 
The Curse of Count Dookula

by Doug Ward

Copyright 2020 Doug Ward

Smashwords Edition

Introduction

Grady is an old, retired adventurer whose best days are behind him. Living off his accumulated treasure was a great idea, but he had a tendency to overspend. Now, he is forced to live in a run-down apartment near where he started his career. It is a vicious cycle he would like to break, so when a young upstart at the local tavern challenges him to a contest, Grady reluctantly agrees to participate.

This story features many monsters and all of your favorite fantasy races. The book is actually two stories in one. The first part was published in The Forging of the Ring, while the next chapter comes from Tales from the Grimacing Goblin. I loved these characters so much that I thought they deserved to have their tale finished in a book of their own.

I think you will love the Dungeons & Dragons feel of this book, along with the distinct Halloween elements. Who can put down a book that bears the title, The Curse of Count Dookula? (I know, it's such a silly name.)

This story takes place in my world, Terrene, and the events happen soon after the War of the Stone. Although reading the books that tell the story of the war is not necessary, it would clarify some of the things you will read here.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Other Fine Books by Doug Ward:

Ward's Laws

Ward's Laws Part 2

Ward's Laws Part 3

Ward's Laws Part 4

Saving Jebediah; Another True Story from the Zombie Apocalypse

Parasite; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

Symbiote; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

Creator; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

Predator; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

Lich

Horde

Demon

Short Stories Doug Ward is included in:

Tome of Terror

The Forging of the Ring

Tales From the Grimacing Goblin

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Scott Lee, who is the guy I always bounce ideas off of, and a big, special thanks to my awesome editor, J.D. Reed, without whom, I wouldn't have a readable sentence in the book. He also wrote a good part of the ending.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 The Bully

Chapter 2 I'll Choose Wisdom Every Time

Chapter 3 That's It

Chapter 4 The True Champion

Chapter 5 A Few Days Later

Chapter 6 What a Quaint Little Town

Chapter 7 What Was That?

Chapter 8 A Spooky, Old Graveyard

Chapter 9 Enter Count Dookula

Chapter 10 After the Butt Kicking

Chapter 11 Not the Best Laid Plan

Chapter 12 In Need of a Friend

Chapter 13 Finally, a Cleric

Chapter 14 Penelope

Chapter 15 Who Got the Girl

Chapter 16 Goodbye, Emmy

Chapter 17 The Allies Set Off

Chapter 18 Wedding Bells

Chapter 19 The Manor

Chapter 20 Ambushed

Chapter 21 Final fight

Chapter 22 Victory at a Price

Chapter 23 Tough Choices

Chapter 1

The Bully

Grady awoke to the sound of an empty bottle dropping to the wooden floor of his room. With a start, the old adventurer shot up into a seated position. His highly trained instincts seemed ready for battle through muscle memory alone, but his ale-addled mind reeled from the sudden start.

"Another day," he sighed, dragging a hand through his unruly mop of greasy, gray locks.

After throwing back his tattered blanket, Grady swung his legs over the side of the bed. His left foot kicked the bottle that had recently slipped from his fingers and awakened him, causing it to roll across the floor.

The grizzled warrior cursed the sound as he rose and stretched. Grady made his way to a small stand across the room which held a pitcher, bowel, and a dirty towel. The antique stand wobbled as he picked up the pitcher, but the container felt far too light. Peering inside, he remembered draining the washwater to quench his alcohol-induced thirst.

Cursing his luck, the battle-worn explorer rubbed his stubble-covered chin and examined his reflection in the mirror. Although the warrior's vision wasn't good for close-up things, he didn't need to squint to see the wrinkles and scars that crisscrossed his once fair face.

Grady remembered how he had taunted the older adventurers when he was young, the way he rode them hard about being has-beens. He had been so horrible to those poor fellows. Now, in hindsight, Grady apologized for his brash and rude ways.

Unable to continue looking at himself any longer, he turned and made himself ready for the day. He had sweat through the clothes he had fallen asleep in, so he replaced them with the cleanest pair of smallclothes he had and stepped into his other pair of trousers. Lastly, he slipped a sleeveless tunic over his head as he dropped into a chair to pull on his only pair of boots. As he pulled the high, soft leather uppers, the stitching came apart at the seams.

Grady may have been somewhat sloppy but, being a trained fortune hunter, he knew the importance of keeping up with his gear. If he couldn't afford to replace the boots, he could certainly mend them. So, belly growling, the warrior took out a needle and thread and began to reinforce the seam.

Squinting hard, he was able to make out the hole in the needle and managed to insert some odd thread he had kept in a drawer. Lacking a thimble, Grady used a random scrap of leather to protect his finger as he pushed the needle through the leather. It was just another practical thing he had picked up on some quest or another.

As he was already working on one boot, he inspected the other one and wound up mending two more areas that seemed to be getting worn. The sole of his left boot was a bit loose, as well, but that repair would require a cobbler. He had little coin for that, so Grady would have to wait for better times before he could fix the slightly-wobbling footwear.

After pulling on the newly mended footwear, the explorer walked about his small room for a moment, testing his handiwork.

As he moved about, the grizzled man could feel the ghosts of old injuries, wounds he'd received on his various expeditions or while he sold his sword to various causes. As Grady's body warmed up, however, the specters of the past subsided to a dull ache, which was overshadowed by the aftereffects of the alcohol and his empty belly.

Snatching up his coin purse, the retired adventurer left his room and proceeded to a set of stairs on the outside of the building. These led to an alley behind several taverns. Refuse from the ever-present garbage pile made it a bit hard to breathe, but this place was the cheapest he could find to fit his diminishing savings.

Grady had retired at 37 years old. He had amassed a sizable amount of treasure and decided that his battered body had endured enough punishment, but without a mind for budgeting his savings, the coin he had planned to retire on was nearly gone. He spent so lavishly after ending his career that he had gone through the bulk of his assets before he realized it. Now, he was stuck living the life of a pauper, selling off nearly everything of value he once had. The only belongings that Grady had left were his adventuring gear, armor, sword, pack, and some other mundane adventuring supplies. The wondrous magical items he once possessed had been sold so he could eat and sleep with a roof over his head. Even his fine sword and armor were traded for some coin and cheaper replacements.

Once he stepped off of the last tread, he strode down the worn cobblestone alleyway to his favorite tavern for some breakfast. As he neared the rear entrance, something sparkled near the far wall. What would have sparked interest in the old scavenger was overridden by his hunger and lack of energy. Ignoring what he dismissed as a piece of glass, Grady continued forward to a rustic-looking door. A wooden sign hanging precariously overhead marked the establishment as the Grimacing Goblin Inn. The door hinges squealed in protest as he pulled the handle outward, exposing a semi-dark interior illuminated by several sputtering lanterns. If it wasn't for the rank smell of sweat and sour ale, the scent of the rancid oil being burned in the lanterns would have turned a normal man's stomach, but Grady was accustomed to the foul aromas of his surroundings.

Familiar silhouettes were scattered about the pub, gathered at low tables as well as peppered about the bar. His favorite stool at the far end of the bar was available. He preferred that seat because he liked having his back against the wall and it was also out of the way. Sitting in the middle of a place like this was just asking for trouble. In the distant corner, he could hide in the back of the crowd.

Chase, the middle-aged barmaid, waddled over to him and told him what was ready in the kitchen. Grady slid her some coppers, with an extra for her troubles. The woman smiled at the man, remembering him for the adventurer he was in his youth.

When Grady was just starting out, he used to frequent this very tavern. Chase thought he was handsome and gallant, but a bit brash. He acted like he owned the place, but as his fame grew, he came in less and less. It wasn't until he became down on his luck that the rugged adventurer returned to her and his old haunt.

As he waited for his meal, Grady scanned the crowd. His eyes, now accustomed to the low light, made out all of the familiar faces. Most of those gathered here were worn, old warriors like him; too long in the tooth for raiding a dragon's lair, but too alive to live this boring existence they now endured. "Youth is wasted on the young," someone once said, and Grady could attest to those words.

The door flew open with a clatter and there, framed in the bright daylight, was the huge warrior, Thun. At the sight of the menacing, young adventurer, the occupants of the Grimacing Goblin fell silent. Chase swore under her breath as most of the patrons left the bar and headed for the more shadowy tables on the common room's perimeter.

Thun, dressed in gleaming armor, swept boldly into the room, striding regally toward the bar. Two other fellows, who were also armed and only slightly less menacing than their leader, followed him.

The huge man walked up to a thin, balding man who remained at the bar. The old soul had ignored the commotion and was busy eating his porridge with a wooden spoon. Thun strode right up beside the fellow and soundly smacked the man on the back, causing him to spit his mouthful of food onto the counter where he ate.

"If it isn't my ol' friend, Nester," the swarthy, young adventurer announced with a sly, self-satisfied smile.

As the old codger recovered from the unexpected blow, Grady dropped his hand to where his sword hilt usually resided. Cursing himself for leaving his weapon in his room, he balled his fist and returned it to the counter.

"You're in my seat," Thun growled at the waif-thin elder.

Nester stammered an apology as he made to slide down a stool, his shaking hands leaving a trail of spilled porridge in their wake.

"That's my seat!" another of the brutes exclaimed after the man had settled in once again.

As Chase set a bowl in front of him, Grady pushed his hair back from his eyes. "Leave him alone!" he warned in a low voice while staring intently at the bullies.

Thun's face soured as he looked at the figure cloaked in shadows that had challenged his fun. Filled with angry purpose, the hulking man stormed up to the relic of a fighter. Looming over Grady, Thun announced through gritted teeth, "So, you want to be a hero. Who do you think you are, raggedy man?"

Grady remained seated, unflinching under the other's glare. As an adventurer, he had faced much greater foes than this young upstart. After battling horrors in the bowels of tombs, Grady held little fear, especially for a simple human.

"Too scared to speak?" Thun goaded.

"His name is Grady," a voice from a nearby table spoke up. "The bard who played here last night sang two ballads about him. You were here, Thun. Don't you remember them?"

The towering warrior looked Grady up and down, taking in his bedraggled appearance. "So, you're Grady," he purred while grinning wickedly. "I always wanted to kill a legend."

As Thun drew his blade, Grady stood and reflexively reached for his absent sword, but before anything more could happen, the room was filled with the sound of drawn steel. An assortment of swords, daggers, and other weapons suddenly menaced the bully, causing him to pause.

The brute held the blade's hilt in a white-knuckled grip as he weighed his options. Reluctantly, Thun decided that this fight wasn't worth the trouble and slowly lowered his blade. His grip loosened, but his hands still shook with rage as he slid the blade back into its sheath. At once, the occupants of the Grimacing Goblin melted back into the shadows and returned their own weapons to wherever they had been kept.

"You don't look like a legend," Thun quipped. "I'll bet you were never half the adventurer I am."

"Sure. Whatever you want to believe," Grady agreed in mock sincerity.

Thun's face turned red at the insult. "Then, why don't we have a little contest? I'll bet I can beat you on any dungeon crawl."

A slight twinkle appeared in Grady's eye at the thought of this challenge. "What do you have in mind?"

"Me and the boys have discovered the location of King Agnar's tomb. It's not too far from here, but it's well hidden. Why don't just you and I go on this little jaunt and the one who returns with the ol' king's crown will be declared the winner?"

The slight twinkle in Grady's eye grew into a spark. This adventure could lead to a more secure future. It may be the push he so desperately needed. "I accept," he growled.

"Good," Thun spat. "I'll meet you outside at noon." And, with that, the burly man stormed out of the bar, followed by his underlings.

After sitting back down, the old warrior returned to his meal, but before he took the first spoonful, he off-handedly remarked, "Thanks, guys. I appreciate you having my back."

A soft chorus of acknowledgment filled the room. No one said anything more, but Grady could sense that they were excited to see if the legendary tomb-raider could defeat the young upstart, even at his advanced age.

As he finished his meal, Chase approached him, carrying a basket covered with a clean, white cloth. "Take this. It isn't much, but it'll help you keep up your strength."

Drawing back the covering, Grady saw loaves of bread, cheese, and dried meat. "You shouldn't have," he stammered in response.

"You can pay me back when you return, alive and in one piece," she countered with a wide smile before she collected his bowl and rushed off.

Grady rose, twinges of pain softly reminding him of his age. "Even my bones ache," he groaned as he finished straightening out. He took a moment to scan the room. Many of the shadowy forms he knew quite well. The ones he recognized were great adventurers in their own rights, even though they were a bit past their prime. He had journeyed with many of them and had witnessed their daring deeds personally.

It made him feel good to know that, after all of these years, these men, even though they were no longer at their peak, still had his back. His brothers in arms still had the guts to draw steel in defense of one of their own.

With a satisfied smile, Grady left the Grimacing Goblin to get ready for his challenge. Opening the door, he was blinded by the harsh sunlight outside. Squinting against the glare, he strode into the alley. As he started to turn toward the stairs leading to his room, Grady stumbled on the uneven surface of the cobblestones. The loose heel of his boot caused him to reel to one side, pitching him onto the hard walk.

Cursing his clumsiness, Grady placed his hands on the cobblestones and rose to a seated position. As he did so, he felt something odd under his hand. Upon further examination, the retired warrior saw it was a ring covered with muck. It was wedged between the cobblestones where his hand had rested.

Expecting it to be a junky piece of costume jewelry, he nearly cast it into a nearby rubbish heap, but as an afterthought, he dropped the bobble into his pouch, thinking it may well be worth something.

Chapter 2

I'll Choose Wisdom Every Time

Back in his apartment, the dungeon-raider gathered his meager supplies and placed them inside his worn backpack. Even with the food that Chase had provided, the pack seemed nearly empty in comparison to what he used to carry while adventuring. I'm really glad Thun said the dungeon is nearby, he thought as he set the backpack aside.

Angry with himself for selling much of his gear, Grady donned his armor and made himself ready for the journey. Most of the straps could only be buckled in the last hole because he had gained a few pounds over his retirement. Even then, his breastplate was somewhat snug around his stomach.

When he was done, Grady examined himself in his mirror. Frowning, he saw the reflection of a haggard, old man who seemed to be trying to relive his glory days. He drew his sword, trying to look more formidable, but it felt heavy in his hand, his atrophied muscles straining with every swing of his old blade.

The heel of his boot bothered him, but Grady still had some time, so he shouldered his pack and headed off to the cobbler to see what could be done with his worn footwear. The answer wasn't what he had hoped for. The shopkeeper couldn't do much more than add a few tacks and some glue to the wobbly heel and sole and cautioned the adventurer to let the mended area dry before walking too far on it.

While fishing some coins from his pouch, his hand closed over the ring he had found earlier. He poked the dirty item to the side of his hand and sorted out the few coins the cobbler required for his services.

The rest of the money, he dropped back into the pouch, but he kept the ring in his hand. As Grady walked toward the Grimacing Goblin, he rubbed the now-dried dirt from the piece of jewelry. He was surprised when he realized the ring was made of real gold. Equally astounding was the fact that it had an actual opal set in its front.

Grady took it as a sign of luck and slid the item over his ring finger. Maybe I can sell it later, he thought as he rounded the corner at the entrance of the alley.

There, milling about outside the pub, a small crowd had gathered. Many of his former allies were present, as well as some other people he did not know. In front of the gathering were Thun and his company.

A lump formed in the aged adventurer's throat as second thoughts crept into his mind. He began thinking that maybe he had made a mistake by accepting this insane challenge. What had he been thinking, going on a dungeon crawl at his age? Was he insane?

"I really didn't think you'd show," Thun crooned.

Steeling himself against his doubts, Grady swallowed the lump and banished his fears. Approaching the mob, he casually answered, "I was just running a few errands. I guess I had other things on my mind."

Eyes narrowing, Thun glared at his opponent. "Ok, gramps. Let's get this show on the road."

Before they could leave, some of the gathered old-timers stepped forward and offered Grady some of the supplies they had kept for one reason or another. Three torches, two still-full glass oil flasks, some rope, and a few other odds and ends were all added to their former comrade's pack.

"Ok, are we finally ready?" Thun moaned, growing impatient.

"I'm ready," Grady growled, touched by the gifts. "Thank you, my friends. I won't let you down."

Thun led the two out of the alley, and the city, as well. They traveled west through most of the day. Being retired, Grady hadn't walked farther than a few blocks for years. He was thankful for the mild autumn weather, but the fast pace his adversary set tested his mettle. The aged sell-sword kept catching glimpses of the younger man looking over his shoulder and grinning. No doubt, he was happy to see that Grady was already struggling just to keep up.

As they traveled, the two barely spoke. Only saying what was necessary, each kept their snide comments to themselves. They stopped for a hurried lunch and later, as darkness neared, to make camp for the night.

Exhausted, Grady shrugged out of his pack and dropped to the ground. He was grateful for Thun's youth and energy as the younger man went about the tasks of setting up camp. He brought in several loads of wood and cleared a pit to contain the fire, as well. After he was finished, the overly large man sat across from Grady and began building the fire.

"Shouldn't we set a perimeter?" the older one asked.

Without looking up, the other asked, "What?"

"You know, a perimeter, something that will warn us of something sneaking up on our camp."

As the large warrior ignored him, Grady muttered, "Youth," and pulled a large ball of twine from his backpack. On weary legs, he walked out of camp.

Thun could hear some chopping sounds as he built the fire. His curiosity peaked, the youth went in search of the old man. He found Grady squatting beside a tree with his twine trailing into the distance.

"What are you doing?" Thun asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Setting a perimeter, just like I said," Grady answered. "Let me explain. I split a piece of springy, green wood in the middle, about a foot and a half deep, and secured it horizontally to this tree, about knee high. Next, I tied the string onto a tree way over there. I then secured its other end to the center of this other branch, which I cut and inserted vertically into the branch I split. The twine needs to be stretched between them somewhat tightly so, when something approaches our camp..." Grady reached down and tugged the string. The vertical stick popped out from between the split in the horizontal piece. The two split parts sprung back together with a loud whack that could be heard for quite a distance.

The hulking warrior snorted before responding, "I sleep very lightly, so I don't have to rely on little tricks. I just keep my sword loose and in my hand while I rest."

Grady didn't comment back. Instead, he reset the alarm and finished making the perimeter. He returned to the fire as the last of the stars appeared in the night sky. A large, nearly-full moon lit the small clearing they had chosen as their camp.

After the old adventurer laid out his bedroll, he nearly fell onto it. Setting up the warning system had used up the last of the old man's strength, but he would sleep better knowing that they had it in place.

His legs and feet aching from the long trek, it took great effort just to eat some rations. The fire was pleasant, crackling cheerily near his feet, but Grady was so exhausted that all he was thinking about was sleep.

"How much further till we get to the tomb?" he asked while trying to sound nonchalant.

"We'll get there by midday tomorrow," Thun answered as he rummaged around in his pack.

Grady grunted in response. "Do you want first watch?"

"I thought your perimeter alarm was going to protect us," the young warrior goaded. "Sure. I'll take the first turn."

With that business done, Grady curled up in his blankets and fell fast asleep. It seemed like only a few moments had passed when something woke the older man. He couldn't quite place the sound, but something had surely roused him from his slumber. As his instincts kicked in, Grady felt the presence of someone creeping toward where he lay.

Ignoring the pain in his joints, Grady rolled to face the intruder while throwing his sword up between the two. The other leaped back a pace in shock.

"Hold," Thun said in an excited whisper. "It's me. That alarm you set went off. I came to warn you."

Seeing that his young competitor was caught off guard by how fast he had reacted, Grady mumbled as he rose, "Even though I set a warning system, I sleep with my steel bared, too."

The pair moved silently in the direction that the warning had come from. Both swords were held in white-knuckle grips as the two readied for battle. Luckily, the warriors were walking into the slight breeze, which would mask their scent to the approaching creature, but before they got to the edge of the treeline, a shadowy form slowly emerged into the moonlight. A young fawn skittishly walked into view, the animal's brown form painted gray by the bright moonlight.

"A deer!" Thun cried, setting the startled deer into flight. "That alarm sound nearly scared the crap out of me!"

"It did its job!" argued Grady. "It could've easily been a monster."

Ignoring his adversary's argument, Thun turned and marched back to the camp. "All I can say is that it saved us from being ambushed by cuteness. The night's half over. It's your turn to keep watch."

Grady heaved a heavy sigh before moving deeper into the trees. Following the slack string, he reset the trip line before making his way back to the fire.

Thun was softly snoring as the grizzled veteran stoked the small blaze. As his adrenaline wore off, the ache in his joints returned with a vengeance. It seemed the romantic notion of going on an adventure once again made him forget how an older body felt after sleeping on the cold ground.

Wrapping himself in his tattered blanket, he huddled near the fire and tried to stave off falling asleep. Eventually, Grady took to pacing and walking around the fire to keep his mind alert.

As the sun rose, he took some jerky and cheese from his pack to break his fast. His hands full of food, the veteran walked over to the other and kicked his boot-clad foot.

"Good morning, sunshine," he sang to his travel mate.

The older adventurer ate as he waited for his grumpy counterpart to get ready. Following his past routine, Grady quenched the fire and went out to retrieve his twine. Upon his return, the young man had eaten and was waiting with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"I'm so glad you retrieved that string," Thun said in a serious tone. "The next time we set up camp, a bunny might try to feed on us while we sleep."

"Funny," Grady commented while scooping up his own pack and fitting his shoulders through the harnesses. "Lead on."

The pair walked through the low foothills to the small village of Ham. From previous visits, the veteran adventurer knew that the people who lived here were of a simple sort. The village was actually built in the remains of a larger town that was sacked several centuries ago. Some of the sculptures and fountains still remained, but the details that had been carved in the stone had been blurred, worn away over the years. Grady was somewhat confused as to why they were here, but Thun seemed to know exactly where he was going, so Grady simply followed along in his wake.

After crossing through the village, the two continued onward over some low hills dotted with clusters of trees. After about a ten-minute walk along a neglected, paving stone pathway, they stopped directly in front of a spooky-looking graveyard. An obviously ancient tree grew to one side, its gnarled limbs looming above them like a monster reaching for its next meal. An oddly notched out rock sat at the base of the tree. It may have once held a sign for the graveyard beyond. Here, Thun removed his backpack and pulled out a map. Grady crowded close as they both scanned the unfolded parchment.

The crudely drawn map showed that they were in the right spot, but the directions ended there. A few dead trees surrounded the graveyard, adding an eerie feel to the old, stone tombstones. Mausoleums of simple construction were scattered about, but they looked timeworn, like they were made in a long-lost age when the villagers' fortunes were better.

As the two scrutinized the parchment looking for some clue indicating the entrance, Grady heard what sounded like a voice in his head. "Wave your hand over the map," it said.

Reluctantly, the older warrior acted, passing his ring-adorned hand over the map. In the wake of its passing, glowing runes appeared along the bottom of the parchment.

Thun shot a surprised look at Grady. "How'd you do that?"

The wily veteran looked fleetingly at the ring before answering, "Just something you pick up along the way."

The younger man was still skeptical as he studied the shimmering runes. "I wonder what they say."

Grady leaned near to have a second look as the voice in his mind said, It reads, "find the humble man's grave and return it to its former glory. This will open the way."

The first time Grady heard the voice, he was taken aback, but hearing it a second time truly disturbed the veteran warrior. "It reads that we need to find the humble man's grave and return it to its former glory and the way will be opened," Grady informed the younger fellow.

"Then, let's see what grave is fitting a humble king," Thun agreed. "Take that half of the cemetery and I'll go over here. My bet is that our humble king would be laid to rest in one of those mausoleums."

"That young fool. A humble man would be buried without much fanfare."

"I must be crazy," Grady mumbled to himself while running his fingers through his shaggy mop.

"You aren't crazy, my friend. I am actually trapped inside the ring you found. My name is Fazil and I am, or was, a wizard."

"I need a drink," the older warrior muttered under his breath.

"You need no such thing. You've wasted enough time on such silliness already. There is still much good you can do in this world."

Grady brought his hand before his face and examined the ring. A sudden movement behind the surface of the opal caught his attention. It looked like the blurred form of a bearded, old man who was wearing a robe. The cloudy gemstone distorted the image, making it hard to discern. "Is that you?"

"It is."

The warrior's brow furrowed. "Why haven't you used your magic to escape?"

"Now, why haven't I thought of that?" Fazil intoned sarcastically. "Oh, right. I already did. About a century ago."

Grady continued speaking to Fazil as he made his way through the graveyard. The wizard explained all that he knew of King Agnar and his deeds. The king was respected and loved by his people. He was also truly humble, but wily. It seems the tomb that his subjects had erected in honor of his death was a decoy. The king was actually interred in this very graveyard. It was a fitting place, because it was here that Agnar and his legions had stopped the massive chimera. The foul beast destroyed most of the town before the king's army had arrived. It was the king himself who, with his enchanted sword, Frostbite, threw down the horror and struck its three heads from its twisted body. In honor of Agnar's valiant deed, the survivors must have invited their king to be buried here, among their own. The villagers must have kept the secret this whole time.

As the two mentally conversed, Grady visited each plot and examined the name on every marker. Most of the markers were simple, stone slabs with the departed's name on it. They were all age-worn, time and the weather obscuring much of what was carved. His eyesight was not very good to begin with, so Grady had to squint to make out most of the text.

He wove his way down every row, starting at the front and gradually making his way to the rear of the graveyard. When he was finished with his half, the seasoned warrior waited for Thun to join him.

"I saw nothing that stood out as a humble man's grave. They all look pretty humble to me," he admitted to Thun as his burly competitor approached.

"Me, neither," the younger man agreed.

Pulling out the map, Thun scanned the document for something they might have missed. He even asked Grady to pass his hand over the map again in order to evoke the enchanted runes to reappear. As the aged adventurer complied, the invisible runes began to glow, once again.

"Does it say anything that we might have missed?"

"No," Fazil answered.

Grady repeated the wizard's answer and slid down the back of the tombstone, facing away from the graveyard. He took in the solitary countryside as he tried to puzzle out what the runes had said. It was a pleasant enough day. White, puffy clouds floated slowly across the blue, autumn sky on a gentle breeze. The clouds cast shadows that danced across the rolling, green hills, interrupted by the occasional tree.

It was then that he saw a small, wooden marker that lay propped against a very old tree. "A humble man's grave," he spoke softly, remembering the magical clue.

Thun watched as his counterpart rose and began walking away. Intrigued, he followed in Grady's wake. At the base of the tree, the veteran crouched and ran a hand over the smooth, unadorned surface of the wooden marker.

"It's made of ironwood and there's no name on it," he reported. "A humble man's grave. Now, all we need to do is figure out how to return it to its former glory."

Thun, being the stronger of the two, picked up the heavy, ironwood marker and they went back into the graveyard. They looked everywhere for a place to put it where it would be prestigious, but in the end, found no such place. Dropping his heavy burden unceremoniously onto the ground, Thun complained, "Why did they use ironwood? That stuff is so heavy."

"Because, the wood wears like iron?" Grady sarcastically explained. "That's probably why they used it. That way, his marker wouldn't rot into the soil over time."

"But, where would his former glory be located?" the younger man wondered aloud.

"Let's see," Grady muttered. "Let's think about what the king did here."

