The fog sat low on the moor, watchful and cold. The cloak of malice it wore when the moon was high now slithered back into the nameless corners of the night where it devoured its prey as it waited for the dark. Slowly, slowly, a lightness dawned in the air like the inward breath of an ancient dragon as it stirs for the first time in a thousand years. A bird dared chirp. The sound pierced through the reverent grey and suddenly the sky chimed with songs that heralded the sun.

Laying on the damp earth, wearing the fog like a tattered flag, was Autarkhos, the last of her noble bloodline, and leagues away from the civilization she was trying to bring back to this to this broken land. Her sword was lost, her horse felled, and her company scattered. Yet her mind remained gathered and sharp, and it was only too bad that her body was still paralysed by the vampire's venom and she lay in the shade of the hill where the sun may not touch her until mid-morning or noon.

Her body was returned to her slowly, a digit at a time, as the sun crept over the moor. First her toes, a miracle that they hadn't frozen in her boots overnight, then in a warm diagonal tide crept up her lip and left hand and they too were released. It was another hour or so before she could sit, and noon by the time she stood, her body warm and alive under the blessed blue sky.

Surveying her surroundings, she could see not a soul, but it wasn't long on her way back to the road that she found Deegan, her most loyal lieutenant, broken and pale, opened from naval to nose, yet not a drop of blood in sight. There was no time for a proper burial, and Autarkhos left while the small pyre yet burned bright, though each step was consecrated with silent tears.

When she reached the road she thought briefly of returning to the safety of Gloam's Fort where she might rest, replenish, and round up more men. But it was a three-day ride back whence, and experience told her that the vampire's lair was close; if not on the moor itself then perhaps the hills not far from Berkley Town where the desperate townsfolk had begun staking young girls in the town square at night so that the vampire would not trouble those huddled at home. She could reach Berkley at least by nightfall, and perhaps put an end to this waste of innocence.

Autarkhos expected no hospitality at Berkley, even if they were in a position to afford it. But neither did she think that they'd refuse her help. The Townmaster, a balding man with darting eyes and the smell of spilt goat's milk, met her in the fading light of the town square amidst the bustle of folk scurrying to make preparations for the coming night.

He was polite enough when he said, "Most honourable and brave Prinkipissa, we cannot afford to anger the One Who Owns the Night. We cannot be seen to condone your hunt. Please, you would be of most assistance if you were not here."

Though she was no slouch, drawing herself to her full height made her a full head taller than the Townmaster, which made glowering at him easy. "I must remind you, mister, that your King signed the Slayer's Code. As his subject, you are duty bound to uphold it. Now, if there is a chance that the vampire will come this night, you must allow me to lay a trap. If we can keep it tied until dawn, we will vanquish it together."

A strange look darted across the Townsmaster's eyes, somewhere between desperation and anger. He bowed his head.

"Of course, of course," he said nervously. "If you would be so kind as to show the men how to lay the trap," he gestured to the three that were checking the stake and chains meant for their evening's immolation.

With a curt nod, Autarkhos turned in the direction the Townmaster gestured. At that same moment, she felt a sudden star-burst pain at the base of her skull, followed swiftly by blackness.

Autarkhos blinked open her eyes to see the starry night above her. A torch burned nearby, the fluttering of flame was loud in an otherwise deep and silent night. When she shifted on the flagstones, she heard the dragging rattle of chains. Her hands and feet were shackled, though the chains allowed some movement, and thankfully her hands were before her rather than behind. With a groan, Autarkhos forced herself to sit up. The movement brought a blinding, swirling pain to her head, and she knew that she was still concussed. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, and she had long since learnt to let the pain drench her bones rather than fight it. Soon, it settled like a flock of angry starlings on winter branches.

The town square was deserted, but to her dismay, she did not find herself alone. There was a girl bound to the same stake, though only shackled by one ankle and clearly unfit for escape. Her eyes were curious. Light in colour, green or blue perhaps, impossible to tell in the tint of the torchlight. She reminded Autarkhos of the delicate, whimsical elves that once lived in the forests of her homelands. She was standing, swaying from side to side as though dancing to an invisible tune. A bit odd.

"Are you really a princess?" she asked as way of greeting. "You don't look like a princess."

Autarkhos glanced down at herself. She still wore her mail and chest plate. Her dress, once a deep forest green, was stained and tattered from travel and battle. Her skin, once fair, was tanned and scarred. When brushed and combed, her hair fell in luminous red twists to her waist, but on the road she kept it in a braid that dulled under a coat of grit. How many years since she'd taken her oaths? How many leagues had she travelled?

"I suppose not. Not here. Not now. The lands of my people are far and past. My title need not apply in the new world." Autarkhos said with a distant look, as though the mere mention of the old times brought them to dance just behind her tired eyes. For a moment, she looked younger. That moment passed in a blink and she dragged her gaze back to the girl. "My name is Autarkhos."

"Nissa." The girl gave an awkward curtsy, encumbered as she was.

