feeling better, Tarmid?"
"Hello Gnora. Yes, the anemia has cleared up nicely."
She looked confused. "The blood loss, I mean."
She nodded understanding and sat down next to him. "Are those the plans for the school?"
"Well, they're early designs,"
Tarmid replied, "nothing special. Though now that you're here, Gnora, I would very much like to know what's been going on while I was in the hospital."
"Well..."
the farmgirl summed up the events in her head. "Thane came out of the forges yesterday holding this really fancy warhammer. She says it's called The Tar of Goals, but she doesn't remember making it. Weird, considering she slaved away all week to make it."
"Vlad's squad has been awfully chummy whenever they head inside for a drink,"
she said, clearly a bit disgusted. "I heard they call themselves Vlad's Vultures now, or something to that effect."
"They finished putting the roof on the outdoor chapel some days back, but there is still a stained glass window to install, so someone is taking care of that. And I think Sir Brenzen wants to see you soon."
"Oh, I almost forgot,"
she said. "Could I have a fo-lee-oh?"
Tarmid arched an eyebrow. "Certainly. I'll pass by the farms later and give you one. Though I'm kind of curious-"
Shouting out in the hallway. Tarmid went to the door to have a look. Up from the main stairwell came a hunter hauling an injured dwarf. Lokast, the silent one, a couple of limbs bending the wrong way, the bones jutting out into the air.
Brother Cornelius cleared the doorway into the hospital. "What happened to him?"
The hunter dragged Lokast inside. "Draltha attack. Split his arm and leg before I could drive it off. He's lucky I was nearby; silent bastard wouldn't even scream in pain."
"Lucky indeed."
Cornelius closed the hospital doors, ending the fortress's peepshow.
Gnora fidgeted, concern dancing in her eyes. "I hope he'll be okay."
"Me too, Gnora. Me too."
Now that was interesting. What was Lokast doing down in the caverns?
Vladamir took a seat across from Tarmid in the scribe's office, clearly a bit puzzled."So Tarmid,"
he began, "you vanted to see old Vlad, yes?"
"Yes indeed, Vlad. I've asked you here to seek your advice."
Vlad's eyebrow shifted toward the ceiling. "You are vanting Vlad's advice? On vhat?"
"Demongate's defenses."
"And vhy you not ask Brenzen? He is trained knight and commander, yes?"
"Oh, but I did. Hours ago. I want to know your thoughts as well. You are a captain here too, after all."
Their talk carried on well into the darker hours before Vlad called it a night, leaving Tarmid with a considerable heap of notes and Vlad with possibly a new opinion of the scribe. He would go over these notes with Vlad, Brenzen and the masons later. For now, it was time to get some rest. Tomorrow would be a busy day."Vampires don't interrogate themselves,"
he muttered darkly.