Emperel spun to his knees-he was too dizzy to stand-and struggled to gulp some air into his lungs. A few paces away, the vampire lay on its side, writhing in pain and slowly pulling the stake from its chest. Emperel’s jaw fell. He had slain more than a dozen vampires, and not one had done such a thing. Had he missed the heart?

The vampire’s white eyes swung toward the wall. Emperel raised a finger, pointed at its gaunt hands, and shouted, “King’s bolts!”

Emperel’s bracers grew as hot as embers and sent four golden bolts streaking across the crypt. The magic struck the vampire’s hands with a brilliant golden flash, then sank into its flesh and spread up its arms in a pale saffron glow.

The vampire jerked the stake from its heart, then struggled to its feet and turned toward Emperel. Gouts of dark blood pumped from the hole in its chest, but it did not seem to care. It merely hefted the axe and stumbled forward.

Emperel jumped to his feet and stepped to meet the monster, drawing his magic dagger and boldly thrusting the palm of his steel gauntlet into its face.

“Back,” he commanded, “in the name of Torm!”

The vampire slapped the offending arm down so forcefully that the steel gauntlet flew from Emperel’s hand. “Do I look undead to you?”

Emperel’s mouth went dry, and he brought his magic dagger up, driving the silver-shining blade into the thing’s stomach and up toward the heart. The vampire-or whatever it was-closed its eyes and nearly collapsed, then reached down and clamped Emperel’s hand.

“How… treacherous,” it hissed.

Emperel tried to twist the blade, but found the thing’s grasp too powerful to fight. Struggling against a rising tide of panic, he pulled away, then slammed an elbow into the side of its head.

The blow did not even rock the monster.

“By the Loyal Fury!” Emperel gasped. “What manner of devil are you?”