The Misadventures of Ka-Ron the Knight (28 page)

"Raven-haired" was the first step to her village's misery.

The unfortunate woman, Molly had explained, touched her father's hearts right off and was offered a job as a barmaid.

Time would later prove the importance of her father's mistake.

"Raven-haired" was a disciple of Count Voslow.

"Count Voslow?" Keeth inquired, "Never heard of him."

"Pray that you never meet him, sir." Molly whispered. "Evil has nothing on him. He is rotten to the core. Everything he touches dies, only to live by his command."

"Sounds like a charming fellow," Dorian huffed, joining the wizard in his wine drinking.

Molly returned to her story, realizing she had all their attention.

As explained, "Raven-haired" was a pawn employed by Count Voslow, who had become a hermit nearby in an ancient castle long-abandoned. Not much was known of him - only that he had lived an incredibly long time, and, perhaps was an immortal. There were even rumors that he had once been a general in the imperial army of the Nowns.

Cibola was ripe. Full of blood. And his for the taking.

It took some time, but soon the bodies were being discovered. It did not matter what sex, age, or station the victim was. The killer was completely democratic. Upon discovery, it was learned that each victim's blood had been completely drained from his body.

Molly's father was soon drafted to seek out and discover who the killer was.

"Was there not a constable or an errant-knight of the village?" Rohan had asked, handing all in the group a cup of red tea. The wine was used up.

"We were a poor village, mister elf." Molly paused, her eyes projecting both pain and pity. "An inn keeper and pastry chef were all we could afford."

Molly sipped her tea.

She explained that her father, although not a man to investigate crime, was a fast learner. He had managed to gain certain confessions from several victims before their deaths, about Count Voslow. It was curious that he had been seen nearby, or that his hunting parties were in the woods, when many an unfortunate was discovered bloodless and dying.

It was also strange that the Count, in all the seasons he had stayed near the village, had never once visited a pub or restaurant for a meal. Indeed, no one in memory could recall the Count eating at all. He was never seen in the daylight, he was never seen at church, and he avoided others like a plague.

"What became of your father?" Keeth asked. The wizard rubbed his chin, giving his guest an uneasy look. He knew the woman's answer before she spoke it.

"I don't know. And I thank the gods for the ignorance."

Molly explained her father's disappearance - of how he had confessed to the township about his suspicions about Count Voslow. He had asked several men in the village to help form a brute squad, but none volunteered. Being a man of honor, Molly's father ventured out alone. It cost him everything.

"What of this 'Raven-haired' woman?" Dorian inquired, brushing his beard.

"Ahh!" Molly laughed, hauntingly. "She played her role out, all right."

The vampire explained about the agony she went through when her father's disappearance went from suns, to phases, to lunas. Almost a whole season passed, but there was no word from him. Molly had not only given her father up for dead, she had almost given up all hope.

One night, while closing up, she heard a faint scratching at her door.

"Raven-haired" was lying on the cobblestone, in front of the inn, with her dress torn open at the front. Molly's eyes opened in horror, realizing that this unfortunate woman had been raped. Or that is what she had first perceived.

"He's mad, love!" the unfortunate woman had told Molly. "He's keeping your father as a pet."

"How do you know this?" Molly asked.

"I have seen him with my own eyes, love."

So it was that Molly closed up shop, and headed up toward Count Voslow's castle.

The rumors about Count Voslow were epic. He was a rather bloodthirsty soldier, but hailed as a great liberator of his people. His people, Molly explained, were what was once known as the Nown Nation. It was said that when in battle, Voslow drank the blood of his victims with his meals. It was said, that because he loved war so much that he angered the gods.

Then came the most mysterious part of Molly's story. As a punishment for angering the gods, they placed a curse upon Count Voslow. They, according to both rumor and legend, made the staple of his diet that which he enjoyed to taste. The gods cursed his vanity by making him a blood drinker. So, after the Border Wars, the Count was seldom seen in public. This only solidified the rumors and superstitions of the local folk.

