Turel's castle occupied a commanding position atop a rocky promontory that jutted out into the sea on the northern coast. The location had been chosen for many reasons, not least of which was the vast network of catacombs the extended for miles in every direction through the fault- ridden bedrock at its base; it was into one of these disused tunnels that Raziel and Isca had wandered, hot on the heels of the group of fledgelings.

Turel had obligingly arranged for the middle bar of the grille to be removed so that the chest could be brought easily to the surface without risking damage to the ancient writings within, and now he and Raziel were relaxing and catching up on recent events in the high-ceilinged chamber he favoured for entertaining guests. On passing his brother a goblet of warmed blood, Turel's eyes lighted on the scimitar attached to his belt.

"Isn't that one of mine?" Having ascertained that the scimitar did indeed belong to one of Turel's elite, Raziel handed it over so that he might identify its owner.

"It was Bered's." Turel sighed. "I had high hopes for him - trained him myself." He put the gleaming scimitar down on the table and added, "What a waste." Seemingly dismissing the matter, he said, "Your fledges tell me the Sarafan laid an ambush for you today."

Raziel paused, the pewter goblet he held in one massive claw inches from his lips, and gave his brother a confused stare. "That's not the way I remember it."

"Come now, brother. It's obvious - they lure you and your men inside by sending in a lone woman, then while you're distracted, attack you from behind." He regarded his elder critically. "Maybe Kain should remind you of the meaning of 'strategy'."

"I need no lessons from him." The other retorted. Turel's eyes widened at his tone, but Raziel went on. "I think the Sarafan Lord is less than pleased at having his position of power usurped by a woman." He stood up and refilled his goblet. "Especially one who shows mercy to our kind."

Turel chuckled. "Ah yes. Your fledges told me of this too. Have you not learned in all this time that women cannot be trusted? It was probably a ploy, arranged by the Sarafan from the moment you set foot in that cave. Likely she was a Sarafan harlot, paid to trick you into. . . "

"She decimated a blood demon."

Turel's surprise was limited to the beast itself. "Really? I thought they were extinct."

"Antaris managed to resurrect one." Raziel grinned at the memory. "Only he didn't anticipate it turning on them too."

Turel dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Did you feed from it?"

Raziel regarded his brother as though he had just asked whether he'd like to join him in parading in front of their troops in hooped skirts and feather bonnets.

"Its blood is potent," explained Turel, "it is rumoured that a vampire who feeds from one of these beasts may gain great power."

"Unfortunately," said Raziel, setting his goblet down and glancing towards the open window, "there wasn't much left of it after their P'ramma finished with it." At Turel's questioning look, he added, "It exploded."

At Turel's insistence that even a small amount of the beast's essence would be sufficient, Raziel began to give the idea some serious thought. The cave system lay between Turel's castle and his own fortress - it seemed that there was nothing to be lost by stopping off there on the way home. And also there was the pressing matter of the documents in the chest; he needed to show them to Kain as soon as possible. Having decided that this small detour would not detain him overmuch, he politely took his leave of his brother and made off with all speed for the cave system on the other side of the river.

Turel watched his brother's departure from his open window, a curious smile on his cruel lips.
It was only from a desire not to demoralise Cornelius as well as Antaris' men that Freya managed to keep a tight lip on the way back to Meridian. She considered the morning's events as they rode along: Antaris had sent her to the temple knowing full well that the vampires had taken control and that she would likely not come back alive. Then, when Cornelius awoke and was unable to find her, Antaris had conveniently "guessed" where she had gone, as Cornelius already suspected and he wasn't a quick enough liar to come up with a better plan. At the temple itself, Antaris had made a great show of playing the hero in front of his men, and, what was worse, she now had Cornelius regarding her as a headstrong child without an ounce of common sense. If any option other than returning to Meridian in the company of Antaris had presented itself, she would have taken it in a flash. And to add insult to injury, the Sun Temple would probably be off- limits for quite some time until they were sure that the vampires inside had perished, which meant yet another delay to finding those damned texts.

It was not until much later that day that Freya had a chance to ask for a moment alone with Antaris. His protestations that he was far too busy were drowned out by a barrage of misplaced support from his men, who construed the obvious when Freya asked them to leave so she could personally thank the Sarafan Lord for his daring rescue. Her cheeky grin as she waved the last of the inappropriately gesturing soldiers out of the door was replaced by a look of red-faced rage as she rounded on the Sarafan Lord.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

Antaris shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

Freya was exasperated, "If you have a problem with me, confront me. Let's get this out in the open."

