Will’s interest was piqued. “What does it do?”
“It’s no good for you. Taken by a second- or third-order wizard, the potion would be ruined, if not completely nullified. Your body wouldn’t allow it to work. It’s meant for warriors. Makes them stronger and faster than usual.”
“The same way I can make myself stronger or faster by manipulating my turyn?”
“Way past that,” answered the ring. “It’s beyond anything normally possible for a human. For a short period of time you can make a man or woman as fast and strong as one of the Drak’shar. Anyway, we’ve gotten off on a tangent.”
“I want to look that potion up later. Just in case the opportunity arises.”
“It’s in Gidding’s Apothecary, but again, we’ve digressed. The reason Aislinn said there would be a slaughter comes down to the fact that the Drak’shar aren’t meant to feed on other immortals, particularly the fae.”
“Because—?”
“If that thing really is a vampire, then Tailtiu’s blood will act like a potent narcotic and hallucinogen. Whatever self-control the creatures have will be lost and they’ll likely go into a frenzy.”
“If they’re that keen for blood, wouldn’t they already be out there killing people?”
“Only with the greatest care and discretion,” answered the ring. “We wiped them out, or we thought we had. If any of them survived until now, they did it by hiding themselves almost perfectly, without giving in to their urges. Most importantly, they won’t have been transmitting their disease.”
“Disease?”
“The first Drak’shar was created, but it was created as a disease. If they aren’t careful when feeding, then they pass it on to their victims. A newly created vampire has no sense, no self-control, it can barely think. They’re wholly beholden to their hunger.”
“So what you’re saying is that one of them survived in secret.”
“One or several, but only very smart, very careful ones,” corrected Arrogan.
“And that if they feed on Tailtiu they’ll go mad and start behaving like new vampires.”
“Yes, and almost certainly they’ll fail to observe their rules to prevent creating more spawn. So a day or two later, you’ll have a host of young, rabid blood-fiends running wild through the city.”
The meat was ready, so Will put it into an iron pan that he’d already oiled and heated on the stove. A pleasant odor of searing meat rose up, which was just as well, as the scent of fresh blood had been disturbing during their discussion. “That sounds delightful,” he commented dryly.
“It’s anything but. Back before my time, the city of Dylindar had to be burned to the ground when something similar happened.”
“Where’s that at?”
“It used to be in Trendham. They never rebuilt it; instead they built a new city not far from where it used to be, named Lystal.”
Will nodded. “Oh, I’ve seen that one on the map. When you say before your time, what do you mean exactly?”
“A few hundred years before I was born.”
“So how far back was their creation? You said a wizard named Grim Talek created them, didn’t you?”
“You heard that while you were snooping, eh?”
Will grinned, though the expression was wasted on the ring. “I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I did get to hear a few things.” Watching the pan, he added a small dollop of butter beside the meat.
“Grim Talek might technically be called a wizard,” said Arrogan. “He was human once, as far as we know.”
“What is he now?”
“A lich, though the term is somewhat speculative since he’s unique. No one else ever managed to replicate the feat, though many drawn to necromancy have tried.”
“I thought vampires were the pinnacle of undead existences,” said Will.
“It depends on how you measure things. Physically they’re more dangerous—that’s certain—but they were created to serve Grim Talek, and while they’re technically immortal, they’re much easier to kill. Burning a vampire is a safe bet, but you could completely destroy Grim Talek’s body and he’d still be back within a few days.”
“Fire seemed to work pretty well on the one I met,” agreed Will.
A snorting sound issued from the ring, although it didn’t have a nose. Will wondered how that worked, but Arrogan’s next warning was more important. “That was just a taste. You caught one by surprise. Be extremely careful and make sure you never face one alone. You don’t even have the right sorts of spells to fight them properly.”
Will tested the meat with his finger then removed it from the pan. Grabbing a bottle of red wine, he poured some in to deglaze the bottom and began scraping to free the fond that was stuck there. His mouth watered thinking about what the pan sauce would taste like. “What kind of spells do I need?”
“Fire works in a pinch, for getting rid of their bodies, but you won’t survive long without a proper defense. They move fast, and they’re strong enough to overpower anyone once they get close. You need a surefire way to make sure one can’t sink its fangs into you, and there’s only one spell I know that’s up to that job.”
Will waited, occupying himself by tasting the sauce as it reduced. Eventually Arrogan gave up and continued, “Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“You really are an asshole,” observed the ring.
Will chuckled. “I learned from the best. So what spell is it?”
“The iron-skin transformation.”
“You mentioned that before. Didn’t you say someone tried to use it for his ‘little soldier’ and wound up killing himself?”
Arrogan began sniggering. “Yes, that’s the story of Leonard Kaspar and his infamous iron cock. He died of iron poisoning, but he wasn’t using the regular iron-skin transformation. The spell I’m talking about is perfectly safe, though it’s a little difficult to cast.”
A little difficult in Arrogan’s terminology probably meant a seventh- or eighth-order spell at least. Will was close to succeeding with eighth-order spells, but he wasn’t quite there yet. And if it’s ninth I won’t be able to manage it for months.
The ring went on, “The transformation usually can’t be kept up for more than a few minutes at a time because it’s both physically exhausting and it uses a significant amount of turyn.”