Records of the Court of Alexandru the Second of Mircea, Elected Voivode of Wallachia: Since the death of Valorous Vlad, and the elector counts elevation of my lord to the Prince’s throne, the Turks have been quiet. There have been no noteworthy attacks on Wallachia’s borders from either the Ingram, nor our northern cousins, and precious little trade as well. Until today, I am forced to record. Today an emissary from the Turks came to the court, suing for peace after their centuries of depredation. They even offered to give discounts on their textiles and other goods, from their traders, by allowing them to leave their lands without the customary exit taxes. The voivode bade them to wait while the Prince sent word to Castle Poenari, not wanting to risk another rampage by the land’s most unholy defender. Thankfully none have seen The Dragon in many a year, nor dared to enter his manse, even our ruler.

  - Father Simon Adros, Church Appointed Recorder to the Court of Wallachia

  I pick up my quill, opening the fresh ink I purchased in town earlier that evening, and begin writing in the ever-increasing library of my journals. Over time I have been making such recordings less with each passing month, so infrequently that I must buy fresh ink for each time, as I find myself without the drive to do anything but feed my curse.

  My adopted son, elector of Targovi?te…damn the titles, they mean nothing now, for Little Vlad is dead. Analisa’s death was hard, but Little Vlad was the last family I had to keep me in touch with my lost humanity. I was never particularly close to his children, despite my best efforts, but they are human and live in the daylight…I am just their strange occasionally-glimpsed relative that they might say a few words to on their way to bed every eve.

  Perhaps that is for the best, let them have the day and I will endure the night, a long night without love or hope, my dreams long since either dead or achieved. Our neighboring princedoms no longer even raid Wallachia’s borders, for fear of what they have seen me do to the Turks these past three decades. Those fetid inbred Ingram rats have even stopped their constant assaults on the Wallachian people, having learned to fear me, to the point where they have pulled their surviving forces back from our shared border. Even the Church has stopped screeching in village squares, demanding ever more tribute from the destitute and the rulers under threat of rebellion, after so many loud-mouths were shown my…displeasure.

  For once in my life AND death, Wallachia is free. Its people celebrate their luck to live in these times, caring not for the occasional criminal that comes to live their short life in my dungeons, but I cannot share in their joys.

  My last joy is dead.

  Before I can continue to vomit up my sorrows on the page, a voice over my shoulder interrupts, “I see you are feeling lost, Once-Prince of Wallachia. Allow me to offer you a new path to walk.”

  It takes me a few breaths to realize that this voice is real, my reactions having faded along with my drive. As soon as I recognize the threat I tear off the leg of the desk and spin around wielding it as the journal falls to the carpet to lay there crumpled. The ink well spills its contents beyond it.

  The man standing a bare two paces behind my stool, having stepped back at my sudden readiness, is dressed in fine clothing and appears to be a well-groomed man with glowing pale red eyes. Wondering how he could have suck up on me, I glance down to see his lower legs from under his pants are covered in fur and end in a goat’s hooves instead of feet. Which only makes it MORE bewildering that he managed to cross the courtyard’s flagstones and walk across the timbers of this floor, without my hearing a single step.

  “Begone from here devil, your kind has NO invitation from me,” I command him while thinking, I left Dragon’s Fang in my crypt, three stairs below…DAMNATION.

  “ Unlike YOU, I am not a cursed Upir, to NEED an invitation before I may enter the homes of the living. Then again, YOU are not alive, and I would doubt your larder below counts as ‘living’ here! ”

  After saying this he turns his back on me, unconcerned with my carved wooden leg, as he walks to go sit in the sun couch by the room’s window. While he is coughing from the dust his sudden fall into it kicks into the air, I glace askance at my pitiful weapon, and lower it in barely-concealed embarrassment, “Why ARE you here, herald of the Abyss? Speak your peace and leave me, so that I might begin forgetting your presence.”

  “Ah, such a sweet tongue you have on you. No wonder I was bade to come see you,” at this a goblet of what smells like spirits-infused blood appears in his hand, and he takes a draught from it before he continues. Meanwhile I right my stool and sit upon it, not wanting to draw closer to him if I can help it, and knowing that should I try to flee such a creature I would be lucky to make it one floor closer to Dragon’s Fang.

  Placing his goblet on the table before the sun couch, he starts to speak, “You have no family remaining here Vlad, and with the land at peace you have neither a purpose either. The Dukes have tasked me to come to you, and to offer you a chance to study at the Scholomance, in the coming class.”

