The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 11: The Other side of the Coin

“It was one man who broke the siege! Cep’t he was no true man! His armor was red and his sword was as big as me. He smashed through the gate with a single blow, and turned the enemies' own dead against them! I never saw something like it and Gods willing, I’ll never see it again” - Rastko Zebic. (Mortal Levy in the Rolograd garrison)

Dietrich Freymond’s life had been defined by service and slaughter. The son of a Mercenary and raised in that grim life, Dietrich spent his childhood and adolescence fighting in a dozen different conflicts, serving a dozen different lords. Growing up in the war-torn eastern regions of the Holy League, where petty nobles squabbled and fought with each other as much as they did with their actual enemies. In that bloody time and place, Dietrich learned how to fight and, more importantly, survive. Earning a name for himself among the mercenary companies that wandered the Eastern Marches.

With this success and talent for the art of war, Dietrich’s story might have ended the same as the hundreds of other mercenary captains who’ve lived and died across the Western Continent. Except for one fact about Dietrich, he had ambitions that lay beyond gold and the pleasures it brings, which put him head and shoulders above most mercenaries. Ambition is not unheard of in those circles, with many successful sellswords ending up as knights in service to some noble who noticed their talent. But Dietrich desired something different, not lordship or power like some might expect. Dietrich wanted to become a knight in service to a Lord who he viewed as worthy to follow.

Such a Lord crossed paths with Dietrich in an utterly unexpected manner. In the wake of a bloody battle where almost all of Dietrich’s company was destroyed, the young mercenary encountered the enemy commander. Archduke Drakovich, first of his kind and ruler of the Blood Duchies, leading an army of living and undead to defend his subjects from invaders. Offering mercy to those who deserved it and grave-cold cruelty to those who earned it. In that fearsome immortal warlord, Dietrich found a master worthy of serving. That chance encounter was over a hundred and fifty years ago, and just as Dietrich’s life had been defined by service and slaughter, so, now was his undeath.

Dietrich Freymond found a liege, and with it a new existence as a Vampire of the Duke’s bloodline. Becoming one of the most fearsome warriors in the Western Continent, at a hundred years of undeath, he’d been sworn into the Scarlet Knights, the elite martial order who acted as Duke Drakovich’s sword. On becoming one of this elite cohort, Dietrich had been assigned the traditional duty of a newly inducted member. Acting as bodyguard and executioner for one of the Duke’s vassals. The vassal in question was Lord Johan Glockmire, an aloof Vampire, over a millenia old, who ruled over the hamlet bearing his name.

As a Scarlet Knight, Dietrich was sworn to serve Lord Glockmire as a valuable enforcer, an enforcer who could as easily enforce the Duke’s will on Lord Glockmire as enforcing the Lord’s will on his subjects. This tenure of service would be for a single century and work to teach Dietrich skills not found on the battlefield but still needed by a Scarlet Knight. The assignment was just barely halfway over, and Dietrich had loathed every minute of it.

As a warrior who’d fought against myriad foes and survived dangers most folk could not imagine, spending fifty years as a glorified nanny for the twenty-four Vampires who made up the Court of Glockmire had been his most unbearable challenge yet. Vampires are fickle, arrogant, and paranoid creatures by their very nature. Tendencies that had been quashed in a newly turned Dietrich before they’d even had a chance to form. So to him, the neverending politicking and backstabbing of the Court seemed like the behavior of spoiled, petulant children, who squandered the great power they’d been given. It painfully reminded Dietrich of the petulant highborn heirlings he’d dealt with in his mercenary youth. Youths born to status and utterly conceited with it.

Lord Glockmire seemed utterly unbothered by his Court's behavior. Rarely if ever, involving himself in the Vampires squabbles and leaving them to their own devices. So it had fallen to Dietrich to enforce something resembling order onto the Court. Aside from himself and the Lord, the court’s membership included twelve vampires of Lord Glockmires blood, sired by either him or one of his spawn; six barbarian vampires who’d migrated to Zaubervold, five native Vampires of differing bloodlines, and Petar the Steward. Dietrich knew little about Petar, other than that he was nearly as old as Lord Glockmire and had served as his aide-de-camp for as long as Glockmire ruled over the town bearing his name.

