Alton and her posse have stopped on the way to the first of the locations they were given as possible choices for Bellemare’s emergency hiding place. They were headed in the direction of the seaward river’s docks, but a runner intercepts them with a message.

At about the same time, a bright flare appears out from between the buildings near the capitol. It’s an alarm, trailing thick red smoke as it descends to mark a location.

Aupti and Elm do not even hesitate before breaking into a run toward the alarm signal. Alton doesn’t ask, but can assume that this is something that Blackfeather must use frequently. She is only worried when she watches Aupti shift quickly into her bear shape, and Elm vaults onto her back. Alton can barely keep up with the rampaging polar bear. She fails to do more than snatch the written message from where it’s been tacked to the skull of the skeletal mindless automaton sent to deliver it.

They take the most direct route from their location near the seaward docks toward the beacon. They dodge between street vendors, pedestrians, and other locals. They slip through narrow alleys, and skid around corners. When finally they arrive at where the flare was launched, Alton is exhausted, panting with effort.

They skid to a halt in the dissipating crimson smoke that lingers in the street directly in front of Joe’s Smithy. Alton can see that the forge is built into the hillside, and recognizes the name as one of the many on the list Emerald wrote. This may be in the opposite direction from where she remembers Bellemare last headed, but it is a valid location.

Aupti sniffs the wind hesitantly, huffing the smoke and fumes through her round black nose. Without consulting Elm still perched on her back, she smashes through one of the large doors to the forge.

Alton loses sight of them as she takes an alternate route, sleuthing through the front showroom to be sure that there is no one hiding there.

The showroom glitters with afternoon sunlight through a window high in the eaves. Light filters through the smoke outside to glimmer on the edges of a great many blades, armor, and so many weapons.

“UEEIF!” Alton announces her presence. “A master vampire may be hiding in this location! Stand back and you will not get hurt!”

There is no movement immediately. Something whimpers behind the counter.

“Who’s there!” Alton shouts, not really a question, but a demand for response.

A pair of darkly soot covered hands reach slowly out of their owners hiding place.

“I’ll stay out of your way! I didn’t know about the vampire! I don’t mean any harm!” A human peers slowly out at her.

“Stay safe.” Alton brushes past him and through the narrow door to the forge behind. “And stay put.”

In the forge beyond, Elm has dismounted and is standing back with its hammer at the ready while Aupti snuffles around in the ash and debris bins. Her large nose snuffs noisily, seeking out a trace of their coworker, Tetzin.

“She was here.” Elm grips its hammer tight. “There is probably an entrance to the undertunnels from here that she’s gone through.”

Alton takes a minute to aid in the search. While she can’t actually scent a trail that the strix may have followed, she does notice a few things out of place. Behind the bin, out of reach of Aupti’s heavy paws, she notices first a black fletched arrow, and then a small rune carved in the stone floor close to where it lies.

With apologies for invading the werebear’s personal space, she scoots past, thinking skinny thoughts as she slips between the heavy bins and the wall. Reaching out with just one toe, she presses the rune gently. It doesn’t look like a trap, but there’s no telling what she could find when dealing with vampires.

The wall behind the bins slides with a loud grating sound. Thankfully for Alton’s ribs, it slides away from her instead of opening toward her. That explains why there are no signs of the door in the soot that coats the floor.

Aupti nods impatiently, scratching the floor with a large paw as the door slowly slides open. Elm’s runes brighten in preparation for their return to tunnel exploration.

The door opens on an empty tunnel. Like the tunnels close to the crypt, this one is built roughly from the native stone. Due to its location, the roof is caked with soot that’s escaped from the forge behind.

“She was here,” Elm confirms, pointing out the places where feathers have swept clean the stone. Aupti nods, mute in this bestial shape.

They head in the direction that Tetzin’s trail leads, carefully picking over loose rocks that have fallen from the ceiling. The going is slower than any of them would like, as the ground is uneven and dangerous.

Ahead, they notice something moving in the grim darkness. A dark form hunches over a puddle of feathers, angular limbs making an ungainly shape.

Aupti recognizes it before Alton makes the connection. The paladin resumes her halfway state at a run, paws transition into hands, face shifting to form a mouth capable of speech. She rolls her shoulders and snarls just before crashing into the monstrous Spawn. The combatants tumble into the darkness, momentum carrying the pair further down the hall.

Elm is right behind her, and skids to a halt where the puddle of feathers lies in pieces.

Alton can see much better with the brightness of the woodforged’s runes. The puddle is what’s left of Tetzin, her body ruined, with large portions missing from her abdomen.

“This is not the work of a sane vampire.” Elm points to the individual bite marks. “The Spawn that did this has no mind at all.”

Alton remains silent, listening to the sounds of struggle that have moved beyond the reach of Elm’s light. Wild howls echo through the tunnel, sounding of pain and fury. They likely carry far, and Alton fears what may be drawn to them in this gloom.

In the tight passage, there is nothing that either could do but get in the way. The danger for Alton being greater, as she acknowledges the risk of contracting lycanthropy from the encounter.

After a particularly horrifying howl of pain, Elm positions itself between Alton and the exit. It raises a holy symbol of the Primarch in defense.

Scraping, shuffling, horror stumbles out of the darkness. Aupti still stands, holding the Spawn in either hand, a head dangles from fistfull of hair on her left, a grip through a rib on her right lifts the rest of the carcass. The parts she holds do not connect.

“I got it,” she snarls, “it put up a fight.”

Elm lowers its hammer and hurries to its coworker’s side. A bright glow surrounds its hands as it channels the divine energy granted by the Primarch himself to heal the injured werebear’s wounds.

With that taken care of, Elm tends to Tetzin. Instead of doing any of the great number of things Alton might expect would be done with a corpse such as this, Elm only places it under a spell to prevent decay. It scoops the body into its arms.

“He’s not here.” Aupti grumbles. “It’s a dead end.”

They head back out into the gathering night. Dark is falling on the city and a dangerous vampire will soon be at his safest to prowl around it. It’s time to check the rest of that list.

But first, they deliver the body to Blackfeather. In the light of the office she finally reads the note.