  “ The Scholomance is a myth, a tale told by bards when they’ve had too much to drink, and not enough whippings. Some school in the mountains, run by devils, to teach monstrous sorcerers? I did not believe THAT tale when my mother was trying to scare me into eating my boiled carrots, so why would I believe an inhabitant of the HELL REALMS instead? ”

  After longer laughing at the thing than I care to admit, I wipe bloody tears from my eyes while he just sits there on the sun couch looking bored, and say my peace, “Just get out, you will find no soul to drag into damnation HERE, foul thing.”

  Then the devil chuckles himself, “< heh> Damnation you say? Do you think YOU, an vrykolakas with a mountain of corpses behing you BEORE you started hungering for blood, have any hope of entering paradise? I’d wager all the souls I own on your winding up on OUR side of the Great War upon your final death, could I find anybody stupid enough to take the wager!

  “But no, setting aside all humor, the Scholomance is QUITE real, and I have been set to render you an invitation. I’m afraid you are stuck with me until such time as it is done, even should you not show…The Dukes cannot be disobeyed by one of my station.” So he leans forward, elbows on his knees and hands steepled beneath his chin, to stroke the point of his bearded chin, “Now, are you ready to LISTEN, or do you insist on continuing to revel in your misery?”

  “I will hear NO more of this, if you shall not leave then I will,” I say as I stand and storm towards the door, much of my fury faked as I play at a fit of pique so as to hopefully reach my blade. Then I can FORCE the beast to leave my home…forever.

  “Your blade will barely do more than ruin my clothes,” it says in obvious exasperation, obviously aware of what I am trying to do. “Even if you somehow manage to slay me…where is my soul to go but BACK to the Abyss…from where I can return to haunt you more?”

  My hand clenches on the handle to leave the room, the door already half-open, Yes, he is right. I am no pries to exorcise the thing, and he can just pester me ever night hence.

  It must have noticed my hesitation, for I hear my stool scrape across the floor, and turning I see him sitting as he was but now the stool is on the other side of the table from him, “Come once-Prince of Wallachia, sit and talk to me.”

  ***

  “Let us make the assumption that the Scholomance IS real, why invite ME to attend it? And why would I ever entertain stepping into a den of hellish hunters, risking eternal damnation in to doing?,” I ask after taking perch atop my writing stool once more. It very well MAY be real, but I am no sorcerer to seek out magic in a search for immortality. I am ALREADY immortal!

  “ You would not BELIEVE how often I hear those two question, Dread of the Turks. It is the bane of my long existence that such questions harry me, so I have come up with two answers that seem to satisfy. Forgive me for using them.

  “The Scholomance IS a school, that is true, but it is ALSO entertainment for The Dukes that rule the Abyss. And your activities so far they have found to be VERY entertaining, and wish for that entertainment to resume. Even Agares the Corruptor detests this kind of…wasted potential.

  “And ALL students find our offer tempting, for temptation is our trade. What you each GET, upon graduation, is a boon from The Dukes. Anything within their power to grant you in this world, ANYTHING, will be yours. You have but to ask for it now, and I will see if it is something they can gift you…should you graduate,” and with that he leans against the window sill, arms thrown out across it, smiling like a satisfied whore who just bedded a client with a fat purse.

  So I sit there thinking about it, still not convinced of the school’s reality, but willing to play his game if it gets him out of my home, “You said SHOULD I graduate, ad that this is some sort of entertainment for your rulers. Is it some type of gladiator’s pit, where we battle until there is but ONE ‘graduate’?”

  He throws his head back at that, “ So you are one of THOSE, are you? I should have known that your suspicions would have been bloody-minded, given your history! But no, we want ALL of you to live the full ten years, because The Dukes ENJOY watching you all try to climb atop each other. You see the eight of you are each nominated by one of the eight Dukes of the Abyss, the veritable Kings of the Pit, and EACH wants their choice to graduate with the highest marks. For the one with the LOWEST marks has their soul condemned to serve that Duke for eternity…we Devils take the hindmost.”

  “Ah, I see now, this is some hellish game of dice, is it not? With our souls as the coin to be bet upon,” I think while an idea begins to form in my mind.

