Chapter 11: The Hero

Herbert and Buttercup disappeared into the forest and every one of the outsiders, with the exception of the man Herbert had killed, made to follow after Herbert. They started for their horses, but from the darkness there came another rider, a man with black curls and a faced twisted into a horrible mask of fury, appeared on the back of a black horse.

"You're dead!" Angus roared. His fangs and eyes shining in the moonlight. "Insects! Foul dogs! You all die!" He wielded in his hand, not a pistol or a sword, but a terrible ax with a long, curved blade. He swung it with one hand as easily as if it were light as a feather. He let out another yell - an inarticulate, primal noise.

Angus or not, the little horse wasn't waiting. He took off running with such a sudden jerk that Alfred would have fallen off if he hadn't had a fistful of the horse's mane. The little horse paid no attention at all to Angus or his ax and Angus gave them nothing more than a glance of acknowledgement as he allowed them to ride passed him.

Alfred didn't know how to handle a horse but the little horse didn't seem upset by that or by the lack of a saddle or reins. He ran like the wind. Alfred had to hold on desperately. Several times as they raced through the snowy forest, he thought he might fall off, but each time, the little horse shifted just a bit and Alfred was securely balanced, again.

They ran though the dark forest and off the road when Buttercup's hoof prints left it.

Alfred watched with growing alarm as the night began to lighten. He called out for Herbert, but there was no answer. When the little horse finally slowed its pace into a more careful walk, Alfred called out, "Herbert! Where are you?" A senseless part of him feared that he might find Herbert half-frozen in the snow as he'd found Professor Abronsius only days earlier. "Herbert!" Still, no answer.

Alfred was completely lost. The sky turned from the darkest of purples to blue. Soon, he knew, the sun would rise and Herbert would be lost if he hadn't found some miraculous shelter. Onward Alfred and the little horse went following Buttercup's trail.

At long last, they emerged from the forest and found themselves in a small clearing on the edge of one of the mountains many treacherous cliffs. Buttercup stood there in agitation over Herbert, who sat on his knees on the ground with his back to Alfred.

"Herbert!" Alfred never thought he would be so happy to see Herbert. He almost fell off the little horse, he was in such a hurry to get to Herbert. What a dreadful sight Herbert was. He was still covered in the blood of his enemies as well as his own, but his hands were at his stomach, holding the wooden shaft of an arrow that impaled him.

"It seems," Herbert said, weakly, when Alfred approached him. "That at least one of those thugs managed to do some damage." He sucked in a deep, painful sounding breath. "Wood, as it happens, won't allow my body to heal as it should. It will have to be removed." If he'd been human, he surely would have been dead. "You may want to look away. This won't be pleasant."

"Will it hurt?" Alfred asked, worriedly.

"Doesn't matter." Herbert managed a weak smile. "Goodness, look at you - so serious! Darling, I've had worse. It's only one arrow and a poorly aimed arrow, at that." He wrapped his hand around the shaft of the arrow and, without warning, yanked. The arrow made a ghastly sound as it was torn free and Herbert, for all his brave words, looked faint. "Not so bad," Herbert managed to say. Then he looked to the east, where a few small clouds near the horizon began to take on a pink tinge. "We can't get home before dawn." He gave Alfred a considering look, then pulled his knife out from where it was sheathed at his belt and gave it to Alfred. "Just in case, understand?"

Alfred didn't like weapons and he really hoped he didn't have to use it, but the weight of the knife was very reassuring, so he accepted it, gratefully.

"And," Herbert continued. "I have this, but don't use it unless you need to." He pulled his coat aside and on his other hip he had a pistol holstered. It was fine, ornate thing of polished, engraved metal and mother-of-pearl on the handle. Herbert let his coat fall closed, again. "There's a cave at the bottom of this cliff, I've used it before. Deep enough to sleep safely, but we must hurry. Must - "

An arrow struck Herbert in the left arm.

Alfred yelped and spun around to see where the attacker was, but he couldn't see anyone in the shadows of the forest.

