Death
is a mystery.
Even to
the dead, Ariel reflected.
She did
this often, brooding being one of the few human traits not torn from her
by her murder and spectral imprisonment. In her youth, her elders had told
her stories about how a person’s life flashed before his eyes when he died.
Ariel regretted that while this had not been the case for her, her afterlife
was an image that haunted her perceptions constantly, though she no longer
had eyes to see.
The irony
would have made any other person laugh or weep, but she was incapable of
either.
Ariel
missed laughing.
In truth,
she missed many things, these feelings being separate from her overpowering
despair and remorse. She missed the sun, setting and rising in celestial
glory, and she missed the birdsong that accompanied both events, though
wonderfully different. This of course led to regret for the passing of
music from the world. An inadvertent effect of the rise of the vampire-king
Kain had been the obliteration of the concept of tonal expression, vampires
having no facility for it and even less appreciation.
Ariel
sometimes sang, but she did it solely to antagonize Kain.
It was
not the same.
For centuries
she had inhabited the place that had become the diseased heart of Kain’s
empire, and much of that time he had presided over his court there. At
every clan meeting, every solitary episode of monarchial angst, she
had been at his side, glaring reproachfully on the fringes of perception.
Though existing on different planes, the last two Guardians of Balance
were always aware of one another, though the latest took great pains to
ignore his predecessor. Sometimes Ariel would curse him half-heartedly,
or plead with him, but mainly she just languished miserably in silence,
a ghost whose only purpose was to cause Kain grief.
Occasionally
Ariel wondered whether there was an unrealized connection between her and
her vampiric successor. When in her blackest moments, Ariel often found
that Kain too suffered from a lingering miasma of the spirit. He would
sit upon his claw-like throne, talons wrapped around the hilt of the Soul
Reaver and eyes tightly shut, his face contorted in a terrible grimace
by the unwelcome ruminations that were known only to him. Afterwards he
would arise and stare purposefully at the cancerous Pillar of Balance,
seeming to ponder some weighty decision. During these times unreasoning
hope would blossom in Ariel, hope that Kain would renounce his delusions
of godhood and redeem himself by making the sacrifice that would restore
harmony to the world of Nosgoth.
It never
came to pass, and eventually Ariel found that Kain and his Council were
inhabiting the Sanctuary of the Clans less and less. She knew that they
had retreated to their own private strongholds, the clan leaders to their
territorial capitals and Kain to the Caverns of the Chronoplast. Though
ridiculous as it might seem, Ariel felt oddly hurt at being so thoroughly
abandoned. The least Kain could do was to sit in his self-aggrandizing
temple and suffer alongside her. Ariel appreciated that after all she had
experienced, she still retained some of her human foibles. Existing mainly
in a dimension outside of time had at least given her a sort of dejected
patience. Eventually, someone would come back to accompany her.
Much to
her surprise, that someone turned out to be Kain’s pride and joy, Raziel,
a legend in two lifetimes. The betrayed vampire prince had unwittingly
become the pawn of the two entities in all creation who most wanted to
see Kain dead, but his peculiar sense of honor and justice seemed to make
him empathize with Ariel more closely than the Elder, although considering
the Elder, this was probably a given. She certainly had much more in common
with the bereft soul.
So it
was that the Reaver of Souls now sat and brooded darkly on the High Throne
of the Hall of the Pillars, while from another realm, Ariel watched in
long-suffering endurance.
Like father,
like son, she thought to herself, and then quickly hoped that she was wrong.
Raziel
was in no mood to draw comparisons between himself and anybody, least of
all Kain.
He perched
upon his Father’s seat of power, a position many had wrongly believed him
to covet in his former life. Such delusions had sprung more from their
own power-madness than his. He had been loyal to his sire, devoted even.
And what had been his reward? A form of execution reserved only for the
most debased of his kind, and the total annihilation of his beautiful clan.
Wrapped in self-pity, Raziel obsessed over the injustice of it all.
He had
been revived for the purpose of expunging the living calamities that were
his sire and kin. The thirst for retribution had spurred him on to victory
against impossible odds, so that now four of the remaining vampire clans
of Nosgoth had been permanently deprived of their ancient progenitors,
Raziel’s own brothers.
