(Only chapter 17 and already over 100 reviews. Thank you all!)
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It was not difficult to deduce the nature of the puzzle and Vorador found himself irritated further by it. When the doors had closed, the snake-shaped aqueduct had separated itself into many pieces that were retracted out to the walls of the chamber. Logic suggested that if the snake were made whole once more, then the doors would open again. This was a locking puzzle similar to the one he had found in the caves of the cliffs far to the west, which had opened a door once the image of a spider had been reassembled.
Just what sort of civilisation, in an era so buried in the past it predated even the Vampire-Hylden war, had employed such strange locking mechanisms? The machinery that operated this puzzle seemed crude at first, but the simplicity of it was far more efficient than the beautifully carved and complex machines found in the ruins left by the two forgotten races. The creators of this device had opted for practicality over showiness.
Forced to explore the chamber in which he was trapped, the Vampire discovered that on the platforms ringing the outside of the chamber were several large levers resembling the one that had opened the door leading into this room. Vorador considered them for a moment. Clearly the key to restoring the shape of the snake and opening the door was to throw these switches in a certain sequence. But the sheer size of these levers suggested that the maker of this puzzle was a creature of considerable bulk.
But this had not been the first suggestion of such a conclusion. Vorador recalled with a frown that the first puzzle had been moved by pressure pads which had taken his entire bodyweight to move. Presuming the creators had interacted with that puzzle merely by laying their hand on it, their hands had to have been at least three feet across.
Time was of the essence. He could not afford to waste so much effort on this puzzle that by the time he solved it and got free, the white Werewolves had escaped pursuit. They must have sensed his hunt of them and had waited here in this chamber, sealing him inside while they got clear. Now that he was, for the moment, trapped, they would no doubt use the opportunity to escape.
He stood there, considering the levers and the seemingly simple puzzle that lay before him, trying to work out the arrangement of pistons and pillars that moved the segments of the stone snake.
 “Too easy.” He said to himself after a moment. But faced with no other option, the Vampire came up to the first of the levers and, setting himself against it, he forced it to one side. The mechanism it connected to gave off a reluctant shunting noise and there was the sound of clockwork gears reverberating somewhere from behind the walls. A midsection of the aqueduct began to move out from the wall and back towards its former position, although it stopped halfway, coming to a grinding halt. Clearly another switch had to be thrown in order to reposition it back correctly. While this puzzle was similar to the previous one, it was more complicated.
Vorador was about to move on to the next lever when he became aware of just how much more complicated it was. His large ears twitched as he realised that the sound of the cascading waterfall, which was no longer being collected by the aqueduct, was growing louder and louder. Glancing down over the edge of the platform he stared down into the dark abyss below. Only he saw that it was no longer dark. Water had collected at the bottom of the pit and was now steadily rising, the level coming up towards him at an alarming rate. It was a churning pool of deadly water ascending in his direction like an oncoming wall of death. He had sensed this puzzle was too easy and he ought to have perceived this coming, but he had been too distracted by his morbid contemplations to see the obvious.
If he did not solve this puzzle and reassemble the snake to cut off the water supply to the pit below, then the chamber would completely flood and he would be scorched to death. Thrown into the puzzle with more fervour and urgency, Vorador began to heave and push against the levers which his brief observation had shown him were responsible for moving the pieces he needed. One lever was stubbornly jammed and refused to budge, sticking until he forced it forward with a powerful kick in angry exasperation.

Bit by bit the snake began to reassemble itself, starting with the midsection and then running down to the tail. Each stone section of the snake fit back into place, albeit with a great deal of coordinated lever pulling. Like with the spider puzzle, some levers when pushed moved already set pieces back out of place.
It did not take the Vampire long to figure out the pattern and, gradually, the stone aqueduct began to retake its proper form. But all the while the water was rising. The water collecting in the partially reassembled snake was overflowing, continuing to feed the rising water in the chamber. The hole through which the aqueduct directed the water must have shut just as the doors into and out of this puzzle chamber had. Seeing the water close in on him, Vorador felt the first stirrings of panic. It was up to the base of the bridge which spanned the expanse of the chamber now, lapping up at him and spraying the churning foam in all directions.
