The typhoon clung to the coast and slowly moved north towards the Fens. It wasn't safe to move outside the city for at least a day and when the winds and rain finally began to lessen, the grounds around Zwergstadar were so sodden they had become a near impassable marsh strewn with flung debris.
It might have been wiser to wait, to let the lethal waters evaporate before carrying on. But Vorador sensed, somehow, that he did not have the time. Events were moving to come to a head and to tarry now could and probably would prove utterly disastrous. He could not say exactly how he knew this, though. It was just a firm conviction deep within. Time was of the essence.
As such, when the first faint rays of a clear dawn illuminated the night, he started out from the city to head north. The ground was so sodden that it made walking difficult for a Vampire and the typhoon winds were still so strong that flight with the form of the raven would be suicide. This meant his only recourse was to travel along whatever path of dry land he could find until he could reach the high ground.
Even from the walls of Zwergstadar he could see the relatively small set of mountains directly north, where Bane claimed he had discovered a gateway to the Lost City. There they would rendezvous and with the artefact the Vampire had, force the gate open to permit them entry. Vorador was of no doubt that Remus and his white wolves, allies of Bane, would use the opportunity to invade the ancient city and attack their darker furred rivals who had laid claim to it. This suited the Vampire just fine. Additional chaos would permit him to explore the city once he gained entry without every black furred Werewolf which had taken up residence focusing on him. Romulus and Remus could destroy each other in savage combat for all he cared, so long as he finally managed to locate this so-called 'Celestial Arrow', the weapon that even the gods feared.
What did not suit Vorador, however, was the companion which seemed to have attached himself to him. Standing on a rock above a patch of stagnant water full of smashed tree limbs, he turned to watch with distain the horse and rider following along behind. The man certainly knew how to keep up, even with a Vampire. His horse was a sturdy, powerful animal and had no trouble leaping obstacles or trudging through the bog-like environment. Its rider wore plain armour with a sensible woollen cloak with a large cowl. These precautions to disguise his identity, however, failed miserably because the king was still wearing the sword Vorador had fashioned for him across his back. With a flat, unfriendly expression of thinly veiled contempt he watched the man come closer on his mount.
“Why are you following me?” He asked. The man on the horse reigned in his mount by the bottom of the rock and looked up. Under the cowl, William was grinning as boyishly as ever.
“Because usually it is you that follows me.” He remarked impudently. He raised a finger in the glove of an iron plated gauntlet and wagged it at him. “I thought if I switched our roles, it might add some variety.”
Vorador, who by now had had all he could stomach of the young king's brashness and self-aggrandisement, turned away. Not even Kain in his imperially ambitious youth would be so self-absorbed as to go off, abandoning his men on the eve of a great military victory to indulge himself in such a whim. The man clearly had no concept of responsibility. For him, the crown must be little more than a toy he had envied his father and elder brothers having and the degree of eccentricity needed to go off riding to follow a Vampire hinted at an inner, barely concealed madness.
From the top of the rock he leapt out, diving through the air until he landed on another ledge. He kept going this way, leaping from rock to rock and whatever other piece of dry land he could find. Because of the debris left by the typhoon, such elevated places were easy to find and he was making a steady if restrained progress. Once he got onto higher land where the water had drained away he could turn into a wolf and run the rest of the way.
His thoughts were plagued, however. Just what had he seen emerge from…there was no other way to say it, that egg? Whatever it was, he had sensed during that moment that despite the apparent birth it was not a newly fledged creature. There had been intelligence there, an advanced and mature mind at work.  It was another mystery to unravel. For the first time in his entire life, Vorador wondered briefly if Umah was worth this much trouble. As soon as the thought occurred, he banished it savagely at once. That was a stupid thing to think. She was family and family was the only reason he had embarked on this quest in the first place. They were the only thing that really mattered to him.
The Vampire stopped, standing on the thick roots of an overturned oak tree. One hand absently went to the scar around his neck. The wound inflicted by that arrow had finally healed but it had taken many feedings and replenishing of energies to do so. When he had the leisure, he was going to have to do something about this weak spot. It required protecting. Perhaps, if he got back to the future era, Ajatar could advise him on some sort of unobtrusive armour.
William arrived up beside him, his sturdy mount hardly even breathless after the exertion. It had clearly been chosen for its ability to handle the rough terrain it needed to cross.
