The night was pitch black with scattered stars and a waning moon. Mist, thin and translucent, lay upon the town of Ammeldorf. Not a soul was outside. They knew better than to take such a risk, especially now. A young woman stood in the square, up to her waist in pale mist, her back to the church. Her cloak offered scant warmth, her hand felt the cold hilt of the arming sword at her hip. She scanned the surrounding area with eyes that almost glowed – they had the glint of a predator, focused utterly on the hunt.

  Her name was Vadja and she waited with purpose.

  Distant footsteps grew closer, grabbing Vadja’s attention. She shifted into a combat-ready stance and sniffed the frigid air. The scents of grave soil and carrion accompanied the approaching creatures. Vadja growled softly, baring her unnaturally long canines.

  Words issued from her lips, a recitation:

  “Creator of all things, Father and Mother,

  Son Divine and Maiden Resplendent,

  Leave me not to the snares of Hell

  But guide me unto righteousness.

  Reign eternal in the Days To Come,

  And welcome me in glory.”

  As her prayer ceased, dark shapes emerged from between the houses. Those skulking abominations were spread out haphazardly, advancing down different streets at different paces. The night was little obstacle to Vadja – dim starlight was as bright to her as a full moon. She saw the ragged clothes and grey-white faces of the monsters descending upon her. Their steps were careful, unhurried, walking with the gait of hungry wolves. The walking corpses of men and women entered the square – half a dozen of them, hands outstretched and mouths gaping open to reveal fangs.

  “Come and perish,” Vadja barked. “I will return you all to death, where you’ll cause this town no trouble.”

  Two vampires, an adolescent boy and a bearded man, pounced on her, jumping forward. Vadja drew her sword and slashed at both of them in a wide swing. It was not enough to stop their momentum. The two monstrosities’ weight pushed Vadja to the ground. They howled and gnashed their fangs at her as she held them back with both hands. With a push, she flung them away and they fell off their feet.

  Vadja descended on the bearded man, straddling him. With a hard blow, she decapitated him and flung his bloody head to the side. As she did, the cold claws of the young man grabbed her shoulders. Vadja lashed out with her elbow, hitting her attacker in the chest. His grip loosened. She reached backward and grabbed his head with both hands, then cracked it hard against hers. Blood flowed from the vampire’s brow. He shrieked in pain as Vadja rose to her feet. Her sword slid between the vampire’s ribs and impaled his heart. His movement ceased and Vadja removed the blade.

  Then came the rest.

  They came at her all at once, a chaotic assault of fangs and claws. Vadja slashed and thrust, kicking them away, throwing her elbows into the ones who managed to flank her. A pile of bodies clashed in the square, engaged in a dance of advancing and falling back.

  As the fight went on, one vampire positioned itself on each side of Vadja while the two kept vainly clawing at her. The monsters on her flanks each grabbed an arm, trying to hold her still. Snarling, she hit one of the frontal attackers with her knee then yanked her left arm forward. Craning her neck to the side, Vadja fixed her mouth onto the restraining vampire’s hand and bit down. Two of its fingers came clean off and with another pull of her arm she sent it colliding into its fellow undead.

  Turning to her right, Vadja kicked the vampire holding her right arm – it doubled over with a hit to the stomach. The feral sounds of the undead grew ever more pathetic as the fight turned against them. Two of them turned and started to run away. Thinking it unwise to pursue them yet, Vadja fell onto the vampire with missing fingers and cut his head off, then did likewise to his companion, delivering a messy decapitation as it struggled.

  Breathing heavily, Vadja got up, cleaned the blood off her sword and looked around at the four incapacitated undead. They were not dead for good, not yet – she knew just enough about vampires to know that. Burning was the only way to truly ensure they would never come back. In this state, impaled or beheaded, another vampire could revive them with a few drops of human blood and a week or two to heal.

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  As Vadja calmed herself and looked over the bodies, a man emerged from the doors of the church. He was burly, middle-aged, hair and beard sprinkled with grey. After watching her for a moment, he approached Vadja.

  “I see you’ve dispatched them,” the man said. "I must say, I'm impressed.”

  “Two fled,” Vadja stated flatly. “I’ll need help cremating those I struck down.”