At first
there had been no joy in it. His violent heritage had made him aptly suited
for the task, but victory over Zephon, Melchiah, and Rahab had been necessary
acts, not welcome ones. Fulfilling his obligation to the Elder and preparing
himself to confront Kain required the ugly task of fratricide, but it was
only when he fought and slew Dumah, one of the two elder siblings who had
carried out Raziel’s own fatal sentence, that he had taken satisfaction
from the outcome. He had then been eager to reach the same conclusion for
Turel, and had, against the express wishes of the Elder, embarked on his
way towards his closest brother’s lofty castle with the most vicious and
eager intent.
But after
weeks of travel, Raziel had arrived at Turel’s abode only to find that
the entire colossal structure had vanished without a trace.
At first
he had assumed, quite logically, that the Tower had collapsed during one
of the cataclysmic earthquakes that had afflicted Nosgoth continuously
since his execution. Ensuing centuries would have seen it eventually swallowed
up by the hungry sands of the Dry Maw. However, upon further exploration
of the area, he had seen no evidence of any such terrestrial disturbance.
Cursory diggings with telekinetic Glyph and gift had unearthed the surrounding
bedrock without any glimpse of the broken structure. Even more perplexing
than what he did not find was what he did. The great base of rock from
which the Tower sprouted had been gutted by a huge indentation now filled
with the desert sand. As far as Raziel could tell, it was as if some gigantic
claw had descended from the heavens, scooped the fortress out of the ground,
and carried it away to Kain-knew-where.
Further
effort on his part was useless. Raziel knew that there were those on this
world who could provide him with a quick explanation for this bewildering
turn of events. Thus it was that he had eventually made his way back to
Ariel’s dwelling.
Ariel had
been expecting his arrival, so when it came she allowed him to take the
time to collect himself before broaching the matter. Raziel was obviously
upset and it would therefore be best for him to decide when to begin. Waiting
was no burden, if the long hoped-for restoration was the result.
Now Raziel
stirred from his position. Slipping down off the throne, he moved to stand
above the capped lip of the ancient Soul Well, where he knelt on one knee
to begin the communion.
A soft
blue mist seeped faintly from the seal. Crossing dimensions, it flowed
over the barrier between life and death, working a miracle into reality.
When Raziel looked up, Ariel hung before him.
“Greetings,
bold Raziel,” she whispered in a voice like the wind.
Raziel
inclined his head respectfully. “My lady.”
“I am
pleased to offer you guidance for your insoluble dilemma.”
The Reaver
chuckled harshly. “I am glad to find myself so hospitably received,” he
said. “Since my refusal to cross swords with Kain again, I fear the Elder
has been less than convivial towards my pursuits.” His voice took on an
acrimonious tone. “Indeed, he has refused any form of constructive parlay.”
“We all
have our own agendas, Raziel,” Ariel murmured. “Driven by needs and hungers
thwarted for centuries, you must understand that even such as we are not
above tactics which might seem ignoble.”
He grunted
a noncommittal reply, and Ariel stared sadly at him. That includes me,
Raziel, she thought to herself. Like Kain, Raziel was remarkably gifted
but grievously limited. He did not always listen well enough. But Ariel
was beyond regrets for her actions.
Raziel
looked up expectantly. “Milady…”
Ariel
smiled faintly. “Turel?”
His eyes
glittered dangerously, and his claws flexed in anticipation. He nodded
eagerly.
Ariel
looked up beyond him, her vision seeming to pass through the walls of the
chamber in which they resided. Absorbed in her deliberations, she floated
in ghostly intensity.
Unnoticed
for the moment, Raziel took the occasion to study his undead guide.