As enforcer of both the Duke’s and Lord’s will, Dietrich oversaw the town’s defenses and ensured its citizens were safe from monsters other than the Nocturnal Nobility. It had been Dietrich by and large who’d led the fight against the attacking lesser-undead three years ago. Commanding the voiceless legions of the Castle Guards and his fellow Vampires to repulse the invasion. The effort had been no small feat; plague ravaged Zaubervold that year and the undead attacks that followed it had totally destroyed towns larger than Glockmire. For his efforts, Dietrich had earned a modicum of respect from his subordinates, which had made the last three years of dealing with them relatively painless. This, combined with the action provided by hunting down remnants of the undead horde, had made his service much more pleasant. Which, of course, would not last, as Dietrich Freymond was awoken one afternoon to the news that a Vampire Hunter had come calling.

When he awoke, Dietrich felt two things, fresh blood on his lips and the supernatural knowledge that the Sun still shone overhead. He’d been awoken early from his daily slumber, which could only mean one thing, an emergency worthy of his immediate attention. Red eyes flaring open, Dietrich sat up instantly from his crypt. The clatter of his armor filled the underground chamber he used as a lair. Dietrich only removed his armor for maintenance and cleaning. His undead nature let him spend weeks at a time encased in the red plate mail he wore like a second skin. This was a strange habit most Scarlet Knights adopted, ensuring they were always ready for war.

Dietrich swept his eyes over his lair, seeing the two nervous-looking servants standing beside the sarcophagus he slept in. The servants were thralls of his, bound by his magic to serve him till death. Closer to him was Yara, who’d cut open her forearm to feed him the precious blood needed to awaken him before dusk. Farther away, towards the room’s entrance, was Vichiry, holding a torch, providing the only illumination in his lair. Seeing the worry and fear in their eyes, Dietrich growled.“What is it? What is the matter” both servants jumped at his snarl . Unlike many Vampires, Dietrich treated his thralls well. But still, the prospect of waking up an incredibly dangerous Vampire and delivering ill tidings would unnerve all but the bravest souls.

Yara spoke up, wrapping a bandage over her cut even as she did. “A stranger has arrived at the Castle. He’s at the front gate and wants to speak with the Lord. He says he’s a Rest-Bringer, and he has information about a rogue Vampire he wants to bring to the Lord’s knowledge.”

That got Dietrich’s attention. Rest-Bringers rarely came to the Blood Duchies, not because their talents were unneeded (the opposite is true) but because they rarely left alive or intact. For one to willingly approach the local Vampire Court was bizarre and worrying. His servants had done well to wake him; this was indeed something he needed to personally deal with.

Rising up fully from his crypt, Dietrich addressed his two thralls. “You did well to wake me. Do you know if any other Nobles have been alerted to this?”

In other parts of the world, Nobility could refer to all manner of people; in the Blood Duchies, it meant only one thing. All Vampires, in the eyes of the local people, were Nobles. A literal breed apart, who ruled over them with supernatural power. Rulership that Duke Drakovich asserted was superior to any mortals. A claim Deitrich agreed with, even the problematic tendencies of the Glockmire Court's younger members, was more than balanced out by the experience and talent of Vampires like himself, Petar, and even Lord Glockmire when the mood suited him.

Yara shook her head as she answered. “I don’t believe so; we got the information first and rushed here as fast as we could. That could change, but you should be the first awakened.”

Dietrich nodded at this and went over to one of the only pieces of furniture in his lair. A weapon rack that held his sword. At two meters long and weighing an obscene fifty kilograms, Dietrich’s blade was a true behemoth of a sword. Shaped like an oversized greatsword, with a dull square tip, it was a tool of execution, capable of killing through its sharpened edge or its sheer mass. Only a being of supernatural strength could hope to wield this weapon, which Dietrich had put to good use on countless occasions. In a rare moment of humor, Dietrich had named the weapon Lex, an Old Imperial word of Law, which the sword often embodied.

