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Godfrey woke up early the next morning. His senses were heightened in apprehension of what was to come. What was Fallard’s plan? Could Godfrey slay the vampire even with the best plan possible? He could not go back to sleep if he wanted to.
Dressing quickly, Godfrey pulled his hauberk over his tunic. He put on his arming cap then threw his chainmail coif over it. Next, he slid his tabard over the hauberk, and then he tied his belt over the tabard. He hoped he would have more than his armor to protect him.
The room was cool in the early morning light, but was also sticky with humidity from the previous night’s rain. Kneeling, Godfrey silently muttered a quick prayer for protection and success, to Loxias and whatever other gods might be listening to him. He was going to need the gods’ help more now than at any other time in his life so far.
Slinging his shield over his back, Godfrey then put on his mailed gloves and boots, and grabbed his spangenhelm. Taking one final look around the room, he made sure nothing was left behind. His satchel was still sitting at the foot of the bed. He grabbed it, undid the knot in his belt, and ran the satchel’s loops through the belt before retying the knot. Now he had everything.
Godfrey stepped back in mild surprise as he opened the door. Bishop Clovis stood in the doorway waiting for him. The smell of incense from the morning prayers clung to the Bishop.
“Ah yes,” Clovis said, nodding to himself. “I was hoping you would be up by now. I would like to have a word with you before you embark on your quest.”
“Of course,” Godfrey replied as he came into the hall, closing the door behind him.
Clovis led Godfrey to the opposite end of the hall from the stairs he had gone up the night before. A million possibilities fluttered through Godfrey’s mind as he wondered what the Bishop wanted. They reached the end of the hall. Clovis opened the door in front of him, revealing a small sanctuary. Its walls were lined with bookcases and shallow alcoves containing numerous holy texts. A musty smell filled Godfrey’s nostrils, suggesting just how old many of the books were. Would one of these tomes tell Godfrey how to slay a vampire?
Some of the texts included common prayer books, the creation myths, and the deeds of the great heroes. Other books had more obscure titles, including the hagiographies of minor saints, proverbs of ancient prophets, and the philosophical musings of long-dead theologians. If there were an answer about how to destroy vampires in one of these books or codices, Godfrey would not have the slightest clue where to begin looking.
There was a single small, round window high up on the opposite wall from the entrance to the sanctuary. From it, a shaft of light poured down onto an altar in the center of the room. A brass basin filled with water sat on the altar. Holy water. Every building dedicated to the gods had a limited supply—from the grandest temple to the smallest shrine.
“Bishop,” Godfrey asked, “how am I going to kill the vampire when I find it?”
“Courage and faith,” Clovis answered sagely. “It is how all great deeds are done.”
Godfrey was not satisfied with that answer.
“But the great heroes and the saints and prophets,” Godfrey started. “They were all so strong and had the help of the gods or magic, while I am just a squire.”
“Is that so?” Clovis smirked. “Every hero has a beginning. You must learn to trust in your own abilities eventually.”
“But against a vampire,” Godfrey protested. “I am not sure if I’m ready. I don’t think it will be a fair challenge.”
“Much in life is not fair.” The Bishop shook his head. “I often reflect on how unfair Cheldric’s lot was in the bards’ songs. Yet he did not complain or shrink from his duty.”
“Yes...” Godfrey flushed at the reprimand. “But Cheldric also wasn’t real.”
“Perhaps not.” Clovis absently scratched his ear. “But you are real even if Cheldric is not, and you have the power to emulate his good deeds. Name a squire or knight who has not been inspired by such stories.”
Godfrey thought on this for a moment. The Bishop was right. Godfrey had a duty. He had to trust himself and the gods. He could do this.
“I suppose you are right.” Godfrey smiled.
“Even so,” Clovis continued. “The gods do not abandon the faithful.”
Clovis moved to the other side of the altar and faced Godfrey. Beckoning him forward, the Bishop gestured for Godfrey to kneel at the foot of the altar. The squire reverently complied.
“This is holy water.” Clovis stressed each word as he dipped his finger in the basin. “It has been set apart to bless the gods’ servants, and protect them from corrupting influences as they set out to do the will of the divine. Do you believe the gods can bless you?”
“Yes,” Godfrey answered without hesitation.