  He just grins, “Yes, that is correct at its foundation. And get that thought out of your head; a fellow student’s death will NOT put the yoke on him. Any soul that dies BEFORE graduation IS doomed to the Hell Realms…but not to the Abyss. Oh no, THEIR fate is far FAR worse than being the plaything of a bored hellish king; enough to make eternal torment in the Pit seem paradise by compare! And for those who remain, it means there is now one LESS student to undermine and work against, to climb on the back of, so that YOU might not be the one pulled down. It is ALWAYS you battle-loving types that think of that, I was not in your head, worry not.”

  “I see,” I grumble as I stand to pace the room, my burgeoning plan ruined by its predictability. “So you are saying I have a 1 in eight chance of being damned for eternity after ten years, OR I could remain here for the remainder of my eternal life. While a boon from these Dukes of yours may be temptation enough for some, I see no reason to gamble in such a way given what I stand to LOSE.”

  “And what DO you have to lose, Impaler?,” the hellish messenger says as he gets up to walk to my fallen journal. Picking it from the floor, he flails it in my direction like evidence in my own court, “An eternal life of being ALONE night after long night? Of having no FAMILY to pass on your legacy, and wisdom learned from hard lessons? This land is at PEACE, you have defeated all of its enemies, and NOW what do you have to wake up to every night? You are a warrior without any WAR, a prince with none to lead, a father without children, and a husband of NO wife!”

  He walks over to shove my broken desk leg back under the desk, and drops the journal haphazardly on it, “Walking into this room, the only way I knew I was not in the Abyss watching a soul be tortured was the SMELL. Or are you so unsure of your skills, that you do not think you can beat even ONE of seven others in a mere ten contests of strategy and skill.”

  He is trying to tempt me into anger, I know this, but it is working. Still though, I have had long years to learn to control my rage, and not let it force me into hasty decisions. Once the fire in my unbeating heart dies down, I find that it continues to drop, until I come to a simple revelation, He is RIGHT. This hell-thing tells the truth, hard as that is to believe, and my existence here alone IS a hell harsher than any punishment I could ever have devised. So…why NOT risk it all in a crazy tactic, to win against such an insurmountable foe as this solitude?

  While I lean against the wall hanging and think, I can see the devil’s smile growing wider, until he laughs as I speak, “Very well, but ONLY if your masters can give me what I want.”

  “ Yes, Lord of the Night, and what is that? An enemy worth fighting? The death of Mehmed II’s entire family line? The soul of your brother Radu, to torment for as long as you walk the night?”

  My dead heart gives a slow hollow beat, as I feel hope for the first time in I don’t know how long, “None of that, creature. I want my Analisa back. NOT her spirit, NOT her walking corpse, no. I want HER alive and as hale as she was when I lost her, walking in the sun, and with me once more.”

  He looks disappointed if anything, “Oh, is THAT all? Well hold there while I ask your sponsor to the Scholomance, it might be a brief time.”

  His eyes get a faraway dimmed look as his face falls slack, and body sways lightly to maintain its balance. Like a puppet hanging from its strings, no hand hidden above the stage moving its limbs. Before I get frustrated enough to shake him, suddenly the eyes glow once more and life returns to his features, “Ah, you are in luck of a sort. Your sponsor says he CAN return Analisa to the world, but when and where he does not know, since he will have to bargain for her release from...the OTHER side. But since you are already immortal, you will have all of eternity to wait for her spark to return, and can then find her on your own. Is that agreeable to you?”

  “YES! I care not when OR what land she returns in, I WILL find her, the games of hell be damned!” I hold out my hand to grasp his in a warrior’s grasp, “We have a compact.”

  Then my forearm BURNS in agony for a brief instant, just short enough to make me ALMOST unsure it occurred, causing me I release his grip to pull down my sleeve. There, marked on my inner right forearm, is a design of such intricacy that I think it goes beyond what detail even MY sharp dead eyes can see.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Before I can object to this branding my visitor breaks into my outrage, “THAT is the sign of the agreement, when I disappears then OUR side of the compact is done, and you will know she has returned to life. Although you WILL have to wait for her to grow into womanhood once again. ”

  The back of my hand strikes the creature in the face, but it is already gone, leaving only a last message behind in the air, “Go into the mountains to the north, the entrance shall shine into the night’s sky like the sun in your eyes alone, to guide you. It shall open to allow you in come the winter solstice two years hence.”

