We set up camp in the ruins of an old tower, hoping the thick walls would protect us from the wind and prying eyes.

  We were wrong. To those who can hear a pulse from a mile away, walls are not an obstacle.

  The night was quiet. Too quiet.

  Gunt the Poacher, our new sniper, sat by the fire, away from the noisy company, cleaning his bow. Next to him lay his "Emergency Kit": a small round shield (a buckler) and a thin stiletto he had stripped from the corpse of some aristocrat.

  "Why do you need that toothpick?" Jem had asked once.

  "Silver," Gunt grunted then. "Grandma used to say it helps against evil spirits."

  "That's just polished steel, bumpkin," the Jester snorted.

  Suddenly, the air thickened. A sound arose, like the rustle of a thousand dry wings or a swarm of blowflies.

  SWOOSH.

  A dark mass materialized out of nowhere right by the fire, a meter away from Accountant Gunther and Sniper Gunt.

  A second mass appeared behind their backs.

  These were Necrosavants (Vampires).

  Dry, mummified creatures wrapped in the remnants of burial shrouds. They didn't walk. They hovered with a strange, broken grace, ignoring the laws of physics. In their hands gleamed curved khopesh cleavers.

  They ignored Dieter with his shield. They ignored Talah in his gold.

  They came for the "dessert" — for the backline, where the most defenseless sat.

  "THREAT IN THE REAR!!!" Gunther squealed, falling on his back and instinctively covering himself with the Ledger like a shield.

  Sniper Gunt wanted to run.

  But there was nowhere to run. The vampire stood point-blank. Its teleportation mechanic leaves no chance for a safe retreat.

  The instinct of a cornered rat worked faster than thought and triggered his Quick Hands reflex: Gunt dropped the bow and grabbed the stiletto in his right hand, the buckler in his left.

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  The vampire struck. The khopesh is a terrifying weapon, designed to bypass armor and cause bleeding.

  The blade bit into the wooden buckler, tearing out splinters. His wrist buckled under the impact.

  "Aaaah!" the sniper screamed. Not a battle cry. A scream of pure terror.

  The second vampire wound up to strike the prone Accountant, but the archer, without realizing it, lunged. The "silver" stiletto sank into the creature's withered thigh.

  The vampire hissed. The wound smoked (or was it just dust flying from the mummy?).

  "Help!!!" Gunt roared, stabbing the knife into the air, keeping them at bay with a frantic wall of steel.

  He wasn't fencing. He was fighting hysterically.

  The vampires, accustomed to victims who freeze in fear, were somewhat taken aback by such frantic activity from their food.

  One khopesh strike finally found its mark. The blade cleaved Gunt's shoulder. Blood sprayed onto the ground.

  A second strike tore away half of the buckler.

  Gunt fell to his knees, but kept stabbing blindly upward, aiming for the groin, the belly, anywhere.

  "Djamil!" the Sergeant yelled, trying to wheel the formation around in the cramped ruins.

  The fighters couldn't reach them in time, but Djamil had his Whip.

  The Eunuch snapped his wrist.

  CRACK.

  The whip wrapped around the arm of one of the vampires, interrupting its attack.

  And then Talah woke up.

  Our Golden Chicken, who had been sleeping in his armor (thank his laziness for not removing the cuirass), jumped up and, without looking where he was going, rushed to help, knocking down tents.

  "Hey, get out of here!" the Gladiator roared. "Who is going to pay me?!"

  The vampires realized: the element of surprise was lost. The archer-victim turned out to be too prickly. And a screaming golden mountain with a giant scimitar was already charging at them.

  They hissed, shared a look, and...

  SWOOSH.

  They crumbled into a cloud of dust and vanished into the night.

  Gunt sat by the fire, right in a puddle of his own blood. Vain was already beside him, professionally tightening a tourniquet on the sniper's shoulder.

  Gunt was still gripping the hilt of the dagger so hard his knuckles were white. Only splinters and straps remained of the buckler on his arm.

  Gunther, pale as death, clutching his pierced Ledger to his chest, carefully touched his uninjured shoulder.

  "You... you saved the Investments," the Accountant whispered. "And me."

  Gunt raised mad eyes to him.

  "I want a double bonus," he croaked. "And a new shield. And booze."

  "Approved," Gunther nodded. "Sergeant, pour him a drink. On the company's tab."

  Since then, a new Rule appeared in the squad:

  "A sniper always keeps a dagger and buckler on him. Just in case. Because an arrow flies far, but death comes close."

  We survived. But now we knew: there is no safe place. Even by the fire. Especially by the fire.

  (End of Chapter 29)