In time, the Count took residence in Mull Garden, an ancient, abandoned castle in the hills nearby. So old and forgotten was this castle that no written records existed explaining the birth of the castle or its history. No one had lived in the edifice for ages.

A perfect place for a vampire.

"Woman," Keeth said, trying his best to hide his laugh, "there are no such things as vampires. They are "hill talk:" tales told to frighten children."

Molly opened her mouth, showing the three her long vampiric fangs.

"Hello! Female vampire here!"

Both Dorian and Rohan choked on their tea as they hid subdued laughter.

Keeth beckoned the woman to continue with her tale.

Molly explained that she had decided to visit Mull Garden to see if her father was indeed held prisoner within. Along the way, wolf, bat, insect, and worm battled with her, pestering and blocking her way. Something was trying to stop her approach to the castle, and it did a good job, almost convincing her to turn back towards town.

Almost&

Upon reaching the castle, Molly knocked on the huge wooden doors. To her utter surprise, Count Voslow himself was there to greet her. He wasn't the monster she had thought him to be. He was handsome, kind, and at times, rather humorous. Molly was paid every civilized courtesy. She was even given the best guest room in the castle. It was three days before she knew that she was in any kind of danger.

Molly soon noticed that the castle was always deserted during the morn - she had free rein and could explore to her heart's content. But, at night, the castle was ablaze with activity. Molly always spent these hours in her room, and it was always locked. One night, however, she rigged her door so that it could not be locked, and soon ventured out into the night. She should have stayed in her room and left the next day, as planned. But she didn't.

"People say that there is no hell," Molly whispered, her eyes focused on the small fire in front of them. Her body started to tremble, and it was not from the cold. "They are wrong, gentlemen. I have walked through it."

In the castle, Molly was witness to a blood bath. She had heard, several times, the sounds of parties, music, and people laughing. Now, she had a chance to see those people.

Molly saw vampires drinking blood and feasting on dead and bloated bodies. All were enjoying the sport of killing their unfortunate prey. Some had sexed openly, not caring who were watching. Above it all was Voslow, sitting in his chair, remotely smiling - lost in thought.

Molly was safe until he saw her.

Voslow was more embarrassed than angry. She could see that in his eyes. He roared like a madman, demanding to know who had neglected to see to his guest. A trembling servant stepped forward. Voslow grabbed the unfortunate man and ripped his neck open. Voslow drank most of his blood, throwing what was left of the servant to the floor, for others to eat. It was then that Molly decided to escape.

It was far too late.

Count Voslow took Molly, dragging her by the hair, to a high tower room. To her surprise, he cried while he raged. Molly was under the impression that although a demon, Voslow was noble in his hearts - a victim of his own station.

Molly was thrown into the tower room, and was not fed or given water for four days and nights. Her world was nothing but darkness, hunger, thirst, and the squeaking of rats. Always, she felt that "something" was there, in the darkness, watching.

"Was it your father?" Rohan asked. There was an understanding - a pain there - that the elf seemed to project with some passion. This caught the eye of everyone, especially Dorian.

"No," Molly confirmed, closing her eyes with the saddest of regrets. "I never found my father. To this day, his fate is unknown to me. I pray, and assume, that he was killed. I hope he was killed."

There was a long, awkward pause.

Rohan returned his steady gaze to that of the crackling fire.

Molly continued with her story.

On the fifth sun, Molly awoke to the smell of cooked food. An entire table had been prepared. Lost in her hunger, she feasted. "Something" was there. "Something" that was more hungry than she was.

Count Voslow stepped from the darkness to admire Molly's hunger. He was dressed in his best battle uniform, looking so much like the brave knight that he had once been. He wanted her to see who he used to be.

In her admiration, Voslow attacked and drank most of her blood.

Then, as if haunted by a sad unknown, if not private memory, Voslow stopped. He realized what he had been doing and started to cry out in agony. Molly compared the actions to that of a child who had done something quite terrible, was appalled that he had ever done such a thing, and then tried to backtrack, hoping to put right what had so badly gone wrong.

