Blood and Honor

Brey reacted to the insects in a completely unexpected way. Her face distorted, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she started flailing her arms through the dense swarm, scraping the creatures off in their dozens and cramming them into her mouth. She seemed to be in a frenzy.

Mordan snatched up a piece of cloth—an old curtain, by the look of it—from the attic floor, and lit it from Tarrel’s magical flame. By whirling it around his head, he was able to keep most of the insects away. His forearms were covered with blood, and he guessed the same was true of any other exposed skin; he was starting to feel a little weak.

Glancing up at the hole in the roof, he saw a pale face. Its lips were moving, although he couldn’t hear the words above the buzzing of the mosquitoes and the sounds of fighting. A pale hand stuck through the hole, pointing at Tarrel.

Not waiting for the spell to be cast, Mordan grabbed the hand by the wrist and pulled down with all his strength. There was a crash and a muffled cry as the hand’s owner found his shoulder slammed into the roof above, and then the shingles gave way and the attacker crashed through, his spell uncast.

Standing over the prone figure, Mordan drew his rapier and struck. He rolled the body over and found it was an elf—unusually pale and slender, with parchment-thin skin tight over a skull-like head, but an elf nonetheless.

He didn’t have time to reflect on what this meant. Something heavy struck him from behind, almost knocking him to the floor. It was cold, whatever it was—not the normal cold of a winter’s night, but something far, far worse. It grabbed his neck in an iron grip, lifting him choking from the floor, and threw him across the room. He cannoned into Brey, and they both hit the ground.

Tarrel turned his burning hands on the new attacker. By the flaring reddish light, it looked like a figure from a nightmare. It was—had once been—human, but its pale skin and cadaverous aspect hinted at something worse. It wore the rags of a uniform, but was unarmed and unarmored. An unholy hunger gleamed in its eyes as it leaped forward. Ignoring the flame, it dealt Tarrel a back-handed blow that slammed him into a low beam; he slumped to the floor and stayed still. The mosquitoes crowded thickly around him, settling like an unholy snow.

Mordan held his rapier in front of him as he tried to get back on his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Brey begin to move—and then she was locked in a death-grip with the creature.

It was almost as strong as she was, and for a few moments they wrestled each other ineffectually. Mordan’s burning cloth had gone out, and he wrapped it around his head to ward off the cloud of mosquitoes. Tarrel was barely visible beneath the swarm; their pale bodies were slowly turning pink. Mordan hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to help Brey with her opponent or carry the inquisitive to safety.

The wight lifted Brey off her feet, trying to crush her chest with a powerful hug. She hissed like a wild cat, tearing at the creature’s neck and chest with her teeth. Breaking free for a second, she struck the wight a powerful blow in the face, twisting its head around violently. It let her go and reeled for a moment, coming within Mordan’s reach.

He lashed out with his left arm, striking it with the stump of his wrist as the dragonmark flared on his shoulder. To his surprise, the creature didn’t even flinch—in fact, he saw some of its wounds close, as if healing. It fixed him with a malicious grin and raised a clawed hand to strike.

Brey struck the wight from behind as Mordan’s rapier pierced its chest. The sword was torn from his grasp, its hilt jutting in the air as the vampire pulled the wight backward. Throwing it on the ground, she dropped heavily onto the creature, slamming her knees into its chest as she reached for the weapon. Mordan heard ribs break with the impact. It was then that he noticed the tattoo on the thing’s shoulder—a skull with the number sixty-one.

With a furious snarl, Brey grabbed the rapier’s hilt and twisted it savagely. The wight screamed in pain. Grabbing her head in both its hands, it butted her in the face, pushing her off it with hands and feet. Mordan threw himself onto the pinned creature, but it threw him off like a rag doll, wrenching the rapier from its chest and throwing it across the room. Then, with a powerful leap, it launched itself through the hole on the roof and was gone.

Brey leaped after it, but recoiled with an agonized cry. As she hit the floor, the side of her face was red and peeling, as if seared by a hot iron. Glancing up, Mordan could see that the sky was turning pale.

“Help Tarrel!” Brey snarled, and then limped into her coffin and slammed the lid down. All was quiet except for the buzzing of the mosquitoes.