Herbert was on his feet and shoved Alfred away from him, though Alfred had thought Herbert might do well with a taste of blood, Herbert made no move to get any from Alfred. Herbert stumbled back a few steps, but he looked ready to fight when yet another arrow flew out of the forest and, to Alfred's horror, struck Herbert right through the throat and struck so hard that it stuck out several inches from the back of his throat.

It was too much.

Herbert jerked wildly and made a terrible, gasping sound. His eyes rolled back until nothing but the whites showed. Then his eyes closed and he fell backwards. At the very last moment, Alfred saw that Herbert was too close to the edge of the cliff. Herbert toppled and plunged off the edge.

Alfred dove for him and, somehow, managed to catch hold of one of Herbert's hands. Herbert dangled there, deadweight, and Alfred struggled to hold on. Alfred's broken arm was useless and, even if it hadn't been, there was nothing to hold onto to brace himself.

"Herbert! Wake up, please, you have to wake up!"

But Herbert was limp and just hung in Alfred's grip.

There was a sort of 'swoosh' sound and another arrow flew over Alfred's head so close to striking him that he could almost feel the fletching run though his hair.

Buttercup was infuriated and let out such a sound that might have been the equivalent of a roar for a horse. He reared up in a terrifying manner, frightening Alfred who was so very close to those stomping feet, then bolted into the forest in the direction the arrow had come from. The little horse seemed to be panicking, swinging his head this way and that and neighing wildly.

Herbert was simply too heavy. Alfred could barely hold him and certainly couldn't lift him to safety. Another look to the east showed that the night was rapidly giving way to the day. Desperate and near panicking, Alfred looked down. There was snow below; but little enough of it that Alfred could see some grass and he knew the ground wasn't littered with jagged rocks. It wasn't such a terrible fall – perhaps fifteen or twenty feet to the bottom of the precipice. Alfred took one last look up at the sky and saw the edge of the sun.

There was no choice.

"I'm sorry." Alfred let go of Herbert's hand and watched him fall. Herbert struck the ground at the bottom hard enough that Alfred winced. He came to rest at the bottom and was horribly still. There was no time to worry. The sun crept higher into the sky by the minute. Already, a ray of sunlight was on the ground near where Herbert lay and it would reach him in minutes.

Alfred stood up. His hand clutched at Herbert's cloak that he still wore. There was just no time to find another way down. So Alfred took a deep breath, closed his eyes and jumped.

The pain was incredible and he cried out when it shot from his ankles, up through his knees and into the rest of this body. He fell over at once and curled up on his side. For just a moment, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't see anything but flashes of light. When he could see straight and breathe properly, again, he painfully got onto his hands and knees and crawled to where Herbert lay. He hurriedly unfastened the fancy pin at his throat and took off the cloak to lay it on Herbert. He worked quickly and covered every inch of Herbert, even rolling Herbert onto his side so he could push Herbert's knees up near his chest when the cloak wouldn't quite cover Herbert's long legs. When, at last, Herbert was completely covered with the heavy cloak, the sun rose enough that light fell on Herbert. Alfred prayed that the cloak was enough to save Herbert.

He could do nothing else.

Still hurting and still terrified, Alfred sat next to Herbert and looked up at the cliff. There was no sign of the shooter and no noise that might give a hint about peril. The dangerous marauders had clearly been human and wouldn't be hindered by the sun. What if they'd killed everyone in the village? Alfred thought of his kind, if rough, Mama Rebecca. She wouldn't have been able to defend herself against a bunch of lawless men. If she was dead he just didn't know what he would do! He'd barely even had his new mama for a day!

As the silence stretched on and the sun showed that the day would be clear and bright, Alfred's heart began to slowly calm.

