I apologise for the end of this chapter. It's my birthday and I've got a hangover.

The next few months before the Summer Solstice saw a massive increase in feudal activity. The Vampire Clans, having heard that the Sarafan had once again started Challenging for territory, had quickly followed suit, and consequently Freya found herself bombarded with letters asking for the resolution of ownership of various holdings the length and breadth of Nosgoth. Some, sent by minor lordlings, presumably without the consent or knowledge of their Vampire parents, she ignored, accepting challenges solely from Kain's six sons, as these tended to be for land of strategic importance. Antaris, although proving a staunch ally in their clashes with the vampires, was pestering her to move the conflict forward at a quicker pace. He was in favour of taking the struggle to their opponents' castles and fortresses, and forcing a direct strike at the heart of each Clan territory. Freya took pains to quell this movement before it could gather strength. She was highly dubious about the possibility of a favourable outcome should their armies meet the Clans head-on in an all-out battle, and besides, the piecemeal approach was working well.

Despite the fact that she now had few hours of the day to spend in reflective contemplation, Freya's mind strayed ever and anon to the first Challenge at the Sun Temple, and how she was sure Lord Raziel had played her for a fool. Whether or not he'd actually gained possession of the knowledge supposedly hidden beneath the temple was still a mystery, as on their two recent encounters, the fighting had broken out before they'd had a chance for the customary greeting. The Sarafan seemed to have an unnaturally strong dislike of this particular Clan, and the feeling was evidently mutual. In the course of her musings, Freya would occasionally hit upon some scheme or ruse whereby she might obtain the writings from the Vampire Lord, but she invariably dismissed each one as dangerous at best. So for the time being she contented herself with taking out her frustration on the bloodless hordes she was facing on an almost weekly basis. It helped.

Finally the Summer Solstice, also known as the feast of Relstadt, arrived. It was a cause for celebration not only for its ancient religious significance, but also because it was considered a holy day for Sarafan and Vampire alike. This auspicious occasion marked the cessation of all hostile activities for a full day and night, which happened to fall this year right smack in the middle of a monumental struggle between the Sarafan and the Melchahim over a small and rather innocuous-looking hill. The two sides had retreated at sunset as arranged, and Antaris was even now loudly recounting his day's victories over his seventh trough of ale.

Unable to stomach the Sarafan Lord's raucous laughter or his wild boasts (she'd seen him hiding behind a tree when the Melchahim got out their catapult) any longer, Freya took her wineskin and slipped off towards the edge of their encampment, seeking the serene quiet of the warm summer night. She stopped a short distance from the camp; close enough to hear the babble of conversation, but far enough away to not be able to distinguish the grating tones of the Sarafan Lord's voice. She sat herself beneath the spreading branches of a tree with only a small loss of dignity, casting a swift glance around to make sure no-one had seen her before getting stuck into the wine again.

A twig snapped somewhere off to her left. After a quick pat around her belt, she cursed herself for a fool for leaving her sword (such as it was) strapped to her mount on the far side of the fire. As Freya struggled to her feet, a figure presented itself before her, dressed in black from neck to toe (the better to move unseen in the dark) save for the by now all-too- familiar symbol of the Razielim which was raised in red relief on his chest. He was young, that much she could tell even in this weak light, or at least he had been when the fiends had taken him. She found herself wondering what life this boy had missed out on by succumbing at such a tender age.

"My Lord requests your presence."

"Does he now?" Freya made an effort not to slur. "What for? Can't he wait until next week? We're fighting over Nuprac . . . Nutcrack . . ."

"Nupraptor?" put in the fledgeling, helpfully.

"Yeah him. His keep."

"My Lord has instructed me to tell you that he has the documents you seek."

That sobered her. She put down the wineskin. "Is he willing to trade?"

"That I do not know, but you have his assurance that the Relstadt Day truce will be honoured." Against her better judgement, Freya nodded her assent. If there was even the remotest chance that she could get a look at those texts, she had to take it. With a final glance at the camp, and the still wildly gesticulating silhouette of Antaris, she indicated that he should lead the way.

It took a little over an hour on the mounts Isca had brought to reach the place that Raziel had named for their meeting, a small and seldom-used vampire sanctuary near a lake at the western edge of Melchiah's territory. The fledgeling opened the stone door (Freya wondered idly how the hinges worked) to admit her into his Lord's presence, immediately afterwards bowing and retreating back outside before closing the portal with a solid, scraping thud. Freya surveyed the room. It was a rough-walled chamber that seemed to have been hewn from the solid rock of the hill; its only furnishings were a wooden table, two chairs, and a small fireplace in whose hearth a blaze burned with an odd-coloured flame.

"I wasn't sure you'd come - especially not unarmed," commented Raziel by way of a greeting, nodding to her empty weapons belt.

Freya ignored his observation and changed instantly to the subject that had been plaguing her for months. "You deliberately threw the fight at the Sun Temple, didn't you?"

"I already had the only items of value that temple ever held."

"What have you done with them?"

"I took them to my master, who ordered them destroyed." Raziel was enjoying the vast range of emotions that were chasing each other on and off the woman's face.

"Your soldier told me you still had them!"

