Unaccountable.

　　A truism made true by the repetition of self terminating cliches. A series of mental stakes penning in preoccupied, occupied peoples. It is what it is and everything happens for a reason. Untruisms peddled by well positioned placeholders, well paid propagandists and then repeated by well intentioned puppets. God speaks and you must obey. Obey us! We are wise and you are fools. We have been chosen and you are cattle. We have been given this world and you exist to serve, so bow your head and grovel. Accept your place and then you`ll receive a few crumbs of deliverance from our table. Be grateful for our mercy.

　　Unaccountable? Nothing of the sort. They simply haven`t yet been held to account.

　　"Up there!"

　　The shout from one of the regime`s enclosing enforcers bringing me back into the moment. The man`s nearby comrades - only a floor and a half below - stopping their ascent to look. The ants scurrying further toward the bottom interpreting his call of warning as a call to swarm.

　　"What are you waiting for? Form up! Go!"

　　The men standing nearest the maw of the meat grinder hesitating. Easy to give orders from far away, all safe and sound. But then one yelling, and another. The time finally arriving where they`d fulfill their fundamental purpose as soldiers. As men. Born to work and to suffer and to fight and to bleed and to die. Reaching maturity in order to keep those who are in power in power. Trained to follow orders and instructed to call anyone who objects a scoundrel, a subversive, a traitor, or the lowest sort of scum. Spewing slander even as they throw away their one and only existence to benefit the great array of pretenders lording over them. Pro Deo et Patria, even as their gods were never God and their nations are no longer a Nation. Clamped, cut and conditioned. Diminished, but still expected to shoulder the burden and lay down their lives.

　　The group`s warcry swelling as they stabilized their ranks, two by two with shields up front, and marched up the stairs ready to meet the inevitable demand of destiny.

　　It`s shame these things are getting in my way. No, not things, men. Unequivocally the perfect facsimiles of men. Having the discipline to overcome the fear of death, and also senseless enough to override those self preservation instincts for the most flimsy of reasons: a grand cause. That is to say, a gilt-edged, dressed up, overvalued, misunderstood, purposefully misexplained, downright fabricated phony slab of baloney. That sort of cause is how earnest, well meaning, idealistic men most often misapply themselves. They struggle and they endure and they devote themselves wholeheartedly, and at the end of it all they die like dogs.

　　Holding myself back and not unleashing Runic Shield as they came up the stairs. Deliberately avoiding the smart, tactical play. Instead allowing the front ranks to place their feet on the landing specifically to grant them the reward they`d so richly earned.

　　Knocking the first sword thrust aside with a crackling flash and grabbing the second man`s arm midmotion. Ear, nose and throat. The back end of the hatchet ringing a bell, the front side creating a deep cleft in the second man`s face, and then finishing with a backside swing that embedded the links of the metal aventale into a crushed windpipe. Taking a step back and placing a blot. Disjunction. The cleft palate widening as the skin and muscle underneath peeled all the way open.

　　"Keep advancing! There`s only the one."

　　Orders are orders, but following them may keep a man from his pension. The ones directly behind their dying comrades psyching themselves up and trying to charge over their fallen forms. A snap of energy pushing one into the other as they tried to navigate their footing, and the weight of their armor and resulting missteps sending both sprawling. The ones behind hurrying to try and save their downed friends. Too far away. Raising my hatchet.

　　The motion behind and to the side felt more than seen. A pressure disturbance, an odor or potentially something ephemeral sending a small, tickling jolt that registered as imminent danger. Jerking my entire body in an attempt to dodge while swinging the axe in a blind backhand. Feeling a slight resistance on my swing followed by a burning ache on my front that spread to my side - the attack missing my vitals but scraping against a rib and leaving a trench from stomach to side. Unleashing several crackling pulses to deter any immediate followups while taking a second to reorient my stance.

　　The man, my attacker, wearing a dark jacket with a visible tear on his sword arm. Holding a rapier - a weapon deadly enough in the right hands, but more a gentleman`s tool for sporting matches. But sneaking up on me with that weapon, that outfit and no armor means he`s probably-

　　Knocking the incoming thrust aside and stepping in to hack. My opponent not flinching and stepping in to meet me. Balling his left fist and the two of us trading another set of blows. Trying to block his incoming punch but the attack blowing through the shield and the force sending me back a couple steps. Putting my back to the railing.