The Bishop drew a horizontal line with his wet finger across Godfrey’s forehead as he began reciting an incantation in an ancient language Godfrey did not understand. It was the celestial tongue. Few outside of the clergy knew it anymore.
At first, Godfrey did not feel any different, but near the end of the ritual, peace washed through the squire’s mind. His doubts about the quest receded to the back of some faraway corner. What remained was clarity of purpose.
“Thank you, Bishop,” Godfrey said, rising to his feet at the end of the incantation.
“Now go forth and conquer in the name of all that is just and true,” the Bishop commanded Godfrey.
***
Godfrey’s chainmail hauberk grew increasingly heavy as he sloshed through the foggy swamp. His feet sank into mud past his ankles with every step, and he almost fell into small pools of murky water a couple of times thanks to unseen tree roots. The putrid smell of something rotten permeated the air. The walk had left him soaked, raw, and tired, but he did not complain to Fallard, Bruno, or Fulcher.
Fallard rode his barded horse just ahead of Godfrey, and Bruno and Fulcher followed on foot behind the squire as they carried their spears. The day’s journey had caked them all in mud, and everyone’s agitation was obvious to Godfrey. He tried to recall how he felt during the Bishop’s blessing. But the memory of how he felt then was elusive in this miserable place.
Monolithic trees cast dark shadows through the mist. They gave Godfrey the impression of people standing in the middle of a field at random intervals. Godfrey’s heart jumped once or twice as he mistook a tree for some monster reaching through the mist, furthering the feeling that the swamp was alive and that they were being watched or followed.
“What are we searching for?” Godfrey asked.
“A castle,” Fallard replied. “The Bishop told me that some years ago a mad lord built a castle in this swamp. It is believed that he fell to worship of the dark gods before killing himself and his household. Such a being in league with the darkness could have risen again as a vampire.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad place to start looking at least,” Godfrey answered. “But once we find it, how am I going to kill it?”
Fallard did not respond. A knot in Godfrey’s stomach began to twist and his hand began to shake. He was unsure when his hand first began to tremble like this. It was some days or weeks after that first battle he had taken part in. He was fourteen or so at the time. There was a lot that had happened there that he could not purge from his memory. He had gotten used to the sights, sounds, and smells of battle. Blood and gore did not move him. The screams and moans of the dying could be tuned out. The undead, though, had shown Godfrey how terrifying the unknown and unnatural could be when the smell of living flesh brought them to frenzy.
Did Fallard not have a plan after all? Godfrey looked to Bruno and Fulcher, who also acted as if he had not said anything. Why were they all ignoring this question? Godfrey stopped in his tracks and was about to voice his concern when Fallard tensed.
“Hold.” Fallard raised his hand as he stopped his horse.
The others waited just behind Fallard as he peered into the mist. The dark rectangular stone keep made Godfrey’s heart begin to pound in his chest. There were gaps large enough for Godfrey to walk through in the crumbled wall. Its towers were in ruins, but it was what lurked inside that he dreaded. Turning around, Fallard gave his cousin a humorless smile.
“Squire,” Fallard addressed Godfrey, waving him forward.
Calming his nerves, Godfrey took a few steps toward his cousin. He could do this. He knew he could. He remembered the Bishop’s blessing. After this he would be knighted. Harv would be saved, and he would be the one to do it.
“Yes, sire?” Godfrey replied.
Godfrey and Fallard’s tone was formal in this exchange. Even now, in this fetid swamp, there was a certain amount of ritual to be observed. It was an ancient tradition. The knight was to give his final instructions and send his squire to conquer or die.
May no one sing a shameful song about me, Godfrey repeated in his mind.
“You can feel the evil of this place?” Fallard asked, pointing to the keep.
“Yes, my lord.” Godfrey nodded, clearing a lump in his throat.
“It was twelve years ago that I took you from your father’s hall to train you as a knight,” Fallard said. “Now look at you, a squire as worthy as any I have ever seen. If you return from that castle alive with the vampire’s head, your quest for knighthood will be complete.”
Godfrey’s face went pale, and though he wished to be brave and go inside the castle, his feet remained firmly planted where they were. That nervous twitch ran through his hand again. By the gods, how he hated that twitch. He could not move, and his mouth was completely dry.