No murderous men popped out from behind trees, but, he thought, that didn't mean that they wouldn't appear at any minute. He knew he needed Herbert's pistol. As carefully as he could, Alfred slipped his hand under the cloak. He moved slowly and deliberately, creeping his hand carefully under the cloak to protect Herbert's from the sun. He knew Herbert's pistol was secured at the waist and if he could just find it…

Alfred's hand closed on something long and… it wasn't a pistol.

Alfred froze, then whipped his hand away as if he'd been burned. He knew what he'd touched! Horrified at what he'd done, he sat in the snow and stared at his hand.

"I just groped a vampire." He couldn't stop the appreciative thought, It was VERY big! Then he shook his head. "No! Don't think like that! Horrible, stupid thing to do. He's hurt and helpless and I have to protect him! He needs me." Gathering his courage, he reached under the cloak, again, and, being extra careful to avoid that particular area of Herbert's anatomy, he found the handle of the pistol and pulled it out from under the cloak.

The pistol was quite big and heavier than Alfred thought it might be. Alfred turned it over in his hands and realized he had no idea how to use it other than to point one end at the enemy and pull the trigger. He hoped it was loaded, because even if he found extra ammunition somewhere on Herbert's person by feeling around blindly, he had no idea how to load the pistol.

Then, he settled in for guard duty.

After a few minutes of standing and his heartbeat and breathing settled to a more normal level, he needed to take care of a very pressing issue. He'd drunk so much water earlier that he very badly needed to relief himself! The urge hadn't become critical until all the action had started and then there just hadn't been time for a private moment. Bouncing up and down on horseback hadn't helped a bit and he'd almost lost control of himself when he'd jumped off the cliff and landed with such a jolt. It was only with considerable concentration that he'd been able to prevent himself from embarrassing himself by having to face Count Von Krolock while reeking of urine.

So, with the peace of the morning finally calming Alfred's racing heart, he walked several paces away from Herbert and turned his back to take care of his business. He was fully aware that Herbert couldn't wake up in during the day and peek and, even if he could, Herbert was terribly wounded and even Herbert couldn't possibly have any interest in flirting in such a condition. AAlfred still kept his back to Herbert… just in case.

That done, Alfred turned around to resume his guarding and Heavens if the idea of anyone's life depending on him didn't scare him silly!

What he saw when he turned around made his breath catch in his throat.

A wolf.

It was a lean, wiry thing with a thick pelt of gray fur and it crept closer and closer to Herbert.

"Get away!" Alfred shouted, hoping to scare it off, but the wolf only gave him a brief, cursory glance before it looked back at Herbert, who must have seemed like an easy meal. Alfred waved his arms, trying to look bigger, but the wolf was far from intimidated. "Get out of here!" Still, it moved closer. Alfred pulled out Herbert's pistol from where he'd stuck it in his pocket and aimed it at the wolf. He didn't want to fire, but he prayed that Hebert had loaded the pistol before they'd set out. The wolf let out a threatening growl and Alfred could see its muscles tensing to spring. He fired.

The blast of the pistol shocked Alfred greatly and the recoil was enough to make him stumble back several steps. Smoke billowed from the barrel of the pistol and the smell of burning filled the air. The wolf was dead. It lay on its side no more than three feet from Herbert.

Alfred swallowed, hard. He'd never killed anything, before. He approached the wolf cautiously, fearing that it might spring up at him with a last surge of strength. But it didn't move. Alfred got close enough that he nudged its head with his toe. Still no movement. It was well and truly dead and Alfred let out a sigh of relief, feeling strangely guilty to be glad something was dead. But he was glad. He was glad because if he hadn't shot, Herbert would have gotten either eaten or burned up.

For a long moment, Alfred anxiously waited, but no other wolves came out of the forest. It must have been a lone wolf. Alfred stuck the pistol back in his jacket pocket.

The wind began to blow and Alfred noticed that the cloak protecting Herbert began to lift at one corner. Hurriedly, he went to that corner and held the edge down until the wind died enough for Herbert to be safe. He couldn't let something like a breeze be the end of Herbert. So he spent a few frantic moments searching around and found fallen tree branches and some few stones in the little cave and used his finds to weigh down the edges of the cloak.

