The village which the others called ‘Arqa Two’ sprawled with mud huts beneath the dark ruins of a hilltop keep. Empty animal pens and unharvested fields dotted its perimeter. The clouds overhead stayed perfectly still, their billowed darkness like swollen cotton dyed black that never drifted an inch north or south in the sky—even as a wind picked up.

The party approached the village’s outskirts. They came across a windowless house shrouded beneath an awning. Past it, another. Two more. Before long they were near the village’s center. It was dark and deserted. No bodies cluttered the ground.

“He struck this place first,” Jason said. “When we left, he…came here.”

“He killed the villagers,” Rook said. “They formed his first army.”

“Such an army moves slowly on its feet. We may outpace it yet,” Absalon said.

They could avoid the village on their way to the keep if they traveled the far way around. But Eris spotted thereafter the reason they dared come so close: the well.

Astera might conjure small amounts of water, but not enough for nine travelers. Early summer was the driest point of the Daromese year, after winter and early spring rains but before the monsoon, and without their agama they already ran low on hydration.

She had already scouted ahead. The village was deserted. Rook decided it was worth the risk to approach.

The empty square stood like a place haunted. Houses deserted at a moment’s notice. No animals. Bodies all moved. Hardly even a sign of a fight. Eris watched on uneasily as Tarfur drew water up the well with a winch; her gaze drifted up toward the keep on the hilltop, less than a mile away.

A ruin. The construction was recognizable at once as Old Kingdom, although the condition was not bad. A rounded wall was formed around the hilltop’s sides. A tower shot up above all. There were missing pieces in the masonry, or places where the construction was so weathered that it seemed ready to crumble, but it was otherwise well-preserved.

Astera stared at Eris’ side.

“He is rebuilding it,” she said.

“Rebuilding?” Eris said.

“Yes. The walls were in ruin when last we were here.”

“Then we know where we’ll find him,” Rook said from some distance off.

Eris looked to him. She returned toward the well, where Tarfur brought the bowl attached to the winch directly to his mouth. “Is this the extent of your ingenious plan—to walk directly up to the front door of the vampire lord?”

He watched impatiently as Tarfur drank. “No. I have another. I—”

The troll spit. He dropped the bowl and it fell on its string back down the well. He shook his head, growling.

“Taint of death,” he said. “Taint of death!”

Eris sighed. “I will see to it.”

So the process began anew. This time, as each bowl was retrieved, Eris used Hydropneumonic Purification to cleanse the ‘taint of death’ from the water. She demonstrated this purity to the party, which was enough for everyone but Tarfur. He refused to take another taste.

In that haunted village they quenched their thirst and prepared for the final battle. Eris could not help but feel like they were missing something. No doubt the coming fight would be terrible, but even so—this seemed too easy.

She turned back to Rook.

“You had something to say.”

He nodded, then to Astera: “Lord Arqa still believes you’re Daphana, doesn’t he?”

Astera shrugged. “When we left, yes.”

“Then we can lure him into the open. Into the sun. When it shows again.” He glanced upward at the clouds, then to Eris. “How close do you need to be to begin the ritual?”

“I do not need to see him,” Eris said, “but I do need to feel his Essence—to sense his aura. Otherwise I will not be able to tear away the skin which covers it.”

“We take you to the keep,” Rook said. “And we make our preparations there.”

Ras, who had been put down on the ground and was mostly recovered from his envenomed bite, said, “We’ll keep the lass safe.”

“How long is this ritual?” Absalon says. “If you are close—what is stopping the vampire from slaying you while it is invulnerable?”

“Magical weapons can still harm him,” Jason said. “Just not permanently. Think of it like batting away steam. The steam is still there, it’s just been pushed away. Except this steam wants to rip your throat out.”

“I think we should have obtained some more of these enchanted weapons before coming on this expedition,” Absalon said.

“Not the sort of thing you can find at the auction house,” Rook said.

“Wait,” Astera said. “He can wield magic against us. He is powerful. Before—he trapped us with a spell. He may do so again when we attempt to lure him into the open.”

“I can dispel his magic,” Robur said. His voice was quiet—quieter than usual. “I will come with you.”

Rook nodded. “There you have it. My ingenious plan.”

While the others babbled Eris’ attention drifted toward the sky. She spotted something—a moving shape—which stood out against the dark backdrop clouding the aether. Then another, and another. Small, distant arrows that circled overhead.

Vultures.

“We are being watched,” she said. “He knows we are on his doorstep.”

“It may not be so,” Ras said. “The kite es the only animal to thrive when death comes to the lands.”

Astera withdrew her elven bow—the bow taken from the orc. She nocked an arrow. The shot was impossible, yet with hardly a second’s worth of aim she let the arrow slip.

Her arrow found its mark. Feathers puffed into the air. The shaft lodged into the bird’s body. It plummeted to the ground.

And landed with a crunch some distance off.

The party rushed to investigate. They were greeted by a fluttering of wings, a snapping of a beak, and protesting of a long neck. Tarfur crushed it with a foot.

“Here we go again,” Jason said.

Astera climbed atop the tallest building in the town. She gazed out into the desert.