Frantically, Vorador worked on completing the puzzle. The stone head was the last piece to be reset now. He had seen which levers would move it back into its proper place, but they had to be thrown in the correct order or the entire snake would pull apart again and he did not have time to reassemble it again.
He threw the first switch and even as the mechanism responded he was running across the platform to the second on the far side. When he reached it he heaved his body against its top, forcing it as hard and fast as possible to one side. The water was nearly past the point of no return, rising up nearly to the edge of the bridge.
With no time to do anything else and acting on fear-induced instinct, Vorador leapt out from the platform. He landed on the still headless snake, rolling down its twisted length and earning himself a few minor burns in the process, and then bounded out once more. He flew through the air and tumbled to a stop on the far side, right next to the lever he needed to throw. With urgency he scrambled back to his feet and slammed himself so hard into the lever that for a moment he saw stars.
With a loud grinding, the stone serpent’s head swung back into place and the snake was whole once more. The waterfall was intercepted by the gaping mouth and the water began to flow down the aqueduct and into the presumably reopened hole in the bottom of the pit harmlessly. The water already discarded in the chamber, cut off from its supply, stopped rising and its surface calmed and became still almost instantly.
Vorador rose and looked out across it all for a silent moment. Then he let out the pent-up sigh of relief that he had been pretending he had not been holding.
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“The serpent was whole once more and the water flowed freely, saving me from certain death and opening the way to the chambers beyond.”
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As he had thought, now that the flow of water was restored the two doors leading in and out of the chamber swung open. Vorador wasted no time and was through the far door as quickly as he could manage. Perhaps fearing, somewhere deep down, that the door might change its mind and swing shut again. He was somewhat enraged now at the close escape and was eager to take it out on the beasts that had lured him into that trap.
The tunnel he entered was different from the one which had brought him in. While it was the same large size and general shape, it was at a very slight slant downwards and a large rectangular grove had been cut into the floor. Through this flowed a small but steady stream of water barely an inch high. Vorador was not concerned by it, keeping his eye on the tunnel as it carried on. Once more he saw signs of the passage of large numbers of Werewolves and their feral stench was all pervasive.
He summoned forth an orb of magical light to illuminate his path once more and when he did, he discovered that the walls of this tunnel were covered in pictures.
He froze, staring up at the sudden and unexpected display of mural-like imagery. The walls were almost entirely painted, taking advantage of the concave surface to achieve beautiful images made from circular patterns that came together to reveal much more. It took him only a moment to recognise the style.
It was the same as those images from that strange, egg-shaped chamber, the ones he had seen before in the caverns near Nupraptor’s Keep. Those images had revealed much about what passed for the gods of Men and more mysteries besides. These new murals were a puzzling enigma in and of themselves.
There he stood, raising his arm higher to illuminate what more he could. He turned his head around to survey it all with an expression of controlled awe on his face.
There were many images to see and most of them Vorador could not interpret at all, perhaps unique to the culture which had made them. Slowly he began to walk, keeping his gaze up on the images as the reach of the light revealed more and more of them.
One image in particular caught his eye and he slowed and then stopped to study it in more detail. It showed a strange-looking creature sitting down and glancing off towards the right. It had a pair of large wings, like those of some immense bat and one of them was spread in the direction in which it was staring. The rest of the creature was hard to distinguish as it was drawn in a squatted position with its head lowered, which made it difficult to make out the being’s proportions properly. What he could see was a long, muscular tail curled around its feet, a tail that ended in what looked very much like a feathered quiff.
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“Whatever beings these were, they were clearly very different from the known races of Human, Hylden and Vampire. They seemed to share almost none of our common traits at all.”
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Vorador glanced in the direction the drawn creature was looking, and further along from it three figures had also been depicted. One of those figures, the first in line, was clearly a Human. It was drawn naked apart from a shawl spread over its torso. Its head was lowered and arms were raised up. In its hands was some sort of tool. On closer inspection this seemed to resemble some sort of primitive shovel or plough, a tool of toiling in the earth.
