"No, that is not the way to draw a sword!" Dumah's voice thundered across the empty courtyard, making Clara drop the small short sword she held in her gloved hands. The girl, face streaked with dirt and sweat, turned to look at her uncle as he walked towards her. Clara was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, her feet bare and covered from head to toe in dust. The look that crossed her uncle's face made the six-year-old want to both quake in fear and at the same time look at him in defiance. She had been practicing for over three turns from the hourglass and now that uncle Dumah had found something that displeased him in her routine, Clara would most likely spend the next two turns of the hourglass with more training.
"What did I do wrong now, uncle Dumah," Clara asked plaintively as the Clan Lord stood over her. Dumah folded his arms across his massive chest and gave a deep frown.
"The way you are drawing a sword, Clara. In the time you pull it from the scabbard, someone would have already lopped off your own head," he growled.
"But it's so heavy," she began to whine. "And I'm not as fast as you are or as strong." Clara felt like she was going to cry from frustration, but she held the tears back. She did not want to appear weak in front of an uncle that she knew was strong; she wanted to be as strong as him.
Dumah took the short sword from Clara and held it easily in one talon. "No excuses, Clara, and no whining. That is weak and warriors are not weak. Only through training and diligent practice will you be able to wield a sword, and then you can become a master of the blade."
"Like you?" Clara looked up at her uncle who was framed in the light of the rising moon. Practice for her had begun before the sun had set and it would continue until Dumah was satisfied with her progress. It had been this way since Clara had turned six, only two weeks ago. Her training had begun the day immediately following her birthday and would not let up until she was over twenty seasons old. She had no time to play now with her friends but when she thought of it, Clara would have rather spent more time in the training halls than anywhere else. If it hadn't been for the constant reminders from her uncle, then Clara would never have gone home to her father…and that had happened more times than not.
Dumah knelt down until he was eye to eye with his niece. Clara looked him straight in the eye, never away, and placed her hands on her hips. While some other humans would flinch from the powerful Lord of Clan Dumahim, Clara didn't and she prided herself in that. But then she knew she was not like other humans, that she had been blessed. Dumah chuckled and handed the sword back to Clara. "Yes, one day you might be able to match my skills with the blade, but until that day comes you must-"
"Practice," Clara finished without much enthusiasm.
"Yes."
The little girl looked up at the vampire lord. "Might I be able to take a break for a few moments, uncle Dumah?" She put on her most pitiful expression, which wasn't hard to do at all. Dumah had fallen for it more than once, and the only uncle that Clara's puppy dog expression had no effect on was Zephon. The vampire gave a grunt of acknowledgement and Clara happily moved towards the door that led into the training halls, away from the silent courtyard. Dumah followed and noticed cynically that Clara couldn't be all that tired if she was skipping and jumping around.
Clara's eyes adjusted quickly from the near-twilight outside to the harsh glare of torches along the walls. Her uncle Dumah's home was so different from her father's; Melchiah's chambers extended deep underground while Dumah's rose into the skies in the forms of steep battlements and winding staircases. Sometimes Clara felt a bit of fear whenever she walked along the parapets, but of course she never showed it, at least when she was with her uncle Dumah. Walking over to a bucket of water in a corner of the room that had been placed there just for her, Clara stripped off her gloves and dunked both her head and hands in. She pulled her head back out and laughed, then shook her hands, which caused the water to spray across the room.
"Watch it, Clara," Dumah warned her. She turned to see him sitting down on the only bench in the room, spears and javelins lined on racks on the wall behind him. On the opposite wall hung a few battleaxes, too heavy for Clara to ever lift. Only a vampire would be capable of holding them. The door Clara and Dumah had come through led straight down a narrow hall to more practice rooms, albeit not as big as the one she was standing in. "When I bring you back to your father, he will accuse me of trying to drown you, Clara. You look like something that was pulled out of the river."
"My daddy won't hurt you, uncle Dumah." Clara sat down next to the Clan Lord and squeezed the excess water out of her blond hair. "If he leaves me here with you, then that has to mean he trusts you."
The simplicity of the sentence that Clara spoke unnerved Dumah. His feelings for humans generally remained the same; they were cattle and only good as feed for vampires. But Clara, although human, was different from them. She was so much smarter than the other rabble…why it was as if she was more vampire than human, even if she had not been bitten. Sometimes Dumah forgot this and shook his head wryly. A warrior must always be on guard but Clara, for such a young age, had a way of putting him off balance. Or maybe because she is my niece and I am fond of her, Dumah thought.
