
There
is no denying that fear is a very useful emotion for the living on the
world of Nosgoth. Though hubris might mark it as a sign of weakness, humans
have come to remember it for what it is: a survival mechanism. The
mortals of Nosgoth have a saying: “The only time you shouldn’t be afraid
is when you’re dead.” The vampires have long known of this adage. They
find it amusing. Humanity has come to embrace its fear, because they truly
cannot live without it.
Raziel, once a vampire but now something new, had in a relative
matter of moments gone from being the leader of the strongest clan of undead
warriors on the planet to the implacable enemy of the entire vampire race.
Since then he had come to appreciate the perils faced by humans. Raziel
still recognized little of value in mortal wisdom. In some ways he remained
a vampire at heart, but there was one thing he had learned from the race
of slaves: when surrounded by enemies, your only choices were outright
defiance or careful seclusion.
As he now found himself inside a teeming hive of the arguably most dangerous
vampires on the planet, floating six miles off the ground with no allies
to be found, he had wisely chosen the latter.
Raziel,
the Reaver of Souls, marched briskly along the length of a masterfully
crafted tunnel that curved around the central cavity of the Tower of Turel.
It was a huge passage, thirty feet in height. The walls swept upward in
a long graceful arc to a point high above the floor, where a flat plane
of ceiling traveled along the middle of the passageway. From this highest
reach, clan flags decorated with Turel’s symbol in silver thread hung at
regular intervals. Not a fold or edge of the pennants made a move, for
since his entrance Raziel had wisely chosen not to return to the Material
Plane unless necessary. In the Spectral Realm he was certain of at least
a measure of safety and concealment.
Had Raziel not known better, he would have thought that the floor of the
passage had been distorted by the shift between dimensions. However, this
was not the case. While unusual, the design was intentional. On either
side of the wide walkway there were two smaller trails, both a good seven
feet below the height of the rest of the floor. The ground rose at a sharp
angle from these sidewalks and then flattened out abruptly to form the
main thoroughfare. The reason behind this intricacy was so that when Turel
or a visiting clan leader went along this path, any lesser vampires would
descend to the lower levels to let them by.
It was a familiar route to Raziel. In a time he had come to learn was centuries
in the past, he had trod down this very same hall with his five brothers
by his side. Turel had invited them all to tour his newly finished fortress,
and of course the vampire lords, bored nowadays with their ceaseless existences,
had been only too happy to come. Kain had neglected to present himself,
being preoccupied with affairs known only to him, and Raziel recalled how
disappointed his sibling had been when their father had not arrived. But
even this had not been enough to dim Turel’s euphoria for long. Raziel
had never seen his younger brother so excited, Turel had been brimming
with an energy and pride that was noticeably lacking in the others. But
this had not lasted long, as they had all, Raziel included, been quickly
infected by Turel’s joyful mood. Strolling along the raised middle-way,
with their host commenting ecstatically and pointing out the architecture
and reliefs which adorned the walls, Kain’s children experienced a sense
of camaraderie and contentment that they had not felt for centuries. Ages
of suspicion and detachment had seemed to melt away as they all marveled
at what Turel had wrought. Even Melchiah dropped his habitual melancholy
and participated in conversation, and Zephon oddly refrained from making
any comments at his younger brother’s expense. The two of them actually
laughed together at one point, certainly a first. Turel was at his best,
and his brothers were captivated as he explained the number of human slaves
and precise calculations that had gone into the nearly 200 years of the
Tower’s making. Many hours later, after exploring the castle from the depths
of the four auxiliary structures to the very heights of Turel’s throne
hall, the Council members had repaired to a comfortably secluded antechamber
which Turel informed them was reserved solely for their private use. There
they relaxed in the luxurious atmosphere, drinking the rich, intoxicating
blood of the beautiful human slaves who danced and flirted around the hulking
columns in sensuous attempts to arouse their masters’ hunger.