Thun pushed the older adventurer playfully. "Do you know that you mumble to yourself all the time?"

"No, I don't!"

"I'll point it out the next time," replied a smiling Thun.

Absently combing his fingers through his hair, Grady continued his thought. "Agnar slew a chimera and saved many people in the town."

"How do you know that?" the other asked with a frown.

Grady tapped the side of his head with a finger. "With old age comes wisdom."

Thun said something about making things up, but the veteran dungeon-crasher wasn't listening. "Grab the stone. I have an idea."

The hulking, young man hefted the stone onto one shoulder and followed the other toward the entrance of the graveyard. As they walked, Grady explained his theory. "King Agnar and his men defended the town from the monster, so the front is where he would make his stand; the front, or, the entrance."

Once there, he had Thun fit the marker into the notched out rock beside the stone pathway. As the heavy piece of ironwood slid into place, the ground began to shake. The two adventurers crouched, their bent knees absorbing the tremors as they struggled to keep a semblance of balance.

A doorway opening at the base of the tree caused the tremor as the ground fell away, revealing a narrow set of stairs leading under the trunk of the large plant. As the shaking subsided, the ancient tree became animated; the branches about the pair swung down and bashed the humans aside.

Thun, able to dive, rolled with the blow and quickly sprung to his feet, clutching his naked sword in his hand. Grady was not so agile. Hitting the ground flat on his back, the aged adventurer lay gasping, the air knocked out of his lungs.

Stunned and unable to regain his breath, the warrior was sprawled helplessly on the grass directly below a descending branch. Loose twigs and leaves rained down on Grady as he struggled to dodge the blow. A sword flashed in the sunlight before it chopped against the descending branch, biting deeply into the wood, but the growth continued downward and smashed onto its helpless target. Twigs and branches wrapped around the struggling, older man, gripping him about the waist. As the tree lifted Grady, Thun's sword struck again, cutting through the already wounded wood and dropping his comrade back to earth.

While Thun recovered from his swing, he was blindsided by another branch, which hit him from behind before wrapping itself around his leg. The tree lifted him by that one leg, dangling him upside down, but to the warrior's credit, he held onto his sword and continued his attack. His blade hacked at the limb directly above his ensnared ankle, but his blows lacked the power and accuracy he would have had while on the ground. Dangling as he was, he did his best to cut himself free.

Grady tried to help his companion, but another branch came his way and he had his hands full trying to keep the animated limb at bay. This branch was one of the higher ones and, being so, was thinner, but it still threatened to ensnare the dazed fighter. As he sliced through the weaker growth, he heard a thud behind him as Thun, having succeeded in chopping himself free, struck the ground.

"Get clear of that thing!" the younger man warned, but Grady was well ahead of his counterpart, backing swiftly away as he parried the grasping twigs.

The two stood, gasping as they watched the animated tree swinging wildly in frustration directly above the yawning doorway. Keeping at a safe distance, they contemplated their next move.

"It would take a week to chop that blasted tree down," Thun grumbled, showing little sign of being winded from the battle.

Grady, still breathing heavily, nodded his agreement. In a moment of clarity, he unslung his pack and removed one of his flasks of oil. "Then, let's burn it down."

As Thun acknowledged the idea with an evil grin, a voice sounded in the older man's head. "The tree is a thing of nature. It's a magical spell that is causing the problem. I can get you safely past the poor monster without harming it."

"What do you have in mind?" Grady grumbled.

"You did it again," Thun remarked.

"What?"

"Mumbled. What did you say?" the younger of the two asked.

Fazil waited for the exchange to conclude before continuing. "Just make yourself ready to move hastily to the stairs. The tree will not attempt to harm you."

"I have a better idea," Grady stated while replacing the flask of oil into his pack. "Just be prepared to hurry down the stairs."

Thun eyed the other skeptically, but readied his sword as Grady slipped his arms through the backpack's loops. "Ready when you are," he whispered.

All at once, the pair was bathed in magical fire. Both reacted instantly, patting the enchanted flames until they noticed that the fire was merely an illusion.

"Go!" Fazil urged the ring's bearer, who shouted the same to his companion.

As they closed on the tree's position, their animated foe drew back, clearing the way to the opening at its roots. Holding their swords defensively, they passed under the upraised branches. The tree's trunk actually leaned away from the mystically burning fighters as they gained the top of the stairs. Throwing caution to the wind, the two hurried down into the opening and out of reach of the now thrashing plant.

The illusionary flames lit the way while fending off the twig hands that trailed behind them. When they reached a safe distance, the two stopped halfway down the stairs. Pulling a torch from his pack, Grady tried to light it with the magical fire on his hand, but the illusion failed to ignite it. Cursing, he fished his free hand into a pouch at his side, extracting some flint.

He handed the torch to Thun and, striking the flint against his sword, he was able to set it aflame. As the fire took hold, the enchantment on the pair vanished. The less experienced man raised the torch high and examined the way before them. Seeing no further threat, he took a step down.

"Stop!" Grady warned, placing a restraining hand on the exuberant youth.

Thun froze, his eyes straining beyond the torchlight to seek out what was wrong.

"Not out there," the veteran explained, pointing down. "The stairs. We need to check them for traps."

Clearly frustrated, Thun pushed the torch into Grady's hand and grumbled, "Sure. You go ahead and check them."

Examining the flight from above was quite difficult. It required him to kneel and peer into every crack and hole while testing each tread for some sort of pressure plate. The descent was slow, but it eased the wily man's mind to see that the way was safe.

On the last step before the landing, he found no trip wires, but as he pressed gently on the tread, it made a clicking sound and sank. The floor directly in front of the stairs dropped on hinges, exposing a dark hole. Lowering the torch into the opening, the two saw wicked-looking stakes rising upward from the floor of the pit.

"That wouldn't have been good," Grady remarked.

"I could've stopped in time," Thun remarked angrily.

The veteran dungeon-raider offhandedly commented, "Maybe, but nearly anyone else would've had too much momentum and fallen onto the spikes."

Thun growled at his companion but held his tongue.

Reaching into the pit, Grady pulled a lever, which snapped the floor back up and into place. After testing the pitfall thoroughly, he gingerly stepped over the bottom stair and onto the replaced floor. Satisfied, he motioned his friend to follow and moved slowly forward.

Chapter 3

That's It

The two stopped just inside of a large chamber the passage led them into. The flickering torchlight was able to reach even the furthest walls, but just barely. On either side of the adventurers, against the walls, stood six skeletons with weapons in hand.

"I don't like the looks of this," Grady stammered as his counterpart crept cautiously toward the nearest one.

Sword at the ready, the grizzled veteran watched as the other continued forward. Only the crackling of the burning torch broke the silence in the room as Thun closed the distance between himself and an ax-wielding skeleton. Tense seconds passed slowly by as Thun reached out to the unmoving skeleton and then, suddenly, flicked it with his finger.

"I think it's silver," he declared. "It must weigh three hundred pounds. I'm taking it."

"I still don't like it."

Thun shook his head in disbelief. "If you don't want yours," he said while casually draping an arm over the sculpture, "I'll take them all."

"I'm telling you," Grady warned, "there's something wrong with those things."

Thun removed his arm from the decoration and strode out toward the middle of the room. "It's settled. I'll take them all. I can see how old age has taken its toll on you. You mumble to yourself. You're suspicious of everything. You just need to trust in your natural instincts and believe in yourself. Nothing can sneak up on-"

"Skulker!" Grady cried as a dark form dropped from the ceiling directly onto the brash warrior. The creature's cloak-like form enveloping Thun completely, his struggling form and cries for aid were muffled by the dark monster's thick skin.

Grady hacked at the skulker's thick outer hide, but with every strike, he heard his friend bellow in pain. The veteran longed for his old sword, the one he had taken from the mountain giant's treasure room, but that sword had been replaced with this cheaper one. It had become a victim of his dwindling savings.

Attacking the skulker with his sword wasn't going to work. Even if he killed the monster, he would potentially kill his companion, as well. Upon seeing the creature's blinking, black eyes, he shoved the burning torch directly into one. A horrible sound erupted from the skulker. It was a high-pitched keening that Grady took as a scream of pain. The good thing was that it did nothing to hurt Thun. He still struggled inside the monster's embrace, but that was probably due to the fact that he could not breathe in there.

The creature was most likely starting to digest the hulking warrior even as it suffocated him. Time was not on their side as the voice in his head urged Grady to point the ring at the creature. Pure white bolts of power shot forth, striking the hideous monster before crackling all over its body. Again and again, the magical missiles hammered the skulker until it was dead. As it died, it slipped off of its victim and onto the damp, stone floor.

Thun fell beside it, his breath coming in gasps. After a few moments, he said, "Thank you. You saved my life."

"I saved your life again," Grady corrected. "Don't think anything more of it. I'm sure that you and your crew do the same all the time."

"Well," Thun admitted, his head hanging low, "not all the time. In fact, most of our stories are just that. Stories."

"But, you did kill the troll and steal his treasure horde."

Still looking at the floor, he confessed, "We intended to, but the troll was gone and we just helped ourselves to his treasure."

"I see," Grady said, offering his hand. As he helped the big man up, he added, "Well, you're on a real dungeon crawl now. And, you did save me from that tree."

"I did," Thun said, realizing his good deed for the first time. His eyes grew brighter and his smile widened.

"So, let's continue onward and find Agnar."

Thun, now mostly recovered, led the way. They scanned the ceiling for any more skulkers but, finding none, they proceeded to the opening opposite the one they had come through. As the torch illuminated the new room, they were confronted by the old king's coffin. The chamber was small and the sarcophagus nearly took up the whole space.

"That was fast," Thun muttered.

"Was that a mumble?" Grady asked with a smile.

The hulking warrior turned to his elder. "I was just thinking out loud."

"Oh, that's what that was," he said in mock understanding. "I do that a lot, myself."

"Let's just open it up and see what we have inside," Thun groaned, changing the subject.

The intrepid explorers inched forward, both searching for any possible traps, but the way was safe and they made it unhindered to one side of the stone coffin.

The sarcophagus, like the king it was made for, was mostly unadorned. Its polished surface had a few raised lines around the edges and the royal seal was engraved in its center. The coffin was elegant in its simplicity, not gaudy like most rulers would have preferred.

Thun placed his fingers just under the lip and made ready to heave the top off, but Grady placed a restraining hand over his friend's, stopping the young man.

"This coffin has been sealed for who knows how long," the veteran warned. "I've witnessed many dungeon-raiders become overwhelmed by invisible gasses after breaking the seal on things like this."

"Then, how are we supposed to open it?"

"Slowly," the wily, experienced one stated while drawing his sword. "Hold your breath and just lift it a tiny fraction while I slide my sword underneath. Then, we leave the room and let the poisonous gas seep out slowly so it doesn't hit you in the face all at once."

As Thun lifted the heavy, stone lid, there was a distinct popping sound. Grady slipped the blade of his sword in, propping the slab open before the two retreated into the antechamber.

"How long are we supposed to wait out here?" the young man asked, eager to see what treasure could be found inside the sarcophagus.

"I don't know," the experienced veteran replied. "I think we should wait a while, at least."

They both sat for a short time. Thun, anxious to see what fortune awaited them, took to pacing about and examining the silver skeletons along the room.

Agnar just had to be buried with a vast amount of wealth, the huge man thought. If he decorated his antechamber with these macabre, silver sculptures, there must be coins and gems aplenty inside his coffin with him.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Thun boldly stated, "It's been long enough. I'm going in."

Huffing in exasperation, Grady followed the impatient youth back into the burial chamber and to the side of the sarcophagus. Thun wasted no time. He grabbed the lip of the cover-stone and heaved it over. The heavy slab slid off the other side and slammed to the floor, splitting in two from the impact. It was truly a stunning feat of strength, but it left Grady feeling somewhat saddened. Damaging the stone in his haste to recover the treasure added to the disrespect they were already causing by plundering Agnar's final place of rest.

"What the..." gasped Thun. "Where's the treasure?"

Still feeling remorse over disturbing the dead king, Grady picked up his sword from the side of the sarcophagus. The cheap metal blade was bent from the weight of the slab. He tossed it aside before he peered into the stone coffin. What he saw there was truly unremarkable. The skeleton of Agnar was brown with age. It lay in repose with his crown still on its head and clutching an old, dusty sword, still in its sheath. At some point, moisture had leaked inside the stone coffin, leaving mineral deposits on any metal inside. The crown, as well as the sheath, looked like utter rubbish.

Thun raged in his disappointment. "There must be a secret door in here, somewhere!" he cried. Racing to the walls, he ran his hands all over them in search of some hidden mechanism.

While his friend continued his search, Grady remained at the side of the dead king, looking upon his skeleton in remorse. "A humble king would not want to be buried with treasure that could be better used by the living," he muttered.

"Indeed," Fazil said in the adventurer's mind. "But, being their defender, he would need his sword. Take the weapon, Grady."

"Your sword is kind of bent," Thun said, handing the ruined weapon back to his comrade.

"Can I have the king's old sword?" the older man asked.

Thun smiled. He knew he had Grady in a weak position. A warrior who still had to travel and didn't have a sword was, more or less, defenseless. Even a dull, crusty blade, like the one Agnar gripped, could mean the difference between life and death while on a wilderness journey.

"Only if I can have the crown," he offered to his weaponless partner.

"You drive a hard bargain, Thun," Grady admitted, "but I accept."

The younger of the two hurriedly reached in and unceremoniously ripped the crown off of the king's head. Grady braced himself for something to happen, but the room was still. There was no reaction to the removal of the crown.

With great reverence, the older man reached in and gently pried the sheathed weapon from Agnar's skeletal fingers. As he did so, he softly murmured his apologies and explained that he was in great need of the weapon. Once again, there was no consequence for the action.

As he exhaled his relief, his companion dropped to his hands and knees and began probing the base of the sarcophagus. "There has to be more treasure in here!"

"I'm leaving," Grady informed him. "We've disturbed the king's rest long enough."

"I'll be out in a minute," Thun responded as he worked his way around the stone coffin's base.

It was odd. In all of his adventurers, Grady had never felt sad about pillaging a grave. He had done this several times, but there was something different here. The timeworn warrior swore that he actually felt a bond with Agnar. His head hanging low, Grady left the room and went into the antechamber.

Once outside, the light cast from the torch that Thun held only went so far, so Grady pulled out another torch and lit it with his flint. As his light flickered to life, the skeletons along the walls caught his eye.

"Silver?" Grady muttered to himself as he walked over to the nearest one for a closer look. Holding the torch close to the skull and squinting, the veteran dungeon-crawler saw very thin, spidery glyphs. As he examined more of the skeleton's parts, he realized that the thing was completely covered with these odd symbols.

"This can't be good," he grumbled as a noise from the doorway drew his attention.

The sound he heard was Thun walking out of the burial chamber with the crown in hand and a disgusted look on his face. "Not even a copper piece. Agnar was a cheap... Hey, why is this thing glowing all of the sudden?"

Grady's mouth suddenly went dry as he watched the crown take on a reddish glimmer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the same hue radiating from behind him. Turning, he realized that it was coming from the odd glyphs covering the skeleton.

Agnar's sword still in his hand, the older man dropped the torch and pulled the sheath off of the blade just as the skeleton swung its mace at his head. As Grady's blade was exposed, it radiated a cold, blue magic of its own.

Luckily, the silver-boned foes moved very slowly. The precious metal weighed them down, hindering their movements. When Grady parried the mace, the vintage fighter saw frost appear on the other's weapon.

"Indeed, this is the enchanted sword King Agnar used in defense of the townsfolk," Fazil informed the grizzled warrior in his thoughts. "If you think of the word freeze before striking the next time, one of its powers will activate."

Ducking under a clumsy swing, Grady swept his sword at the skeleton's shin. Freeze, he thought, and there was a blast of frigid air. Although his weapon had done little damage to the silver-clad bone, the skeleton became covered in a coating of ice and was frozen in place.

Grady gasped at what had just happened. He had in his hands a legendary weapon of power. Only in his wildest dreams had he ever thought he would acquire one of these.

The sound of Thun's sword clanging off of a metal-clad foe brought Grady back to reality. Another skeleton's sword nearly took his head off, but Grady deflected the blade's aim high and, counter-striking in the same stroke, he caught the silver creature on its shoulder. Freeze, he thought again, and another of their enemies stood frozen in place.

The third from his side of the room made ready to swing its ax as Fazil mentally cautioned, "You can only use that power three times every week. Its power to freeze is a powerful attack and depletes the weapon of its other powers when used that many times."

"Great," the experienced explorer growled. "There are four more of them. Now, what do we do?"

"What do you normally do when faced with a foe that you cannot defeat?" the trapped wizard prompted.

"Run away!" the battle-hardened man answered.

After taking a last swipe at his remaining enemy, Grady swatted his opponent's ax to the side and hastened to his friend's aid. Thun was attempting to fend off three of these juggernauts, but all he was actually accomplishing was staying alive. Grady slammed himself into one of the skeletons that his friend was battling, knocking the silver creature to the ground and, in the process, severely bruising his left shoulder.

He then slashed at another of his companion's attackers, his blade biting through the enchanted silver they were made of, severing the limb at its elbow. As the arm and the weapon it was holding dropped to the ground, the seasoned adventurer took in their situation. He didn't know how long the two he had frozen would remain that way, and the one he had left was nearly upon them. It would soon be four to two and these skeletons were nearly unstoppable.

Thun had redoubled his efforts as he was now faced with only one attacker, but the hulking man was tiring. Following his earlier thought, Grady grabbed his companion and pulled him toward the tomb's exit.

"Jump past the first step," the aged veteran cried as they raced for the stairs with four skeletons trailing in their wake.

Both men leapt as they gained the landing, their feet flying over the first stair and onto the second. It was there that Grady stopped and watched the pursuing creatures that were not very far behind. As the first skeleton put its weight on the landing, it raised its hammer, ready to swing. The wily veteran casually stepped down onto the first step, engaging the pressure plate that released the trap. The floor dropped to one side, causing the helpless creature to fall to the spikes below. Being a skeleton, the spikes didn't penetrate anything, but the thing's bones became tangled amidst the long-pointed projectiles, trapping the magically animated creature on the floor.

The momentum of the remaining three pushed a second skeleton into the pit, which became likewise trapped on the floor. The remaining two stood at the edge of the opening, looking at the adventurers.

"All that silver," Thun said sadly.

"I could always reset the floor, if you still want some," the other proposed.

The huge fighter smiled, shaking his head. Fazil, can you get us past that tree again? Grady thought.

"Yes," the trapped wizard answered. "Prepare yourselves and make ready to escape."

"We'll get past the tree as we did before, Thun, so don't be shocked when you see flames covering your body. Remember, it's only an illusion," he warned.

As the illusion wreathed the pair, it spurred them into motion. They sprinted up the stairs and past the tree, even before it had time to react to the flaming humans. As the pair stopped a safe distance from the now writhing plant, they took a moment to look back.

"You're a good companion on a dungeon raid," Grady complimented.

"Thanks," Thun said. "And, you're still really good at adventuring. I learned a lot."

The two former competitors now had a bond. They were brothers in arms and no stronger tie could be found in the world. What had started out as a challenge had morphed into something far grander.

Chapter 4

The True Champion

"We're back!" Thun announced as they came through the door and into the Grimacing Goblin Inn. The hulking warrior sauntered up to the bar and dropped Agnar's crown on the counter in front of himself.

The action was met by a collective groan as the tavern's occupants gathered close to examine the trophy. Grady, who followed his companion inside, went to his usual seat at the dark end of the bar.

Thun dropped a single gold coin beside the crown. "Drinks are on me," he said before turning to leave.

"You aren't going to stay and celebrate?" Nester asked, watching the big man amble away.

"No," he answered softly. Before Thun left, he looked at Grady. An understanding passed between the two in that brief second; then he was gone.

"Aw, Grady," one of the patrons soothed. "I'll bet you really showed that young pup."

"Yeah, Grady. We're proud of you, anyway," another assured him.

Standing abruptly, the adventurer strode grimly to the center of the bar. The customers, as well as Chase, were all gathered about, concern showing on their collective faces. All at once, he drew Agnar's sword and slammed it down on the bar, the blade radiating a soft, blue glow.

"This is what I found in that tomb; Frostbite, the legendary sword that King Agnar personally wielded. Anyone else tired of retirement and want to get back in business?"

The crowd roared in excitement. Thun may have found the crown and won the challenge, but it was Grady who had outsmarted the inexperienced whelp. He had found the true treasure and it was called Frostbite.

*****

Later that night, as the customers dwindled away, Grady felt the call of nature and went to the privy. After he was done, he moved to a basin and poured into it some water from a nearby pitcher. He slipped off the enchanted ring and set it on the sill to his side. A cool breeze blew inside as he scooped handfuls of water over his face and hair. Looking skeptically at the towel which hung on a nearby nail, Grady wiped his face dry on his sleeve.

A moment later, someone in the tavern urgently called Grady's name. The adventurer hastily raked his fingers through his unruly mop and raced into the bar.

"There you are," Chase said in a rush. "The goblin king and his green-skinned kin kidnapped the princess. He's offering a reward. That is, if you're really coming out of retirement."

Grady's grim smile answered her question as he scanned the room. Some of these people were great heroes in their time, he thought. I'll bet they'd make an interesting company to help me get the kidnapped princess back.

Chapter 5

A Few Days Later

At the rear of the dank and dreary cave sat Smuge, the Goblin King. His many chins spilled over his flabby chest as he prevailed over the small cluster of subjects gathered before him. His dirty rag of a toga did little to hide the lazy despot's paunch which covered much of his upper thighs. Being the goblins' leader, he ate as he pleased, and he pleased quite a bit. In turn, he was fat, but he was also stronger and larger than the rest of his kind, making him quite an intimidating figure to stand against.

Chained to the left of Smuge's esteemed seat was Princess Penelope, her gown torn and smudged with dirt. Her once perfect, blond locks looked like they needed a good brushing. At least she was alive. There was always that.

While hiding in a high alcove, Tinker Gravelforge crouched at his leader's side. The dwarf showed little sign of his advanced years. His eyes glimmered with excitement as he took in the scene before them.

"What's the plan, Grady?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

The adventurer beside him placed a hand on the dwarf, signaling him to be silent. Aside from Gravelforge, all of the others that Grady had brought on this mission were far from their best days. Skarf was a halfling thief who had grown farsighted over the years. The rogue wore thick spectacles to enhance his vision. He also had a penchant for disappearing at the most inopportune times. Farrwyn Aewenys was another curiosity. He was a chubby elf. Still tall and somewhat fair, he was unkempt and looked like he was perpetually with child. Even his leathers, covered with old stains, could not hide his belly. He carried a bow and twin scimitars over his shoulders, marking him as a ranger. Finally, there was their wizard, Yammerish. He was the only magic-user in the bar when Grady was looking for volunteers, and everyone knows that a company needs someone who practices the mystical arts. His gray hair and beard made him look the part, as well as the fact that he actually was the oldest member of the group. He had been very drunk when he agreed to join the group, and it seemed as if he had not sobered up since.

All in all, a confusing group, but you will have that when you are willing to accept anyone that late in the Grimacing Goblin Inn. It would be crazy to go adventuring with this lot, but upon hearing of the kidnapping, Grady had been so caught up in the moment and just wanted to try out his newly-acquired, legendary sword. He was feeling young again and excited to break from the tedium of his former retirement.

As he crouched in a shadowy alcove above the audience chamber-like cavern, Grady felt pins and needles shooting through his legs as his aged joints and muscles struggled with this awkward pose. The adventurer knew these caverns well. In his youth, he had battled these creatures several times and looted their treasure vault, so it was easy to sneak through the side tunnels and find his current perch. He had used this position before and suspected that the current goblin king would use the same spacious spot for his throne room.

The furniture filling the cavern was a hodgepodge of odd stools and barrels. Anything that could serve as a table or chair was pressed into such a purpose. A lot of these items showed signs of repairs, most of which were done with little or no skill involved. Even the throne, straining under the goblin king's bulk, looked like a refuse pile rejected it. Leather straps and odd scraps of wood haphazardly held the seat together.

Smuge idly fidgeted with the links of the chain that bound the princess. They ended at a thick, rusty collar fastened around the captive's throat. His retainers tried to entertain him by capering about comically and offering food, but the pile of empty plates beside his throne gave evidence to why he lacked interest. In fact, the king couldn't keep his eyes off of his captive. Even though Penelope was dirty and disheveled, the massive goblin must have found something interesting in her. He kept giving her sideways glances. With each look, his toothy grin grew larger.

Impulsively, the king grabbed the chain and reeled in his captive. She fought with desperation, but she could not resist the powerful arms that propelled her toward him. As she drew near Smuge, his warty skin reflected in the torchlight. Grady could not imagine what this foul creature had in mind, but it looked like she wasn't going down without a struggle.

Grady's grip on his sword, Frostbite, tightened as the bound girl was drawn before the disgusting monster. His every instinct screamed for him to act, yet he remained in his painful crouch. He needed a plan. There were just a few goblins in the room and they were focused on entertaining the king. None of the creatures in attendance looked like warriors, but the trick would be to wait until the crowd thinned out or they drifted off to sleep. As the helpless young woman was pulled closer to the huge goblin, Grady tried to find a new tactic.

Drool ran freely between Smuge's jagged teeth, trailing over his fat lips as Penelope struggled harder. The capering underlings scurried back, making room for what was about to happen next. It looked like the goblin king was either going to eat her or do something worse.

Tendons popping in protest, Grady rose suddenly and jumped to the cavern floor far below. As he landed, he bellowed, "Get 'em!" A moment later, he could hear someone join him, probably Tink. His suspicion was confirmed as the dwarf roared a battle cry before surging forward.

The goblins turned with a start and tried to flee. Tinker Gravelforge barreled into the nearest two before unslinging his broad ax and bringing it to bear. Eyes narrow, he swiped at another of the green-skinned creatures as it tried desperately to flee.

In the ensuing confusion, a goblin crashed into the princess, catching her on the temple and knocking her down. Her head smacked off the wet cavern floor with a sick sound, leaving her lying unconscious. Upon seeing this, Smuge dropped the chain and commanded his minions to protect him. He grabbed a nearby cowering goblin and huddled a portion of his bulk behind the diminutive creature.

His living shield was pierced through the head with an arrow, instantly becoming dead weight. "We're under attack!" the goblin king bellowed. The whole while, he maintained his grip, lifting the lifeless creature high and making good his escape.

Grady waded deep into the mix, his sword cutting a swath through the chaotic throng. Goblins fell before him as a dagger ripped through the air near his ear. The adventurer chanced a hasty look over his shoulder, only to see Skarf give a guilty shrug before vanishing from sight.

The remaining goblins fled, following their ruler through a side tunnel. Tink made to follow them, but Grady, chest bellowing in an effort to catch his breath, put out a hand and stopped the determined dwarf.

"Get 'em?!" Gravelforge growled. "I don't see how that's a plan."

"I didn't expect him to try to eat her," the adventurer barked in response as the two approached the still prone princess.

"So," the dwarf started, "you had a plan."

"I had a plan in the works," the leader lied.

As Tink knelt beside Penelope, he shook his head. "Sure, you did."

