XXV - A Decision is Made

  Vlad was awake well before sunrise.

  He sat in his bedroll and watched as the sky brightened beyond the missing wall of the forge. Orange sunlight crept across grey snow freshly spread overnight. It was pristine, untouched, beautiful in its simple elegance.

  And yet he was certain that, somewhere in the village, it was disturbed with a spatter of red.

  Vlad considered rising and going about his morning routine, but he did not want to disturb Sybil. She still slept soundly, a fact betrayed by her deep, gentle breathing, and he wished not to wake her on one of those rare mornings that she actually forsook her new moniker and slept until the coming of the sun. He was certain that her current state was likely the result of the exhaustion that her waking body had endured for so long; the chance to rest in the warmth and relative security of the forge had lulled her into an irresistible slumber that had so easily overwhelmed her.

  He even thought that for once she might have slept without having to endure any nightmares, but this hope was quickly dashed when she began to toss and turn in her sleeproll. Vlad considered waking her, but he knew to shield her from her own mind would do her no good, and thus allowed the dream to persist. She remained restless for a few minutes, even going so far as to mutter an unintelligible word here and there, before all activity finally ceased.

  This was how he knew she had woken up. After waiting a few moments, he spoke. “Did you have another nightmare about them?”

  Sybil did not respond for close to half a minute, but even though she remained still and silent, Vlad was certain that she was awake and had heard his query. “Yes. I did.”

  He nodded, though she did not look his way, and he did not look hers. “Aye.”

  “They make sleep so dreadful,” she said. “I wish they’d go away and leave me alone.”

  “Do not count on that happening,” Vlad said. “It certainly hasn’t for me yet, and I doubt if it ever will.”

  This caused her to sit up in bed and turn to face him. “What are yours about?”

  “Oh, many, many things. Some less pleasant than others.” He paused. “Every strigoi that I’ve ever slain has visited me at least once.”

  “Have you dreamt of Dr. Frost yet?”

  “Twice already,” he said. “I dream of Three-Fang the most. My sleeping mind seemingly wants to ensure that I never forget what that creature did to my family.”

  Sybil frowned. “I didn’t realize—”

  “No, certainly you wouldn’t, Night Owl,” Vlad said. “I have not yet told you why it is that I pursue Three-Fang, and I was not certain if I ever would, but I suppose the scars running along your arms have earned you the right to know.” He took a moment to clear his throat. “My darling wife, Helen, and our sweet daughter, Lavinia—Three-Fang took them both from me. Both of them at once, on the same long, terrible night.”

  Sybil spent a few moments absorbing these words. Vlad could see the turmoil that they conjured in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Albescu. That’s… so horrible.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “And the worst part is that I cannot even blame Three-Fang for what it did. That responsibility falls on me. I am responsible for their deaths, just as I am responsible for the deaths of your parents. Had I properly done my duty as a Plague doctor and slain that cursed nosferatu when I had the opportunity, our families would yet live. Our loved ones would never have fallen victim to that creature’s malice, and you would still be back home in your village with your parents, happy and unaware of the dark secrets that we as Plague doctors endeavor so hard to keep hidden from the world. But you are not, and it is because of my failures. I failed in my duty not only as a Plague doctor, but as a husband and as a father, and now your parents, and my Lavinia and Helen, and every other mortal soul lost to that creature have paid the price for my incompetence.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mr. Albescu,” Sybil said immediately. “You are not responsible for the deeds of that monster.”

  “But I am,” he said. “I am because I have thus far failed to prevent them. And every day that I continue to fail is another that more lives are lost to that unholy abomination.” He paused. “I made an oath on the day that I lost my family. I swore that I would never again allow the forces of evil to take the lives of those I care about. I kept this oath for a long time, although this was certainly assisted by my lack of meaningful relationships—a facet of my life that I made the choice to uphold. But as I grew older, and my body began to show its age, I knew that I likely could not slay Three-Fang on my own. I knew I would need the help of a younger, faster, stronger, more capable hand—which is why I decided to take on an apprentice.”

  “If you feel as though you’ve somehow forced me into this life,” Sybil said, “then you’d best perish the thought immediately. I chose to join you. I didn’t heed your warnings when I could have. My fate has been cast by my own hand, and mine alone.”

  Vlad smiled at this. “Your words are kind, Night Owl, but you are actually not the apprentice I was speaking of. I am referring to my first apprentice.”

  Sybil wore her surprise plainly upon her face. “I did not realize that there was another before me.”

  “So you believed me to have conjured all of these trainings and lessons in the moment, then?” the Plague doctor said. “You give me too much credit, Night Owl.” He paused briefly before continuing. “The boy’s name was Alban. He exhibited such great potential from very early on, and I was eager to turn him into an even more skilled Plague doctor than I ever could have been. Such is the goal of any mentor, if their heart is in the correct place. In my mind, his destiny had already been determined, and I was there to guide him toward it. I was certain that he had been chosen by the Mother Herself to pick up my mantle when I became too old and weak and decrepit to continue the fight.