It was an unforgettable day. Reclining in their lazy splendor, the six
warriors enjoyed some light conversation. Melchiah was enthralled by Rahab’s
explanations of a preservative solution he had discovered that kept dead
human skin supple and fine. Zephon was telling a joke to Dumah, who laughed
so hard that the blood he was drinking spurted out his nose. This caused
the whole room to erupt with merriment, and Raziel had drawn Turel off
to one side. Arm around his younger brother’s shoulder, he had congratulated
him, not only on the Tower, but also at bringing them all together like
this. Turel had beamed with pleasure.
“You do not know how much that means to me,” he had said. “Thank you, Raziel.”
Recalling this moment, Raziel paused in his explorations. We were so close,
Turel and I, he thought. We hunted and laughed together. Our children were
good friends too.
At the thought of his clan, Raziel’s fists clenched in fury. His body trembled
as he remembered Kain’s lofty pronouncement of their total annihilation.
“And now I will kill Turel,” he swore murderously.
But again his thoughts strayed. Could he really blame Turel for abandoning
him, even executing him? The decree had come from Kain, its severity typical
of his justice. They had followed his orders all their lives, his
will was unchallenged, least of all by Raziel. How then could he have expected
Turel to go against their Father, when he himself knew with what devotion
and love Kain’s second-born had viewed their sire? Could he look his brother
in the face, no matter how changed it was, and tell him that he had to
die?
“I must,” he whispered to the empty corridor, and resumed his gait.
He could not help but notice that he was walking more slowly than before.
===================================
Thank
you, Raziel.
Turel stared abstractedly into space. He had been remembering that day,
that glorious day when he had first shown his brothers his completed home.
They had all been so impressed, especially Raziel. It was a wonderful feeling.
If only Father could have been there…
Turel blinked. He had not thought about this in centuries. Why now?
Vaguely he realized someone was addressing him. With an effort he brought
himself back to the present.
Anhat, Turel’s third lieutenant, charged with overseeing the
Tower’s human population, was making a report. Trying to concentrate on
his words, Turel again became unpleasantly aware of the rumble of disjointed
conversations coming from the dozens of Turelim guards who now clustered
warily about his throne hall, eyes flickering from left to right in readiness
of unexpected attacks.
“…ld disturbances,” Anhat was saying. “Some have actually voiced pleas
for weapons and to be allowed to patrol the halls, but given their limited
experience, it should go without saying that…”
The noise was leaving a high-pitched whine in Turel’s sensitive ears. Leaning
back on his throne, he passed one massive hand before his eyes and gritted
his teeth. The light globes implanted in the walls were at full intensity,
dispelling the comforting darkness that usually enveloped the throne room.
Stress built up in his mind and was aggravated by every worrisome doubt.
Was the citadel properly enhanced? Had his children been sufficiently warned
of the danger? Turel sat and obsessed over his fate, painfully aware of
how many lives besides his own depended on his orders.
Anhat had apparently spoken his fill and was awaiting instructions.
Having not been paying much attention, Turel hardly saw why he had to say
anything on the matter. But it seemed his lieutenants were incapable of
acting without his consent.
The Turelim
prince stretched his bulk forward and focused his attention on Anhat. Though
standing several feet away, the vampire still found himself taking an involuntary
step back. In the Turelim Pride, where age and status were of paramount
importance, it was a rare vampire who got the chance to speak with their
lord. Anhat, while a lieutenant, was not a member of the upper echelons,
and as such he had not had as much contact with his master as had Ellich
De and Jehamiah. For the relatively young warrior, it was a nerve-wracking
experience. Turel was notoriously unpredictable.