She must
have been an astonishing woman when alive. Dead and held captive for millennia,
her mind was still subtle and quick, and her dedication to a cause that
must have seemed hopeless for so long was commendable. It was surely a
disturbing obsession with her, but then, holed up in here, what else could
she have had to dwell upon? Despite being crippled by despair she still
retained strength. Raziel was all too familiar with prolonged suffering
as a result of Kain’s arrogance, and as such, he felt drawn to the former
Guardian of Balance. He admired her finely crafted human features and sheen
of shoulder-length hair. The single gray eye, though often hooded by defeat,
could sometimes gleam with proud purpose. And the air of melancholy was
compelling, drawing him closer to her in their shared misery. Raziel had
to admit that he found her to be an alluring figure, the corpse-half of
her face notwithstanding. He touched a claw to his concealing facewrap,
conscious of the loss of half of his own face. It was eerie, how closely
their sufferings resembled one another. Raziel shuddered. Would he too
become a trapped spirit, searching hopelessly for redemption?
Suddenly
Ariel’s attention came back to Raziel, and he was again preoccupied with
thoughts of revenge.
For a
time they both gazed upon one another, neither saying a word. Then Ariel
spoke.
“Your
sibling’s castle is no longer on Nosgoth. Go to the Valley of Dor and wait.
There will you find the answer to this enigma, and return to me when you
do.”
=============================
From a
position on a sheltered path in the mountains surrounding the Valley of
Dor, Raziel scanned the expanse of the flat, dry landscape.
The first
thing he had noticed upon breaching the mountain pass was the fortification
planted in the center of the valley. A squat, circular structure, it boasted
a wall some forty feet high with arrow slits and crenellations but strangely
lacking any portal of entry where a well-worn track approached the perimeter.
The buildings on the interior were well-constructed, domed affairs without
windows, and the entire citadel was dominated by a cleared central area
with three upraised points of curved stone that stood spaced wide apart
in a triangular pattern.
It was
undoubtedly a vampire structure, but it was populated by humans.
Raziel
saw them now, patrolling the walls or scurrying hurriedly from one building
to another. They seemed agitated, which was normal for humans in this age,
living as they did under the vampire yoke. But even from this distance,
Raziel’s keen eyes could discern the green banners that adorned the walls,
banners that boasted the clan symbol of Turel, and he knew that this enclave
was inhabited by vampire worshippers.
It was
now obvious to Raziel that Turel had assumed control of the human religion
that worshipped Nosgoth’s vampire legions. Their presence had been noticeably
absent in the other clan leader’s territories, save for the scattering
in the Cathedral of Avernus. Lording over those benighted bootlickers was
no doubt supremely satisfying for a control freak like Turel.
And yet
Raziel was still perplexed. For someone as self-conscious as Turel, this
structure was unsuitable to house him, and Raziel had seen only one or
two Turelim present, hardly an appropriate honor guard. It did not seem
the sort of grandiose habitation fit for the now second-strongest vampire
after Kain. But his mark was upon it. Turel had always been a clever one,
taking notice of events and opportunities that Raziel often overlooked.
That was how he had come to find and create his Tower, seeing in the desert-bound
mountain a perfect refuge and royal seat for his clan and kingdom. Raziel
had often admired his brother’s ingenuity. But what trick had Turel worked
to make himself and his home disappear off of Nosgoth? The Tower of Turel
was clearly nowhere to be found in this valley, so why had Ariel directed
him here? And why did she tell him to wait? And where in all the hells
was Turel?!
Bored after
hours of inactivity, Raziel watched the temple-settlement. The humans still
ran about frantically. What was all the commotion for? He could see no
one approaching from any of the valley’s entrances.
He was
just starting to toy with the notion of abandoning Ariel’s instructions
and raiding the town when suddenly something dawned on him.
Had it
just gotten much darker outside?
Raziel
swiveled around and scanned the mountains. He was right, it was darker.
He then returned his attention to the temple fort. No, everything there
was as bright and unchanged as before. Puzzled, Raziel examined the rugged
hills between the valley floor and the mountains. He blinked, surprised.
Was that
the edge of a shadow?
Raziel
stared at it incredulously. The vast shadow, or whatever it was, seemed
to be drawing toward the vampire worshipper stronghold. This was beyond
anything in his experience. He recalled in his vampire days of reading
about a rare natural phenomenon called a solar eclipse, in which the moon
passed before the sun, obscuring its light. But he had never seen one.