  He approached Vadja and offered her a hand.

  “Markavo Kersk,” he announced, “leader of the militia, or at least what passes for it.”

  Vadja just stared at his hand.

  “You look baffled,” he said. “Are you truly shown so little respect?”

  “My work is unpleasant,” Vadja replied. “By extension, many people find me unpleasant.”

  “I’ve seen plenty of unpleasantness, that won’t scare me off.” Markavo shifted awkwardly under Vadja’s steady, emotionless gaze. He offered an uncomfortable smile. “Anyway, thank you for doing this. Once dawn is on the horizon, I’ll make sure the bodies are burned.”

  Vadja nodded. “Good.”

  As the militia captain walked back to the church, another man intruded upon the aftermath of Vadja’s work. This one was young, a few years older than her perhaps, and his attire was too colourful for him to be a commoner – a blue scarf and a red sash livened up his traveling clothes.

  “So you’re the itinerant hunter the headman of this town hired,” the young man said in such a tone that it was clear he was unimpressed. “News of this only reached my father yesterday.”

  “And who is your father?” Vadja asked, eyes still looking over her dispatched foes.

  “Baron von Achen, whose very fiefdom you are standing in.” The young man scowled. “Have you developed no respect for the gentry?”

  Vadja walked toward the angry lordling, each step measured and slow. Looking him up and down, she sighed.

  “What is your name?” She asked.

  “Squire Pepin von Achen,” the man replied sharply, making sure to emphasize his title.

  “Squire von Achen, I am terribly sorry but I have to pull rank on you.”

  Pepin laughed. “What?”

  Vadja reached under her cloak and pulled out a folded up letter. She carefully unfolded it and held it out for the squire to read.

  “This is a letter of commission and protection from Cardinal Josef Herzmann,” Vadja proclaimed, “former Bishop of the Wurms Cathedral and current member of the True and Holy Curia in Priam.”

  Pepin’s eyes fell to the elaborate seal at the bottom of the letter and took a step back.

  “The Mother Church has extended legitimacy to some feral woman?” He scoffed. “Some peasant bastard born under the full moon, no doubt. I see your teeth and the hair growing on your palms!”

  Vadja stared at Pepin with an unmistakable contempt.

  “You should read a few treatises on lycanthropy sometime,” she replied. “Clearly you know little of it, nor of the circumstances of my birth. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Vadja continued as she started to walk off, “we should both get some rest.”

  *

  It was almost dawn. Above the treeline, the sky was turning from blue to purple. Lothar glowered at the sight. All of his kind preferred the night, but not many of them truly despised the day. He did. To him the sun felt like the eye of an angry god, always watching in baleful judgement.

  Gaze turning downward, he saw two shapes emerging from out of the deeper woods. Lothar’s eyes narrowed. From the scent on the wind, he knew they were his mistress’ thralls – mindless things, stupid, endowed with no more intelligence than a mangy dog. Their instincts were purely animal, no trace of individuality remaining.

  Quite unlike himself.

  “I see four of you are missing,” Lothar drawled, scowling. “You were to teach the people fear, to show those mortals in Ammeldorf they are nothing. Don’t tell me some ragged band of militamen killed the rest of you.”

  The look in the thralls’ eyes was a strange one, almost frightened. They looked at at him like otherwise fierce dogs who had been soundly kicked.

  “The countess will be disappointed.” Lothar walked toward one of the thralls, an emaciated woman with gangly arms. “It seems I will have to step into the fray myself. How tedious. Still, if there’s a half-decent killer about, maybe I’ll have some fun.”

  He stared into the woman’s glassy, mad eyes for a long moment, then struck. Lothar’s hand jabbed into the thrall’s chest, breaking through bone with a most delightful crunch. Hearing that snap, seeing the splatter of blood, such things were better than anything. Even a lover crying your name could hold no comparison.

  Lothar’s hand pulled out of the cavity that now gaped in her chest, clutching the thrall’s heart. He grinned, a vicious expression that made his aquiline face look demonic.

  “Pathetic bitch,” he growled. “You couldn’t even be a useful pawn to my mistress. You’ve no right to exist!”

  With that, he kicked the woman the ground and turned away. It was time to rest – he would need his strength.