"How is she?" Grady asked. In the distance, he could hear flapping feet as more goblins heeded their king's alarm. These wouldn't be the soft goblin royalty that had attended Smuge's court. The approaching creatures would be goblin warriors. What they lacked in training, they made up for in agility and speed. They were crafty monsters, which typically overwhelmed their foes with superior numbers. By the sound of those many feet slapping the cavern floor, the numbers were going to be in the goblins' favor.

"The girl's merely unconscious," Tinker reported.

"Yammerish!" Grady cried. "Can you erect some sort of barrier to block the entrance?"

The ancient-looking wizard scratched his beard for a moment, as if in thought, then struck a wobbly pose and started his spell. His arcane words were strange and his gestures were comical, but Grady didn't have time to watch. He tapped his sword, Frostbite, against the chains that bound the girl, causing the iron links to freeze. A second tap from his blade shattered the metal, leaving only the manacles on her wrists.

Tink tried to carry the princess, but she was tall. As she folded at the waist over his shoulder, her head smacked off of the hard, rock floor behind him.

"You better carry her," he said, offering Penelope's limp form to Grady. The leader smiled and slung her over his back. Pain flared in his joints as her weight settled on one of his many injuries, but be ignored the discomfort and raced back to his company.

A thin, elven rope dropped before the two as Yammerish's spell reached its climax. A barrier formed out of thin air, covering the cavern's entrance. Its blue surface shimmered with a cool light.

"Take the girl up first," Gravelforge ordered. "I'll come second."

The old adventurer put a foot on the sheer wall and awkwardly pulled himself up, hand over hand. In his youth, when he pictured heroes doing this very deed, he never thought of the mechanics of such a maneuver. Not only was Penelope dead weight but she severely hampered his left arm's reach.

The goblins, who were spooked by the magical barrier, were becoming brave. Some of the bolder creatures pushed their hands through the liquid surface and into the cavern.

"They're coming through!" Tinker said from below. He turned and hefted his great ax in both hands.

Grady had just reached the top, where Skarf and Farrwyn helped him over the edge. After the sylvan took the princess from his shoulder, Grady whipped around and took in the scene.

"You blocked the opening with a magical wall of water?!" he fumed. "Get out of there, Tink! Climb!"

"It was all I could think of," the mage mumbled as the dwarf slung his ax over his back and began the ascent. "Besides, water spells are my specialty."

"Why would someone specialize in water spells?"

Yammerish took a moment before admitting, "Because they are not lethal. I don't like to hurt anything."

"Give those goblins a chance and they'll try to hurt you."

The goblins, having lost their fear of the watery barrier, began surging through. Farrwyn stood like a chubby sentinel, launching arrow after arrow into the front ranks of the monsters, but his arrows barely slowed them down. The dwarf was old and tough but he was also out of shape. The goblins would overtake him if something didn't happen soon.

Raising the legendary artifact, Frostbite, Grady pointed it beyond the front ranks and let loose a ray of cold. Immediately, the wall of water froze solid and any goblins caught passing through froze with it. Skarf threw some assassin's darts with deadly accuracy as he joined Farrwyn in keeping the goblins away from their companion, Tinker, as he completed his climb.

The dwarf scooped the limp princess over one shoulder and followed the others as they raced through the tunnels toward the surface. Skarf dropped to the rear of the group, scattering caltrops behind them to slow down any pursuit. The only goblins they saw before them were the ones they had already killed on their way in.

Upon reaching the surface, the sun was shining brightly. Shielding their eyes, the company cheered loudly. They had escaped to the morning's light. Goblins, like many other dark monsters, cannot tolerate sunshine.

"I don't like this," Tink mumbled. "It was too easy."

"You call that easy?" Farrwyn gasped.

"We were lucky," Grady mused. "The goblins had sent many of their kind to the recent war at Dunn Moor Keep. They suffered heavy losses when the horde was routed. That's why there were so few goblins in those tunnels."

The dwarf shifted the still unconscious princess onto his other shoulder. "This scrawny girl is too boney. How long do I have to carry her?"

"Until she comes around," Grady stated sarcastically. "Besides, a stout warrior of your caliber should have no problem carrying a boney, little girl. If she gets too heavy, maybe Yammerish could give you a break."

The old magic-user's eyes shot wide, but before he could protest, Gravelforge blustered, "I was just trying to find out how far we are going. I wasn't complaining."

"Sure, you weren't," Farrwyn joked. He seemed to take great joy at the dwarf's discomfort.

Farrwyn shook his head while he lamented under his breath, "This is precisely why most companies bring along a cleric."

Ignoring the elf's criticism, Grady volunteered, "If you want to pass her off, I'll take a turn."

Gravelforge grumbled something about being fine and plowed ahead, past his companions, the girl's head inches from the ground as he moved away from the cave's entrance, setting a determined pace for their escape.

Chapter 6

What a Quaint Little Town

When it became apparent that the princess was not going to come around anytime soon, the companions stopped to fashion a travois out of tree branches. Luckily, Penelope wasn't heavy, so it was easy enough to drag along. The whole while, Grady worried if the unconscious girl would ever regain consciousness.

About midday, thick clouds obscured the sun, and as it neared evening, it started to rain. The group had traveled a good distance away from the goblin caves and Grady felt that this gave them a measure of safety. The others speculated that under the premature dark caused by the rain clouds, the goblins could mount some sort of pursuit earlier than their leader anticipated. Grady doubted this. The goblins' ranks were too thin after the recent fall of the horde at Dunn Moor Keep. He couldn't believe that these creatures had been bold enough to sneak into Greymoor and snatch the princess from the royal palace.

As heavy drops of rain fell on Penelope's face, her eyes fluttered open. Clearly confused, she took in her surroundings and, looking at Yammerish, who was walking beside her travois, she asked in a weak voice, "What happened? Where are you taking me?"

The wizard had heard her say something but couldn't understand a word of it. Farrwyn Aewenys, who was taking his turn pulling the cart, did. His keen, elven hearing picked up on her soft muttering. He turned to respond, yet before he could answer her first question, she had passed out again. As he reached the back of his hand toward her brow to check for a fever, a shout from ahead stayed his hand.

"It looks like there's a town ahead," Tink called back to his fellow adventurers.

"I don't remember a town when we approached the goblin caves," Skarf said to the dwarf, who he was walking beside.

Gravelforge mumbled, "We must have lost our way."

The thief, who was busy wiping fog from his spectacles, blustered, "I never lose my way."

The dwarf kept his thoughts to himself as he guided the group along what soon became the central street of a small town. With the rain and the resulting fog, the place had a foreboding look to it. Old, two- and three-story buildings leaned precariously on their fieldstone foundations. Candles twinkled in windows, giving the eerie, water-soaked town its only feeling of warmth.

Strange glyphs surrounded every window and bunches of herbs hung over every door. This was no normal town. The cold and tired group wondered if they would find any comfort in a place such as this.

As the companions trudged through the puddle-strewn streets, they were relieved to hear the welcoming sound of people conversing. It wasn't loud or rambunctious, yet it was something. Drawing nearer, a worn sign indicated that the tavern was called, The Lucky Traveler.

Without hesitation, Grady threw the door open wide. As he did, a hush fell over those inside. Several of the patrons' hands dropped to weapons belted at their sides while all eyes scrutinized the strangers as they entered.

"We require some aid," Grady proclaimed as Farrwyn pulled the travois through the door.

At once, a serving girl rushed to the unconscious princess's side. "She's cold as ice," the youth said while grabbing a nearby man's wrist. "Go fetch Magda. She'll know what to do."

When the man hesitated, looking fearfully through a window at the evening sky, the serving girl crushed his hand in hers before urging, "There's plenty of time, you fool. We need our healer or the girl will surely die."

As the man hurriedly pushed past the companions and raced outside, the server rallied some of the others to take the injured girl to one of the rooms upstairs. Several patrons gently lifted the sopping wet Penelope from the travois and made their way to the second floor. Grady followed the group, taking care to keep a watchful eye on the princess.

After the men lifted the young lady onto the bed, they were sent back downstairs. Only Grady and the girl remained in the room with Penelope.

"If you're going to stay here, you could at least turn around and allow the girl some modesty," the barmaid chided.

Remembering his manners, the grim adventurer turned his back to the women as she stripped off Penelope's thoroughly saturated dress.

"What were you doing, traipsing about in the wilds with a young girl in such a pretty dress?" she asked while struggling with the wet clothing.

"We rescued her from the goblin king," he answered. "Will she be alright?"

Without slowing, the woman assessed, "The goblins really roughed her up. That and being chilled to the bone while out in the rain is a bad combination. Magda will be along in a moment. She'll be a better judge."

"Is she a powerful healer?" Grady hoped.

She shook her head. "She has no magic, yet she is very good with natural healing methods. What's your name?"

"My name is Grady. What is yours?"

"Abra," she answered. "You can turn around now. I have her covered."

The adventurer turned and was relieved to see that the princess was covered with a pile of blankets. Abra was in the process of adding more when she explained, "I had to cut that fine gown off of her. It was ruined with all she had been through, but it is still such a loss. I have an old dress that she can wear when she gets better. Who is she, anyway?"

"Her name isn't important," Grady lied. He didn't want to divulge the identity of the princess and possibly endanger her.

The door opened, admitting a woman in her middle years. "Magda," Abra announced. "You sure are a welcome sight."

"I came as fast as I could," the healer grumbled. "Out of my way, oaf."

Grady stepped aside to make space in the small room. As she passed by, the adventurer smelled a collection of herbs in her wake. Magda swept off her cloak and dropped it across the bottom of the bed.

The healer's hair was unkempt and her clothes were serviceable, showing wear in many areas, but, aside from that, she was very pretty. For a middle-aged woman, she had an intensity, a confidence in her every move. As soon as she came through the door, she took control of the situation.

After a cursory examination of the unconscious girl, she said over her shoulder, "Hey, ogre slayer. We are going to examine her and unless you're her father, which I doubt, get out of here."

"I'll be downstairs," Grady stammered. He closed the door softly behind him and made for the stairs.

*****

Tink, Farrwyn, Yammerish, and Skarf watched as Grady followed the princess up the stairs. "I think we should stay right here," the thief stated, looking around the tavern.

"To sample some ale?" the elf asked.

Skarf shook his head. "In my youth, I would've said to fleece these country bumpkins. I used to carry some loaded dice that would part these fools and their coin faster than-."

Tink stepped up directly into the thief's face. Eyes fierce, he threatened, "Penelope needs all the help she can get and these nice people are our only hope. If you cause us to get run out of this place and back onto the street, she'll probably die. Do you know who else will die if that happens?"

The thief swallowed hard. "I said, 'In my youth.' I can't even see the pips anymore."

"Pips?"

The halfling gave a sly grin. "You would've made an easy mark back in the day. Pips are the little dots that mark each side of the die. Be assured, friend dwarf, I want to sample the local wine."

Turning, they found an empty table and sat. Within moments, a man wearing a grimy apron stepped up. "My name's Alfie. What'll it be, men?"

"Meade," Yammerish chimed in first.

"Ale," Tinker stated.

"Make that two," Farrwyn added.

They all looked at him for a moment. Then, the bartender stammered, "Are you sure? We have a nice selection of wine."

The elf rose quickly, looking angrily at the man. Bringing both hands up in defense, the server explained, "I didn't mean any offense. Every other one of your kind I've ever served wanted wine."

"My kind?" Farrwyn said hotly.

The bartender started to stutter some apology but Skarf placed a hand on his arm. "I'll have a glass of wine. Something red. You pick it, Alfie, but definitely bring my friend his ale."

"I will," the server said before he turned and disappeared into the thinning crowd.

"You really should act a little more elf-like," the thief chided.

Perplexed, Farrwyn remained on his feet and was about to issue a fiery retort as an insistent tug on Tinker Gravelforge's sleeve drew his attention away from his companions.

A little, human girl in a plain dress confronted him. Her hair was tied in raven-colored pigtails that framed a pair of sad eyes.

"Have you seen my mommy and daddy, mister?" she asked hopefully. What a frail, young thing like her was doing alone in a tavern, he couldn't understand.

"What's your name?" he soothed.

"Emmy. What's yours?"

"Tink."

The gruff warrior was about to say that he hadn't seen her parents when the bartender reappeared with a pitcher full of ale. "This is on the house," he announced. "And, I hope there are no hard feelings."

"Thank you," the dwarf said, accepting the gesture of goodwill. When he turned back to Emmy, she was asking the same question to another man seated at the bar.

When Alfie noticed where the dwarf was looking, he explained, "Sad story, that one is. Her parents both died two nights ago. Several families tried to take her in but she won't believe her parents are dead. The poor thing insists she's seen them each night."

If Tinker Gravelforge had any soft spot, it was for children. He was orphaned at a young age, just like Emmy. As the girl finished asking the few patrons left in attendance, she walked back toward the dwarf on her way out. As she drew near, he could see tears running down her dirt-smudged face.

"Emmy," he said softly, "are you hungry?"

The weeping girl stopped in front of him and nodded. Reaching out, he wiped away her tears and gestured at a nearby chair. She struggled with it for a moment before Tink helped her into it. Her eyes barely made it to the edge of the tabletop, so the dwarf slid his backpack beneath her so she could sit higher.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," she repeated.

"We are adventurers," Gravelforge explained. "My companions and I just rescued a princess from some goblins."

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed. "And, if you'd like, I could tell you the story later."

Emmy nodded, eager to hear the tale, before her eyes dropped to the table. "But, I really should be looking for Mommy and Daddy."

"After the story, we can go for a walk and see what we can find." Tinker was hoping after a warm meal and story, the child would fall asleep.

Grady pulled a chair over to the other side of the little one. "Who's this?" he asked.

"This is Emmy and she's joining us for a meal and a story."

"Tink is going to tell me about the princess and the goblins," Emmy said a bit too loud.

Looking around at the nearly empty room, Grady could see that no one had heard. "Just keep it low. We don't want anyone to know who we have upstairs."

The little girl looked confused but Tinker got the hint. The companions ordered their meals and an extra for Emmy. The whole group ate ravenously, even the child. While he ate, Grady noticed a man across the room kept an eye out the window. Suspiciously, the adventurer watched this fellow. The only thing that distracted him was the elf. Farrwyn Aeweyns tore into his greasy chicken leg with gusto, his lips smacking loudly as he chewed with his mouth open. The only time he closed his lips was when he wiped his over-stuffed mouth on his sleeve.

As promised, Tink told the tale of how they had saved the princess. As the story drew out, Emmy's eyes grew heavy. Soon, she was falling asleep.

"What are we going to do with Emmy?"

At the mention of her name, she awoke but feigned sleep to hear what they said.

"She can sleep in my bed. I'll take the floor if I have to," the dwarf vowed.

Grady shook his head. "Doesn't she have parents?"

"No, she doesn't," Tinker stated soberly. "Her parents were killed two nights ago. I just wanted to show her that someone cared. A meal and a good night's sleep would be good for her. I know how it feels to be orphaned and I don't want her to feel alone."

By the look on his face, Grady knew the girl had stolen the old dwarf's heart. There was nothing more to discuss. He would broach the subject of what they were going to do with her when the morning came.

"The sun's nearly down, guys," said the man who Grady had been watching. "We've got to leave now."

With that warning, the few men who remained got up and left. There was no hesitating; they simply left in the remaining light.

"That was odd," Grady muttered to Tink while the two rose from their seats. A quick inspection revealed that some of the men had left nearly full mugs of ale behind.

As the bartender came to clear the table, Grady inquired, "Why is everyone in this town so afraid of the dark?"

"There is a foul plague of evil on this town. Those gents live nearby, so they can stay the longest before having to return home and bar their doors against the vile creatures who dwell in the night."

"I knew something funny was going on in this town," the adventurer muttered.

Frowning at the news, Tinker asked, "What kind of monsters are we talking about?"

"Vampires," the bartender answered. "They're the same creatures who murdered your little friend's parents."

At the mention of Emmy, the dwarf turned, only to see her gone. "Emmy? EMMY!" he called with growing fear.

Racing back to his companions, he asked, "Have any of you seen where the little girl I was eating with went?"

Scarf looked quizzically back at him. His eyes, exaggeratedly large in the glass of his spectacles, blinked in confusion. "You ate with a little girl?"

Gravelforge growled in frustration until Farrwyn said, "She left through the front door."

The color draining from his face, Tink raced to the door and stepped out into the night. The sun was fully down now and the street was completely empty. "Emmy!" he called loudly.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" Alfie cried while dragging the startled dwarf inside. Immediately, the man slammed the door. After it was closed, he whispered some sort of rhyming charm against bad omens as he traced the evil eye on the door with his finger.

"Bah. Worthless superstition. What if Emmy is out there somewhere?"

After securing a stout bar of wood across the door, the man turned his attention to the garlic cloves hanging over the door. "She has been fine by herself for the last two nights. Don't worry about it. That little urchin is a survivor."

Just as the bartender finished assuring the dwarf of her safety, a high-pitched scream pierced the night.

Chapter 7

What Was That?

"No!" Tink bellowed as he pushed past Alfie and tore the bar from the door to get outside. The rain had picked up again. Large, heavy drops beat down upon the dwarf but he didn't notice it at all.

Having been inside so long, his eyes had to adjust to the gloom. He couldn't tell which way the scream had come from but, luckily, his companions rallied around him to help. Taking Farrwyn with him, he sent the others the opposite way, down the road to the left.

The elf's eyes were good, but dwarves have a special kind of vision. Their ancestors, spending most of their lives underground, had developed a type of heat vision. They can see a certain range of colors reflecting the warmth of objects and animals. Red gave evidence of a living creature, while greens were organic material and blues were inanimate objects.

The elf nocked an arrow as they made their way through the downpour. They were both half-blinded by the rain streaming down their faces. The chill air caused goosebumps to rise on their exposed skin, yet determination steeled their nerves. Pushing further down the street, Tink saw something unusual, something he had never seen before; a human form that his vision registered as purple. That shape was holding another smaller one to its mouth and the slighter of the two was cooling rapidly.

"Emmy," he gasped. "I'm coming for you, Emmy!" Gravelforge cried.

As the dwarf drew closer, the larger form dropped the other and moved away. An arrow flew past the being as it disappeared into the night.

Skidding to a halt on the mud-slick road, Tinker dropped to his knees and pleaded. "No, no, no, no, no..."

Farrwyn, gasping with the effort, raced past his friend to inspect what he hoped was a fallen foe. Tink's hair, running with water, hung in front of his face. His eyes were filled with sorrow as he pulled little Emmy into his arms and cradled her near-lifeless body. Their faces were mere inches apart. As if the girl sensed his presence, her eyes weakly opened just a slit. "Tink," she said so softly.

"I'm here, Emmy," he assured her. "I won't let anything harm you ever again."

As if his words reminded her of the horror she had so recently endured, her eyes opened a little wider. "I want my mommy," she sobbed.

"Your mommy isn't here, sweetheart, but I will protect you. You have nothing to fear from this moment on."

"I'll be safe with you?" she slurred as she began to slip away.

"You can be assured of that, Emmy," he vowed.

Within seconds, the newly-orphaned child died in the arms of a stranger, one who had shown her kindness and compassion and she trusted to protect her from now on. Although his heart was broken, Tink felt something warm his chilly body for just a moment.

A hand dropped softly onto the dwarf's shoulder, but he didn't respond. "Tink," his companion urged, but the dwarf remained still. "We can't stay here any longer. There may be more vampires about. It isn't safe. If you want, I'll carry her back to the inn."

"No," Tink responded, standing up while holding her limp form. "I'll carry her."

Farrwyn led the way for his grieving companion. Arrow nocked and ready, he saw no threat as they made it to the tavern's entrance. The elf pounded on the bolted door. After a few moments, he urgently pounded even louder.

"Who is it?" Alfie's voice demanded through the closed door.

"Who do you think it is?!" Gravelforge shot back. "Open the door!"

Hesitating for a moment, the voice inside asked, "How do I know you ain't one of them?"

Losing all patience, Tink barked, "If you don't open the door, I'm going to take my ax to it!"

As the dwarf's threat sunk in, the man inside slid the bar free and opened the way. Farrwyn shoved the door roughly against the scared human, opening it wide while brushing the bartender out of the way. Allowing Tinker to enter first, he paused and peered outside again. With his keen elven hearing, he could make out several beings approaching from the other direction. It was easy enough to deduce that it was the rest of his group.

"Hold the door!" Skarf called out through the downpour.

"Did you find her?" Yammerish asked as he walked past. Farrwyn nodded with a grim look on his face. "That's good news. Good news, indeed."

Grady passed through the door last. One look at the elf and he knew things were not as they should be. As the adventurer entered the common room, it was chaos. The bartender and Gravelforge were in a heated argument. The dwarf held his ax in both hands and had placed himself between the man and the limp form of the little girl.

"I tell ya, she's going to rise from the dead," the tavern owner said. His voice was pleading. "I've seen it before. She's going to become one of them."

"Not on my watch!" Tink growled dangerously.

Planting himself between the two, Grady tried to reason out what was happening. "One at a time. What is this all about?" he asked, looking at the bartender.

"That daft dwarf brought a child in here who was killed by a vampire," he explained.

"I'm not daft!" Tinker bristled.

Grady turned on his companion. "Wait your turn," he warned, pointing a finger in the dwarf's direction.

As Grady turned back, he heard Tink mutter, "Nobody calls me daft."

Ignoring his friend, the adventurer gestured for the man to continue.

"Do you know what happens when someone is killed by a vampire?" Grady returned a blank look. As the fellow gazed about at the rest of the companions, he saw more of the same. Realizing that the companions had no experience with vampires, he explained, "They come back as more vampires. We have to cut off her head before the transformation is complete."

"Over my dead body!" Gravelforge roared.

A voice rang out from the stairs. "What's all this about cutting heads off?" It was the healer, Magda, and from the look on her face, she seemed angry.

Skarf, Farrwyn, and Yammerish slunk back to their table, so that left the other three to face her fury. "There is a seriously injured young lady upstairs who needs rest, so keep your voices low and explain yourselves. Alfie, you go first."

Seeing Emmy lying on the table behind the dwarf, she moved to the child's side as the bartender explained his position.

"... And that's why we have to cut her head off."

"I'll have none of it," Tinker threatened.

"And, you won't have to," Magda soothed, removing her finger from the girl's mouth. "Emmy had not completed the ritual. She would have had to drink the vampire's blood to become one of them. I can find no traces of blood in her mouth, so she is simply dead."

Tink was both relieved and sad. Emmy wouldn't have to be mutilated, but at the same time, such a beautiful child had her life cut far too short.

"I'm sorry," Alfie said softly. "I was just trying to do the right thing for us all."

"I understand," the dwarf replied.

Grady told his friend, "We'll bury her in the morning."

Magda and Alfie had moved off and were speaking alone. As Grady drew closer to the pair, he could hear that they were discussing the bartender putting her up for the night.

"If possible, could it be one near the girl's room, please?" she asked.

"You can have the room to the left of her door," Alfie replied. As Grady approached, the tavern owner guessed, "I suppose you and your companions would also like to arrange for some rooms?"

"Yes. We will share two rooms," he said to Alfie, who immediately went to prepare for so many sudden guests.

Grady didn't even notice that the innkeeper had left, he was so intent on asking Magda about Penelope. "How is she?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "She has several lumps on her head, two of which look like they were quite severe blows. Then, dragging her around in the frigid rain just made things worse."

"We didn't have much of a choice," the grizzled adventurer explained. "She was jostled around quite a bit by the goblins who had taken her. We carried her out of their lair and the rain soon followed. It was unavoidable."

The healer replied, "I can understand. Why did the goblins take her in the first place?"

Not wanting to give the girl's identity away, the adventurer simply stated, "Let's just say that her parents would be able to pay a hefty ransom, that's all."

Magda eyed him suspiciously and let the matter drop. "I have done everything I can for her. It's up to the girl, at this point."

"Is there anyone with magical healing powers in the village? A cleric, maybe?"

"The only cleric who comes through from time to time is Castor," she explained. "She's been gone for a few days. We are on our own, it seems."

Grady chewed his lower lip in frustration.

While he was discussing things with the healer, Skarf, Yammerish, and Farrwyn were receiving fresh mugs of ale from the serving girl. After she deposited their drinks on the table, Abra moved to a nearby window to fuss with a cluster of some strange herbs. Skarf snatched his ale from the table and approached her with some questions spinning on his mind.

"Most inns keep their spices hanging from the rafters in the kitchen," the thief casually observed.

Abra continued adjusting the bunch without turning. "This is no spice to add to a stew. This is belladonna and it could prove lethal if someone were to eat it."

"If it's poisonous, why have it here, at all?"

"To keep the wolves from the door," she responded. "The moon is going to be full in a few nights."

"Ok," Skarf replied. "And, what's with all the strange wards above the windows and doors?"

"We are a cursed village," she admitted, turning toward the thief but keeping her eyes averted, as if in shame. "We were once a fair town with bustling trade, although that was before Count Dookula occupied the old manor on the hill."

The halfling started laughing.

"What's so funny?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Someone's family name is Dookula!" he roared.

"You wouldn't laugh so hard if you faced him yourself. With him came the werewolves, ghouls, and other dark monsters."

"What's a werewolf?" Skarf asked.

Abra gaped at his unexpected question. "They are people cursed to transform into half/man/half/wolf monsters whenever the moon is full."

"It's nearly full tonight."

Looking past his glasses and into his eyes for the first time, she said, "Hence, the belladonna."

"I see," he confirmed.

"I doubt you do," Abra shot back, indicating his glasses. "I've never seen spectacles that thick. It kind of ruins the childlike look of your race."

It was Skarf's turn to look at his hairy feet. "It's a family trait or, should I say, weakness. My vision is failing me, which is why I originally retired from this kind of work."

"Adventuring?" the serving-woman asked.

"Let's go with that," he agreed, not wanting to go into his more nefarious trade. Before the aged thief continued, he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down from. "I can only see things at about arm's length. If things are too near, they become blurry."

"That's terrible," she lamented.

What Skarf had told her was the same line he told anyone who asked, but it wasn't entirely true. In fact, it was mostly false; the truth being that he was the victim of a curse, himself. He had stolen what he thought was a cape of stealth, but it turned out to be something else, completely. The power the thief gained from the cape had a price. With each use, his sight got a little bit blurrier.

"I get by," he mumbled while scratching his gray hair. It was sparse, with a bald patch in the back, but he wasn't out to impress anyone. "And, where are we, exactly?"

The girl gave him a strange look, so Skarf rephrased the question. "What is the name of this fair town?"

"Ravenholt, but I'd hardly call it fair," Abra answered. "It was a nice place until Count Dookula made it his home."

"And, just who is this Count Dookula?"

Abra gestured over at Emmy's still form. "He's the monster who did that. He has plagued this village for the past few years. As the master vampire..." The serving-woman paused as she noticed the blank look on the stranger's face. "You do know what a vampire is, right?"

Skarf shook his head, indicating that he didn't.

"What kind of adventurers are you and your company?" she exclaimed. "You haven't dealt with these common monsters?"