Armed and armored, Dietrich left his lair, leaving Vichiry to lock the chambers while Yara trailed after her master. Moving quickly, Dietrich stormed past frightened-looking servants and unmoving Guards. Yara, to her credit, managed to keep up with the avalanche of polished metal that was Dietrich. Soon they reached the antechamber of the Castle's great hall.

Extravagantly furnished and the size of a small house, the antechamber acted as a less formal meeting area for the court members. A scattering of tables, chairs, and the like filled the chamber. Suits of armor also stood at attention at the far walls, which were far from simple decor; each could animate to defend the Castle at any moment. The antechamber was like much of the Castle, and anywhere powerful Vampires laired; ostentatious, intimidating, and macabre. Using such subtle power to gain an advantage over this stranger would have never occurred to Dietrich before coming to Glockmire. But fifty years of learning to manage his fellow Vampires had taught him much.

Turning to Yara, who waited nervously by the room’s entrance, the Scarlet Knight spoke. “Have him brought here; I will speak with him.” and after a moment’s thought, he added. “Check him for weapons but do not confiscate any you find.” This Rest-Bringer would not be a threat to him in a place of power like this, and it would be good to subtly inform the stranger of that fact.

A few minutes later, the Rest-Bringer arrived in the antechamber. Flanked by Castle Guards and guided by the ever-nervous Yara. The first impression Dietrich got of his unusual guest was his strange appearance. The stranger was larger than Dietrich, even accounting for his plate mail. Clad in worn but well maintained traveling clothes the stranger was covered in more scars than any living person Dietrich had seen.

The stranger looked around the antechamber, his blue eyes noting exits and dark corners. Dietrich recognized the behavior of a fellow professional. This Rest-Bringer was no foolish amateur as he’d initially assumed upon hearing the stranger simply walked up Castle Glockmire. For a moment, neither man said anything, simply sizing each other up until Dietrich broke the silence.

“I am Sir Dietrich, Castellan of Glockmire. What business do you have with me, mortal?” While it was true that Dietrich held the title of Castellan, it was not how he usually introduced himself, revealing his formal title of Executioner of Glockmire tended to hamper attempts at diplomacy.

The stranger gave the room one final appraisal before speaking. His voice was the type of rich baritone you’d expect from a man his size and colored by an unusual accent. A lifetime and unlifetime of war had taught Dietrich to recognize regional accents; the Rest-Bringer was from Atreidia originally, but his accent had faded and warped from years of travel, he guessed.

“I’ve uncovered an issue that needs addressing. One of your kind has involved themselves in some very dark magic. The type I doubt even the Nobles of Noct-Bucuros would approve of. “

That got a raised eyebrow from Dietrich, and an itch of concern started to form. While he had no doubt that some if not all of the Court’s Vampires were dabbling in magic a Rest-Bringer would find abhorrent. That this corpse hunter felt the need to approach him in such a brazen fashion was bizarre and very curious.

The Stranger pulled out a small amulet from his neck and only decades of strict training stopped Dietrich from flinching at the sigil of Master Time. Symbols of the Gods could harm a Vampire; even a tiny bit of intent poured into them was enough to turn even a simple necklace into a lethal weapon. Holding up that amulet, the Stranger started to explain. “I am a servant of Master Time, sworn to face the unquiet dead who trouble the living. My travels have brought me to Glockmire, and in the process, I discovered some powerful lesser Undead stalking the nearby wilds.”

Dietrich was on edge now; he personally oversaw the culling of monsters in the region, be they alive or undead. It seemed likely the Stranger was lying, but the question was why. Finally, Dietrich asked the question that had been on his mind since the stranger had not recipcitated his introduction. “These are bold claims; what is the name of the man making them?”

