The seraphic guard assigned to guide Raziel to the Archon's audience chambers was more than a little unsettled by his charge as he led the newly-embodied vampire through the halls of the Aerie. It was true that his people had bargained dearly with this vampire lord to save themselves, but he had not expected the vampire to be so feral. The yellow eyes glinting in the shadows reminded him of a hungry predator watching its prey, waiting for a kill, and the long talons only reinforced the impression. Shivering inwardly, the guard showed Raziel to the Archon's chambers, and bowed politely.
Once the vampire had been summoned inside, the guard breathed a sigh of relief and shook himself all over. He was no coward, but the aura of the vampire lord was thick with anger and the need for revenge, and it was unnerving. The guard fluffed his wings to ward off a nonexistent chill, then hurried off down the hallway. His duty had been discharged, and he felt lucky to have retained all his wingfeathers in the process.
Raziel, himself, was no less unsettled than his guide. The initial euphoria of finding himself whole had worn off during his journey to see the Archon, and he felt less and less sure that he had not just walked into a fool's bargain. Though Raziel was hardly satisfied with his post-Abyss existence, there were certain powers he had come to take for granted since his resurrection. He had not tried shifting into the Spectral Realm, nor had he tried summoning the Soul Reaver. His mind seethed with questions as he entered the Archon's chamber.
The Archon was waiting for him, seated on a throne that was hardly more than an elaborate chair. The room was not as grand as the great hall where he had met her for the first time, but it was still opulent. The stone floor was covered with thick rugs, and ornate tapestries lined the walls.
Upon seeing Raziel, the Archon stood up and bowed to him once more, smiling. "You have many questions, I know. I hope to provide you with the answers." Before he could respond, she gestured towards an arched door near her throne. "This room has never been a favorite of mine. It is too grand for a decent conversation. Would you care to join me in my solar?"
"As you wish," said Raziel. He followed her into the smaller room, which was indeed less imposing. It was day, and light streamed through stained glass windows to make colorful patterns on the simple wood floor. A few mage-lights set in sconces threw their witchy light over the contents of the room: a few comfortable chairs designed to accommodate wings; a desk overflowing with quills, parchment, and magical oddments; and books piled everywhere.
Raziel chose a chair at random and sat down. The Archon seated herself across from him, draping her wings across the back of her chair. The air was thick with tension. Finally, Raziel could stand it no more and blurted out, "What has happened to me?"
"I was wondering when you would ask." The Archon smoothed her skirts, considering. "No small amount of magic went into that body you wear, and it is very important that you understand the ramifications of your embodiment. Tell me true – what exactly is bothering you?"
"What did you do to create my flesh? What was the light that Yahriel gave to me?" Suddenly disturbed, Raziel stood up and tried to summon the Soul Reaver, and nothing happened. He tried again – nothing. "And where is my sword?" he shouted, voice shaking the walls.
"Calm down. I will explain," said the Archon, trying to soothe him. She picked up a long, scabbarded sword from her desk and handed it to Raziel, who snatched it out of her hands. Disbelieving, he grasped the unfamiliar skull hilt and pulled the sword from its sheath. The blade slid free, but it was not a normal blade – from the hilt upwards, the familiar wraithen fire of the Soul Reaver blazed. He slid the tip into the scabbard, and it glided back into place.
"What did you do?" snarled Raziel, spreading his wings and knocking over a small table. He raised his claws into a fighting stance, menacing the Archon. "Kain broke this very blade over my back. The Elder God told me that this sword was now my symbiotic weapon – it was a part of my very self. Why have you separated it from me? Do you hope to take it for yourselves?" Consumed with rage, he pulled the sword from its sheath and raised it over his head to strike at his benefactor.
"Put away the sword, Raziel." The Archon spoke coldly. "Your weapon still reflects you in the most basic of ways, as I will explain." She glared at him, unafraid. "Sit. You will learn nothing if you strike me down, and there is little you can do to touch me. Sit down."
The force of her command compelled him against his will to drop back into the chair. Raziel continued to bare his teeth at her, unrepentant.
"Oh, do stop it." The Archon waved a hand in dismissal. "Leering at me like an angry wolf is most uncivilized. Vorador never behaved that way."
"Vorador? He walked among you?" Raziel's anger was replaced at once with astonishment.
"He did indeed. Vampires and seraphim were not always at odds." A flash of sorrow crossed her face. "I grieved when I learned of his death at Moebius' hands. It gives me great satisfaction to meddle with that deceiver's plans. If you take nothing else from this place, Raziel, remember that Moebius looks after his own ambitions first."
"I will remember, do not doubt it. Kain showed me that even brotherhood is not sacred."
