Defiance

The Human Enemy’s Land, Eleven Hundred Years Before

Thaelen sifted into consciousness off and on, hearing voices, the groans of wooden wheels over rough terrain, the creak and scrape of armour, and the huff of horses. It was his hunger that woke him, the gnawing thirst scraping its fingernails along his tongue and throat, squeezing his stomach, beading his skin with sweat. A journey of many days, for the hunger to grow to such an extent. How long did it take for a vampire to starve to death? He did not know, but he knew that the suffering was intense.

He was in a wooden box, wrists and ankles chained - the mark of the One God engraved in the cuffs. His body ached in a way that he had never before experienced, the effort of raising his shaking hands to press against the lid of the box in which he lay almost too great to manage, his bones aching, his lungs heavy.

A spell, Inora had said. What manner of spell could render a vampire so weak? What sort of witch would create such a thing kn