"I had no idea the vampires had taken over the Sun Temple." Antaris stated flatly.

"Liar! You had the information in your hand when you sent me!"

"That was something else. . ." replied the Sarafan, inspecting his boots.

"You can't even lie convincingly, can you?" Freya demanded.

"I shouldn't have to lie," he retorted, rising to the bait, "I shouldn't have to answer to you at all."

So that was it. Freya's mood calmed as understanding took over from anger. "You're afraid that I'm going to replace you in the chain of command."

"The thought had occurred to me." He admitted.

She sighed and sat down opposite him with her anger rapidly evaporating. She chose her words carefully, aware that what she said next might influence not only all their future interactions, but also the likelihood of her meeting with any other unfortunate 'accidents'. "That has never been my intention, Antaris. I still don't know what I've been sent here to do, but whatever it is, I could certainly use the help and support of the Sarafan Lord - I want us to work together. There's no reason why we can't share whatever tasks - and whatever glories - lie ahead."

Antaris nodded acquiescence and took another sip from his tankard, his thoughts his own.
Raziel reached the cave at around midnight. The night was cool and dark, reminiscent of the grave, and the fledgelings were consequently in much better spirits. He enjoined all except for Isca to await him outside, as the task should be the work of but a few moments. As he left, he warned them to be on the lookout for Sarafan, or any other stray humans for that matter, as he was starting to feel the first poignant pangs of need that heralded the oncoming relentless thirst.

As they approached the centre of the cavern, Isca's eyes grew wide in wonder as he witnessed for himself the gore-splattered blast sphere that encompassed walls, floor and ceiling of the massive chamber. He whistled softly under his breath before turning to find out what his lord was doing. To his great surprise, Raziel seemed to be scooping up some of the demon's congealed blood (or possibly a fragment of intestines) into a small bottle. Remembering the trouble in which his mouth had landed him earlier that day, Isca bit down the obvious question that rose unbidden to his mind, and instead surveyed the rest of the scene in mock vigilance, humming quietly to himself.

Raziel allowed himself a small smile. It must be killing the boy not to allow free reign to his natural curiosity. Still, if it taught him to keep his mouth shut at crucial moments, the lesson was worth learning. He paused in his scooping as his claw connected with something metal that scraped along the cave floor as he pushed it. Intrigued, he slid his hand deeper into the putrefying, half-cooked mounds of fatty flesh, ignoring the sickening squelching sounds that ensued, until his groping fingers grasped the object firmly enough for him to wrestle it free. It came loose with a further gut-wrenching noise akin to that of ripping flesh, and, after giving it a brief shake which caused more of the loose meat to fall to the ground with wet splattering sounds, Raziel recognised it for what it was; the P'ramma's sword.

Even in the poor light he could see that the weapon was unique, and he took time to clean the worst of the offal from the hilt and blade, his original task forgotten for the moment. This done, he raised it before him, squinting down its length first from one angle then another, impressed with the skill and precision with which the curved blade had been forged. He tested its edge with his thumb-claw and grunted in approval as the keen blade drew a single droplet of dark blood before the wound sealed itself. His eyes moved next to the design on the hilt, which forced a puzzled frown to his brows. The pommel was formed in the shape of a demon's head, its clawed hands clasping a black orb, over which it presided with red eyes and a sharp-toothed grin. Its glossy, bat-like wings extended half-way down, and under them coiled the creature's serpentine body, winding around the hilt to terminate just short of the cross-guard, which was crafted in the universally-recognised symbol of chaos.

Raziel turned to Isca, whose jaw was practically on his chest, and ordered him to search for the scabbard. It was not a pleasant job, but fortunately, Isca came across the required item after only a minimum of exposure to the putrescent sludge. The blade slid easily into its sheath with a solid metallic clunk, and the vampire held the arm up once more to inspect it as a whole. The niggling doubt that had been gnawing at his mind as he examined the hilt returned, stronger now that he could see that the entire thing was jet black from end to end.

This was not a Sarafan weapon.
Author's notes

1. If anyone is ever wondering where I got the inspiration for the ickyness in the cave where Raziel finds the sword - I cleaned my bathroom last night.

2. I wrote the description of the sword whilst looking at it. I luuuurve my katana.

3. If I misspell vampires as "campires" one more time while I'm writing this, I'm going to have to write a fan fic about Kain and Raziel in pink 70's ruffle shirts, doing the hustle to "Dancing Queen".