The next figure along was a Hylden. Like the Human it was naked except for the most primitive clothing. It had a pair of tools in its hands as well which looked like a hammer and a chisel, the tools of a mason and those involved in construction.
The final figure was, not to his surprise, a winged Ancient Vampire. Unlike the last two, however, its clothes were more regal and it carried not a tool in its hands but rather a scroll, presented out before itself like it was receiving the item from some patron.
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“This image was quite obscure and its meaning shrouded. Whatever these creatures were, evidently they predated the other races. Perhaps I was reading too much into the image, but there seemed to be a suggestion that the three races I was familiar with were in some way in a protectorate state to these beings, or at least in a subservient position.”
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Vorador narrowed one eye at the image. He recalled the strange, linked diagram that showed some connection between the races in the previous set of ruins. Combined with this image, it said much about the past that was revealing and unsettling at the same time.
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“The implications of this were disturbing. Surely if these images were to be believed, Janos would have told me of it?”
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Janos had kept secrets from him to be sure, such as what sorcery and energies had been used to enchant the Reaver after he forged it, as well as many elements of his involvement in the prophecy of the Scion of Balance. But something of this magnitude, a hidden truth that these images suggested, was just too big. Janos would never have hidden from him something this important. He would surely, at the very least, have mentioned such as these depicted creatures.
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“Ajatar-Cadre’s words came uncomfortably back to me, her statement that in the advent of the Wheel of Fate faith much of the old history and culture had been discarded or destroyed. Had that included some record of the beings in these images?”
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Vorador contemplated that possibility with a grim frown contorting his face. The ancient war had lasted an entire millennium. If these beings had predated that, then the spreading religion of the Wheel of Fate would have had ample time to destroy all trace of these creatures from any record the Ancients might once have kept. An entire species and culture, written out of existence.
The Ancients had purposely forgotten these creatures and then had the same injustice pushed on them when their civilisation had been torn down and any lingering memory of them had been reduced to myth and legend. The irony of that stung deep.
He stared at the image for a contemplative moment longer and then carried on, following the tunnel down further. There were more pictures to be seen across the walls as he went, each one depicting strange and usual things. Everywhere there were more images of the strange creature, but not a one of them was able to reveal to him its full form. They were always depicted with their heads lowered or their wings curled. They could be nothing more than giant bats for all he could see of them here.
Abruptly he came across a door at the end of the tunnel. It appeared out of the darkness so suddenly it almost seemed to materialise from the ether. It had another opening lever next to it but unlike the other doors in this hidden place, it was not bare. Like the walls, this door also had a mural across it. The image was the most bizarre one he had seen so far and it took the Vampire a moment to merely grasp the basic concept.
Contained within the radius of a perfect circle, the image showed at its bottom a strange mountainous plateau. Surrounding the plateau were swirling lines that suggested violent winds like a hurricane or other natural vortex. Atop this cliff was a peculiar-looking structure: a pyramid segmented into flat terraces going up. From the pinnacle a large, star-like symbol was engraved, its points lancing savagely out. From this star emerged a beam of light that stretched directly up to the top of the door. At the end of this beam of light was a large circle. It was an eye, but a very strange eye unlike those of Men. It was neon blue and split down the middle by an hourglass pupil. Out from around this alien eye were several waving limbs like octopus tentacles, giving it a star or sun-like appearance. The beam from the top of the pyramid intersected the eye directly and stabbed right through it.
The image seemed nonsensical to Vorador, the mere abstract ramblings of a disturbed artist. However, the longer he stared at it the more it seemed to resonate with him. He could not help but imagine that somehow this seemingly random collection of images was important.
Setting the idea aside, he turned his attention to the large switch at the side of the door. Throwing it, he stepped forward as the door itself pulled back and then rolled to one side, revealing a thundering cascade of water. A powerful waterfall flowed down the side of a cliff face right before him and cascaded across the smooth, slimy rocks below to pour over a crevice and into the swiftly flowing expanse of an underground river. Under normal circumstances Vorador would not have even considered going near such a deadly water hazard.