  “One day we came across a village, not unlike this one, that was terrorized by a ferocious werewolf. I was hesitant to get involved with such a beast, but Alban told me he was ready to face it, and I believed him. As it would turn out, he was not. We slayed the beast together, but not before he was bitten, and thus the creature’s curse was passed on to him. I had no choice but to look him in his terrified eyes before I relieved him of his new curse. In that moment I could see what a scared, feeble child he still was—and I realized that I had robbed him of the youth that he might have enjoyed had I not brought him into this despicable world.

  “I failed Alban that day, and in turn, I failed to uphold my oath. Twice now I have been unable to save the ones I care for. I failed to protect the ones who I ought to have protected more than anybody else. And in Alban’s case, it was all because I had been selfish enough to take him on as my apprentice. Had I not done that, he would yet live somewhere. But I did. I did, and now he is dead.” He looked at his living apprentice now, his face contorted and broken by the weight of the memory. “I simply cannot endure such a tragedy for a third time.”

  “And you won’t,” Sybil said after a short while. “But only if you do what is right. The only failure you could endure here would be to abandon these people in their time of need.”

  The Plague doctor sighed and looked away. “I know. And if I walk away from this village now, I do not think that I will be able to live with myself. But nor could I live with myself if I allowed something to happen to you.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “But you need not worry about such a thing.” Vlad, who had been staring off into the wintery morning outside, turned to look at Sybil again. “I made my own oath on the day we met, even if I did not fully realize it at the time. That oath was to avenge my parents by slaying the monster that took their lives. I have no intention of breaking such an oath by allowing myself to be killed by some damned lycanthrope.”

  Vlad was slightly taken aback by her words, but after a brief moment he managed to recover and offer her a relieved smile. “Well, in that case I suppose you are correct. I truly do have nothing to worry about.”

  Sybil rose to her feet and locked eyes with her mentor. “I want to help these people, Mr. Albescu. And I know that you want to do the same.”

  Vlad followed her lead and also stood. He did his best to ignore the mild ache that came with his first rise of the morning. “Aye, Night Owl. That I do. But I was not lying when I said that slaying a werewolf is incredibly different from slaying a vampyre. If we are going to accomplish this while keeping our heads atop our shoulders, then we have a formidable road ahead of us.”

  She nodded. “I know. But I am ready to walk that road with you, regardless of where it takes us.”

  Vlad returned her nod. “Very well then, my apprentice. In that case, it would be best if we made haste in getting started with our day.” He looked out at the strengthening morning dawn. “The two of us have many preparations to make.”

  ___

  Her silver blade arced through the air, slicing through the space like a slender shard of ice. Vlad easily parried the blow with his own dagger, knocking her weapon to the side, but his deflection did not disrupt her or set her off-balance; she quickly planted her feet and came in for another strike, which the Plague doctor also deflected, still unable to deter her.

  “Very good, Night Owl,” he said. “Put your might behind every attack, but do not get carried away with it. Give your blade your all, and it will do the same for you, but at the same time you must respect the balance of the dance that you perform.”

  Vlad nimbly dodged her next lunge. “Battles with strigoi and lycanthropes, while different in how they may proceed, both possess the same goal: subdue your foe by any means possible, while at the same time preventing their fangs from finding your flesh. The best means of slaying werewolves is to strike quickly and definitively, with a swift, powerful blow to the heart. To tarry too long in battle is to allow the beast to overwhelm you with its power. A werewolf will never tire before you do, nor will it be surprised by the same techniques more than once; use your superior tactics to your advantage and slay the rampaging creature quickly, before it knows what struck it.”

  Sybil slashed at him again; again he deflected, this time with a downward arc of his blade. “Be confident with your strike. Do not hesitate for even a moment, for it certainly will not. And if the beast should find an opportunity to unleash an attack of its own,” he went on as he quickly slashed at his apprentice, “you must ensure at all costs that it does not land, for a single blow from a werewolf could be enough to rend you in twain!”

  Sybil blocked the incoming attack as her mentor spoke; he followed up with a second strike, which she dodged with ample agility. She firmly planted her feet in the snow for only a moment before she lunged at Vlad with a fervor and speed that appeared to catch him by surprise. He only barely managed to parry this attack, but the force of his block sent her dagger tumbling from her grip. She fell to her knee and began panting wildly, her breath escaping in the form of a frosty mist as sweat jumped from her hair in many thick droplets.

  “You’ve fought well,” Vlad said, “but you cannot assume the battle to be lost simply because you have been disarmed. That goes for any encounter you find yourself in, whether it be against lycanthrope, nosferatu, or even another human. Recover your weapon or produce a new one as quickly as you are able if you wish to have any hope of surviving your ordeal.”

