After the fight with the juvenile ghoul, Vanalath was forced to spent several minutes rounding up his followers, many of whom had no interest in the duel and instead joined up with the wild undead, ineffectually battering on the stone walls of the fort that they had found, thirsting for the human blood within. By the time he’d finished gathering all he could, he was still left with less ghouls than he started with. The undead he didn’t directly control were torn away by the competing mob.

Vanalath intended to gather the ghouls and bring them to his mistress, but he doubted he would be able to pull many of them away from here so long as humans remained within these walls.

Approaching the entrance, he shoved his lesser cousins out of the way. He reared back and planted a kick onto the wooden door, but it was just as sturdy as it appeared, comprised of several inches of thick wood and reinforced with iron bands. It stopped his blow with ease, pushing him back. It shuddered slightly at his strike, but little else of effect was achieved. The next few attempts convinced him that he’d need to be more creative if he wanted to achieve entry.

He walked a circuit around the building, looking for any other ingresses. Circling it once, nothing became immediately apparent. There was another door at the back, just as sturdy as the first, as well as some more windows reinforced with iron bars.

Once he returned to the main gathering of undead, Vanalath paused. A young ghoul, a child, was climbing up the jutting stones of the building. Or rather, it was attempting to, but it was so uncoordinated that it couldn’t even balance on the first stone before falling to the ground, only to get back up and try again.

Vanalath watched it for a moment longer, then turned to inspect all the ghouls in his sight. A kernel of an idea was forming.

Even as he thought of his plan, it threatened to slip away from him. It wasn’t as straightforward as his ideas had been up to this point, but he wanted to challenge himself in this way. His realization that he was poor at imagining more abstract things had bothered him, and he wanted to prove to himself that he was capable of it.

Focusing on the building in front of him helped to visualize his intended result: to crack the armor and feast on the meat inside. The question came down to the concept of what drove humans.

He knew of hunger. Even he felt hunger, but he had no way of knowing how much food they had stored inside this fortress. What else motivated them, then? There was one thing that he had firsthand experience with. Fear. Vanalath had fear on his side.

He thought that this might work, and if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be any huge loss, either, though it would likely result in the loss of several of his mistress’s ghouls.

Wandering the crowd, Vanalath picked out the laziest undead he saw. These were the creatures who had been initially attracted by the scent of humans but lost interest in even attempting to attack the building, and now were simply lying about, doing nothing. He assumed direct control over as many of them as he could, growling at each in turn.

With these apathetic monsters in tow, he once again rounded the building, stopping every so often to station them in hidden areas, behind other buildings or shrubs: places where they could watch the fort and intercept any escapees. He placed them far enough away so that there was little risk of them becoming distracted by the distant gathering of undead or by the human scent inside the building. It helped that the wind was blowing in from the western mountains, so most of these undead were put on the western side where they couldn’t smell the humans. This was where the back entrance was placed, and the area only had a few ghouls who had wandered in. He gathered these undead when he came across them and sent them back to the crowd in the front. This exit had to look clear.

Once his ghouls were in position, he released them from his control, watching for a minute to ensure that they didn’t start wandering. Despite him no longer controlling them, they appeared content to obey their last command. Or, at least, they were content to do absolutely nothing, which was exactly his criteria for choosing them in the first place.

When he was finished, there were no blind spots left. Though the ghouls he used were sluggish things, he trusted that once they caught sight of humans, they would become as blood-crazed as any of the others. Then, keeping only Kalaki and the juvenile ghoul at his side, Vanalath returned to the crowd and began to locate all the smallest ghouls he could. These mainly ended up being children, but some thinner adults were included in their number.

He found fifteen who fit his requirements. Then, since he could control more, he padded the rest of his numbers with a dozen of the strongest undead, though he left the evolved ghouls where they were since he sensed they would be more problematic to control. That wasn’t to say they were impossible, but more of an investment from him would be required, and he’d be able to control less total ghouls as a result. They would do their part just fine staying by the eastern entrance.

Then, Vanalath moved to the northern wall of the building, the side facing the lake, to inspect one of the windows he’d spotted earlier. The iron bars that blocked this window looked more widely set than the others. First, he grasped the bars and pulled himself up so he could look inside to find a bare, dusty room. There was a table, some chairs, and a lot of empty sacks. And it stunk. Judging by the smell, this room served as an outhouse for the trapped humans.

Though it was too thin a gap for him to even fit his head through, the smaller ghouls should be able to fit. He turned to the group he intended to have infiltrate the building, and as clearly as possible, made sure they understood that, once inside, they were not to move until he gave the order.

Then, lifting the smallest ghoul by the neck, he placed it by the opening. It quickly crawled through, landing on the other side with a muffled thump.

With a growl, Vanalath told Kalaki and the savage ghoul to continue what he’d started. Kalaki immediately seemed to understand, picking up the ghoul child who had been attempting to climb the walls earlier and bringing it to the window.