“Besides, you have aroused my curiosity.” The young king began, as if picking up a conservation that had been left off only a few moments ago. His face was alight with incredulity and he gazed up. “Just what horror have I supposedly helped unleash?” He asked. Vorador paused in silence, his eyes fixed on the horizon and the distant sight of rising highlands before the mountains. The typhoon was passing on and the rain was lessening. It ought to stop within the next hour.
“A creature, trapped inside the Mandarins’ palace.” He replied simply without looking at the Human monarch. “It was freed during the struggle. The power I sensed from it was immense.” William raised an eyebrow questioningly at him, clearly not entirely believing such a story. But then he seemed to reconsider, rubbing his chin with one hand.
“My men did find the shattered remains of some shell in their private chambers when we searched it.” He conceded, then gave Vorador a sideways look. "But we didn't find the bodies of the Mandarins themselves." His tone was almost accusatory.
"They were disposed of." Vorador replied. More than likely the five corpses were even as they spoke lying on a dissection table in Nupraptor's retreat. As long as they were no longer a threat, Vorador doubted William would really care what fate befell their bodies. The young king considered some more and then struck an exaggeratedly theatrical pose, one hand aloft with the other holding an imaginary lute.
"William the Just; fresh from his conquest and defeat of the evil Mandarin rulers, rides north with a gallant companion to seek out a terrible beast and slay it with his mighty celestial sword, that the freed peoples of the East might truly live in harmony once more.” He almost sang the words, his expression far off with a smile of intense satisfaction on his face. Vorador, his own face creased in perplexed astonishment, watched him with puzzlement.
“You write your own sagas?” He asked and then his frown depended. “And under what circumstances did we become gallant companions?” William's answering smile was simply cheeky.
"Your face seemed to crease naturally into a frown. You ought to smile more." He commented. When Vorador's expression did not change, William's exuberance lessened. “You do not approve of me?” It was not really a question. There was a pause. “Or perhaps my methods?”
The Vampire parted his lips on one side of his mouth, showing off one enlarged canine fang in what could only be called a derisive sneer.
“Even amongst Vampires, a kin slayer is rarely welcomed.” He said. William's face lost its friendless in an instant. He stared up at Vorador without any fear whatsoever. Nor did his face show any hint of guilt or remorse. There was only a steadfast determination in his eyes, a sort of willingness to do anything to achieve an objective.
“I know something of your history, Vorador.” He began and all trace of the insolent and brash youth was gone. “You have remained aloof from Men for centuries, preferring to stay isolated and arrogantly assuming that you know better how to live than the rest of us. You know little of our struggles.” There was a sudden maturity there in his voice that the Vampire had not sensed before, as if the personality of the eccentric, wilful, and abrasive youth was all just a cover to conceal the iron beneath. William nudged his horse forward and turned in his saddle, gesturing with one hand in a vague, westerly direction.
“My father was a tyrannical despot.” The young king stated bluntly in a firm tone “He treated the people of his kingdom like expendable dogs. He had them regularly beaten, taxed them to the point of starvation and, more often than not, forced into bondage to work his fields and mines." He spoke with a firm, even fierce certainty. "Anyone who defied him was condemned and impaled on the spot.”
There were two methods of impalement. The kind the Sarafan had employed on their Vampire victims had been direct, the victim stabbed straight through the heart, left there with a gaping hole in their chests. The second method was used almost exclusively on Human peasants by vindictive lords and was far more brutal and cruel.
“And my dear departed brothers were no better.” William added and he sounded almost bitter this time, as if forced to admit a fault with himself. He was silent for a moment. The horse beneath him snorted and tossed its head. Vorador kept his eyes on the young king, intently waiting for him to continue.
“While I was studying in Stahlberg, I was exposed to the poor and the needy. I saw their plight, their desperate need. I saw that the aristocracy and royals of this world lived in obscene luxury while the commons starved in abject poverty and were beaten if so much as raised one word of protest.” Despite the words he spoke with quiet conviction, his voice strangely restrained as if he wanted to speak with more passion but had schooled himself not to. “Yes, Vampire…oh yes, I arranged their deaths, but for good reason.”
He turned his head slowly and looked Vorador full in the face. He was grim, no trace of his boyish facade at all.
“My father would have passed the crown onto Simon, my eldest brother and under him, there would be no change." This time, however, he did show emotion, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. "I loved my brothers. Do not doubt that I loved them despite their faults." There were no tears or other signs of regret, nor did his voice sound overly shamed. Rather it was the degree to which his expressions and tone were rigidly controlled, so much effort being put into doing so that told how powerful the emotion really was. The young king swallowed and took a moment to gather himself.
