The nectar within was gloriously sweet and warm as I discovered when my teeth tore through his skin, opening the vein beneath. His struggles did not last very long, for I was famished.
It was the best feeding I'd enjoyed in many a month, and I felt much refreshed. There is nothing quite like the hot, red power of living blood for me. The closest comparison might be during my days of command in battle, when the fever of the fight was upon me. How my own blood would sing in response to the sheer joy of killing, but that was as nothing to what seized me now when I let myself lose control and truly feed.
Ecstasy for me, and death for him.
I had to take care not to indulge my appetite too often. If I allowed myself, I would sup this way every night, and the temptation to do so was ever there, but it was by necessity a pleasure in which I only rarely partook. Giving in to that temptation too regularly would be disastrous; Barovia's population was not all that large. I would feed well for a few years, but not for hundreds. Better to always endure a measure of self-restraint than live to regret its lack.
Sated for the moment, my next move now would be to find a way of taking as many of his friends alive as possible. Not from any motives of mercy-make no mistake, they were all dead from the moment they invaded my land with their thieving ways. I despise thieves. I wanted them alive to serve me later. With so many of them they might last for years in my dungeons, sparing me for a time from constantly having to leave the castle to hunt afar for food.
I drew my victim's sword from its highly decorated scabbard and checked the sharpness of the edge. Like a razor. Well and good. It spared me from putting too much effort into it when I brought the blade down fast and severed his head. There was not much blood-little wonder at that-just a little oozing easily sopped up by the grass. Taking the dripping head by the braided hair, I strode in a wide circle around the croft to see how things were faring at the cooking fire.
Their feast was apparently ready, the leader already sitting down to his roasted lamb. I assumed he was such since he was older and a bit wider than the rest, wearing a large number of gold medals and necklaces. An ornate painted baton swung from his waist. He also had the loudest voice, and the others showed a certain deference to him.
Putting down the severed head, I resumed wolf form and settled in the grass to wait. They fulfilled my expectations soon, calling into the empty night for their scout to return, but it was only at the end of their meal that they thought to send anyone out to find him. Two men took it upon themselves to go look.
Putting all four sturdy legs to good use I loped back to where I'd left the body so as to be there to greet them. I ambushed them in much the same way, assuming a mist form, until they were past me, then taking them out from behind. A sharp crack with a fist against each of their skulls just behind the ear was sufficient to render them tractable, and I took myself back to await their friends' next move.
After a quarter hour two more were dispatched, both calling loudly. They were more on guard; one had his bow ready to shoot, the other his sword out-not that either weapon proved to be of significant benefit in their defense.
Five down, ten to go. When enough time passed for them to become nervous, they sent another party to go look. Suspicions were high, and six of them went together, taking along brands from the fire to light their way. The new moon had set, and the land around was ominously black. The thin starlight was not much help to their dull vision.
They followed the scant trail the others left until they came upon the bodies. None of their friends could be roused, which alarmed them, but they became positively incensed upon discovering the headless corpse. The uproar was not unexpectedly loud and full of much fury, and they proceeded to go off in all directions trying to find the perpetrator. Only two had the intelligence to stay together and futilely called to the others to do the same.
It's a poor commander who does not exploit his enemy's weaknesses. I made what effort I could, appearing suddenly from the darkness to knock them senseless one at a time. For this I was able to remain in man form. My clothing hid me well so long as I kept low to the ground and did not move. At night the eye is better at perceiving motion than anything else, and I could hold very, very still if necessary. Once, as I lay flat on the turf, face pressed to the moist ground to hide its revealing whiteness, hands covered by my spread cloak, one of the men actually did stop and stand on my right hand for a time. I was hard pressed to hold in my laughter as he diligently searched about for their common threat.
As soon as he moved, though, I dispatched him to a state of unconsciousness like the rest. The two who kept together proved to be no more trouble than the others. Ten down, five to go.
The remaining ones held close to the fire. They called in vain for their friends to reply. Their leader summarily ordered them into the shepherd's croft. They left the door and shutters open to see out, for all the good it would serve them. One of the younger men in the group pointed toward the shepherd, and I caught the word krothka several times. I overheard some discussion-apparently having to do with whether or not to bring in the krothka 'shepherd.' This was dismissed by the leader, who seemed to be of the opinion the fellow might act as bait to whatever was outside.
Just to excite things a bit I plucked up some stones and began tossing them in a high arc so they landed with a rousing thump on the slate roof. I did this from many directions, so they could not pinpoint exactly where I was. Then, while they were all looking out the door I came close enough to toss the severed head squarely through the window.
That made for quite a stir.
They finally saw the wisdom of closing the door and shutters and did so lest more repulsive missiles invade their shelter. By then they were worked up into a state where making mistakes is nigh on impossible to avoid. It is amazing what a little darkness and a few thrown stones (and a severed head) from an unknown foe can achieve.
While they were busy debating what was to be done, I hurried around to the fire, borrowed a skinning knife someone had left behind, and cut the hapless shepherd down. He had heard the thumps and thuds of the stones, the constant frightened bleating of the sheep, the nervous horses that had now sensed my presence, and the shouts and wails of his captors. Add in the fact that he was a native Barovian who would rather slice off one of his own fingers than be caught outside after dark, and I had a quite terrified man on my hands. As soon as he saw me looming over him with the knife he set up such a screaming row you would have thought I was killing him instead of saving him. There was no time to explain, nor was it my desire to do so-I simply knocked him out and left him there on the ground until I could return to question him later.
Doubtless his full-throated and heartfelt shrieks, so abruptly silenced, did not improve the morale of the men in the croft. The horses liked it no better; they had snapped their long tether lines and were gradually putting distance between themselves and their luckless masters. That was the deciding factor for two of the men, who broke free, dashing toward the retreating animals.
The men would be much more difficult to catch once they were in the saddle. I headed them off, grabbing one while he was in the process of throwing a leg over his animal's back. As I dragged him down, the horse panicked and squealed as it fell, hampered by the restraints on its legs. The man screamed not unlike the sheep which had finally broken their paralysis and were disappearing into the night. I knocked him out with a quick, sharp blow to the base of his skull.
I heard a shout behind me and turned in time to see the second man. He looked quite mad: wild-eyed, sword out, and ready to chop me in half.
He had the one chance.
The curved blade sliced right through my body, barely meeting any resistance at all. I felt a decided tugging as it ruined my clothes, but nothing more harmful than that. Unfortunately-for him-I am not so vulnerable to sword cuts as I once was.
Where he expected me to fall over in a bloody mess I still stood unharmed, quite dumbfounding him, until I compelled him to take a nap next his friend.
Three remained, huddled in the little croft. Though what had specifically happened to their friends would be beyond their ken, they would understand that whatever prowled here was more than capable of attacking them with the same success. They were trapped in a small and frail shelter against the whole of the night embodied in something that they had not even glimpsed, something that had, in a remarkably short time, disposed of a dozen well armed men. I could not expect them to be anything less than utterly desperate, which might prove troublesome. Desperate men generally do not think clearly, making them unpredictable and considerably more