"We are old and road-weary adventurers," he said, somewhat insulted by the girl's slight. "We have all seen and killed creatures that would make grown men soil themselves. There are few roads that we fear to travel. So, I doubt some silly being named Count Dookula will give us any cause for pause."

"Have you looked at the state of this village?" she warned. "Let me explain to you what a terrible enemy a vampire is. They are a form of undead, a being from the negative plane. They can hypnotize their prey by looking into the intended's eyes, then will drink the victim's blood. If they want, a vampire will feed their own blood to the dying victim, thus enlisting them into their private army of the dead."

"And that's only the beginning. They heal very quickly, are immune mundane weapons, and are generally hard to kill."

Skarf stood slack-jawed after her description of these seemingly unbeatable foes. He was amazed at the resiliency of these small-town people. "They have to have a weakness. Otherwise, how have you kept them from killing all of you off?"

"They do," Abra said grimly. "Someone who has the authority must invite a vampire into a building or the foul monsters cannot set foot inside. Mirrors and holy symbols can hold the creatures at bay. Exposing them to sunlight or running water will kill them, as well as a wooden stake through their heart, if you can get that close."

"Great," the aged thief said, shaking his head.

"We have our lives invested in this place but you and your friends have no such ties here," she explained. "As soon as the girl can travel, I would leave this place before one of you fall victim to the sickness here. Leave with the first light of dawn and never return."

Chapter 8

A Spooky, Old Graveyard

With all the townspeople gone, the inn was quite glum. Although Alfie promised that he would keep the tavern open, the crew decided to make an early night of it. They shared what they had learned before deciding to pack it in for the night. Their clothes were still wet and they were weary from their flight from the goblin caves.

Exhausted, Tink, Skarf, and Yammerish took the larger room with three beds, while the leader and Farrwyn stayed in the other. Before going to his room, Grady slipped over to Penelope's door and cracked it open for a peek. Inside, he saw Magda sitting with some needlework in her lap and a cross look on her face. The healer was smaller than the old, grizzled adventurer but her stern grimace cowed the big warrior into a hasty retreat.

"How's the princess?" asked the elf.

Grady cringed as he heard the girl's royal title. Through gritted teeth, he answered in a warning tone, "The young woman is still under the weather."

Farrwyn quickly understood his slip of the tongue and offered his apology in the form of a shrug.

"It's ok," the leader said. "What bed do you want? The one close to the window or the other one?"

With a sly grin, the elf pointed to the one furthest from the window. "That way if one of those vampires climbs in, it'll eat you and give me time to get away."

"Ok," Grady posed. "That's the second time I've heard you tell a joke. What gives?"

"Was it funny?"

"No."

"Crap," the elf spat. "Now, I suppose you guys are going to be looking for a new, funnier, elven ranger."

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Grady explained, "That's just it. You are a funny elf." As Farrwyn tensed, the warrior continued. "I don't mean to offend you. In fact, I find you quite unique. Your people seem to fit a very stereotypical mold so it's quite refreshing to see someone who is very different."

"You mean that I am fat," the elf said.

"Among other things," Grady explained while taking in his friend's sloppy appearance. "You have to admit that you don't fit the elf stereotype. I've never met a sarcastic elf."

Farrwyn's face reddened as it took on a bitter look. "I'm sorry I don't fit what you humans identify as a normal elf. You do know that all humans look the same to us? Elves can be short, heavy, and even jovial. We come in all types, just like your kind."

"I didn't mean to-"

"I suppose you didn't," Farrwyn cut him off. "My family were somewhat of an embarrassment to our kin. We were treated as outcasts because of our appearance and behavior."

"I think you handled yourself quite well back in the goblin caves. I am proud to have you as a part of my company."

Grady's words seemed to soften the elf's look. The human almost saw a smile tilt the corner of Farrwyn's mouth. "I did, didn't I?"

"You were very handy with that bow of yours."

"You know, I came in twelfth place in the king's archery contest," the sylvan bragged.

The leader feigned shock. "Is that so?"

"But, I'm much better with a sword. That is a skill not many of my kin can best me at."

With the sticky subject diffused, the two prepared for sleep. Neither stripped off any more armor than was necessary to be conducive to an uneasy rest. Grady noticed that his sylvan friend slept with his swords near at hand and, likewise, he did the same.

In the morning, the leader checked in on Penelope. His body groaned and creaked in protest of setting itself in motion but the stiffness worked itself off as he strapped on what little gear he had removed the night before. Nothing had changed with the princess's condition, so he went downstairs to join the others. All but Skarf were gathered by Emmy's still form. The night before, someone had covered her with a linen sheet to preserve her dignity.

"Can you believe this?" the thief asked, exasperated. "The serving-girl packed us breakfast so we could hurry off on our way."

Grady shook his head. "We aren't going anywhere. Our injured friend is still unable to travel. It looks like we are going to stick around here for a while."

"Good!" Gravelforge growled. "We need to bury our little friend here, anyway."

"You, there," Grady hailed a man who had just come in to break his fast. "Where do you bury your dead?"

The bleary-eyed man pointed to the south. "Just outside of town," he mumbled before pulling out a well-worn stool.

"We go south. Let's take the provisions and the girl's body and do something useful today."

"Shouldn't we tell someone what we are going to do with the dead girl?" asked Yammerish.

"Emmy was a recent orphan," Tink explained while reverently lifting the small, shrouded form. "The way these townspeople were letting her just wander about, I doubt anyone will care."

Farrwyn opened the door and another gloomy sky greeted them. "Does the sun ever shine on this forsaken town?" he observed.

"I sense magic at play here," Yammerish answered. "If it is kept in this perpetual dusk, it would allow many lesser monsters who fear the light to roam during the day."

"Great!" Skarf sarcastically chirped. "Let's get this over with as fast as possible."

The street's cobbles remained slick with the drenching they had received the previous night. Puddles reflected the overcast sky where impressions of the old road had sunk over time. Stray cats scurried out of the companions' way as they filed southward in search of the graveyard.

Tinker Gravelforge bore his burden in both arms and marched out ahead of the others. Although Farrwyn and Grady offered to relieve him of his burden, he would allow no other to carry the girl. He felt like it was his solemn duty to the poor girl who had lost her life due to his carelessness. All through the night before he had silently berated himself for not keeping an eye on the child.

They traveled slowly, silently onward to her final resting place, each in hopes that she would be reunited with her parents in the afterlife. The buildings were all a blur. None of the companions noticed the eerie silence that permeated this forsaken town.

As the buildings spread out, the road became a muddy lane. Their boots, leaden with mud, became heavy, adding to the weight of their hearts as they felt sorrow for the child whose life was stolen far too early.

The homes gave way to a wooded track as they neared their goal. It was here that the old adventurers caught their first glimpse of the graveyard. A low stone wall surrounded the place, with a similar stone arch forming an entrance. A rusty, wrought iron gate stood ajar, leaning open on broken hinges. Statues on either side of the entry were of whatever gods the townsfolk worshiped. As the five drew near, they couldn't help but notice that the faces of the deities were defaced, scratched off as if to make the likeness unrecognizable to any who would even try.

As they approached the yawning gate, a raven flew in loudly before perching on top of the arch. Squeaking, as if in warning, the bird fluffed out its plumage while shooting a menacing look at the companions.

"There's a bad omen," Farrwyn remarked.

Picking up a stone from the road, Skarf tossed it in the direction of the raven. He missed but came close enough to make the thing take flight. It flew only to a nearby tree with bare, dead branches reaching over the entrance.

Undaunted, Tink continued onward into the yard. Anywhere that there were no graves, trees had been allowed to take root. It was as if the people of Ravenholt thought the dead were taking life through the vegetation. To the adventurers, the scene was frightening. The branches were bereft of leaves, making them resemble skeletal arms and hands reaching out in all directions for someone to grasp.

This scene was all too familiar to Grady, who had recently fought an animated tree. Although these trees looked normal, he eyed them warily, keeping just out of their twiggy reach.

The whole group unconsciously crowded close, with hands near whatever weapons they had. As the company drew deeper into the cemetery, the gloom deepened and the air began to take on a distinct chill, but the most oppressive of all was the silence. Nothing stirred. There were no sounds of anything living, nor was there even the soft murmur of dried leaves in the wind.

"I don't like this place," Yammerish whispered. The mage's voice had a distinct, trembling quality to it.

"Me, neither," Skarf agreed.

Farrwyn tightened his grip on his bow. "These grounds are no longer hallowed. I can feel it."

"This place is fine. It's just a spooky, old graveyard. Nothing more," Tink growled, growing disappointed with his friends. "Now, let's get on with this."

The three drew a collective, calming breath, taking solace in the dwarf's words, but it did little to slow their rapid pulses. Within moments, they were all seeing specters out of the corners of their eyes, dark forms that appeared to be there one moment and gone the next.

Even still, the trio were pulled inexplicably in the wake of the dwarf, his single-minded purpose drawing them along behind him. At last, they arrived at a freshly dug grave.

"We might as well use this one," Yammerish squeaked, his body quaking in fear.

"Does anyone notice anything unusual here?" Tink asked as he finally took notice of his surroundings.

"There's a hole in the ground waiting for us?" Skarf offered.

Grabbing the thief's arm, Farrwyn said, "It would be really scary if there were graves dug for each of us."

The dwarf grumbled, "What's unusual is that there is no shovel."

Crouching beside the loose soil, Grady spread his fingers and traced some lines above the ground. "This soil was dug up by hand. I can see where fingers or claws were dragged through the dirt. My guess is ghouls. The body was probably dragged off and eaten."

"I'm not burying Emmy here. They'll just dig up her body when we leave," the dwarf declared.

"No one's asking you to," Grady soothed his friend.

"Then, what will we do now?" Yammerish whined.

Grady looked about. "There's a lot of wood lying about. Gather as much as you can and we'll fashion a pyre."

"Good idea," Gravelforge agreed.

"Bad idea," Farrwyn countered. "I've noticed several forms out in the fog. It could be the ghouls. Maybe, these townsfolk have been feeding them their dead instead of killing the ghouls and making the effort to bury them."

"Cowards!" Tink exclaimed.

"Did you notice how beat down these people are?" the elf queried. "They've given up. Like sheep being led to the slaughter, these townsfolk are just awaiting their turn."

The companions paired up and gathered what they could find. They didn't venture out far for fear of having an encounter with the ghouls and provoking a battle. The whole time the others were gathering fuel for the pyre, the dwarf stood like a guardian over the dead child.

They stacked the wood high and gently added the body to the top. Grady produced a flask of oil from his pack and proceeded to pour its contents over both the wood and the girl. The wood was wet, so it would need the oil to encourage the flames to take hold.

"I think they are onto us," Farrwyn warned. "They're coming this way."

"Crap," Grady complained as he moved away from the pyre. "Yammerish, light the oil on fire!"

"With what?"

"Don't you have any fire spells?" the leader urged.

"No," was the wizard's simple answer. Almost as quickly as he replied, two ghouls were nearly on top of him. With a quick spell, he caused a burst of air that blew the undead creatures violently through the graveyard. Both of the monsters affected smacked hard against some markers a considerable distance away.

There was a high-pitched scream as the rest of the companions were engaging their foes. Fortunately, Grady had time to fish the flint and tinder out of his pack. As his arthritic hands fumbled with the small piece of flint, a ghoul leapt up on top of the pyre.

Its slithering tongue lashing over long, broken teeth, the once-human creature reached for Emmy's linen-wrapped body. Grady finally found a good grip on the flint and caused a small flame to ignite in his dry tinder. The oil-covered logs caught quickly, surrounding the ghoul and trapping it in place.

While pulling Frostbite from its sheath, he growled, "Get away from her!" Swinging the legendary sword, he swatted the filthy ghoul off of the pyre and away from Emmy. As the undead thing made to reach the child again, the aged warrior stepped in between the two and, with a mighty swing, cut the creature's head from its body.

The battle was mostly over, although Grady did get to witness some excellent swordsmanship by the elf as he disemboweled two of the monsters. While he surveyed the scene of the battle, he noticed someone was missing. "Where's Tink?"

"That was him screaming," Yammerish said. "Scared the pee out of me. That was just before he ran away."

"Tinker Gravelforge ran from a fight?" Grady uttered in disbelief. "I once saw him charge a Jabberwocky. He is fearless!"

"Well, he ran outta here," the wizard confirmed.

Chapter 9

Enter Count Dookula

There were only a few customers at the Lucky Traveler Inn that afternoon. Alfie remembered a time, not so long ago, when the common room would have been full of customers from all over the region. Merchants and travelers would sit and swap tales and, in the evening, bards would stand by the hearth, singing for their meals.

That was before Count Dookula brought his plague of evil down upon them. Now, travelers and merchants avoided this cursed place. What they needed was a hero, or maybe a group of them, but that was just a fantasy. There were no knights who rode in at the last possible second to save the people. Legends were just tall tales told to inspire hope to the plight of the common man. There would be no saviors for the likes of Ravenloft.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, smashing against the wall so forcefully that the windows rattled. Silhouetted in the gloomy light from outside were four figures. As they entered, their leader dropped one of the ghoul's heads on the floor and announced, "Your ghoul problem is taken care of."

Alfie came out from behind the bar and stopped before the creature's head, its long tongue lolling out onto the floor to one side while black ichor puddled near its neck.

"Are you going to leave that right there?" he asked. At the unexpected question, the adventurers stood in stunned silence so the owner explained, "People walk right through there on their way to a table or the bar."

"It could present a slipping hazard," another patron offered.

Alfie nodded his agreement.

Grady quickly composed himself. "We offer it as proof of the deed we have performed."

"You could've just told us," a woman suggested. "We would've believed ya. Now, someone has to clean that up."

Farrwyn leaned close to Skarf. "I don't think this is the heroic entrance that Grady expected."

"I told him it was too dramatic," the thief agreed.

"I thought you'd be happy," Grady said to the sparse crowd.

"We are," Alfie explained. "You've done the town a great service, brave adventurers. Now, if you'd please remove that ghoul's head from my inn."

"Alright," the old adventurer reluctantly agreed. "Yammerish, remove the ghoul's head."

The wizard looked at the oozing mess on the floor in disgust. "Ummm, I don't think so."

"Oh, I'll do it," Farrwyn Aeweyns volunteered. Everyone squeamishly turned away as the elf bent down, retrieved the offending head from the floor, and nonchalantly removed it from the premises.

Some customers pushed their plates away, only partially eaten, as the undead head passed near their table. The elf disappeared outside for a few short moments before coming back inside. As he returned, he was wiping his hands on the front of his jerkin. The new smears blended in with the myriad of other stains that gave the leather a camouflaged appearance. Grady thought it looked intended, if it weren't for the smell.

"You're disgusting," the adventurer remarked in a jovial manner.

"Maybe, the next time, you'll pick an elven companion who fits your stereotype better," Farrwyn chided his leader.

"Funny," Grady replied. "What did you do with the ghoul's head."

The sylvan shrugged. "I tossed it into the street."

"Very nice."

Noting the sarcasm in Grady's voice, Farrwyn groaned, "What did you want me to do with it? You're the one who insisted on bringing that gristly trophy back to town."

"Forget it," the leader growled. "Any idea where Tink is?"

The elf pointed to a far table. There, occupied with a plate of cookies and a cup of milk, sat Tinker Gravelforge. This fierce warrior, who was the power behind his little company, was the same dwarf who ran screaming from the ghoul attack.

As Grady approached his friend, he could see that the dwarf kept watch of him out of the corner of his eye. When the leader stopped before him, Tink shifted in his seat while lowering the leg that he had been sitting on. The adventurer couldn't remember ever having seen the dwarf sitting like that before.

"So," Grady started, "having some cookies and milk, I see."

Tink nodded and continued munching. Crumbs trailed down his beard as he absently dunked the partially-eaten baked good in the cup of milk.

"What happened back there?"

The dwarf kept his eyes averted as he mumbled, "They were scary."

"Well, they were ghouls, after all. So, yes. You could call them scary, but that's no reason to run away."

"But, I didn't like them," he stammered, finally looking Grady in the eye.

The brave leader of the company was taken off guard by the sincere look in the gruff dwarf's eyes. They reflected an innocence that he had never noticed in the Tinker Gravelforge before. "I didn't think that there was anything that disturbed you, Tink."

His friend didn't respond, being more absorbed with selecting the next cookie off the plate. "Obviously," Grady continued, somewhat exasperated, "l stand corrected. Good talking to you."

As he sauntered over to the others, the adventurer puzzled over what had happened to the normally dependable dwarf. Grady had seen him face off against many formidable foes. Tink was the only member of his present company whom he had adventured with somewhat regularly. The others were just guys he had gotten to follow him, at the spur of the moment, back at the Grimacing Goblin Inn.

As he joined the others at the table, they were discussing what their next course of action should be. As a group, they decided to spend the rest of the day exploring the town and questioning the locals. That proved to be a practice in folly. Every person they encountered turned and fled indoors, barring their doors and drawing their window coverings.

As the semi-darkness began to deepen, they made their way back to the Lucky Traveler. The common room was nearly empty. The only people who were there were those whom Abra had informed the group lived nearby. The same fellow, who acted as a lookout previously, watched again as the sun slipped toward the horizon.

"These people live in fear of the night," Yammerish observed. "I saw that same villager watching the sun last evening."

"And, he warned the others when it was time to go," Farrwyn added.

"Who?" stammered Skarf.

"The man over..." As he noticed the thief squinting in the wrong direction, Yammerish gave an exasperated sigh. "Never mind."

Grady pushed his hair out of his eyes. "I saw him, too. Any minute, he'll-"

"Time to go, boys," the man announced and, without complaint, the villagers rose as one to exit the pub.

Grady rose and tried to intercept the group, who were already issuing out into the coming night. As the man who had given the warning was about to follow the others outside, a strong hand halted his progress. The villager whirled on him, his eyes wide with fright.

"Can I ask you a question, friend?" the adventurer asked.

In near panic, he chanced a glance at the setting light of day and, with a jerk of his shoulder, freed himself. "No!" he nearly cried. Before Grady could ask anything more, the man sprinted off.

"Don't mind him. Erik is just scared. That's all," Abra explained as she made sure the door was closed. For good measure, she dropped the wooden bar behind it, just in case. Before she turned back into the room, the serving-girl traced the evil eye symbol in the air before her.

"The people of Ravenholt are pretty superstitious," the leader observed.

"When that's the only thing that keeps the creatures of the night at bay, I'd say it is pretty powerful superstition."

Patting the sword on his hip, he said, "We have some pretty powerful magic of our own."

"Little good it'll do you against the likes of Count Dookula and his minions," she explained.

As a slight smirk crossed Grady's face, she went on. "I realize his name doesn't invoke dread but, as I've already told one of your band, he is utterly indestructible."

"I've heard," the adventurer assured her, "but we've killed plenty of indestructible creatures in the past. We aren't afraid of one Count Dookula."

"But, you should be," she promised, scanning the assembled company. "Your men look like they've all seen too many winters and, worse yet, the moon will be full tomorrow night."

As his eyes took on a look of confusion, she added, "That's when his werewolves will prowl the woods."

"Oh, the werewolves," he remembered.

Abra made to push past the adventurer. "You are the worst group of would-be heroes."

Grasping her arm, he spun her about. Alfie made to come around the bar but a menacing look from Grady stopped him in his tracks. "Listen, girl," he said in a low, even voice. "Until the young lady upstairs is fit for travel, we are all you got. We were all great fortune-hunters in our own time. We were dungeon-crawling before you were a glimmer in your mother's eye and will be far after this. Each one of us has seen things that would make you shiver under your blanket at night. Just because we haven't dealt with your particular monster, be assured that we can deal with this Count Dookula."

While he ranted, Abra relaxed in his grip. She looked up into his eyes and softly said, "I'm sorry. You truly are brave men. It's just been so long since we felt any form of hope. Please forgive me. I was wrong."

Just then, a blood-curdling scream sounded from outside. Grady started to draw his sword from its sheath when a soft hand stopped his movement. "It may be a ruse. They've done such things before to lure the unwary outside."

Just as his sword slid home again, another cry for help broke the night. Unable to help himself, Grady broke past the girl and, after throwing the bar free, stepped outside, sword in hand.

There was another sound, this time lower and gurgling. It gave the adventurer a sense of direction. "That way," he growled.

The five raced across the mud-slick street with Grady breaking away from the group. He noticed some motion to his right and followed it down a side alley. There, before him, was a dark form standing over a body.

The human form was a blur as it approached him. Grady barely got his sword up in time to parry the blows. He could hear his comrades rounding the corner as his dark attacker pressed him relentlessly, causing the big man to slip in the mud. His foe seemed not to be hindered by the slick surface and swooped toward his fallen enemy.

At the last moment, something intangible grabbed the leader and pulled him out of the way. An arrow slipped across the attacker's back, causing it to take notice of the elf. Uttering a curse, it bull-rushed Farrwyn, taking him down in a heap. With a single motion, it tore the sylvan's quiver from his back and tossed it off into the darkness.

Tinker Gravelforge swung his ax, trying to drive the slippery foe from his friend. He succeeded in scoring a nasty gash across what looked like a man's pale face. Wounded, the attacker stood before them and laughed.

"It's been a long time since someone has stood up to me," it said, not even breathing heavy. "Take my advice and leave this forsaken place."

In the dim light from windows and street lamps, Grady could make out their enemy. He was sure they faced Could Dookula. The defenders took this moment to regroup. "Yammerish," Grady whispered, "light him up!"

The wizard, with but a word, set a glowing sphere above the vampire. In the light, they all could see that the ax wound was healing before their eyes. Out of desperation, Grady rushed forward. At that same moment, Farrwyn rushed in from the other side, holding his scimitars. The vampire had been concentrating on Skarf during the brief respite. The thief leapt forward and encircled the elf's sagging waist, tackling him to the muddy ground.

Grady's sword bit deeply into the count's arm and, as it did so, he said, "Freeze!"

His elation turned to shock as Count Dookula turned his blood-red eyes on the adventurer and smiled. His hand grasped the adventurer's forearm and drew him near. "I am a creature of the negative plane, mortal. You can't freeze me. But, you are the first I've found in these parts who deserves the honor of becoming my minion."

Tinker rushed forward as Dookula's mouth opened for the killing bite. Before the fighter could get in range of an ax swing, a stream of water flew from Yammerish's fingers. The cone of water ripped into the vampire's flesh, causing him to reel back in pain. Grady, now free, hit the creature in the leg with a backhanded sword blow. It was weak but caused the count to rethink his position and, with a puff, become a gassy mist.

"Did we kill him?" Grady asked.

"I don't think so," Yammerish answered glumly.

"Get off of me, Skarf!" the elf demanded.

The thief, not knowing why he was wrestling in the mud with Farrwyn, untangled himself from his friend. The two, covered in muck, stood until the elf pushed his friend back down.

"What was that for?" Skarf spat.

The sylvan didn't dignify the question with an answer. He just started scraping the mud from his jerkin while ignoring the thief, who was presently feeling around for his spectacles. "Can someone give me a hand finding my glasses?"

Reluctantly, Farrwyn reached down and retrieved Skarf's glasses, half-submerged in the muck, while the three others inspected the body. Not wanting to leave the dead person in the street, they carried him back to the inn. Gravelforge repeated his tactics and negotiated entry into the building while promising to leave the door intact. As they brought the dead man inside, Alfie cried out, "Not another one!"

"What did you want us to do? Leave the poor man outside?" Tink asked as he and Grady hoisted the body onto a nearby table. "I recognize this man. He was the one keeping watch over the sun."

"That's Erik," the bartender identified the corpse. "He was one of our best customers. Abra, get Magda. We need to know if he will rise again."

"Should we find his loved ones?" Grady suggested.

"He had no one except us and a few other friends," Alfie solemnly muttered. "We were the nearest thing he had to family."

As the adventurers moved away from the man, Alfie looked at the floor for the first time. Huge clots of mud left a trail from the door to the table and then to where they now stood by the bar. "I'll have to bring some water up for a bath."

Chapter 10

After the Butt Kicking

Later that night, as the group sat at their table, they went over the events that had occurred earlier that evening. Having cleaned their gear, they now relaxed in linen shirts and breeches. Alfie and Abra had cleaned up the mess and draped a cloth over the unfortunate Erik. The scene was quite solemn. Being so, the company spoke in hushed tones.

"I won't mince words. We got our butts handed to us by someone called Count Dookula," said Grady.

"Well, he is, after all, a vampire," Farrwyn said sarcastically.

"I'm not really clear on what a vampire is," the dwarf admitted.

Alfie heard this while bringing drinks for the gang. "Everyone in this town is an expert on the subject, although few are willing to speak about it."

"Our wizard, here," Tink said, indicating Yammerish with a nod, "shot a cone of water at a vampire. After the spell expired, our leader, there, hit the thing with his sword. That's when it turned into a mist and floated off. Did we kill it?"

The bartender shook his head. "If only it was that easy. He probably went, what we call, gaseous. The water was a good thing, though. If the vampire is submerged in running water long enough, it will be destroyed. That is, if you can hold it, at all. They are very strong, if you haven't noticed."

Grady pushed up the sleeve of his linen shirt, revealing deep, purple bruising. Alfie leaned forward, examining the wound. "I understand his strength, but the funny thing was the cold emanating from his grasp."

"Vampires are creatures of the negative plane. They cannot be affected by the cold."

"How else can we destroy this Count Dookula?" Farrwyn asked.

Alfie scratched his jaw while he thought about it for a moment. "Sunlight is the easiest but also the hardest. The best way to do this is to find his casket and expose him while he rests."

"That sounds like a plan," Gravelforge boomed emphatically.

"You'd think so," the bartender agreed. "In the beginning, we sent a group of our men to do just that. What they found was a series of deadly traps. The one fellow who escaped died after he told us what had transpired. And, now, the Count has a band of werewolves prowling the grounds of his manor."

"And, he has probably raised more of his own kind, to boot," muttered Grady.

Abra, who had just joined the gathering, exchanged looks with Alfie. They held the look for a few moments, as if having some mental debate. Finally, the barmaid encouraged Alfie, "They should know. These strangers have rid us of the ghouls and I believe in their conviction. Maybe, it will help."

All eyes turned to the bartender, who heaved a sigh. "This is a good thing for our fallen friends, but the honest truth is that he didn't raise one of our number."

"None?!" several of the heroes gasped.

"Not a single one," Alfie emphasized by shaking his head. "He said we weren't worthy of his gift of immortality. He said we were beneath him."

Grady didn't tell the two what Dookula had said to him as he was in the vampire's grasp. He didn't want to make them feel any worse than they already did. It was the one mercy he could give the people of Ravenholt.

They spent nearly an hour asking questions and posing scenarios, but they gained no ground and no new ideas were found. They revisited all known ways to harm or slay vampires and it seemed like they had no elements of a plan. As Alfie and Abra went back to the bar to begin closing it down, the company debated what they were going to do.

"So," Tink asked Grady, "what's the plan?"

"Sharpen a bunch of stakes," the gruff adventurer said.

The taciturn dwarf frowned. "That's more of a plan than your last one. Get 'em"

Grady took the jab with a grimace. "We will do what all good adventurers do. Improvise. Listen, I know I dropped the ball back at the goblin cave but this is different. We don't know what this manor even looks like, let alone the layout. Skarf, are you up for disarming a series of deadly traps?"

