Chapter 7: The Decision


He sprawled across the leather sofa, one arm behind his head and the other holding the book above his face. As a vampire, it was all rather undignified. But then none saw him thus, with the exception of his brother and a few others who wanted to appease their master more than catch the Spider Lord as anything less than a respected Lieutenant.

The pages of Old Nosgothic turned slowly. He could read it but it took more concentration.

As he had guessed, Rahab grew curious enough to help. He looked at home, wrapped in a cobalt silk robe, languorous on a wide chair. To Zephon's annoyance, the vampire flipped pages barely after the previous one had settled, even though the text was ancient and mottled with ink splotches. How did he have time to lounge around studying antiquities?

He settled deeper into the sofa, restless with disgust at the absurd lack of information. Two days! On the second day Rahab had brought in a few of his trusted kin to aid in the endeavor. Several of his brood were scattered now throughout the room as well, those fortunate enough to not be encamped at Atziluth. So far they only took up space and added more shadows.

"You know, brother, I have no idea why I have not found anything," Rahab said, peering over the top of a cracked green cover.

His skin was odd, Zephon decided, too irritated to concentrate on anything substantial. He and his other brothers had the marble white skin that they passed onto their own broods. The paleness of Rahab's skin seemed translucent. In the candlelight the strange quality increased, his veins stark along his throat. Rahab gave no notice to Zephon's study.

"It is so strange that I find it suspect," his brother continued. "Humans can never keep their records straight. But that is obvious. One can hear about Prince Besmir fleeing from battle and dying a coward or Besmir cornered and taking his own life. Either way, Besmir was a prince who died during a war. This, however..."

"There is nothing."

Rahab nodded. "The books are too clean. Somewhere there has to be a mention of something like this. But I cannot find anything close. Demons are rare and should thus have large quantities of writing as compensation. With scant mentions, I grow puzzled. With nothing, I grow suspicious."

"Do you think Kain had it erased from history?"

"No brother." Rahab rolled and stretched his shoulders, like a snake about to shed its skin. "Kain cannot be the perpetrator of every crime. To wipe something from history itself…that would take someone right when it occurred, before many could know. Books are burned, as are people. But people can whisper something right before the stake."

Zephon knew this, though he had never connected it with the fledgling's murder. People kept things out of books for a reason. Rarely good, but always interesting.

"Sire?"

His brother turned to one of the Rahabim hunched over a thick book. With his enviable elegance, Rahab glided over.

"What have you read, sirrah?"

The vampire thought a moment before speaking. "You say history purposely excluded this...creature. But here you might find something worthwhile."

Rahab placed a claw on the page as his eyes danced through the script.

"The handwriting of a priest." He continued to read. "Well…this would prove odd."

Zephon twisted upright. "What?"

Rahab regarded him with a certain smile. He always smiled like that when he found something ironic. Less symmetrical than his commonplace smile of superiority.

"Have you heard of the Order of Dumah?"

Zephon snorted. "Our brother has his own order now? What do they worship? His commanding presence? His vainglorious valor?"

"No—angelic Dumah, not vampiric Dumah. The angel of silence, who…"

A peculiar expression skittered across Rahab's face. The humor left his smile and his eyes closed a half-moment too long to be normal—Rahab's eyes barely blinked. Just as quickly it passed. Zephon would have inquired but for his preoccupation. Rapping his claws against the wooden table, Rahab continued, happy to pontificate.

"It was an order of priests, some of which used magic. They were hated, during the ages of the Sarafan and before. Vows of silence, sacrifice, chancing into dark magic—not a saintly order." He chuckled, a cool wind over a black lake. "Every book they wrote was banned, if not sought out and burned."

Wonderful, an ostracized priesthood. But Zephon stayed quiet. His brother spoke too much when he had something to explain, but it was always calculated.

"The Sarafan tolerated heretics as much as vampires. Most were disbanded. So claimed the Sarafan histories, biased as they are. The Sarafan sympathizers forget to mention the torture and burning. But the men of this order," his ironic smile returned, "found the best way to keep themselves alive was to summon demons to their defense. I have certainly never heard of towering demons defending priests." He let the possibility go unsaid.

From beneath the waves of simmering anger that had crashed about since the throne room, Zephon found a moment of hope.

"With the nagging trouble of vows of silence, and a stroke of luck for you, the Order had a penchant for writing. Much was destroyed, yes, but if any group could keep a hold of its records, it would be them."

"They could have the answers," Zephon said.

"More than my library, I ascertain."

"Then they all must be long-dead," Zephon's voice dripped in bitter sarcasm.