"Good." The Archon leaned back in her chair. "Before we begin, perhaps you would care for some refreshment?" In an eyeblink, the table he had upset righted itself and two cups appeared on it. The first shed bits of green energy over its rim – soul substance. The second felt warm to the touch, as warm as blood. Raziel raised it to his lips to taste. The familiar coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, darkly pleasant. He did not ask where it had come from.
"My thanks, my lady." He gave her a bloody smile.
"One is glad that our efforts please. Vorador never faulted our hospitality." The Archon conjured up a glass of wine for herself and drank, then set the cup aside.
"Now – your first question. What has happened to you? It is simple, as many of the most powerful things are. Yahriel promised you the boon of a new body, and she provided both the energy to reconstruct you and the means to reanimate the new flesh. The light you saw was a small piece of her anima. Perhaps you would call it a soul, though it is more than that among seraphim. In short, she gave you a piece of her life.
"She did not have to give you much. You already enjoy some degree of unlife that was gifted to you by the Elder. Yahriel's anima was grafted onto your existing body and soul, and it provided the scaffold for the new fleshly body you inhabit. Still, to some small degree you are alive, and a part of the physical realm. Your sword also bears a portion of her gift, since it is no longer fully spectral; it is marginally bound here just as you are. You are both half-wraith, half-solid." The Archon paused to drink from her cup again.
"What effect will this have on my ability to enter the Spectral Realm?" asked Raziel. "Can I still travel through that medium?"
"I think so, though I admit I am not sure. It is certain, however, that you will not retain your present form there."
"Yahriel said that the binding energies from her workings on my wings would weave themselves into my spectral form in time. Do you imply that there is no truth to her words?"
The Archon raised an eyebrow. "I imply nothing, but one would do well to remember that neither of us has ever done anything like this. Yahriel tells you what she thinks will happen. Whether it will happen or not is a matter for speculation. Perhaps you should try shifting."
"Perhaps." Raziel stood up, and called the Shift Glyph into his mind. At once, the scene dissolved into the muted blues and greens of the Spectral Realm. He looked down at himself, and saw the familiar gaunt scarecrow he had been before his restoration. Everything was the same – tattered wings, withered flesh, ragged clothing. That answers that question, he thought to himself.
By design or by coincidence, the Archon's private chamber contained a Shift Gate. Raziel willed himself back into being, and was hugely relieved to see that his clothes traveled with him.
"Interesting." The Archon's violet eyes studied him. "What did you find out?"
"Your magic does not affect me while I am a part of the Spectral Realm, at least for the time being," replied Raziel. He settled back into his chair and drank this time of the soul-stuff. Bemused, he wondered how his hosts had managed to bind the energy into a chalice. It didn't matter.
"Have you anything more you wish to know, Lord Raziel?" The Archon has risen from her chair, and looked as though she were about to leave.
"Not for the moment, Archon, no."
"'Sophia' will do. A bit of familiarity among equals, yes?" She looked at him conspiratorially.
Raziel nodded. "Indeed."
"If it pleases, I would like to show you the Aerie and some of the lands we inhabit. It is important that you understand what we have offered you with our alliance, and what our escape from Kain's devastation means for Nosgoth. I imagine that you would welcome the chance to stretch your new wings, so if you will give me a moment, we will survey my holdings in flight."
"Certainly," replied Raziel. "I would most like to know how your presence here in Nosgoth has gone untouched by our kindred for so long. Perhaps there is something to be learned for future empires."
"Yes, well, you shall see. Pardon me – it is necessary that I change these skirts for something more suitable for flying." She left the room, and Raziel heard a lock click a few moments later. Alone for the moment, he picked up the sword-belt for the Soul Reaver and buckled it around his waist. Idly, he riffled through one of the books on the Archon's desk, mindful of his claws. The book was written in Nosgothic bloodscript, favored by the vampires and mages in Vorador's time.
He had just become absorbed in a history about a vampire who would have been elder to Vorador when the Archon's door opened. She was dressed in snug leathers, which were far more practical. When the Archon saw him reading, she laughed a little.
"Now, you see what might well be our greatest gift to you - Nosgoth's forgotten history. Kain was never much for learning, from what I understand." She craned her neck to look at the book. "Ah. Borjuni's text. I'm rather fond of that one."
Raziel closed the old tome with care and placed it back where he had found it. "Shall we go, then?"
"We shall." The Archon opened another door, which
led to a balcony. She stepped outside, flexed her wings twice, then leapt
off. Raziel followed, closing the door behind him. The Archon hovered a
short distance from the stone lip, waiting. He spread his wings to catch
the wind, and was airborne.