"What?" the halfling said queried while pushing his thick spectacles further up on the bridge of his nose. The heavy eyewear was constantly sliding down, perpetually on the verge of falling off. If it weren't for his agile fingers, they would be on the ground far more often than on his face.

Looking at the bespectacled halfling, Farrwyn shook his head while mumbling sarcastically to himself, "That inspires so much confidence."

"Anyway," Grady continued. "Yammerish, what kind of offensive spells can you cast? Do you have anything that might hurt a vampire?"

The wizard looked sheepishly at his hands, which were folded on the table. He felt the weight of his companions' gaze as they waited for him to answer. After a long moment, he said, reluctantly, "None."

"None?" the four others chorused in an alarmed tone.

"None," Yammerish confirmed. "In my old age, I decided to lead a passive lifestyle."

Farrwyn shook his head, as if to make sense of the last comment. "What?! Isn't this your old age?"

"This is my older age. There's a difference." the wizard commented while he tried to fix his hair, which was a perpetual mess.
"Back in the goblin cave, when you said you didn't like harming anything, I took that as a joke."

"Well, it wasn't, and I was, and am, serious."

"Tell that to Count Dookula," Farrwyn cut in. "That water spell really tore him up."

"It was intended to knock him back. He was attacking my friend and I just wanted to stop him," Yammerish explained.

Grady raised his mug to order another ale, but neither Alfie nor Abra noticed him so, weakly, he gave up. "It wasn't intended to destroy the vampire but it might be our best weapon against him."

"I will not cause harm to any being," the mage explained, "no matter how loathsome that monster is."

The veteran leader sighed before admitting defeat. Being a warrior by trade, Grady didn't understand the mage's position on killing, but he admired Yammerish's convictions. He knew what it was like to hold unpopular views. The disappointment was evident on the faces of the others as they looked to Grady for direction.

"That's fine, but I hope, in the heat of battle, you will value the well-being of your brothers-in-arms over whatever is trying to kill them."

The whole group turned toward the stairway as Magda approached, the smile on her face giving advance notice of her good news.

"I checked in on the young lady," she reported. "I believe she's passed a critical point and is, possibly, going to survive."

"Now, there's a bit of sorely-needed, good news," Farrwyn chimed in. "When will she be ready to leave?"

Magda shrugged. "She will need a few days, at least. The girl has been through a lot and will need to recover her strength."

"Besides," Grady said pointedly to the elf, "we promised to help these poor people and I am not about to break that vow."

"We never vowed to do anything," Farrwyn corrected their leader.

Grady growled, "In my eyes, we did."

"Listen," the sylvan countered, trying a different perspective. "We just got our butts handed to us by a guy called Dookula. I would laugh at his name if he wasn't so powerful. We escaped because of a spell that our mage said he will not use again. You tell me how we are going to kill him. He was healing from our weapons' wounds right before our eyes."

Tinker Gravelforge raised his voice and slammed his fist on the table before him. All eyes turned toward him as he cleared his voice, preparing to speak. "We do what all good adventurers do. We use our wits. We've faced him now, so we know what we are up against. It should be a piece of cake. Tomorrow morning, we get prepared."

"And how do we do that?" Skarf inquired skeptically.

"You saw how he feared our elven friend's arrows. We sharpen some stakes," he answered.

Farrwyn shook his head. "This is just another reason why good adventurers always bring a cleric."

*****

The arthritic five spent the next afternoon readying themselves for that night, sharpening stakes and rehearsing the ways a vampire can be destroyed. Each of them, except for Yammerish, slid the stakes into their belts for easy access.

Abra gave them each a holy symbol, a small mirror, and a pouch containing some dried belladonna sprigs with explicit instructions to eat some if they got even the mildest scratch or bite from a werewolf. She explained that the cursed ones are at their best under a full moon, and that was going to happen tonight. Werewolves changed then, but they also roamed a few nights before and after the moon reached its fullness.

"I thought you said the herb was poisonous," Skarf remarked as she gave him his pouch.

She gave the thief a serious look through his thick glasses. "I did, but it is the only way you can possibly battle the curse. If it doesn't kill you, it may save you. Either way, it will be your only chance to avoid becoming one of them. And, here," she said as she handed him a small mirror. "This can be used to keep the vampire at bay."

"Thank you, Abra," Grady accepted. "These gifts will aid us greatly as we battle the foul vampire."

Chapter 11

Not the Best Laid Plan

That afternoon, as the company was about to leave, Alfie approached Farrwyn. "You know, I meant no disrespect the other night, right?"

The elf slowly nodded.

"Thank the gods. I have been too ashamed to broach the subject, because I thought it might be a sore one. I have something else that I just remembered, and one of your kind would be the one who could best use this information."

Farrwyn's eyes took on a dangerous look. "My kind?"

Alfie waved off the glare. "An elf. I know that your kind possess keener vision than the other races."

The sylvan looked over his shoulder at the approaching thief, his eyes huge behind his thick glasses, and immediately understood. "What should I be looking for, friend Alfie?"

"Bats. Vampires can change into bats at will. Keep your eyes to the sky, and if you see one, it could be Count Dookula."

"Thank you," Farrwyn acknowledged.

"And, rats," the bartender remembered. "They can command rats."

"Bats and rats," the elf nodded. "So, you are telling me to look both up and down."

Alfie nodded, a bit embarrassed.

"I will heed your sage advice," Farrwyn assured him. "Thank you, once again."

As the company finished their preparations, Grady went upstairs to check on Penelope. He was happy to report that she had regained consciousness well enough to take some water before falling back asleep. Magda felt that, with a little time, she would make a full recovery. She was so confident in this, she was considering ending her vigil briefly to visit a recent widow who was dealing with a colicky child.

The old warrior was very relieved by the good news. In fact, he was hoping to wrap up this whole vampire thing tonight so they could possibly rent a wagon and make for Greymoor in the morning. After reporting this to his fellow adventurers, they shouldered their equipment a little easier with the thought that this journey was nearly over.

This day was just like the previous one, gray and gloomy. The overcast sky blocked much of the light from reaching the ground.

"Why would anyone want to build a town in this dismal place?" Tinker mused as they walked through town.

"The weather here was not natural," Yammerish informed him. "I could feel the foul spell in the air."

"That makes sense," the dwarf affirmed. "This place seems to be under a perpetual gray sky. I've never seen the likes of this before, but you speak as if it is over."

"It's almost like a localized spell was being cast to benefit the vampire and his minions. I believe the spell has been interrupted and the sky will soon clear. I understand something similar was being used during the battle at Dunn Moor Keep. I wonder if Count Dookula is also a mage of some renown."

"That would be just our luck," Grady cursed. "What are you smiling about, Farrwyn?"

The elf didn't try to hide his grin. "I just can't get past the vampire's silly name. Dookula. It doesn't exactly inspire fear in his enemies."

"When we meet him again, be sure to explain that to him. I'm sure he will be happy to explain how he came by it."

The company traveled south again, skirting the graveyard where they encountered the ghouls. Tinker Gravelforge paused for a moment out of respect for Emmy. Although the pyre had burned down completely, the damp wood still smoldered, giving off a smoky scent.

Skarf took a moment to remove a dirty rag from his belt. After wiping the fog from his glasses, he inspected their clarity. "This blasted, damp weather keeps steaming up my spectacles. I just can't keep them clean," he muttered to himself as he replaced them on his face for what seemed the hundredth time. Then, he took the same cloth and blew his nose. After inspecting the snot, he shoved it back in his belt.

Grady grimaced in disgust at the thief's actions but decided to say nothing. The little halfling had enough problems without having something small like this pointed out.

In fact, the team he had assembled back at the Grimacing Goblin Inn had its troubles. The thief had a major vision problem. Back in the goblin caves, he had almost caught a dagger in his head, but the ill-aimed missile had luckily just missed his ear. Then, there was the wizard. He had spent the first part of the rescue visibly intoxicated and recently revealed that he didn't believe in killing anything, even the undead. The elf was out of shape, yet dependable, but Tinker Gravelforge was acting oddly. The normally fearless dwarf had run away from battling the ghouls and was later found having cookies and milk at the inn.

Heaving a sigh while pushing his hair back from his face, Grady got the group moving, once again. These are the men he had, so they would have to do. His honor bound him to help the poor people of Ravenholt, as he and his men were the only hope they had. He couldn't leave them in the hands of something as evil as a vampire and his pack of werewolves, whatever they were.

"How far is this manor?" Farrwyn wondered. He looked weary already as sweat beaded on his forehead.

None of his crew slept well. They had been confined to two rooms, which made sleeping a challenge, and with the knowledge that Count Dookula was prowling about each night, it made it that much more difficult to rest. The general atmosphere of fear permeating the town also added to the unease of their slumber.

Assessing the condition of his group, Grady decided to take a break. He knew there was little daylight left, but if they refreshed themselves, they would be better equipped for whatever challenges they would meet. "Break out some rations and eat what you can. I believe we are close, so we might not get a chance to eat again for a long while."

After their brief respite, they got back to their feet and shouldered their much-worn packs. He would have loved to have rested longer but the clouds had cleared somewhat, making the rising moon visible through the breaking clouds. "It's nearly dark," Grady said, stating the obvious. "Be on your guard."

The men walked for a little over a mile when they came upon a tall, ornate, iron fence. A few hundred yards to the right was an arched opening. In front of the closed gate was a black cat, it hissed at the intruders, as if to warn them off with its ferocity.

"Awe. Isn't he cute," Tink remarked as he approached the feline. When his boots stomped within feet from the agitated cat, it sprang off through the gate's bars, disappearing into the fog that shrouded the manor. As the darkness claimed the day, the moon could be seen in its fullness. Only stray clouds were drifting lazily across the face of the cold orb, its light washing any color from all it illuminated.

Farrwyn pointed to the moon. "A bat!"

"So, it's a bat. They never come out at night," Yammerish stated sarcastically.

"Back at the inn, Alfie explained that Count Dookula could assume such a form," the sylvan chided. Just as he finished speaking, a wolf howled in the distance.

"And, I believe that is one of those werewolves we were warned about," the wizard assumed.

Several others joined the first in a chilling chorus. "More than one," added the elf. "I think he brought some friends."

"Well, let's get this show on the road," Grady urged. Looking down, he noticed a chain with a thick padlock securing it. "Skarf, the lock, if you will."

As the halfling knelt in front of the gate, the howling drew nearer. Grady looked inside the gate for what sounded like a rapidly approaching threat. His hand reached for Frostbite, hanging in the sheath at his hip. His fingers became entwined with some others, calloused and strong. Slowly dropping his gaze, he saw that they belonged to the dwarf, Gravelforge.

"What are you doing?!" demanded the grizzled leader while swatting the offending hand aside.

The dwarf looked up into the big man's eyes. His own were wide and his lower lip trembled. "I'm scared."

He stared for a moment in disbelief, not understanding his long-time friend's behavior. They had battled countless foes, but he had never witnessed him fearing anything.

"It's open!" Skarf exclaimed proudly.

"Here they come!" the elf warned, drawing Grady's attention back to the gate.

In the distance, he could see several forms approaching rapidly. "Put the lock back in place!"

"What?" the thief replied, turning in shock. His pupils, exaggerated in the low light, looked huge due to the distortion made by his glasses. "I just got it off."

"Put it back on! We can stop them at the gate and cut them to shreds."

"Oh, bother. I wish you would make up your mind," the thief muttered as he made to retrieve the chain and lock from where he'd dropped them. As he bent at the waist, his glasses fell off, effectively blinding the halfling. "Drat. I lost my glasses."

The lycanthropes were quickly covering the ground, bearing down on the company's position. Yammerish, who was nearest to Skarf, dropped to his knees and snatched up the lock and chain. As he fed the chain through the fence, he could see the creatures' golden eyes, full of malice as they barreled on ahead.

Mere seconds from the gate, the lead werewolf gave a frightening snarl, but at that same instant, the wizard slipped the shackle into the lock's body. As the toe clicked in place, Yammerish pushed himself backward, knocking the thief and himself clear of the grasping claws of the cursed creature. His escape was so narrow that he felt the claw of the creature graze his left index finger. It was so slight that he didn't notice the drop of blood as it rose, only to be covered as he used both hands to break his fall in the mud.

"Got 'em!" Skarf cried triumphantly while slipping the muck-covered spectacles on his face. "What did I miss?"

When the werewolf impacted with the gate, the iron bars shuttered with the force of the collision. The monster staggered back but quickly recovered and launched itself forward, reaching both arms and its snapping snout through the bars' openings toward the two.

Tink broke into a panic-filled sprint eastward along the fence as the werewolves all pawed at their prey through openings in the bars. Farrwyn shot some arrows through from his side and the lycanthropes howled in frustration, but the mundane missiles didn't appear to damage the monsters. They just seemed to annoy the creatures and heighten their frenzy.

The six werewolves tried to climb over the iron walls, but the barrier seemed like it was designed to keep them in, not intruders out. They jumped and clawed at the bars but could not get enough purchase to get up and over the barrier. All the while, the adventurers were studying their opponents.

They were human-sized and walked on two feet. When they ran, the beasts loped along on all fours. Naked, they were covered with fur, with large, wolf-like heads. They also possessed neither armor nor weapons.

In the distance, a larger werewolf stalked back and forth, pacing in what looked like frustration. As his pack was stymied at the barrier, he let out a long howl and ran to the west on his side. The others heeded his call and rapidly followed in his wake.

"They're giving up," Skarf deduced, mud still clinging to his glasses.

"No," Grady remarked. "I think they are circling around. There must be another opening down that way. We need to find a more defensible place to fight them."

At his words, they started running, each scanning the area before them for favorable ground battle. The full moon gave them a good view as they flew along the fence but the terrain offered no places where they had an advantage. Their pursuers' howls were no longer distant. They must have found a way around and were gaining rapidly.

As the fence turned south, the company had to make a decision. They could continue east or put their backs to the fence and defend themselves from three sides. Grady wisely chose the former as anything could attack them from through the bars if they chose the latter.

The werewolves were gaining rapidly. They could hear the growls and occasional snapping of teeth almost behind them. The whole time, the scattered trees caused horrifying silhouettes towering before them. The full moon cast them in stark contrast to the bright sky.

On a small rise, Farrwyn spied several stones forming a circle of some type. It was some distance away but, with luck, it would be close enough. Chancing a look over his shoulder, he could tell that they weren't going to make it.

Two forms, one human-sized and the other short, like a dwarf, appeared inside the circle. The smaller of the two rushed forward toward the group while brandishing an ax. To the elf, it looked like Tink. "The werewolves will run us down before we make it to the stones."

"Everyone, make for the stone defense," Grady said between gasps for air. He was still running but he kept an eye on the monsters as they closed the distance. The aged adventurer drew Frostbite from its sheath and readied himself for the last stand. "I'll hold them here. I'm tired of running, anyway."

As Grady faced the onslaught of monsters, he continued walking backward. Farrwyn kept beside him as he drew his scimitars, keeping pace with his leader. When the werewolves were right in front of him, Grady spun and called forth a blast of cold from his weapon. It was like a cone, catching two of the foul beasts in its swirling, icy gust. The ones that he hit yelped before dropping to the ground.

As the remaining three hurtled at the two, Farrwyn stepped to the fore. Twin blades spun in a dizzying pattern, scoring deep wounds. As he kept them at bay, Grady slashed his blade at another. When he felt the edge bite into the creature's flesh, he growled, "Freeze." The magic in Frostbite immediately caused the werewolf to turn into ice.

Farrwyn was still engaged with his enemies as Grady turned on one of the remaining werewolves. The other was slinking around the elf as Tinker Gravelforge crashed into it. The impact of his shoulder smashing into the monster's hip sent it tumbling away. Rolling to its feet, the dwarf's ax bit deeply into the arm of the much larger foe.

Although the werewolves were bloodied, their wounds seemed to close at an alarming rate. The two Grady had hit with the blast of cold were also shaking off the effects of the magic. As the three kept hacking, more howls could be heard approaching from the distance. Soon, they would be overwhelmed.

Suddenly, the six werewolves were hurled into the air by some invisible force. They crashed into a distant tree where some hung wounded from the bare branches while a few dropped to the ground.

"Run!" yelled Yammerish. The three didn't have to be told twice as they raced for the stone circle.

The werewolves were quick to follow and were nearly upon them as they made it inside. The company took a defensive posture behind the stones as the monsters prowled just outside, growling and snapping their maws in frustration.

Yammerish dropped to the ground and promptly emptied his stomach. Skarf bent to help his friend back up but the wizard, after his initial bout of sickness, waved the halfling off and scrambled to the relative safety of the nearest stone.

"They aren't coming in!" Farrwyn wheezed.

"And they won't," said a voice from the center of the ring of stones. "My god, Mordane, made a protective barrier from evil here. They have no power inside the spell."

In the center stood a youthful-looking woman. She pushed back her hood, revealing red hair that was pulled into a braid.

"My friends," Tink announced, "this is Castor."

Farrwyn shook his head and chuckled. Grady caught the motion and asked, "What?"

"We come all the way out here, battle a vampire, ghouls, and werewolves, and finally, we find a cleric."

Chapter 12

In Need of a Friend

A lone figure stalked about his subterranean crypt, fuming at the events that had just transpired. Too proud to vent his frustration, Count Dookula paced about his resting place, barely keeping his rage in check.

"They failed me!" he spat, a grimace tainting his perfect face. "It's so hard to find good help out here."

He had just withstood an assault from one group, who made it all the way to his casket, when these others came out of nowhere and tried the same thing. The first group had dismantled the traps he had set by a thief he employed. Thinking of the human, he remembered how he had deceived the simpleton. She was delicious but, obviously, her skills were lacking.

Dookula was a particular sort. Not wanting to initiate just anyone into his clan, he lead a lonely existence. At first, he didn't mind spending the years alone, but to a vampire, time passed very slowly.

That's when the vampire remembered the human he had faced the other night. The man with the enchanted blade seemed an acceptable subject. His advanced years, and just the fact that he was a leader, meant that he might be an interesting conversationalist. At least, he couldn't be any duller than these townspeople.

The old vampire smiled at the prospect of having someone to talk to, not an equal, but a subordinate to him. It would be pleasing to have a companion who wasn't a lackey, like those lycanthropes were.

His mind turned from this train of thought. Before he could go forth from the manor that night, he had some work to do. He needed some new defenses and was fresh out of thieves. Then, something occurred to him. Traps didn't necessarily have to be set by thieves.

Count Dookula was once a budding wizard. The only spell he had used in quite a while, however, made the gloom. He hadn't used any other magic in ages. The lack of practice didn't make him any less of a mage. Turning himself into a bat, he flapped his way to the top floor of the manor. Once there, he reformed himself and found his old trunk, inside of which were some remembrances of his past life.

"Oh, Dookula, you old softy," he chided himself. "You are such a sentimental fool."

Directly on top of his old belongings sat his long-forgotten spellbook, probably the only useful thing in the trunk. The rest of it was rubbish, remnants from a mortal life now stuffed in a dusty, old box.

Leafing through the pages, he lamented about how careful he had been when he had written each spell out, how carefully he detailed each process, being sure to get it right. Every gesture and each semantic was painstakingly recorded along with any symbols or components. With each notation in the book, he felt his power grown as a wizard, but now, the precious spellbook lay forgotten.

The moment he was raised as a vampire, he knew that his former, mortal life had been a joke. He now knew that the power he sought through magic was a fool's errand. True power was his to command, now that he would live forever.

Leafing through the brittle pages, he sought something he could use to safeguard his coffin. He eventually found the spell he was looking for. With an evil smile, he memorized the strange language. It would be perfect.

Chapter 13

Finally, a Cleric

"There was little time and I didn't see a cleric at the bar," Grady exclaimed in a high-pitched, pleading voice.

Farrwyn grinned and shook his head. "That's a likely excuse."

"Men," Castor cut in. She casually ignored two werewolves who tore at the ground mere feet from where she stood. "Let's get to more important matters. What are you doing out here at night? These are very dangerous lands for a casual, evening stroll."

"We are off to rid the town of Ravenholt of the foul hold Count Dookula has on it," Grady intoned.

Farrwyn placed a hand on his shoulder. "That was a flowery way of saying we are hunting a vampire."

"I said it like an elf would," the leader chided, much to the chagrin of his companion.

"And, you decided to confront him and his werewolf minions at night and under a full moon, to boot?"

"Well, we never said it was a sound plan," Grady admitted. His eyes strayed to the agitated monsters as they circled the perimeter of the ancient stone circle. The adventurer didn't trust the magic barrier to keep them safe.

"Neither was 'Get'em'," Tink chimed in.

As Grady glared at the dwarf, he continued, "We were told his manor is loaded with traps, so we wanted to confront him outside."

"We opted for the daylight assault," Castor admitted. "That proved to be a fatal folly."

As the cleric's eyes lost focus, Grady softly prodded, "What happened?"

Before speaking, her eyes strayed to the werewolves, which were prowling in the distance. They were visibly frustrated but, with the shield spell in place, all they could do was keep their distance and wait for someone to come outside.

"We were trying to destroy the count as he slept. He is weakest during the day, as he returns to his casket at that time."

"He sleeps in a casket?" Farrwyn wondered aloud.

Castor paused. "This is the first time you have heard of vampires, isn't it?"

The whole group nodded as one.

"He has a crypt in the basement of his manor," she explained.

"The people of Ravenholt sent their best adventurers to Count Dookula's manor to destroy the evil one as he slumbered the day away. I have to admit that I didn't know many who were sent but, in some ways, that's better for me. They all perished, except for one, who died after returning to town and telling his tale.

"As their cleric, I felt the immense responsibility of finding a new party to make another attempt. I went to the surrounding towns and gathered the best heroes I could find. My party was experienced and well-equipped. Unlike yours, we also included women."

"That isn't my fault," Grady interrupted. "There were no women at the tavern when I recruited our company."

Farrwyn, eyes tracking the frustrated werewolves as they began to disappear into the tree line, said, " Chase was there?"

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Grady growled, "Just get on with your story, Castor."

"We hit his manor at dawn, or at least what passes for dawn in these parts, and were immediately confronted by his minions. These invisible creatures tore at us while other, human servants cut down our numbers, but a few of us made it to the lower chambers.

"I had enlisted the help of two skilled thieves, who spent hours destroying his traps, but in the end, each made a single, fatal mistake. One took a poison dart as he slipped. The foul venom was too fast-acting for me to counteract. The other didn't see a pressure plate that dropped a living mass of what looked like black tar onto her. As we tried to free her, she perished from what seemed like acid inside the writhing mass. The wizard threw fire at the thing, burning it, as well as our companion, who had been partially dissolved within it.

"We were just inside the crypt at that point and could see the coffin before us. Exhausted and with little magic left, we couldn't pass up the chance to destroy the vampire, once and for all. Banon, the wizard, and I both agreed to finish what we started, knowing that this opportunity might not present itself again.

"We had no idea how long we had spent getting this far, but as we were about to move forward, the top of the coffin lifted and a bat flapped out. We knew then that we were too late. Night had fallen and Count Dookula was awake, so our only recourse was to run.

"We raced through the lower level, heedless of all danger, and made our way to the main floor. I chanced a look over my shoulder and that same bat was following us through the halls, where our fallen comrades lay mixed with our enemies. All during our desperate flight, we knew we were followed. We could feel his eyes on our backs.

"Once outside, we made for the far gate, but a chorus of howls erupted ahead. We wheeled to the east as lycan paws pounded the ground behind us. The werewolves were hunting us and we had little fight left, so we ran for our lives through the gloomy night.

"The next thing we knew, we were surrounded. The lycans had cut us off and formed a circle, which was slowly closing in. The two of us stood back-to-back, preparing for our last stand. Suddenly, the monsters stopped tightening their circle. They held their ground, snapping their teeth and pawing the turf at their feet. A bat flew in behind the werewolf ranks. As it flapped near the ground, it transformed into the vampire. Count Dookula had arrived.

"As he slowly walked forward, the lycans parted, giving way to their leader. Eyes burning with malice, he leisurely covered the distance between us. I think he was enjoying our terror, toying with us. As this was happening, I heard the wizard at my back muttering the strange words of a spell. I turned away from the approaching horror and looked to Banon. His eyes were so tired and sad. As he looked into mine, he ended his spell and sent me here, inside this circle of stones.

"I could hear the lycans howling in the distance and knew they'd be searching for me. I knew I wasn't safe, but had nowhere else to go and no spells left.

"Dropping to my knees, I beseeched Mordane, my goddess, for her protection. I thought I heard her soft, soothing words on the wind. They were assuring, comforting. She said to stay here and regain my strength, to wait here for help and not to refuse any aid, however unlikely, along the way. Then, I fell asleep."

Yammerish seemed perplexed. "Why didn't Banon come with you?"

"I think he was spent. He had thrown a lot of spells and he only had the power to send one of us here."

"He was a brave man," Grady breathed.

"He was," Castor agreed. "You must be the ones Mordane spoke of."

As she looked at the men assembled before her, her resolve wavered. They weren't much to look at. Old and battered, they didn't seem like the heroes of legend.

"At least, the weather has broken," Castor mused, changing the subject.

Yammerish spoke up. "I believe we had something to do with that. You see, after we defeated the vampire back at Ravenholt, the weather soon cleared up. I think he was the one causing the eternal gloom."

"What he means to say is that we damaged him. We didn't defeat him, but we really hurt him," Grady further explained.

His words sparked hope in the cleric. "That is great news. You could be right about the weather. Well done, brave adventurers. How are things in Ravenholt?"

"The people are in a state of despair," Farrwyn started before explaining the events they had witnessed in the cursed town. As he told the tale, the others nodded and filled in gaps in his story.

When they had finished, Castor still had a curious look. "What brought you to Ravenholt in the first place?"

"We were returning from rescuing a noblewoman who was kidnapped by goblins," Grady explained. "We lost our way in the rain and wound up in that town. We felt ourselves fortunate because they offered us help. You see, the young lady suffered grave injuries and was unconscious the whole time."

Castor chewed her lip as she considered this news. "I suppose Magda is attending to her?"

"She is, but we are still worried. She spent days unconscious and has only awakened enough to take some water before falling back to sleep."

"No food the whole time, you say?" the cleric probed. "I don't want to delay trying another assault on the manor."

While the grizzled adventurer confirmed the question with a nod, Skarf urged him, "Tell her who the girl is. She's a cleric. She will keep our confidence."

Grady shot the thief a sharp look, but the silly-looking halfling had a point. "The woman who is injured is Princess Penelope of Greymoor."

"The only heir to the throne?" Castor asked in shock.

"The very same."

The cleric chewed her lip again. "That complicates things. Let me think about it. I can offer little comfort here on this soggy ground, but take heart, we are safe inside the ring."

The werewolves' howls were now distant, either disinterested in the out-of-reach prey or setting a trap. The companions didn't care. They shared cold rations with their new cleric friend and huddled together against the cold.