"But if I did nothing then the status of privileged noble over abused commoner would have continued unabated.” He said and some of the conviction was gone from his tone. He raised a hand up in front of himself and balled it into a fist. “Under my rule, the people will be given back their homes, allowed to keep the food they grow, paid fairly for their labour, and allowed to maintain their dignity.” He seemed to take strength from his own words. His back straightened and he sat up with more pride in the saddle, his stare becoming firm and passionate once more. “So pardon me, if I do not regret what was a necessary evil.”
Vorador found himself once more re-evaluating the young king. Every time he thought that he understood this youth, he discovered that he had much more to learn. He didn't doubt that William meant everything he said. That sort of emotional and passionate conviction usually couldn't be fabricated and while William was certainly the accomplished actor, capable of swaying crowds of the ignorant, even the Vampire's well trained scepticism and cynical nature detected no falsehood. That, however, simply made it worse.
“You naive fool.” He said, with far more pity than contempt this time. William might indeed be the reformer he claimed to be, a true companion of the downtrodden. But even a king was but one man, bound to a single lifetime. As soon as he died and passed the crown on to his heir, that successor was free to undo any and all of his magnanimous acts and revert to a ruler who commanded with an iron fist. Such was the very nature of monarchies and it seemed that in his passion William had forgotten this basic fact. If the man truly wished to foster change for the betterment of the people, he would not rely on the rule of the crown and would replace that system with one that was dictated and run by the people it served. Vorador, however, knew his history and knew that this would never come to pass. William's dream would die with him, his murder turning the thoughts of the people away from ideals of just rule and governance and towards vengeful persecution. Moebius the Time Streamer would see to that.
Still, though, Vorador could not help himself but to think, it would certainly be advantageous if people, Humans, Vampires, and even Hylden thought with such a mindset; the will do to what was necessary for the right reasons. Despite himself, he found that he could not help but admire the sentiment and the ideal.
At present, however, other priorities than philosophy compelled him and he pressed on, leaping up to the top of a rock and from there onto another tree branch. Once more William followed after although he appeared, somewhat understandably, not so exuberant and boyish. Riding his horse he looked older, more mature and more a man than the popinjay Vorador had taken him for. This, however, raised another question and it puzzled him immensely. If this boy king was not truly an eccentric fop who made decisions based on selfish whims, then why was he following along behind now?
It would be best to race off as soon as possible in the form of a wolf the moment he made higher ground. William had some reason for following, probably to further some obscure aspect of his stated goals and Vorador wanted no part of it. The mount the king road was an impressive enough animal but it was more suited to running across open country. Over rough, uneven ground littered with debris a wolf would easily outpace it. The young king could try to follow him then if he liked.
Finally he came up to the beginning of the granite and gravel cliffs where he had caused the landslide which had buried half of Romulus' pack and saved William's army from ambush, a good dozen or so leagues to the north. The mountains loomed up on ahead but from here, Vorador could change his shape and make much better time.
Surmounting the cliffs did not take him long. Granite often fractured in square pieces that offered easy handhelds up. The typhoon had not passed this far north so the ground would be dry on top. If memory served from the map he had been given, there was a fertile plateau on top that ran up to the mountains themselves. There were a few farming villages and hamlets there, small, isolated settlements. Undoubtedly William would have had them occupied as he moved south towards the Eastern capital. He would simply have to avoid them.
Quickly he gained the summit and hoisted himself up. The form of the wolf was already in his imagination, ready to be assumed. He was almost on the verge of doing so when he stood up and saw what lay out there for him to see. The thought of transformation froze and then died away. He stood there simply staring.
William managed to find a path up the cliff, a steep road to be sure but his sturdy horse managed it easily enough. He looked rather surprised to see Vorador waiting for him, realistically expecting to have to make up ground. He opened his mouth to say something and then he himself saw. His eyes widened and face paled.
“My god…” He breathed, as well he might. Out before them was a wide path of destruction that had nothing whatsoever to do with the storm. The ground was torn asunder as if its very bones had been ripped out, boulders and rock flung aside. Trees had been ripped from the ground and charred down to smouldering timbers. Giant piles of ash which had once been thick groves of forest and undergrowth lay everywhere, and amongst them were piles of bloody bones. Most were deer and other large forest animals, their carcasses split apart with ribs flung wide.
