His scalp tingled. Looking around, he spotted a hooded figure astride a horse many yards distant, peeking at him from among the trees. The rider wore a lavender cape–a woman’s raiment. His wary gaze followed her for a few moments, but he quickly tired of the game.
“Be gone, sister,” he muttered. He watched until she, too, retreated.
Then, and only then, did he pick up the bag of coins. It wasn’t much, but despite Alucard’s arrogant ways, his uncle was right–he did need the money. His food stores were hideously low. Even his scullery maid had complained there was only a finite number of ways one could cook potatoes, and no doubt she had tried them all numerous times over the past few months.
But what else could he do? There were more important issues at stake here than receiving a full-course meal every night.
Stellan pondered the recent encounter as he walked to his horse. Alucard had just threatened his life. How serious was he? Stellan’s ties with his blood relatives had been estranged, to put it mildly, since that dread event so long ago.
But his uncle had never openly threatened him with death before. And what did his parting words mean? Aldebaran and fear, along with something about a gathering storm? Surely his “kin”–how the word left a sour taste in his mouth–would not be foolish enough to wage war on Aldebaran. They would be slaughtered, having neither the numbers nor strategy to face down King Leopold’s military might. Alucard knew this fact, otherwise he would have led an attack long ago.
Stellan shook his head. The sorcerers of the Western Wastes had a long history of infighting. They would never successfully unite. He had learned one thing from the confrontation with his uncle, though, gaining confirmation of a suspicion he’d harbored for years now.
Their Pestilence was spreading.
“Pestilence” was his name for the virulent plague that had sickened the mountain lion, along with numerous other beasts of the forest. This included, he now knew, the bear that had attacked Lionel. It also explained the monstrosity at the Elysian River. To his knowledge, only animals had been infected so far, but how long would it remain that way? How susceptible were people? Alucard’s newfound confidence about the whole thing didn’t sit well with him at all.
Stellan came to an uneasy realization–he may have to forego isolation and make formal contact with King Leopold to warn him of the danger. How much assistance should he offer? After all, the affected creatures tended to hide in dark and isolated places such as Dungeon Forest. But recently the tide had shifted. Aldebaran royalty had been exposed. What, he wondered, had Lionel and the others reported to the King? Stellan frowned. Everything, most likely, down to his wolf’s furry tail.
If Stellan himself reported these new developments, would the King believe him? Would he even allow Stellan to enter his halls? But most importantly, should Stellan even care about Aldebaran considering the kingdom’s long-standing prejudice and hatred of those who practiced the Arts? Questions, so many questions.
He smiled wryly while mounting his horse. I’m sure they would think it some kind of trick or blackmail scheme. You’re a rascal, a fiend–even by the standards of your own clan. No, it probably wasn’t worth the effort.
These thoughts rebounded in his head, but instead of heading home, Stellan made for his neighbor’s border. Perhaps his brush with the mystery woman at the Elysian River had something to do with it. Perhaps not. Nevertheless, sunset was hours away. He still had time for another patrol. Stellan spurred on his stallion and bolted out of the forest.
* * * *
An upsurge of land overlooked the large meadow, one of many in Aldebaran’s hunting ground. It swelled high into the air like a wave perpetually cresting and offered an excellent vantage point of the surrounding area. As luck–or Stellan’s careful planning–would have it, he came to this hill on the last day of the month.
He gazed upon the spot where Lionel had been attacked two months earlier. Usually he would keep to the borders of his own land while scouting for Pestilence victims, but occasionally he slipped past Aldebaran’s perimeter guards. It was a necessary risk, because one too many times during the past year had found him tracking infected animals across its lines–creatures that knew no borders. Most he had destroyed, but a few had escaped, disappearing into the lush lands or populated areas where he could not follow.
Stellan feared such failures would come back to haunt him. So many people live there!
Staring out across the plain, he idly watched several horsemen crisscross the ground in an attempt to corner a pack of angry boars. A few already lay pierced with arrows, awaiting a fire to blacken their hides and tease out the succulent juices.
Stellan’s mouth watered. These Aldebaran royalty certainly knew how to feast. But how long until they became aware of his presence? He withdrew an arrow and cocked it against his bow. His keen eyes narrowed as he aimed for the center of the pack.
Fwip! The bow twanged pleasantly as he released the arrow. It soared straight down to the meadow, carried aloft even faster by the southeast wind. Stellan watched in satisfaction as one of the larger boars suddenly reared up and fell back.
That did the trick. A number of confused riders below turned about to scan the surrounding land. They then turned in unison to the hilltop. No doubt, he had been spotted. One of them broke away, galloping toward Stellan’s vantage point. A second rider soon followed, then a third.
Stellan waited patiently for their arrival. Hooves pounded closer and closer. A blond mane of hair appeared over the crest, followed by a rider clothed in maroon and green hunting gear.
“Well met, my friend!” Lionel reared his horse a few feet shy of Stellan’s mount. The animals greeted each other with snorts and stamping hooves. “I was wondering