Raziel chuckled. "I always was a man with an eye for a bargain," he said, regarding her steadily as he paced around the stone-walled room. "And so I kept them. I thought they might be of use to me in procuring other, more valuable items."

"What did you have in mind?" Asked Freya warily, her overactive imagination conjuring up the blackest images of the kind of payment a Vampire might exact from a Sarafan.

"What will you offer?"

"I cannot give you what the Sarafan hold - it is not mine to give. The only thing I ever had of any value was my sword, and that's long gone." She said regretfully.

"Then it seems we are at an impasse."

As Freya studied the blue flickering flames of the fire in the hope that they might give her inspiration, she heard a sound that made her ears twitch of their own accord: a metallic rasp, ending in a musical ting that signalled the emergence of a blade from its sheath. Just as the cadence of a friend's voice is instantly recognisable amongst a myriad others, so too was the distinctive tone of the very metal in her own sword. She leaped to her feet, the act almost causing her to run onto the blade itself, which the vampire held extended before him. She caught her breath and took a reluctant step backwards, eyes glued to the gleaming blade.

"Where did you find it?" the question was a whisper that would barely have been audible to human ears.

"In the blood demon." Raziel answered, watching her reaction with interest. After a moment she dragged her gaze upwards from the object of her desire to see what he intended. The vampire's expression made the answer clear.

"You're not going to give it to me, are you?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Raziel had rarely seen such control. It was evident that the P'ramma wanted nothing more than to wrest the weapon from him, but she was keeping herself in check - just barely. She was fidgeting furiously, clenching and unclenching her fists with the effort it was taking not to reach for the sword. Much as he was enjoying her torment, he realised he must make his demands. He sheathed the weapon and laid it on the table, pacing back towards the fire with his hands clasped behind him.

"There is something I want from you." Freya steeled herself. "I want you to cease your attacks on our tithe villages." Taking her puzzled frown as a refusal, he carried on, "The conflict between us has reached a civilized level, and I'm sure you will agree it no longer seems . . . appropriate for such barbaric practices to continue."

"What's a tithe village?"

The Vampire Lord stopped his pacing and regarded her angrily. "Now is not the time for feigning innocence, Sarafan." However, at Freya's ardent protestations, he elaborated.

"When the Sarafan knights first gained a foothold in this land, and began to spread their religion and teachings to the surrounding areas, there were many who would not subscribe to their doctrines. Many people had, by this time, learned to live side-by-side with us, and did not welcome the Sarafan insistence that their following of the Old Gods was blasphemy. The Blood Wars saw the end of both great cities that housed humans partial to our cause, and now only a few small pockets of opposition remain."

"Where does the tithe come in?" Freya was almost afraid to ask.

"The Vampire Lord who holds the land on which the humans dwell is responsible for keeping them safe from the Sarafan marauders - a task which becomes more difficult with each passing year - in return for a small blood tithe."

He stopped. Freya was staring at him open-mouthed. "This is pure fiction, Raziel! Do you really expect me to believe any of this? That good, honest Sarafan knights would attack other humans?"

Raziel sat down in one of the wooden chairs with a frown. It hardly seemed possible that the Sarafan's own leader could be ignorant of these events, but it was blatantly obvious both from her tone and expression, as well as the almost palpable emotions she was emitting that she was in earnest. Which then begged the question: how deep did Antaris' treachery and deceit go?

"All I'm asking is that you follow Antaris' Special Forces on their next covert mission. If it is as I say, you will order a cessation and I will return your sword."

"And the texts?"

"One thing at a time, P'ramma." replied the vampire with a triumphant grin. " It would be imprudent of me to give up two potential bargaining chips when one will suffice. Don't you agree?"

Freya sat back in her chair let out a breath through her teeth with a hiss. For a moment she considered telling him she'd prefer the Sarafan writings at this point, but one look at the glossy black scabbard and demonic hilt was enough to convince her otherwise. One other thought disturbed her, however, inducing her to ask, "What if I follow these "Special Forces" and I find there are no attacks - what if I find you lied about the whole thing?"

"That's a chance you're going to have to take if you want your sword back." The Vampire Lord could read her internal struggle like a book, and he savoured every moment of her anguish.

With a resigned sigh, Freya agreed. She was about to get to her feet when she noticed with a start that the vampire had one hand extended towards her. She regarded the three-fingered claw as though unsure of its function.

"Do the Sarafan no longer observe even this simple tradition?" he asked in mock outrage. "Are deals no longer sealed with a handshake?"

"Of course . . ." murmured Freya distractedly. The only physical contact she'd had with these creatures heretofore was when she'd been trying to eviscerate them. The thought was repellent, but as the regaining of her sword was first and foremost in her mind, she hesitantly reached out to make contact.

He engaged her hand in a cool, firm grip. The sensation reminded her not of the icy chill of death as she'd expected, but more of the cooling effect of a fresh breeze on a hot summer's day. Their eyes locked and for a brief moment, the same impossible thought was shared by two minds.

Freya broke contact almost instantly, rising from the chair with such alacrity that it tipped over with a clatter. "I will contact you when I have done what you ask."

Raziel inclined his head in affirmation, perceiving with some amusement that the P'ramma would no longer look him in the eye. When she had departed, he called Isca to his side.

"Go find me a human. All this talk has made me thirsty."