Having
been born after the purge of the Razielim, Anhat supposed he had risen
as far as he could go. Controlling the human religion which supplied them
with food was not exactly viewed as a noble task, but it was a necessary
and valuable one that Anhat performed with pride. On the extremely rare
occasions when a leader of the Pride in the outside world was permanently
killed, Turel himself would choose their replacements, usually from the
upper echelons. But once or twice in the past, a low-ranking vampire had
distinguished itself so forcefully that even Turel had taken notice, and
had appointed them to lead the settled enclaves that made up the majority
of the Pride. Anhat had little hope of such an honor for himself, but he
was still pleased to be of some service to his master. And besides, he
thought, lineage wasn’t everything. Look at the Atlas Legions…
“I will
not tolerate humans running loose in my halls,” Turel suddenly growled,
and Anhat snapped to attention. “The very idea is an affront to the children
of Kain.”
The lieutenant
was nervous now for a different reason. He was a fool to have mentioned
that part. Even with his limited understanding of how Turel’s mind worked,
he should have realized the ancient vampire would take that as a personal
slight. Anhat well knew that while Turel enjoyed toying with the pitiful
human priests who groveled for his permission to accept new members into
their ranks, more often than not he felt insulted by their efforts and
ended up killing them. This in now way disturbed the other humans because
according to their beliefs, being slain and eaten by a vampire was the
next best thing to becoming one. Anhat sometimes wondered if things were
viewed differently in the outside world.
But now
was no time for pondering the unknown, he had to appease his lord’s wrath
quickly. Anhat dropped to one knee. “I will oversee the deaths of the offenders
myself, master. As I said, the population was increasing beyond the dens’
capacities, and the warriors will be pleased to have a bit more to feed
on today.” Though afraid, he managed to meet Turel’s gaze without trembling.
The lord
of the Turelim’s eyes hooded over, and his mouth twisted in an inscrutable
grimace. “More,” he whispered. “Oh yes, much more than that.” Gazing out
beyond Anhat, his face had taken on a hungry pall, and the lieutenant could
not now suppress a shudder.
Turel
chuckled deep in his throat. “All.”
Anhat
started. “My prince?”
Turel’s
eyes bore into his deputy’s. “Kill them all,” he said softly.
This was
totally unexpected. “All of the worshippers, sir?”
“Yesssss,”
Turel hissed, a mad gleam in his eyes. “The warriors must be at full strength
to deal with him, they must be fed. Employ the new recruits to aid your
troops in distributing the food quickly.” Turel’s gleeful face loomed before
his offspring. “We can always grow more when the danger is passed, Anhat.
You will still retain your position, my loyal lieutenant.”
Anhat
nodded uncertainly.
Turel
settled back and flicked a claw idly in parting. “You are dismissed, my
son.”
Anhat backed away bowing, then turned to leave. He would have to press
the vampires under his command hard if they were to organize the feeding
of every inhabitant of the castle. The new recruits would be almost more
trouble than they were worth. Never enough time, he despaired.
Meanwhile, Turel’s good humor had quickly vanished, but he gave no outward
sign. The piercing light and constant noise of his security precautions
were wearing on his patience, and he was not nearly so relaxed as he appeared
to his followers. He had to maintain the pretence, however. It would do
them no good to see their leader unnerved. Fortunate that no one had been
present to see his initial reaction upon learning of Raziel’s inexplicable
intrusion.
The troubled vampire prince looked out upon his brood. Even if all went
according to his designs, was this how he would spend the rest of eternity?
Questioning his every action, agonizing in secret over the possible implications
for his people? Is this what Kain had to deal with since his empire’s conception?
If so, then Turel was finally beginning to perceive some reason for why
his father had so easily abandoned his duties.
But he
could still not forgive it. If one sought power, then that person must
be willing to accept the responsibility incumbent upon that goal. A true
king rules over his subjects, he does not own them. Though he still adored
him, Turel now had to admit that his Father had not always governed wisely,
sometimes choosing his own short-sighted personal needs over the benefit
and well-being of his subjects. This whole furor over Raziel was entirely
the result of Kain’s arrogance. Nor were his errors in judgment limited
to his role as king. Kain had been severely lacking as a parent, styling
himself more like a God who demanded their worship and need give nothing
back in return. What Turel would not have given to have his sire treat
him, just once, as an equal. But then, he supposed, when had he, Turel,
ever comported himself as more than Kain’s servant? Perhaps after the matter
of his brother was settled, when his own rule was established and he had
accepted the responsibilities thereby attained, he and his father could
finally sit down and view each other with a newfound respect and understanding.
