Freya whirled at the sound, hand going automatically to the hilt of the scimitar. The entrance to the temple was crowded with black-clad vampires, swords drawn, and in front of them, having just addressed her, the Vampire lord she'd met on her arrival on Nosgoth. Until then, she hadn't heard a sound.

"You are trespassing on Vampire territory," he continued, a hungry smile on his lips.

Freya frowned in confusion. "The Sun Temple belongs to the Sarafan. . ."

"No longer," replied Raziel, stepping forward. She noted with interest that he walked straight through the patch of direct sunlight under the dome, whilst his guards remained close to the edges of the room, ever in the shadows. "As of yesterday, the lands from here to the sea belong to us - as you well know." On seeing her puzzled look, he continued. "Word was sent last night to all major Sarafan holdings, including the keep at Meridian."

Everything fell into place, and Freya gave a mirthless laugh, "Then Antaris might have mentioned it before he sent me here this morning."

Raziel chuckled. "What have you done to fall foul of the Sarafan Lord?"

Freya shot him a meaningful glance, and understanding dawned. "Ah. Your act of mercy in the cave."

He took another step towards her, making Freya realise for the first time just how imposing a figure he was. The vampire stood well over six feet tall in his booted feet; his physique, his accoutrements of the blackest leather and the deep red cloak that hung over one arm adding to the impression that he had been born to fight. It was his face, however, that was the most unsettling. Considering that this was one of Kain's favoured sons, and by all accounts an ancient and powerful force that had plagued Nosgoth's human population for centuries, little or no evidence of corruption could be seen in the smooth planes of his visage. His natural expression was one of bland detachment, and only the lupine gold-tinged eyes betrayed anything of his true nature. They were hypnotic. Deadly. Alluring. A person could get lost in them.

"Well, I think in the circumstances that it would be . . . rude . . . of me not to return the favour."

Despite her relief at his words, his saturnine grin was doing nothing to put her at ease. "That's very kind of you."

"On one condition."

Freya blanched visibly, tightening her grip on her sword. Raziel found this most amusing.

"What were you looking for?"

There was no way in hell that she was going to tell him. If the texts did contain the information she sought, they might well describe a means of returning to Earth. The image of the Porsche on the wall only fuelled this suspicion, and the very thought of letting hordes of lethal, bloodthirsty vampires loose back home was enough to strengthen her resolve.

"Something to jog my memory." she replied. It was only a half-lie. Raziel frowned and she added, by way of explanation, "I have amnesia - I remember nothing before fighting the demon yesterday."

The Vampire Lord considered this. It seemed possible that she was telling the truth; it was not unknown for some of the more ancient demons to leave their victors cursed, but he had a feeling she was hiding something. He looked her up and down, his gaze eventually coming to rest on the scimitar attached to her belt. A moment later he had snatched it from her side and placed its point beneath under her chin, his face contorted into a mask of rage.

"Explain this!"

Freya looked down her nose at the gleaming blade that was digging into her chin then up at the vampire's face. She swallowed audibly. "I took it from a dead body."

"Did you kill him?" Raziel's tone warned her that her reply might well mean the difference between her walking out of here and being cleaned off the walls, but there really was only one answer.

"It was him or me."

Whatever Raziel's response to this might have been was cut short by the sounding of a horn outside the temple.

"Sarafan!" shouted one of the guards at the door. Freya lost no time in taking advantage of Raziel's distraction to flick the blade harmlessly to one side and dodge around his back to stand behind one of the pillars that circled the central dome. By now, Sarafan warriors, clad in gleaming silver armour, were pouring in through the temple door, hacking violently at anything remotely vampiric that stood in their path. It was going to be a massacre: the fledgelings were unable to move out of the way because of the pool of searing sunlight in the centre of the chamber, and given the time of day, most of them were far from being at their best. Antaris waded through the centre of the fight, clad in armour that was larger and more ostentatious than any of his fellows'. It also seemed to be glowing red and gold in places, the light intensifying according to his proximity to any one vampire. Never one for keeping quiet, his every blow was punctuated by a "Back, undead swine!" or a "Your days are numbered, bloodsuckers!"

She risked taking her eyes off the struggle for a split-second to locate Raziel, who was standing in the circle of light, batting his fledgelings aside whenever they came too close to what would surely spell their flaming demise. Freya found this behaviour puzzling and slightly out-of-character, but her thoughts were shortly distracted by Antaris, who called out, "This way, P'ramma!"

Despite her misgivings, this was the best route of escape, and, not being one to hold a grudge in the face of a rescue, Freya dived through the opening the Sarafan knights had made and stumbled into the sunlight a moment later, alive, unscathed and absolutely no nearer to finding out who she was.

The first person to confront her outside was Cornelius, who was pacing back and forth on the grassy verge, massive tome under one arm as usual, muttering under his breath about 'headstrong girls'. On seeing her emerge from the temple he hobbled over to her and waggled one wizened, long-nailed finger at her in reproof.

"The lands hereabouts are disputed, and you never know who's going to be in control of them from one day to the next. It's lucky for you Antaris found out where you'd gone in time." Cornelius admonished.

Freya's furious retort was cut off as the door to the temple slammed shut, and she turned to see Antaris turn the key in the lock, then motion to one of the priests outside to erect a holy ward at the door to deny the vampires passage.

"Let's see how the undead like being sealed in the Sun Temple!" he exclaimed with great good humour, inciting the blood-stained guards to join in with a victory cry. His smile faded as he turned from the door - from where there could already be heard the frantic beating of vampire flesh on wood - to regard the P'ramma, whose lip was curled in a sneer.