“Cole, my name is Cole,” responded the now-named stranger, who betrayed nothing through his voice or stance. Cole continued describing what had occurred, ignoring the subtle warning in Dietrich’s words. “I put the four Ghouls to rest, found their lair, and discovered someone had been feeding them. The corpse of one of this town's citizens had been left out for the Ghouls to consume.”

Dietrich processed this information and decided to push on this Rest-Bringer. “Leaving the dead out to be consumed by Ghouls is a not unheard of way of disposing of the dead.” This was true, but a practice considered horrific and heretical by all but the most twisted cultures.

Cole did not rise to the bait and instead grimaced. “That may be the case, but I doubt anyone of sound mind would feed Vryko-Ghouls.”

Now, this was ridiculous; something as dangerous as a Vryko-Ghoul would have caught Dietrich's attention long ago. And the idea that this simple priest could destroy four such horrors? It defied belief. Dietrich scoffed and asked. “Well, how did you kill not one but four Vryko-Ghouls?”

That got a thin smile from Cole. “With great difficulty. The corpse meant to feed those trapped souls was apparently a criminal in your custody. A criminal that was transported to the lair by Direbats and given a drop of Vampire blood. I’m sure I do not need to tell you the implications of that.”

He did not, even dried and in small amounts, a Vampire's blood could have power over creatures, especially fellow undead. If Cole’s claims were true, a Vampire had been trying to not only strengthen a quartet of dangerous Ghouls but also bring them under their control.

Moving faster than a human eye could track, Dietrich crossed the room and stood in front of Cole. Both men, Vampire and Vampire Hunter, were face to face. Cole’s hand gripping his axe, but no sign of fear on his scarred face. Normally mortals jumped back, screamed, or ran when Dietrich pulled that little trick. That Cole reacted only by preparing to fight earned him some credit in the Vampire knight’s eyes. Dietrich wanted to dismiss this stranger’s words as lies or lunacy but could not do so easily. The unconcerned focus of Cole felt familiar to Dietrich; it was that of a soldier delivering a worrying report to a superior. Still, he wanted to test this man and the unusual problem he represented.

“How do you know this practice is not done with Lord Glockmire’s permission? You risk much by approaching me on the assumption this is the work of a Court member defying our will?”

To that, Cole glanced around the room and gestured around him. “This is a perfectly good Castle, is it not? Filled with dungeons, crypts, and dark magic. Things that would be useful for containing and experimenting on Vryko-Ghouls. No, if this madness had the Lord’s approval, then it would be taking place in this Castle’s bowls, not out in the wilderness for me to discover by happenstance. Also, I doubt you personally are involved; no Scarlet Knight would stoop to such methods. ”

The fact that Cole recognized his armor’s heraldry was a valuable clue about this Rest-Bringer. While not exactly secretive, knowledge of his Order was not commonplace. Dietrich then asked. “A valid point, but why come to the Castle with this information? You are a Rest-Bringer, are you not? Yet you provide crucial information gladly.”

Cole’s eyes flicked to the side just for a moment, and Dietrich saw the first sign of hesitation in the man. But Cole quickly recovered and answered, with a low growl coloring his voice. “I despise everything this castle and its denizens stand for. The corruption and consumption of innocent lives by monsters like you. Undead horrors ruling over the living and treating them like livestock. It disgusts me, and if it was in my power to burn this nest of leeches to the ground, I would.”

The brutal words hit Dietrich like a slap, and he suppressed a feral hiss. Composed and stoic by Vampire standards, Dietrich still felt the domineering pride and haughty cruelty innate to his species. To be insulted by a sack of blood too stupid to know its place in the hierarchy of existence rankled him fiercely. For a single moment, Dietrich wanted to rip Cole's heart out and drink its lifeblood before its owner’s dying eyes. Iron-hard personal discipline, the product of multiple lifetimes of service, quickly quashed the vindictive rage, just in time for Cole to continue.