"Nissa," Autarkhos acknowledged with a nod. She held up her hands to get a clearer view of her shackles in the firelight. Given time, she could have found her way out of the shackles, but the air already tasted of the deep night, and time was not on her side. There was a cold wind rising, inside and out. The vampire must have been close.

"I don't suppose you know how to pick locks?"

"No," Nissa said, terribly unconcerned. Her gaze was cast somewhere beyond the wavering ring of torchlight. Could she sense the vampire as well? "So you're not a princess here and now, but somewhere, sometime, you are a princess?"

Autarkhos felt a tug at her lips. It might have been a smile, despite their perilous predicament. "The argument could be made, yes." If not in gesture, the girl betrayed her oddness with words. Less and less surprising that Nissa was the one chosen for the stake, and had the situation been less dire, Autarkhos may have wondered how she survived to her age without the townsfolk casting her out.

"Good. Good, good, good." Nissa rubbed her hands together. She reached down the front of her dress and fished for something hanging low on a string around her neck. "I've always wanted to save a princess."

Autarkhos frowned at Nissa's cryptic words, but her eyebrows lifted higher than the moon when the girl drew out a long, grey key. The girl lifted the string and the key over her head and bent down to unlocked the shackle at her ankle. Once freed, she strode to the torch to warm her hands.

Autarkhos heard the steps only a fraction of a moment before Nissa. Both of them turned to crisp tap-tap-tap of wooden shoes on flagstone. The vampire was coming.

"And mine. You must hurry, my dear," Autarkhos said urgently, getting to her feet. She was chained just out of reach, but the girl could close the distance.

"Do you have a castle?" Nissa asked.

"What?"

"A castle. You know, like the King."

"While I do not see the relevance, yes, dear, I have a castle of sandstone and alabaster off the coast of Somerholm. Now, will you please unchain me or hand me the key so that I may unchain myself?"

Nissa turned to look at her, but whatever the girl was about to say was stolen when a dark shadow appeared at the outer rim of torchlight.

The vampire had come.

He looked like death personified.

Last night's gore hadn't yet dried on his cloak; it was all that remained of Autarkhos' men. The skin on his face was pale and taut, ill moulded around his eyes and mouth, making both facial features look like a demonic pantomime of the real thing. He simply stood, for the moment, turning to look from Autarkhos to Nissa, then back again, like a raptor making up his mind about which field mouse to sink his claws into.

Nissa gasped and dropped the key.

At the sound, the vampire's gaze snapped to her. A cold interest stirred as he beheld her.

"Pick it up!" Autarkhos hissed, daring not to take her eyes off the vampire. "Come here!" There was no way she could reach the foolish girl in time if he chose to attack now. She was a few paces too far.

Nissa seemed to regather herself at Autarkhos' words, but she didn't heed them. Instead, she straightened and held her hand out to the vampire.

"No! You don't know what you're doing! Stop!" Autarkhos strained against her shackles with such force that the links grated and groaned amongst themselves.

It was then that the vampire spoke. At first, Autarkhos couldn't even make out his words; so absurd it was for something so reviled to still retain even a semblance of speech. But this vampire not only spoke, but spoke well. She heard him after what seemed like a great delay.

"Quite the contrary, I think," he said. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you, child?"

Nissa nodded. "I give myself to you freely, and in return you must grant my request."

"Yes," the vampire said with a predatory gleam. His eyes slid to Autarkhos, drinking in her desperation, and them back to Nissa with a glib smile.

"Nissa, please, listen when I say that death would be better. A vampire can keep you alive in his lair for years and years, taking more from you than a body should give."

Nissa shook her head. "My mind's made up, Prinkipissa."

"Her mind's made up," the vampire mocked.

When Nissa made her request, there was barely a tremble in her voice. "I want you to make me into a vampire."

Both the vampire and Autarkhos were quiet for a moment.

"Oh." The vampire seemed just as taken aback, if not more so than Autarkhos. Caught off guard, his expression was almost human. Almost. "I… suppose that is a reasonable request…given the circumstances…" he said finally. He glanced again at Autarkhos, but got no more than stunned sullenness from her.

Nissa nodded and strode to him. "Let's go." When she reached the vampire, she turned to curtsy again. "Autarkhos. It was an honour to make your acquaintance." She kept walking, seeming not to care if the vampire followed.

He hesitated, his eyes darting again to the slayer. This would be the best chance to kill her, but at the same time, his prize was walking away. And such an exquisite prize, too; in manner and in scent, this one tonight was different from the lambs that he had taken from the town before. Was it confidence? No. He could feel the tremble in her steps, and as much as she tried to pretend, he could taste the fear on her skin. No, she wasn't confident. Brazen, perhaps. Brazen with some flavour of madcap. Already his fangs were engorged and dripping with anticipation.

The chained slayer called after the girl. Nissa was her name. She stopped only when she reached the edge of her town.

"Where are we going?" she asked him without so much as a backward glance.

The vampire didn't reply, at least, not in words. He wrapped an arm around her waist and leapt up in into the night, flying back towards the hills.