He looked over his shoulder at the little cave. It just as Herbert had said – small and dry and more than deep enough for a vampire to comfortably sleep away the day in safety.

"Stupid," Alfred scolded himself. "Stupid! Why didn't I just pull him in there so he wouldn't have to be on the wet snow? He could be safe from the wind and I could have stood at the mouth of the cave to chase off animals. It's too late, now. If I try to move him, the cloak is sure to shift and he'll get burned. Stupid Alfred!" He deliberately kicked himself in the ankle and while it hurt, he felt a little of his stress evaporate. For good measure, he kicked himself, again.

Alfred stood up and looked around. The forest seemed entirely empty. But he could see a road off a short ways though the trees. It occurred to him that it would be so easy to get to the road and simply walk away. It wouldn't be hard. He'd have a whole day to walk and get far ahead of any pursuers. It would be so much safer than staying with the vampires all around and the marauders and who knows what else!

He didn't go. Rather, Alfred stood guard over Herbert all through the day and worried.

Was the cloak thick enough to block the sun? Would the wooden arrows do more damage left in all day? Should Alfred have tried to yank them out before he'd covered Herbert up? But there had been no time; there had barely been time to get the cloak over him. There was nothing Alfred could do but wait. And the attackers were probably still around. Angus had been a sight for sore eyes back at the village, but he'd have to be hidden away and sleeping, too.

"So…" Alfred said out loud to himself. "It's just me. Right." He looked down at the little knife in his hand and felt the weight of the pistol in his jacket pocket. He was fairly certain that if anymore danger came, he was going to die. But he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "I can do this. He needs me. He's been nice and he got boots for me and he carried me when I hurt… he needs me and I can do this. He's depending on me." The weight of that responsibility was almost suffocating, but he took a deep breath and stood up as straight as he could and forcefully told himself, "I CAN do this!"

Thankfully, it was a surprisingly warm day. The sun shone brightly in a blue sky decorated with fluffy white clouds. The warmth of the day made the snow begin to melt and by midday, the whole world glittered with melting snow, ice, and tiny drops of water falling from the trees. Alfred let the sun warm his face. He felt like he hadn't seen the sun in years, but it had only been a couple of days since he'd followed Professor Abronsius up to the castle. How those couple of days had changed Alfred's whole world!

Even a week ago, if someone had suggested that he might actually become comfortable around a family of vampires he would have called them crazy. But if he were entirely honest with himself, he had to admit that things weren't as bad as they might be. In fact, he couldn't remember ever having been so spoiled in his life.

He didn't let the dagger out of his grip for the entire day. He sat on a large stone at the mouth of the cave, and then walked around Herbert several times before he sat, again. No more wolves came. No marauders. He was exhausted, but he felt jittery and his mind kept racing from one thought to the next so fast that he almost made himself dizzy. The fall hadn't helped his broken arm a bit and his head, only just starting to heal, ached more than ever. His knees and ankles hurt dreadfully from the jump, but as he was still able to walk, he decided it wasn't really worth worrying about.

While the day was warm, it wasn't entirely perfect as Alfred's clothes became wet from the melting snow. At least he still had Mister Chagal's boots and they were wonderfully warm and kept his feet dry as a bone.

When he heard the noise of something large moving in the snow, Alfred tensed. With the knife in hand, he faced the direction of the noise and braced himself for more wolves or marauders or whoever was getting closer and closer.

Buttercup stepped out of the trees. He gave Alfred a rather unimpressed look, then meandered over to where Herbert lay and gave him a sniff before he snuffled a little and walked closer to Alfred. Again, he sniffed, then nudged Alfred on the chest hard enough to make Alfred step back, but certainly not hard enough to hurt.

"He's alright," Alfred told Buttercup. "I think he'll be fine once we get the arrows out." He had no idea whether or not Buttercup understood. But, considering that Herbert spoke to him as if he were a human, Alfred decided that he would, too.