"That was too close, P'ramma." Said Cornelius. "Next time you go off on a jaunt, remember to tell Antaris exactly where you're going!"

Freya and Antaris exchanged loaded glances that spoke of the coming confrontation. "Don't worry, Cornelius, I will."
Raziel watched as the woman made a dive for the exit and freedom, making a mental note to find out which of Turel's chosen had fallen to the P'ramma. The scimitar itself - a gift given only to the Lieutenants' elite guard - would be enough to identify its owner, later. He hefted the weapon as the Sarafan drove the fight forward, and used it in an alternating pattern to slash at the enemy one moment and push his own men aside with the flat of the blade the next. He should have known better than to come to this particular temple with such young fledges. They were a liability.

He hardly had time to berate himself before the temple door closed with an ominous clang, and the key turned in the lock with an audible click. The fledges were panic-stricken. It was clear even now that as the sun continued its journey through the heavens, more and more light would be focused through the dome and off the reflecting walls, until the entire chamber was filled with the concentrated glare of the midday sun's rays. It was a death trap, and would be their tomb if he didn't act soon. Assuming from the fledgelings' failed attempts to break down the door that the Sarafan had already sealed it with magic, he began to look around for an alternate escape route.

His first thought was to check to see what it was that had attracted the P'ramma's attention, and on close inspection of the wall, he found a single bizarre symbol that didn't seem to correspond with anything around it. It was raised from the wall by some 2 inches, which was what induced him to push it. It sank into the wall with a firm click and almost instantly, a low rumbling began, barely audible over the half-angry, half-frightened roaring of the fledgelings, and an opening appeared in the floor not two feet from where Raziel stood. Suspecting that the Sarafan would become suspicious if the din stopped too soon, he used the next few minutes to locate and ignite a torch to aid their descent into the dark stairwell that was now fully visible from the main chamber. Before long, the sound of departing hooves came to his sensitive ears, and he called his men to order.

The descent of the winding stone stairs seemed to take hours, and Raziel was fairly sure from what he knew of Nosgoth's geography that the downwards- sloping path they were now following led beneath the river bed and off to the north; where it might emerge, he could not guess. The cavern into which they had wandered must be immense, as even with his own keen night vision he was unable to make out the roof or the far wall. He raised the brand above his head to peer into the deepening blackness ahead and discerned that the light was reflecting off an underground lake. What was even more surprising was that there was a small boat bobbing gently on the surface of the Stygian waters. The fledgelings eyed the craft suspiciously, staying well away from the water's edge and bickering quietly to relieve their tension. Here lay a choice - the path they were following led past the lake and off to the north, where it began to ascend. Raziel assumed from the draughts of cooler, fresher air that emanated from that direction that it led to the outside. However, there had to be a reason for the presence of the boat, and, never one to pass up an opportunity for exploration and adventure, he decided to take a look.

Turning to the group of fledgelings before him, he said. "You will continue along this path until you find the exit. If daylight persists, await nightfall before venturing out."

"Will you not accompany us, Lord Raziel?" asked one.

The Vampire Lord turned on him with a wicked grin, saying, "Since you crave my company so much, you will be the one to row the boat!"

The fledge, Isca, swallowed hard, casting a terrified glance at the pitch- black waters, and nodded his understanding, meanwhile mentally kicking himself for being so outspoken. Much as he feared the freezing/scalding embrace of the water, he feared his lord more.

Without further ado, Raziel clambered into the small craft, causing it to rock and sway alarmingly, and sat waiting expectantly for the fledgeling to summon up the courage to join him. Once inside, Raziel handed the shaking youngster the oars and said "Serve me well this day and you will be rewarded for your loyalty, stripling." This did much to embolden Isca, and he set about the task with renewed vigour.

Raziel had almost given up hope of finding anything in this cold, silent, desolate blackness when a glint from up ahead caught his eye, and he directed the craft towards its source. A few moments later the pair were climbing ashore onto a bed of shingle that seemed to glow with a faint luminescence of its own. Raziel raised the low-burned torch and managed to make out a number of stout wooden chests, stacked neatly against the rear wall of the cavern. Realising that the torch now had a limited lifespan, they lost no time in prying open the nearest of the chests. Raziel was fairly confident that they would contain something of great value; otherwise why go to all the trouble of secreting them in such a place? His enthusiasm waned however, when the first box gave up its secret with a groan of ancient wood, to reveal nothing but gold jewellery and coins. Vampires had little need of such things.

The second and third chests held more of the same, but the fourth, which opened with a puff of stale air, indicating that it had been well-sealed, was filled to the brim with yellowing parchments and leather-bound books. At a cursory glance, Raziel concluded that they were not written in any language spoken on Nosgoth today, or, from what he recalled, at any point in the last thousand years. Maybe Kain would be able to make something of them; he would be duty-bound to show these to the Master in any event.

A few hours later, the two were trudging up a long, winding, rocky path towards the cave exit, the huge wooden chest settled comfortably on the fledgeling's broad shoulder. The path seemed to end at a large metal grille about forty feet ahead, and although Raziel and Isca would have no trouble squeezing through the bars, the chest was obviously not going to fit. The Vampire Lord had just stood back to ponder this new problem when a pale face topped by night-black hair appeared suddenly through the bars, fanged mouth grinning a welcome.

"Greetings, brother! What are you doing in my sewer?"