However, stretching out across the waterfall was a slender stone bridge just beyond the range of the spray. It connected directly from the doorway to a protruding rock with a flat top that jutted out from the centre of the huge waterfall. On this rock, rising up a good ten feet high, was a strange, dark grey obelisk, irregularly cut as if whittled with a colossal knife. More than its appearance startled the Vampire. From this dark, standing stone he sensed a contained power, trapped within and waiting for release.
Vorador recognised it at once. It was the same as that strange monolith that he had found in the caverns far to the west, where he had gained the ability to assume the new form of the colossal spider.

Deliberately the Vampire started out across the bridge towards the obelisk, a strange anticipation building inside him. He almost ignored the deadly water thundering down to his left as he crossed the bridge, walking steadily until he had cleared it and came right up to the black stone.
The energy he could feel trapped inside was similar to that of the last stone he had found, although there was a subtle difference. It was as if, in some peculiar way, both examples of trapped energies were fruits with different flavours.
Vorador looked down at his hands, his brow furrowed contemplatively. He stood there for a moment, perfectly still with the waterfall thundering around him. Then he reached up slowly and deliberately placed both hands on the rippled surface of the stone.
As he had expected, the trapped energy within stirred to life in an alarmed instant. With a lurch it aroused from its enforced captivity, bursting free from its prison and down through the channel he had made for it. He stood rock solid as the energies bubbled and boiled inside him, conflicting with the knowledge and power he already carried. Then it settled down and into his mind came the wisdom that the power carried with it, filling him with new concepts.
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“Absorbing the latent energies contained within this obelisk, taking the contained power into myself, I learned a new form.”
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The change was enacted almost by instinct. He flowed into the shape, his body compressing and stretching out. Thick, glistening scales alternating from green to gold covered his body up to a wedge-shaped head with a blunt nose. His tongue changed shape and as it flicked out, he saw it had a forked end. As having many limbs had felt alien in the form of the spider, having now none at all felt even more peculiar.
Vorador coiled up around himself, turning his long neck to look back upon his new form. He was a fine specimen of a snake. Of what species he was not sure, but he was large enough to put a python to shame, a good forty feet long and perhaps three wide. Opening his mouth, he protruded his fangs which had grown in length and were arched forward. A few drops of sickly smelling yellow liquid rolled from the tips to drip onto the rocky floor where they sizzled.
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“The form of the serpent, while supple, quick and strong, is not suited to combat. However, it had many other benefits. In this guise I had the usage of powerful venom, the enhanced sense of taste of the forked tongue with which I would never be taken unawares and the biggest asset of all...”
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The compulsion was so strong that Vorador was slithering forward before he had had time to rationally think about what he was doing. He slipped over the edge of the rock and fell...no...dived right down into the water. He was a foot away from the water when he suddenly realised what he was doing. But by then it was too late. He struck the surface and slipped into the water like an eel. For the first time in eons Vorador felt water around him, icy cold and smooth. There was nothing. No immediate burning, no scorching, acidic fire. Only the cool, silvery touch of the water, a sensation felt so long ago to him in the past that feeling it again was a shock.
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“In this form, water’s touch would hinder and burn me no longer, allowing me to swim to places that were once beyond my reach.”
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The realisation that he was in the water and he was not being harmed was stunning to a mind that had long accepted water as a constant hazard. So much so that Vorador almost made the mistake of turning back into his regular shape. Instinct saved him from the fatal error and his long, scaled body began to slip from side to side, sliding through the water.
It had been almost three millennia since Vorador had been Human and if he had learned to swim during that time, he had long since forgotten the skill. The instinct of the serpent that came with this form showed him the way. This streamlined, elongated body was far more efficient than the clumsy whirling of unsuited arms and legs.
Soon he was swimming down the underground river, the serpent’s form easily able to navigate around dangerous jagged rocks hidden under the surface. Even the near impassable dark of the tunnel was no obstacle, for Vorador could now sense his surroundings through the vibrations of the water around him.
