When all the bodies and debris had been cleared from the great hall, the
outer perimeter checked, and lashings of garlic laid over every window and
door, the atmosphere finally returned to some semblance of calm. Freya
took the opportunity to question Antaris as to how the vampires had gained
ingress in the first place.
The Sarafan lord seemed unperturbed. "Hmm? Oh, we think the holy wards at the front of the keep must have failed. Never fear, we've had the priests reinforce them already."
Freya was incensed. "They came in through your front door and you haven't bothered to investigate?" With such gross stupidity within the leadership of these people it was a wonder they hadn't been exterminated already. "Have you posted extra guards?"
Antaris lowered the tankard he'd been about to drink from, and asked "What for? They're hardly going to attack again tonight, are they? Not one of them got out alive. Heh, that'll teach 'em to mess with me." A wary look at Freya's tight-lipped countenance forced him to add, "I mean, us."
Freya let the line of questioning drop, making a mental note to arrange for extra vigilance over the next few nights. She sat back in her chair and raised her own tankard to her lips. Whatever else these people might be lacking in terms of civilized advancement, there was certainly nothing wrong with their ale. "So which clan did our guests tonight belong to?" She asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
"Turelim." He replied laconically. Then, seeing her expectant face, he sighed resignedly, "Their lands are to the north, their closest holding about two days' ride from here. Their leader is Turel, one of Kain's Lieutenants, and to my knowledge they have never ventured this far south before." He took another swig before asking with exaggerated patience, "Anything else?"
His last comment gave her food for thought, and she quaffed the last drop of the rich home brew before standing up, stretching and replying, "Yes. Where's my bed?"
On Cornelius' instructions, a massive bedchamber had been made ready. It was apparently reserved for visiting nobility, and boasted the only four- poster bed in Meridian. A fire was burning cheerily in the hearth as she entered, and she noted that some water and light refreshments had been left on a bedside table. Freya thanked Cornelius profusely, as he had insisting on accompanying her to check that all was to her satisfaction, and it was only with the promise that she'd see him first thing and that he could continue his story on the way to the temple that she managed to get him to leave.
Despite her exhaustion, sleep was an unwilling bedfellow, so she eventually resigned herself to sitting at the leaded window, surveying the silvered landscape below. A thousand thoughts were milling around her head, obstinately refusing to settle themselves into any kind of order.
As far as she could recall, her memories began at the moment when the snorting demon had swung at her in the cave which, she had learned, was part of an underground complex on disputed land. Before that, her entire existence (which she assumed from her size and shape numbered some twenty years) was a blur. The only thing she was certain of was that wherever she had lived her life previous to this morning, it wasn't here. For a start, here there was no television, no cars, no burgers, no skyscrapers, no liquid soap and to her chagrin, no plumbed toilets. The bizarre thing was that she wasn't as bothered as she thought she would be. She realised belatedly that her reasons for finding the Sarafan texts were solely to discover her own identity, not to look for a way back home.
Her thoughts then turned to the remainder of the day's events; her first impression of both the Sarafan and Vampire races, and how that had changed in a matter of hours; her growing dislike of the Sarafan lord (although she had to admit he'd been pretty handy with his dinner plate); her realisation that she could speak other languages; and through it all, the insignia that had been emblazoned on the armour of the vampire attackers - if she could just remember where she'd seen that before... It was then that other niggling thoughts began to surface. How was it that she knew how to wield a sword? Or ride a horse? Or use a fifteen-pound candelabra as an effective weapon?
She let her forehead fall against the cool glass of the window with a sigh. Maybe the memory loss was temporary. She crossed her fingers. Then her toes for good measure. She was just about to see what other parts of her body she could cross when, from out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement from the courtyard below. A hooded man was creeping stealthily from shadow to shadow towards a small postern door on the left-hand side of the square. As she watched, the man checked his environs and rapped three times on the stout wood, looking all around him again as he waited. The door opened a crack, spilling a triangle of yellowish candlelight onto the cobbled floor outside, and a hand emerged. The hooded man quickly handed over a scroll, receiving a small pot or phial in exchange, and the door closed again with a decisive click. The man once again became a furtive shadow, and was soon lost from sight.
As intrigued as she was, sleep had finally worked its way from her bones to her mind, and, after all, how was she to know that this was not the way the Sarafan got all their intelligence? With a final stretch, Freya executed a less than dignified belly-flop onto the small mountain of blankets in front of her, and was soon asleep, face down, snoring slightly. The last image to run through her mind before sleep took her was of a pair of golden eyes, shining with faint luminosity in flickering torchlight.