Was that what was happening now? Raziel realized that it had been some
time since he had looked at the sky, rendered uninteresting as it was by
the uniform pall of gray-brown smog. Transferring his gaze up, he looked
at it now.
His eyes
widened at what he saw.
The eternal
cloud cover that shielded Nosgoth from the sun was roiling and leaping
madly, like a storm-tossed sea. Easily visible was a great shadow that
accompanied this weird event and discolored the already drab clouds black.
It took Raziel’s stunned brain a few moments to realize that something
huge was flying above the overcast sky.
Without warning the world got brighter. The thing, whatever it was,
had passed over him, and its shadow had finally reached the town. All activity
there had ceased save for the humans still patrolling the walls. Dimly,
Raziel became aware of a high-pitched humming that had accompanied his
thoughts unnoticed for some time. Overwhelmed by these unexplainable events,
he could only stare in shock at the strange tableau.
Nothing in creation
seemed to move.
The gargantuan
discoloration now hung directly above the valley, dimming the light of
the entire plain. Nosgoth’s eternal silence was broken only by the soft
drone.
The clouds began
to twist upon themselves. Then they began to part.
A monstrous
red fist thrust through the last shreds of vapor.
Raziel reeled
back in shock.
More of the
red shape followed, tapering out along its length, until finally the topmost
portion came into view. Raziel’s numb brain finally registered what his
eyes were telling him.
Above the Valley
of Dor, the laws of nature held no sway.
The Tower of
Turel hung in the air.
Raziel could
not believe it.
It was exactly
as he remembered. The entire looming edifice was carved from the red granite
of the Dry Maw, all drenched in the color of dried blood. The base of the
structure was rough and uncarved, a huge ugly lump that finally explained
the hole left behind in the Tower’s former location. From this foundation,
four sloping structures spaced at equidistant points grew out and up around
the central shaft, which soared high above the other edifices. This namesake
of the Tower of Turel reigned in unquestioned majesty over its four subservient
members, its topmost reach serving as the throne room of the lord of the
Turelim.
The steady drone
began to increase in volume. From the base of the Tower, a ripple seemed
to pass through the air, extending in a long column straight down until
it touched the ground directly in the cleared center of the human town.
Along that beam of force, shapes began to float earthward. Through the
rippling distortion of the beam, Raziel recognized them as Turelim.
Around the temple
plaza of the town the humans were clustered expectantly. As the Turelim
vampires touched the earth they slumped forward as if exhausted, and at
this the humans rushed forward and transferred their gods to stretchers,
whereupon the attendants gently carried their burdens into the windowless
structures of the city.
When the last
Turelim came in contact with the soil, the flotation beam retracted back
into the Tower, and the entire colossal mountain fortress ascended again
into the heavens, leaving the Reaver of Souls an uncomprehending spectator.
==============================
“How can this
be?!” Raziel demanded harshly. “Tell me!”
Before him,
Ariel floated in lanquid indifference, unperturbed by his belligerent manner.
“Your final
brother, ever envious, has slipped the bonds of earth, much as you did
once before in your life.” She glanced meaningfully at his ruined wingstrips.
Raziel flinched and unconsciously reached back to finger the tatters.
“Riding upon
the wind is one thing,” he snapped. “What I saw was a magic beyond anything
I have every known.”
Ariel floated
about him with a weary air. So like his father…
“Unknown only
in magnitude, Raziel,” she instructed him patiently. “You are well aware
that Turel’s descendants have evolved telekinetic powers which enable them
to move objects without touching them. You yourself have inherited that
talent from your first encounter with his spawn, but your knowledge of
it is primitive compared to those who have cultivated and studied its power
for centuries.”
Ariel floated
down until her face hovered inches away from Raziel’s.
“What you saw
was the combined effort of hundreds of Turelim vampires in the service
of your brother’s will.”
Raziel stared
at her earnest features, framed by softly undulating golden hair. Then
he sank to his knees. “My God,” he whispered.
He remained
in this position for a few moments, and then looked up at his imperturbable
companion.
“Why?”