Chapter 14

Penelope

Penelope lay quiet and still, trying to discern where she was and if she was alone. Afraid to reveal that she had awakened, the princess maintained a soft pattern of breathing, mimicking sleep. Behind her, the only sound was a soft, rhythmic, clicking noise.

She could smell food and wondered if it was for her. Was she a prisoner of some sort? Fortunately, what the young woman could see in the late afternoon light contradicted that theory.

Twin doors stood open, leading to a balcony. This opening illuminated the room and let a gentle breeze touch her face. The bed was fresh, as were the bandages covering aching areas on her exposed arm. Thin white curtains on either side of the glass doors stirred within the soft wind, sending the odd scent of the herbs strung all along the opening.

Looking closer, the princess noticed odd glyphs drawn behind the herbs. They seemed familiar, yet odd, in what was her small view of the room. The clicking noise continued, unceasing in the background. It sounded familiar, as well, in this alien place.

Closing her eyes, she tried to piece together fragments of her recent memories. Chains, thick and heavy, bound her to the goblin king. Suddenly, there was a commotion and the cave erupted into chaos. As she was being drawn to the leader of the goblins, others of his kind flew into action. One of them crashed into her and she saw stars before everything went black.

The next thing she remembered was being strapped to something and dragged through a downpour. Cold seeped into her bones. Even swaddled in soaked blankets, she shivered from the chill and damp. The princess tried to speak, but the effort made her dizzy and she swooned from the effort.

The rest of her memories were a blur. Unfamiliar faces gave her concerned looks while tending to her. Giving her water from an earthenware mug, a woman tried to draw her to consciousness. Speaking in whispers, she forced some foul-tasting brew down her throat. Each time, Penelope lapsed back to sleep, the bitter taste still on her tongue.

"I know you are awake," came a voice from the other side of the room. She tried to ignore it, closing her eyes tightly, but the woman soothed, "There is food on the table beside you. Roll over. Why don't you eat something?"

Her ruse had been seen through so Penelope did as she was bidden. "How did you know that I was awake?"

The middle-aged woman set her knitting aside and explained, "I've been watching you sleep for days. Your breathing changed. That, and you snore."

"I do not!" the princess cried defensively.

"It wasn't like a man snores," the woman assured the girl. "It was sort of cute."

Penelope felt an odd pressure on her head. Reaching up, she felt the bandage. "What have you done to me?"

"I saved your life," the woman assured her while she arched her right brow, "but if you don't take your hand away from that poultice, I'll put you across my knee."

Jerking her hand away from the wrap, she sat upright. Immediately, the room began to spin, forcing her back down.

Magda rose, moving toward the princess. As she approached, she offered, "My name is Magda and I am a healer. Here, let me help you sit up so you can eat some soup."

"I remember seeing you tending to me," the girl responded as the two brought her slowly forward into a sitting position. As they did so, the blanket slid down to her lap. Looking down, she noticed the simple dress and frowned. Her look wasn't lost on the healer.

"Your fancy dress was ruined, so we did the best we could on such short notice."

Penelope tried to hide her displeasure with the old garment. It was unlike anything she had ever worn. As a princess, she had only been provided the highest fashion. She had also never dressed herself, having servants and handmaidens always on hand for such things. She hated having to allow others to do even the simplest task for her. She longed for a simpler life, but her father always reminded her of her royal duties, something she had recently rebelled against.

The healer tried to spoon some of the thin soup into her mouth, but she gently took the utensil from the woman and fed herself. It was mostly broth with a few vegetables and some shredded chicken mixed in yet, to her, it was delicious.

Satisfied that her patient was eating, Magda went to the balcony doors. "Night is falling. It wouldn't do to have these doors open."

As the healer closed and secured the glass-paneled doors, the princess noticed a knife on her tray. Checking to see that the woman was distracted, she snuck the knife and hid it deep under the covers. Returning to her food, Penelope ate it all, tipping the bowl in a most undignified way to drain the remainder in a long gulp.

"That wasn't lady-like," Magda remarked.

"Excuse me?" she asked, shocked. The princess wasn't so sure that she wanted anyone to know who she was.

The healer smiled mockingly. "Draining the bowl like that was more a man's gesture than a woman's. I'll forgive that because you were probably very hungry, having not eaten for days."

Relieved, the young woman set the bowl back on the tray. "I couldn't help myself. It was very good."

"I'll tell Alfie," Magda remarked. "It'll be the first time anyone has ever said that his soup was good. I always felt it was too thin. Now, drink this tea. It will make you sleep some more."

Penelope looked at the mug warily.

"You need more rest, child. After breakfast, I'll see how well a little walk would suit you."

Reluctantly, the princess took the mug, wrinkling her nose at the bitter smell.

"Drink it all," the herbalist encouraged her.

Tilting the mug, she gulped the foul concoction in a few hurried swallows. As she handed the mug back to Magda, she grimaced.

"Good," the healer encouraged, placing the earthenware mug on the platter. "I have a few more patients to see before I'm finished for the night. Just stay here and sleep. I'll check back in on you in the morning."

Magda picked up the tray and left. The princess pulled the knife out and considered it. Did she really need the blade? The healer seemed to be friendly enough. She didn't feel in any danger. Penelope sat there for a few more minutes before the effects of the tea started to make her woozy. It wasn't a feeling like being drugged, but it was enough to relax her back to sleep. Slipping back into a prone position, she held the knife for a moment longer before setting it on the table near the balcony doors. She felt safe as she snuggled under the warm, feather tick.

She actually felt safer than she did at the palace. Even though she had guards who shadowed her every move, there was an ever-present threat lurking in the shadows. Penelope was the only heir to the throne and, being so, she had to always be on the alert. Every bite of food could be poisoned. An assassin could be around every corner. That was her life, and a stressful existence, it was.

She opened her weary eyes and let them wander about the room in her immediate view. Here, no one knew who she was. That lack of knowledge was safety.

As those last thoughts lingered, a full moon peeked out from behind the scattered clouds. The curtains that Magda had closed after securing the doors diffused the light it cast. Dark images slid across the curtains, indicating the clouds as they blocked out the bright moonbeams.

The elixir that she had drunk made her very relaxed. Her eyes heavy, they slid closed. Only a sudden sound, a flapping noise, caused her eyes to open, once again. She thought she saw some small creature transform into a person out on the balcony. Thinking that the tea was a bit too strong, Penelope snuggled her face deeper into the pillow.

A whispering sound tickled her ear, pulling the princess back awake. It seemed to promise sweet things if she would just get out of bed. Softly prompting her to obey, she rose as if in a dream.

She could see the distorted shadow of a person just beyond the curtain, its form unmoving as it beckoned her forward. The herbs from the earthenware mug clouded her thoughts as she pulled the cloth open to one side. A man stood just outside, his red eyes aglow. What should have startled Penelope, didn't. It was like being in a dream.

Her balcony was on the second floor, yet she didn't notice that, so absorbed by the strange man and his hypnotic eyes. She couldn't look away. His hold over her was all she wanted; all she desired. All the while, the whispers never ceased. They grew stronger and more demanding.

"Open the door," they demanded.

Woodenly, the princess did as she was asked.

"Invite me inside."

Her words came out as softly as the ones she heard. Slowly, she did as she was told. "Come inside."

Count Dookula stepped over the threshold and up to the entranced, young woman. Even with bandages and bruises, the vampire could tell that she was a rare beauty. Her nightgown fell to mid-calf, revealing shapely legs. What he could see of her blonde locks fell like silk past her shoulders.

As he swept her up in an intimate embrace, Dookula knew she was much more than a casual meal. She was exquisite. It was wrong for her to have been treated so roughly.

As he kissed her, he could feel the inviting warmth of her mouth. Her lips eagerly kissed him back, not merely yielding to his but pushing back fiercely at him. After a few moments, he broke the embrace and stepped back. He wanted to look, once again, at this young woman. As he did so, she let out a whimper, seemingly agonized by his release.

It was then he realized he found the woman he had been looking for. This beautiful woman would be his bride.

Chapter 15

Who Got the Girl

The adventurers slept on the cold, wet ground. Their bedrolls absorbed the moisture from beneath them, chilling the old men to the bone. As the sun illuminated a cheery sky, they rose slowly and began milling about while still wrapped in their blankets.

The old men complained as they stomped around the stone circle trying to loosen their stiffened joints. It had been better at The Lucky Traveler Inn. It was warm and the beds were much softer than the ground. For some of the group, the inn was much better than where they typically stayed while in Greymoor. The only one in the group who seemed unaffected by his advanced age was Yammerish. He seemed to shrug off the cold, altogether.

Once again, everyone shared some of their rations with Castor. While they ate their cold meal, she was asked if she had come to some sort of decision concerning their next course of action.

"I have," she said after swallowing a mouthful of food. "As much as I would like to make straight for the manor, the king's daughter needs my care, so my choice is clear. I need to check on the princess and offer any aid within my power."

Grady was somewhat relieved that Penelope would finally have a cleric's power to get her past any ill effects of her injuries. He feared that the simple herbalist wouldn't be enough to heal her of her most dire wounds. Even though he had received promising news of her condition yesterday, he was happier now that magical healing was at hand.

The experienced leader had another reason to want to return to Ravenholt. When the company had stormed the goblin cave, they didn't have a plan. He felt that, once there, he would just wing it. Count Dookula was a much more powerful foe. He had given his men a good run for their money, almost killing them outright. They had to come up with something to tip the scales in their favor.

"Anybody want my biscuit?" Yammerish asked as he held it up.

After a moment, Tink spoke up. "What's wrong with it?"

"It tastes funny. I only took one bite out of it."

Snatching the biscuit out of the wizard's hand, the dwarf bit off a large chunk. Crumbs gathered in his beard as he chomped away. "Tastes ok to me," he said as he chewed.

The group finished their breakfast and shouldered their packs. Turning northward, they headed back toward town. As the companions walked along, Farrwyn moved out ahead to scout the best paths. Tink and Grady took up a rearguard position. At the leader's prompting, the two slowed, giving the others some distance so they could talk.

"Tink, I have known you for many years and we have fought together countless times. Is there something wrong with you?"

The dwarf looked sheepishly at the other but didn't respond.

"Please, tell me what is happening to you."

Grady watched as his friend struggled with something. Looking at the road before them, he admitted, "There is something wrong. You may not believe it, though."

"After all the strange things we've come across in our travels, I think I can believe anything."

The dwarf heaved a sigh. Kicking a stone, he uttered, "Do you remember Emmy?"

As Grady nodded, the diminutive warrior continued. "As I held her when she passed, I felt a strange warmth pass into me. I had this odd sensation that I was not alone, that she somehow joined with me."

"The passing of someone you cared for, even briefly, can affect you. You can't let your grief consume you so much. It is endangering you and your companions."

"You don't understand," Gravelforge groaned, shaking his head. "I believe Emmy's spirit is now a part of me. She's inside of me. When something scares her, she takes over and I run and hide. I have to struggle to free myself of her grip."

Grady placed a comforting hand on Tinker's shoulder. "Maybe, our new cleric friend can do something about it. She could free you of the little one's spirit."

"You mean to have Castor exorcise little Emmy. I'm not so sure that I want that. As she died, I gave her my word that I would protect her. It's nice to have something so sweet as a part of me."

"But, we need you," the man reasoned.

"So did she," Tink shot back, "and I let her down. I don't want to do that again."

Grady pushed his hair back from his forehead. "Then, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. Please keep this between us. Don't tell the others."

"It is our secret for now," the adventurer assured him, "but you have to come to a decision soon. What if it endangers someone else?"

"Agreed," the dwarf said, looking at his old friend.

"Now, can you do me a favor?" Grady asked. As Gravelforge nodded, he asked, "Can you take that flower out of your hair? It isn't befitting the formidable fighter we all know."

The dwarf gave his friend a confused look. Grady responded by gesturing to Tinker's left ear. As the small fighter reached up, he withdrew a flower from his hair. He groaned as he tossed it to the ground.

After two rest breaks, the travelers reached Ravenholt. The day was pleasant and had passed uneventfully. As they went through the door to the Lucky Traveler Inn, Abra rushed up to them.

"She's gone!" she urgently informed them.

"Who?" Skarf asked, just as quickly.

The serving-girl frowned. "The girl you brought here."

"You let her leave?!" Grady cried.

"No. She just disappeared."

Grady bolted for the stairs, his companions at his heels. He flew up the flight, taking two at a time in his rush. The girl's door was standing open.

Her room was just as he had seen it last. A knife sat on the table beside the bed and the balcony doors stood open. Abra pushed her way through the gawking crowd to his side. "I came up here to see if she wanted to come downstairs for breakfast and I found the room just as it is now. She was just gone."

The adventurer stepped out onto the balcony and looked around. There was no obvious way for anyone to get up there, let alone down. Someone, or something, would have had to fly. "Could it have been Dookula?"

"That would have required an invitation to come inside." Magda said she closed the door and curtains and had given the girl a sleeping elixir."

"Where is Magda now?"

"One of the local farmer's wives is delivering a child this morning and called on the healer for help," she explained. "Your friend couldn't have just run away. She's too fragile to do such a thing."

Farrwyn pointed to the table. "If she ran off, she would have taken the knife."

"Can you track her?" the leader prompted the elf.

"No. There are too many people who use the streets below."

"Besides," Abra added, "it will be dark in a few hours. It would be suicide to go wandering around outside in the night."

"It just doesn't add up," Yammerish chimed in. "If it was Dookula, he would've drained her blood right here. I don't smell any blood, nor do I see a body."

Grady looked at the men who had accompanied him. They all looked tired and in need of some food. "We'll stay here tonight and leave first thing in the morning."

"Where to?" Skarf asked.

"We'll pay a visit to Count Dookula and see if he knows what has happened here."

The group reluctantly returned to the common room. Farrwyn, Tink, and Grady went outside and searched below the balcony for clues. They then walked the whole of the town, but their effort turned out to be fruitless. As the sun began to set, the elf noticed dark forms slinking around on the rooftops and a few more on the ground. He pointed them out to the others and Tink, with his dark vision, identified the shadowy humanoids, "Goblins."

Farrwyn took a few shots at them with his bow. There was a sharp cry as one of his arrows found its mark. Alerted, the others scrambled for cover while the ones on the ground swiftly rushed in for the attack.

Lights throughout the town dimmed or completely went out as the occupants of the buildings tried to hide from what they thought was the terror they were so accustomed to.

The clear sky allowed the waning moon's light to illuminate the battle as the three readied themselves for the assault. Farrwyn cast his bow aside, allowing him to draw his twin scimitars. These goblins, which fell on the friends, were not the same hapless ones from Smuge's court. These were warriors. Although they were ill-equipped, they were battle-hardened and fierce.

As the goblins came into view, Tinker Gravelforge turned and ran for all he was worth. His opponents let him run, giving their attention over to the elf and his whirling swords.

The two defenders were driven back as the first wave struck. Grady's blade parried a hodgepodge of weapons, from an old, rusty short sword to a cudgel. The goblins were quick enough to keep the aged warrior from making any meaningful counterstrikes.

Two long halberds jabbed repeatedly at Farrwyn, who batted them aside expertly, but the creatures worked in tandem, always keeping the elf's swords just out of reach. More shadows dropped down to the street, tipping the numbers in favor of the goblins. As they rushed toward the fray, a much larger monster swaggered up behind them. A huge, gloating smile played across Smuge's face as his forces matched up against his two foes.

The reinforcements stopped short of the battle as they readied their light crossbows. Stealing a glance at those goblins, Grady knew that they were in trouble. The tired, old adventurer was contemplating his next move when a forceful cone of air blew two of the creatures off of their feet. Their bolts, as well as their crossbows, were ripped out of their control, spinning out into the street. The blast of air also caught one of Grady's adversaries, buffeting it with a glancing blow. The slowed monster allowed him to concentrate on a singular opponent, but before he could make a move, a dagger sliced through the air beside his ear. The blade buried itself in his opponent's forehead, dropping it dead to the ground.

As the remaining crossbows swung to the ready, Grady bull-rushed his stunned opponent, shouldering it to the ground. Using his momentum, he hurtled straight toward the goblin king. A stray bolt harmlessly winged past the adventurer, but Grady stayed his course. Two more flew past but they also missed their mark on the fast-moving target.

Smuge was no slouch when it came to battle, having faced numerous challenges to his throne. The fat monster was faster and stronger than any in his command. As the two leaders exchanged blows, the others could only helplessly look on for fear that their aid might harm their own champion.

Dirt tore into the air as the two clashed, spinning in circles as they each looked for an opening in the other's defenses. Grady could not match his opponent's strength, but his superior skill turned the monster's blade, time and time again. The seasoned adventurer was about to use the magic of his sword when Smuge brought his massive war club around in a wild swing.

Although the goblin king was a formidable foe, years of lazing about on his throne had taken their toll. He lacked stamina and was getting sloppy as he grew tired. Challenges to his rule, he put down quickly, due to his overwhelming strength. The monarch of the goblins had met his match in this adventurer, however.

As the club arced high, Grady ducked the blow and stepped in and forward, bringing Frostbite against the creature's voluminous neck.

"Don't move," the adventurer warned.

Smuge heeded the warning and dropped his club, but a sly, toothy smile replaced his look of shock. "It seems that we have a draw here."

"How do you figure that?" Grady asked. "I clearly have you at a disadvantage."

His eyes on the sword at his throat, the goblin carefully swallowed. "True. But, when you kill me, my goblin forces will fill you and your men with bolts. You should have killed me when you had the chance."

"I couldn't," the warrior said. "I need you alive to answer some questions."

"I was thinking the same thing," Smuge drawled. "You took something that was mine."

"And, you took her back," Grady growled. "Where is the girl?"

The big goblin snarled. "What do you mean? We don't have her!"

"Stop your lies!" the adventurer demanded.

"I believe he is telling the truth," Yammerish interrupted. "Think about it. Why would they be here if they already had the girl? Wouldn't they be running back to their cave right now?"

"What he said," Smuge agreed.

Grady eased up the pressure on the king's neck. "What do we do now? It's pretty obvious that it must have been Count Dookula."

Immediately, the goblin king began to chuckle. "You lost the princess to someone named Count Dookula?"

"He's a vampire," Grady barked.

"With a fittingly terrifying name, at that," Smuge said smoothly as the sword cut a little into his bloated neck. "May I propose that we make a deal?"

Chapter 16

Goodbye, Emmy

An uneasy truce was struck between the company and the goblins. They would meet at dusk and work together to try to rescue the princess. Grady didn't want to wait that late, but with the goblins' aversion to sunlight, they would delay until then. The more numbers they had, the better chance that the princess's rescue would be successful.

When Smuge saw that one of his elite soldiers had been killed, he groaned his disapproval.

"It was a lucky... er... unlucky shot," Skarf explained. "I never hit anything."

Smuge eyed the halfling suspiciously, but noting the strange eye coverings the thief wore, he could grudgingly accept the explanation. Frowning at Skarf, he ordered his kin to carry the fallen warrior along with them.

As the goblins left, they took their deceased comrade with them to a nearby cave that they were occupying.

"They're probably going to bury him."

"More likely, they're gonna eat him," came a rumbling voice from behind them.

As the company turned, they saw Gravelforge approaching. Grady saw that the others were eyeing him skeptically, so he prompted the dwarf to explain himself. As Tink reluctantly told everyone about the spirit of the little girl, the others understood his actions.

"We have a cleric now. Maybe, she can help," Farrwyn stated after the dwarf had finished.

Reluctantly, Tinker agreed. "Aye, but I don't want to do it until tomorrow. It wouldn't be right to release the spirit at night. She'd be scared."

Grady was relieved that his old friend had come to this decision. "It will be good to have your dependable ax at my side again. Let's get off of the street before more trouble befalls us."

Once inside, the group ordered food. A slab of mutton had been roasting and it was served with potatoes and carrots. While the half-starved group ate, they explained their pact to Gravelforge.

"I don't like it," he growled. "You can't trust those slippery creatures."

"Speaking of slippery creatures, I noticed that who gets the girl, if we do rescue her, wasn't mentioned," Yammerish brought up.

"Let's free the young lady and worry about that afterward," Grady explained slyly. "If we do get her, be ready to follow my lead."

"I wonder if that is what Smuge is telling his soldiers at this moment," Skarf muttered as he cleaned some grime from his spectacles.

"Anyone want my potatoes? They taste funny," Yammerish offered.

Tink snagged the potatoes but passed on the carrots.

The group shared some ale but the mood was somber. With the fate of Penelope unknown, no one felt cheerful about anything. Castor felt like their goblin allies were a gift from Mordane, that they were the unlikely aid that the goddess had spoken of, but the rest of the group thought of them skeptically.

They all settled in early. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. Tink spent some time by himself after the others had gone upstairs. Sitting by the dying embers of the fire, he thought of little Emmy and tried to explain in the gentlest terms what had to happen tomorrow. He explained that her parents were waiting for her on the other side and that what he had to do was going to be frightening, but this time he couldn't run away. His friends were depending on him. When she made him flee, she put them all in jeopardy and he let them down.

Gravelforge felt the little girl's spirit grow sad. It didn't want to leave its defender, its friend, but his need left her little choice. In the end, the two came up with a trade-off.

Worried, the group spent a restless night. The only good thing was that there were no screams in the twilight.

Morning came and the companions arose, somewhat refreshed. The stiffness and intense pain caused by sleeping on the cold ground the other night were replaced by the dull aching of old joints. As the adventurers gathered their gear, Yammerish snickered at the dwarf.

"What's so funny?" Skarf asked. His huge eyes distorted by the thick lenses of his glasses, he blinked comically as he looked around the room trying to discern the reason for the mirth.

Gravelforge held one of his long braids out in front of his eyes and smiled. "It was a part of my deal with little Emmy. I think it looks good, don't you?" he asked with a meaningful glare at the wizard.

Yammerish understood the thinly-veiled threat. "Oh, yes! It was just such a shock. I never knew you could look so good."

The dwarf crossed his arms over his muscular chest and nodded smugly. "Breakfast, anyone?"

As the three descended the stairs, Farrwyn saw the dwarf's braids. He was about to make a joke of it when he saw Skarf and Yammerish waving their arms violently in order to get his attention. His brow creased before he figured out their silent message and held his tongue.

The dwarf's mood cast a dark cloud over breakfast. Any conversation was kept short and held in hushed tones. Once again, Tink was the recipient of Yammerish's potatoes. He had been eyeing them eagerly, so when the odd mage pushed his plate away, the dwarf eagerly snatched the leftovers before the wizard had time to offer them to the group.

The adventurers finished their meal in short order, each shouldering their individual backpacks as they rose. They knew how to get to the graveyard, but that didn't make it any less grim. Having been attacked by ghouls during their visit, the adventurers kept their guard up, just in case there were more.

Castor stopped before the remains of the pyre. The flames had reduced the wood into a fine, powdery ash. "Are you ready?" she asked Gravelforge.

"Give me a minute," he stalled, walking a short distance deeper into the burial grounds.

Once he had attained some measure of privacy, the dwarf stopped. "What do you mean, you don't want to go? We had a deal."

"But, this place is really scary," the little girl's voice argued in his head. "What if those monsters come back."

"They can't hurt you, Emmy. No one can hurt you anymore."

Emmy's voice muffled a sob. "Can't I just stay with you? I promise to be brave."

Tink frowned. "We talked about that, little one. You know that's impossible. Now, can you be my big, brave girl?"

"Uh-huh," she said with a sniffle.

"And, remember, your parents are waiting for you on the other side. They will take care of you better than I could ever..." Tink choked as he tried to finish the thought.

"I know," Emmy agreed, "but I couldn't have picked someone better to take care of me while they were gone. I love you, Uncle Tink."

"I'm gonna miss you, Emmy." As the dwarf said those words, a strange feeling came over him. It was as if some part of him released into the ether. With a heavy heart, he trudged back to the cleric. "Alright. I'm ready now."

Castor smiled at Gravelforge. "The deed is already done. Whatever you did caused the spirit to release you, itself. I've never seen anything like it."

"Great!" the dwarf stated with mock bravado. He was consumed with an overwhelming sense of loss, but he covered it well.

Chapter 17

The Allies Set Off

After returning to the inn, the company tried to get some rest. Being older men, most of them succeeded. They were quite adept at taking mid-day naps. The only member who struggled was Yammerish. Although he tried to lay down, he couldn't fall asleep. Frustrated, he went downstairs and paced about the common room like a caged animal.

Grady's respite was short, as he had work to do. After collecting the wizard, the two headed outside in search of information. Knowing that the outsiders had killed the graveyard ghouls, some people were more open to talking to them. Of the townsfolk who would speak with them, few had been inside Count Dookula's manor. Those who were had been workers or delivered goods to the previous residents of the home, but the one thing they all shared was that they didn't know what happened to the original family.

With their help, Grady was able to make a very crude sketch of the building, as well as the grounds surrounding it. The map showed the main floor and the upper level, yet no one had any idea what the basement was like. Grady knew Castor had been down there, so he was sure she could fill in the details.

As they spoke to these reluctant townspeople, the two got the feeling that the family who had occupied the manor before the count's arrival were good people. Having lived there for generations, the people had been generous with their wealth, occasionally using it to prop up the community in lean times. None of the folks who were questioned could fathom what happened to such a well-respected family, but they unanimously came to the same conclusion. Count Dookula had killed them in some foul way.

"We need to speak with Castor," Grady informed his friend. "I think we've gotten all the information these people can give."

As Yammerish nodded his agreement, the grizzled swordsman noticed that the wizard's eyes had taken on a distinct, golden hue. Mages are odd beings, he told himself, brushing it off as some sort of magic the old man had cast on himself.

As the two returned to the inn, Yammerish raised his head and took several short sniffs. "Mmmm... Mutton is being cooked again tonight. I sure hope that whoever's preparing it doesn't overcook it like they did last night."

"I didn't think it was overcooked," Grady countered. "If anything, it was undercooked to the point of being nearly rare."

"You, obviously, don't have a refined pallet, like I do," the wizard chided him.

Grady was about to remind him that they both frequented the same place, but he stopped himself. The food at the Grimacing Goblin was similar to the food Abra had brought them, but he let the comment drop as he saw Castor rise from the same place they left her some time ago.

Leaving the wizard's side, Grady approached the cleric. She had a lopsided grin on her face.

"Don't you look happy? It's almost like we aren't going vampire hunting tonight."

Mid-stretch, she answered, "Communing with Mordane always leaves me happy. It's always a peaceful experience. You should try it with your god."

"I don't have a deity," he said, almost apologetically. "It seems to me that they have lost their influence over the land."

"You can be assured that Mordane distributes her gifts freely," she said with pride. "I don't know much about other gods, but my powers haven't waned."

"Good to know," Grady acknowledged. He didn't want to continue this line of conversation, but the adventurer was happy that Castor still had a complete complement of spells at her disposal.

Over the next hour, the two poured over his sketches. The cleric added to the drawings, further embellishing areas that were lacking details. Castor also sketched in what she had seen of the basement. It was small, containing a set of stairs leading down to one large room. She spent most of the time on this lower level, meticulously adding where the thieves had deactivated traps and, especially, where they had failed.

