《Thy Maker》XXI. To Taste You

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The Correnti were usually bound by their Third Attestation to dispense aid unto anyone who was in need, regardless of their faith. Alric was glad to see them forgo the rule on this occasion. Heretics, demonists nonetheless, were undeserving of such mercy. To see them in the same light as heathens was an insult to the heathens.

All of the Clthics, whether they were dead or just barely alive, were carted outside the castle walls and dumped in a large pile. The vahlnid would eventually smell death on the air and come for them. They would be spun within a web and dragged off to one of their hives, a place from which no man has ever returned. Alric thought it ironic. The first group of Clthics he had come across, the one that Kent was a part of, wanted nothing more than to be sacrificed to the vahlnid. It was the perfect method of execution for these God-hating sacks of excrement.

Alric, free of his plate armour, and half a dozen of his Thestor brothers were pouring through the keep’s hall which had seemingly been turned into an archive. The Thestors sifted through the mountains of parchment and ledgers the Clthics had left behind. The castle’s stores were full; it could have lasted a great many months in a siege, so Alric had to thank God that their plan worked so well.

He led a covert force who hid themselves in the wagon, disembarked within the castle walls, then secured the barbican. With the gatehouse taken, the rest of their men were free to enter the fortress unopposed. And of course, God’s involvement was evident by how the Clthics just happened to be engaged in a feast. They were unprepared and forced to fight in cramped quarters, so over two-hundred of their ilk were eviscerated by the seventy Churchsworn and druids. With only a handful of casualties, none could complain. Such luck was a sign of divine intervention.

As Alric gazed upon the mess that the Thestors had created, he saw Lorenz approach. He reported, “A great many things have been found, Brother Alric, among them a roll of Clthic loyalists, maps of additional excavation sites, and detailed treatises on sorcery. Perhaps thou and the druids would be able to make use of the latter.”

Alric nodded. “The roll of loyalists interests me greatly. As far as I am concerned, every name upon that list is in need of a visit from our Order.”

Lorenz appeared to be around the same age as Alric. His skin was a harsh purple, weathered with dirt. Alric turned to the other Thestors as they rummaged through the Clthic belongings. Several of them had not even taken the time to disarm themselves. He called, “My brothers, thou hath acted admirably this night. I beseech thee to relent. These things can be sorted on the morrow.”

With great hesitance, the Thestors slowly ground to a halt.

Baldwyn, armoured and sticking his head inside a cabinet, did not seem to hear the request. He dug through the furniture like a dog in the dirt.

“Baldwyn!” Alric shouted.

Suddenly, the knight jolted upward. He slammed his head on the top of the cabinet then pulled himself out of it. Lorenz stifled a laugh, turning it to a snort.

“Brother?” he asked, turning to face Alric. His sallet’s visor was still lowered and his bevor was still raised. Both of these things reduced his field of vision to a narrow slot directly in front of him and prevented him from turning his neck. Bunched up in his arms were a ridiculous amount of parchment scrolls. They started overflowing from his grasp and spilling onto the floor.

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“The time for rest has come. Go now, disarm thyself and retreat,” said Alric with a nod.

Baldwyn started, “But brother–”

Alric didn’t need to say anything, he just raised his eyebrows. Baldwyn got the hint and finally sighed in defeat, “As thou wish.” He tossed the remaining scrolls over his shoulder and paced out of the keep, moving much faster than the other leaving Thestors.

Before long, the hall was empty. Alric found himself frozen in place. His eyes drifted to an empty doorway on the other side of the chamber. A handful of rushlights were scattered about the hall, sitting upon desks, shelves, and cabinets. Their dim yellow light, faint and flickering, only produced small patches of illumination which did not reach the distant doorway. Its infinite depth called to Alric. It whispered to him.

Come to me.

He plucked up one of the rushlights and held it in front of him as he drifted through the room.

The stone of the keep absorbed and deflected all sound from the outside world; Alric was consumed by complete and utter silence. It allowed the cold air to fester and amplify. The rustling of his clothes and the shifting of his sword upon his belt sounded like explosions in the void. His footsteps against the rush carpet added a layer of crunching to the soundscape before he even realised that he was making them.

Alric raised his rushlight to the wall as he brushed by it. Like those of every keep Alric had seen, they were not just naked stone. Lime wash had been applied to every wall, giving them a pure white hue, then beautiful images were rendered atop them by talented artisans. Alric recalled that Kristantin’s keep had renditions of events from the Scripture expertly stroked upon its walls. The one he currently stood in was instead far simpler. Dozens of serpentine trees wound up from a golden stripe that ran horizontally across the base of each wall. Their leaves blossomed outward, like curved spearheads. Some sections even had a brickwork pattern painted onto them. Alric always found that rather strange. Painting stone bricks on top of stone bricks…such acts of futility are possible only by artists.