Fallard watched his cousin for a moment. The knight closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. Godfrey’s embarrassment burned almost as hot as his fear was cold. He knew Fallard had expected this. The shame. Godfrey cast his own eyes down at his feet, willing them to move. They would not. He could not bear to look at either of Fallard’s retainers. Reluctantly, Godfrey’s gaze found Fallard again.
Opening his eyes again, Fallard dismounted his horse. He pulled a sword in its scabbard from his saddle pack. Godfrey flinched, but Fallard handed the weapon to the seventeen-year-old squire. The squire’s fear vanished, and was replaced by curiosity.
“This sword has been enchanted by a great wizard,” Fallard explained. “It looks like an ordinary blade, but against the undead it holds great power. Use it to cut off the vampire’s head, and you will have saved countless lives. I cannot do this for you. Now may the gods bless you. Go.”
Godfrey took the sword, and slipped its scabbard through a leather frog on his belt. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was a plan. Fallard was not sending him off to die. Bruno and Fulcher both nodded to Godfrey, and he returned the gesture. He walked towards the castle’s keep awkwardly at first, but as he did he gradually found his courage. He thought on his cousin’s words as he got closer. This was not just about becoming a knight. This was about being brave, saving people, and doing the will of the gods.
“But then that’s what becoming a knight is about,” Godfrey said to himself aloud as he reached the castle wall.
Fallard and the two men-at-arms were now obscured by the mists as Godfrey walked through a large gap in the wall. The earth was firmer inside the castle courtyard, and it was only then that he realized the keep was on a small hill. Despite the castle’s advantageous position, it still only overlooked a fog-covered swamp. Godfrey wondered if its purpose was not to lay claim to this decayed land, but instead to remain hidden where few would venture.
The sound of toads croaking and insects buzzing, which had surrounded Godfrey in the swamp up to this point, was ominously absent inside the castle walls. Yes, this castle was meant to hide fell deeds from prying eyes. The twitch returned to Godfrey’s hand, but he kept walking regardless.
The entrance to the keep was located partway up a tower that jutted from the side of the structure. A set of stone stairs ran roughly halfway up the side of the keep and ended at the entrance set in the tower. The keep’s door had rotted off long ago, leaving only rust-stained hinges behind. The entrance to the keep opened into a dark alcove.
As he looked inside, a chill ran up Godfrey’s spine. There was nothing visible inside the entrance, but dread filled him all the same. This was a place of evil.
Drawing the magic sword from its scabbard, Godfrey could not see anything but shadow inside the keep still. He unslung his shield from his back. Taking a few deep breaths, he took a moment to look at the blade. Fallard was right. It looked just like any other longsword, but with magic, appearances were often deceiving. Or so Godfrey was told. He pondered the blade a moment longer, wondering why so many people were terrified of magic. Perhaps it was because blatantly magical things were so rare and dangerous. The moment was surreal.
“My first magic sword,” Godfrey said in disbelief.
Climbing the stairs as quietly as he could, Godfrey glanced over the courtyard several times to be sure it was still empty. Every time he looked, he saw only the same mud and patchy grass that was there when he first entered the castle grounds. He decided it was best to focus his attention on the stairs in front of him so if he were to meet a grisly end, it would not be at the hands of a misplaced foot. Out of all of Godfrey’s irrational fears, his fear of falling was the one he himself least understood.
As he drew closer to the keep’s entrance, Godfrey’s skin began to crawl. The feeling intensified until his heart began to pound again when he reached the top of the stairs. His hand was shaking uncontrollably now.
Pausing, Godfrey prayed silently to the gods for their protection. After a moment, his hand stopped shaking. The fear did not leave, but the clarity of purpose he had felt during the Bishop’s blessing overrode that fear. He released a long breath and stepped inside the keep.
The air inside the keep was frigid even though it was only early fall. Godfrey let his eyes adjust to the dark. He took a step forward inside the alcove, and was shocked to see a pair of skeletal arms swinging a sword directly at his face. Godfrey instinctively raised his shield just in time to block the blow, but before he knew it, a long spear thrust towards him from the other side. Narrowly dodging the spear tip, he realized there were two skeletons attacking him. The one on his left had a cracked helmet and a two-handed greatsword while the other one carried a spear and shield.