  ***

  Since I have so long, I know that I do not or DARE not make the journey without full preparation. Looking out over the northern sky that night I see no light, so I know not how far “north” that tricky devil meant. But all the stories I heard and lore that I have read all agree on ONE thing: no matter their deceptions or tricks, devils do NOT lie about bargains they have made.

  You just might not get what you THINK you are getting…but they will not LIE about it. Like having a love one returned in the form of a newborn babe, in some far away land, at an unknown time in the future.

  So I spend a year, and sizeable portion of my wealth, on my preparations. I find craftsmen to make me strong armor that does not hamper my movement overmuch, from materials blessed by dark priests before I drink them, and then give it over to an enchanter to reinforce. Dagon’s Fang itself is improved by another enchanter, although at great cost in lives as it seems to no longer tolerate the touch of the living. My transport takes the longest, since I need a chariot capable of travel on rough mountain roads, driven by conjured specters that can drive the conjured horses even deep at night, but won’t let in any daylight should I rest inside. Over the years I have found the exact amount of soil that I need to rest in the day, and make sure to have enough…then MORE than enough…then even HIDDEN amounts of “enough”.

  As well as whatever other mystic devices I have “collected” from my enemies, over the many years fighting after I returned to walk in the night.

  So it is that a year later after the spring thaws hit, that I wait to leave Targovi?te until after midnight. It had been years since I left the city, or even Castle Poenari for more than to pick up food. The last of my larder lays tied to the top of the carriage, kept gagged and tied in fur-lined chests, with a small hole for air to keep them alive. I plan to feed them salted mutton and water that I transport with us every evening, and replace those that die along the way.

  Every city has criminals, after all.

  The enchantments on the carriage blocks the sunlight from entering, and creates the team of horses when its reins are picked up, but the driver comes from a metal Tepes family crest medallion that is slotted into the inner side near the driver’s bench, and they are bound one to another. By taking it down and touching it to a location on a map, it remembers that location and creates the spectral driver to then take me to that location. It is not all-knowing, but it remembers “seeing” the map, and will use that knowledge to take whatever roads and trails it can to reach that point. And since I don’t know WHERE in the “northern” mountains this entrance lay, I purchased as many maps of the regions north of Targovi?te as could be found, all the way to the northern ice.

  But, as is to be expected, the maps become less detailed the further from Targovi?te they depict. I hope that I must not travel TOO far north.

  Since I travel at night I do not have many encounters to deal with, and I make a point to avoid entering villages or towns along the way unless just passing through them or fetching fresh well water. As day approaches I take over driving the carriage, directing it into the best nearby concealment as possible. A quick watering of my foodstock precedes my climbing into the box beneath the carriage’s seat, to sleep the day away.

  Once I awoke in a bandit camp, their having found my carriage AND my captives, during my daytime slumber. As they were arguing over my possessions, I dispelled the enchantment that hid the nature of my armor, and laid into them with Dragon’s Fang and my own fangs. The last few replaced my slain larder, and I had to spend half the night cleaning up while collecting my valuables and repacking the carriage. It was a good idea to put locks on the carriage’s seats, that can only be reached from the inside.

  It is while slaying the troll that tried to eat my conjured steeds, that I find myself smiling and...having fun? Yes, for the first time in I don’t KNOW how long, I was ENJOYING myself. I had a purpose once again, a quest to achieve, with obstacles to overcome, granting me a PURPOSE to my unliving life. Admittedly a minor purpose, but still purpose, and with that my existence at last was no longer looking like an eternity of banal torment.

  Unfortunately, the further north I went, the slower my progress, as more and more mountains came into my searchable area. It was as autumn started to end that I finally saw the gleam in the night’s sky, as I passed through a deep mountain trail in Moldavia, near Cluj Napoca. So I decide to spend the day in the city of Clausenburg, since it sits in the mountain’s pass and major trade route, disposing of my last couple meals before entering. An aficionado of forced coupling, and a murdering thief, just the types I would have put on pikes were I ruling these lands.

  Doubtlessly I would find plenty to eat in such a large city, in between my explorations of the mountains.

  ***

  Before I enter the town to find an inn, driving the carriage myself since the magical specter is not good for such tasks, I see a woman wearing a thick leather cloak step into the road and waving her hands above her head at me. I cannot see her face, just her white hair coming from beneath her cowl, which clashes with her young woman’s form to not give any indication of her true age. Since it would cause problems with the local guard if any were to see my carriage trample her before the bridge into the city, I pull to a stop before her, “What do you WANT with me woman, I am short on time and desire to spend none of it on the whims of beggars.”

