Zanfire the Brazen looked twenty years older than his actual age. A shock of white hair capped a face that bore wrinkles like a long forgotten raisin. Pale blue eyes matched the color of his ministerial robe and some elves joked that he looked like a walking snow cone.
Ten years ago, Zanfire took the religion of Pegasin to another level. He converted most of the Kevfire tribe within two years of his ascendance to the high priesthood. They called him Zanfire the Brazen because his words took the privileged royalty to task for their exploitation of the elven folk.
But the elves wanted miracles not words. Zanfire discovered that he had an ability to give the elves what they desired. He made a spectacle of healing the elven blind, deaf and ill. Detractors accused him of merely being a successful sorcerer. But his followers knew otherwise. Zanfire did not cast spells, they said. He had a direct link to the heavens.
But when Zanfire's wife became sick, his healing powers faded. He could only watch as she withered away from a disease which had no name. Immune to his healing touch, the disease claimed her life as well as his gift.
Zanfire began drinking heavily after her death. Elves who became aware of his alcoholism referred to him as Zanfire the Wasted. Humiliated after failing to heal a blind elf at a revival, Zanfire's popularity dwindled.
He privately cursed his God Pegasin, wondering what sin he committed to have his heavenly gift taken away.
Zanfire had six bottles of liquor left. He hoped that the village of Turnbane had a tavern where he could purchase some beer sight unseen before his next performance.
Turnbane also had the reputation for having the toughest elves. He wanted to recruit some of their best fighters to give Graceonna some additional elf power.
He stumbled in the dark with a half empty bottle. Zanfire wanted to drink just a little more to get what he privately called his “happy buzz.” He reached a stream and started to walk across a thick log to reach the other side. He slipped on the wood after a few steps, dropping his bottle into the moving creek.
“Damn it all to hell!”
Zanfire looked ahead and saw that the campsite's fire was out. All were asleep in their tents. That's where he needed to be. But whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was his wife. Then he would cry rather than sleep.
Heavy hooves approached from the west. He knelt down on the log and waited for the intruders to pass.
Black stallions raced by. They were not of his camp and the darkness prevented him from seeing who their riders were. He waited until they were out of sight and then trotted back to the camp.
Zanfire saw Carella and Iangold in front of one of the tents. They spoke in hushed tones, so he sneaked around the bend to eavesdrop on their conversation.
He marveled at how Carella's blonde curls shined like summer wheat in the moonlight. Heart-breakingly beautiful, her voice sounded like sweet music. Her brown eyes were a mercurial pool of emotions. They sparkled with life and light.
He hated Iangold. Tall and gangly for an elf, he came from a wealthy family. He played down his moneyed origins by dressing in peasant clothing and keeping his hair long. Zanfire did not like his type and saw through the disguise.
“He is an old fool,” Iangold said. “He is going nowhere and taking us with him.”
“I was once on the wrong path,” Carella said softly. “But Zanfire guided me to the right one.”
“You are blind,” Iangold argued. “He's irrelevant. You perform the miracles. He sits back and watches. And your miracles are not miracles. They are spells from the book of Arcanscape.”
“Which I am using for good.”
“Good for what, exactly? We've given up everything to follow this joker. I'm in a forest with beetles flying up my ass. Going where? Going to convert a village full of savages to believe in Pegasin?”
“You knew what you were signing up for,” she said.
“I did not know he was this bad,” Iangold said. “I can smell the alcohol on his breath from the back of the pew. We're following a crazy man on his way to hell.”
“Stop it,” Carella interrupted. “He drinks to medicate himself. He thinks no one cares about him or anything else and he may be right. But despite all of that, he still tries and puts himself on the line. That is the type of person I want to be. I cannot hide in a castle for the rest of my life and-”
“Shhh...” Iangold interrupted. “Did you hear that?”
Carella turned around and looked into the dark.
Zanfire stood perfectly still, hiding behind the tent wall. He heard a rustling of leaves on the ground but thought it came from the arguing couple.
“Probably a rabbit,” Carella turned her attention back to her boyfriend.
“You are taking on burdens and sacrifices that you don't have to,” Iangold said. “We can travel to other parts of Darksbane. We can go to Brelynn and spend weeks in the luxury castle there. Or we can go to the Isle of Petben, dance on the beach and eat their delectable sea food. There is a whole world out there ready to be explored.”
