Book I Epilogue

Sir Dietrich Freymond of the Scarlet Knights woke up. Which was more than he expected. Cole’s attack had utterly blindsided Dietrich, and he’d feared the worse when its arctic wrath struck. So the warmth of fresh blood in his mouth accompanied by the dull throb of returning consciousness was a pleasant surprise for Dietrich.

For the first time in nearly a hundred and fifty years, Dietrich felt like he had a hangover. A steady ache filled his body, and consciousness was not coming smoothly. Slowly he tried to open his eyes and was greeted with blinding light. Shutting his eyes tight against the pain, Dietrich focused on the only pleasant sensation he felt. The feeling of warm blood. Groggy but steadily waking up. Dietrich tried to rasp out a name.

“Yaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaa”

Dietrich recognized the blood's tastes. Yara, his thrall, was feeding him. It seemed his last servant had survived everything. On top of that, she’d returned to him. A surprising display of loyalty.

A voice came to Dietrich, distant and murky but still understandable. “I’m here, Master!”

The flow of blood sped up slightly, and Dietrich felt his strength start to return. Dully he tried to move his limbs and found them slightly responsive. The bitter cold permating him faded; as every drop of blood brought the Vampire back from the brink. With consciousness returning, Dietrich started to understand exactly how badly he’d been injured. Cole’s attack had frozen him solid. Rupturing every cell in his body in an act of quiet devastation. It would have been childsplay for anyone to smash his frozen body and truly kill him. Yet Cole hadn’t taken that obvious step. Which disquieted Dietrich. What was the Rest-Bringers game?

Braving the light again, Dietrich opened his eyes and worked to ignore the pain. His eyes were regrowing all the sensitive tissue required for sight. Giving him only a blurry washed version of his surroundings. The first thing apparent was his location. He lay in the Alukah’s Tomb. He’d been moved slightly from where he fell but not from the Tomb itself. Yara leaned over him, her wrist over his mouth.

The thrall looked terrible. She was pale and thinner than he’d last seen her. Which was an accomplishment. Yara had never looked the healthiest, but now she seemed positively wretched. Dietrich hadn’t seen her in this terrible of shape since she first arrived at the Castle. By the standards of the Blood Duchies, Glockmire was a prosperous town. But there were always outliers. The desperate and wretched who would gladly sell an unwanted child to the Castle. Such had been Yara’s father. Giving up his youngest daughter for a handful of coins and a deduction on his taxes.

She entered Dietrich's service soon after and had proved a remarkably devoted servant. Little in her mind needed to be changed upon her acquisition, and Dietrich had kept her as a favored Blood-Slave and thrall for the past five years. Now having survived the calamities that killed her colleague and nearly Dietrich as well. Yara looked more corpse-like than some ghouls Dietrich had seen. Something the Scarlet Knight decided he would need to rectify. She had proven herself a valuable servant and was owed a debt of protection.

Looking past Yara, Dietrich saw she was not alone in the chamber. A stern figure clad in blood-red armor stood nearby. Flanked by Eternal Soldiers in unfamiliar livery. It took Dietrich a moment to focus on the newcomer's face and identify him. Bald, with brutal square features, the man was a Vampire and a fellow Scarlet Knight.

In a deep rumbling Noct-Bucuros accent, the new Knight addressed his injured comrade. “You live, Dietrich?”

Answering with a twitchy nod. Dietrich licked Yara’s wound. Sealing it shut, then speaking. “I do, Ladislaus. How long have I been in torpor?”

“One month,” growled Ladislaus. “It took us some time to establish order here and find you. Now tell me what happened?”

Wincing slightly as he tried to pull himself up, Dietrich started the unpleasant task of regaling Ladislaus with everything that had happened. The older Knight never changed posture or expression, simply listening and interrupting only to ask for clarification. It took nearly an hour for Dietrich to explain everything and answer all of Ladislaus’s questions. Once they were finished, Ladislaus addressed Yara.

“Thrall, move away from your master.” Yara sent Dietrich a questioning glance, and he nodded for her to obey. Dietrich had a guess as to what was coming and had no desire to let a valued asset be destroyed for no reason. Yara scuttled away on unsteady feet. Putting a few meters between her and the two Vampires.

Stepping close to Dietrich, Ladislaus bent down to face the younger knight and spoke. “You were tasked by our overlord, Archduke Drakovich, to protect Lord Johan Glockmire and by extension, the treasure he kept. You have failed both of these tasks.”

Dietrich shut his eyes and agreed. “Yes, despite the power and training gifted to me. I failed.”