Godfrey thrust his sword at the skeleton with the spear, while planning to block the other monster’s attack with his shield again. The spear-armed foe stopped Godfrey’s attack with its own shield as the other attacker swung its greatsword at him. Godfrey’s shield clanged at the sword’s impact, but he knew he could not fight both of these creatures for long. As the spear-wielding monstrosity jabbed its weapon at Godfrey, he parried it with his blade, and in a single fluid motion bashed in the abomination’s face with the cross-guard of his sword. The creature’s jaw fell off as its body crashed into the alcove’s wall, and it collapsed into a heap of bones.
The other skeleton made a downward swing with its sword, and Godfrey stepped back. The heavy blade deflected off the flared nose guard of Godfrey’s spangenhelm, and slashed diagonally across his cheek. He yelped more in alarm than pain, but the attack threw him on his back all the same. He felt warm blood drip from his wound as the monster leered over him. As it raised its sword for the killing blow, Godfrey desperately swung at the horrid creature’s legs. He cleaved through the bone and the skeleton fell beside him.
Godfrey jumped to his feet and snapped the skeleton’s neck with a stomp from his boot. He watched the scattered bones lie inert where they were for a moment, to make sure they would not reanimate. Wiping the blood from the scratch on his face, Godfrey was relieved to discover the wound was superficial.
Satisfied, Godfrey turned from the alcove into the keep’s hall. It was familiar in the sense that there were long feasting tables with benches and serving dishes placed upon them, just like in the hall of any castle keep, but the fire of the hearth had long since died, and the furniture was scattered as if there had been a great commotion. Upon the walls hung faded tapestries with heraldic devices obscured as much by the moldering ravages of time as by shadow.
A sudden movement caught Godfrey’s attention. Towards the back of the hall, a figure sat on a throne set atop a large dais. The figure wore tattered robes and armor stained with rust. Withered skin stretched across its face but where eyes should have been, empty sockets stared back at Godfrey. The squire involuntarily stepped back as the figure rose and set a tarnished crown on its head.
Another pair of spear-armed skeletons appeared from the shadows. One creature lunged at Godfrey with outstretched claws. Godfrey raised his shield to block one clawed hand while he slashed his sword down on the other. The monster recoiled at the loss of its hand, but gave a piercing screech as it struck at Godfrey with renewed fury. The noise dazed Godfrey, and he was pushed back as his helmet and shield were pummeled by the undead creature. Parrying the thrust of an oncoming spear, Godfrey then cleaved through one of the skeletons, but the other skeleton’s spear pierced Godfrey’s side. He cried out in pain, but managed to smash in the attacker’s skull with the pommel of his sword.
The crowned undead monster stepped back, regarding Godfrey with interest. Its jaw slackened, revealing a gaping mouth with only a few loose cracked teeth set in its rotten gums.
“You trespass, boy.” The words hissed from the monster though its mouth simply remained open. “I am Kurl, lord of this swamp and the surrounding marsh. Tell me who you are before I kill you.”
“I am Godfrey de Bastogne,” Godfrey answered between painful gasping breaths. “I am the son of Ulric, Duke de Bastogne. I came to slay the monster who has been murdering the people of Harv.”
Godfrey hesitated.
“But Bishop Clovis said you would be a vampire.” Godfrey frowned. “You seem to be a wight instead.”
“Fool,” Kurl laughed. “You are a young and stupid squire sent on a quest to destroy vampires. That won’t happen today. Instead, I will sacrifice you to Belnor, and devour your flesh on his altar!”
Breathing heavily, Godfrey willed the pain down, but the wight was not about to be lenient. With a snarl, Kurl ripped into Godfrey’s tabard and lifted him off the ground by his hauberk. Regaining his wits, Godfrey slashed his sword through the wight’s neck, severing his head. Kurl collapsed in a heap, releasing Godfrey, who plopped on the ground beside the monster’s ruined form. Coughing, he blinked tears from his eyes as he felt the wound on his side. It was not bad, he told himself even as he cringed with pain.
The air around Godfrey immediately grew warmer as the wight’s dark magic began to dissipate. Godfrey laughed in elation as he realized what he had accomplished in that moment. The feeling was cut short.
Something still did not feel right. The cold was gone but the sense of unease would not leave the pit of Godfrey’s stomach. He sat where he was for a moment to see if it would simply take longer for the sensation to leave him, but it remained constant despite coming to grips with the evil of this place. His eyes were drawn to the floor, and the feeling of despair intensified. It was below him.