Ariel turned
away with a sigh. “Raziel, you are not quite as perceptive as you could
be. Obviously you have never realized the full depth of the jealousy harbored
by Kain’s second-born son for his first. Your execution did nothing to
stem the tide of competition and challenge that you served to represent
to him. In the ensuing centuries, his insecurities and thwarted ambitions
have become a venom to twist his mind and spirit.” As Ariel spoke, Raziel
listened in enraptured silence.
“This diseased
soul,” she continued, “has been further tormented by Kain’s portentous
insistence that you would return one day and slay him.”
“He knew?” Raziel
said, surprised. “But how…?”
“You will find
the answers for yourself, in time,” Ariel dismissed his question. “For
now, you must accept that your once-closest sibling has become a fear-driven
thrall, whose unsurpassed resentment and terror of you has led him to enslave
a large portion of his race for the draining task of keeping his mountain
retreat perpetually aloft and therefore out of your reach. Forever, he
hopes.”
Raziel still
slumped on the floor, his claws resting limply in his lap and his disbelieving
gaze riveted to the stone floor. “Turel?” he whispered. “He has done all
this to avoid a confrontation with me? It is madness.”
“Perhaps to
you,” Ariel replied. “But to him it is a matter of survival, and the thwarting
of deserved justice.”
Raziel made
no response at first. Then he rose to his feet and looked to Ariel. In
his eyes there was no evidence of hesitation. The time for that was past.
“My lady, I
beseech your guidance. How might I gain entry to the flying tower and dispatch
my wayward brother?”
A wan smile
tugged at the corners of the long-dead sorceresses’ lips. Rising up, she
drifted backwards towards the Soul Well in preparation of the return to
timelessness.
“Just as every
newborn Turelim has the power to serve its master’s mad dream,” said Ariel,
“so were you reborn with a gift all your own that will enable you to use
that dream to see you safely inside your brother’s fortress.”
Ariel then shifted
back to her spectral abode, but her final words lingered in the air.
“Go to Huron
Range in the far south to next find your quarry. And hurry, Raziel. Time
is not yet on your side”
===========================
Jehamiah, first
lieutenant of the Turelim Pride, trudged ponderously up the winding stairs
that led to the upper regions. He had been busy instructing the fledglings
in combat tactics when a summons from on high had arrived. Jehamiah had
then apprehensively abandoned his task and prepared for another unnerving
conversation with his genius forbearer.
As he walked,
he gazed in desultory fashion out past the column-topped guardrail of the
stairwell that coiled around the gargantuan airshaft dominating Turel’s
central tower. How long had he been mounting and descending these steps
in ready obedience to Turel’s will? It had surely been centuries, even
before the master conceived and executed his mind-boggling plan to elevate
his home above the very clouds. Since that time, Jehamiah had seen little
of the outside world, there being no windows or openings in the Tower save
for the main portal in the shaft base, which was always kept telekinetically
blocked except when discharging or accepting new recruits and the Atlas
Legions. Turel was paranoid about someone sneaking in, although how they
would even get up to any opening remained a mystery to his lieutenant.
At length Jehamiah’s
feet found the top of the stairwell, the heavy transparent crystal floor
of the reception chamber that led to Turel’s throne hall. There he greeted
the two guards that manned the controls of the door. They bowed in reply,
and then both took up their positions at the levers.
Jehamiah stared
expectantly at the great metal portal a few feet above his head in the
ceiling. As each vampire guardian successively grasped and pulled a lever,
mechanisms in the walls began to click and rumble. The metal shield started
to iris open, and beneath Jehamiah’s feet the crystal vibrated with warm
pressure. A levitation field, smaller and less powerful than the one used
for troop deployment, began to rise up from the floor, and Jehamiah rode
the gentle, powerful force until he hung suspended in the darkened throne
hall of his leader. Beneath him the portal closed, and he settled down
to wait there until he was acknowledged. Turel disliked close proximity
to himself.
The brilliant
light globes that provided illumination for the rest of the fortress were
dimmed in this chamber, but Jehamiah could still see well enough to discern
the far-off throne and the driven being who moved restlessly before it.
