Heat soothed Nathan's face.
He woke beside a fire within a hut, the same hut he huddle with his Warlord brother for many nights in the accursed village.
On the other side of the fire sat someone hooded, focused on grinding up herbs upon a flat rock.
Larosa looked up from beneath the hood, then went back to work.
"Larosa," he muttered, mouth so dry there felt to be dust.
While he gagged, coughing up nothing for over a minute, Larosa urged him to rest.
"Be still," she whispered, unwrapping a cloth. "You're lucky to be alive, and sane."
"I'm fine," he said, forcing himself up, "I can g-."
One look at his belly and he gasped.
His ribs may as well have been protruding from him, and he panicked, looking at how thin he was. With little energy to remain up, he collapsed back down, shivering as the fire cackled.
"I may be able to give you something to control your thirst," Larosa said, sprinkling dust over the ground herbs, "though you must remain here, in Marryvia."
I can't, he wanted to say.
It all went so wrong, everything from the moment he left the valley.
What good did he make of the family creed?
Aside from himself, a bag of bones cursed by a vampyre demigod, he failed so many. Carl, the bastard he was sworn to protect, and all the escorts in the forsaken graves of Razelael. Soldiers, dying side by side from him, on a centuries old battlefield, and a boy ripped into the sky before his very eyes.
He could still hear the lad's screams.
Then the lady who worked tirelessly by a fire, so far from home, in a land black as hell. His lady, he vowed to honor and love, he could do nothing for.
Chained like a dog, he was helpless when the battle that mattered most ensued. When he laid eyes on Quarrath the very sight of her was unlike anything he'd ever felt. She was more of a storm, something powerful in the form of flesh, and no matter what stood in her way only destruction would ensue.
"Where are the Embers?" He mumbled, trying to keep himself awake.
Larosa rubbed a dark glint riddled ointment across his chest, and he took a deep exhale. As if all the past troubles over the last few days were busting out of him at once.
"This will help with the pain, but, I'm afraid only the Archive Master can aid you, with an ordained priest," she said, turning away from him. "The Embers, what's left of them, are patrolling. Vampyres almost raided the village the first night they returned with you, they've been driving them back ever since."
"How long has it been?" He asked, laying a hand over his chest.
"Three days. I believed…I believed you wouldn't last another night," Larosa choked, tears welling in her eyes.
He reached out to her, but she wouldn't even look at him.
"I'm sorry Nathan," she said, rubbing her eyes, "but, you're too much of a risk."
"What's happening to me?" He stuttered, heat rising in him.
She turned slightly back. "You're a vampyre. Unlike the rejuvenators who are bound by blood magic, forcing them to stay in human form, you're one of Marryvia's soldiers now."
"No!" He shouted, digging claws into his palm as he made fists. "I am Nathan, son of Nordwell, a fireborne sword of the kingdom!"
She made her way to the door, ignoring him as he coughed.
"I AM NATHAN SON OF NORDWELL!" He roared, the fire withering away.
A hand over his mouth, he cursed at himself.
"Dear gods," he whimpered, looking at the blood in his hands. "Larosa, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me, I don't-I don't know what's happening!"
She approached him, tears in her eyes, drawing a razor steel dagger.
He forced himself up, pinned against the wall. "Wh-What are y-?"
She cut her forearm, nicking a small artery, then leaned over him. "Go on."
Rich iron stench, and a smooth roll down her arm. He held tucked his hands within his armpits, shivering while shaking his head.
"You're thirsty," Larosa whispered, checking behind herself. "When you were in and out of consciousness, you would've died had I not spared a few drops."
"I can't," he said, tears rolling down his cheek.
"You must, Nathan. It's alright. Use your lips, and you won't hurt me."
He leaned closer. "I won't hurt you?"
She smiled, just as she did whenever they overlooked the river. "You could never hurt me."
Smooth as ever, her skin even haven been gone from the capital's previsions for so long, he pressed his lips over her wound.
The first few sips were so warm, like a rich ale he'd never tasted. Shivers stopped, his belly wasn't so empty, there was steady rhythm in his heart, yet his muscles still ached.
She moaned, and he pulled himself away, blood dripping from his lips.
"I'm fine," she said, holding her arm up to him. "Keep going, you need to recover your strength."
"Won't this make it worse? What if I start feeding on the villagers?"
She pointed to several jars against the wall, just beyond the foot of the bead.
Pig, horse, some of her own blood, and the blood of various animals. She drew blood from some of the Embers as well, even William offering more than what she recommended. There was a half truth to what she explained of the patrols against he vampyres; the Embers hunted and filled more jars full of blood from whatever animals they could.
"The villagers agreed to let you stay, so long as William and the Embers kept watch over you," Larosa explained, wrapping her arm after he finished a few more sips. "Now that you're stable, I'll ride for the fireborne camp and request an escort to the capital."
"Will the Archive Master really answer?" He said, flexing his full fingers.
She made her way to the door once more. "If he doesn't, I'll find another way. There are always answers within the world's largest library."
Though just a few paces away, she felt to be so far, and he fought back tears at the thought of her leaving.
"I will return for you," she said, closing the door, but hanging it open for a moment longer. "May the gods have mercy on you, my love."
He fought to get up, but was still sore.
Not as exhausted, but he felt to have been fighting in a shield wall for days one end. Arms like noodles, his legs were tight, and his shoulders throbbed. Everything felt to be compressed, and he shuddered at the thought of darkness swallowing him.
Hours passed, and he grew thirsty again.
Pig blood was rough on his nostrils, but he took several sips. Then long chugs, and before he knew it, the jar was empty.
"Fuck," he thought to himself, wiping his mouth.
He needed a drink.
There was a canteen bedside, and he recognized it to be Arthur's. It was half full, and he emptied it in a single go. Numbness took over, and he was relieved at the fact he could still be drunk.
Anything, to keep him from the thought of Larosa, riding through the hellish landscape back to the Burning Lands.
A light tap at the door was followed by Dany, peeking inside with William behind her. She said nothing, as if she were somehow embarrassed, but made her way inside to sit opposite the fire from him.
William, the lad with a cross star, a faint light on its silver edges, stood bedside with a faint grin.
"We couldn't muster anything for you tonight," the young father sighed, a hand on the cross star, "though we drove back a dozen or so scouts. Seems Qurrath's pulling them back, for what reason we don't know."
Nathan nodded, lowering his head.
Dany, still silent, made her way over, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"They're not dead," she said, her voice dry and raspy. "William says there is a chance, like many unfortunate soulless awaken, they could rise within the swamps south of the Nested Mountains."
There was a faint flutter in his chest.
He looked to William, who nodded.
"She may be a child of the gods, but she is still part vampyre. Only a full blooded god can kill a soulless, and even then…," the young father said, making a sign of the cross, "…according to legend, only the fallen lord himself can administer the final judgement."
"The Ninth Lord?" Nathan wondered.
William nodded.
The three of them, Arthur haven gone to ride with Larosa much to Nathan's relief, rested within the dark village.
Days passed, he made is way out at night, at last free of an aching body, and practiced with his longsword.
Fluent, yet powerful, like a rapid lashing wave, he was better than ever. Though living off rations, animal blood and a few drops from either Dany or William, he was stronger than he could've been in ten lifetimes.
A raven arrived after another week, from the Creachllacian camp, with a message from Larosa.
Vampyres lurked the battlefield at night, seizing movement from all major armies.
The First Sword was set on taking over the kingdoms.