Freya was awakened by a shaft of sunlight falling across her face. She opened her eyes slowly and was assailed at once by that familiar feeling that she didn't know where she was. She sat up, naked, bleary eyed and tousle-haired and tried to recall the previous night's events. She was in a four-poster, so she'd definitely not stayed at Antonio's (she was still of the firm opinion that guys that age were far too old for bunk-beds). There was a real fireplace, so that ruled out most of the other guys she had relations with. She was just thinking that she was going to have to stop these random, drunken encounters when yesterday's events arrived back in her mind with a thump. Well, at least she'd recalled the name of one of her boyfriends. Not that it helped. She surveyed the room, noting at once that fresh clothes had been laid out, and the sword she'd stolen from the vampire had been cleaned and set to one side of the fireplace. She was glad of the clothes at least. The thought of spending another day in her already less-than-fresh kendo gi was not exactly appealing.
Throwing back the covers, she rose and inspected the clothes. There was a variety; she had a choice between a pale pink floor-length shift (she wrinkled her nose in disgust), or some soft, brown leather trousers and a dark red shirt. Minutes later, she fitted her stolen sword (which she'd decided was some form of scimitar) into the clasp on her belt and was making her way downstairs to meet Cornelius.
Having failed to find the old man after several minutes of searching, she encountered Antaris in a small room that served him as a study and queried him on Cornelius' whereabouts.
"The old man seldom rises before ten bells." Replied the Sarafan in surly tones. "What do you want with him this time of the morning, anyway?"
Freya did her best to maintain a civil tone. "We were supposed to be heading to the Sun Temple to look at the old texts."
Antaris stood stock-still. He glanced from the paper in his hand to Freya's inquiring face and remained silent for such a long time she wondered if he was going to respond. "Well. why don't you get a head start on him? I understand you're quite keen to see these . documents for yourself, and Cornelius doesn't travel too well these days. It'd be evening by the time you got there."
Freya frowned slightly, wondering why he was being so helpful.
"I'll send him after you as soon as he wakes," he assured her brightly. "Just take this map and." he rummaged in a desk drawer, ".this key, and you should have no trouble."
Freya glanced at both items. The map did indeed show the location of the Sun Temple, a short distance to the east of Meridian, and the key itself was formed with a rising sun at one end.
"If you speak to Morris, the gatekeeper, he'll ensure you have a speedy mount to take you there." Antaris added.
Freya blinked a couple of times, muttered a slightly confused "thanks", and headed out in the direction of the stables. As she left, the Sarafan Lord's forced smile faded and his mouth set into a grim line. He carefully buried the paper under a mound of others and returned to his reading.
Freya had no trouble obtaining both the horse and some supplies for the journey. Most people by now had heard Cornelius' theory about her identity and were only too eager to help. It was with some embarrassment that she exited the main gate surrounded by a small army of well-wishers and small children throwing flowers, turning at the last moment to assure them that she'd be back by nightfall.
"Bring us back a vampire head!" called one man.
Freya shook her head in disbelief.
"Or any part, really," added another, "We're not fussy!"
She wheeled the horse around and rode with all speed to the valley entrance. Only there did she start to feel more relaxed.
The Sun Temple, as Antaris had promised, was not at all difficult to find. It stood atop a long low hill next to a bend in the river that flowed down to the city itself. A large rising sun with rays of stone protruded from the roof of the building, leaving no doubt at all as to the temple's identity. The glade was almost preternaturally quiet as she approached. No birds sang, no crickets chirped, in stark contrast to the rest of her journey, which had made her realise just how noisy the countryside could be. Even the babbling of the river here seemed muted.
However, at a cursory glance, nothing else appeared out of the ordinary, and so she dismounted and approached the main entrance. She was pleasantly surprised when the key easily opened the lock, and began to think that maybe she had misjudged the Sarafan lord; maybe his gruff, discourteous manner was just a way of hiding his true personality. She gave the matter no further thought as she pushed open the heavy oaken door to reveal a bright, sunlight chamber.
The room was lit by means of a single skylight with a huge glass dome - a piece of excellent workmanship considering the current level of development - which reflected light from burnished copper and gold orbs along the length of the room. The walls themselves were covered in friezes and pictures, mostly depicting lone Sarafan knights fighting hordes of vampires. She raised an eyebrow at the artist's storytelling style, and continued on into the chamber. Cornelius had said that the texts were located beneath the temple, so logically there had to be a staircase or trapdoor somewhere on this floor. She began a systematic search along one wall, keeping eyes open for anything that might suggest a way down. Before long, however, her attention was drawn to one of the carvings mid-way down the room, which seemed to represent a Porsche. Freya did a quick double- take, leaning in closer to inspect what turned out to be a rather clever almost three-dimensional rendering of a 911, complete with spoiler and a couple of cartoon-like speed lines at the back for good measure.