Turel, sire and king of the Turelim Pride, slid over the polished stone
floor of his private chambers. He was muttering to himself, his abstracted
gaze flitting about the room. At length he finally took notice of his chief
servant waiting patiently at the other end of the hall. His movements halted,
and he glared reproachfully.
“You are lagging
in response to my summons.”
Jehamiah braced
himself. It was going to be one of those. He had heard rumors that Kain
himself had paid a visit to Turel earlier in the week, and nowadays this
always seemed to leave his master in an ill humor.
“I apologize,
my lord,” Jehamiah acquiesced. “I was attending to the training of new
recruits.” Then, in the hopes of lightening his master’s mood, “They are
eager devils with unswerving loyalty, sire. When the time comes for the
implementation of your designs, I am sure that you will be pleased at their
service.”
“They are Turelim,
of course they will serve well. They are of superior stock,” Turel snapped
pettishly.
“Of course,
my lord,” Jehamiah agreed hastily.
For a while
Turel just stood there, and Jehamiah was beginning to wonder if he had
been called here solely to be a target for his master’s wrath, when the
vampire lord suddenly spoke.
“Send word to
the leaders of the Pride. We begin the assault in two days time. See to
it that all is in readiness.”
Jehamiah stared,
unclear whether he had heard what he thought. Then, as realization dawned,
he let loose an eager hiss. “Aye, my liege, with good will!”
Turel then turned
his back and once again began to move aimlessly about the hall with an
intense air. His lieutenant hesitated, uncertain. “Am I dismissed, lord?”
he asked.
Turel did not
answer. He was again muttering to himself, lost in his own world.
Jehamiah decided
that he was and tapped his clawed foot against the floor. Upon reception
of the signal, the gate opened to lower him out of the hall. When he reached
the rainbow spangled crystal floor, he immediately set off at full pace
to spread the news.
As he walked
he swept his massive arms out in practice to limber up his shoulders, feeling
eager for the first time in decades. At last all the preparations would
pay off. Once again he could forge into glorious battle. No more confinement
in this prison, training the other warriors in effective combat and proper
savagery. Now the Turelim Pride would assert its deserved dominance over
the leaderless lesser clans of Nosgoth, and all who opposed them would
be laid to waste. Jehamiah had been let off the leash and extreme measures
were allowed, just as it had been when mighty Kain had ordered the extermination
of the Razielim.
Oh, how Jehamiah
remembered fondly that slaughter, fighting by Turel’s side in righteous
combat. He grinned to himself. It was going to be the good old days again.
==================================
Raziel was getting
desperate. His journey to the Huron Range on the southern reaches of the
borders of Zephon’s old territory had been as swift as possible in accordance
with Ariel’s warning. Through use of the Warp Gates and judicious avoidance
of unnecessary battles he had arrived there in only a few hours, but it
had taken him the better part of a day to locate the fortified settlement
in the area, so similar to the one he had seen in the Valley of Door.
The purpose of these mini-fortresses was now clear to Raziel. They
were almost completely self-sufficient, requiring only deliveries of regular
human cattle who were hoisted into the towns by levers and baskets. The
structure in the central plaza was somehow attuned to the Tower of Turel.
Whenever the Tower passed over it, the structure became activated, and
a beam of gravity-defying force, the same power that kept the Tower airborne,
would connect the two points. From one settlement to another, the process
then rotated. Either Turelim weakened from the strain of keeping the great
fortress aloft would descend and be pampered and protected by the vampire
worshippers until the Tower returned, or those already recuperated from
their former excursions would once again arise, ostensibly to take the
place of the ones who would be deposited on the next stop. It was a carefully
planned, ingenious system, very like the fastidious Turel, and Raziel had
to admit that he was impressed by what his brother had achieved.
Unfortunately
he was also at a loss as to how to beat this system. Judging by the large
amount of Turelim milling about the contact zone, this was obviously going
to be a pick-up point. So even if Raziel managed to break into the city,
fight his way past the human guards and single-handedly kill every Turelim
present, unlikely as all that was, he would still not be able to enter
his brother’s keep. He had no doubt that the transference was monitored
and controlled by the Tower, not the sanctuaries, so any disturbance below
would mean a cessation of travel between the two and the departure of the
Tower. And even if it missed a drop or pick-up point, Raziel felt certain,
knowing Turel as he did, that the Tower would still be able to make its
way to another staging area rapidly and without threat of crashing. It
was simply the way Turel thought. He was nothing if not thorough.