"No, surprisingly. They retain one holding, the Silenced Cathedral. More of a castle than a cathedral but they take their religion seriously. They make no offensive moves against us and so we have not taken them yet. Kain has told me nothing about bringing it down—"

"Meaning he never said anything in earshot of your spies."

Rahab was the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Why would I spy on the one who gave me a kingdom? As I was saying, do not expect a kind welcome. And brother…" Rahab's smile turned sardonic. "You just sent the rest of your vampires to Atziluth."

Damn. Kain had sent the order and he obeyed, like a good little lieutenant. He wondered sometimes why he even bothered to listen anymore, except that a moment later he knew his defiance would end impaled on the Soul Reaver or hurled into the Abyss. Neither fate held any appeal. Zephon stirred out of his thoughts to regard Rahab.

"I can withdraw some of them from Atziluth. Sandulf is still baiting Raziel—he won't show his numbers for months I would guess."

"You would leave our brother to this?" Rahab's tone held no accusation, only curiosity.

Zephon scowled. "You are my only brother these days, and Turel on a few others."

"Calm your intemperance," he chided. "Was it not you who mocked humanity for its inner-fighting?"

"We were human once," Zephon groused.

Rahab's expression wavered again but he held it in far more control than the last time. "We were. And if you recall your forces for personal vendettas, you know how our lord-father will answer."

But Zephon's mind was spinning and he was almost euphoric. "Do we? No one has defied Kain. We all have pushed the seals of orders or made calls before he assented but none have done this. He rages, but some of it must be for show—"

"Zephon." The iciness made him halt.

"You disapprove of taking the cathedral?" Zephon snapped back. "I thought you had to know everything."

"What could I say to you?" Rahab waved a dismissive hand. "I cannot see everything you do when planning an attack, just as you cannot see what I do the rest of the time."

The lack of an affirmative rankled him. But it was a cathedral, not a fortress. He could seize it quickly, and then send his vampires back to Atziluth. He might face anger but this was the time for building empires. Kain had to know that if one of them fell, the tenuous hold he never wanted them to see would pitch further. And he would have his answers.

"I will go. Damn Kain, damn them all." The calm he had built up for years was cracking as a fierier desire took hold.

"Damn Baldur?" Rahab said softly.

Leave Rahab to douse him in ice water. "Mention Baldur and I might lose my respect for guest right."

"Then I would not give you the map to the cathedral."

There were times he adored Rahab just as he wanted to hit him. So he laughed, earning the cautious looks of the nearby Rahabim. Rahab eased his arrogant smirk and began to study the books on a nearby shelf. Finding a tall slender one, he flipped through the heavy pages. Within the time Zephon cocked an expectant eyebrow, his brother was handing it to the fledgling who had first supplied the page for Rahab to muster his revelation.

"Find Shahar and have him copy this map. I want it now."

As the fledgling left, Zephon looked to Rahab. His brother was leaning against the table, studying something only he could see.

"I would not read so much, brother," he said after a long while.

Zephon was as incredulous as if the book itself had piped up. "You say this?"

"It is easy to find things that are troubling, and impossible to look away."

Zephon bit back his retort. His brother was acting strange today. Everyone was. The world had gone insane though it had probably always been that way. But he would at least get to the cathedral.

His reason had not fled entirely though. He flitted through every front his legion was on, and which ones were easy to hold. Stierstadt was a farce. The garrison at Atziluth was close enough to Raziel's land that if anything catastrophic happened, the firstborn would gallop in on Malkuth, cut a bloody trail, and then let Turel deal with any remnants. Gershom Pass had finally settled after three years of steel and blood.

His thoughts drifted to the other lieutenants. Dumah did not defend his borders well enough. Raziel could destroy anything he set his mind to, one way or the other. Turel had the disadvantage of being saddled with anything that Raziel had no interest in reshaping after he demolished it. Melchiah did what he was told, then promptly returned to building his cities. But for all of that they were glorious. It was a skeletal glory, but undeniable. It was just a matter of time. It was a far deadlier weapon than swords or vampiric horses.

"Here it is, my sire."

The fledgling returned with the book, as well as a thick sheet of parchment. Rahab took it, gave it a glance that instantly memorized its contents, and held it out for Zephon. It was large, allowing the scale of the land to show. The cathedral was in territory that Raziel would almost certainly occupy in a few years. Stealing something that would one day belong to his older brother was not unappealing.

Rahab stood there, always cool and collected, untouched by the fire emanating from his brother. "I wish you luck in your endeavor. I hope it does not cause you too much grief. Whatever you think of Kain, remember our sire single-handedly brought down the Pillars and the Sarafan Lord. His path of blood should make any wary of his reprisal."

He knew Rahab would never betray him though, despite his warnings. Not when it would implicate him. Zephon rolled the map up and turned to the fledgling.

"Ready my horse."