“That being said, I lack the power to free this town, and by the standards of the Blood Duchies, the people here live well. I’m not a blind zealot who refuses to see that the Vampires of Glockmire are most definitely a lesser evil in this situation. I hope to point said lesser evil in the direction of a greater evil. Whoever was feeding the ghouls is a problem for both of us. I hoped to ensure the power at your disposal did some good for once.”

Dietrich bit back a retort. He wanted to explain to this stupid mortal how the Vampires ensured the survival and success of their subjects. How the fall of the Old Empire proved without a shadow of a doubt that mortals could not be trusted to rule themselves. Archduke Drakovich witnessed the collapse with his own eyes and hoped to rebuild that lost glory as something better in the Blood Duchies. A land where people would be ruled by immortal nobles who could use centuries of experience and skill. But Dietrich also knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Cole was a man of faith, shackled to the dogma of fickle alien minds; it would be pointless.

Instead, Dietrich decided to try and throw Cole off tempo. “I thank you for bringing this to my attention. It will be dealt with.”

When used correctly, courtesy is just as effective a weapon in verbal sparring as insults. What was it that old philosopher said? ‘The view from the moral high ground is quite pleasant.’

Before Cole could respond, a new voice interrupted him. Feminine, sinfully rich and dripping with a heavy lilting accent, the voice said. “Oh darling Dietrich, why didn’t you tell me we had guests?”

As the newcomer entered the antechamber, both Cole and Dietrich took a step back from each other and exchanged looks. A flicker of unspoken communication passed between the two warriors; an agreement not to involve the woman had just entered. Dressed in a flowing Lusitanian dress and slinking into the antechamber with a deliberate sway to her hips was Dame Lorena Sartori, a powerful Vampire of the Court. It seemed the rest of Glockmires’s Vampires were waking up.

Dietrich gritted his teeth. Lorena was not the worst of his kind to intrude into this mess, but she was close. The use of sexuality as a tool of manipulation and hunting was common among Vampires, but some breeds prefer it to other methods. Mastering seduction as a sinful artform that could ensnare all but the most resistant souls. Chief among those Vampire breeds were Moroi like Lorena. Sired as a Vampire two centuries ago in the southern Blood Duchies, she fled a rather messy situation in her home Court to Glockmire. Where she quickly embedded herself as one of the more powerful and fickle vassals of the lord.

Slinking around Dietrich and Cole, like a hungry lioness, Lorena asked. “My, my? Who is this exotic stranger you’ve been keeping from me? A comrade from your soldiering days? He certainly has the scars to match. You must have been incredibly brave to earn such marks of valor Sir?...”

Her voice trailed off with the question, which Cole did not answer. An awkward silence filled the room as Cole refused to take the bait laid for him. Dietrich eventually broke it with a believable explanation. “This is Cole, a Mercenary who is staying in Glockmire. He offered his services, and I had just finished explaining we had no need, but pointing him where he might find work.”

That got a wicked grin from Lorena. “Oh, how thoughtful of you, Dietrich, but I am sure such a strapping warrior could surely find some work here. A tall, brooding man like you must have all sorts of interesting stories. Stories I’d love to hear you tell; after all, a gentleman like you must know how to entertain a lady.”

Cole, to his credit, did not react to the entendre-laden entries of the Dame. In fact, where most men would be flustered or at least surprised by the Vampresses' obvious flirtation, Cole seemed tense and cold. Dietrich ideally wondered if the Rest-Bringer was truly uninterested, or simply experienced enough to handle behavior that would stun most Priests. While only the most extreme sects of the Temple discouraged intimacy in its Priests, most viewed it as a private affair, something between committed lovers, not something to be flaunted and even weaponized as Lorena did.

Turning away from both Vampires, Cole growled. “I will decline your offer Madam.” and turned to leave. After a half-second of consideration, Dietrich gestured for two of the Castle Guards standing by the entrance to escort Cole out. He did not know what problems this Priest would bring, but he would deal with them when they came. Until then, Dietrich had larger issues to deal with. Investigating the worrying situation Cole uncovered and, more pressingly, dealing with Lorena.