"What the hell is this doing here?" she wondered aloud.
"I was just about to ask the same question." Came a rich, deep voice from behind her.
The Sarafan lord seemed unperturbed. "Hmm? Oh, we think the holy wards at the front of the keep must have failed. Never fear, we've had the priests reinforce them already."
Freya was incensed. "They came in through your front door and you haven't bothered to investigate?" With such gross stupidity within the leadership of these people it was a wonder they hadn't been exterminated already. "Have you posted extra guards?"
Antaris lowered the tankard he'd been about to drink from, and asked "What for? They're hardly going to attack again tonight, are they? Not one of them got out alive. Heh, that'll teach 'em to mess with me." A wary look at Freya's tight-lipped countenance forced him to add, "I mean, us."
Freya let the line of questioning drop, making a mental note to arrange for extra vigilance over the next few nights. She sat back in her chair and raised her own tankard to her lips. Whatever else these people might be lacking in terms of civilized advancement, there was certainly nothing wrong with their ale. "So which clan did our guests tonight belong to?" She asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
"Turelim." He replied laconically. Then, seeing her expectant face, he sighed resignedly, "Their lands are to the north, their closest holding about two days' ride from here. Their leader is Turel, one of Kain's Lieutenants, and to my knowledge they have never ventured this far south before." He took another swig before asking with exaggerated patience, "Anything else?"
His last comment gave her food for thought, and she quaffed the last drop of the rich home brew before standing up, stretching and replying, "Yes. Where's my bed?"
On Cornelius' instructions, a massive bedchamber had been made ready. It was apparently reserved for visiting nobility, and boasted the only four- poster bed in Meridian. A fire was burning cheerily in the hearth as she entered, and she noted that some water and light refreshments had been left on a bedside table. Freya thanked Cornelius profusely, as he had insisting on accompanying her to check that all was to her satisfaction, and it was only with the promise that she'd see him first thing and that he could continue his story on the way to the temple that she managed to get him to leave.
Despite her exhaustion, sleep was an unwilling bedfellow, so she eventually resigned herself to sitting at the leaded window, surveying the silvered landscape below. A thousand thoughts were milling around her head, obstinately refusing to settle themselves into any kind of order.
As far as she could recall, her memories began at the moment when the snorting demon had swung at her in the cave which, she had learned, was part of an underground complex on disputed land. Before that, her entire existence (which she assumed from her size and shape numbered some twenty years) was a blur. The only thing she was certain of was that wherever she had lived her life previous to this morning, it wasn't here. For a start, here there was no television, no cars, no burgers, no skyscrapers, no liquid soap and to her chagrin, no plumbed toilets. The bizarre thing was that she wasn't as bothered as she thought she would be. She realised belatedly that her reasons for finding the Sarafan texts were solely to discover her own identity, not to look for a way back home.
Her thoughts then turned to the remainder of the day's events; her first impression of both the Sarafan and Vampire races, and how that had changed in a matter of hours; her growing dislike of the Sarafan lord (although she had to admit he'd been pretty handy with his dinner plate); her realisation that she could speak other languages; and through it all, the insignia that had been emblazoned on the armour of the vampire attackers - if she could just remember where she'd seen that before... It was then that other niggling thoughts began to surface. How was it that she knew how to wield a sword? Or ride a horse? Or use a fifteen-pound candelabra as an effective weapon?
She let her forehead fall against the cool glass of the window with a sigh. Maybe the memory loss was temporary. She crossed her fingers. Then her toes for good measure. She was just about to see what other parts of her body she could cross when, from out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement from the courtyard below. A hooded man was creeping stealthily from shadow to shadow towards a small postern door on the left-hand side of the square. As she watched, the man checked his environs and rapped three times on the stout wood, looking all around him again as he waited. The door opened a crack, spilling a triangle of yellowish candlelight onto the cobbled floor outside, and a hand emerged. The hooded man quickly handed over a scroll, receiving a small pot or phial in exchange, and the door closed again with a decisive click. The man once again became a furtive shadow, and was soon lost from sight.
As intrigued as she was, sleep had finally worked its way from her bones to her mind, and, after all, how was she to know that this was not the way the Sarafan got all their intelligence? With a final stretch, Freya executed a less than dignified belly-flop onto the small mountain of blankets in front of her, and was soon asleep, face down, snoring slightly. The last image to run through her mind before sleep took her was of a pair of golden eyes, shining with faint luminosity in flickering torchlight.