When they had completed the map, Grady went off alone to formulate a plan. Alfie brought the timeworn veteran something to eat, some bread, cheese, and nuts to keep his strength up. As he munched on the food, he added and rejected various scenarios. Pouring over every option, he used his vast experience to make a plan that had the best chance of succeeding.

In the back of his mind, he kept mulling over what the cleric said back inside the stone circle ...Not to refuse any aid, however unlikely, along the way. Was her deity referring to the goblins? How did they fit into this?

Having not been to the manor was a stumbling block. He had been familiar with the goblin caves, but with only a crude sketch to go by, it was hard to picture what they would be in for once they entered. The outside was fairly straightforward and if Smuge would agree to his idea, he would have the first part of the plan taken care of.

Seeing Yammerish walk past with a huge pile of steaming mutton loaded on a plate gave him an idea. After signaling the old wizard to sit next to him, he inquired, "Do you have a spell that could hide us from the werewolves that patrol the manor's grounds?"

"Yes," the mage confirmed without a moment's hesitation. "As long as there aren't too many of us."

"Good. We will need that. Have that ready to go."

"It's not like I have to pick my spells ahead of time," Yammerish growled, his golden eyes flashing dangerously. "Once I know a spell, I can cast it, along with any others I have memorized, as many times as I need to until my strength runs out."

Grady put a hand up as if to wave off any offense, but the wizard continued. "I remember nearly every spell I have ever learned, even the ones that can harm live creatures. I just don't use them. If I had to relearn every used spell from some sort of book, that would be a terrible burden. When would I sleep if I had to do such a thing?"

"Ok. My mistake."

Still glowering, the mage bared his teeth before turning his attention to the food before him. The adventurer could tell that something was very wrong with him. The way he tore through his heaping stack of meat, it was almost animalistic. Lips smacking, juice dripped from his chin as he nearly forced his overstuffed mouth to accept more mutton. What happened to the timid dotard he had dragged along on this journey?

The others soon came down to the common room and ate. As they gobbled down their food, Grady explained their part of the plan.

"You mean that you won't be going with the 'Get 'em' plan you used back in the cave?" Tink asked snidely.

"That'll be our fallback," Grady shot back.

Farrwyn seemed skeptical. "And, you think Smuge will go for this?"

"I have an idea, an angle, that might work." the leader assured the elf. "If we do free the princess, I believe that the goblins will try to take her again, so be ready."

"Then, why take up with them, at all?"

Grady looked over at Castor. "A goddess told us not to refuse any help along the way. That's why. My plan minimizes the risk, if the goblin king agrees to the idea."

It was now late afternoon and the company was well rested and fed as they left Ravenholt. Just north of the graveyard, they stopped and sat against some trees, waiting for their unlikely allies. They had just recovered from their walk when the goblins stealthily appeared. Farrwyn was the first to see them as they emerged from the trees, surrounding the group.

"Snuck up on an elf, boys. Pretty good work," Smuge congratulated his kin.

Farrwyn's face reddened. "I heard you coming."

"Sure, you did," the goblin king gloated. "I still can't understand why your people do that."

"Do what?" Grady asked.

Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he gestured behind him to the south. "Bury your dead, only to have them rot in the cold ground."

"And, what would you have us do with them?" Grady challenged.

"Why, eat them, of course. We had a nice stew last night. Slurn was delicious." As most of the company blanched at the thought, Smuge added, "We weren't going to let him go to waste. He is now a part of us all. His energy will sustain us on this mission."

Farrwyn reasoned, "It is kind of barbaric. My people erect pyres and burn the remains."

"Doesn't that toughen the meat?" one of the goblins chimed in.

"Enough of this talk," Grady redirected. "We have a plan. Patrolling the grounds of the manor is, possibly, a pack of werewolves. We would like you and your goblins to draw them off so we can sneak inside and free the princess."

"No deal," Smuge spat. "My kin will be bait so you can save the girl?"

"No," Grady corrected him. "We will be facing a much more dangerous foe, the vampire. Your kin are faster and stealthier than us. You can stay ahead of the werewolves and lead them on a merry chase with little risk to yourselves. You should be fine."

The goblin king scrutinized the human's words. Then, he looked at the group before him. The pink skins were old and out of shape. "Agreed, but my two best warriors and myself will go with you to keep an eye on you. We don't trust any of your kind. Besides, I'm not much for running these days."

"Agreed," the seasoned warrior consented.

"Jingle and Puk, you are with me," Smuge ordered. "The rest of you will lead the werewolves off, whatever they are."

"You don't know?" the companions chorused.

"We live in the ground. My kin have had little dealings with the surface world."

"They're just big wolves. Nothing to worry about," replied Gravelforge.

"I like them already," another goblin sang out. "Wolves and wargs occasionally make their dens in our caves. We sometimes keep them as pets."

"These aren't those kind of wolves," the dwarf corrected the goblin.

Not wanting to spook their allies off, Grady hastily changed the subject. "We should be going. I'll explain the rest of our plan on the way."

Chapter 18

Wedding Bells

Princess Penelope awoke on a red satin couch. She played possum for a long while and didn't hear anything stir, so she felt like she was alone for the time being.

The chamber was large. Several candles illuminated it, and although there were many more clustered about the room, most were not lit. Against the back wall stood a coffin. Its lid was raised and it looked like someone was inside of it. Beside the coffin was the only other piece of furniture, a throne-like chair.

Across the room was a set of stairs leading upward, but for some reason, Penelope was drawn to the coffin. It was a deep, sienna brown that had been polished at some point but now suffered from some neglect. As she neared the opening, she could see white satin cradling a richly-dressed man in his mid-twenties to early-thirties.

He wore a white satin shirt covered with a gray coat. An ornate pendant rested on his chest in the opening created by his shirt. Long slacks and black shoes completed his outfit. He was every woman's dream, if you liked that sort of thing.

She then noticed her own attire. Although the gown was somewhat out of date, the colors suited her. She had diamonds and gems on every finger and hanging from her neck and ears, as well. Penelope wanted to look at herself in a mirror but there were none to be seen. Looking back at the stairs, she had an idea.

Snatching a lit candelabra, she swept up the stairs, her gown making soft sounds as she walked. The candles' flames flickered as her slow movements caused them to dim, so she put a hand in front of it to protect them. As she ascended to the main floor, Penelope stopped to take in her surroundings.

The first floor looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry. It seemed virtually untouched for many years. Layers of dust and thick cobwebs attested to the lack of human touch. The only thing that gave evidence to habitation were the footprints. Some were faint, while others were fresh, but all crisscrossed the floor on some purpose or another.

There were also tracks from other creatures. She assumed some were from rats or mice. Others, she could only guess were made by insects from the trails. She was most interested, however, in the human ones. As she wandered about the spacious dining area, Penelope wondered why they would just abandon everything. Nothing made it look like there was a struggle or even appeared out of place.

The kitchen looked to be in a similar state. Whatever happened seemed to have occured between meals. With a little dusting and sweeping, it looked as if the place could be up and running in a few days. The study was like everything else. Books and decorative objects were untouched.

As the princess made her way back to the stairs, she nearly left but was oddly drawn to explore the upstairs rooms of the manor. Penelope looked at the paintings that lined the wall to one side. They were masterfully executed portraits, but of people who no longer lived here.

At the top of the stairs, she turned left. It was like she was compelled to go in that direction. Something was drawing her to the room at the end of the hall. The door was wide open as she walked, trance-like, into the master bedroom.

The room was large but fell short of her grand apartments back at the palace. She was oddly fascinated by the way she felt so at home here. As she turned about, a lone figure stood in the shadows behind her, casually leaning against the doorframe. The weakened woman gasped, swooning from the shock of the unexpected form and dropping the candelabra from suddenly limp fingers to the hardwood. Before she could sprawl onto the floor, the shadowy form shot forward and caught the girl.

Cradling the young woman, the figure gently lifted her, laying her in the now darkened room. It turned away, fetching the candelabra and replacing the extinguished candles, one at a time. With a word, it relit them, as well as others placed about the master bedroom. Now, in the brightly lit room, it examined the fair damsel. As it did so, she began to stir.

At first, she was relieved to see a fellow human, but as she recognized the flawless face, her eyes flew open in terror. "You were the man in the coffin!"

"Yes, my beauty. That was me."

She leaned up on her elbows. "What were you doing in there? In here?! You're alive!"

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"Who are you?" she asked.

His eyes grew intense. Seeming to overcome some inner turmoil, he answered in a serious tone, "I am Count Dookula."

Stifling a laugh, she covered her mouth with one hand.

"What," he spat.

"Well," she said, still smirking. "It is a silly name."

"It's an old, family name, and we, Dookula's, are a proud people."

Penelope sat up on the bed, easing back into the pillows piled up against the headboard. "I see," she muttered, trying to feign interest. Her eyes were everywhere but on the man before her. She was searching for something, anything, which might aid in her escape.

As he went on about his family and their proud history, she was looking for a weapon. Something about this guy was off. She could swear, that he didn't blink.

She then realized that, unlike the others, this room was clean. The duvet, which should have been covered with dust, wasn't fresh but it looked like someone had shaken it out.

"And, that's when I realized that being a vampire was a gift," Dookula concluded.

The princess's eyes shot wide in surprise. "A what?!"

"A gift," the count repeated quizzically.

She shook her head. "No, before that, did you say you're a vampire?"

"Indeed. And, you will be my bride."

Chapter 19

The Manor

The moon was waning but it cast a bright light, so the visibility was very good. Once at the gate, Skarf went to work on the lock. Since he had picked it once already, he understood its mechanisms and made short work of it.

All was quiet as the invaders pushed the gates wide and waited for the wolves, but there wasn't a single howl.

"Maybe, we should go inside," Skarf said, his voice shaking at the thought of being caught inside with the vicious monsters.

Grady shook his head. "No. We will wait and see what happens." Gesturing to the left, he saw a tight cluster of trees. "Everyone who's going inside, gather over to there. Yammerish, ready your spell. The rest of your goblins, assemble near the gate and make some noise."

When all was ready, the goblins let out a myriad of whoops and screeches. Rusty swords were bashed against shields and piecemeal armor, creating a deafening clamor. After a moment, Smuge raised a green-skinned hand, silencing his kin.

A single yelp sounded in the distance, but it was on their side of the fence. "They're on our side. They must've suspected we'd make another attempt at some point. Yammerish, start your spell. Stay close to the trees."

"Boys, you know what to do," Smuge encouraged. "Be safe and run fast. Don't try to stand and fight unless you have to."

A shimmering globe appeared around those within the magical field, rendering them invisible and virtually undetectable to those outside. Goblins feared magic and they all became visibly anxious. Those remaining outside suffered the worst. Eyes darting, they were near flight when the first werewolf came into view.

It padded softly on all fours into the clearing, immediately joined by two others. As they bared their teeth and growled, the goblins sped off, running at break-neck speed. The monsters tore after them as six more rushed past, joining the hunt. Those inside the magic globe waited in silence. Suddenly, a twig snapped, causing them all to look in the direction of the noise.

A monster, the size of a tall human, walked upright into the clearing. As it did so, it raised its wolf-like snout skyward, testing the air with short sniffs. This was the alfa. Covered in dark fur, it was impossibly wide, muscular human arms ending in razor-sharp claws. Flinching as its pack yelped while in pursuit of their quarry, something on the breeze held him rooted to this spot.

Slowly, the alfa curled back its lips and growled. It was clear that the werewolf sensed that something was wrong. Its eyes focused straight ahead as the beast narrowed down its area of search.

Each step drew it nearer to the company. Grady's hand dropped to his sword. As he started to draw it, the werewolf seemed to hear the sound his action made. Another hand dropped on top of his, halting his action as the monster came closer. Looking down, he saw the halfling's small mitt covering his. With the other, the thief nimbly withdrew something from a belt pouch. As Skarf held the sprig of belladonna toward the edge of the globe, the monster gave a sudden snort. The halfling's reach was well short of the creature's face, but the beast's extraordinary sense of smell more than made up for the distance.

After its initial inhale, the werewolf took three quick sniffs and jumped back from the shield. Its hackles raised, the creature pawed the earth and issued a low, challenging growl. In the distance, the pack sounded excited, drawing the ear of the alfa. Barking once, it ran off to aid its packmates.

As the monster disappeared into the distance, Skarf released Grady's hand. After letting his sword drop back into the sheath, he breathed for the first time in what felt like ages.

Smuge confronted Tink while brandishing his war club threateningly. "You said that they were just big wolves so we shouldn't worry about them. You never mentioned that they could walk on two legs."

"We didn't know that they could do that, either," the dwarf growled, taking a defensive stance.

As the two faced off, Grady stepped between them, barking, "Remember why we're here!"

Both goblin and dwarf glared at each other. Smuge was large and menacing but he didn't intimidate the diminutive warrior.

"I think that was all of them. Yammerish, dispel your shield. Everyone, be ready for anything," Grady commanded.

Smuge spat on the ground as he lowered his weapon. By the look on the goblin's face, the seasoned adventurer knew his mistake. Smuge was a king and, as such, he wasn't used to being ordered around. The way he was swallowing his pride in front of his kin was a riddle which needed to be solved. As the group passed through the gate, Grady held the goblin king back so they could speak privately.

"Why are you and your kin here?" he inquired softly.

The goblin eyed the human skeptically.

"I suspect it isn't for a ransom. If it were, you wouldn't have come yourself. You could've just sent your kin and stayed safely in your cave."

The big goblin spat on the ground again as he hung his head. "It is because I want her to be safe."

"But, she was safe and happy back in Greymoor Castle," Grady reasoned.

Smuge shrugged. "Is that why she ran away to my cave?"

"You want me to believe that she came to you?"

"No. That's why she always comes to me. The king knows where she runs off to. It causes him much embarrassment."

"And, what does she want from you?" Grady asked as he looked at the bloated, green-skinned creature. Smudge was gross, by human standards. From his slime-covered skin to his stained tunic, he would be a horror to any woman, let alone someone as beautiful and refined as a princess.

Smuge stopped walking and gave the adventurer a look that implied amorous activities.

"You've got to be kidding me," Grady shuddered, horrified.

"What? You don't find me attractive?"

The adventurer blanched. "No!"

"I didn't think I could feel this way until I found my little Penelo Pea Pod."

Grady's eyes bulged. "You even have pet names?"

Smuge smiled and admitted, "She calls me her Pudgy Wudgy Smugey."

"Ok. Suppose I believe that this beautiful, young woman runs away from her grand castle to be with you. When we saw her, she was in chains," he reasoned. "How do you explain that?"

"It was a game. Playacting, nothing more. That is, until you and your ruffians broke in and started smashing things."

Unable to stomach much more of the conversation, Grady let it drop. Quickening his pace, he made it look like he was interested in the manor that was coming into view. In reality, he couldn't stop picturing the two holding each other in his mind. It couldn't possibly be true.

In the distance, the goblins could still be heard leading the werewolves through the woods. As the invaders stopped to view the manor, a chill tingled down their spines. The building was mostly hidden in the overgrowth.

A wide, stone bridge separated them from the manor. The merry sound of a rushing stream gurgled below it. As Grady looked over the low, stone wall, he sensed the cool, cleansing water flowing beneath his feet.

Something was glowing at the base of the door. Large trees grew over the roof, touching it in some places, and shrubberies obscured the view from many first-floor windows, but those things didn't matter. The party was only concerned with one thing, the basement.

In the moonlight, the sylvan noticed something. Farrwyn pulled his bow from his shoulder and swiftly nocked an arrow. As he drew back on the bowstring, the others around him followed his actions, looking skyward toward the moon. A single bat flapped across its face. It would be a tough shot for any other race, but to an elf, it was nearly a sure thing.

Farrwyn released the breath he had been holding as his bowstring thrummed, sending the arrow arcing through the night sky. The missile sped toward, then past the bat, which hastily darted away, out of the adventurer's sight.

"It was a tough shot, elf," Tinker said, patting his sylvan friend on the back. "It was a good try."

"I'm a terrible excuse for an elf," he cursed, throwing his bow to the ground.

"Now who's stereotyping all elven people?" Grady asked with a smile. "Didn't you come in twelfth out of thirteen in the king's archery contest?"

"The thirteenth contestant suffered an injury and was forced to drop out," Farrwyn admitted in a low voice. "I came in last."

Grady shrugged. "Someone has to come in last. I also saw the way you handled your two swords. That was a brilliant display. Listen, I'm proud to have you fight at my side. You've proved both trustworthy and brave."

Farrwyn smiled slightly as his friends offered their own support to the archer.

"Pick up your bow," Grady urged. "We have a vampire to slay."

Slowly, yet reluctantly, the elf stooped and scooped up his bow. His comrades waited as he replaced the weapon on his back, squared his shoulders, and stated, "Let's make this foul vampire pay for his misdeeds."

Chapter 20

Ambushed

As they drew close to the double front doors, they could tell what the glow was from. A grinning face was carved into a hollowed-out gourd. A candle burned inside of it, shining out through its facial features.

Leering over the edge of the roof, statues of gargoyles were silhouetted against the bright, moonlit sky. They gave an ominous feeling to the entry.

Laying curled in a ball before the pumpkin was a sleeping, black cat. As the group came within range, it lifted its head and blinked at the strange men. Still feeling the aftereffects of Emmy's spirit occupation, Tink stooped down and tried to pet the ebony ball of fur. When the dwarf's hand neared the animal, it sprang to all fours and hissed. Gravelforge quickly jumped back, withdrawing his hand. As the invaders collectively reacted to the cat's warning, it gracefully sprang away.

"Well, that was scary," the dwarf, rubbing his hand, mumbled.

Suddenly, rats poured out from beneath the door, knocking the pumpkin off of the stairs and sending it rolling across the dead grass. The candle went out, taking the only artificial light with it as the gourd careened to the ground.

What seemed like a never-ending stream of vermin scurried over the companions' feet and up their legs. Stomping their feet while batting the rats off of themselves, the three stumbled about before the doorsteps. As they were stooped over, more of the pests jumped from the door frame onto the adventurers' backs and heads.

There were so many that the black cat, which had just menaced the dwarf, wanted no part of the writhing forms. It ran into the distance in search of easier prey to hunt.

The rat's bites were small but powerful. Every time the interlopers would brush one away, two more would replace it, so the gnawing was continual. Each tiny mouth sought out any odd seam in the armor or leather. The cleric, thief, and mage were particularly vulnerable to the rodent's attacks. Wearing only leather and cloth clothing, anywhere the vermin bit, they did damage.

Yammerish tried to cast a spell, but every time he started, his concentration was broken by a nip or scratch. The company was being torn apart by the rats. Swords were useless. Using them seemed like you were trying to strike yourself. In his frustration, he failed to notice that everybody around him was falling silent. Then, it happened.

The world darkened as Grady felt the sensation of being pulled. He tried to fight it, but was so sickened by the forced movement that he nearly threw up. That is, until he was dropped gently to the floor of manor's foyer, inside.

"The feeling of disorientation will pass in a moment," Skarf explained.

Tink had already regained his feet. "Maybe, you should start with that next time. You are the worst dagger-thrower I have ever seen."

"Using the cape exacts a terrible price," he warned while removing his glasses and rubbing them with a cloth from his belt. "That's how I wound up with these. It allows me to phase through nearly anything, but with each use, I lose a portion of my sight."

"Then, why use it?" Yammerish spoke boldly, his golden eyes flashing in the dim light.

"Would you rather I hadn't?" the thief proposed.

Murmurs of agreement sounded softly from the group as the rest regained their feet. Still feeling queasy, they wiped blood from the worst of their wounds.

The cleric stepped forward. "I could attempt to restore your vision."

Skarf looked at the cleric. "Thank you, Castor, but I have tried that several times, to no avail. It seems this curse is just too powerful."

"I am terribly sorry to hear this, and we will speak more on it later. However, we must act quickly. Our thieves disarmed most of the traps a few days ago. Unless Dookula can set his own traps, the way should still be clear."

"We should move, now," Grady urged, "before the rats can smell the blood from our wounds."

"Or, maybe something worse smells it," added Castor.

"Yammerish, give us some light," the leader commanded. "Let's set an order to our marching. Skarf, check for traps. Tink and I will be right behind you, followed by Castor and Yammerish. Last will be our archer, Farrwyn, and the goblins." As the elf gulped visibly, Grady added, "I believe in you."

Skarf blinked up at the two gruff warriors behind him, as if to bolster his confidence, then went methodically about his work. Even though Castor was fairly certain that the way was open, the thief didn't want to leave anything to chance.

In the glow of Yammerish's magical ball of light, the adventurers took in their surroundings. It looked like the manor had been sitting frozen in time for quite a while. Dust lay thick on tables and other surfaces, while cobwebs hung from nearly everything. They trod a narrow path on the floor, created by many passings of people quite oblivious to the neglect surrounding them as they walked by. It was obvious that whatever happened here had been done years ago. Whether the inhabitants had simply left or met some insidious end, the company could not determine. All that they could ascertain was that something unfortunate had happened here.

Other human-sized paths, along with many smaller trails, crisscrossed the floor. They assumed that the vermin created the smaller ones while they moved about. Other trails were a complete mystery, only grazing the top of the dust, not penetrating to the floor beneath it.

"Now, where have Smuge and his cronies gotten off to?" Grady muttered. He saw them off to one side where a staircase led up. The goblin king had just issued orders and his two kin started up the broad stairs. "Where are they off to?"

"Checking the upper floors," Smuge admitted.

"But, the cleric said he was downstairs."

The king explained, "We don't exactly trust you human, and the cleric stinks of good. I'm having Jingle and Puk look around and scout what's upstairs."

"To see what you can steal?"

Smuge took a step back, feigning innocence. "Me? I'm just being careful. And, while we are here-"

Grady cut him off. "You might as well relieve the manor of some of these fine things."

"It's not like their owners are coming back for them. Besides, if I don't let my boys have some fun and get some treasure while we are here, they might try to find a new king."

"I see," Grady said, pushing his hair off his forehead. "It wouldn't be like you're stealing stuff. Besides, the residence is owned by a vampire, who we're here to kill."

"Exactly."

"Just remember," the human warned, "we have a truce. We are working together to take Dookula down."

"And, in no way am I breaking that trust," the goblin agreed with a sly smile.

"See that you don't," he growled, turning back to the company.

The thief was old and farsighted but he was thorough. He was constantly sweeping the area before him for trip wires, pressure plates, or other types of traps. His normally poor eyesight had grown slightly worse due to the use of the cape, but it was nothing that he couldn't deal with. With just a few more uses, however, he would be rendered completely blind. Although saving his friends was worth the trade-off, he knew right now that if he survived this encounter, his adventuring days were over.

As they approached the stairs leading down, something disturbed the dust on the floor, causing it to move in a distinct direction. A puff of dust erupted and moved toward the top of the stairs.

"What sort of devilry is this?" quipped the sharp-eyed elf.

Castor shot forward, clutching her holy symbol in one hand. "Everyone, get behind me. I believe there is a ghost about."

"Can you destroy it?" Grady asked, knowing that clerics have some defense concerning the undead.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I've never tried this. The weird thing is that I don't feel evil emanating from it. It is odd that we aren't able to see it." She brandished her symbol toward the unseen monster. "Back, foul creature!"

The invisible being stalked forward, ignoring her command. Castor tried again, more forcefully, but with the same result.

Most of the companions knew what battling a ghost was like. With their advanced age, the consequences that could result if they were struck by such a creature could be dire. Those who fought one before knew that ghosts were from the world of the dead and emanated a cold so intense that a mere touch instantly aged the victim.

"Crap!" Grady spat as he shouldered Castor out of his way. He swung Frostbite in the general vicinity of where he thought the monster would be. "Get it!" he cried, trying to rally the others.

The leader's magic sword bit into something, but what was unknown. The creature reacted by striking Grady in the jaw with jarring impact, knocking the seasoned warrior back a step.

Skarf, unable to see much anyway, slipped back, creating an opening for Gravelforge to fill. His ax sliced through the air with no result as the invisible foe pushed him back into those behind him.

Farrwyn, possessing superior agility, danced out of the way and spun his swords in a defensive matrix. He was able to halt the assault, but when the creature stopped moving, they could no longer see it.

As the dwarf righted himself, the dust moved to the left. Grady pointed in that direction, but before he could say anything, the being bashed at Yammerish, pummeling him several times in the face before retreating back to guard the stairs.

The company was helpless as the unseen attacker made two more rushes at them. Initially, it went for Grady, who delivered a sound counter-blow in defense. The second assault was directed toward Yammerish. The wizard was in the middle of a spell and particularly vulnerable at the time. He took two clean strikes to the face and dropped to the ground. Castor followed the old mage down, laying hands on his, healing his wounds.

Smuge laid about himself with wild swings of his war club. He was rewarded as a crushing blow sent something unseen hurtling onto the dust-covered floor.

He and the fighters formed a protective front, defending the others as Skarf made a half-hearted second line, holding twin daggers in generally the right direction.

"What should we do now?" Smuge moaned.

"It's obviously not a ghost or our wizard would have died by now," Tink declared. "Let's try, 'Get it.' That always seems to work."

The dust trail made for Grady again but it received a vicious slash, in return. "Funny. It was a slip of the tongue."

"Whatever it is, we can't even tell if we are wounding it," the dwarf surmised.

"I have an idea," Grady theorized. "Follow my lead."

As the wily veteran pressed forward, the others moved to flank their attacker from both sides. They drove the invisible creature to the top of the stairs. Once there, they hacked and slashed the air before them until their blows met no resistance and the dust swirls went still.

"Do you think it went down to the lower level?" Farrwyn gasped through ragged breaths.

"No," Yammerish answered weakly. "It was conjured from another plane. It knew I would figure out its secret so it went after me, first. I was trying to dispel the magic that bound it here when it took me out."

"You mean Count Dookula has a wizard somewhere in here?" Tink asked, exasperated.

"No," Yammerish stated, his golden eyes glowing fiercely as he threw off the hands of the cleric as she helped him to his feet. "I'm suggesting that Count Dookula is a wizard. The darkened, stormy sky and now this? Our vampire must have been a mage before he was turned. That can be the only answer."

"Great," Grady cursed.

"So, what do we do now?" asked Skarf. "Where do we go?"

"Down," the grizzled leader growled. "We go down and finish this!"

Chapter 21

Final Fight

Grady and Tinker Gravelforge led the way down the stairs, with the goblin king and Farrwyn close behind. They felt they didn't need their thief to scout for traps, because the last group had cleared the way a few days ago and they doubted the vampire had employed the services of another thief on such short notice.

Before them, lounging on a throne-like chair, sat Count Dookula, sipping a glass of what looked like red wine. The undead creature was sitting in a small circle of candlelight at the other end of the room. He smiled as the first of the adventurers reached the landing. "Greetings. I see that you have defeated my invisible menace."

"It wasn't too menacing," Grady responded, immediately regretting his word choice.

"It served its purpose," he chuckled. "Unlike the rats, I could only summon the one. By the smell of blood in the air, I gather the rodents took a toll on your group."

"A minor inconvenience," the warrior agreed. "That isn't wine you're drinking, is it?"

The count's grin broadened. "Who knows? Why don't you come over here and find out?"

"What happened to the girl?" Smuge rumbled.