　　Pain radiating outward from my shoulder and joining to meet the ache in my side, and then spreading down my arm. His sword clattering to the floor as his arm went limp, the hatchet wrenched from my grasp and left embedded in his shoulder and through his collarbone. No blood.

　　The vampire in a slow, deliberate motion dislodging my weapon and then tossing it over the edge, but not moving in to press the attack. In no particular rush to reengage. Reaching over to realign his shoulder as the group of soldiers that had ascended the staircase prepared to launch a more coordinated assault.

　　Stupid - short sighted - stupid. This isn`t personal so there`s no need to go losing my head. This is a job - and it remains undone. That thing`s hanging back because it`ll be at hundred percent in a couple minutes, so it needs to be dealt with soon. Firing off a big spell is risky - it may not work - and that`ll leave my limited resources even further depleted with nothing gained. Okay, deal with these ones first and then that thing.

　　Willing the chain to extend while keeping an eye on the vampire. Anchoring one side to the railing and using the other end to swat at the soldiers. Nothing focused, nothing precise, a reckless flailing and whipping to force them to keep their distance. Keeping the flurry going while keeping one eye on the vampire. There. Abruptly changing course and flinging the other side to wrap around the monster`s neck.

　　It`s attention had been focused on me and the chain - mostly on the chain - but then it had spent a moment readjusting its grip and pulling a little harder on it`s shoulder to keep itself together. That`s the opportunity. A moment`s all it`ll take for the chain to change course and-

　　The thing`s hand snapping out and catching the end of the chain before it could wrap around its neck. Showing me it`s pointed teeth. Pleased with yourself, huh? Got you. Giving the chain now wrapped around its wrist a yank.

　　Vampire`s have all sorts of advantages - strength being only one - and this one`s markedly stronger than the Neophyte that had been the Marquis` son. If the creature had been fully prepared, feet planted and arm braced, the yank wouldn`t have amounted to much. In a tug of war it probably could`ve ripped the railing clean off. Flatfooted, however? Come to me.

　　"Cease."

　　The magical command bringing a smile to my lips. Predictable creatures. Oh, wait, it realizes it didn`t work.

　　The vampire dodging my knife thrust aimed at its throat. The feinted knife thrust. The monster dodging nothing and then being hit full force from the side with the shield. Pulling the chain taut and all that momentum sending it tumbling over the railing to plummet several stories below.

　　Ignoring the dazed soldiers and recovering the chain while running up the stairs to the top floor. My side aching but the earlier pins and needles running down my arm mostly gone. Glancing over the side of the railing while nearing my destination. A good number of soldiers still stuck at the bottleneck created by the vampire`s command, but with many more still trying to come up from below. One group on the second level catching my attention due to their distinctive insignia. Spellcasters. Looking up here, but not at me. Gawking at something. What`re they-

　　Vampires have all sorts of advantages. Strength. Speed. Regeneration. Charming victims. Probably a bunch of others - assuredly a bunch of others - and this one now demonstrating an ability that put my Feather Fall scroll to shame. Flight. Features transformed, and with an arm still hanging limp, the creature revealing its true nature in front of everyone as it streaked upward to intercept. It looks so desperate. Very desperate. Desperation from a creature like that is a high compliment.

　　Erase.

　　Dead nothingness coating the chest and everything below as it entered my range, followed by an icy clap of released pressure. The thing letting out a screech, terrible anger and hatred pouring out as it plummeted a second time, a crystallized, blood streaked meteorite making a hard landing on the stone floor far below. Twitching. Not dead. Driven away and ripped apart, but still not dead.

　　Everything holding still for a moment as the screeching echoes faded, but then the temporary standstill breaking and the great mass of troops resuming their flow up the stairs. Putting my head down and sprinting for the final stretch. Pulling open the great double doors to the grand ballroom. There he is, my target, Marquis Vanaan. Eating dinner. Him and his family - some of the remaining members, at least - sitting there at that oversized table eating dinner. He really does think he`s untouchable.

　　One of the nearby help the first to react to my entrance, in a most awkward fashion. Using both hands to swing a large metal platter as an improvised weapon. Blasting the tray out of his grasp, sending it sailing across the room, and then putting him on his knees with a well placed strike. Leaving him struggling to breathe from the hole in his throat. There`s the panic. Now they seem to understand.

　　Another running at me. Wide open. Down. Willing the chain to wrap itself around the door handles. No reinforcements getting in anytime soon. Just need to deal with...

　　The Marquis` eldest daughter finishing her incantation. Pulling her arm back to lob a globe of fire in my direction.