Raziel then became
aware of an ominous humming. Looking up from his vantage point on a high
crag, he could see the monstrous aerial disturbance that presaged the coming
of the Tower of Turel from the east.
Frustrated,
he leapt to his feet and began to pace about nervously. What was he supposed
to do? The situation seemed hopeless; there was no way he was going to
get into that abominable juggernaut. Should he try to glide out starting
from a high position and hope he could reach it and find a way in? No,
that had almost no possibility of success.
Raziel continued
to watch helplessly as the Tower advanced. He was hundreds of yards from
the temple walls, and judging by the last time it would take only a few
minutes for the stone colossus to reach its target, draw in the cargo and
leave. He wouldn’t even be able to get halfway to the walls by then, but
even if he had been inside the city at this point, he still did not think
it would avail him. Turel had obviously planned this tactic carefully for
decades, what chance did he have of finding a solution in minutes? Had
his younger brother completely outmaneuvered him?
Raziel cursed
angrily. What was he going to do now? Hurry back to Ariel and learn the
next meeting spot, just to run over there and be balked again? Damn it
all! Why had she sent him here? Anyone could see that he was without recourse
in the matter. And to think that she had accused him of being unperceptive!
He paused. Yes,
she had called him that. And she had implied that he had a means of gaining
entrance. What were her words? “So were you reborn with a gift all your
own that will enable you to use that dream to see you safely inside your
brother’s fortress.”
The Tower was
just edging over the boundary of the enclave. Soon the transfer would take
place. Raziel stressed furiously over the problem, certain that he was
missing something obvious. A gift reborn? Reborn as a vampire or as the
Reaver of Souls? Probably the latter, but what gift could help him here,
when he was almost out of time and…
He stopped.
Yes…time…
Timelessness.
Above the vampire
refuge, the Tower of Turel came to a halt. The rippling force beam descended
with swift intent, and the Turelim began to rise into the air.
And as they
did so, Raziel raised his hands in mystic gesture and willed himself to
return to the Spectral Plane.
The surrounding
rocky formations shimmered and twisted, turning the same greenish-blue
as was Raziel now himself. The light from the sky ceased, and limited solar
ambiance was replaced by more otherworldly perceptions.
He looked out
across the distorted horizon…
And laughed
with triumph at what he saw.
The Tower of
Turel still hung in the air above the town, frozen in time. But the city
had changed dramatically. The central fortification had become stretched
and distended upwards, rising into the air to form a high plateau whose
flat summit hovered just below the opening to the Tower.
Raziel sprang
from his perch and tore down the slope. There was no movement in the area,
neither from Sluagh nor vampire wraith. The way was open for him. Upon
reaching the high wall of the encampment, he found a point that the warped
dimensions had lowered to a vantage allowing him easy access. He vaulted
over the barrier easily.
Weaving through
the alleys and lanes, Raziel swiftly came upon the newly formed landmass.
He paused for a moment to admire the feat. Obviously there were repercussions
to Turel’s playing with force and gravity that even he could not predict,
Raziel thought happily. Then Raziel bounded up the high slope, leaping
sure-footedly from one ledge to another, climbing the face of the looming
hill until he finally reached the top. From there he could make out the
interior of the huge tower that now floated helplessly before him, and
he soon spied a cavernous entrance set into one side of the airshaft. No
way of knowing where it led, but he would soon find out.
“I am here,
brother,” he proclaimed aloud triumphantly, and dove into the lion’s den.
================================
Turel’s head
jerked up. He had heard!
“He’s
here,” he whispered fearfully.
Panic
swept over him. Rushing madly about his empty throne room, he began to
shout out to the dim shadows.
“Jehamiah!
Anhat! Alert the clan! Ready all defenses!”
“We are
invaded!”
To be continued…
