The visions of Frederick Vahramp got more vivid.

Vahramp lay in a bed in an abandoned manor house on the edge of the western border of Khulanty. The old house was falling down and had been for years, but its lower floors had been built of stone and so he had ensconced himself in a cellar and surrounded himself with treachery. His encounter with the cleric and the general had left him broken and he’d spent months recovering. In his recovery, he had realized he could no longer keep his minions under thumb. Some he had released from his telepathic control. Some he had allowed to drink enough to recover their awareness, for he would not survive without help.

One was Father Hirrom Berek, cleric and scholar of the cosmos. Father Berek may well have outlived his usefulness, Vahramp mused. Though he knew a great deal about the Twenty-Seven Realms and claimed the coming Twilight Intersection could heal him and increase his power, he could relate nothing useful after that: not where it would happen or when it would happen or how to utilize it to his benefit.

Two others, however, had proved their worth. Though they were a treacherous pair, constantly scheming to strip him of his power, he still had enough control over them to keep them in line. Jonathan and Catherine, a brother and sister pair who could remember nothing of their lives before Vahramp had turned them into his minions. It was these two he sent to find him food, blood enough to keep him alive, to help him recover. They constantly tried to short him his meals but his mental influence was enough to thwart their plans.

They brought him a child one night, a girl clad in a simple grey dress who stank of fear and a hint of power. Vahramp tried not to show his excitement. They had brought him men, women, children, even animals to drain of their blood, but he liked girls best.

• • •

Devorah jerked in her chair and looked around the table, wondering if she’d screamed or only wanted to. She sat with Colonel Lambert, Sister Clarice, Doctor Wilson, and Scribe Johann along with a scattering of advisors whose names she had neglected to learn. None was taking much note of her, so she clearly hadn’t screamed out loud.

“Battlechief Trollsbridge has again put in a request for the hand-held fire-arms. I am running out of reasons to deny him. The fire-arms have been a success. I have a report here from Sunslance that they were used to quickly disperse a bandit raid less than a fortnight ago,” Colonel Lambert said.

“Bandit raid?” Devorah shook away the fog of the waking dream. “I thought we’d eradicated the bandits.”

Colonel Lambert gave her a blank look. He was worried about her lack of attention. “There are always bandits, Governor.”

Devorah wondered why that was. What caused a person to become a bandit? Was there anything that could be done that didn’t include raids? It seemed wasteful at best and merciless at best. Bandits were no more pawns than her soldiers, no more than the people of Olytan, and…

Devorah cast about for a change of subject to focus her. “The production of hand-held fire-arms, how’s it going?”

Doctor Wilson spoke. “Smoothly, Governor. We have a surplus in fact.” Though he spoke with a steady tone, he was clearly displeased with the weapons.

“Give him what he wants,” she said. The fire-arms would cause as much chaos among the Mountain Kingdom warriors as among their enemies. If she was going to find Vahramp without the High Cleric’s forces coming down on her, she needed that chaos.

Colonel Lambert cleared his throat uncomfortably. Clearly, Devorah had missed something while she was experiencing the vision of Vahramp. But Colonel Lambert’s unspoken thoughts were clear to her, there had been a letter from Royal Isabel Loreamer, an overture proposing a cessation of hostilities.

Devorah spoke before he could. “I want this peace, but I can assure you the High Cleric has no such aspirations.” She stood and pushed the sleeves of her dress back to reveal her arms. The scars stood out white against her brown skin. “He did this to me, and he wants me back. He’s coming for me and he plans to go through Kempenny, though you, to do it. Your reports say he’s gathering a force and headed to Olytan, yes?” She didn’t look at Scribe Johann though his thoughts told her their misinformation had worked. She didn’t wait for a response. “That’s because I plan to be there to intercept Frederick Vahramp. Our forces patrol Kempenny, but what of the people of Olytan? That’s where I’ll point Trollsbridge. Give him the weapons.”

