The first one to see the ponderously opening gates of the city was an archer who had gone behind his tent for a leak. As soon as he saw the city gates swing open, he forgot his business and ran straight for his commanding officer with his manhood still hanging out. The gates were open and they were staying open.
“The gate!” He shouted, running through the camp heedless of his dignity. It was only after his commanding officer gave him a stern look that he pulled his furs back on. “They’re opening the gate!”
The officers and generals of besieging army did not ask why the defenders of the city had been affected with lunacy. They were not the sort of men to look a gift horse in the mouth. Immediately the order was given and the men were in a hurried frenzy of activity, grabbing up weapons and res-trapping their armour.  One of the generals of the army, resplendent in his polished armour rode up front of the assembling cavalry, shouting orders while his aide waved a flag from its tall pole behind him.  
“Form up!” He roared, gesturing with the broadsword he held in one hand. The cavalry men obliged, nudging their horses into their wedge formation used for charging enemy lines. As soon as they were assembled, the general look his place at the front of the column. He looked back once to make sure his men were all ready and then clapped his visor down. “Charge!” He thundered and personally led his cavalry up the slope and into the gate.
Almost startlingly they met with no resistance at the walls or gate itself. Corpses were piled all around the walls, the defenders of the gate already killed. Their blood was stick steaming in the cold morning air and the cavalry rode right over the top of them to clatter down the stone street towards the centre of the settlement. Behind the horse riders came the infantry armed with swords, axes and pikes, running up in a surging yelling mass. They poured into Weirstien like a tidal wave and the surprised and chagrined defenders of the city were overcome.
The ensuing struggle lasted a mere quarter of an hour despite fierce fighting. The defenders, without the walls of the city to give them the advantage, were hopelessly outnumbered and outclassed. Those that survived the initial attack pulled back and made a last stand at the square tower in the centre of the settlement. There they were more secure and were able to rain down arrows from the windows at anyone attempting to enter through the door. The northern soldiers poured in, holding their shields up above their heads to ward off the arrows. They hammered on the door with their bodies but the defenders had barricaded it from the inside.
Eventually they brought up a large battering ram, a long wooden pole with a carved rams head for a cap that took four men to carry it. Seeing the ram the defenders rained down arrows at the men carrying it relentlessly and with desperate energy, trying to prevent them to bringing it to bare against the door. Their efforts kept the northerners too busy shielding themselves from the barrage of arrows to use the ram, until a small handful of crossbowmen had gotten into position. While the fighting had distracted the defenders in the tower they had gone behind some of the grey buildings and climbed up onto the slate roofing. With a better vantage point they raised their weapons and fired as one, hitting several defender archers and knocking them from the windows. Some fell backwards into the rooms they occupied while others tumbled out to crash to the stone ground at the foot of the tower; either way the arrow storm was lessened and the northerners were quick to take advantage. Bringing the battering ram forward they slammed it into the door, over and over as the wooden barrier was hammered down.
After a fierce few moments of physical struggle, the door flew off its hinges. With a roar of triumph the northern poured in through the open door, swords and axes in their hands. The fight for the tower could not even be called that. It was nothing short of a massacre. The northerners brutally hacked their way through the tower giving no quarter to anyone they met. After the span of a few minutes had passed it was over.
By the end of the bloody melee, the eviscerated corpses of Weirstien’s occupying soldiers were hauled unceremoniously up and over the wall and down into the ravines below with much jeering and vulgar insults hurled after them.  A lone swordsman climbed to the top of the settlements square watchtower and when he got there he unfurled the flag he had been carrying under one arm. From the height of the tower he flew the flag of the Northern Kingdom, announcing to the waiting reserved and tacticians still in the encampment that the attack had been successful.
Within the next few minutes, William De’Segnir and his bodyguard Ser Barentein along with a dozen armed men rode up the ponderously open gates. Unimpeded they strode through the gate and up the main street towards the centre of the city. There they were met by the general who had led the attack. His armour was now dented in a few places but he beamed wickedly at his new king as he approached.
“The city is ours, your Majesty.” He declared, gesturing out with one hand around at the streets around them full of armoured and furred men. “We lost ten men in the fighting but it’s a ridiculously small price to pay for the taking of this position.”