This was a dream Turel had long sought after, and its fruition was all
now dependent on Raziel’s end.
Turel shifted slightly on his seat and closed his eyes. He was not going
to lose. He had planned well for this. Raziel had no surprises and no allies
to call upon, he would lurk out of sight, hiding whenever possible, but
eventually he would have to reveal himself.
And then Turel would finish him.
==============================
Elsewhere,
Raziel had encountered an unforeseen obstacle.
His previous familiarity with the layout of the fortress had led him to
believe he would be able to travel a fair distance before being forced
to revert to the Material Plane. Raziel was not afraid to engage
the Turelim but neither was he foolishly eager. He was now used to being
in enemy territory, but never like this.
The corridor he had been traveling on wound around the interior of the
Tower. From it branched off four hallways that each correspondingly led
to one of the outlying buildings which surrounded the edifice. The upper
span of the central Tower could only be reached by proceeding through these
substructures. There had once been a contraption in the central shaft that
used cables and weights to carry clan leaders to the upper levels quickly,
but even if it was still there, it was useless in the Spectral Realm and
far too dangerous to attempt in the physical world. So Raziel had taken
the longer but safer route, thinking there would be fewer distractions.
He had not counted on Turel changing the design of his lair.
At each of the formerly open entrances to the lesser towers, Raziel now
found his progress blocked by great closed doors. He had visited all of
them now, in the hopes that at least one had been ajar when he had crossed
dimensions. But this had not been the case.
Raziel was suspicious. He could see no explanation for these doors, except
for one, and the prospect chilled him. Was it possible that they had been
placed
here specifically to bar his way in the Spectral Realm?
Did Turel know about his newfound existence as a spectral being?
The thought had not occurred to Raziel before. True, most vampires retained
only lingering impressions of their time spent in transition from human
to demigod, and only those who had died and been brought back to life were
familiar with the afterlife. But Raziel already knew that his brothers
the clan leaders, and undoubtedly Kain himself, could shift between dimensions
to a certain degree. They knew of the Spectral Plane’s existence, and therefore
possibly some of the rules that governed it, like how physical objects
were immovable and near totally impassable. This explained the otherwise
useless gates.
Always before, Raziel’s ability to shift from flesh to spirit had been
his secret weapon, an unexpected gift that had now become so natural for
him he barely gave it a second thought. This talent enabled him to overcome
seemingly impossible tasks in the real world and escape untenable situations.
It had been his guarantee that he could actually breach this vampire-infested
deathtrap and emerge victorious. But now nothing was certain, and revenge
might be as far out of reach as before he had learned how to enter the
Tower.
Raziel considered the problem. What else had Turel arranged in preparation
of his coming?
There was no way of knowing, and no sense in remaining here if the only
way he was going to get to Turel was through another dimension. A planar
portal was located only a few yards from the door he now stood before.
Crossing over to it, Raziel prepared to don his bodily form once again.
He had a good idea what awaited him back there. He had been expecting his
battles in the Tower to be mainly against Sluagh and the occasional vampire
wraith. Apparently things were going to get a lot more physical.
As his claws moved in the sinuous sweep that invoked the Shift Glyph, the
world around Raziel began to twist and reform. Dark, muted blue-green was
replaced by dried blood and the gray of human organs. Impervious spiritual
barriers became marble and granite, and Raziel found himself staring at
clan markings on the broad back of a Turelim vampire.
His arrival did not go unnoticed. Cries echoed in the air, and the giant
before him began to turn.
Without hesitation, Raziel swept the Soul Reaver up. The Turelim, a fledgling,
came about sharply and its misty gray orbs met Raziel’s glowing eyes just
as the weapon sliced into its neck, decapitating it. The Reaver of Souls
wasted no time and sprang quickly to one side as telekinetic blasts hammered
into the spot he had just vacated, cracking the stone and flinging the
Turelim’s corpse high into the air.