"You mean my bride-to-be?" Dookula inquired. With a wave of his hand, the basement erupted with light as a multitude of candles lit, all at once. The sudden brightness nearly blinded the companions, who shaded their eyes, blinking furiously as they adjusted to the glare.

In the rear of the chamber, beside the coffin, lay Princess Penelope on a red satin couch. She was resplendent, lying in a rich, royal blue gown with her golden hair arranged about her shoulders. She was still, her eyes closed as if she was sleeping.

"What have you done to her?" Smuge growled, anger showing in his eyes.

"I have done nothing, yet," the vampire assured him. "I want her unspoiled when we wed."

"If you harmed her in any way-" the massive goblin menaced.

Dookula's sharp voice cut off his threat. "You'll do nothing, you filthy monster. Nothing, but assist me." As the last words left his lips, he stared deeply into Smuge's beady eyes.

"Enough of this banter!" Grady demanded. "Farrwyn, end this fiend's unnatural life."

As the elf nocked an arrow, the goblin king, hypnotized by the vampire's gaze, wrapped his broad arms about the sylvan in a crushing grip. Throwing the surprised archer to the floor, the two grappled, rolling off to one side.

Seeing his first plan foiled, the leader calmly enacted his secondary plan. "Castor."

The cleric stepped forward, brandishing her holy symbol before her. As the vampire recoiled from Mordane's symbol, she became emboldened, coming within the monster's reach. Reacting with inhuman speed, Dookula sprung his trap, shoving the cleric back into the unprepared warriors behind her. All three went down in a jumble, their limbs and swords tangled in a mass.

Laughing with glee, the undead creature looked past the foes before him to the struggling goblin and elf, who were exchanging hampered blows as they wrestled. Smuge was much stronger than Farrwyn, yet the sylvan was lithe and able to slip from his slower opponent's grasp.

Tink joined his two rolling companions, trying his best to separate them. Inserting himself between them, the dwarf was able to free the elf from the struggle. Gravelforge was better suited for this fight, anyway. Goblins were natural enemies of dwarves, so Tink knew how to handle the larger foe.

As he looked on, Dookula was pelted with solid balls of air. Although they did little damage, they pushed him back a few steps. Frustrated, the vampire focused his gaze on Skarf, who was staring in horror at the single being who had laid low his entire band of companions.

As the mage prepared to cast another spell, Skarf leapt the wizard, bowling him onto the floor. The two rolled across the surface, just as their compatriots had.

Castor, as she started to regain her feet, pulled out a small, silver mirror and held it toward the vampire. Seeing the truth of his ugly, unnatural existence, Dookula flinched back. He cowered, hissing at the silver instrument, yet keeping his eyes averted at all times.

As Smuge tried an awkward attempt to poke at the elf's eye with his war club, Farrwyn twisted the weapon free, sending it spinning across the floor. Tink gasped as he could see what was about to happen. He tried to react, but was too slow, as the club spun past his outstretched fingers. The dwarf was just starting to shout a warning as the round handle came to a stop under Castor's descending foot. As she put her weight down on it, the club rocked forward, causing her leg to kick out from under her and pitching her roughly to the floor. She hung onto the mirror but, as she smacked her hand off the hard surface, the fragile thing shattered.

As Grady watched her sprawl to the ground, he turned back, only to have the vampire standing before him, a hand at his throat. As Dookula lifted the veteran from his feet, Grady took an awkward swing at him. The vampire saw this and swatted the sword away to the side.

Pulling the human close, Count Dookula whispered, "Don't worry. I still want you in my brood."

"Are you sure about that?" Grady asked as he pulled his own mirror out of his belt and turned it on the count. The sight of his true self caused the vampire to stagger back again, but he kept his hold on the adventurer's throat.

Yammerish, the frail, old wizard, was beginning to overpower the hypnotized halfling. Golden eyes wide and with a savage snarl, he broke free of Skarf long enough to cast a quick spell. Several balls of energy exploded against the vampire's shoulder with a crushing effect. The charmed thief quickly regained his grip on both of the mage's wrists.

Castor shot up and grabbed Dookula's wrist, trying to free its hand from her friend's neck. Waves of cold radiated up to her elbows as she tried to pry his fingers off of Grady's throat. It was a futile attempt, she knew, because the vampire was much stronger than she was, but she had to try.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grady watched as Farrwyn raised his bow with an arrow nocked. His string pulled to his lip, the archer hesitated, doubt creeping into his mind. Still hanging from the iron grip of the cowering count, Grady squeaked, "I believe in you."

Hearing those words, Farrwyn squinted down the arrow's shaft and let fly with one shot, followed rapidly by another. It is well known that the very best archers are elven. There is something in their genetic makeup that makes them such adept marksmen.

Count Dookula's averted gaze caught the glint of the missile as it sped toward his breast. With an arrogant flick of his free hand, he batted the arrow aside, only to have another slam home into his chest. His eyes flew open wide as the wooden shaft sunk so near his heart. Flinging Grady off to the side, Dookula summoned Penelope to him as he gingerly removed the wooden shaft from his chest. The whole time, he concentrated on deflecting more arrows as Farrwyn pressed his advantage.

As the princess rose from her couch, Castor understood what the vampire intended for the girl. The monster wanted to use Penelope to shield him from those deadly, wooden missiles. Out of desperation, the cleric threw herself at Penelope. The girl was walking quite mechanically, so it was easy to intercept her. The charmed princess grew frustrated as her way was barred. She began to struggle, as she wanted desperately to fulfill her master's wish.

Count Dookula scowled at the woman holding his bride away from him and was about to intercede when Tinker Gravelforge stepped between them. Having bested Smuge, he left the goblin unconscious on the ground behind him.

His great ax in hand, he presented a formidable defense, but when coupled with a blue, glowing blade and a fully drawn arrow, Dookula knew it was time to escape.

Transforming into a bat, Dookula flapped above them. Although the companions tried to swat him from the air, the bat's sudden changes in direction made it nearly impossible to strike. As it escaped up the stairs, an arrow skittered along the wall in its wake.

Yammerish, who had just slammed the halflings head off of the floor, joined the others. The wizard's golden eyes glowed fiercely, as if they had a light of their own. His voice was more of a snarl when he asked, "What'd I miss?"

"We have to catch Dookula," Grady explained. "Follow us."

So, Grady, Tink, Yammerish, and Farrwyn raced up the stairs, toward the exit. Along the way, they passed Jingle and Puk, who were stacking their loot just inside the front doors.

"Have either of you seen a bat?!" Farrwyn cried. The two goblins looked at each other and shrugged. "Never mind!" he spat in frustration.

Out in front of the manor, the companions scanned the sky in search of their quarry. The near-full moon cast plenty of light for Farrwyn to see by. His elven eyes were best suited for this sort of thing. He caught a lucky glimpse of the bat as it slipped out of a broken window on the second floor.

As the elf nocked another arrow, Tinker asked, "Do you see him, elf? I can't make anything out. That bat's too small."

Farrwyn took aim but knew right away that an elf who placed twelfth out of thirteen in the king's contest had no chance at this small, darting target. He also knew, however, that he was their only chance. None of the others could pick out that darting object so high above them, so he took a deep breath and drew back for his impossible attempt. He adjusted his aim, moving his mark this way and that, trying to find a pattern to the bat's erratic flight.

What Farrwyn had not noticed was the determined mage at his side. The wizard's hand raised toward the fleeing vampire. Thunder boomed and the sky lit up as a lightning bolt flew from his outstretched index finger, striking the bat and knocking it out of the air. The stunned creature cartwheeled out of the sky, careening past two blazing trees before plopping into the stream below. Its tiny body tumbled with the current as it changed back into the vampire. Shrieking an inhuman tone, Dookula made his way to the shore, only to be blocked by the four companions.

"Remember when you laughed at me, Count Dookula, and said you couldn't be hurt by the cold?" Grady taunted while touching the tip of Frostbite to the stream. "Freeze."

The vampire screamed as the water froze solid all around him. "But, I am immortal!" he bellowed.

"Correction. You were immortal. And, that water rushing toward you will kill you, as sure as sunlight, which, by the way, will be here soon."

Chapter 22

Victory at a Price

"Well, that was intense. Are we sure he's really dead?" Tink asked.

Farrwyn frowned before drawing back his already-nocked arrow. Taking hasty aim, he shot an arrow directly into the center of Count Dookula's chest. Looking back at the dwarf, he gave a self-satisfied smile.

"Human hearts are more to the left side of their chest," the dwarf suggested.

The elf frowned as he spun back toward the vampire, launching two more arrows, one on either side of the first. Looking back again, he nodded.

"I believe the one would have done the trick," Gravelforge chided.

Farrwyn, growing annoyed, scoffed, "You didn't say whose left, his or mine."

As the two had their exchange, Grady pulled Yammerish aside. The wizard had been acting out of character lately and he wanted to know why. When they had attained some measure of privacy, he brought up his concerns. "Are you feeling alright?"

The mage crinkled his brow. "I've never felt better."

"Good," the grizzled veteran replied. "What color are your eyes?"

Yammerish's jaw dropped. "Why, they are blue. I got them from my mother. She had blue eyes, also."

"I see," Grady agreed. "Has anything strange happened to you in the past few days?"

"I don't understand these questions. We should be celebrating our victory over the vampire."

"Just humor me," the big fighter probed. "I'm a bit worried. You have been acting out of character and I want to know why."

The mage tilted his head but said nothing for a moment. His eyes held a soft, golden glow as he considered his answer. "Maybe, it's just getting some fresh air. This little adventure has me feeling young again, that's all."

Grady masked his skeptical feelings and let the matter drop. He needed to speak with Castor to see if his suspicions had any merit before he pursued his belief any further.

"I did a good job, right?"

"You did a great job!" he assured the old wizard. "Without your spells, we might well have fallen before the vampire. Your magic saved the day."

As Yammerish smiled at the praise, Grady noticed the mage's canine teeth were somewhat longer than he had remembered. A sadness filled the adventurer as it seemed their victory had possibly come at a terrible price.

Just then, some of Smuge's goblins came filtering into the clearing. They gathered on the bridge, looking at the now destroyed body of the vampire.

"Where are the werewolves?" he asked the group, in general.

"We killed most of them," one of the group explained. "The others, we gave the slip."

"Impressive," he admired.

"They're just wargs who run on two legs," another reasoned. "We've tamed wargs and even sleep with them on cold nights."

"The only difference was that these strange wargs heal really fast, at least they did until we dropped fire on them," said another.

"They sure did howl when they burned," chuckled a third. That brought a horrible laugh from the group.

"We never thought of that," admitted the veteran.

"Hey," a particularly grimy goblin spoke up, "where's Smuge?"

The gathered, green-skinned creatures looked intently at the human. Some dropped clawed hands to their weapons.

"He's fine," Grady assured them all. "He is in the manor with the rest of our group."

Seeing the mistrust in their eyes, the adventurer led everyone back to the manor. Once inside, the goblins were relieved to see their king in good cheer. Penelope cradled Smuge's head in her lap, a wet cloth covering a goose egg on his temple.

"Sorry about that," Farrwyn apologized, gesturing to the wound.

With a big, goblin hand, Smuge pushed the rag aside. "It's nothing. If I wasn't under Dookula's spell, I would have taken you, elf."

The princess replaced the damp cloth. "Stop struggling. I want to try to keep that bump from getting any larger. It spoils that face I love so much, my little Pudgy Wudgy Smudgy."

Although Smuge seemed to hate her using her pet name in public, the other goblins took it in stride. They were used to her calling him such things, but the reaction among the companions was one of shock.

"You like him?!" Tinker asked in shock. "Didn't he steal you away from the palace?"

She shrugged. "Initially, yes. That was the first time. After my father's men retrieved me, I couldn't get him out of my mind. With how big and commanding he looked, I found myself fantasizing about him. I just couldn't stay away. I more than like him. I love him."

"What can I say?" Smuge crowed while snuggling his head deeper into her lap. His noggin looked even larger against the princess's slight form.

Farrwyn swatted Grady's shoulder, drawing his attention. "Are we still going to return the princess to Greymoor? What about the reward?"

The goblins all readied their weapons and, as they did so, the companions did the same. There were a few tense moments as the two sides slipped to better positions for what looked like another struggle. Grady looked at both Penelope and Smuge. They seemed happy and, against all odds, in love.

"No," he said reluctantly. Then, with more conviction he added, "We will not separate these two. If she wants this, we should not come between them. I, personally, have visited much harm and distress upon these goblins and vow to make my amends, but be warned, King Smuge, if you harm her, or even displease her, we will be back."

"But, the reward!" Tink continued.

Before anyone could answer, Puk and Jingle came racing in, each bearing a small chest. "Look at what we found," Jingle announced, his lanky form actually vibrating with glee.

"Treasure," Puk added. "And, a lot more where this came from."

"What?!" Smuge roared. Sitting upright, he continued while enraged, "Why would you announce this in front of the pink-skins?"

"Smugie," the princess soothed, "do what is right."

The goblin king looked back at her and his fury subsided. "Ok. We will share what we have found, but the furnishings of this human home will all be taken back to the cave."

"That's stealing!" cried Yammerish.

"I don't think anyone is coming back to claim it," Jingle giggled.

Grady reached an open hand down to Smuge. "Agreed. I've seen the condition of your chamber. These splendid furnishings would be a much-needed improvement over what you currently have."

As both groups left to divide up the treasure, Grady held the cleric behind so that they could speak alone.

"I'm worried," he admitted to her.

"You think the goblins will cheat you?"

"No," he said. "Whatever they give us is alright by me. I'm worried about Yammerish. I believe that, somehow, he has been affected by the werewolves in some way."

She furrowed her brow in thought. "His golden eyes? I thought they were some affliction of a spell or something."

"Ever since we encountered those werewolves, he's been changing," Grady explained. "When we started our mission, he was passive. He would only use magic that wouldn't harm anyone."

"Maybe, he understood the need our group had of him."

"No," Grady mused while pushing some stray hair from his eyes. "It was against the principles he stood for."

Castor frowned in thought. "Did he ever get injured by those foul creatures? Even the slightest scratch would be enough to transfer the curse to someone of his advanced age."

"It's possible, but I didn't see him get hurt."

"Interesting," she murmured. "Would you say that he is a goodly wizard?"

Without hesitating, Grady nodded his assent.

"When he entered the sphere protecting us from evil back when we first met, he had a reaction."

"He threw up," he remembered. "But, after such a battle, I've thrown up before."

Castor shook her head. "It also could have been the curse. If this is true, he might be a danger to us all. The next full moon, he will change, if what I am thinking is true."

"What can we do?" Grady asked.

"We could feed him some belladonna, but he has been affected for a long time and the cure could kill him. Or, I could try to remove the curse, but that may kill him or he could resist. In any event, it is his choice."

"What do you mean by choice?" he muttered. "Why would someone want to remain cursed?"

Her face was impassive. "To a man of his age, it must feel like he is reliving his youth. Vigor and vitality are hard to pass up. Besides, I can't do anything against his will."

"Then, if we determine that he has been affected by the curse," Grady stated with a sigh, "we will have to offer him the choice."

Just before the sun started over the horizon, the companions decided to leave. Although Princess Penelope implored them to stay with the goblins in the manor, they didn't trust Smuge and his kin to maintain their truce. The place wouldn't have been very comfortable, anyway. The goblins had stripped all of the furniture out of the upstairs and piled it on the lower level.

Weighed down by their newly acquired gold, they left. Once outside, they stopped beside what was left of Count Dookula. It looked like he had been ripped apart. After Farrwyn examined the tracks, he explained that it looked like the remaining werewolves had enacted their revenge on the corpse. He must have held them in his thrall, forcing them to do his bidding. Pieces of his shredded body floated down the stream or were hung up on the shore, snagged by rocks and twigs.

As the sun crested the horizon, the leftover bits burst into flames as the cleansing light touched the fetid flesh. The flames were not quenched by the water but burned until all that remained was ash. It was a satisfying end to a monster who had plagued the village for so long.

Back at the Lucky Traveler's Inn, they were treated to a heroe's welcome. Although the common people of Ravenholt didn't know that the vampire was slain, the news would travel fast. The champions were worn, exhausted from their struggles, so they went to their rooms for a much need rest.

The next night, the food and drinks flowed freely as each one of the companions was prodded to tell their tale many times. When word spread, Alfie's tavern was filled to overflowing with the joyous townsfolk.

As Yammerish was regaling a group of people with his story of how he cast the lightning bolt, knocking the vampire out of the air, Castor noticed a festering wound on his finger. She made note of it but let him have his moment, like the rest of them. He was a hero for a day.

Later, when the crowd had thinned, the companions all retired to their rooms. As they gathered in what had been the princess's room, Castor broke her silence. "I see that you have an injury, master wizard. Can I look at it?"

Yammerish offered her his hand to examine. She looked at it critically. The injury wasn't serious, but it had left black tendrils spiderwebbing down to his second knuckle.

"It doesn't hurt," he assured her.

"May I heal it?"

The mage nodded and watched her suspiciously. A glow extended from her hand to his extended finger. After the glow subsided, the wound remained. The cleric released Yammerish's hand and sadly sighed.

"I guess we are all overly tired," he offered. "Maybe, we can try again in the morning?"

"Where did you receive this injury?" she gently inquired.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he attempted to hide the wound. "It was several days ago as I pulled Skarf out of the way of a werewolf."

"I see," she remarked. "Did one of them scratch you?"

"Maybe," he admitted. "It all happened so fast."

As he spoke, Castor closed her eyes and murmured a prayer. When she opened her eyes again, a look of sadness washed over her face.

"You now bear the mark of the werewolf," she informed him. "You have the curse."

As the rest of the companions took a step back in fear, Yammerish stammered, "But it was just a scratch!"

"You are not young," the cleric went on.

"But, I feel better than ever."

She smiled. "That's one of the benefits you have gained, as well as unnatural healing, but there is a downside to all of this."

"I know. When the moon becomes full, I will become one of them. I can already hear the pack calling. I was just trying not to believe it."

Grady leaned in. "You have changed, my friend. Your diet. Your principles. You are becoming something different."

"Maybe, I can control it?"

"Maybe, in time," Castor said. "But, until that moment, when the moon is full, you will become a killing machine. You must stay far away from any humans."

"Can it be cured?" he stammered, his voice shaking.

Skarf chimed in, hope guiding his words, "l heard if you eat belladonna-"

"It will kill you," the cleric finished for the halfling. "I could attempt to remove the curse but, more than likely, that would end your life, as well."

"I don't want to die," Yammerish mumbled in defeat.

Grady placed a hand on the mage's boney shoulder. "Think over your options. You have until the next full moon to make your decision. Tonight, this is your room. It is the most comfortable here at the inn and the most fitting for a hero like yourself."

With great sadness, they filed out of the room, leaving Yammerish out on the balcony, staring at the moon. Even though they were all exhausted, no one slept. They had time. Maybe, they could do something for their friend.

Chapter 23

Tough Choices

"He's gone!" Skarf came haphazardly careening down the stairs to the common room. "He's gone and he left this note."

Already having risen to their feet, Tinker urged, "Read us what it says!"

"I can't!" he said angrily, shoving the note into the dwarf's chest.

I don't want to die. Maybe, you can call me a chicken, but that's how I feel. I know that you guys would have stood by me, but there is nothing that any of you can do now. I have lived a very solitary life and, until our little adventure, I never knew what true friendship was. I'll miss you all dearly.

P.S. - I left my share of the gold. Spend it well. Living in the wild, I will have little need for coin.

P.S.S. - The moon is calling me. Its pull is irresistible. I hope I can figure out a way to control my condition. If I can, I'll be sure to see you all then.

Best wishes,

Yammerish Skeignhelm

Wizard

Tears rolled down the dwarf's cheeks as he finished reading the note. He passed it back to the thief, who carefully folded it before slipping it into a pouch.

"You knew he'd do this," Farrwyn said to Grady. "That's why you gave him Penelope's room."

"It's what I would've done."

"Maybe, we could've have done something to help him," Skarf moaned accusingly at his leader.

Taking his seat again, Grady said in an even tone, "We would've dragged out his misery. Before we left him, he already knew what he was going to do. By me not suggesting that he be alone, I would have condemned him to a hope that would never happen. I just gave him the out that he needed."

The rest of the companions sat back down and ate in solemn silence. Everyone's thoughts were with their cursed fellow.

That morning, as they were walking out of town, throngs of people greeted them. These were the survivors of the vampire's reign of terror. The elated people buoyed the companions' spirits and strengthened their resolve.

At the edge of town, they said farewell to Castor. "You guys may be old, but you're still good. Our humble town owes you. If you ever need a cleric-"

"We know where to find her," Grady finished as he gave her a hug. "Thank you, Castor. You have proven to be a great companion and friend."

They all embraced her with parting words of good cheer. They had done something good together and now was the time to part.

As they left, Farrwyn nudged his leader. "Here we go, again." A confused look prompted him to elaborate, "No cleric."

"At least, I had the foresight to ask for directions to Greymoor from a tavern owner," Grady shot back. "That way, we won't get lost again."

"Fair enough," Farrwyn chuckled.

"Said like a true elf," the human agreed with a grin.

Farrwyn returned the smile.

That night, they camped in a field. Grady strung his perimeter alarm about the camp before calling it a night. They set guards, but the only thing that sounded the alarm was a deer.

"If any of you meet a big adventurer named Thun," he warned, "don't tell him about this."

The three gave him odd looks.

"Just, don't ask."

The next day, the weary travelers arrived back in Greymoor and went their seporate ways. Grady dropped his pack on his grimy floor and, after removing his weapon's and armor, plopped down onto his bed.

Sleep eluded him in his cramped, claustrophobic room. He tried changing positions but that didn't help at all. His mattress was old and lumpy, or it could have just been his old body. He got so frustrated that he rose and went to the only place he could gain a measure of solace, The Grimacing Goblin Inn.

As Grady walked inside, he saw Skarf sitting alone at a table. It felt so right as he settled in next to the halfling. The short thief blinked up at him through his thick spectacles and admitted softly, "I was hoping you'd show up."

"I was restless," he replied. "After spending a little time adventuring, it seems a real letdown to be stuck in my little room."

The halfling lifted his ale, cradled in both hands. After taking a long pull, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said, "Not me. I'm done with adventuring."

"Why is that?"

"I can read," he said. "Or, at least, I could."

"What are you talking about?" Grady asked, confused.

"When Tink asked me to read this," the thief explained, dropping Yammerish's note on the table, "I couldn't make out the letters. The curse of my cape has robbed me of my near vision. Now, I can only see things that are far away, and they have become blurry."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Grady sympathized. "What can I do to help you?"

"Nothing," Skarf murmured. "It's my fault. I should have never gone with you guys."

"But, you saved our lives."

A small grin crossed his face but it quickly vanished. "Those last phases came at a heavy cost."

"And, it was greatly appreciated," the big man assured him. "We all appreciate what you did."

Skarf rose and stripped the cape off his shoulders. "I want you to have it."

"Why are you doing this?"

The thief shrugged. "I won't be needing it anymore."

Trying to make Skarf see some reason, he challenged, "It's too small."

"It's a magical cloak. It changes its size to suit its wearer. All you have to do is think of the word 'phase' and concentrate. When you want to reappear, say it and the spell will be broken."

"I don't want your cape. Keep it," Grady insisted, trying to push the garment back to the halfling.

Skarf, however, had begun to walk away. After three steps, he said over his shoulder, "Just remember to stay clear of any obstacles when you reappear or they can fuse to you. Also, only use it when you are in great need. It isn't a toy. That's how I got myself into this position."

Grady watched his friend as he left the inn, another casualty of the adventure. With a heavy heart, he stood and went to the bar.

A moment later, Chase set a mug of ale down in front of Grady. She asked, "How did the whole saving-the-princess business go?"

The middle-aged adventurer groaned as he set a gold coin down in front of the barmaid. "Let's just say everything turned out fine for her, it just ended differently than I expected. Sadder."

"Ok," she cooed with a wry smile. "What happened?"

Grady peered about the gloomy interior of the tavern. The place was nearly empty. In a hushed voice, he started his tale.

When he got to the part where they rescued the princess from Smuge, he stood abruptly.

"I have to take a pee," Grady announced suddenly after draining the last of the second ale.

As he stood up, Chase exclaimed in exasperation, "You can't let it end there! What happened next?! Is the princess alright?!"

"I'm only stepping outside for a moment," he assured her. "I'll be right back."

As he made for the door, she set about some menial tasks around the bar, frustrated and desperate. She simply had to know how the rest of the adventure played out but would have to be patient, as she could see that he had been through a great deal. He looked utterly and completely exhausted, in every way possible.

Exiting the inn, Grady approached the alley in search of relief. Walking along the façade of the Grimacing Goblin, his mind started to wander. Whether it was the ale or pure, mental fatigue, he didn't feel like he was controlling his own body anymore. He had experienced some incredible things recently and should be happy with the results of the campaign. He had been out adventuring again! They recovered a great deal of treasure from the manor. The princess and Smuge were together and happy. The goblins were content. The people of Ravenholt had been released of the hold Count Dookula and his minions had over them and the vampire was dead. All was well with the world. Except, it wasn't.

The price they paid for their victory might not have looked altogether high to an outsider. They had all survived, after all. To him, however, it was too much. Yammerish was gone. Sure, he might return one day, but what were the odds of that happening, in reality? More than likely, he was lost to the wild. Skarf, now practically blind, had just walked off and, quite possibly, out of his life forever. They may as well have perished on the journey, for all intents and purposes. To top it all off, it wasn't lost on him that he had grown old and tired, even more so over the course of their excursion. Perhaps, it was time to hang up the armor and call it.

He was a wealthy man, in many ways. He had his life and what was left of his health. He had the loot from the manor. He had some amazing friends. He had wonderful memories of unbelievably incredible experiences. He had...

Suddenly, as if the cobwebs had been shaken loose in his battered skull, he snapped out of his mindless, ambling state. He looked around, only to realize that he had wandered far beyond the intended alley and was now standing at the gates leading out of Greymoor. Why he had ended up there and where he was going was a mystery to even himself, but he felt somehow content. He felt resigned. He felt relief.

Actually, the more he thought about it, he didn't feel relief, at all, as he never made it to the privy in the alley. Sprinting behind the low wall beside the gate, he quickly made to remedy the issue but never got the chance. Seemingly out of nowhere, he felt a sudden, crushing blow on the back of his head. He thought he heard someone say, "Got 'im!" as he fell forward, plummeting to the ground. Darkness enveloped him as he hit the dirt. He struggled to remain conscious long enough to understand what was going on, but his body deceived him. As his eyes fluttered to a close, he could only wonder what wonderful experience was coming next. Then, everything went black.

This concludes the Curse of Count Dookula. I wrote this as a distraction while recovering from back surgery. Hey, I needed something to do. While I am compiling notes for the next book in this series, I have already started the fourth book, which features Den and his companions. So if you have not read 'Lich', please, pick up your free copy at your favorite eBook retailer.

About the Author

Doug Ward currently lives in Western Pennsylvania. He is a graduate of Slippery Rock University, where he obtained a BFA in Fine Art. Doug spends much of his time doing oil paintings which incorporate mythology and science.

