#chpt11

He looked over to the two empty plinths, for Veliaf and Ivan’s statues, and took a measured breath. With luck, those statues wouldn’t be needed for several years, but they were going to be built. With Vanescula preparing to cross the Salve, as much as Thom didn’t want to admit it, those plinths were probably going to get filled sooner rather than later.

Amidst the shuffling of the nearby ghouls, the sound of measured, deliberate steps tapping on the stone sundial made Thom turn. He was expecting to see Veliaf, appraising his handiwork on Safalaan’s statue, but was surprised to see the young priest.

“Ivan?”

“Well met, Thom,” the young man smiled. His smile fell slightly as he looked upon the statues, but it returned, smaller and sadder than before but genuine all the same. “They look just like them. You’ve got a talent for sculpting.”

“Thanks Ivan,” Thom nodded. He glanced around, a worried frown creasing his one visible eyebrow. “You’re taking an awfully big risk coming out here, you know. You should stay with Drezel in the mausoleum.”

“I was looking for you, actually,” Ivan brightened considerably as he remembered why he had ventured into Morytania. “I was getting some fresh air by the temple steps when I saw movement from the mountain pass. A scouting party from Varrock has arrived! I thought you’d want to know and meet with them.”

“I suppose it’s lucky it only took him a month to put a group together,” Thom muttered to himself. He then smiled to the priest and nodded. “Thanks for letting me know, Ivan. Let’s get you get back to Drezel, and I’ll see who the king has so graciously sent to help.”

After escorting the young man back over the Salve and into mausoleum, Thom made his way up to Paterdomus. He found the preliminary group in the south courtyard, and consisted of King Roald’s advisor, Aeonisig Raispher; a priest clearly serving as his aide; and four members of the Varrock Guard for a party of six in total.

Thom wasn’t impressed.

“Ah, you must be the adventurer that alerted the king to the vampyre threat!” one of the guards yelled as they spotted him, and began approaching him with another in tow. Both guards saluted him as he joined them. “Captain Rovin of the Palace Guard, I believe we met briefly when the zombies invaded Varrock. This is Sergeant MacSeumas of the City division.”

The city guard was a lot older than Thom was expecting him to be. He could see grey streaking through the man’s beard and the lines on his face were clear. But his movements did not betray anything but a man in the back end of his prime and there was a keenness in the man’s eyes, which twinkled slightly as he watched Thom appraise him. The sergeant smirked in amusement.

“Don’t ye be underestimating me, laddie,” the man’s accent was thick and northern to Thom’s ears. “I was dealing with thugs, thieves and bandits before you were out of swaddling, and none of them have gotten the best of me, not in almost thirty years. To be frank, lad, I’m more worried about you and Twitchy over there.”

MacSeumas motioned his head to the priest next to Aeonisig, who was exceptionally fidgety, now that it had been mentioned. Thankfully, the man was not in the usual priest garb, but in armour. Granted, it was emblazoned with Saradomin symbols and all but painted a target on the man, but at least it was armour.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve spent a great many years fighting the demon scourge in the name of our great Lord Saradomin,” the priest retorted hotly, puffing up his chest. He glared at Thom and MacSeumas, daring either of them to belittle his accomplishments. “And the name is Fletcher; Alistair Fletcher.”

“We’re not fighting demons here, Master Fletcher, nor are they undead like the zombies you’ve dealt with, Captain Rovin,” Thom chided both groups. As he looked at them, he felt himself getting angrier.

Four guardsmen, in bronze chainmail, wielding silver-edged iron weapons, which probably weren’t even blessed, and a single priest in demon slaying armour. That’s what was meant to protect Misthalin from an army of half-starved vyres. And they all thought they were at all capable of coming out of this fight alive?

He could see the confidence in their eyes, and that they thought they knew what they were dealing with. It reminded him of the Myreque, how underestimating Lord Drakan had cost them all their lives. Every death flashed in his mind’s eye as each threw caution to the wind, leaving nothing but a bloody mist in the air.

He would rid them of their delusion. He had to.