Like most Moroi, her blood ran hot, an impressive feat for a cold corpse. Passionate, fickle, and extravagant even by Vampire standards, Lorena would certainly try and tease the threads of this situation. While it was unlikely she was involved with the Vryko-Ghoul incident, Deitrich could not be certain. He idly thought that if Lorena made a play for the Lord’s seat or whatever the unknown enemy was doing, she’d strike through more subtle means than cultivating powerful monsters under her control.

That thought led to another about the current predicament. This “Feeder,” as Cole had called the unknown Vampire, had to be working towards something. Even as paranoid as Vampires typically are, they don’t take such extreme risks as binding dangerous lesser undead to themselves unless for a singular purpose. Such preparations would be costly to the Vampire’s strength and would not be done recklessly. The question was, what was that purpose? The most obvious was attempting a Coup against Lord Glockmire. Four Vryko-Ghouls and Night knows how many other Undead could prove a formidable fighting force, especially when guided by a Vampire's hand.

Of course, Cole could be lying, that was the easiest answer, but Dietrich doubted it. He recognized a fellow warrior, one with experience and grit. Not the type to engage in subterfuge with any level of success. At the same time, he could be a pawn of another Vampire, convinced of the truth by illusion or other mental manipulation. The sheer number of variables at play was staggering, and Dietrich needed time to think and investigate.

Time he did not currently have, as Lorena stared at him, her hip cocked proactively and a knowing smile on her tan face. Vampires naturally lose their bodies' pigment over the centuries, but with a little effort, it could be maintained. Usually out of vanity or to more easily walk among mortals, Dietrich suspected Lorena did it for both reasons. Tossing a lock of raven hair over her shoulder, the Moroi asked.

“Well now, What was that all about? You cannot seriously expect me to believe your little show?”

Dietrich decided it was best to mix truth and lies together. A spice of truth ensures a lie is swallowed easily. “He is a mercenary, just not one we could hire. A Rest-Bringer in service to the Final God. I don’t know what madness possessed him, but he approached the Castle looking for work, but he did. Perhaps he came looking to claim one of our heads but changed his mind?”

Lorena slithered towards a nearby couch, seating herself like a contented serpent after a meal. Propping her head up with one arm, she said. “That is certainly an interesting story, dear Dietrich. But not what my pets are telling me. Why I’ve heard a most interesting tale about this Cole character. Something about him marching into town with some of our scraps and outrageous claims about us feeding ghouls. Proclaiming for all of Glockmire to hear that he intended to confront the big bad Vampires in the name of his god.”

Dietrich gritted his teeth; he’d rushed to this meeting right after awakening and had not learned of the day's events. He’d met with Cole, not knowing the foolish Priest had apparently made a spectacle of telling everyone in Glockmire his intent and purpose. This was sure to get the livestock anxious and cause trouble. His moment of surprised hesitation was exactly what Lorena had been hoping for, and she pressed the advantage.

“Oh, was that a surprise to you, dear Dietrich? I do so hate to be the bearer of such dreadful news. But I am sure you have a solid grip on it, being our noble protector and all that. Why, surely you must have been aware of the terrible scheme darling Cole was ranting about. Or at the very least ready to deal with such a rabble-rouser. We can’t let the mortals run around spreading such nasty lies about us after all.”

In response, Dietrich gave the perfidious Vampress a glare that could instill terror, a glare that had stopped trained soldiers in their steps. While most Vampires preferred to use their arcane talents of mental manipulation for subtle work, Dietrich had found a more appealing use. Lorena shivered slightly and bit her lip as the weight of Dietrich's mind slammed into her. She apparently found the whole ordeal titillating, or at least she’d like Dietrich to believe. Her free hand tensed in fear and put holes in the couch’s fabric, showing she was not immune to such a psychic assault. This was Vampire politics encapsulated, clever words, dark powers, and a mixture of subtle and unsubtle intimidation.

