Death After Death

Simon slept fitfully and awoke at the smallest sounds throughout the night. Each time he awoke with stakes in hand, worried that he’d meet his end at the hands of a paranoid farmer’s wife, or worse, some awful witch that commanded vampires, and perhaps worse, he was instead woken by the sound of a rooster. That was a reassuring sign, and when he opened his eyes, he saw light coming in through the shutters.

When he got up and went to check on the farmer, he found him deathly pale. The man had a fever, but he was still breathing. He whispered a word of lesser cure to give his immune system a chance, but there was no easy fix. With the messy surgery he’d done, his body was still trying to put everything together. Even beyond all of that, there were likely a dozen different pathogens to contend with as well. He was in for a rough ride, but Simon believed he would get through it.

Even that wasn’t enough to wake the man up, though it did wake his wife up, and she glared daggers at Simon. “I want you out of my house,” she hissed. “The fever won’t go down as long as your cursed presence is sucking the life out of him.”

Simon didn’t laugh at that, but he wanted to. Instead, he said, “I’ll see what I can do to solve your little vampire problem, and then, after, I’ll see if I can find some herbs on the way back.”

She didn’t answer and only glared at him. So, he bid both of her daughters good morning in an effort to reduce their fear of him. Then left the house, if only to make her happy. Outside, he took a look around, and opposite the orchard he’d come in from, there was indeed a foreboding, ancient-looking castle partway up the far wall of the valley.

Well, that’s not quite as close as the farmer made it sound, he thought with a sigh. That sealed the deal; he was definitely borrowing their horse.

Before he did that, though, he looked at his equipment and took stock of the situation. He hadn’t been planning to fight vampires or attack any castles. He wasn’t exactly in the best shape either yet, so it was clear he was going to need a little help.

“It’s not too late to dig around and find the portal out of here,” he told himself. “It’s probably right around here somewhere.”

That would have been the easy way, though. That would have been Helades way. He didn’t just want to get to the end anymore; he wanted to save everyone that he could along the way.

First rule of vampire hunting, he told himself, don’t get taken alive.

While he did so, he marveled at the fact that what he would have once needed a forge and days of time to create, he could now do with only a few words of metal shaping. Between the words and lesser words of power he’d burned months of his life, but it had been worth it. He was much better equipped for what lay ahead.

He chose to create the sword in a configuration that would be powered by him instead of by his target. So. he’d have to toss it when it was done so he didn’t burn through years of his life. Still, he was probably going to need to get through a castle gate or portcullis or something, and this would be a hell of a lot easier than trying to knock it down.

Once all that was done, he grabbed some more wood that he could fashion stakes from on the way, then he saddled up the horse he found in the barn and started riding across the valley to rest up. “After this, no more magic for a month,” he told himself while he used his dagger to whittle fine points. He’d probably burned two or three years of his life already, and he’d barely even done anything.

“Well, barely done anything is a bit of an exaggeration,” he corrected himself while he rode on. “I only killed a vampire, saved a life, and probably solved a level. No big deal.”

As he went, he noted that with the exception of the evil-looking castle he was riding toward, the valley he was riding across really did seem like a nice place. It was full of tiny farmsteads and dotted by the occasional hamlet that looked inviting, even though he made no move to visit them. The place bordered on idyllic, with small herds and large grainfields here and there.

He’d been all over Brin and had only seen a few places that looked as bountiful. That was enough to make him see the farmer’s point on some level, but it seemed like a pretty brutal trade-off. “Live here, be perfectly safe, until one day your whole family is ripped to pieces,” he muttered to himself. “How’s that any different from living on the plains south of Crowvar? At least there, when the centaurs attack you, you can actually fight back.”

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Here, he wasn’t really sure what the common people were supposed to do about vampires. “I thought you had to invite them in or something?” Simon said in exasperation. Truthfully, he wasn’t really sure. It had been a long time since he’d read any vampire stories. They were never his favorite. All he really remembered was that the real ones didn’t sparkle and that the only way to take them out was to stake them.

He passed a couple of people on the road, but other than wishing him a good morning, no one tried to stop him. When Simon reached the last bend in the road before the castle, he tethered his horse in the shade of a tree and continued on foot. This was both because he would seem less threatening and because he had no wish to harm the farming family’s animal. Horses were the lifeblood of a farm, and losing it to an arrow would be dumb.