“Vyres are flesh and blood, just like you and I,” he explained, looking at each man before him. Aeonisig, Captain Rovin and the two guards behind him were looking at him in confusion, but MacSeumas and Fletcher were regarding him with close attention. Thom drew in a breath. “They’re stronger than us, tougher than us, and to them: we’re nothing but food. They’re not here to fight us, they’re hunting! And, they’re invulnerable to all but a half dozen weapons!”

He saw the guard’s faces drop in horror, staring at the weapons they realised were useless to them. The two grunts were starting to look pale, and even Rovin was far less confident than he had been a minute ago. Aeonisig looked like he was about to faint. There were only two in the group that had taken the information in stride, MacSeumas and Fletcher, who were looking at their arms and armour with quiet consideration.

Those two would survive, Thom realised with relief, even if no one else did.

“Is holy water effective against them?” Fletcher asked quietly, raising up a bottle of the stuff.

“I don’t know, never tried it,” Thom answered honestly. He frowned slightly as a thought came to mind before cocking his head to a side. “It works against bloodvelds, though, and they’ll have those.”

“I can work with that,” the priest smiled, nodding his head to Thom. “For as long as Saradomin smiles upon me, I shall rid this world of all Zammorakian filth.”

“And if our weapons and armour aren’t good enough, lad, we’ll need something else,” MacSeumas noted, sheathing his two handed broadsword. He faced Thom squarely, looking straight into the adventurer’s good eye. “What works against these bastards?”

“Vampyres!” Aeonisig yelled, pointing past the group and towards Morytania.

It was a small scouting party, only three low ranking members of the vyrewatch, flying past the River Salve and over the fence. With Thom, five fighters and Aeonisig wailing in a corner, the fight should have been an easy one, but he was the only one truly equipped for it.

Rushing into fray, Thom sliced at the first vrye with a sickle, cutting from hip to collarbone. A slash from the one in his right hand tore out the creature’s throat and it fell limply to the floor. A growl from his left made him spin to the sound, his stomach dropping at the too-close noise. He raised his arm in vain hope of protecting himself, only to find the vyre straining against a silver-edged broadsword. Wasting no time, he slashed at his opponent, catching it in the face and sending it reeling back, howling in pain. An uppercut from his left sickle put it out of its misery.

He turned to the final vyre and saw MacSeumas and Fletcher teaming up against it, reading each other’s moves instinctively as if they had done so for years. After a well-aimed bottle of holy water was smashed into the vyre’s face, the aged guard brought his broadsword down on the creature’s head. Vyres may be the ultimate hunters, but even they weren’t immune to a man determined to cleave their head open.

When MacSeumas was done bludgeoning the vyre to death, he turned to Thom. Sheathing his blade, he walked slowly up to the adventurer. He looked at the sickle in Thom’s left hand and then back up at his face.

“Ye almost skewered me with that, laddie,” he said calmly. “Yer flailing on ye left, and not seeing danger ‘til it’s on ye. Ye should use ye right hand more, swap out your left sickle for a shield.”

“I’m left handed,” Thom stated.

The guard paused at the admission, mouth open slightly in surprise. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to deal with the information quickly and coming to a solution.

“Ah,” he said finally, crossing his arms and leaning on his back foot. “Well, if ye were anyone else, I’d say hang it all up and retire, but I can’t see ye doing that. So, I think I’ll keep an eye on yer left for ye, try not to skewer me.”

“I’ll come along too!” Fletcher announced, standing beside MacSeumas.

“I don’t need both of you to babysit me,” Thom snapped.

“With Saradomin as my witness, I will not stand idly by while evil looms above us,” Fletcher declared in a boisterous, passionate tone. He then quietened and glanced cautiously towards the king’s advisor before leaning in towards Thom. “Don’t leave me here with Aeonisig. I will do no good latched to that idiot’s side. Please.”

Thom stared at the priest in surprise. He’d always thought little of Aeonisig Raispher, but had politely kept his opinion to himself. Knowing that this priest shared a similar opinion was unexpected, and more than a little funny. It made him crack a smile for the first time since Saradomin knew how long.

“Alright,” Thom nodded, caving to the priest’s request. “I guess you might be able to help Ivan and Drezel strengthen the wards around the Salve.”

“Saradomin bless you,” the priest recited gratefully, making the mark of the star before Thom.