Ladislaus rumbled. “Our master stole the blood of a Dark Dragon during the Bloody Centuries. To gain the power needed to restore the Empire. To resurrect its corpse into the Empire of Night. It is our duty to aid him in that sacred task. A duty you failed.”

Dietrich again agreed. “Yes. I failed my Lord, my Overlord, and myself.”

For the first time in close to a century, Dietrich held his breath. A now alien sensation that twisted his long-dead organs in painful ways. He ignored the pain; he wouldn’t have to feel it for much longer.

Ladislaus placed a strong hand on Dietrich’s neck and kept speaking. “Dietrich Freymond, Battle-Brother of the Scarlet Knights, I castigate you.”

Dietrich’s eyes flew open in surprise. He had expected to be executed, not castigated. Before he could say anything, an armored gauntlet reached into his mouth and gripped one of his fangs. With a single solid yank, Ladislaus pulled the tooth free. The breath Dietrich had taken was now expelled in a scream of pain.

Ladislaus released Dietrich and stepped away from him. Looking down at the fang in his palm. “I will keep this until you prove yourself worthy of its return.. I hope it will not be in my custody long.”

Dietrich's shaky fingers found his face and touched the injury. The pain was indescribable. Nowhere on a Vampire's body was more sensitive than their fangs. It was also one of the only things a Vampire could not regenerate. Only healing from the mutilation if they reacquire their fangs… or steal another's. With only one fang, Dietrich was marked out as a failure and pariah to his kind. A practical death sentence in the fickle dance of Vampire politics. But more importantly to Dietrich, it was the ultimate sign of dishonor. A punishment reserved for those who failed the Archduke but who were pitied enough to be offered a second chance.

Anger bloomed in Dietrich. Not with Ladislaus but with himself. He had failed. And was now condemned as a subject of pity and contempt. Dietrich slowly pulled himself to his feet. Looking at Ladislaus, he asked for a chance at redemption.

“How can I earn back my fang? How may I prove myself Brother-Knight?”

Closing his fist gently over the confiscated fang, Ladislaus looked at his dishonored fellow and answered. “Track down the newborn Alukah and her protector, the Paladin. Return her to Noct-Bucharos with proof of the Paladin’s death.”

Dietrich took a moment to process that. His frost-addled mind did not fully understand what Ladislaus meant. Then all the pieces fell into place. Cole was not a mere Rest-Bringer. He was a Paladin. A fact that answered all manner of questions for Dietrich.

Dietrich brought a frost-bitten fist to his heart. “I swear to do so, at any and all costs.”

Ladislaus nodded at that and gestured for Dietrich to follow him. On unsteady feet, barely powered by Yara’s blood, Dietrich did as he was commanded. They left the Tomb, with Yara trailing after them, uncertain of her place but not wanting to stray from her Master.

After making it through the tunnels and out of the Mine, they entered Glockmire. A pale moon hung overhead the town, and the smell of blood filled the air. Eternal Soldiers patrolled the streets, and a sense of quiet terror covered the town as much as night’s shadow. Following the smell of blood, Dietrich turned to look up at the Castle. His healed eyes quickly picked out the source. Impaled on the myriad spires and lightning rods of the Castle were dozens of Corpses.

Ladislaus saw what Dietrich was looking at and explained. “The servants of the Traitors. They will teach a lesson to the mortals and make the transition that much easier. A new Lord is moving into the Castle, and his power base will be shaky for a few years. Reminders of what happens to traitors will be good for the town and its new Masters.”

Dietrich nodded approvingly. This tactic was a long-favored one of the Blood Duchies. “The townsfolk? Has there been any issues from them” he asked, wondering if any of them were also up on the Spires.

Seeming to guess Dietrich's train of thought, Ladislaus answered. “They have been cooperative, but just as insurance, the families of the Daymen were also dealt with. Nothing too extreme, just spouses and offspring.”

Changing focus, Ladislaus said. “Despite your failures, you did prove yourself marginally, Brother. This could have been much worse, and your efforts helped minimize the damage. In recognition of this, you have been given a rite of conscription related to the town. Take whoever and whatever you need to complete your mission.”

Dietrich gave Yara a glance and then looked down at his ruined suit of armor. “Thank you, sir. That will be useful.”

