The journey back to Meridian, where the Sarafan had their main base, was a tense and tiresome one. On one side Freya had Cornelius constantly questioning her as to her intentions and plans for their future, as well as trying to find out about her past deeds, all of which she found largely irrelevant, as she was still completely ignorant of her own identity; On the other she had to endure a silently menacing Antaris, whose very presence seemed to warn of dire consequences should she turn out to be anything other than the promised "deliverer". It was with some relief that she witnessed the opening of a pair of large steel gates that led into what was evidently a large settlement. Cornelius' cries affirming her identity to the townsfolk, although annoying, at least meant that they had reached their destination. Maybe things would become clearer in time. Maybe all she needed was rest. Unfortunately, rest was something that would not be forthcoming for quite some time.

Meridian itself was quite a spectacle. They had passed more and more of the outlying villages on their way here, most of which served to illustrate that these people were hardly at the forefront of technological evolution. This city, however, seemed almost a little world in itself, with a well- developed marketplace, temples, baths, a road system, and, in the grounds outside, irrigated fields and aqueducts. The people themselves were well- dressed, their garments every colour of the rainbow, in contrast to the drab brown garb of the villagers she'd encountered on the way. Some of these latter were even now milling around the market stalls, accompanied by herds of livestock of every conceivable size and colour, none of which she recognised. Freya found herself wondering, not for the first time that day, where in seven shades of hell she was.

After a brief struggle with the overexcited crowds, the rest of the soldiers departed to their barracks, leaving her to continue onward unhindered to the main keep in the company of Antaris and Cornelius. Once inside, the gatekeeper closed the small inset door through which they had entered, and they continued on their way to the great hall. There they found food and drink laid out, the sight of which made Freya's stomach rumble. She wondered vaguely how long it had been since she'd eaten, and tried to recall her last meal, hoping that by association the thought would reveal something of her past. This having failed, she set about filling her stomach with the great variety of foodstuffs she found on the rough wooden table before her. She took time between munchings to take stock of her surroundings. The hall itself was constructed of clay-coloured stone blocks, while the walls were hung with tapestries depicting bloody battles, coronations and hunting scenes. A roaring fire lent the room some extra cheer, while thickly woven rugs in dark greens and browns took the chill off the floor, but gave the unfortunate impression that the ground was pitted with stagnant ponds. Before she had time to reflect on the strangeness of that particular observation, a rough voice caught her attention.

"So, P'ramma," began Antaris through a mouthful of cheese and bread, "What exactly are your battle plans?"

Freya managed to hold back the retort she wanted to utter; it probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell him she wasn't convinced she was the one they were looking for. So instead she simply said, "I want to get all the facts straight before I make any plans."

Antaris paused mid-chew. "Facts? What facts? You have all the information you need! The vampire scum are invading our lands, stealing our children, blighting our crops and the time has come to take our revenge. That is where you come in. Facts be damned!"

Cornelius threw a sidelong glance at the moist, masticated morsels of food that had made a daring escape from Antaris' mouth to the table, and ventured, "If it please the both of you, I can bring the P'ramma up to date on the happenings between the Sarafan and the Vampires over the last hundred years or so, and then..."

Cornelius was cut short by the Sarafan lord's harsh, explosive laugh. "Ha! By the time you've finished telling your stories, the war will be over, old man."

Freya did not much care for Antaris' disrespectful treatment of Cornelius. True enough, the old man did go on a bit, but that was par for the course for men in the later stages of life. She decided to intervene, speaking directly to Cornelius, "I would be most grateful for any insights you could give me, Cornelius." Her willingness to call him by name evidently put the old man at ease, and the look on Antaris' face made up for most of the hardships of the day. He mumbled a "More fool you." Before heaping some more food onto his already over-laden plate and swaggering out of the room.

Freya heaved a sigh of relief and sank back in her padded chair, feet extended towards the hearth. It was late afternoon by now, and although the sun was still sending long reddish arrows of light across the floor towards her seat, the advance of evening was evident in the cooling air, and she was glad of the fire.

"Where should I begin?" pondered Cornelius, half to himself. "The siege of the Wain Valleys? The Blood Wars?"

"No," replied Freya, suddenly decisive, "Begin by telling me the history of that book you have."

"The Gaminged?" he asked indicating its cover. At her affirmation, he continued, "Very well; it was almost a millennium ago that a sage translated texts left to us by the original Sarafan. These men were the first warrior priests, born of necessity to fight the upsurgence of the vampire nation under the leadership of Kain. The knowledge contained in those texts was written in an ancient language which is no longer spoken amongst us humans, but the translation was passed down from generation to generation then collected in our current language, along with copies of all the original illustrations, in this very book. I never let it out of my sight!" he chuckled, touching the side of his nose and winking.

Freya was intrigued. If the book he possessed had some little information about her arrival, maybe the original texts held more: maybe the priest who translated them had thought information about her past superfluous and not included it. "Do these original texts still exist?"