Alfred noted with distress that Buttercup's mane was encrusted with Herbert's blood.

With a delighted smile, Alfred saw the little horse follow Buttercup into the clearing and he wasn't at all shy. He hurried to Alfred and leaned against him so firmly that he almost knocked Alfred over and waited there until Alfred patted his head. If the little horse had been human, Alfred would have said that he was getting a hug from it.

"I missed you, too," Alfred said to him. "Thought you might have run away or got hurt. What a brave little thing you are."

With the horses there, grazing on what grass they could find in the snow, Alfred didn't feel nearly so alone. He leaned against the little horse and was grateful for the warmth. He even dared to get close enough to Buttercup to try getting some of the blood out of Buttercup's mane with a couple of handfuls of the melting snow. It didn't work very well. He was surprised that Buttercup tolerated him getting so close, but the horse made no aggressive moves at all and patiently waited while Alfred made a futile effort to help.

The day was quiet, even serene. Birds sung and flew from tree to tree. A deer made its elegant way slowly through the glade without a glance at Alfred, as if it knew instinctually that Alfred was no threat. It would have been an almost perfect day if he hadn't feared an attack at any moment, been worried for the villagers, worried for Mama Rebecca, and scared half to death that Herbert really was dead under the cloak.

Night came, but just as Alfred deemed it dark enough to uncover Herbert and see what he could do about the arrows, a cold voice make him jump.

"And there he is, a pig ready for slaughter." Charlotte was there, still in her elegant ball gown and still as cold and icy as the first moment when Alfred had seen her in the halls of the count's castle. She held a bow in one hand, a quiver of arrows at her hip, and an arrow already notched and ready to fly. So… she was the attacker.

"Why?" Alfred asked, trying to stay between Charlotte and Herbert, though he knew had no chance of making any difference and he was shaking so hard he thought his knees might give out. "Why are you doing this?"

It shocked him that she actually answered. "What better way to distract Count Von Krolock than the death of his precious boy?"

"Distract him? What for?"

"Because I'm not strong enough to kill him without a distraction clouding his mind." She looked back at the bundle of Herbert. "This one is useless, anyway. A prancing dandy! Feh! A waste of a man, really." At less than a dozen paces away, there was surely no doubt that she could hit Herbert's heart.

"But why kill the count?"

She leveled a coolly amused look at him, as if the idea of so much killing was funny. "Because I want his territory. Why else?"

"But you told Herbert he should go to Paris. If you wanted to kill him, why…?"

"I needed him away from the safety of the castle and the protection of the count, of course. The count won't leave his castle unguarded and, with Angus away, the count would have had to stay at the castle while Herbert rode off. A pity the temptation of Paris didn't work but, luckily for me," she gave him a chilly smile. "You came along."

"Me?"

"Herbert probably wouldn't have left the castle if you hadn't needed help. You were very useful. Very… convenient. Thank you." Then she drew back the bowstring and took aim at the blanket covered lump that was Herbert.

Alfred made a desperate lunge for her, but she easily gave him a shove that send him flying off his feet. He landed on his back in the slushy snow. He looked up from where he'd landed just in time to see Charlotte readying her bow, again. Alfred scrambled to his feet, but before he could move, Charlotte growled at him,

"I'm going to kill you next, beast. The count thinks he has a little pet with you, but I'll take even that from him. I am going to savor every drop of your blood and I am going to enjoy your death." She turned her head just enough to look at him with a vile smirk on her face. "If you stay still, I'll be kind and do it quickly. If you move again, I can make your death last for many nights." She, again, took aim at Herbert.

Alfred, with Herbert's knife in hand, charged. He held the knife out in front of him, but she caught him by the throat and began to squeeze.

"That? A knife? You think to defeat me with a metal blade? Oh, you pathetic, stupid animal."

As she spoke, Alfred saw, in the darkness behind her, a pair of glittering eyes in the darkness - eyes filled with consuming hatred.

To be continued…