• • •

Vahramp kept the girl alive for days, a squealing thrall in his bed. She tasted like Piety Churchstep.

The girl’s blood was so sweet and filled him with such energy that he kept her alive for as long as he could, taking delight in her blood, her body, her screams. The siblings didn’t realize the prey they had offered their master held such power, that he was recovering much faster, and he didn’t let on. Instead, he let them think they had distracted him.

When she had given him all she could, he let his venom take her and discarded her with the rest of the mindless thrulls roaming the ruins of the once great house. Then he demanded more. They brought him victims from the nearby town, more girls, in an attempt to distract him. He let them think it was working. He took the girls and drained them, though none held the same taste of power as the first.

And then, when he read in the mind of Johnathan from where the girls were coming, and saw through his eyes the woman who oversaw them, and noticed what Christopher hadn’t, the starcharts on her desk, it was an act of providence enough to make him consider faith in a benevolent cosmic being. Except, of course, any such being who was truly benevolent would strike him down in an instant.

Hirrom sat in a corner, his head lolling back and forth, spouting nonsense, “…the power is a bowl of water, still and calm in the room in your mind…”

The girl lying beside him shivered at his touch. She would not last much longer.

Catherine entered, smirking. She thought he didn’t know they had been gorging themselves on the citizens of the nearby town, making themselves stronger, preparing to break free of his control. It was time to disabuse them of that notion.

Vahramp stood from his bed and faced the woman.

“Master, you’re looking well.” She smirked as she said it.

“Yes,” Vahramp replied. “I am.”

Catherine did not expect the attack. Though her undead status granted her enhanced speed, Vahramp was faster still. He slammed his shoulder into her, driving her back into the chamber door, then slashed at her with nails that became claws and reverted so as to hardly have been there at all. Four long gashes opened on her chest. They began to close immediately, but not before her clothes, finery looted from the manor house, were soaked in blood she’d drained from others.

“Tonight, you will show me where she is,” Vahramp ordered.

“What?” Catherine choked. Vahramp’s slash had been deep.

Vahramp grabbed her by the lapels of her shirt and tossed her into the opposite wall. Stone cracked, dust fell from the ceiling.

“The woman in charge of the children,” Vahramp reiterated. “You know the one I mean. Your brother visits her often when you go to town to gorge.”

Catherine cowered on the floor, certain she was to meet her doom.

“You mean the Mother Superior?”

Vahramp snapped his attention to the girl in his bed. She quailed under his gaze.

“She’s a cleric,” he mused.

• • •

Devorah came awake all at once. She pulled on her clothes, strapped on her weapons, and was gone. Once in the shadows, halfway between here and anywhere, she cast her mind to the west, to the foothills of the Western Mountains. The town of Appledel was shrouded in darkness and fear. Only Sacred Heart Church was lit, its stained-glass window fashioned after the sunburst of the Church of Khulanty a magnificent symbol against the darkness. Devorah had to admit it was an impressive sight.

She cast through the shadows and found the populace streaming toward the church. Most every other building in town was empty. It didn’t take long for her to sense the undead scurrying out of the mountains in the west, from a long-dilapidated manor house.

Devorah pulled herself through the shadows, staying well clear of the lighted church, casting her senses to those buildings that had not yet been evacuated. Suddenly, a powerful mental presence washed over her, but her shield shifted, compensated, and held. Then Piety’s voice, muted by her shield, projected into her mind and every other mind near the town of Appledel.

“Twenty-four vhamps are headed this way. They intend to lay waste to this town. I want you all to shelter in Sacred Heart. You must move quickly but calmly. Help those who cannot walk easily.”

Devorah let out a short laugh, though it wasn’t really funny. Her little sister, who had surely meant only to warn the populace, had incited panic.

“You must stay calm,” Piety continued. “Get everyone to the church. I am Piety Churchstep, the Light Cleric, and I will protect you.”