  “Are you not the student that Artemisios invited to join us? I have been waiting here ALL night for your arrival,” she says before pulling back her hood, revealing a young beautiful face that would give any living man instant interest in her.

  Fortunately, I am not living, “Witch, I am not aware of the name of the creature that invited me, but I assume from your words that YOU are also to attend the Scholomance. But I still know not why you bar my way to rest, woman. If you think to slay me, know that it will not be as easy as you assume, nor provide the benefits you might believe it should.”

  “ I am well aware of that,” she says while moving to climb up beside me on the driver’s bench. “I am actually seeking your HELP, as none of the others will render it without…a price I cannot bear to pay.”

  As she was speaking I flick the reins, taking us over the bridge into Clausenberg, “And what makes you think I would aid you, if the others would not? Even if I did decide to render my assistance I would ALSO charge a price, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, but I am hoping YOUR price is not as unreasonable as theirs. And if I do NOT get your aid then I will be unable to attend Scholomance, increasing the chances of YOUR failure…so is not helping me also helping yourself?”

  Grumbling to myself internally, I have to agree with her judgement, but that does not mean I am going to be her tool, “Very well, speak your desire, and I will name-”

  “OH! Take the road to the right over there!,” she interrupts.

  I pull back on the reins, halting the carriage, “Why should I, when you are such a rude thing? I am not yours to command, witch!”

  “Well if you WANT to wander the city looking for an inn, and hope none rob you of your precious goods given the richness of this conveyance, I cannot stop you. Or you can take the right here, and park at the inn that the Scholomance has provided for us, WITH guards to protect us as well as our property,” I cannot bear the smugness with which she says this, but there is nothing lost by seeing what the place looks like, so I take the route there.

  “I would like you to take me to the Scholomance WITH you, since you are able to handle the journey given your stature. And while learning there we should ally, my divinations with your might and resources would make for greater chances at us graduating. Ah, THERE it is, the big building on the corner!,” she points at the three story building, lamp lights coming through the panes of glass on its ground level.

  So I move the carriage to the carriage house attached to it, and stepping off I bang on the door to see the tender open it groggily shortly after. While waiting for him I put forth my own rebuttal, “And WHY would I ally with a strange witch who cannot even care for herself well enough to GET there? Would I not be better served to take you with me, and throw you to the wolves, so as to guarantee YOU are the one to be taken as the school’s price?”

  She hops down with a grunt on my side before replying, after banging on the door again herself, likely in case the attendant fell back asleep. While she is talking I can hear the faint signs of scuffing boots inside, indicating that he is up and approaching, “Not ALL the competitions we will face are based on might of one’s sword, or deviousness of their mind. SOME will be puzzles or other tasks for which a diviner would be invaluable, and what of my skills being used to discover the plans of the OTHER students? Would that not improve YOUR performance in the other tests as well?”

  While I am waiting and formulating my reply the door finally opens, and the groggy attendant just passively comes out to take the horse’s leads and walk the carriage inside, not bothering to offer up any questions or suspicions at my early pre-dawn arrival. Curious, this might be a more comfortable stay than I thought.

  After the doors close once more, giving us privacy I desire for my reply, I deliver my ultimatum, “Very well, I can agree to your clever assessment of the situation we both face. But I will want something in return, understand? I want you to satiate my hungers while we are allied.”

  “ DAMNATION! That is the SAME thing the OTHERS wanted of me! I care not what you think of me, I will NOT warm anybody’s bed, unless I choose them myself!,” she rages before stomping off to enter the inn.

  I grab her by the fallen hood of her cloak, causing her to at my sudden jerk back on it until she is bent over my other arm and flailing looking up into my eyes, “No, I do NOT desire you as a bed partner. My hungers are more esoteric than that, for I hunger for blood, woman. I care not if it is your’s or another’s, but if you want this alliance and to reach the Scholomance, then you WILL provide it.”

  Her eyes widen in shock as her arms cease their futile attempts at breaking free of me, before she starts to smile, “Oh, just THAT? Very well, not a problem, drink up Varcolac, I can just heal the wound afterwards.”

  I lift her arm to my mouth, my teeth lengthening to sharp points as I will it, and take a small taste of her vital essence. It is strong and hot, hotter than normal in both temperature and flavor, but not unpleasantly so. As I move her back to being on her feet alone I see her wipe a hand over the wound, like flicking off water, and the wound vanishes below her glowing hand’s touch.