The savage seemed to interpret his orders differently. He immediately started trying to cram himself into the aperture, all while Vanalath looked on in dull amazement. His bewilderment lasted only a short moment, turning quickly to irritation. His hand came to rest on his sword pommel. He was already regretting not killing this one earlier.

Before he did anything more drastic, Kalaki slammed the idiot with the butt of his spear and knocked him to the ground, where he looked around with confusion.

Sighing internally, Vanalath ordered the stunned ghoul and his other dozen subordinates to follow him. Kalaki would take care of this part himself.

He went to the western door. It was quieter here, and if the humans inside were going to make a break for it, they would probably choose the exit that wasn’t being constantly assaulted by the undead. He commanded his followers to place themselves against the wall by the door, such that anybody looking out of the windows wouldn’t be able to see them. Then, with a command for them to remain silent, he climbed onto the flat roof of the building.

Once up, he strode over to where he left Kalaki and looked down to find the last of his small ghouls squeezing through the bars. It was a tight fit, but with a push from Kalaki, the final undead was inside. Ordering the spearman to join the rest of the ghouls at the rear, Vanalath reviewed everything he’d done.

Would his plan work? Did he miss anything? While he’d been carrying it out, it all seemed clear enough in his mind, but now that it was accomplished, he already had trouble connecting the parts that had seemed so vivid to him in the process. This annoyed him. It wasn’t like his strategy was some complex design, it was a simple plan with a few layers of redundancy, and he practically had to overheat his brain just to keep it straight.

He’d reached his limit for the day. It was time for blood. Trusting that it would work, he howled.

Inside the building, his fifteen ghouls began hunting. He had briefly considered having them open the doors from the inside, but Vanalath didn’t even know himself how the doors were locked, so he was unable to give them any specific orders. With his luck, it would be a key lock. Having the clumsy undead fumbling around with the doors was a good way for them to be quickly discovered by the humans and killed, as well as ensuring that steps were taken against any further breaches. That’s why he decided to let their instincts take control and trust in the human propensity to panic.

He released his hold over the fifteen ghouls after giving his final command, knowing that their natural drive to hunt would do the rest. A simple mental tug caused the pieces of himself he’d placed inside each of them to return. The tiny wisps zipped back, merging with his internal whirlpool as if they’d never left. But this was only a temporary reunion.

He howled a second time, sending out his energy again, using his fifteen free vacancies to seize some of the ghouls by the entrance and have them renew their assault, this time with a focus on making as much noise as possible, hammering the door and roaring into the windows. It had to appear that there were more ghouls inside than there really were; that the security of the building was compromised.

At that moment—

“Ayiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi!”

From the west came a cry. Vanalath pivoted, straining his eyes to locate the source of the noise. Then he saw it—two figures had burst out from within a thicket of trees and were charging towards the building.

What? Who were they? Humans? Men. He hadn’t smelled them nearby, and he’d been in the area for almost an hour. Vanalath started moving the instant he recognized the threat, the sudden burst of speed blowing his dark hair back. As he ran, he realized how he hadn’t noticed them. It was obvious, in retrospect.

They were approaching from directly downwind of him. He’d used the same strategy when placing his undead, he just hadn’t thought that enemies would also take advantage of it. They could have been there the entire time without him knowing. But what was the point of charging at them now? Two men couldn’t hope to defeat so many monsters. Was this an attempt to warn the humans inside?

His next command came out as a bark. The juvenile ghoul and Kalaki were the target of his orders this time. The first dropped to all fours, dashing forward to intercept the two men with surprising speed. Kalaki was slower, but still quicker on his feet than the lesser ghouls. Already, many of the undead Vanalath had planted in hiding earlier had left their spots to chase after the humans. The ones outside the door remained under his control, but his plans might have been ruined already. It all depended on whether or not the ghouls inside the building could spook the hiders into thinking their safety was compromised.

But the screaming was a good sign.

After another few moments, the two men charging at the ghouls got close enough for Vanalath to get a better look at them.

They were dressed in similar garb as the humans in the valley wore, but there were a couple of striking differences in their appearance. The first was their weapons. So far, almost none of the humans within the valley bore true weapons. Most of what he’d seen had been repurposed farming implements or simple sticks. Kalaki and the other man he’d been on sentry duty with were notable exceptions to this rule, as each of them had a spear. These two men didn’t wield spears, but what looked like short swords—or perhaps long daggers. They waved them around in what appeared to be an attempt to draw attention to themselves.

The second thing that stood out was their hats. They were large, ridiculous, feathered things. Bright reds and oranges waved above their heads, making them look some sort of tropical birds. These men had snuck up on him? Well, they certainly made for obvious targets.

As the young ghoul closed in, moving at a far greater clip than the dozen staggering undead who had already been chasing, the men turned in unison, veering off to the left, toward the lake.

Ah. This made sense, now. They were trying to draw all the ghouls away. They knew their fellows were stuck inside the building and so they hoped to free up an avenue of escape. Admirable, but ultimately futile. His grip on the remaining ghouls was too strong for them to fall for the bait.