It was a month later when Autarkhos arrived at the copper gilded cave entrance of the vampire's lair, deep within the hills that lay to the west of Berkley Town. There had been much to do in the way of administration. A warrant for the Townmaster's arrest and execution. Berkley Town to be placed under martial control while the courts deliberated on the extent of the townsfolk's complicities. Fresh men drafted for the hunt from Gloam's Fort and beyond, well-seasoned in the art of war, but green in the ways of the hunt, which only made Autarkhos feel the loss of her Deegan more keenly.

The air had warmed by degrees, and the smell of rusting metal mixed with old blood was undeniable. Nature, however, seemed incurious; dandelions and heather grew in tight clumps at their feet. Autarkhos was edgier than usual, and the men around her shifted nervously in the turbulence of her internal conflict. She would usually be calling for the torches to be lit and the nets to be checked, but she found herself lost in thought about the odd girl that had accompanied the vampire willingly to her doom. What had become of her, Autarkhos wondered. Becoming a vampire was no easy feat. More died than succeeded, which was a mercy in itself, both for the afflicted and for mankind in general. What had become of Nissa? The question, which Autarkhos had asked herself many times since that night, still brought up an unease not easily quelled and not easily explained with words.

There was no way to know what was in the caves until one was deep within them. The light of the day only penetrated the entrance way.

Against better judgement, she ordered her men to stay.

"If I don't come out within the hour, burn everything." She unsheathed her new sword. The blade gleamed in the light.

One of her men lit a torch and handed it to her. He looked to say something, but at the last moment coughed instead.

The flutter of the flame and the pressing darkness reminded Autarkhos of the night she had met Nissa. Down in the passage, the air was damp and cold, which only accentuated the tang of blood.

She didn't have to go very far before the passage of rock widened into a cavern where the vampire bid away the daylight hours. In the centre, there was an opened sarcophagus decorated with the same copper markings as the mouth of the cave. There were no limbs strewn around, however, as she had seen in other vampire lairs. This one was strangely barren and fastidiously clean. Autarkhos couldn't be distracted by the surreal sensation of standing in the lair of the vampire who had killed her men. She edged closer to the sarcophagus, blade first.

There was no movement. Not a stir.

When Autarkhos was close enough to peer in, what she saw made her head snap back in confusion. The vampire lay in his bed, and to all the world he could have looked asleep, except that there was a two inch gap between his head and the rest of his body. He wasn't dead, for if there was cause for his head and body to join again, a powerful enough vampire could still survive a beheading. But neither was he a threat in this state. She sheathed her sword.

Autarkhos didn't waste time. She removed his head, set fire to his body, and then tossed his head back in once the flames were lively enough. There she stood for what remained of her hour, making sure that the body was burnt beyond repair.

When she emerged from the cave, she was greeted by another surprise, though she couldn't decide whether this one was welcome. She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword, stopping short of drawing her blade.

There was Nissa, chatting easily with the men at ease around her. She was the first to catch sight of Autarkhos' emergence from the cave. She waved.

Sensing Autarkhos' mood, the chatter faded to silence and the men edged away from Nissa, who didn't seem to notice or mind. The girl walked forward to greet Autarkhos as if all was what it seemed.

"So you burnt the body then?" Nissa asked in way of greeting. "I wasn't sure what to do."

Up close, a veteran hunter wouldn't miss the remnants of two neat puncture marks below the ear on Nissa's neck. The fact that none of the men had seen this made Autarkhos curse their inexperience.

Of course, who would expect a vampire to stand in broad daylight?

"You are a fool," Autarkhos said coolly. "Only a fool would choose this life." The pain of her past never ached so clearly as it did now.

Nissa shrugged. "What choice did I have that night? I have no family, Prinkipissa, and certainly no friends. If you have saved me that night, I would have only been used on another. Perhaps married off. Perhaps sold."

Autarkhos closed her eyes. "You do not understand what you have done, and you won't perhaps for many years. But one day, one day when all you know has turned to dust and all you know is the taste of ash, you will understand."

When she opened her eyes, she found Nissa staring at her with interest. A girl who was not quite a girl anymore. Something told Autarkhos that Nissa was wiser than her years, kinder than she was wise, and stronger than both, just as Autarkhos had been once.

Despite the gravity of Autarkhos' mood, Nissa smiled.

"In the meantime, do you think we can visit your castle?"

Author's Note

This was written for the June Labyrinth competition, based on a series of choice points 'decided by fate'. I employed a set of tarot cards to make my decisions, which took the story in twisting – illogical – decisions that both frustrated and surprised me. The cards I drew were: Emperor. Temperance. Fool. Chariot. Justice. Devil. Death. Hierophant.

If you liked this story, and you want to read more, head on over to the 3K Short Story Contest on the Labyrinth Forum for some more great entries. You can vote for your favourite!

I'm experimenting with a more mature voice, and I am insisting that it is mature, not just wanky. :P As always, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Augs out.

03/07/17 - Made some changes based on Mattsan's suggestions. Cheers mate!