  “Then we have a deal. I am Vlad,” I say as I use my finger to clean the last drops of her blood from my mouth.

  “And you may call me Mythalia.”

  ***

  Over the next two months I meet the rest of the students, some of whom arrive after I did, as well as scouting routes to the entrance with Mythalia. Of course the small plateau on which the glowing obsidian doorway sits is closed, only the light coming through at night, since it will open just for the one day later. The ten of us make a compact to travel there with a few spare days before then, in case of problems on the path given the ever-growing cold and snow.

  The ones that are there when I arrive are four men and a woman, as well as Mythalia. Two more women and another man arrive as we wait to leave, the last woman just the day before we set out, in a caravan of luxuries and decadence. She was NOT pleased when we told her that it would all have to stay behind, even as we all found her anger humorous.

  Beyond myself there are two other swordsmen, ignoring the rather pathetic Trudeau that I will mention later. Bakyn is a friendly human warrior of means from some Northman land, but his friendly overtures always seem to have some hidden motive that leaves me uneasy dealing with him. But not as uneasy as the other warrior Fergus, a dwarven temple warrior for some dark god, whose gaze always makes me feel like there is a hand under my clothes rubbing my skin. I can understand why Mythalia would not want to warm Bakyn’s bed, likely fearing his treachery, while Fergus was the man to arrive a mere fortnight after I did.

  The two women to join our class, beyond the pampered wealthy matron Danica, are vastly different from her AND one another. Decranius is an elf from the frozen lands even further north than Bakyn’s, but shares his friendly attitude, even as it seems to be a distraction for her…vile…appetites. Balia is a small woman from the far east who I have difficulty understanding, beyond her casual imposing magical powers, she is cold and seems to be purposefully repugnant. I am glad Balia arrived over a month after I did, so I do not have to deal with her viper’s tongue longer than I must.

  Now it seems I must address the least of us, who appear to be the two competing to be the SECOND lowest come the end of the class. Doctor, ALWAYS “Doctor”, Morawitz is a half-breed gnomish alchemist from Austria, that seems to enjoy piecing together mystic devices of dubious use to pass the time, and is always resentful of the rest of us for some reason. The other is a man from France named Trudeau, a student of the divine or rather a thief of it, who is constantly trying to cozy up to the others to “guide” them on the “right way” to do everything…even things he is obviously incompetent at. Despite his attempts at being friendly, I would much rather deal with Morawitz’s self-imposed isolation than Trudeau’s constant nattering!

  So it is that the ten of us head out to the entrance for the Scholomance a fortnight before midwinter. While Danica and myself have carriages that we bring, my intent is to leave mine in the cave where the entrance sits, she forces servants to drive her over-filled cart and pushes the horses to the brink of death with every day’s travel. The condition of her servants is not much better. Seeing an opportunity, I convince Mythalia to use her healer’s hands to keep her mounts going, in exchange for a favor from her during our time in the Scholomance.

  This causes a rash of favor-trading and bargaining. Balia is the only one not to join in, instead using her weather-controlling magics to push away the storms from the mountains. I care not for the deals of others, but agree to let Fergus and Doctor Morawitz ride in my carriage in exchange for a small favor from each. It seems favors are going to be the currency of the land for the next ten years, so it is probably best if I fill my purse.

  Neither the pack of flesh-eaters nor the winter huntsman are any real threat to us, although Danica does lose an attendant who wandered away from the trail too far one night. I guard the procession at night, during our nearly week-long slow traversal to the Scholomance, while Mythalia drives the wagon as I slumber. The trip would have taken barely two days during the summer, but in winter it takes much longer, with increased chance of disaster.

  It was on one of these nights when I was walking back towards my carriage in the front, when my ears picked up a faint short-cut scream of purest terror from the back, and I turned to run there. Bypassing the tents of Danica’s servants, standing there with whatever arms they could grab, I found the fresh prints of a servant who had evidently walked away from the camp to take care of their baser nature’s needs. Only for them to encounter the winter hunter that had been stalking us these past two days, from the splash of fast-freezing blood in the snow and clawed en-point toes of the attacker. He is already dead, no reason to pursue his captor, since it is sated with its prey.