Godfrey looked around the hall and could make out more details now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark. Sure enough, there was a set of spiral stairs in one of the corners leading both to the keep’s upper levels and down to what Godfrey assumed would either be the storage rooms or dungeon. He had no torch but pressed for the stairs anyway, keeping his sword drawn. He was sure whatever evil was still in this place could be found down those stairs.
As Godfrey neared the stairs, he noticed a faint glow coming from the bottom. At least he had that in his favor. He walked down the stairs and his unease grew worse as he passed the landing to the ground level. This evil, this monster or whatever it was, lived below the earth. The evil presence in the basement emanated despair just as the wight had in the keep’s hall. Godfrey braced himself as he reached the bottom of the stairs and looked into the chamber in front of him.
With white stones used in its walls, the room had the appearance of a chapel. Black candles placed on tables adjacent to the walls and atop chandeliers glowed softly, giving the room a slightly yellow hue. In the center of the room sat a large wooden statue of a creature with the head of a beast and the body of a man. The statue’s arms were outstretched in a welcoming gesture before a wide altar set in front of it, but its face leered as if to signify the unworthiness of those in its presence. Godfrey’s discomfort at seeing the statue grew to the point that nausea began to grip his stomach.
“Belnor?” Godfrey asked aloud as he entered the chapel.
“That is the god’s name,” a girl’s voice answered petulantly.
Godfrey spun around to see a girl with auburn hair in a corner of the room behind him. She was thin, looked about his age, and her pale features gave her an ethereal allure. Enthralled by her beauty, he stood there, staring at her for a moment with his mouth half-open. She looked back at him with an annoyed expression as she ruffled her dress.
“Have you never seen a damsel before?” the girl asked in a mocking tone.
His hand giving a slight twitch, he involuntarily stepped back a pace. Her rebuke stung him. Apparently, this damsel’s beauty only went skin-deep.
“I did not expect to see one in a place like this,” Godfrey said, regaining his composure. “I destroyed the wight and four skeletons. Do you know if there are more monsters in the keep?”
“No,” the girl flatly replied. “There are not.”
“Good,” Godfrey said, slightly puzzled by her tone. “We need to destroy this idol, and then I will get you out of here.”
“I don’t need you to save me,” the girl protested.
“What?” Godfrey shrank back at this completely unexpected response.
“You invaded my home,” she spat. “You killed my father, and now you are going to destroy the unholy image of my god!”
Godfrey was frozen in place, completely dumbfounded. None of this made any sense to him. His mind began to race as he tried to put the pieces together.
“If you are responsible for creating undead and worshipping dark gods, it is my duty to slay you,” Godfrey replied, keeping his sword gripped tightly in his hand. “I shall not allow that to continue.”
The girl hissed at Godfrey, revealing a pair of large fangs. His eyes went wide as he realized what she was. She leapt at Godfrey, but he dodged her attack with ease. Then the wound in his side ached, and Godfrey gritted his teeth. Wincing, he kept back from her. He knew what he had to do, but he still hesitated. She looked nothing like what he had imagined a vampire to be.
“How could such a fair damsel be the vampire terrorizing Harv?” Godfrey asked as the two circled.
“My father,” the girl explained. “Lord Kurl always worshipped Belnor. When I grew sick, he prayed for his god to spare my life. I was granted immortality at the price of continuing Belnor’s work here in the mortal realm more than a century ago.”
“Why have you only attacked Harv more recently?” Godfrey asked with genuine interest.
“I turned the unsuspecting servants here into my first acts of devotion,” the vampire answered with a defiant grimace. “The remainder fled when they realized what I had become, leaving just my father and me at the castle. We slowly built up our strength in that time. He taught me death magic, and I used it on him in his sleep. For the last hundred years I have ruled this swamp and its surrounding villages. Your petty lords only think they do, but now that my strength has grown to its fullness I will overthrow them. As long as I feed on fresh blood, I will never die.”
“Was your father one of those petty lords who only thought he ruled even in undeath?” Godfrey asked, incredulous at the venom in her words.
“He promised to always protect me,” the girl said with misty eyes that quickly flared in anger. “That was his responsibility. Mine is to rule. And you will not ruin it!”