  “Yes, Mr. Albescu,” she said through her heavy gasps. She reached for her lost dagger and took it into her grasp. A moment later she was back on her feet, still panting but alert and ready to proceed.

  “So you intend to hunt down this werewolf after all, do you?” came Avice’s voice.

  Both of them turned to look at her. Vlad sheathed his dagger as the blacksmith, accompanied by her apprentice, approached them from the direction of the forge. Sybil followed his lead and also returned her blade to its waiting sheath.

  “I’ve had a change of heart,” the Plague doctor said. “I suppose this old mind is not as difficult to sway as one might have initially believed.”

  Avice and Finn came to a stop in front of them. The blacksmith crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I get the sense that Sir Godwin is not going to be particularly fond of such a change.”

  “The captain will certainly understand,” Vlad said, “or else he will run me out of the village, cursing my name all the while, which I believe he’d be all too happy to accommodate regardless of what I do. Either way, we have made our decision, and it is one that we intend to stand by.”

  “In that case, Sybil Fletcher, Finn and I have something to give you.” Avice looked at her apprentice; Sybil then noticed the quiver that was slung over his back, which he pulled free and presented to her. As she took the quiver, she noted that it contained a partition down the middle, on one side of which rested three fresh quarrels, their heads pointed downward into the body of the quiver. “Some silver-tipped quarrels might prove themselves useful in a battle against a lycanthrope. You still have several more on the way, but these are what I have managed to produce so far. Your new quiver is also divided into two pockets, as I am sure you have noticed. The other pocket can be used to store your standard quarrels so you do not confuse the two types of projectiles during the heat of battle.”

  Sybil looked over the quiver and pulled one of the quarrels from it. Its silvery head glittered with the light of the morning sun. “I did not expect to get these so soon,” she said, returning the quarrel to its quiver and slinging it over her shoulder. “Thank you both.”

  “Do not thank us just yet, Night Owl,” the blacksmith said. “There are plenty more where those came from. But are they not beautiful pieces of work? They are near-indestructible, and can endure practically endless use, assuming you can recover them after firing. They are incredibly lightweight, and cut through the air like a knife through melting butter. They are the ultimate ranged projectiles, if I do say so myself.”

  “They certainly are,” the huntress said. “I shall begin training with them posthaste.”

  Avice nodded at Sybil, then looked at her mentor. “Now, Ibis, there are some things about your armaments that I would like to discuss inside, if you have a moment.”

  Vlad smiled with a nod of his own. Sybil could see the slightest glisten of sweat along his brow, despite the relative ease with which he had appeared to fend off her attacks earlier. “Of course. I suppose Night Owl and I could use a reprieve from our training. Lead on, my friend.”

  The mentors walked off, returning to the forge. When they were alone, Sybil looked at Finn. “Feeling better this morning?”

  He nodded. “I am. My earlier pain was nothing a long night of sleep couldn’t fix.” He paused, appeared to resist the urge to frown. “Did you… sleep well?”

  “I had another nightmare, if that is what you are asking,” she said, not unkindly. “But they are already getting easier to manage. I doubt if they will even wake me soon enough.”

  “Let us hope that day comes with haste.” He allowed another brief pause. “Did you have a chance to speak about me with Mr. Albescu?”

  This time it was Sybil who needed to resist the urge to frown, which she ultimately failed to do. “I did. He said… He said that he is not capable of taking on any more apprentices for the time being.”

  “Ah,” Finn said. “That is a shame. Well, I appreciate you asking, at the very least. I suppose that may be for the best. I have not yet brought this up to Madam Avice as I had intended, and frankly I was dreading having to do so.”

  “You should still tell her how you feel,” Sybil said. “She needs to know what you want out of life.”

  “I know,” he said, “but for now, I suppose such a conversation can wait.”

  They stood in silence for a brief moment before Sybil spoke again. “You may not be able to travel with us, but I can still teach you a thing or two while testing these new quarrels.” She glanced at her crossbow, which rested against Vlad’s coach. “What do you say?”

  Finn considered this briefly, then nodded. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”

  Sybil picked up her crossbow and loaded it with one of her new silver quarrels. When she was ready, she led Finn toward the waiting dummy, stopping several meters shy of the gouge-ridden figure. Even from that far away, she could see the deep crater forming in its chest where her shots had struck true more times than she could count.

  Sybil raised her crossbow and took aim at her target. She kept her eyes straight ahead as she spoke to her companion. “Now, if there is one thing that both my father and Mr. Albescu have taught me, it is how to take down my quarry swiftly and efficiently. Whether it be a vampyre, a werewolf, or a deer, the rules always remain the same. You must always strike quickly, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt.” She pulled her weapon’s lever. The quarrel escaped from the crossbow with great speed and slammed into the chest of the dummy with a dull thud. Sybil kept her eyes trained on her prey even after her missile had found its mark, its silver head embedded firmly in the growing crater. “And always strike for the heart.”