One might easily mistake such carnage as the result of a forest fire. Perhaps the typhoon had generated a bolt of lightning which set the foliage alight and it merely burned down. But neither of them was fooled. The animals here had been butchered, not burnt, and the ground torn up was not in a random fashion but in regular places, parts trampled down as if a battering ram had been crashed into it repeatedly.
-0-
“In all the centuries I had lived, all the struggles I had fought against zealots, Sarafan fascists, and even other Vampires with imperial ambitions, I had never beheld such widespread devastation. The very earth itself cringed in pain, as if the parts of elemental force which made it up had been injured. This was horrible. There was no other word.”
-0-
It was still hazy with the rain from the passing typhoon, but the devastation continued on for as far as could be seen into that obscuring haze. Just visible on the horizon was a rising column of thick smoke, the kind that was only produced by buildings set aflame. William spurred his horse on, riding swiftly towards it. Vorador followed him without even thinking about it, changing finally into the wolf in mid-stride and galloping after the king's horse.
It did not take them long to reach the source. A small farming community, a few thatch roofed huts that formed a ring around an inner courtyard. Most of it was gone now but some patches of crisped straw still flickered with tongues of flame. The scene here was even more macabre. Everywhere bloody, eviscerated corpses lay scattered. The farm animals seemed to have been attacked first, a herd of cows and swine broken open and drained dry, the larger bones snapped open and the marrow sucked out. Even the skulls had been bashed open as if with a rock and the brains scooped out.
Whatever had done all this had made no distinction between Humans and their husbanded animals either. The piled corpses of people had been treated in the same manner, torn up and devoured down to the last scrap of flesh. Most were peasants, easily identifiable by the burlap, wool, and strips of leather they wore. Some of the devoured corpses, however, lay amidst western style armour which looked like it had been peeled open like a can to get at the flesh beneath. One such corpse lay over a charred banner on which was the thorny rose icon of the Northern Kingdom. The armoured men numbered more than two dozen and had their weapons in their hands, a mixture of swords, axes, bows, and lances. So even near thirty armed men had not been a match for whatever had beset them. It had picked them apart with ease and then scooped out their insides for a meal, perhaps as casually as a man might eat oysters from the shell.
William dropped down from his horse and stood on the edge of the scene as Vorador reassumed his regular form behind him. Neither of them said anything to each other. William was speechless, his lips parted in an expression of stunned disbelief as he pushed back his hood. Vorador, who had more experience with such scenes of death, surveyed it with a grim neutrality. Many of the corpses were curled back or in on themselves in what could only be postures of agony. He had the unpleasant feeling that whatever had feasted upon them had started doing so while many of them had still been alive. The flesh on the bones was still glistening with blood. Whatever had done this had been here recently, within the last hour at least.
There was a guttural moan from off to one side, coming from one of the buildings. It looked like an ordinary cattle barn which had escaped scorching, a wall crumbled as if struck by a massive blow. Dragging himself out of the open doorway was a man in armour. He was covered in blood and looked barely alive, his armour rent and his helmet caved into a collapsed crevice inside his skull.
William ran up to him, kneeling down and placing a hand on the man's shoulder. He half turned him, exposing a belly so badly sliced apart that it was only the badly strained muscles beneath the skin keeping his insides from falling out.
“Tell me what happened here!” He ordered. The warrior gasped, straining for air. He was bleeding out and by the look of him, Vorador suspected he was moments from death. “Quickly!” William urged, sensing the same. The man struggled for breath but now that he was on his back he seemed to get enough to speak.
“I…It came…out of the forest." His words were gargled through blood coated lips. His eyes were unfocused and unseeing. "The w…wind moved with it….fires…..water…” The man seemed to be babbling now rather than replying to the question. "Fight he said…f..fight it…n..no fighting….it jus..just ate. Eating, s..s..slurping." His voice grew fainter and fainter with each passing word. “So m…m…much…" Then he trailed off, deep red almost black blood released from his lips as he finally died.
William looked over the man for a long moment, then slowly stood back up. His hands were stained red by the man's blood. He looked down at them and shuddered. Quickly he began to clean them on his cloak. They were both thinking the same thing and they both knew it.
“So then…. You weren’t just spinning me a yarn.” He said, trying to sound like his usual impressive self. The attempt failed as his voice broke at the end of the sentence and he was trembling. Quickly he turned from the corpse and went over to his horse. From the saddle bag he removed a canteen and took a long drink. The sweet smell of northern style mead was pungent but it seemed to settle him and stop his hands from shaking. Turning, the young king looked at the Vampire, his face pale as he had understandably been disturbed.