　　A kindhearted girl: she`d waited to make sure no one else had been near. Taking in some air and covering my face as the sphere struck the ground and blossomed outward, engulfing me and everything in the nearby area in flames.

　　Hot. Decidedly hot - even with the Elemental Resistance scroll. But hot like an oven, not hot like a blowtorch. They`re over that way.

　　Opening my eyes at the first touch of cooler air. Right there, on his feet but he hasn`t really reacted. The Marquis holding a steak knife and a skillet. Only one in my way, the current eldest son, putting his foot back and hands up in a fighting stance. Going to knock you aside and then he`s mine.

　　A spray a color - purple, blue, green, yellow, red - sending me reeling, filling my vision with halos and blackness, and leaving me blind and blindly slashing. Should`ve been prepared for it, like mother, like daughter, she`s the same as the little girl downstairs. Focus. Relax. Just another dropped torch underground. There, that shuffle in front of me, he`s roughly there. Guesstimating the distance and making a quick move forward. Leading with a crackling pulse followed by an overextended stab. Being rewarded with a woman`s scream off to the side and the sensation of skewering something solid and fleshy. Pumping my arm twice more, hit, miss, and then being overcome with pain. A kick to my leading leg, to the back of my knee, driving my kneecap into the ground, and sending bolts of pure agony up my thigh, up my spine, and then down to my toes. Unable to do anything but fall to the ground and clutch at it with both arms, my entire world nothing but blind pain.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

　　Broken? Dislocated? It hurts so bad. Hopefully it`s just the nerve. Toes. Curl and uncurl the toes. That hurts that hurts. Probably the nerve, probably a fracture. Doesn`t matter it`s not there. It`s not horrendously awful. Keep flexing the foot and the ankle.

　　"Stay where you are." An indistinct shape in my vision saying.

　　Gonna be real tough to move right now, but Erase will work if gets close enou... Blinking over and over. Blackness and halos and some shapes. Keep blinking, get something back. The knee isn`t as bad as- no, it`s pretty bad. Flex and unflex. Which one is he? Which one? That`s the son, his arm is bent covering his chest. And that sounds like the daughter. That larger shape. That`s him. Vision slowly coming back. Just say something to confirm it. Say anything.

　　The larger, shadowy indistinct figure turning to another shadowy indistinct figure and saying, "Inform Viktor that..." The man trailing off. "No. Tell Viktor that his presence is urgently required, but say nothing more than that. And someone get some restraints on Macarthy."

　　Got you. Got you got you got you. Didn`t really work when practicing back in the cell, but there he is. Be there. Go there. He`s right there. Right there. Tightening the grip on my knife and concentrating everything on moving over to him. Growling under my breath.

　　"go. he`s right there. move. right there. very close. so close. you`re mine. i`ll kill you. you`re dead dead i`ll kill you you`re dead dead dead dead dead"

　　Two quick hops. Two moments. Two blinks of an eye. Teleport. More than halving the distance between us. Teleport. Appearing above the Marquis shaped blob and leading with my knife. Putting everything into the strike and jamming the blade solidly into his skull. Releasing my grip on the weapon and lashing out with the shield in the direction of the large bay windows. Breaking out of the ring. The Marquis` surprised and distraught servants and family members more immediately concerned with potentially saving the man than with catching me.

　　Shooting pains flaring on every other motion during my half lurch half crawl half series of hops across the room. The windowpane exploding outward in a shower of glass that fell directly to the ground, but my scrambling leap carrying me at a feather`s soft float over the castle gardens in the direction of Shaker`s cottage. The trajectory putting me on course to hit near my earlier exit point at the second story bathroom window. Well, not quite. My destination getting closer and closer. Not gonna hit the window. Not falling downwards very quickly but still moving horizontally at a decent clip. Shifting my pack and bracing for impact. Hitting the side of the building with enough force to eject the breath from my body with a sickly croak. Some moments later finding myself laying on the patio pavers with a coppery taste coating my lips.

　　Get up. Get inside. Ugh. Everything hurts. Maybe Shaker has something for that. Doubt it. Doesn`t matter, they need to see the head. My word alone will never be enough. After all of that someone else has to see it.

　　Clamping my teeth shut and staggering to my feet. Leaning against the door to prepare to pull it open. Almost overbalancing backwards and then nearly falling inside. The sound of claws clicking on the floor sending my hand to where my knife should`ve been. Grasping empty air. An animal rounding the corner, grey and indistinct. Realization at his identity making me sag with relief.