William, paused to look over the place with critical expression as if he were evaluating its worth now that he could see it from the inside out. Then he turned in his saddle and gestured imperiously with one hand.
“Bring out the locals; I want them searched for weapons and any enemy soldiers that might have hidden amongst them.” He commanded. His order was carried out immediately, then northerners setting to hammering in the locked doors of the city. One by one the inhabitants of Weirstien were dragged out of their shelters and forced into the snow clogged streets. Each of them were systematically searched and anything that could be used as a weapon was confiscated. The people had no attempt to resist and only stood protectively around their children as the progress of disarming continued. Once or twice there was an enemy soldier trying to hide, but surprisingly the locals themselves turned them in. They stepped aside from the man attempting concealment and made it quite clear that they were not one of them. Such men were immediately taken under arms and dragged around a corner where they could be quietly killed.
From horseback, William looked out across the sea of faces before him with a frown. Many of them were gaunt and hollow cheeked. A fair share had badly healed scared as well as clearly infected sores in places. His expression tightened and then the young king turned to speak to the general on the horse behind his.
“I want whatever food and medicines we can spare passed out to the hungry and destitute of this city.” He said. The general blinked several times, a startled and puzzled look plain on his weathered face.
“Your majesty?” He asked, hoping for clarification for the confusing order.
“I am not here as a conqueror.” William told him and deliberately raised his voice so that his words carried. The soldiers around them and even some of the locals under scrutiny turned their heads to look up at him. With a flamboyant wave of his arm the young king gestured out at the crowd. “I come to liberate these people.”
With the stylish flare that a professional thespian would be jealous off, he turned in his saddle and called out across the crowd in a loud clear voice.
“Let it be known that King William, ruler of the north, will succour the poor and the needy of the cities he takes!” He declared to them all. “The food and medicines that were stolen from the people by the Dogma and their Mandarin tyrants will be returned! They will be protected under his law and his national boundaries and he will raise them up from under the boot heal of their oppressors!”
Perhaps the people merely thought that William had a gift for the theatrical rather then this speech being carefully prepared beforehand. After a moment of silence a stunned mutter began through the crowd. Both the eastern locals and the northern soldiers were talking amongst themselves of this deceleration. Many were asking how the king could afford to be so generous and if this was a good sign of his impending rule.
Many remained somewhat sceptical until the promised food and medicine was brought up from the encampment below and rationed out to the neediest of Weirstien. William even ordered the surgeons that accompanied his military force to tend to the word of the sick. By mid day, many were in awe of William’s generosity and compassion. Morale in the northern army was good and the locals of Weirstien were beginning to openly and even eagerly cooperate with their new guests.
From the shadows and dark placed, Vorador watched it all with a depending frown and an appalled glare.
-0-
“How disgusting false. William was conquering these cities, all while wearing the benign face of liberation. He might give the people a few extra loaves of bread to ensure their cooperation during his campaign, but they would quickly find that once the war was over things would be no better under their new master than their old.”
-0-
The Vampire had seen his tactic used before many times. Kings and would be military adventurers of all stripes often hid their greed for power and land behind a thin and false curtain of emancipation. Mankind had such a bad collective memory that they never learned from history. This had happened again and again and still the people made the fool.  Perhaps one day mankind would educate itself enough to avoid being lured into his same trap again and again, but it was obviously not going to happen today.
William did not linger in the city but soon returned to the encampment with all his generals, leaving a few officers to coordinate requisitions and the handling of the settlement’s populous. Assuming the form of a raven, Vorador followed closely behind. No one gave him a second glance as by now many carrion birds had begun to fill the air to pick over the remains of the dead. In his feathered disguise, the Vampire watched as William and his followers dismounted and made their way swiftly into a large canvas pavilion. Swordsmen quickly moved to block and guard the entrance, large men with their faces hidden behind deaths head style visors.
Vorador circled overhead lazily several times, considering his options, keeping one beady birds eye on the large tent below.
-0-
“I could simply walk up to William and demand the information I required but that solution involved violence, the likes of which I did not intend to invite. I would need to devise some way of entering that command tent without alerting the guards.”
-0-
The answer to his riddle was plain enough. Making it look casual, he circled lower and lower in the air until he came to rest on the ground. Trying to look like an ordinary bird he paddled his way around the side of the tent. The guards never looked twice at him. Unhindered, Vorador circled the tent on the ground looking for a gap. Tents always had gaps somewhere. Eventually he found one, a loose flap where a peg had come free. It was wide enough to permit him to wiggle through.