Despite his criticisms, something made him relish the sights. He marvelled at the beauty of the images, feeling the warmth of his flame’s wake wash over his face as he eased onward. Alric moved into the doorway and the infinite blackness was eaten away by his light. A spiral staircase awaited. The walls spun around him as he ascended, twirling upward with nothing but the sounds he made in moving to keep himself company.

The room he emerged in was swallowed by complete darkness. Unlike the hall of the keep which had several rushlights spread about it, there was not a single source of light here save for the one in Alric’s hand. He could only see several feet in front of him thanks to the dim, jittering flame. Alas, he paced forward, mesmerised by the emptiness. It had a weight to it, a presence. He did not feel alone with it closing in around him. He felt safe.

Before long, he found himself standing inside a bedchamber. There was a single lit candle on the bedside table. It burned brighter than his rushlight, but it still only painted a small section of the room with visibility. As he stood there, Alric felt as if the door had creaked shut…but for whatever reason, he didn’t turn around.

The fine maroon velvet of the bed curtains beckoned him. Mist filled his skull. Something stirred within him. An urge. One he had learned to conquer in the pursuit of his oath of chastity. It burst forth stronger than ever. He began to see things within his mind…things that made him quiver. He took a rickety breath inward, squeezing the fabric of his surcoat with one hand.

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As these thoughts careered through his distant consciousness, Alric placed his rushlight onto a shelf by the door and unslung his thysteen, resting it against the bedside table. He unfastened his belt, which held his longsword and dagger, then dropped it onto the ground. Finally, he slipped out of his surcoat, then his arming doublet, hose, shoes, and breeches. Now bare and with his eyes glazed over, Alric lowered himself into the bed and stared at the ceiling.

He felt the bed deflate by his leg, as if something unseen was resting atop it. This weight shifted, then displacing a spot on the other side of Alric’s hips. Pressure eased onto his shoulders.

I’m going to have you now, so you are going to be nice and quiet.

The intrusive voice knocked Alric free of his trance. He blinked rapidly as he felt a weight lower itself onto his groin.

The Thestor sent his arms upward and they collided with solid air. Snarling, Alric clawed for something, anything to grab onto. He felt a nose…then lips. It was a formless face floating there above him. Staring down at him.

Get down. Obey me.

Alric strained. It took every ounce of will he could muster to overcome the unnamed feelings that wrestled for control of his body. He thrusted his fingers into what he could only assume were eyes. A pained hiss bounced off the walls of the bedchamber and the air flickered above the Thestor. Blood dripped from the nothingness. Slowly, blotches of matter trembled into existence in the space above the bed. Skin patched itself together little by little, revealing a man rubbing his genitals against Alric’s body.

The knight gave a frightened shout as he stared at the man’s face. Blood dripped from his eyes like black tears and his mouth was contorted as he bit his lower lip in ecstasy.

The vampire snatched Alric’s wrists and pinned them to the bed. His strength was immeasurable. Alric had no chance of overpowering him. The creature lowered his face, adrip with obsidian liquid, onto Alric’s. The Thestor struggled as he felt a warm, wet tongue draw itself across his cheek.

To taste you...finally...such a prize, it is.

Alric gritted his teeth and throttled his head straight up. It felt like he had charged straight into a brick wall. Pain loomed in his forehead, swelling with every passing second. The vampire’s nose was now crooked, but his crazed stare was still locked onto Alric’s very soul.

Suddenly, there came pounding upon the bedchamber door like booms of thunder. “Alric!?” The vampire’s ears twitched and he turned his head toward the door. With the monster’s lapse in concentration, Alric managed to bludgeon him once again with his skull. Alric’s attacker rolled over, releasing the impossible grip he had exerted over the knight.

Alric threw himself from the bed and over to the bedside table. Every movement he made was jittery, frantic, and desperate. His eyes were wide as he fumbled for his thrysteen. With the staff in-hand, Alric spun back over to the bed and fired before he aimed.

The bed and its curtains erupted in waves of yellow flame. Smoke billowed outward like wretched, poisonous clouds. Alric kept the weapon pressed firmly against his shoulder, sweeping it about. He felt the heat of the fire against his uncovered skin. It danced about, in duet with the smoke as they both obscured his vision. With all this light bathing the room, darkness no longer shrouded its other occupants.

He should’ve been shocked, but quite frankly, given the fact that he stood in the den of a vampire, a handful of corpses pressed against the corners of the room was not entirely out of place. He focused instead on his own survival.

