Kandler grimaced. “Not airtight. Now that I invited them in, they can just turn to mist again and flow right through the gaps.”
Sallah put up her hand, and the others fell silent. “They’re on the move. Oh!”
“What?” Kandler said as he moved closer to her. He hated relying on someone else like this, especially someone he didn’t really know. And, he had to admit to himself, the fact that she was a paladin, a god’s chosen knight, rubbed him the wrong way too.
The destruction of the Mournland had convinced Kandler that one of two things were true. Either the gods didn’t care what happened to the people of Khorvaire, or the gods were out to get them. Either way, he wanted nothing to do with them.
Sallah pulled back her lips and revealed her gritted teeth. “There are more of them. Many more.”
The banging started on the front door again. Temmah yelped, then slapped a thick hand over his red face and muttered an apology.
“I don’t get it,” said Temmah. “If they can come in, why the knocking?”
Kandler knew the knocking was just a distraction meant to focus their attention on the door while the vampires circled around and came in another way. He started to respond to Temmah, but Sallah cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. She concentrated for a moment then performed a slow pirouette, her empty hand stretched out as if to feel for something. Her eyes flung wide, and she spun about and stabbed her finger at the back door. “There!”
Kandler turned to see a strange clump of mist swirling around the inside of the back door. A moment later, it coalesced into the vampire Kandler had stabbed.
“You are a rotten host,” the vampire said with a grin, swirling his black cloak around him as he spoke. A crimson emblem of a gaping maw filled with fangs was embroidered on the cloak’s left breast. “Do you stab all your guests?”
“What are you doing here?” Kandler said as he hefted the splintered chair leg in his hand.
“Oh!” said the vampire. “She hasn’t told you yet?” The creature licked the blood from his lips. “How… delicious!”
“He’s a Karrn,” Sallah said.
“That’s all I need to know,” Kandler said as he advanced, holding the stake before him. The justicar didn’t care much for people from Karrnath-especially if they were undead bloodsuckers bent on killing him.
Sallah matched Kandler stride for stride. Burch angled off to the right, and Temmah kept pressing his back against the front door as the creatures outside continued to pound on it “He may have weaseled his way in here,” Sallah said, “but he can’t invite others. It’s not his place.”
“Correct, witch-knight,” the vampire said, its eyes glittering red against its eggshell skin, its mouth a savage slash filled with teeth. “But wrong all the same.” With a flick of his wrist, the vampire flung the bar from the town hall’s back door.
Burch’s crossbow twanged, and a wooden bolt pierced the vampire’s heart and jutted from his chest. The undead thing collapsed without a sound, falling on the bolt and driving it further into its chest.
“Secure that door!” Sallah said.
Kandler sprinted over to the door picked up the heavy bar. Before he could drop it into place someone outside of the hall knocked the door inward and clean off its hinges. The justicar had to jump back to keep the slab of wood from falling on him.
Two creatures stomped through the naked portal. They walked like men and bore the arms and armor of great warriors, but their flesh was torn and rotten, hanging from their frames in ragged strips. Their eyes were dark, empty sockets. Their breastplates bore the same crimson symbol that appeared on the vampire’s cloak. They snarled from their desert-dry throats, and they beat their blades on the ground as they stampeded in, daring any to stand before them.
“Zombies!” Burch said as he reloaded his crossbow.
“Karrn shocktroopers,” Kandler said, recognizing the creatures’ rotting uniforms. He raised his sword before him and leveled a swing at the first creature’s head.
The zombie parried the blow easily, but it failed to counter Kandler’s follow-up attack. The justicar’s blade clanged off the creature’s sword, just as he had intended, then slipped under the creature’s blade and breastplate and sliced clean through its backbone. It hesitated for a moment and loosed a dry screech before it fell into two pieces. Its top overbalanced first and hit the ground before its knees, sending up a cloud of dust. Kandler almost choked on the stench.
The other zombie stepped forward, its jagged blade raised high as it aimed a blow at Kandler’s neck. Busy with the first creature, he gritted his teeth and waited for the blade to slash at him. He hoped he’d be able to catch it on his armored shoulder rather than his face.
Sallah stepped between the two, shielding the justicar with her body. A silvery flame flickered along the length of her sword as she shoved it into the zombie’s face. Its light illuminated the empty corners of the zombie’s eye sockets.
“Get back!” Sallah screamed. “Your kind holds no sway here.”
The zombie raised its arm to defend itself, as if the silvery light blinded its long-lost eyes. It let loose a dry, wordless scream as it turned and stomped out of the town hall the way it had come.
Kandler made to follow the creature, but Temmah screamed at the justicar to stop. “You don’t know what’s out there!” he said.
Kandler looked back at the dwarf. Temmah shook so hard that Kandler could hear his armor rattling from it.
“Esprл’s out there,” Kandler said. His voice felt raw with fear, but he hoped the others could not hear it. “That’s all I need to know.”
Chapter 12
A series of three short screams pierced the night. Each began full-throated with mortal fear, and each was cut horribly short. Deothen made the sign of the flame on his chest at the end of each one by drawing his fingertips down the length of his sternum in a wavering line. With the last, he stood and whispered a silent prayer that the Silver Flame would embrace the screamers with its cleansing tongues.
“By the Host!” Mardak said, leaping up from the head of his dining table, at which he had been hosting a meal with all the knights but Sallah.
The repast had been hastily prepared but tasty. Deothen suspected that Priscinta’s pride wouldn’t allow her to serve her guests a bad meal despite the way her husband had treated her earlier today. She had gone about the task of feeding the knights, her husband, and her son, never meeting their eyes, her cheeks burning with anger and shame. When Deothen had offered his thanks for the meal, she had coughed out a weak response and dashed from the room. He hadn’t seen her since.
“What’s happening out there?” Mardak said, panic stabbing through his voice as he stared out into the darkness through the dining room’s large front window.
“Tira’s tongue,” Deothen cursed as he reached for his sword and his staff. “I thought we had more time.” He turned to the three knights sitting around the table and began to bark out orders. They each complied without question or hesitation, their faces masks that concealed the terror Deothen knew stirred in their hearts. “Gweir, secure the back door!”
The blond-haired knight drew his blade and charged out of the room.
“Brendis, take the front!”
The dark-haired knight dashed for the porch.
“Levritt, you’re in charge of Pradak.”
The young knight nodded as he drew his sword and stood next to Mardak’s son, his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. The dark-haired Pradak trembled so that it seemed as if Levritt’s hand actually held the boy from falling over.
“What should I do?” Mardak asked. The mayor’s blue eyes darted nervously about the room, looking for