Dietrich turned away from Lorena, which in itself was a display of dominance. Exposing his back to a fellow predator, certain she dared not strike. “The additional information you’ve provided is most welcome, Dame Lorena. It will make investigating and dealing with this incident go more smoothly. I am sure you will gladly inform me of anything else your agents learn.”

Recovering, Lorena smiled sweetly at Dietrich and said, “Well, of course, dear Dietrich, are we not all just one happy family united in undeath?”

As a Moroi, Lorena’s supernatural talents lent themselves to subtle manipulative powers. Controlling servants and manipulating the minds of weak-willed mortals. Dietrich, by contrast, traced his bloodline to Duke Drakovich himself and the Vampiric breed the Duke had sired. The Wyrmoi follow their founder's example and are meant for war and rulership. Strong, Fast, and dominating, Dietrich had risen from the grave, ready to lead armies from the front. That power was put to use as he moved to loom over Lorena in less than a second. Large, heavily armored, and grim, his presence pressed on the Vampresses senses. Dietrich had long learned the value of quickly overwhelming and intimidating the fickle Vampires of Glockmire.

“Of course, but I need not remind you that as the Executioner of Lord Glockmire and Archduke Drakovich’s will, any interference with my duties will be treated as an act against our liege.”

Lorena moved back slightly onto the couch and smiled. “But of course, I wish you good hunting, Sir Deitrich.”

Just as the Vampire Knight was hoping this little detente was over, yet another voice intruded into the antechamber. “And what might our esteemed Knight be hunting?”

Petar the Steward arrived. Just by looking at him, you would never guess Petar was a Vampire. Of average height and flabby build; He’d been turned in his early sixties, with pale stringy hair and a collection of liver spots that contrasted with alabaster skin. To be turned into a Vampire at such an age was virtually unheard of, and he’d survived for untold centuries appearing like a sickly old man. The only real indication of his nature and age were his eyes. Waxy and unblinking, they were the eyes of a corpse. Of all the Vampires in Glockmire, Petar was the only one Dietrich found worrying. He presented too many unknowns and dangers for the Knight to ever be comfortable with.

Fixing those disturbing eyes on the pair of Lorena and Dietrich, Petar asked again. “Well, what is your quarry? Surely you will need resources and aid in this task, which I will happily provide Sir Knight.”

As steward, Petar controlled much of the court's night-to-night mundanities. Much of the administrative staff of Glockmire was composed of mortals enthralled to him. Poor souls whose life consisted of never-ending streams of parchment and paper. Worked to a slow death by the mind-numbing bureaucracy of running a town. Such a waste of life had shocked Dietrich, and he'd asked Petar why he didn’t treat his thralls better. In response, the Steward’s thin lips had just tightened in a cruel smile, and he said, “Why waste the resources on maintaining easily replaceable tools? I can take any random fool, stamp the required knowledge into their mind, and set them to work. It yielded a four-point six percent increase in general productivity.

Those three sentences encapsulated the steward and why the rest of the Court treated him with a mixture of respect and fear. While Dietrich found such practices distasteful, it was not his place to countermand the steward. It was, however, well within his right to not share every detail about his current challenge. No one was above suspicion, even this old monster who’d served the Lord faithfully for centuries.

“Ah, Steward Petar. There is a Rest-Bringer in town who is making some extreme allegations. Allegations that I intend to investigate.”

Petar’s expression did not change, and his words were the same dusty monotone Dietrich knew to expect. “Well then, I trust you will have matters well in hand. Inform me if that changes.”

Dietrich nodded and left the Antechamber and the two scheming Vampires. While Lorena’s motivations were easy to decipher, mainly power and pleasure. Petar, by contrast, gave little away and was utterly inscrutable to Dietrich. The Knight needed to keep his fellow Vampires at a distance while he investigated the matter. Having a Rest-Bringer loose among the townsfolk could prove troublesome, and if his claims had any validity, that would open up another mess of complexity. Dietrich resolved to get answers quickly and have something to tell Lord Glockmire, assuming the Lord was even interested in potential dangers to his fiefdom.