　　"Vesper. What- Hey. Good to see... you... too." Doing more leaning on him than petting. His temporary caretaker coming a few steps behind followed by the lady of the house. "Kate, why`re...?" Vesper must`ve tracked me. "I`m glad. But why..." You shouldn`t be here. It`s a good thing you`re here, but you shouldn`t be here.

　　Wolfe not saying anything, merely taking in the scene. My bloody mess, Vesper pacing back and forth, fur on end, and then the pack clutched tightly within the crook of my arm.

　　"Oh my God!" says Paula. "Lucy, what happened? Come here. Let me help you."

　　Accepting her assistance and returning to the dining room - no longer filled with soldiers but still containing the remains of their tea. The woman barely hesitating before pulling out a chair and putting me in it.

　　"This is what happened." Slinging the pack off my shoulder and pouring out the contents. The severed head rolling onto the embroidered tablecloth, dripping all over. "Vampire." The snarling features making the resemblance to the former Marquis` former son somewhat questionable, but still close enough. "Kate. I`m sorry. I know you`re angry at me but I`m kinda in a bad way. I could really use your help. Please."

　　A blank stare. Maybe she`s not angry. Maybe she`s worried or completely flabbergasted. Her eyes continuing to bore into me. No, more like she`s so angry she can`t properly articulate it. The girl`s hands reaching out and taking hold.

　　"A vampire..." Paula saying, while staring at the head. "This is-"

　　Shouted orders and the banging of armed and armored troops entering the residence cutting her off. Wolfe tightening her grip - painfully so - but then relaxing. The familiar warmth of healing finally beginning to enter and flow through me.

　　"There`s Macarthy! Don`t move!"

　　Soldier after soldier pouring into the room, knocking over chairs and surrounding us. Paula placing her hands on my shoulder while Wolfe kept hers where they`d been.

　　"Macarthy secured. Search the rest of the house."

　　"What`s going on?" Paula saying.

　　"Shut up. Don`t move. Stay where you are!"

　　Spending the next couple minutes not saying much of anything. Paula giving up trying to speak after the third time she`d been told to shut up. Wolfe keeping her hands where they were, allowing my sharp, stabbing pains to somewhat reduce down to more of dull aches. Vesper keeping his chin on my leg and permitting me to scratch his ears. At the center of it all sat the vampire`s head, slowly turning the entire tablecloth a reddish pink hue, the central point of absolutely everyone`s focus which absolutely no one seemed in a hurry to acknowledge.

　　The sound of a woman`s voice coming from the foyer giving Paula a start. Removing her hand from my shoulder and taking a couple steps to face the incoming storm. "What is the meaning of this?" Rage and grief amplifying every word.

　　"There must be some kind of mistake," Paula saying.

　　"No mistake. Your, your," pointing her finger at me, "attacked my son and murdered my husband. I saw it with my own two eyes."

　　"That- I can`t imagine how you feel. I`m so sorry about that." Paula not adding another accusing finger pointed in my direction, instead struggling vainly to come up some sort of apology. Two more soldiers coming into the room propping up a very disoriented looking Shaker. The man struggling to open his eyes and the sounds coming from his mouth more a series of slurs than individual words. "Harold?"

　　"Lady Vanaan, we have their Director."

　　"Good." Glaring for another moment before turning around. "Harold, your- what`s the matter with him?"

　　"I think he`s drunk, Ma`am."

　　"Drunk? He`s drunk?" Shaker trying to explain himself, but doing a very poor job of it. The woman`s nose wrinkling. "You`re right, I can smell it on his breath."

　　"Now, hold on a moment." Paula managing to move a couple steps closer before being stopped once again by brandished weapons. "I`m certain there`s an explanation."

　　"Of course there`s-" The woman turning back to address Paula, but then freezing in place. Finally noticing the leering gargoyle making a mess of the table, and then taking a few halting steps in its direction. "That`s my son." Her breath coming out in quiet disbelief, her hands getting a little lost and then her gaze wandering aimlessly as she attempted to process. Putting her back to the head - shutting it out - and addressing Paula once again. "When you told me I was happy for you. I thought I knew how you felt. I almost lost my son once, but I got him back. He wasn`t the same but I still loved him. So when I found out you got yours back I was happy for you. You said she wasn`t the same as before, but that`s okay. That happens. I told you..." The woman`s jaw going slack.