That, at least, was better.

But Devorah was concerned about the cleric’s ability to count. There were far more than twenty-four vhamps, at least three times that many. Her necromantic power pulsed with the anticipatory hunger of the beasts. Devorah cast out among the town again, searching for stragglers. Most were making their way to the church and most would make it on time, but there were three groups who would not: a mother and her three children, an elderly couple, and an old soldier who didn’t particularly care what came to him.

Devorah went to the mother first. She knew she was an intimidating sight appearing suddenly from the shadows, armed, wearing the crest of House Kempenny, enemy of Khulanty, but she put on her best sympathetic smile and held out her hands.

Before the mother could panic, she said, “I am the sister of the Light Cleric. I am here to escort you to the church.”

The mother did not believe her. “I’ve heard of you. You’re the Dark General, you steal the souls of—“

But Devorah didn’t let her finish. She didn’t have time to convince the woman that she was telling the truth, that she had their best interests at heart, that if they did not come with her they would surely die. She reached out with shadow alone and dragged them on a shadow-walk to the edge of light provided by the church. She ignored their gasps for breath, cries of fear, cowering from the shadows. So long as they ran for the light she didn’t care.

The elderly couple was no less startled but far more practical. The man looked at his wife when Devorah appeared and said, “Well, if she’s here to drink our blood, she’ll find we don’t have much left.” The old woman chuckled even as they held hands, expecting to die in the next moment. Devorah dropped them at the edge of the light and watched them hurry to the church.

Before she shadow-walked to the old soldier, Devorah took a moment to look up at the church. though light came from the great stained-glass window and the open door where clerics hurried stragglers, the greater light emanated from atop the church where a solitary figure stood at the edge of the roof. Mother Piety Churchstep ready to defend the innocent against the undead. Devorah felt a tremble of awe shiver down her spine at the sight of her little sister.

And she would need help.

In the home of the old soldier, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, sword nearby, an empty skin of wine on the floor in front of him. He drew his sword when he realized he wasn’t alone. It was a slow, clumsy draw, hampered by wine and years. Devorah let the shadows fall over his eyes, but she need not have bothered, his strike was far off the mark.

“I’m here to take you to the church,” Devorah said, uncertain why she bothered. “Let me take you to where your weapon will do some good, soldier.”

“Don’t play with me monster, just kill me and be done with it.”

Devorah bit her lip. Though she knew his words were for the vhamp he thought he fought, they were for her too. The mother and the elderly couple and the soldier all thought of Devorah Kempenny, Dark General, as an enemy on par with undead. She had explained to them she was there to help in hopes she might be seen as her little sister was, as a beacon of salvation. It was why she had bothered.

With a snag of shadow, she deposited the soldier at the edge of the light. She didn’t wait to see if he made it to the church, she didn’t pause to gaze again at the Light Cleric, she just pulled herself through the shadow to a knot of vhamps hurtling to a feast of blood, let loose to gorge as they willed.

Her power was such that she could reach through the shadow to the undead and unhook them from this world one by one, but that took great concentration and was far easier when safe and at rest. Since she was here, it would be just as easy, and quite a bit quicker, to destroy them by touch. She dropped herself in front of them, on the main thoroughfare of the town. They sensed her immediately, but not the danger she represented. Their bloodlust was forefront. With teeth and claws extended, they scrambled for her.

Devorah danced among them, sliding her rapier though their sunken chests, past their brittle ribs, and through their hearts. The heart thrust stopped most of them in their tracks. They dropped to the cobbled paving stones and were still. The stronger of them: those who had fed more recently or were of higher constitution would arise after their enhanced regenerative abilities repaired their hearts, but Devorah gave them no time. After felling nine of the creatures, she touched them, one after the other. The physical contact gave her immediate access to the snag of power hooking them to the Prime Realm, and she loosed it. Soon, she stood amid a scattering of dust, her sweat cooling in the night.

