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of sadness. Sing us a song of the valiant ones; of the men who died standing."
"Sing us a song of sorrow!" They shouted to the stars. They waited, motionless.
The old woman lit her pipe with an ember from the fire. She exhaled smoke from her nostrils, stared at the lowered head of the watchman.
The silence stretched on, until the traveling folk shifted restlessly, unease at the stranger's presence stirring amidst them for the first time.

The watchman raised his head. His shoulders were tense, violence broiled just beneath the surface of his cloudy eyes. He stared up at the mysterious woman from the tented wagon.
She stared back at him with eyes that seemed to drink in the little light cast from the dwindling fire that separated them.
She smiled mockingly at the watchman, her teeth gleaming. "Sing us a song of sorrow," she dared, suddenly standing at his shoulder, one long-fingered hand toying with the damp hair at the nape of his neck.
The watchman smiled crookedly, self-mockingly. "So be it," he muttered. He reached up and gently took the woman's hand in his, pulling her down beside him. Slowly, with one blunt fingered hand pressed softly to her skin, he caressed her face, affirming to himself that his chase was almost over. He could finally lay down his burden. He cleared his throat as he looked out into the dark shadows of the night.
"Do you believe in vampires?" he asked.

*

The city, nestled in the valley below the craggy Mount Koh, was called Abaddon.
Three young women did a sword dance in the street. Their ankles flashed seductively as they leapt and spun over the sharpened edges of the naked blades. Their father sold swords; they danced with sensuous skill in front of his storefront.
No one paid them any heed, however, as they hurried along with their heads down, trying to get off the streets before full dark.
In the old days, just weeks ago, there had been a healthy night commerce. In the old days it had been relatively safe to walk the streets at night, with bodyguard in tow, to go to the local tavern to buy a drink or two. Maybe the young gentleman would enjoy the paid consent of an experienced woman. In the old days, just weeks ago.
Times had changed.
Now, at night, the streets were deserted, abandoned to darkness and fear.
Walkways throughout the upper district were lined with crushed rose petals. In the Down Below, crudely made wooden crosses hung suspended over doors and windows. Cloves of garlic dangled like macabre wind chimes. Polished bits

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