　　Paula had made a most critical mistake at a most critical moment: displaying the wrong emotion. She`d been doing well while listening along, giving little nods, radiating sympathy and understanding, but when the grieving widow and mother had said that she`d gotten her daughter back, the underlying emotion those words stirred up couldn`t be easily contained. Sympathy and concern changing to a sort of joyous serenity. Easily misunderstood as smugness. Mine is back and my world is whole again; that yours is dead is merely the price of my happiness.

　　Misplaced motherly instincts on both sides. Only after sacrificing their children, or sacrificing the possibility, do they discover that meaning isn`t so easy to find. So the void gets filled with replacements - cheerfully supplied - a whole nestfull of cuckoos and reptiles and red herrings and monkeys clinging to their backs. Hallmarks of a dying society.

　　"You Outsiders should hang for this." The Marquise`s voice shaking in fury. "Outsiders." Repeating the word as a curse. Making a sweeping gesture as she issued her first order as the new ruler of the city. "Arrest them. Arrest them all."

　　***

　　At the head of the chain gang stood the coward, Harold Shaker. Mouth gagged, wrists bound and hands covered. When the time for decisive action had arrived he`d taken stock of the situation and balked. And then abdicated his position. The man keeping his gaze fixed directly ahead as we were led out of the prison toward our waiting ship in the harbor. The light flurry of snowflakes fluttering through the air melting as they hit the ground.

　　Next, behind him, came his wife, similarly gagged and similarly bound. The woman still in a daze and still very much in denial. Her stumbles at nearly every intersection causing the chains connecting us all together to threaten everyone`s balance, but no matter how many times she almost fell her head continued to turn left and right as she searched the scattered gathering of onlookers that had assembled in the early morning to see us on our way. Her husband pausing his progress each time so she could regain her bearings before we resumed our walk.

　　Third, behind them, came both wolves, neither of which were currently speaking with me. One because of how she felt, and the other because he couldn`t speak. Each time Paula stumbled, and our progress temporarily halted, the girl would dutifully stop while muttering increasingly longer phrases under her breath. The other wolf, on the other hand, not starting up again until he`d received a reassuring pat on his hindquarters.

　　Behind me, bringing up the rear of our shackled procession, came Rudolf Urasu. Before getting gagged yesterday, or maybe it had been the day before, he`d spent a great deal of time proclaiming to anyone who`d listen: "I am innocent!" Few came by to hear, even fewer seemed to care, and, likely, fewer still, believed.

　　Our march finally reaching the harbor where a large multi-masted galleon had been moored. At our arrival a few sailors wearing an inordinate amount of emblems disembarked from the vessel in order to formally take custody. Papers displayed, lists checked, oaths sworn. The two groups saluting each other.

　　Every House had sent representatives to witness our departure and they were currently standing together while cordoned off to the side. Unmistakably under surveillance. Every movement watched and every innocent gesture noted. Despite that, they generally all seem cheerful. Most of them. Mr. and Mrs. Garland, at least, seem quite cheerful. Lane, too. Parnell, mostly upbeat. And some of the others, as well. Elizabeth Conner, less so; her icy stare making her desire for more extreme retribution obvious. The least cheerful member of the group, scrunching her face and hunching her shoulders, Riley. The girl hadn`t been permitted to visit while we`d been in prison for the last cycle, and for this handoff they definitely weren`t letting anyone get near. Trying to send a message over to her that everything will be fine, but my meaning clearly not received. Undoubtedly due to the chains and gags and all the soldiers barking orders. The girl now displaying a scowl.

　　An insistent tug on my wrists pulling me across the pier and then up the gangplank. Riley`s despondence and disappointment sticking with me the entire way up to the deck of the ship.

　　No.

　　Clearing my head and focusing. About a foot to the side. Still gagged, but my ankles and wrists now freed from the shackles. Staying in line for another two steps and then stepping out. Changing direction and brushing by a couple sailors. Hopping onto the ship`s railing and undoing my gag.

　　"The prisoner`s escaped!"

　　Keeping my balance and sauntering down the ship`s railing toward the prow. Getting past the forward bulkhead and then turning to address my captivated audience standing on shore while doing my best to ignore the growing unrest.

　　"This isn`t the end. When I get back I`m gonna drag you all out of your nice, warm, comfortable beds and then I`m gonna string you up on the streets. I`ll keep killing you until I get sick of it. I`ll kill you a hundred times." Swatting away the incoming arrow. And the next. "You`re all on borrowed time." Raising a hand in farewell to Riley and then lifting up my other in surrender. Everything`s going to be fine. I promise.