“It’ll hold,” said the townsman. “They’re persistent but stupid and don’t work well as a group. If they did, I’d have been dead four nights back.”
James sheathed his rapier and sat down on a small trunk next to the fireplace. He glanced around. The building was a single room with a small kitchen off to one side. A feather bed, a table, a chest of drawers and the trunk upon which he sat were the sole contents of the room.
Their host was a wiry man of middle years, his dark hair and beard shot through with gray. He had the weather-beaten look of a farmer: once-broken fingers and heavy calluses betrayed the hands of a man who had worked all his life.
Letting out a slow breath, James said, “Just what is going on?”
“So, then we started hearing about others vanishing, from farms outlying the village. There’s the odd homestead up in the hills, and some nice meadows that folks use to graze herds or grow summer wheat. Some of those creatures that attacked earlier tonight were the poor souls who lived up there. Not townspeople, but folks we knew from when they’d come in to buy provisions or sell their wares.” He shook his head as if he still had trouble believing what he was describing.
James and the others had been listening to the farmer for over an hour. The narrative had been rambling and disjointed at times, but a pattern had emerged.
“Let me sum up,” said James. “Someone or something has come to the area. It has infected your community with a horrible curse that is turning ordinary people into blood-drinkers. Is that right?”
The farmer nodded. “Yes.”
James continued. “These creatures are feeding on others, thereby turning them into blood-drinkers, too.”
“Vampires,” said Jazhara. “The stories about them are full of superstition.”
“But these are real enough,” said Kendaric.
“Yes,” agreed Solon. “But Jazhara is right. There are legends about these creatures that have nothing to do with truth, flights of fancy and tales told to frighten naughty children.”
“I must be a naughty child, then,” said Kendaric with an angry edge to his voice, “because I for one am very frightened.”
James said, “So the woodcutter and his family were the first around here to be turned into these creatures?”
Nathan said, “Yes. Six of us went to investigate. Only two of us survived. We found a dozen or so of those creatures waiting there. A few of them were the folks from the nearby farms I spoke of; a couple were unknown to me.”
“Then who was the first?” asked James.
Nathan looked around blankly. “I don’t know,” he said in a weary voice.
“Is that important?” asked Kendaric.
“Yes,” said Jazhara, “because as James said, someone or something had to bring this plague here.”
Solon said, “This sort of magic is evil beyond description.”
James sat on the floor with his back against the wall. “But to what end? Why plague this little village of all places?”
Kendaric said, “Because they can?”
James looked at the wrecker and said, “What do you mean?”
Kendaric shrugged and said, “They have to start somewhere. If they get enough people around here to . . . become like them, they can send some of their number to other locations and . . . well, it’s like you said, a plague.”
“Which means we’ll have to stamp out this infection here,” said Solon.
James could hear the shuffle of feet outside.
Nathan shouted, “Keep away, you murderous blood-suckers!”
From outside, voices called, “Come with us. Join us.”
Jazhara shivered. “I know little of these creatures, save for legends. But already I can see the legends are only partially correct.”
James looked at Nathan and said, “Got anything to drink?”
“Water,” said the farmer, pointing to a large crock near the table.
As James fetched a cup and went to the crock, he said to Jazhara, “What do you mean ‘only partially correct?’”
Jazhara said, “The legends of the vampires tell us of great and powerful magic-users, able to alter their shapes and commune with animals, such as rats and wolves. The pitiful creatures we face here, while far from harmless, could have all been put to rest tonight, had we a trained squad of soldiers with us.”
James quietly reflected on this as he remembered a time in Krondor when, as a boy, he and Prince Arutha had faced the undying minions of the false moredhel prophet, Murmandamus. “My experience tells me that things that hard to kill are far more dangerous than they seem.”
Nathan added, “Besides, lady, you miss the obvious. These aren’t great and powerful magic-users. These were farmers and laborers.”