“I do not want a life of ease and comfort,” Carella said. “When I was sick and dying, Zanfire came and healed me. Something happened that night when he laid hands on me. I heard a calling. A voice that told me I was destined for something bigger than myself-”
Carella stopped in mid-sentence when she saw the two black stallions emerge behind Iangold. The loud whinny of the horse distracted her boyfriend from the Killtooth who tackled him to the ground.
Iangold's eyes widened like silver dollars as he tried to push the vampire elf off.
“Help!” Carella screamed.
Iangold moved his head to the side to avoid the Killtooth's bite. Saliva dripped into his face and the guttural growl of the beast made his heart pound with panic.
The blonde princess sprang into action. She grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground and mumbled a hasty spell.
The beast squealed in pain as she threw the mud into its eyes.
“Tell everyone to hide!” Zanfire emerged from behind the tent. “Stick together!”
The cleric had a dagger in hand and pounced on the blinded Killtooth.
Pulling back on the beast's ear with his left hand, Zanfire sawed off its head with his right.
The gurgling squeal of the Killtooth brought a chill to his spine.
“The hell?” Gurkain, one of the stagehands, sprinted out of his tent holding a wooden club.
He never saw the Killtooth that jumped down on him from the tree. It latched onto his back and bit deep into his neck.
Gurkain bellowed in pain as he fell to his knees. He dropped his club as blood squirted from his wound.
“Gurkain!” Carella screamed.
Distracted by the princess' cry, the Killtooth jumped off Gurkain and raced toward the blonde girl.
Carella sprinted for her life through the trees. The vampire elf flew from branch to branch, following her into the forest.
The princess ran for what seemed like miles. No longer hearing the Killtooth swinging through the trees above, she stopped to catch her breath.
The Killtooth jumped down from a branch and pushed Carella to the dirt. Then he held her down by her wrists, snarling in her face.
Carella twisted under his grip as she felt his member swelling against her thigh. His yellow eyes glistened with lust and hate.
Her nostrils filled with the hideous stench of his breath. She wanted to scream for help but gagged instead.
His slimy clutch unbreakable, the beast licked Carella's neck with its scaly tongue. His saliva burned, making her eyes water in pain.
She heard a battle-cry and then a “snikt” sound. Warm blood splattered across her face as the the grip on her wrists loosened.
Zanfire stood above her with a bloodied knife in one hand and the Killtooth's head in the other.
Its neck now a geyser of crimson, Carella pushed the now headless beast off her.
/> Without a word, they ran back to the campsite.
Gurkain's wife, Thorilove, pressed a rag against her husband's neck. He tried to speak through gurgled breaths but she put her finger to his lips.
“Don't talk,” she whispered.
“Are there any more?” Zanfire yelled, eyes darting around the camp.
“Don't think so,” Iangold said.
Scared faces emerged from the tents. Soon the entire group of missionaries had gathered around the bitten victim.
Satisfied that there were no other Killtooths around, the cleric turned his attention toward Gurkain.
“Can you heal him?” Thorilove looked up at Zanfire with tears in her eyes. “Please.”
Zanfire knelt down beside Gurkain. He gasped at the amount of blood streaming out of his old friend.
He laid hands on the man's forehead. He remembered a time, long ago, when Gurkain came to him with a life threatening fever. Zanfire healed him with one touch.
But now...
“Can you heal him?” Thorilove asked again, the hopeless look on her face breaking Zanfire's heart.
When Zanfire had the healing spirit, he could feel the magic in his body. He could feel heat welling in his hands and a warmth in his chest.
He pressed his hand on Gurkain's forehead and felt nothing.
Blood bubbling in his throat, Gurkain's breaths became shallow. Staring into Zanfire's eyes, his body jerked one last time then went limp.
“Gurkain!” Thorilove clutched her husband's tunic. “Gurkain! No!”
Zanfire's legs trembled as he tried to stand up. He could not meet the eyes of Gurkain's widow.
He wanted to walk to the end of the horizon and fall off the earth.
Carella took him by the arm and shepherded the shaken cleric back to his tent.