Inside the tent he found himself behind a portable weapons rack, full of broadswords all in a neat row. Beyond that was a large space where a table were erected and standing around it were William and his generals.
Vorador crouched his feathery body low and kept still, listening intently to the talk they were engaged it.
“I think we should leave a thousand men to garrison Weirstien, your majesty.” One of the generals was saying, gesturing with a thumb over one shoulder out the pavilion’s entrance and in the general direction of the taken settlement. “That many we can afford to lose and the city can be defended by so small a force.”
William had pushed his chainmail hood back letting his hair out. He nodded once.
“I’m inclined to agree.” He said without looking up. “But for the moment I would rather focus on how to win this campaign.” He removed his gauntlets and laid them off to one side. “It’s a long march to the capital from here.”
All the men were looking at the table. From this worms eye view Vorador could not see what they were looking at but supposed it to be a military map similar to the one William had so flippantly given away.
“The land is flat grassland to the south, your majesty.” Another general remarked and pointed to the spot. “It would be best to ride south directly towards Zwergstadar.” His finger traced a short line on the map. “Cut off the snakes head before it has the chance to strike.” He made a sharp cutting gesture with his free hand.
William rubbed the end of his chin with one finger, frowning at the map and at the proposed plan of action. There was an expectant silence and then he shook his head.
“No, there is no way to hide troop movements in that open grassland.” He said and patted the map with the palm of his hand. “Their scouts would see us coming from miles away.” The young king looked down to the spot on the map that was their intended target. “By the time we reach Zwergstadar we’d find the city fortified and garrisoned by every fanatic soldier they have.”
The generals looked each other then back at the map, a few of them muttering amongst themselves in dark tones.
“Then what do you suggest, your majesty?” One of them asked, politely but with the clear undercurrent suggestion that he did not think William’s qualified to lecture them on military tactics. William was no fool and the look he directed back at his general clearly showed he had seen the implied reprimand and was ready to rebut it.
“Perhaps if we sent some troops south west past this sulphur lake towards Harduum leading more horses and carrying dummies for riders.” He said and when he spoke it was with confidence the belied his youth, his voice firm and filled with the rigid iron of command. “From a distance we can fool the scouts into thinking we mean to take that settlement.”
At first the generals were looking at their kind with the upmost scepticism but as he talked, they visibly thawed as they considered the merits of his plan, even if they did so reluctantly. William kept them listening, his tone of voice never wavering to show uncertainty and his narrative certain and filled with conviction. Even Vorador had to admit at this point that William was a skilled politician.
“Then the main army can march through this short range of mountains and down through the fens, carefully taking out scouts along the way.” The young king carried on, his finger tracing his proposed route on the map. “With their attention diverted, the Dogma wouldn’t expect such a force to arrive on their eastern frontier. We could encircle the city before they have a chance to reinforce their garrison or further supplies for a siege.”
The general hummed in varying degrees of appreciation; at the very least it was a sound strategic innovation.
“You’ve had some military training that we have not heard about, I suspect, your Majesty.” One of them remarked a little whimsically. William let one side of his mouth twice in what might have been a quickly suppressed smile.
“I didn’t spend all my time in the educational centres of Stahlberg drinking up mead and ale, General.” He replied somewhat flippantly. Another of the generals grumbled, his thick red bread bristling and called their attention back to the map by jabbing a large finger on it.  
“The fens are a vast expanse of swampland, your majesty.” He said and there was more then disapproval in his voice. “Extremely rough terrain, bogs and marches, full of sinkholes and wide rivers. Much of it is unexplored.”
William leaned up into an erect standing position and allowed himself a wide almost boyish grin, his eyes alight with some private merriment.
“I am confident our men are up to being cold, wet and muddy for a short while.” He said and then folded his arms across his chest, the armour he wore clattering against itself slightly. “I have made my decision.” He nodded once affirmatively. “We attack Zwergstadar from the east with a western diversion.”
The generals collectively stared for a long time down at the map on the table, their expressions ranging from contemplative to scornfully disapproving. However William was king and had made a command decision. Whether that decision was right or wrong was now immaterial, they had no right to countermand his wishes.