With a new suit of plate, his old sword Lex safely in his hands, Dietrich felt better. The blood he’d taken from some of the more rowdy townsfolk over the last few nights had also helped. Healed and requipped, Dietrich prepared to leave Glockmire. He would not be doing so alone. A squad of Eternal Legionnaires, two Horse Ghouls, and Yara would be accompanying him. In less than a week's time since awakening, Dietrich left Glockmire. Following the vague trail of the Paladin and Alukah. Hellbent on completing his task and regaining his lost honor.

The mountains surrounding Glockmire are home to many caves. Some of which connect into the subterranean labyrinth that stretches through the entire Dragontail Mountain range. Most are little more than small holes carved away by time. In one of those holes lay a skeleton. Something that was also not unusual for the area. What was abnormal wasthe skeleton was intact, and it was moving.

A faint twitch at first as magical threads connected silent bones. Threads of magic spun around the skeleton. Making it spasm and thrash. Those threads started to take more physical forms. Congealing into nerves that floated about the skeleton, anchored to its every bone. Soon after, the nerves came other pieces. Withered veins snaked through the air, joining with rapidly growing muscles. Unused organs took shape and were quickly wrapped in pale skin. Bit by bit, the body of a Vampire took shape. Weaved together in a dance of magic and tissue.

The process took hours, as even a vampire's body requires delicacy in its creation. But at long last, the body was finished, ready to hold the soul who’d been guiding this entire process. Blood red eyes flared open as the body met a soul. Pale lips pulled apart in a smile as Adrian Von Riechtor returned to the physical world.

Sitting up, Adrian checked his body for any errors and was pleased with his work. Separating his bones from his body had been a tricky feat but one well worth the effort. Otherwise, he’d have truly died when Cole ripped him apart back in the Oubliette. Instead he’d survived as a disembodied soul Adrian spent the last week as a Wraith haunting the Castle and stealing secrets from careless mouths. Preparing to return to his body with every last scrap of useful information.

Flexing his arms and strutting around the small cave, Adrian couldn’t help but smile. He had spent years infiltrating Glockmire’s court. All for the purpose of finding that secret treasure of his. A quest with little to show for it. But then another prize fell right into his lap. Adrian’s superiors would be ecstatic to know the Homunculus Knight still lived. They’d given up on that avenue of success years ago. To have it return would be a great boon.

Adrian went over to one corner of the cave and picked up the clothes he had left there. The green tunic and Cooper’s cloak were not exactly fashionable by Vampire standards, but Adrian enjoyed working them into his disguises. Speaking of which, it was time to stop thinking of himself as “Adrian.” That identity was dead.

The Vampire, formerly known as Adrian, picked up an item lying next to the spare clothes. A plain wooden mask carved in the shape of a man’s face. Painted green, the mask depicted an exaggerated face with a curling mustache and pointed goatee. Donning the mask, the Vampire settled back into his true self or the closest he had left.

Testing out his newly created vocal cords, he said. “I am Scappino.”

Scappino’s voice might have been a little higher than he remembered, but that might just be the cave’s acoustics. The fleshcrafting required to create an entirely new body was a complicated thing. There were bound to be some errors, not that Scappino minded that much. He was a spy and escape artist; such minor alterations to his body could come in handy.

With his mask and clothes settled, Scappino grabbed the most important item he’d stashed in this nest of his. A cracked hand mirror decorated with the twin masks of comedy and tragedy. Positioning the mirror, so it reflected his masked face, Scappino whispered a name thrice over.

“Pantalone, Pantalone, Pantalone. Scappino seeks your wise counsel.”

The smudged glass of the mirror rippled like a disturbed pond before showing a new face. Like Scappino, the face was masked. Painted red and depicting a wrinkled old man with cruel features, the alien reflection spoke. Its voice coming from the mirror with a metallic distortion

“Finally got caught, Scappino? Tis about time yee rolled the dice one too many times eh?”

Scappino grimaced at the scratchy croak that came to him through the mirror. The tinny distortion did little to change its unpleasantness. “Sort of,” replied Scappino “My position here is well and truly compromised. But I have made an interesting discovery, one the whole Troupe will want to know about.”

Even though the mirror only showed Pantalone's mask and nothing else, Scappino could tell his colleague was rolling his eyes. “What is it this time? Did our Capitano in Glockmire actually have anything of interest?”

Scappino shook his head in the negative, knowing the gesture would be translated through the mirror. “Oh, Petar proved to be a true Capitano. He helped our objectives and died spectacularly diverting attention from me.”

Pantalone grumbled slightly, a sound like rocks rubbing together. “That's not what I asked Scappino. I doubted that fool would prove much use outside of being a Catspaw. Did you find Glockmire’s treasure?”