Freya was awakened by a shaft of sunlight falling across her face. She opened her eyes slowly and was assailed at once by that familiar feeling that she didn't know where she was. She sat up, naked, bleary eyed and tousle-haired and tried to recall the previous night's events. She was in a four-poster, so she'd definitely not stayed at Antonio's (she was still of the firm opinion that guys that age were far too old for bunk-beds). There was a real fireplace, so that ruled out most of the other guys she had relations with. She was just thinking that she was going to have to stop these random, drunken encounters when yesterday's events arrived back in her mind with a thump. Well, at least she'd recalled the name of one of her boyfriends. Not that it helped. She surveyed the room, noting at once that fresh clothes had been laid out, and the sword she'd stolen from the vampire had been cleaned and set to one side of the fireplace. She was glad of the clothes at least. The thought of spending another day in her already less-than-fresh kendo gi was not exactly appealing.
Throwing back the covers, she rose and inspected the clothes. There was a variety; she had a choice between a pale pink floor-length shift (she wrinkled her nose in disgust), or some soft, brown leather trousers and a dark red shirt. Minutes later, she fitted her stolen sword (which she'd decided was some form of scimitar) into the clasp on her belt and was making her way downstairs to meet Cornelius.
Having failed to find the old man after several minutes of searching, she encountered Antaris in a small room that served him as a study and queried him on Cornelius' whereabouts.
"The old man seldom rises before ten bells." Replied the Sarafan in surly tones. "What do you want with him this time of the morning, anyway?"
Freya did her best to maintain a civil tone. "We were supposed to be heading to the Sun Temple to look at the old texts."
Antaris stood stock-still. He glanced from the paper in his hand to Freya's inquiring face and remained silent for such a long time she wondered if he was going to respond. "Well. why don't you get a head start on him? I understand you're quite keen to see these . documents for yourself, and Cornelius doesn't travel too well these days. It'd be evening by the time you got there."
Freya frowned slightly, wondering why he was being so helpful.
"I'll send him after you as soon as he wakes," he assured her brightly. "Just take this map and." he rummaged in a desk drawer, ".this key, and you should have no trouble."
Freya glanced at both items. The map did indeed show the location of the Sun Temple, a short distance to the east of Meridian, and the key itself was formed with a rising sun at one end.
"If you speak to Morris, the gatekeeper, he'll ensure you have a speedy mount to take you there." Antaris added.
Freya blinked a couple of times, muttered a slightly confused "thanks", and headed out in the direction of the stables. As she left, the Sarafan Lord's forced smile faded and his mouth set into a grim line. He carefully buried the paper under a mound of others and returned to his reading.
Freya had no trouble obtaining both the horse and some supplies for the journey. Most people by now had heard Cornelius' theory about her identity and were only too eager to help. It was with some embarrassment that she exited the main gate surrounded by a small army of well-wishers and small children throwing flowers, turning at the last moment to assure them that she'd be back by nightfall.
"Bring us back a vampire head!" called one man.
Freya shook her head in disbelief.
"Or any part, really," added another, "We're not fussy!"
She wheeled the horse around and rode with all speed to the valley entrance. Only there did she start to feel more relaxed.
The Sun Temple, as Antaris had promised, was not at all difficult to find. It stood atop a long low hill next to a bend in the river that flowed down to the city itself. A large rising sun with rays of stone protruded from the roof of the building, leaving no doubt at all as to the temple's identity. The glade was almost preternaturally quiet as she approached. No birds sang, no crickets chirped, in stark contrast to the rest of her journey, which had made her realise just how noisy the countryside could be. Even the babbling of the river here seemed muted.
However, at a cursory glance, nothing else appeared out of the ordinary, and so she dismounted and approached the main entrance. She was pleasantly surprised when the key easily opened the lock, and began to think that maybe she had misjudged the Sarafan lord; maybe his gruff, discourteous manner was just a way of hiding his true personality. She gave the matter no further thought as she pushed open the heavy oaken door to reveal a bright, sunlight chamber.
The room was lit by means of a single skylight with a huge glass dome - a piece of excellent workmanship considering the current level of development - which reflected light from burnished copper and gold orbs along the length of the room. The walls themselves were covered in friezes and pictures, mostly depicting lone Sarafan knights fighting hordes of vampires. She raised an eyebrow at the artist's storytelling style, and continued on into the chamber. Cornelius had said that the texts were located beneath the temple, so logically there had to be a staircase or trapdoor somewhere on this floor. She began a systematic search along one wall, keeping eyes open for anything that might suggest a way down. Before long, however, her attention was drawn to one of the carvings mid-way down the room, which seemed to represent a Porsche. Freya did a quick double- take, leaning in closer to inspect what turned out to be a rather clever almost three-dimensional rendering of a 911, complete with spoiler and a couple of cartoon-like speed lines at the back for good measure.
"What the hell is this doing here?" she wondered aloud.
"I was just about to ask the same question." Came a rich, deep voice from behind her.