“As you say, your majesty.” One of them eventually said with a nod. “I will see to the garrison force and organise the rest of the troops for the easterly march.” With William’s returned nod of consent he left the tent, followed shortly after by most of the other generals. Two stayed behind briefly to talk about the logistics of the trek into the mountains and then through the swampy fens, the need for rafts to cross the rivers and to move the supply train. Once that had discussed that issue they too left, leaving William alone in the tent. The young king looked again over the map, only now he was unobserved did his face cease into an expression of doubt as he surveyed his intended route to take once more.
Vorador slipped out from his place of concealment and padded on bird feet up behind the recently crowned monarch. Once he was in position he let himself flow slowly back into his regular form, growing and expanding until he was a good head and shoulders taller than the man before him. William flinched, seeing the shadow the vampire cast across him and swiftly turned around. He blinked, finding himself face to face with the infamous butcher of the Circle. He leaned back against the table as Vorador was right in his personal space.
“William.” Vorador began and with that one spoken name he somehow managed to convey the implication that if the young king called for assistance from the guards it would not turn out well for him. William got the message immediately. He stepped slightly to one side so he was not within arm’s reach and ran a hand over his face to gather his momentarily scattered wits.
“Pardon my flippancy but I do hope you’re not following me, Vampire.” He remarked. “Whenever you are around lately it has been during times of great personal danger.” Then he paused, a frown knitting his brow. He looked at the Vampire and then out the tent flap where Weirstien could just be seen from that angle. Then he turned back and there was a shrewd smile on his face.  His body relaxed and the hand that had been gripping the hilt of his sword fell away. Vorador had been watching that hand very closely.
“And if my intuition serves me correct, I have you to thank for opening the gates and letting me take the settlement without a prolonged siege.” He guessed. Vorador did not make any sort of confirming gesture but he did not need to. William’s smile broadened and he inclined his head. “Kudos.”
Quickly he crossed over to the entrance to the tent and pulled the flap completely shut.
“But even so you do well to come to me, privately.” He said when he turned back. “My soldiers become somewhat nervous when the minions of darkness appear in their midst. They may choose to attack rather than talk.”
Vorador simply shrugged one large shoulder with indifference.
“That would not be wise of them.” He replied. William chuckled half-heartedly.
“No I suspect it would not.” The young king paused then and looked thoughtful. “By the way, I’ve always wanted to ask a Vampire something.” Vorador looked at him for a long moment and then, purely on a whim, decided to indulge him.
“What?”
“Can you eat and drink?” That had not been what he had expected the question to be and Vorador stared at the young king. William looked almost boyishly curious. “All the world knows that you need blood to survive, but can you eat food like we do or not?”The question came so out of the blue that William might as well have asked him if Vampires liked to keep pets. He rolled his eyes at the tenacity for humans to dwell of technical details that didn’t matter in the slightest. 
“We can if we choose, but it’s not necessary.” He replied irritable, not much caring if William believed him or not.
“Fascinating.” The young king replied and went around to the far side of the table, purposely keeping it between himself and the sudden Vampire intruder. Despite having fought side by side in the chapel at Valeholm, he was not so foolish as to put himself in so potentially deadly a situation.
“So, what can I do for you?” He asked in so casual a tone, it was as if he were merely giving audience in his own court to grievances aired by his citizenry. Vorador’s frown deepened at the man’s overly familiar manner but he let it slide.
“The white werewolves that killed your brothers and father.” He said and had the satisfaction of watching the impendent young king stiffen slightly at the reminder. “I need to find them.”
William’s face clouded over with a serious expression that was one part anger, one part remorse and something that was very close to, but not quite, guilt. Then the moment passed and his causal winsome look was back to mask the emotion.
“Don’t we all?” He remarked dryly and his hand moved back to the hilt of his sword, not threateningly but with relish at the thought of future action; the fingers lingering on the ivory handle of the weapon for a few moments.
“Your scouts must have told you where they fled to.” Vorador pressed. William was still lost in his private musings, eyes narrowed and his gaze distant.
“I have had some reports, yes.” He admitted after a long moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of the men in camp around them.
“Where?” The Vampire asked and his tone was insistent. William blinked once and brought his full attention back to the present. He fixed Vorador with a searching sort of look as if he were suddenly suspicious and wary, a marked change from his usual cavalier attitude.