He was running as soon as his feet touched the floor. Weaving from left
to right, he charged the huge double doors, which were now guarded by at
least a dozen furiously shouting Turelim. The confusion caused by Raziel’s
sudden arrival had rapidly worn off, and these seasoned warriors were swift
to react. While half remained at the door, the rest broke off to either
side, giving them all a clear shot of their target. The Turelim began to
draw upon their psychic attacks.
But Raziel had not been lax. In the time it took them to mount their assault,
he had already been calling forth his magic. As the first vampire focused
its concentration to fire, Raziel brought up his arms and flames sprouted
from his talons. Instantly a wave of supernatural immolation swept out
on all sides, alighting every vampire for fifty feet down the corridor
into flaming torches. Shouts of alarm became howls of despair, and soon
each of them flopped over in gruesome stacks of crisped flesh, their souls
flying free as the fires died out.
Raziel did not spare the bobbing orbs of life a glance. He did not need
to look to know this passageway had been filled with Turelim, and the ones
far down the hall who had been out of reach of his spell were heading his
way already. Force projectiles smashed into the walls and floor all
around him, and he lunged towards the doors. Grasping their handles with
both hands, he pulled back with all his strength, and the massive portals
began to swing wide.
Turelim were bounding down the tunnel on all fours, snarling
madly. Those behind them were aiming their attacks at long range, and while
none had hit Raziel yet, some were colliding with the doors, knocking them
back inward.
Straining his titan muscles to their limit, Raziel heaved out, and
the portals flung open. Seizing the opportunity, he sprang forward just
as the entrance was blasted shut…
And reeled
back as a telekinetic blast hit him in the chest. The Soul Reaver vanished.
Loping
towards him, a Turelim pack was fast approaching. Another shot clipped
Raziel’s head, spinning him around, and he collapsed. The lead vampire
gave a cry of triumph and leapt in for the kill…
And Raziel
brought his hands together in a loud clap.
A shrill
scream of sound tore apart the air. Magically enhanced, it pierced the
vampire’s oversized ears. Raziel rolled to one side and scrambled up, just
as the charging vampires hit the ground and the leader skidded forward,
cracking its skull against the door.
The vampires
thrashed on the floor, ears oozing blood and faces contorted with pain.
Aware that the effects were temporary, Raziel vaulted over their bodies
and took off down the hall.
His situation was bad. Already wounded, without the Soul Reaver he
would lose energy on the Material Plane. But he dared not discard his body.
This corridor was about a hundred yards in length, and if Raziel guessed
correctly, he would probably find another guarded door at the end. Behind
him the pack was already coming out of its daze, and from the sound of
things they were being reinforced by the ones entering from the grand corridor.
There was no mistake. He was going to have to fight his way through.
Raziel
rounded a bend in the passage and cursed angrily. Sure enough, another
band of Turelim was milling about a set of large doors. He halted and considered
hastily. His spell energy was limited, and although he knew he might regret
it later, in this instance he would accept the cost. But he would still
try to make it as low as possible.
The Sound Glyph had worked before, but the enemy was probably out of
range. So it would have to be the Water Glyph. Without further ado, he
called the spell to mind and released its power.
A storm
of aqua energy burst forth and flooded down the corridor. The guardian
Turelim who had just been moving forward fell to the floor, crying in agony,
the magic eating into their flesh like acid.
Raziel
did not bother to commiserate. The pack was closing in from behind. He
ran down the remaining yards to the stone barriers. Already the afflicted
Turelim were about to recover. As he raced past their trembling forms,
a force projectile streamed past him and impacted with the wall, followed
closely by another.
Raziel
did not slacken his pace as he approached the doors. Instead he increased
it, and as the stunned Turelim were rising to their feet, Raziel raised
his hands in the air again.