He navigated the river on distracted instinct for some time, still trying to silence the reinforced panic at the presence of water and his own stunned amazement at how this could even be possible. Even in a different form, his Vampiric weaknesses had still been applicable. To be able to overcome such a steadfast restriction seemed so incredible as to be ludicrous. Yet, he realised, this event was not without precedence. Raziel, that naive blue skeleton, had told him that he himself had overcome his vulnerability to the touch of water. If that cobalt ghoul could accomplish such a feat, then so could he.
Still, the mere notion of his unlooked-for asset would take getting used to. Despite his logical reassurances to himself that he was in no danger, a part of his mind screamed in panic and logic was of little comfort.
Soon the water flow in the underground river began to increase and Vorador suspected that he was nearing the precipice of another waterfall. He swam on undeterred, the newly embedded serpent instincts combining with his knowledge of his other forms and telling him exactly what to do. He put his faith in these mingling instincts, confident that the beasts in his collection would know what they were doing.
Sure enough, a short distance away there was a large opening to the outside, thin shafts of daylight peeking through a rippling curtain of thick moss and vine. Vorador swam on towards it, faster and faster, picking up speed. The water carried him on further and faster and soon he was a speeding length of serpentine muscle.
Reaching such a speed right when he arrived at the edge of the second waterfall, his forward momentum was such that he shot clear of the falls and out into midair. For a moment he hung there, a giant length of coiled muscle in scaled skin. Then his form retracted back in on itself, his mass constricting until he returned to his normal form.
Even before he started to tumble towards the frozen ground below, he slipped into another of his forms. Sprouting black feathers and beak, he became the wide winged raven. A gust of air came up beneath his fledged wings and he soared back up high, safe from a fall to certain death.
Gliding around in midair, Vorador turned his feathered head to look back the way he had come. He was on the far side of the mountains to the east of the Lake of Sprits. To the east of his current position was an even larger body of water, a lake bordering on an inland sea. Directly south, thick clumps of tall trees clustered together in a swampy region his map had referred to as ‘The Fens’. The strange ruins beneath the mountains had carried him much farther than he had thought.
Directly below was a pine forest running to the edges of the immense lake in the distance and down towards the Fens themselves, stopping at the edge of the pools of stagnant water that marked its border. Here the snow was not so deep. Most of the trees stood tall and dark green with no white topping. As such, the flying Vampire was able to spot the pack of Werewolves he had been tracking as they galloped on all fours into the natural cover.
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“My growing collection of alternative forms served me well, for here I had found my intended quarry.”
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Narrowing his eyes, Vorador began a sharp descent towards them. He was not so foolish, however, as to dive directly on them with the twin axes blurring. They had lured him into a trap once already and they were perfectly capable of doing so again. He levelled off over the tops of the trees, his head turned on one side to watch the ground as he flew.
The Werewolves were all in a tight formation, running almost in pairs along a well-worn path between the trees. They seemed to know exactly where they were going as their path did not deviate for a single moment. They ploughed on, heading north back towards the vast tundra. Vorador began to wonder. Why would they be heading there? It was all open countryside. There would be no place for them to hide.
Suddenly, however, when he passed over a thick clump of trees and lost sight of them for a single moment, the pack vanished. At least a dozen of the galloping feral creatures, there one instant and gone the next. Alarmed at the disappearance, Vorador back-winged and circled the area in a wide arc. There was no sign of the Werewolves at all. He had been right on top of them. They could not have hidden so quickly, even if they had known he had been following them so close. It was as if they had simply vanished into thin air.
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“Or perhaps not.”
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The Vampire circled a few more times, then settled down onto the branch of a tree and looked around. He was not foolish enough to jump down and inspect the area on foot, leaving himself prone to an ambush. These beasts would not fool him the same way twice. From his high vantage point he surveyed the ground below, watching intently for any sign of movement.
The terrain was still in the jagged lowlands of the mountain range and had several deep ravines running through it, almost obscured by thick stands of pine. High patches of jagged holly bushes covered the ground in almost every position a bush could grow. Such thick cover could hide many large creatures from casual observation and the setting sun cast long shadows. The eyes of a bird were very good, but the Werewolves were such practised ambush predators that were fully adapted to hiding themselves anywhere they wanted.