“Do you mean to kill them?” He asked after a moment and he sounded both eager and worried at the same time, a cold fierceness in his eyes that amplified the underlying emotion that bubbled only skin deep. Despite his campaign, his elevation of monarch and current military concerns, William was still a young man who recently had seen three members of his family brutally killed by monstrous beasts.
“I need information from them.” Vorador simply replied. He did not say that he expected a fair number of werewolves to be used up in the obtaining of this information but William seemed to sense this anyway. His smile returned and there was a sadistic twist to it. He let his hand drop away from his sword as he looked Vorador up and down, as if he was taking another hard look at the Vampire. He would not help but notice the new additions to Vorador’s outfit.
“You never did tell me exactly what you’re looking for in the east.” He stated and ended in a querying note. Vorador’s returning frown was as rigid as cast iron.
“No I didn’t.” He said and his tone was utterly final. He was not about to tell his young upstart of a newly crowned king what he was about. William looked away from that direct gaze and cleared his throat.
“Since you opened the gates of Weirstien I think I owe you this much.” He admitted and looked down at the map on the table. He gestured with one hand towards it. Now Vorador’s line of sight was above the table he could see it was a map of far greater detail than the one he had been given earlier. It showed the eastern lands of Nosgoth down to the last small village and hunters camp, even with symbols denoting the presence of dangerous animals like wolves and bears. The young king pointed to a large flat plain of land directly to the south.
“Most of the animals disappeared into the wilderness.” He said. “But many were seen fleeing to the south; towards the body of water the locals call the ‘Spirit Lake’.” His finger pointed to a large stretch of water directly in the centre of the vast expanse of land. Drawn in the water was the image of a twisting sea serpent, crushing a boat in its jaws. Vorador studied the map intently for a moment. Judging by the scale of the map, the lake was at least a few days travel from Weirstien even on the wing.
“I am afraid I can tell you no more than that.” William continued. “Whether the beasts make their lair there or that is simply their rallying point, I do not know.”
Vorador pressed his lips together tightly, considering what steps he should next take. Only the wolves could tell him where to find Bane and from the Druid he would learn where to find the Lost City. This running around, finding one thing in order to locate another was beginning now to get on his nerves. No wonder Kain and his blue skeletal friend had seemed to be randomly flitting around from one meaningless quest to another. Firmly he kept the end goal of his quest in the forefront of his mind and it helped to push the irritation aside.
“Then I bid you good day.” He said and moved back from the table, already fixing his destination for a translocation spell.
“I’d be careful out there, Vorador.” William warned quickly, raising a hand. His tone had turned serious again. “The Dogma’s Mandarin rulers will have sensed your involvement by now. They are reputed to be wizards of no small ability.”
Vorador smiled slightly to himself at the abnormality of a human warning a Vampire to be careful, especially himself.
“Whoever these ‘Mandarins’ are, they will not hamper me.” He said with the confidence built of many centuries of fought and won struggles. He brought his hands up, cupping them around a point in front of his chest.
“I would hate if those were your famously ironic last words.” William remarked sardonically as the light of the spell enveloped the Vampire and he was whisked away.
He did not travel far. The spell brought him out of the camp at once and across the ravine to the far side. He emerged from the depths of the spell there, staring out across the gully. From here he could see the camp on the other side. To the north and above on the edge of the cliff, Weirstien loomed with the new flag of the Northern Kingdom fluttering high.
He turned then and looked out towards the south. The jagged rocks and short spires that rose from the local terrain did not allow him to see very far but when he had been flying to this region from the west he had seen that directly south was a large expanse of snowy tundra. With the snows and winds beginning to abate he might be able to make good enough time to catch up with his prey.
-0-
“This journey had many twists and turns. I was to find the wolves so I could in turn find Bane, who would direct me to the Celestial Arrow in the infamous Lost City. How Kain tolerated this maze with such equanimity was beyond my comprehension.”
-0-
Once more he morphed himself and flowed back into the form of the raven, sprouting feathers and wings. He was in the air even before the transformation was complete and as his full wings snapped open he caught an updraft rising from the ravine below and was carried up high into the air. Soaring into the sky he left the natural air currents carry him on, leaving the place of his natural birth and its link to his buried human existence behind for good.