Screams
of warning rang out, but before any reaction could be made, Raziel clenched
his talons and sprang forward with a wild cry, driving his fists into both
doors.
Though crafted of solid granite and secured with iron fastenings, the stone
portals could not withstand the unearthly power caged in those arms. The
hinges wrenched out of the walls with a violent snap, and both slabs toppled
backwards to hit the floor with a resounding crash.
But before
they touched the ground, Raziel had already incanted the spell which transferred
him to his home in the Spectral Plane, leaving the Turelim mob to gape
in amazement at the spot he had just vacated.
Word spread
swiftly of this first encounter.
=================================
The Tower
of Turel is a huge, convoluted structure, and since its construction it
has undergone almost constant renovation, both large and small. Halls are
converted, dens are expanded, passages are created and quickly abandoned.
Some areas have much more traffic than others. But in all the mountain
fortress, only rooms that are forgotten even by those who designed them
are visited less than the Open Eye, lair of the most supremely gifted Turelim
who control the movement of Turel’s capital.
Jehamiah
was one of the few Turelim who frequented this spot regularly. As first
lieutenant, it was his duty to relay Turel’s commands to these reclusive
prodigies. Sometimes he resented it. After all, he was a warrior, whose
talents lay mainly in killing, an area in which only his father could claim
to be his equal. He was not a messenger, and would have gladly foisted
off this task on an underling, except that Turel was suspicious of anyone
he did not know well, and his solitary habits kept that group limited.
And truth be told, on some level Jehamiah was secretly proud at being so
trusted by his parent. He always cherished anything that brought them closer
together.
So after
being summoned by Turel, Jehamiah had gone directly to this deserted hall
several floors down from the throne room. He approached the solid metal
gates and located a hidden latch set into the raised reliefs. Pressing
it, he moved back as the doors slid open to reveal the chamber.
Stepping
inside, Jehamiah did not bother to examine the room but went straight to
his target. The Open Eye had once been a private dining hall, and then
a trophy room. But now it served as the laboratory and living quarters
of the leaders of the Atlas Legions, the mystical army that was ranked
by power, not lineage. These specific Turelim, gifted with an understanding
and control of their clan’s telekinetic powers surpassed only by Turel,
never left this room. Since the Tower had first neglected nature’s pull
and soared above the clouds, this place had been the control room of the
massive undertaking, the brain that guided the Tower’s journey according
to its master’s will. They ate and worked here in private, dedicated only
to the development of their powers and the safety of the fortress.
The head
of this solitary group was Ellich De, second lieutenant to the lord of
the Turelim, and it was he whom Jehamiah now sought out.
Ellich
De was in his usual position, standing in a ring of seven other Turelim
that encircled the magical metal globe that represented Nosgoth and enabled
them to guide the Tower’s course. He was a large Turelim, but strangely
guant. He lacked the bulk so generously endowed on Jehamiah, but Ellich
De differed from the traditional Turelim figure in one other important
aspect: exuding from his skin, blue sparks of mystical energy crackled
and snapped, rising up to disappear into the air. It was a very important
distinction, the mark of a vampire who had died and been brought back to
life after many years. This was part of the reason why Jehamiah detested
Ellich De.
Turel’s
first lieutenant knew that he was loyal to his sire, he even loved him,
though he did not pretend to understand him. Why else would Jehamiah have
been willing to spend the past few centuries walled up in this floating
stone barge, deprived of the blood and carnage he so desperately craved?
There was no doubt he was a dedicated son.
But Ellich
De was more than just loyal. He was fanatical. Neither human nor vampire
had wielded the weapon that had pierced his heart and consigned his soul
to the afterlife. Ellich De had done it himself. When Turel had first conceived
his plan to permanently lift the Tower from the bonds of the earth, his
second lieutenant had been the most enthusiastic and determined to bring
it about. After the work was progressing smoothly, Ellich De went to his
father and proposed a huge self-sacrifice.