They were here, there was no doubt of that, but the raven’s eyes could not see them. He ought to be able to locate them by smell, but not in the form of the bird. Birds hunted primarily by sight so their sense of smell was lacking. He needed to revert back to his normal form for this. Up in this tree he ought to be safe from any attack, at least long enough to scent out the hidden creatures.
He let himself slowly shift back to his regular shape and as his weight increased, the branch on which he was crouched began to creak. Far more than it ought to, almost to the point where it was going to break. That was the giveaway. It was a thick branch and his weight alone ought not to have been enough to make it crack. There had to be something already quite heavy on it.
When his sense of heightened smell returned the stink of wolf was so strong it stung his nose. Alarmed, he turned around sharply and glaring at him out of the darkness of the tree’s shadows was a pair of feral blue eyes. His hand flashed down for the hilt of Marrow at his side but he was too late. The Werewolf crashed out of the branches with a roar, waiting for him in an excellently prepared ambush and slammed into the Vampire with tremendous force.
Tumbling together, Werewolf and Vampire fell through the branches of the tree and directly into a thick patch of holly. Stunned by the impact, Vorador rolled a short distance through the bushes until he collided heavily with the trunk of another tree. The blow left his vision blurred for a moment and his senses swam. When his sight cleared, he found that facing him was not one Werewolf, nor even the pack he had hunted, but at least fifty of the creatures all coming towards him. They had not just been running here for no reason. It was to join up with a larger force and use their numbers to overwhelm him.
By complete and utter chance he had perched in the tree of a Werewolf which had climbed up there to be the lookout for the ambush they had planned. When he had changed back to normal the lookout had sprung and knocked him into their very midst. Sometimes all the caution in the world would not prevent you from stumbling into dangerous situations. Sometimes you simply had very bad luck.
They began to circle him, trying to cut off his avenues of escape. But Vorador was not so stunned and winded that he did not recognise the tactic and act to prevent it. Reaching back he tore Havoc and Malice from their sheaths across his back and leapt sharply to the left where a beast was advancing with arms outstretched, claws coming down in a savage slash.
Vorador danced clear of the descending claws and arched himself back, the twin axes screeching through the air and cleaving through the fur and flesh. Blood spurted out to splatter over the trees and bushes and as the corpse fell, Vorador leapt through the momentary gap opened in their midst. Several of the beasts snapped and clawed at him, trying to catch him and drag him back amongst them where they could tear him to pieces.
But Vorador began to spin in that moment, his acrobatic body churning around faster and faster and becoming a swirling hazard of deadly axe blades. Most of the Werewolves had the sense to back off quickly but a few were either too inexperienced to know the danger or were simply too slow. The luckier ones only lost their reaching hands and claws and those less fortunate were hacked from crotch to gizzard.
As the large pack backed off, Vorador came out of his spin and bolted. He was not foolish enough to try and defeat so many by himself. He might be able to take ten of them, but eventually they would pile on and defeat him with sheer numbers. How ironic it was, for the hunter to now become the hunted.
Quickly he darted down into the opening of a ravine, leaping from rock to rock until he reached the bottom. He didn’t stop there but kept on running, looking back over his shoulder to see the beasts gathering on the edge of the decline down. One of them, a large creature with a bleeding cut down the side of his face where Vorador had nicked him with the edge of Malice, howled in anger and bounded down. The others were quick to follow him, a racing tide of white fur.
The Vampire kept on running. There was still some chance he could salvage something from this fiasco, perhaps if he were to camouflage himself in an alternative form. Then he could pick one of this pack off and interrogate them for the information he sought.
Unfortunately, however, that hope soon turned to ash. As he came past a jagged rock covered in moss, he saw that the ravine angled down a sharp hill. Coming up that hill directly towards him were more Werewolves. They were the same black furred variety he thought he had lost back on the shore of the Lake of Spirits. They were undoubtedly the same pack. Some of them still even had the webbing from his spider form stuck in their fur.
When they saw him, their lips pulled back in snarls of hatred and as one they came on towards him.
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“Trapped between the two packs of feral beasts, it seemed I must gird myself for a bloodletting.”
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