While all individual presences were unique, in such a large group the warriors’ all blended together, more similar to each other than they were different. I sensed the same emotions across them all—determination, exhaustion. All familiar feelings. I’d been around a lot of soldiers over the years. It was actually a little strange that these ones felt so similar to their human counterparts. Then again, maybe war was universal, no matter whether our blood ran black or red.
Halfway around the camp, I froze.
I recognized him immediately. In a sea of grey, his soul was dark, bruise-bitten red. None of his men’s mundane weariness. No, his was steady, intense—angry. The kind of anger that knocked the breath out of my lungs.
His tent was one of the largest, near the southern edge of the encampment. He stepped out of it and straightened, looking out over his men.
And then he turned right to me.
I stopped breathing, falling back into the shadows of the rocks. One silent step backwards. Two. Three. Surely I was too far for him to see or scent, even with his superior senses. And yet…
For a long moment, he stared into the darkness. Right at me.
Then he turned around and went back into his tent.
It took two days of watching and waiting to find the seer.
It was overwhelmingly likely their seer would be human—someone who drew from a god of the White Pantheon. So I kept up my watch most carefully in the daylight hours, when the vampires retreated into their thickly-shrouded tents and the encampment went quiet.
On the second day, she made an appearance.
She emerged when the sun was high in the sky. She had a tent near the edge of camp, not far from the conqueror’s. She was indeed, as I’d suspected, a human. Older—perhaps in her mid-sixties. Her presence was firm and aged as worn-down stone. I couldn’t tell which gods she worshipped. Then again, it didn’t really matter.
She carried a little bag with her. Flowers peeked out from it. I could sense the weight of wax candles in the sack, too. She was leaving to pray.
I followed her, far behind when she was closer to the camp, then venturing steadily closer, very slowly, as she grew further and further away from it.
Soon, we were half a mile from the camp, at the edge of a rocky lake, and I was mere strides away from her.
And then, as she started to kneel down to place her tokens, I made my move.
I envisioned an invisible thread drawn taut between us, a single thread connecting our souls, and stepped through it. The world withered around me and reformed. In half a breath, I was right behind her, my dagger halfway to her back.
Before I could strike, she turned around. It was such an abrupt movement that it made me stagger a little, repositioning in anticipation of a strike. But she didn’t move for me. She just stared. Up close, I could sense the wrinkles in her face. The wisdom of her eyes.
“I see you,” she said.
“Does it matter?” I replied.
She let out a vicious laugh. “Probably not. Funny, how I spent my entire life peering into the future and never thought that my end would come at the hands of one of you fucking cultists. Well, I’m not one to fight fate.” Her lip curled. “But I will fight you.”
I knew better than to underestimate a sorceress, even one who seemed so nonthreatening. I lurched away before she struck, the swell of light at her hands lunging for me, filling my nostrils with a burning tang where it struck the grassy ground instead.
But magic or no, it was an easy fight. I strung threads around her, slipping through air to evade each of her attempted blows, and it only took a few minutes before I got behind her, my arms around her neck. SNAP, as my leg swept hers out from under her, twisting her knee until it gave. She let out a cry of pain. I didn’t let her slump, holding her tight to my chest.
I shouldn’t have hesitated.
And yet I couldn’t help but ask, my face against her gray, wiry hair, “Why? Why are you helping him?”
She scoffed. “You’d think that a child of your goddess would understand that the world looks awfully different depending on where you stand. Or maybe they took your eyes so you wouldn’t see that.” She turned her head just enough to look at me. I felt her smile, poison sweet. “How old were you? Four? Five?”
I didn’t answer, and perhaps my silence alone told her—or perhaps her magic found the answer my lips refused.
“Oh, you were a late one,” she laughed. “No wonder you’re so desp—”
I drew the blade across her throat. Her blood was warm and salty over my face. Her final breaths sounded like the burble of a rising brook.