She found another knot of vhamps, and another, and after her third round, she wondered if there were too many of them, even for her. Though she did not tire with a blade in hand, though she was faster and stronger, though she could destroy them with a touch and a thought, she knew there was a limit to how much she could do before she would exhaust herself. And it was as though a window opened in her mind, and beyond was the infinite cosmos and the power from beyond it, power she knew would bolster her in this fight.

Devorah took a moment to look at the church just in time to see Piety leap from the rooftop and drop like a falling star on the vhamps that had reached the church. She felt the undead destroyed by her powerful light. It was impressive, but it was not enough. People would die, falling to the claws and teeth of creatures Devorah had created. She cursed herself and slipped into the mindspace, spent a moment on the edge of the cosmos, and leapt in before fear could stop her.

She opened her eyes on the shadowy town, only the lit church closed to her. The horde of vhamps rushed in, every thrull Vahramp still had at his command. And she took to them with sword and shadow and mind. She danced in the darkness, taking hold with fingertips and gentle thoughts. She destroyed their bodies and unhooked their souls.

And, for a time, she was content.

Frederick Vahramp’s proximity stained her mind. He was nearby, in the church. She looked from where she was on a shadowy side street of Appledel to the well-lit building. Piety stood on the stoop of the church, and Devorah saw what she was about to do a moment before it was done. The cleric wove her power into a rope and wound it into a ball and loosed it. Devorah was seared by light and it ripped her from the cosmos to the white-tiled memory of terror. She cowered under the gaze of the High Cleric, frozen as he sliced her skin along the same line over and over again. But the pain of the memory was swallowed from the outside.

Devorah opened her eyes and looked at the girl on the stoop of the church. It was her little sister who had swallowed the pain. Then the girl collapsed on that same stoop. Devorah spent a moment prepared to go to her, to hold her and protect her, but her friends were there, and Devorah remembered Vahramp was in the church.

Devorah closed her eyes. Somewhere in that church, there must be a shadow, a sliver of shade she could use to walk inside. After a few moments, she found a broom closet. She shadow-walked to the tiny room and immediately suffered a poke in the side from a broom. She groped around for the door and stumbled into a spare, grey halllway. Vahramp was not far. Devorah made her way through the halls, relying on her connection to the undead man to lead her to him. When she found him, he was bent over a woman laid upon a thin pallet. He looked up at her suddenly, his mouth scarlet and glistening. And he smiled.

“What are you doing here, little bitch?”

She recoiled and drew her sword.

“I must thank you, you know. You and the little cleric gave me time to reflect, to think about what I really wanted out of life. And now I’ve found her.”

Devorah shook her head. “What do you want with her? A cruel matron for a cruel man.”

Vahramp laughed. “We’ll be perfect together.”

Devorah thought back to her visions of Vharamp, the last one that had brought her hurrying here to Appledel. She thought about what he had noticed that his minions, had missed.

“The star charts.”

Vahramp’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been spying on me, little bitch?”

Devorah felt a stirring in the woman behind Vahramp, the stirring of undeath, and realized she’d let Vahramp stall her while his venom changed the woman who would take him to the Twilight Intersect at Olytann, the woman who would lead him to greater power. She lunged with her sword, aiming to catch him in the chest and end him, but he dodged deftly, laughing.

“Don’t think that I didn’t expect this, Dark General. I planned for you.”

They came upon her suddenly. He was right, he had planned for her. He kept her attention on him long enough that the creatures surprised her, caught her from behind, and held her while he fled, the Mother Superior of Scared Heart Church slung over his shoulder. In that moment of surprise she was caught in inaction. Then the teeth of one of the creatures punctured her neck, its rough tongue pressed into the puncture to widen the wound. The warmth of her own blood spurred her to action. She closed her eyes and unraveled the metaphysical snag of the one who had bit her. The other two were removed from the world just as quickly. Devorah searched for Vahramp, but he was gone.

Again.