With a theatrical flourish, Scappino nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, it slipped through my fingers, but its identity is exactly what Dottore thought it would be. But that's actually the less important bit of information I have.”

Perplexed and losing what little patience he had, Pantalone barked, “It truly was an Alukah? And you let it go free? What could possibly be of more import than that?”

Scappino’s grin matched that of his mask. “The Homunculus Knight lives. Actually, it does more than live. Isabelle succeeded! It is truly immortal. I ripped its guts out with my own hands, and that didn’t stop the thing from crushing my skull!”

Pantalone was silent for a long minute as his ancient labyrinthian mind consumed this information. The Homunculus Knight had been one of the Troupe's more interesting prospects. But with the fall of Isabelle Gens Silva and her creations' supposed destruction. The Knight had been written off as a fluke or fraud not worth further investigation. Something Scappino and a few other members of the Troupe had contested.

Scappino was above rubbing in this revelation to his curmudgeon of a colleague, but he wasn’t above adding salt to an existing wound. “Additonally, It seems the Knight is now a Paladin of Master Time! And he is traveling with the Alukah’s new host!”

Tense and uncertain, Pantalone slipped into his antiquated accent “How does thy know this?”

Behind his mask, Scappino smirked. He always liked seeing how jumbled he could make the old bastard's speech. Pantalone was ancient, and had collected centuries of slang and accents. Melding together whenever he became stressed.

“One of my contacts here was a Moroi named Lorena Sartori. She mentioned an encounter with a usual Rest-Bringer who arrived in town. A giant of a man covered in scars who lacked a scent. That piqued my interest, and I spent some time investigating. Some careful words and two particularly stupid Vampires later, I was nearly certain it was him.”

Scappino sighed then, thinking back to his disappointment when he saw Cole fall facing Petar's army of Undead. “Then, for a while, I thought I might have been mistaken after the Knight died. But then I learned the truth of it. Our information was not entirely accurate. The Homunculus Knight is immortal, but not like we thought. He can die; he is just resurrected a short time later. I don’t know the mechanism, but this explains why we lost him before.”

The Troupe had kept a careful eye on the Homunclus Knight back when Countess Isabelle Gens Silva revealed her creation. Her artifical man who knew not death nor time. But their attempts to learn the exact details about the monster had proved useless. Countess Silva met her end before the Troupe could get little more than a physical description about her supposedly immortal creation.

After a few more moments of contemplation, Pantalone answered with stoic seriousness. “Pursue the Knight and Alukah. Do not engage but keep them under observation. I will contact Magnifico and the others. Do not let this opportunity slip away, Scappino.”

With that, the mirror rippled again, and Scappino was looking at his own mask and the cave around him. Folding the mirror up in cloth and setting it in his pack, Scappino checked over his hideout, making sure he wasn’t missing anything. Pleased, Scappino took off his mask and went to the cave entrance. Casually shoving the boulder blocking it aside.

Sucking in a breath of clear night air. Scappino smiled and said to himself: “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

Isabelle Gen Silva smiled for the first time in a very long while. Her white fangs showed as she stood atop a lake of blood, illuminated by an impossibly large moon. Gazing up at that silver disk in the sky, she spun about like a dancer. Reveling in the new possibilities laid before her. For the first time since her second death, Isabelle had hope. Hope that she might escape this purgatory and return to Cole in truth.

It had been eleven long years stuck inside her own skull. Half-existing as little more than a ghost kept “alive” by Cole’s blood. Her enemies had lopped off her head and burned her body. No Vampire could survive that, but somehow she persisted. Trapped and even more terrified of death than before. But now she had a way to escape this purgatory. She could claim a new body and be born anew.

Whirling in her excited dance Isabelle licked her fangs, tasting the drop of blood she’d stolen from Natalie. That drop had whispered secrets and promises to Isabelle she would not go to waste. The budding relationship between Cole and Natalie had at first infuriated Isabelle. Cole was hers, HERS! She was not about to let some tavern wench take him from her. But then, when Natalie had been turned into a Vampire, a whole new set of possibilities had been opened up. Possibilities only made more tempting by Natalie’s accidental inheritance of the Alukah’s power.

Stealing another Vampire's body was not an easy task but far, far easier than stealing a mortal’s. It would take time and effort, but Isabelle could prepare the way. She would claim new flesh and, with its new power. While offering Cole exactly what he wanted. Her darling had fallen in love with another woman. Something a less compassionate lover could never forgive. But Isabelle was happy to forgive his indiscretions and even accommodate them in her own special way…