I clench my teeth, slowing and doubling over to catch my breath on the side of the rocky trail. A cough hacks out of my lungs, the smoke in the air thicker the closer I get to the silvermines, telling me I’m headed in the right direction.Or the verywrongdirection.
With a tingling feeling itching in my blood, I gather my hands into fists and squint down past the nearest cliff face. The sun has been blotted by a purple night sky, showing me very little down below. I’m at the wrong angle to see the silver mines, which are naturally hidden from prying eyes until you pass a certain bend in the road which I’ve not crossed yet.
Despite my thoughts trying to debilitate and slow me down, I fight past the alarm bells. In the end, my sense of justice and, dare I say, gallantry, outweighs my cowardice and sense of self-importance.I am no more important than the people I’m fighting for,I think with conviction, steeling hold over my weaker thoughts. The idea is a spark, a rallying cry that carries my legs forward toward the danger below.
If even one of us is not free, then none of us are free.
As I near the sloped landing at a severe angle, I pull up short before the next bend, a gasp ripping past my lips.
Shadows flit across the road, leaping from boulder to boulder up the mountainside. They aren’t taking the road, opting for quicker maneuvering that looks entirely supernatural. Clearly, it isn’t humans making ten-foot leaps up the vertical rock face.
I squeeze against the cliff, the walls of rock curving to hide me in the shadows of an overhang above. My eyes catch at least five cloaked, shadowy figures making the trek. Jumping past me without seeing me—or simply ignoring me because they have something more important to do. They seem to be in a rush.
I catch pale glints of moonlight on alabaster skin concealed by hoods. The vampires fleeing the scene each carry giant bundles across their shoulders. Whatever the invaders have inside the bags are nearly as large as the vampires themselves.
It’s a bizarre, heart-stopping moment, with a rustling wave of chipped gravel and sliding rocks reaching my ears, joining the rabid pulse of my heartbeat.
Abruptly, it’s silent once more. The wave of commotion ends, all the vampires vanishing into the darkness above me, ascending the mountain at a breakneck pace.
I take a ragged breath and step out of the shadow. Whatever I’ve just thought about my own cowardice sinks in my belly, shaming me because I was too scared to step out and confront the vampires.
What could I have done?I think, trying to feel better about myself.Five against one? I may be foolish, but even I know when a battle can’t be won. No, I have to stay the course.
I charge down the road, heading for the mines, putting everything else behind me. I figure I’ll learn the answers to the confusing situation soon enough.
As I turn the fateful bend in the trail and catch first sight of the North Mines, the situation looks dire. I’ve made it down here in less than an hour—usually two when walking at a leisurely pace—and there are still shouts and cries of dismay rising on the wind.
I draw my swords from my hips, preparing for the worst, and continue on. My gaze scans the alluvial fan of the spread-out camp as I approach, hitched on the slope of the mountain. The first thing I notice is the source of the smoke coming from five different locations: three tents close by, the giant mining hole carved into the earth, and the oval-shaped silver refinery in the distance.
I hold my breath and lunge into thick black smoke, with grainy silhouettes on the other side. My eyes blink open, burning with sulfur and biting wind, to see shadows with swords drawn, locked in combat twenty paces in front of me.
I rush toward the melee, casting a quick glance to my left as I pass the first tent on fire. Inside sits a smoldering, human-shaped lump, ashen and smelling sickly of cooked meat.
Please don’t be Palacia!
With a shocked grimace, I grind my teeth and jump at the combatants: two hooded figures fighting in a feral dance of flashing blades and whipping cloaks. It takes a moment to register who they are—who my enemy is since they’re fighting each other and look relatively the same in stature and black garb. I catch the fangs of Cordea, Vallan’s second-in-command, as she hisses at the vampire with his back to me.
That’s all the confirmation I need.
I spring forward, silent as the night.
The vampire senses me coming at the sound of my boots on the gravel. He spins with his blade, which I deftly parry and sidestep.
Eyes glaring red with rage, he comes at me, unhinging his jaw in a macabre mask of hysteria. It’s as if the vampire can sense my blood—can scent me—and is drawn to me like a moth to flame.
I backpedal, put on the defensive by his jarring strikes. Our blades clang, sparks fly, and I yell in his face.
He’s supernaturally fast, which presents a problem.
But the problem ishis: Turning his focus on me exposes his backside to Cordea. The lithe vampiress sneaks into his shadow, her frame blocked from my sight by his body.
My eyes stay focused on my enemy, worried he’ll nick me andreallyget a good sniff of my blood, which will drive him into an unstoppable rage. I don’t want my eyes betraying Cordea’s whereabouts.
What signals me to Cordea’s location is the flashing blade that suddenly erupts from the vampire’s chest cavity, spearing through bone and cartilage and heart.
The red dies out of the vampire’s eyes. He drops dead.
Cordea gives me a small nod, flicks her thin blade out of his spine to clear off the blood, and spins. There’s no time to reward ourselves for the victory; three more vampires are running amok through the camp.