Cornelius looked puzzled for a moment. "Of course they still exist - they are part of Sarafan heritage!"

"Great!" she exclaimed, half rising from her seat. "Can you show them to me?"

Cornelius was a little surprised at her enthusiasm. "In time, yes. They are not kept here, but in a temple some miles outside the city. We could go in the morning," he suggested brightly.

Freya sat back down, disgruntled.

"Although," he continued, "you probably wouldn't be able to read them."

Freya had a flash of insight that was as frustrating as it was complete. She knew other languages. Lots of them. It was one of her particular skills. She knew it as surely as she knew she could walk. She could speak French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese and Swedish, as well as being able to read Latin, Sanskrit, Cuneiform and Ogham.

She still couldn't remember her name, though.

"I don't think that'll be a problem, somehow." She sighed, indicating that Cornelius should continue with his history lesson.

So Cornelius told her of the bloody feud that had raged between the two races since time immemorial, of how Kain, the Master Vampire had recruited a number of Lieutenants, given them their own lands to hold, and used them to instil fear into the local human population. The main point of contention and focus for all hostilities, from what Freya could work out, was territory, and with every word the old man uttered, she was assailed by an uncomfortable feeling that she should know all this - that it was as written history that she had failed to recall. Nevertheless, it seemed her role in the feud was clear; The Vampire attacks were slowly but surely chipping away at the Sarafan empire, and unless something was done soon, they were in danger of losing their foothold on the scant fertile lands remaining in Nosgoth.

A thundering crash interrupted Cornelius' monologue, bringing both of them to their feet. A moment later the door to the hall smashed open, rebounding with a judder off the inside wall, and Antaris, wearing most of his dinner in his beard, ran in backwards, closely followed by a group of terrified servants. Freya made a quick scan of the room, hoping to locate something that might be used as a weapon, and grabbed a shoulder-height cast-iron candlestick from the fireplace. As yet she had no idea what was chasing them, but if this morning's demon was anything to go by, she wanted to be prepared.

As the panicked crowd began to disperse into the great hall, most of them finding places to hide along the way, the cause of their terror came into view. The doorway was filled with heavily armed men dressed in black leather armour, each bearing the same insignia. That they were vampires there was no doubt, as was evidenced by the bared fangs, deathly pallor and general air of undeath that accompanied them. It took longer than Freya would have liked to reach the door, as she'd decided it was not the best idea to vault the table with a five-foot candlestick, so by the time she reached the pack, they had already engaged Antaris and the gatekeeper. Her first thought was to stop any more of them pouring into the already compromised hall, so, on seeing a large wooden rack to the left of the door, she called to a couple of the servants to push it into the doorway whilst they held the rest of the vampires at bay. They overcame their hesitation at Antaris' threat that he'd personally feed them to their "guests" if they didn't get a move on, and before long, the entrance was well and truly blocked, leaving the rest of the enemy howling in frustration on the other side.

Freya now turned her attention to those who had already slipped through, tripping the nearest with a wide sweep of the three-armed candelabra, and taking advantage of his stunned state to bludgeon him with the base before swiping his sword. It was surprisingly light and manoeuvrable for its length, and she lost no time in testing its edge on the prone vampire's neck. She gave a satisfied grunt at the result before turning to help the Sarafan lord, who was even now frantically attempting to fend off two of the fiends with a large dinner plate and a steak knife. She managed to impale one from behind, feeling slightly ashamed for the briefest of moments until the other turned on her with heart-stopping speed, sword raised for the kill. Fortunately, Antaris joined in again, and between the two of them, she hacking at the creature's side with her pilfered weapon and he alternately bashing it on the head with his plate and stabbing repeatedly at it with his knife, they managed to subdue it.

By this time, the Keep Guards had been alerted and were rapidly dealing with the remainder outside the hall door. Antaris ordered the rack removed, and soon both he and Freya had rejoined the fray. Even without the extra reinforcements, the fight would have been over quickly, as the numbers were far less than they had first thought. However, there was one who simply would not die; a crossbowman had filled his chest with bolts, a small hand axe had been buried in his shoulder, and someone had evidently laid his thigh open to the bone, but still he fought on. Even now, he was backing away towards the window at the end of the corridor, still beset by as many guards as could fit side by side in the narrow passageway, launching occasional attacks to keep them at a distance. Eventually, he reached the window and stopped, giving the entire assembly one hate-filled glare.

"These lands will be ours again, humans, and the treasures you stole from us will return to their rightful owners." As he spoke, he climbed awkwardly onto the window ledge and bashed out the panes of glass with his elbow. "Your streets will run red with the blood of your children, your land will become fallow and no-one will remember that the Sarafan existed! We will have vengeance for the Vampire blood spilled here this day, ten times." Whatever he had been about to say was cut short by the arrival of a crossbow bolt in the centre of his forehead.

Antaris swung around to see Freya standing at the end of the passageway, crossbow still raised. "He was starting to get boring." She explained with a shrug.