Knowing
that a vampire reborn was stronger and possessed of enhanced power, he
offered to kill himself and remain in the underworld until the preparations
were finished. Turel, amazed at the depths of his son’s loyalty, had agreed.
So one night, before a hushed and respectful crowd clustered in the throne
hall, Ellich De had used his power to raise a spear from the ground and,
without a second of hesitation, sent it whistling into his chest with such
force that it lifted him off his feet and impaled him against a wall. He
had screamed, of course, but that had not been enough for Jehamiah. He
had been certain that the lunatic wouldn’t go through with it in the end.
But for nearly a century after that, Ellich De’s corpse had remained on
display there, a source of persistent questions and rumors. When all was
finally in readiness, Turel himself had removed the spear amid much fanfare,
and his loyal son had returned to oversee the Tower’s first flight as a
life vampire.
It was
an insane act, but ever since then Turel had looked upon his mystical offspring
with a certain affection that Jehamiah felt lacking. His relationship with
his brother was subdued at best, homicidal at worst.
As Jehamiah
approached, Ellich De turned his attention from his work and bared his
fangs in a mad grin. Though no longer concentrating, his hands still continued
to emit a steady stream of telekinetic force that swept over the red globe,
turning it slowly as it hung in midair. As usual, none of the other vampires
paid Jehamiah any heed. This was not out of disrespect, but because they
lacked the level of control that Ellich boasted to enable them to divide
their thoughts from their task.
“Welcome,
oh battle-scarred warmonger,” Ellich De spoke in a false lilt that immediately
grated on Jehamiah’s nerves. “We have not yet supped today. Are you sent
to convey it to us?”
“Is the
Open Eye closed, or have you gone blind, magician?” Jehamiah snarled back.
“I bring only word from our lord. And if you are so weak with hunger, I
advise you to bite your tongue!”
Ellich’s
grin grew, if anything, even wider. “Jehamiah,” he chuckled in amusement.
“I had no inkling of such cleverness on your part. Truly a messenger does
indeed develop a facility for wordplay.”
Jehamiah’s
blood was already up, and it was all he could do to keep from ripping that
smug expression off of Ellich De’s face. He forced himself to lower his
twitching claws and brought to mind Turel’s orders.
“Our lord wishes you to know that the traitor Raziel has been independently
sighted in the lower halls, and he has already dispatched several of our
kin by primitive magics.”
“Ahhh,”
Ellich De breathed softly. “This explains the mystic vibrations I detected
earlier.”
Probably
the maggots still crawling in your brain, lunatic, Jehamiah sneered
inwardly. Out loud he spoke, “Turel has also ordered that the Cages be
made ready at a moment’s notice, and all warriors will soon be given fresh
drink. I suppose that includes you.”
Ellich
De returned his gleaming scarlet eyes to the Nosgoth globe, but the smile
did not leave his face. “Anything else?” he drawled carelessly.
“No,”
Jehamiah rasped murderously.
“Then
be so kind as to inform the master that his orders will be carried out
with the utmost haste. As always, I remain his ready servant.”
Jehamiah
spat contemptuously on the floor and turned to leave.
“Oh, Jehamiah,”
Ellich De called pleasantly. “Should you encounter my meal on your way
out, do be good and send it right in.”
Jehamiah’s
body stiffened, his fists clenched into lethal balls of bone. Then he jerked
forward and left the room without another glance.
Striding
angrily down the hall, he came upon a group of ecstatically chattering
human worshippers led by one of Anhat’s vampires. The crowd parted deferentially
to let him by. As he passed his arm snapped out and collared a young male
by the robes. He dragged the wretch down the corridor, and all the while
it was sobbing in joy and heaping blessings on his head. Jehamiah beat
it against a wall a few times to shut it up. He shook his head in disgust.
When the assault began, he could once again return to a world where humans
shrieked in fear at the sight of him. Finally he would be able to live
as he was meant to.
And perhaps
when Turel was hailed as the Clan King, he would not notice the loss of
his second lieutenant.
To be continued…