“What manner of…'thing'…can do all this?” He asked, gesturing with one hand out at the carnage while he held on to his canteen. It was certainly a fair question.
“A creature that many have tried to have history forget and plunge into the oblivion of time.” Vorador replied.
“Perhaps it might have been better if it had.” William said. The Vampire just shook his head to that, frowning.
"Forgetting about something does not magically make it disappear." He disagreed. William looked back over his shoulder at the corpses and shuddered.
"Mores the pity." He opined.
The scene at this village was not unique. Travelling further and further north towards the mountains, the carnage continued unabated. There were perhaps five farming communities on this plateau and each one of them had been paid a visit by the creature. Each time the appetite of the thing increased and it seemed to need more and more food to satisfy its hunger.
By the time they reached the last village, sitting at the base of the mountain’s foothills and overshadowed by the peaks, everything even remotely edible had been taken. Bloody bones were scattered everywhere, animals and people all mixed together in death. Corpses had been pulled up and devoured and even the thatch roofs had been removed rather than scorched.  There seemed now not to be a single living thing on the entire plateau larger than a rabbit.
That is until they ran across Bane. The Druid was standing at the far edge of the last massacred village, a lone living figure on the edge of a butchered mass of discarded bones. He held his staff in one hand and his other was clenched into a fist beside him. His face was pale beneath his beard, but not from the scene before him. He was livid, his expression told quite clearly of anger barely held in check. He seemed to know they were coming as he spoke even before they saw him.
“You fool, Vampire!” He snapped, stamping the end of his staff down on the ground. Approaching the Druid through the battered remains of the village, Vorador could see the man was trembling with rage. “Just what have you done?!” Bane demanded, gesturing out at the carnage around him. Before Vorador could even open his mouth to reply the man raised a finger at him accusingly. “I knew it was a mistake to trust you!” His words were bitter and filled with loathing. “You have brought back the very evil I was so anxious to expunge!” Atop his horse, William looked back and forth between the two of them with a clearly puzzled expression on his young face.
“Who is this man?” He asked, pointing at Bane while giving the Vampire a look.
“Bane, member of the Circle of Nine and Guardian of the Pillar of Nature.” Vorador replied simply and without showing any emotion himself. William's eyes bulged and he looked sharply at the man clad in white fur before them, his expression incredulous. 
“I seem prone to encounter celebrities lately.” He muttered, rubbing his chin with one hand. Bane ignored the young king, his focus exclusively on Vorador.
“You see all this, you undead fool?!” He demanded. “All of this destruction is on your head! I know not by what magics you raised it from the grave…” His tone was ominous. “…but clearly now the creature has grown beyond even your control!” Vorador stared him down, meeting his eyes unwavering.
“I have not raised anything.” The Vampire replied.
“Is that a fact?” Bane was indignant, glaring savagely at him. He crocked his finger in a 'follow me' gesture and marched off into the brush without explanation. Suddenly wary, Vorador followed him instantly. William paused on his horse for a moment, then slid down and followed, leading his mount by the reins.
The Druid led them through the bushes and foliage away from the village and up to the edge of a short ravine which was concealed by thick trees and bushes, most of them charred badly and blackening. Angrily the Druid used his staff to brush the charred leaves aside so they could all look down into the ravine.
“Well then, perhaps you’d like to explain this?!” He asked almost sarcastically.
Lying on the bottom of the ravine was a large crumbled mass of skin. It was unmistakably skin as from the bird's-eye view they had it looked like the scaly discards of a massive snake. Vorador stared down at it, his face impassive and guardedly neutral. The discarded skin was much, much larger than the creature he had seen emerging from that orb and there were some differences. The newly fledged thing he had seen had been like a snake, but this creature had had four legs that ended in gaps where massive claws would have been. Its general bulk had been focused on the shoulders and its tail was definitely thicker and wider. There was, however, no mistaking the distinctive shape of the head.
The creature he had seen had been the shape of the first stage of that depicted life cycle. The discarded skin down before him was the second stage, a bulky four-legged animal that looked very much like a muscular mix between a canine and a crocodile, but behaved very much like an insect or even some species of fish which develop more after their births. In Vorador's mind flashed what the image had shown the final stage of the life cycle to be. The creature which had emerged from its egg had ravaged across the land, devouring the food it needed to grow and push itself into a maturing metamorphosis. Now if this discarded skin was any indication, the creature had finally reached its mature, adult form.
Bane's expression was deeply grave. “The corruptors live once more.” He said in grim anger.