“The approach from the west,” she said. “Many.” She turned, then added, “And more from the third Arqa to the east. Farther off.”

“How quickly?” Rook said.

“Slower than our rate of travel, but they will be here within hours’ time.”

Jason’s face went white. “What do we do?”

“If we confront Arqa and fail,” Astera said, “we will be overcome.”

Rook considered this. “We can confront them in the open. One group at a time…”

“That is idiotic,” Eris said, “we will do no such thing.” She pointed up toward the keep. “This Lord has built defenses we might use against him. Let us commandeer his fortress for ourselves.”

“There would be no retreat,” Astera said.

“Was there retreat otherwise?” Eris said.

“There is never retreat!” one of the dwarves said. Tarfur grunted in agreement.

Rook stared up at the keep. He watched it, considering. At once he nodded—

And from the portcullis of the keep marched a dozen decaying figures, armed and armored. They wielded spears and wore the colorful mail of Daromese soldiers, similar to what Absalon wore now, yet there was no mistaking their marioneted gaits, their shambling walks, and their rotting faces.

Tarfur raised his axe. “Forward. Now.”

“Forward,” Rook said.

They met Arqa’s forces halfway, on the ruined road that led up to the keep’s empty portcullis. Eris concentrated on the mana around her while she walked. The soulcharm bled power into her veins. She felt it burning against her heart. She was wary to unleash its power, but even to touch it, to let the Wyrm’s essence bubble against her body, was enough to fill her with energy.

“How does one defeat an enemy with no morale?” Absalon said. “That fears no pain? That cannot be killed? Against foes so armored—we will lose this battle.”

“They stand between us and our destination,” Astera said. “And they will never cease their march.”

“We don’t need to defeat them,” Rook said, “we need to get past them.” He looked to Eris.

“He is right,” she said. The soldiers formed ranks four deep, in rows of three. The first rank lowered their spears. They moved in perfect unison, even as their walking was entirely out of step. “I will clear the way. You will press forward. Clear off!”

She pushed a dwarf away, then Rook, and concentrated on the power in her hands. She was wary to overtax herself. Too much remained undone. But every moment speartips drew closer, and as her heart raced more quickly her regard for care dissipated.

Her fingers tingled. She hadn’t used such destructive magic in many months. Soon a wind whipped about her hair; a vortex surrounded her; green electricity cackled from between her closed palms, up against her nose, casting the shadows of her features onto her fore forehead, until the approaching soldiers of Lord Arqa were hardly ten feet away. Rook stepped forward and an arc of lightning shot out, shocking him. He swore and stepped backward.

That was when Eris opened her palms.

A fireball barreled through the ranks of undead like a boulder shot from a ballista. They were thrown off the path leading up to the keep and tossed like dolls to the side. Electricity shocked their armor and sent the stench of burning rot into the air; and when the fireball reached the end of its path, it exploded in a burst of light and whoosh of fire. Crackling thunder shot in every direction. Two of the zombies were caught in the burst and vaporized. The others were scorched, their armor burned, their dyed robes caught aflame—but they clawed up again, ready to fight.

Eris slumped backward. Lethargy overcame her.

Rook grabbed her by the shoulders. “Go!” he said.

The way was clear.

He tugged her forward. She stumbled after him, and she grabbed the soulcharm. She took a taste. The blue vial glowed through her shirt, through her scarf and robe, so bright it was easy for anyone to see, but it instantly revitalized her. She shook her head and chased after Rook.

The humans all ran straight toward the portcullis. It was ruined and could no longer close; the way ahead was open. Tarfur stopped to chop the head off a fallen spearbearer; it stabbed him in the ankle a moment later, but his hide was too thick, and he kicked it down into a cactus, where it became stuck.

The dwarves followed. They hammered all in the way. Bones smashed, armor crushed. One spearbearer rose and interposed itself, its robe still on fire, and Ras tackled it to the ground. He tore its decaying limb from a socket, screaming something in Dwarvish that Eris couldn’t understand, and he was nearly impaled from behind by another spearbearer when Tarfur grabbed him by the beard and heaved him away to safety.

The two landed a few more hits as they retreated to the portcullis. They darted through the arch, toward the rest of the party.

Everyone was through then. Here, in the keep’s bailey, there stood columns of stone and ruined buildings. A central keep was in the process of reconstruction, yet still mostly in ruins. Only a tower at the far end seemed completely intact.

There was no way to close the gate. It was long-since destroyed, although the wall had been repaired.

The undead approached.

Eris looked to one of the columns. “Move!” she said. She grabbed hold of it with her mind and she pulled it down to the ground, tearing its support in the earth out and pulling it down to block the portcullis.

Nothing at first. Then a budge. Then the column fell, and the enormous black stones toppled into the place she willed. She did the same with another, and presently their exit was completely barred by stones too enormous to move except by magic.

And they were stuck within the keep.

Everyone panted. Catching their breaths. Eris stepped forward—

And she felt it. That same aura that tried to grab her when they saw Aletheia. The presence of a greater demon bleeding its Essence into all its surroundings. A foul, evil creature, beyond any she had encountered before.

That was Lord Arqa. He was somewhere far beneath her.