When he reached the gate, it was still before noon, and the thing was shut tight, which was just what he’d expected. Even the postern gate was closed, and he suspected the portcullis was, too. Only a single watchman was in the nearest tower, and he called out, “Who goes there!”

Simon thought about it for a moment before he called back, “I have business here! I’m expected!”

The watchman yelled out, “Well, what is it then?”

Simon shook his head and spread his arms before he called back, “It's not the sort of business I should be yelling about in public!”

The man cursed a streak then but didn’t follow up further. Simon had been completely bullshiting, but apparently, that worked. Instead of yelling down anymore, he opened the trap door and started walking loudly down the staircase. A few minutes later, he reached the gatehouse and opened up a small hole for peeking out the postern door.

“Alright,” the portly man said, half out of breath from the walk. “Who is it that’s expecting to see you then.”

That was the moment Simon realized he was probably fucked. He opened his mouth to try to make someone up, but as he did so, the self-important guard kept talking. “Gotta warn you, though, whoever it is, you ain’t gettin’ in here until after sunset. Something happened, and well, I’m sure a man like you knows the drill. This place ain’t much as long as the sun’s out.”

Simon nodded at that and said, “Yeah, I totally get it.” Then he drew his sword and shoved it right through the wood with only the slightest resistance. The steel chest piece of the guard didn't do much better than that.

He aimed for the Carnia but came in a little above that junction between the lungs, slicing through the trachea instead. The result was the same. He pulled his sword back out, and as that happened, the guard backed away, already mortally wounded, even if he didn’t quite understand what was happening.

“What… I… Help, help…” the man tried to call out, but he lacked the air to project any more than a whisper.

Simon drew his sword back, then forced it into the notch between the postern gate and the larger gate, slicing clean through the thick wooden bar that was the locking mechanism. Then he pushed it open without issue, even as the other man staggered back. He collapsed to the ground before Simon could reach him, which was fine. The guard had died as merciful a death as he could grant him.

Next, Simon walked over to the portcullis and cut through that too. It took longer, but took no more effort. The only issue was that his blade was only magical in the cutting direction, so he had to do it in three straight cuts instead of one long arc.

There were a few other men wandering around the courtyard, and he could see two standing together on the far wall near the cramped keep, but no one paid him any mind. “They will the second I push this over, though,” he said to himself as he sheathed his sword for a moment and looked at the heavy chunk of steel he’d have to topple to enter.

While his sword treated armor like tinfoil, he still chose his bow for the next portion of his attack. As soon as he kicked over the cutout he’d just made and stepped through, he was knocking an arrow to his weapon and pulling back. For his first shot, he didn’t bother to use magic. It was only twenty or so yards away. He just aimed for the man in the middle of the group and fired.

The result was spectacular. Even as the first man started to shout an alarm, and two more drew their weapons, one of the younger men, who might have been a squire, was hit square in the chest. On its own, that would have been a killing shot for one and not a bad opener, but even as the shaft sunk into the young man, lightning arced out of the arrowhead in all directions.

Simon could have used fire and blown him to pieces, but greater diffuse lightning caused chain lighting to reach out in a dozen different directions, catching almost all of his fellows in a spectacular pyrotechnic display. Those who were not killed in the blast were maimed and stunned by it. Simon smiled at that, deciding that it was even more effective than he thought it would be, as he looked for his next target.

He found it in the form of the man who was running toward the large bell in a tower at least fifty yards away, and he calmly took another arrow from his quiver and took aim.

Not all of his experiments worked. His attempt to harvest strength from wretched goblins had been a complete failure, but apparently, magical frag grenades were a thing now, and if he was going to kill someone anyway, he had no qualms with using their life to fuel that sort of spell.

The next arrow he fired was perfectly normal. It was only the words of distant shaping he whispered as he released it that made it special. At this distance, Simon didn’t have a prayer of hitting that guy from here in a single shot, but with magic, he didn’t need to. The arrow found its way right to the base of his neck in a single arcing shot that was utterly improbable.

As soon as he’d fallen off the catwalk, Simon was drawing his sword once more to deal with the other men who were approaching him. He still had like six hours before crunch time, but if he was going to purge a vampire nest, then he absolutely wanted to make the best use of his time. The clock was ticking, and unlike most of his quests, he was on a timer here.