  Returning to the servants I make a point of reminding them that there are nightmares in these mountains just WAITING for the chance to snatch them away. So it is best if, should they need to drop their night’s soil, to do so either in a bucket to be tossed come morning or to do it NEXT to the tents, and care not for the stench!

  Despite these dangers, and the stupidity of Danica’s servants, we reach the small plateau where the obsidian entrance to the Scholomance rests, just inside a cave large enough for us and our carriages to encamp.

  ***

  We are there four days before the entrance opens up come midnight, its howling metallic tearing sound alerting all of us to this as it wakes up the few of us who had been sleeping. I was not one of these, despite not needing to guard the night thanks to the deal I had from the others for the trip, instead spending my nights deep in thought and writing in my journal.

  As I emerge from my carriage, Mythalia waking on the other seat with a muffled, “whuzza?,” I step out to start pulling down my “school” chest. Glad that I researched what was permitted, I think as Mythalia crawls out with her backpack. This gives me room go inside and grab the enchanted medallion from behind her bench, and place it inside the vest pocket of my glamour’d armor before joining her. Now the coach’s enchantments will cease to work, and I can use the medallion to find it if it should be stolen.

  Some claim me paranoid, maybe broken by my experiences as a living child, or even by what happened to me after I became the hungry dead. I just point out that I know the reality of the world, and if they did THEY would not have been on my dinner table.

  Musings aside I round Danica’s carriage as her much-beleaguered servants are pulling down her travel chests while in their nightclothes, to see the ghostly image of a man floating in the air before the glowing doorway. I sense that there is something going on, since I can see the mean twinkle in this specter’s eyes and his barely-concealed smirk, despite the swirling frame of clashing molten iron and silver behind him. “Be alert, something is going to happen,” I tell Mythalia, while she wipes her slumbering eyes in an attempt to wake up. No point in losing my supper so early.

  “Since you are all here, with your ONE personal luggage, best our new students come through the portal before it closes !,” unable to contain his mirth any longer the spirit spins around, feet over head, until it returns to its original position.

  “Yes, lets,” but before Doctor Morawitz can step his small frame inside, he is shoved forcefully back as Danica steps in his way.

  While glaring at the doorman that blocks her way, “Move aside wraith, my servants have a lot to carry.” But as she tries to push him side her feet just slide in place before the doorway, a mere step before the door before her hand can do more than flick the smoke-like ruffles of his shirt.

  “I said ONE piece of luggage for each of you madam, and also that ONLY the ten of you are welcome. Did your sponsor decide to choose a simpleton this semester, as a joke?”

  “WHAT! Do you KNOW who it is you are talking to, DEAD man?,” I see several of the other students shiver and back away from her, obviously not wanting to be involved in the fight about to start.

  But he just grins as the mask of his humanity cracks, and the hellish creature behind it starts to become visible in those gaps, “Oh I know, somebody who is going to be missing her chance at letting her wish, unless she pares down her luggage to ONE piece...and enters ALONE. Unless you really believe that threatening to torment a dead man who spends his time IN HELL will bear fruit, in which case I am forced to believe that your sponsor really DID choose a simpleton.”

  Over the next couple minutes the contest of wills appears to be costing ALL of us our opportunity, and I see several of the others starting to join me in contemplating killing Danica and taking our chances with only nine students, but she gives in. “VERY well, then,” she spins and points at the largest of the chests, “Place my clothes in the carriages, and then open the rest so I can tell you what to pack.”

  “Best be fast about it, the doorway remains open for only ONE bell…and won’t open again for another ten years!,” our hellish spirit says before addressing the rest of us, “Do come in you nine, and I will see you to your accommodations.”

  We are all relaxing in the common lounge for our quarters, debating on if Danica will make it in time, when barely before the bell’s toll she comes in her fine dress covered in filth and gore. I guess she isn’t as weak as she looks, something to remember. Must not wanted to risk her servants stealing the rest of her luggage over the coming decade.

  ***

  THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER I WILL BE POSTING ON ROYAL ROAD, FOR THIS STORY. THE FULL STORY, COMPLETELY EDITED AND EXPANDED WITH ARTWORK, IS UP ON KINDLE FOR PURCHASE. THANK YOU FOR WALKING IN VLAD'S BOOTS WITH ME, AND I MUST MOVE ON TO OTHER PROJECTS.

  Vlad WILL return, when I am writing Book 2 of the StereoTypicals, "Get Grendel"!