Alric slowly paced toward the door, which was still reverberating with the impacts it was receiving on the other side. Alric moved his left hand from the underside of the staff and directed it toward the door’s latch. He didn’t avert his eyes from the flaming bed.

A metallic ‘click’ denoted his success in unlocking the door…but it was perhaps also the signal for his foe to attack. Alric only saw a brief flash of the vampire as it revealed itself from behind the flaming bed curtains. What he saw was a man, flesh seared and bubbling, with a mangled mess of a left arm. It dangled from the silver bones beneath by bands of torn sinew.

Without warning, Alric was tackled back into the door, forcing it shut. The vampire’s face stunk of burning meat. It peeled open, like a blooming flower. Layers of skin and flesh parted to reveal the shimmering bone and a massive spike of a fang.

Alric roared in fear and desperation as he wrestled his thrysteen to the side. It was pinned against the monster’s other arm as he squeezed the arming plate once again. Nothing happened. The heart, sucked clean by his prior use in the battle, no doubt.

However, in a move that very likely saved his life, Alric was shoved onto the ground by whoever was pushing on the door from the other side. His face slammed into the wooden flooring. He didn’t care to look at who came to his aid; he felt that the staggered vampire was more worthy of his attention. Two bolts of magical energy sliced into the monster, blowing its legs into meaty bits. It tumbled into a heap on the ground, howling. One more discharge followed, eviscerating its right arm. Now just a body with a single horribly mutilated left arm, the vampire’s face reformed and a pathetic expression of terror graced it. “N-No…! O-Oh God…!”

He looked down at his body and screamed in horror.

Rage bubbled beneath Alric’s skin. His fingers convulsed. The knight stumbled to his feet, intent on bludgeoning the monstrosity into pulp. He stomped over to the vampire, his eyes burning brighter than the flames at his side. Suddenly, something warm set itself onto Alric’s shoulders, quelling his mania.

Carthei had pulled off her cloak and firmly wrapped it around him. “Are you alright?” She asked. Half of her face was still wrapped in bandages. Alric could only look into one of her eyes.

Thestors poured into the bedchamber, led by Baldwyn. Surprising no one, he was still armoured. “By the grace of God! Douse the fire,” he commanded the knights by his side. Moving like lightning, they suffocated the burning bed with the rush carpet that laid upon the floor.

Alric couldn’t find it within himself to say anything to the druid. His mind was racing through the possibilities of what would’ve happened if he didn’t have his thrysteen on him. If Carthei and Baldwyn hadn’t arrived just in time. Instead of prompting him further, Carthei patted him firmly on the shoulder and turned away. As she strode over to the vampire, she reached down to her waist and retrieved a coil of rope.

“N-No, please! Let me be!” he pleaded as Carthei approached. “A-Alric, I’m Havar! Ulvor’s son!”

Alric swallowed and took several steps back. He watched Carthei as she knelt over the vampire, wrapping her length of rope securely about his neck. The knight’s mouth had dropped agape. Alric’s voice was a wavering mess as he replied, “I have no reason to believe thy lies.”

“You have to believe me! I-I’m his son,” begged the creature. “He’ll be looking for me!”

Baldwyn shook his head. “Pathetic. Face death with dignity, beast.”

Carthei continued to wrap the helpless lump of a creature within the thick bands of rope. Havar’s face crumpled as he sobbed, “N-No! My lady, how beautiful you are. Your s-shape, it excites me! Spare me. I can please you! I can be yours! A-A slave!” The vampire reached up toward her breast with his twisted hand while he begged.

The druid pulled her thysteen from her back and pressed the side of Havar’s head against the floor with her right foot. Alric swallowed as he watched her press the tip of her staff against the vampire’s jaw and discharged it. Tiny shards of pulverised bone bounced against the walls and floors with gentle tapping.

When the smoke cleared, Havar’s lower jaw had been torn from his head. His mouth, now a throbbing hole in his face, tensed and twitched as tears ran down his cheeks. A sickening moan emanated from the horribly butchered creature.

“Perhaps Brother Alric should be the one to dispatch him, sorceress,” mused Baldwyn.

Carthei tied one end of the rope to a heavy cabinet in the corner of the room. Then she heaved Havar’s bloodied body up by the armpits. “Death is too easy an end for this one. It must be slow,” she said, her voice melodic and cheerful.

She tossed what little remained of the vampire out the window. Promptly, the rope went taut and the cabinet fixed to it skidded slightly. Alric moved over to the window and peered down. Havar dangled there against the wall of the keep as people watched from below. Thestors, Correnti, Grue Ko’an, and common soldiers were either roaring in approval, or fighting the urge to vomit. On the horizon, Alric could see the enticing light of the approaching sunrise.

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