Voslow cut a deep wound into his right wrist and pushed Molly to take from it.

A power took hold of Molly, and before she knew what she was doing, she, like her attacker, was drinking blood from another being's body. At a certain moment in her attack, Voslow ordered her to stop, and she collapsed onto the tower room's floor. She did not wake until later that same night.

Molly found the castle empty.

Terrified that Voslow would come back, she fled, not realizing that it was already too late.

The damage had already been done.

No one commented.

All just stared into the fire.

Jatel's eyes blinked open with barely enough energy to hold their own. Hope soared - this was indeed a good sign. Leaving the fire, Keeth guided and escorted the squire to his quarters. There was still much-needed rest and healing for the young man to go through, and the wizard was not going to risk anything.

"Take good care of him." everyone heard Molly say. The woman lowered her head, not having the heart to stare Jatel in the eyes.

The squire's alertness peaked upon hearing the voice of his attacker.

This, above all, caused the woman great shame.

Both Rohan and Dorian did their best to ease the woman's inner sufferings, but, and rightly so, Molly was far beyond comforting. This was of her doing, and she knew it. Although much of a victim as Jatel, she was still responsible for her own actions. There could be no excuse.

The elf, dwarf, and vampire continued to lose themselves in the dying embers of their fire.

Yet another morning was about to begin.

No one paid close attention to the surrounding fog.

When Ka-Ron finally awoke, her thoughts focused on three things: Jatel, the female vampire, and her sword.

The knight was as quick as a streak of lightening.

Before Rohan, Dorian or Keeth could move a muscle; the pregnant knight jumped up, grabbed her sword, and ran up on deck. So enraged was she that she failed to notice Jatel laying on the bed next to her. He turned on his side, never waking, not realizing the fury Ka-Ron was in.

"Where is she?" Ka-Ron demanded, exploding upon the deck.

Molly, turning, saw the knight's sword searching for her flesh, but she never moved a muscle. Like a terrified swimmer trying to make a hungry shark ignore him, the vampire stayed as calm and as still as a mill pond. Closing her eyes, she waited for the fatal strike.

The tip of Ka-Ron's sword found its mark.

"I'll give you the chance you never gave my love," Ka-Ron said. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but shook with both conviction and rage. "Why should I not kill you right now?"

"Ka-Ron! No!" Keeth pleaded. The wizard was stopped by Rohan, who gave the learned man a cautious shake of his head.

"These are dangerous waters we are in, wizard." Rohan whispered.

"Knight, pray! Know what you are doing here." Dorian cautioned, rising his own hands in self-defense.

"Why should I not kill you?" Ka-Ron repeated. Subtly, the knight moved minutely forward. The tip of her sword cut deeply into the vampire's flesh.

The wound hurt.

Molly opened her eyes and fought back the instinct to freeze her attacker with her stare. The vampire knew that her attacker was only doing what she would have done in similar circumstances. Ka-Ron was acting only out of pain.

"You cannot kill me, woman," Molly challenged. "So much the pity."

The vampire put her hands in the air and surrendered.

Ka-Ron swallowed hard, and for an instant envisioned pushing her sword through the vampire's soft, feminine neck, so as to see the vile creature's eyes expand in agonizing horror, as she realized that she was about to die. All this ran through the knight's head. With keen eyes, Ka-Ron moved forward, her sword still embedded into Molly's flesh. She breathed heavily. Her muscles tensed.

The vampire soon challenged her.

"All you have to do is push, knight." Molly's eyes didn't blink. The vampire was serious.

Ka-Ron was at an impasse.

Could an errant-knight willingly kill an unarmed woman? No! Not even if she sincerely wanted to. Not even if the bitch honestly and irrevocably deserved it.

Ka-Ron dropped her sword.

Everyone took a relaxed breath.

Ka-Ron started to cry.

Molly, realizing that she was the cause of all of this, could only meekly, step forward and wrap her arms around the crying woman. What surprised the vampire more than anything was the fact that the knight, in her agony, held her back, using her shoulder as a means to seek both comfort and to cry upon.