As this thought crossed his mind, Vanalath heard the sound of bolts being slammed back and a bar scraping against wood. A second later, the door burst open and three people—two women and a man— all tried to squeeze out through the opening at the same time, but only succeeded in getting tangled up with one-another.

The man, by elbowing the other two out of his way, broke free first, managing to crawl out on his hands and knees. He wasn’t even able to right himself before Vanalath jumped off the roof and onto his back, nearly snapping his spine.

His dozen slavering ghouls rushed forward, and the two women let out shrieks, immediately trying to backpedal, but they ran into more of the humans who had just caught up, and a struggle ensued between those who wanted to leave and those who wanted to run back inside.

Vanalath, drawing his sword to end the life of the man he stood on, was suddenly assaulted by a feeling of intense hesitation. His vision blurred and a voice from the distant past shook him to his roots.

“What have you DONE?”

Fear enveloped Vanalath, turning his motions frigid.

“I…! I was just playing—”

“Playing? With a blade?!”

He felt like he was suffocating. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It had been a game. He’d been training hard for a month now, and wanted to show off a little. It was only a demonstrations of the routine that Octavian taught him, plus an extra technique he invented himself.

“We need to stop the bleeding. Servant! Servant! Bring bandages, hurry! And you—call for a healer!”

He wanted an audience, and Thomas, as always, fit the bill perfectly. He was a peasant boy, but not an idiot. One of the smart ones. If this went well, Vanalath had been planning on showing the routine to all his friends.

“Apply pressure here. I’ll tie a tourniquet.”

Thomas knew how to appreciate his talents. Like the time Vanalath taught his aunt’s pet weasel a trick and showed him. It was all the boy had talked about for the next two days. Vanalath kept him around for his reactions, which were always so much more interesting than the servants’. They were paid to be impressed, but not so with Thomas.

While tending to the bleeding child on the ground, everyone ignored Vanalath. But when the boy had been brought away by a healer, the man who had saved Thomas’ life turned to find a small and shivering Vanalath behind him.

“…Van, give me the sword.”

“He—he came too close! It wasn’t my fault!”

Thomas should have known that sword techniques needed a lot of space. That was obvious.

“The sword, Van.”

Octavian’s voice was stern, unyielding. Vanalath offered the weapon up to the swordmaster with trembling hands.

“Will he… be okay?” he asked.

Octavian’s sigh sounded like a bull exhaling. “At least you’re asking the right question.”

Vanalath didn’t know what he meant by that.

“I don’t know. Perhaps, perhaps not. In the best case, he’ll be healing for a long time. He may never fully recover.”

That was his friend. He’d nearly killed his friend.

“Vanalath.”

The way his name was spoken made him stand at attention, rigid despite his desire to run after the healer, to apologize to Thomas.

“What is a sword?”

“A swordsman’s honor!”

The rule of honor. Vanalath was running off his memory, saying the words Octavian made him repeat every morning before beginning to train him. He didn’t even know what he was saying.

“What is the cardinal sin?”

“To strike down an unarmed opponent!”

Octavian waited, letting his pupil’s words settle, before speaking softly.

“When we draw a sword, what does that signify?”

“Intent!”

“Intent of what?”

“Intent to uphold our honor!”

“…Vanalath, have you upheld your honor today?”

Vanalath remembered. It was only a pale glance at the past, but he remembered. This was the source of his reluctance. A moral code that had been beaten into him, over and over again, drills after drills after drills. The importance of honor. The disgrace awaiting those who ignored these principles.

“You did not intend to honor the sword today, you only sought to honor yourself. I am rescinding your right to wield a blade until you’ve proven to me that you can uphold a swordsman’s honor, Vanalath Strix. Until then, you will train with a stick.”

Glimpses into related fragments of his human life threatened to immobilize him.

He looked down, down at the man who was squirming beneath his heel, desperately gasping for breath. His sword lowered, inch by inch. While he held a blade, his connection to his body’s past was strongest, and his body rebelled the most against what he was trying to do. An unarmed opponent. Someone not even willing to fight, the furthest thing from a warrior that you could get.

A swordsman’s intent mattered, but the intent of their opponent mattered almost as much. If their adversary wanted to fight even while weaponless, they brought reckoning upon themselves. But for him to strike down someone without weapon or intent? That wasn’t a path. That made the swordsman scum, worthy only to be hunted down to the ends of the earth by men better than him.

Ideas of honor, of dignity, and of pride surged up from this forgotten space inside Vanalath. But then, something buried even deeper followed after, chasing the heels of his human emotions. This sensation was something else. Something greater and more hideous than all of his combined notions of personal integrity.

It was deeper than honor, than dignity. Deeper than justice, kindness, mercy, compassion, more extreme than even love. What was this all-consuming feeling that threatened to drown out his human tenderness?

“Vanalath, oh gods above, my Vanalath, what have they done to you?”

Ah. He remembered now. It was hatred.

His blade bit down.