“Your abomination destroys innocent life,” Godfrey answered. “My sacred duty is to end that horror.”
The vampire jumped at Godfrey again. His wound slowing him, Godfrey was unable to avoid her strike. Her fangs caught on the coif around his neck as she knocked him on his back. She tore out several chainmail links as she ripped her fangs free from his armor.
With Godfrey still on the ground, the vampire pounced on top of him. She pinned him before he could react. Her eyes blazed wildly as she repeatedly gnashed and chomped at his neck. Yet for all the animalistic ferocity of her attack, the vampire was silent as death as her fangs ripped more links from Godfrey’s coif. The next bite would tear into his now exposed neck. Despite her diminutive form, she was incredibly powerful. Godfrey’s efforts to buck her off him proved futile. Panic almost overcame him entirely as he realized he was about to die.
At that moment Godfrey saw his opportunity. Summoning all the strength he could muster, he shoved the vampire off to the side with his sword arm. She was on her back beside him, momentarily disoriented. She made to pin Godfrey again, but his arm was free to swing his sword in a wide arc. The stroke severed the girl’s auburn head from her body as she momentarily hung over Godfrey’s prone form. Instead of blood, a thick black ichor oozed from the stump of the vampire’s neck, covering Godfrey in reeking filth as the vampire’s corrupted corpse fell on top of him.
Shaken but resolute, Godfrey brushed the headless corpse to the side and climbed to his feet. He sheathed his sword and looked to the unblinking idol of Belnor. How many people had been slain on that altar? There was only one thing left to do now.
Suddenly, dozens of skeletons emerged from an anteroom at the back of the chapel. They were armed with swords and spears. Knowing he could not destroy them all, Godfrey looked to the statue of Belnor. His skin prickled as he felt the malice pouring from it. The skeletons charged Godfrey from the other end of the chapel.
Godfrey knocked over several candles on one of the tables, catching a rug on fire. The blaze quickly spread to the tablecloth, then to the table itself. A moment later, flames began to lick the tapestries on the wall and the base of Belnor’s idol also caught fire. It was only at that moment that the sickening feeling of the evil presence began to dissipate. As the wooden statue burned, the skeletons crumbled to dust and their weapons clattered on the ground. Grabbing the vampire’s severed head, Godfrey realized half of the chapel was now ablaze. He dashed back up the stairs as fast as his aching wound would allow.
Smoke and flame followed up the stairs after Godfrey. Heaving with great pain, he raced to the keep’s entrance as he felt a cold sweat covering him from all of his exertions. He stumbled as he began to choke on the fumes, and his vision blurred with tears. The fire spread into the hall with frightening speed. With a desperate gasp, Godfrey ran through the keep’s entrance and tumbled down the slippery stairs.
Both of Godfrey’s feet flew in front of him for a moment. This was how Godfrey was going to die? Sharp pain struck him again and again as he hit each step. All of that, and he was going to die falling down stairs.
Finally, Godfrey stopped and found himself lying in the mud, bruised and bloodied. His wounds seared in agony, and Godfrey could not stand, but at least he was alive. He was spared an ignominious death for now.
Fallard and the two men-at-arms were standing over Godfrey before he knew it. He was dazed and hardly aware of their presence. Coming to himself, Godfrey saw that they were torn between watching the flames lick the sky from the keep’s roof—as if awaiting a great demon to burst from the flames—and attending to his own battered form. Fallard reached down to pull his cousin off the ground, but stopped and stared incredulously at the vampire’s severed head lying next to Godfrey.
“You did that with only an ordinary blade?” Fallard’s mouth gaped.
“An ordinary blade?” Godfrey repeated dumbly. “You said...”
“I said what would give you the courage to continue your quest,” Fallard interrupted, pulling Godfrey to his feet. “That you completed it as such renders all the more glory to you.”
Though confused, Godfrey felt his anger at Fallard’s deception subside. He was right. Godfrey had done something few others could boast of. That his situation was more perilous than he imagined was beside the point.
“How was I able to slay the vampire if the sword was not enchanted?” Godfrey asked.
“Most creatures will not survive a decapitation, regardless of the instrument used.” Fallard shrugged.
Now it was Godfrey’s turn to have his mouth gape open in surprise.