"Uncle Dumah, will you be able to spar with me?" Clara stood up and hefted her short sword in both hands, standing in a defensive position. "You know, just for fun?"
Dumah quirked an eyebrow and grinned, showing his fangs. "You do realize that the chances of you beating me are not very good, child." His chest swelled with pride when he saw Clara nod. Like a true warrior, she knew the odds and wouldn't back down. Why hadn't she arrived on his doorstep instead of his weakling brother Melchiah's? "Very well then, but if you start crying when you get hit…"
"I won't," she piped. Clara backed into the center of the room, looking from the corners of her eyes to make sure nothing would get into her way. She then waited with feigned patience as Dumah looked at the weapons along the walls. He finally decided on a spear with the tip smooth on one side, the other cruelly barbed. The shaft was made of solid oak and looked worn, but still capable of crunching bone. Whirling the spear over his head, Dumah gripped it in both hands and faced Clara, legs braced apart and leaning forwards slightly.
"Begin," was all he said. Clara ducked to the left, her bare feet moving across the stone floor quickly, and then charged towards her uncle with the short sword raised out in front of her. Dumah easily moved to the side and Clara passed him by; the Clan Lord whacked her on the back with the butt end of his speak. Clara, instead of falling to the ground full on the face, managed to turn the fall into a shoulder roll and came back up quickly, her damp hair covering her eyes. Dumah grunted with pride, she had picked up the basic skills quickly and it looked like she would be ready to head into the more advanced classes within a month or two.
Dumah feinted to the right, then jabbed his spear down low and to the middle, looking to impale Clara in the stomach. Of course he would hold when it all came down to it, but the point of this sparring was to make Clara believe it would be real, for when you were out on the battlefield fantasy became reality all too quickly. The girl blocked the blow with her sword, the impact jarring her arms and nearly making her lose her hold of the weapon. The vampire lord pulled back, and Clara charged head first towards her uncle as he expected. She gave her own miniature war cry, which in Dumah's opinion needed to be worked on, but he said nothing. Dumah tried to slide out of the way again, but Clara had actually planned on that move and, ducking low, pierced Dumah in the left ankle.
He swore profoundly and twisted away from Clara and she rolled along the ground until she had her back up to the wall. She leaned against the stonewall, her face red from exertion but also from surprise. She had actually managed to nick her uncle. It wasn't much and more than anything else it had probably been luck, but she would brag about this to her father and he would defiantly be pleased. Dumah, on the other hand, was considering that Clara should be moved up into the advanced classes come tomorrow and that he would give her a dull sword.
"I win," Clara shouted out suddenly, a large smile lighting up her face. "I win, I win, I win against you uncle Dumah! I-" The little girl didn't say anything else. Dumah's spear slashed through the air quickly, connecting with Clara's short sword and knocking it from her small hand. The blade spun through the air and landed near the opened doorway. It was too far for Clara to run to and even if she tried then Dumah would strike her with his spear. She looked at her uncle's face, which was an expressionless mask. His spear tip was a hand's breath from her throat, unwavering. Clara gulped and looked at her uncle Dumah.
"I don't win," was all she could say at the moment.
The Clan Lord straightened and went back to place the spear on the wall. The cut Clara had given him was already healed and there was no sight of blood. Dumah turned to look at Clara as she went to retrieve her short sword and placed it in the scabbard. "Now, what do you think you did wrong, Clara?" Dumah stood immobile, waiting for a response.
Clara shuffled her feet and wiped a grimy hand across her forehead, leaving a black streak. "I…I became overconfident, uncle Dumah." She cast her eyes downwards, wishing that she could crawl into one of the cracks and hide away. "And that was why I lost. It won't happen again."
Dumah nodded. "Good. You are learning. And it takes time. Now twenty laps around the courtyard, then you can go home."
"Oh, uncle Dumah," the whine was back in her voice.
"Go." The command he gave his niece was the same he issued to his warriors, binding and unbreakable. With a sulky look to her face, Clara walked out of the training room and began to run laps around the large and still empty courtyard. Dumah leaned against the wall, turning his gaze from time to time to the moon above, which hung as a crescent in the dark sky. His yellow eyes followed Clara's shadowed form as she completed her tenth lap; strain was showing on her face but all she did was press her lips in a line and continued to run. For a six year old, she was so mature.
"You will make a find warrior, Clara. And you do your uncle proud," Dumah whispered to himself.
* * *
"I cannot believe that I actually let you do that to her," Melchiah grumbled slightly. "But then, she was boasting as much as you did when she came back home, saying she had managed to cut you." Dumah folded his arms across his chest and shifted uncomfortable, thinking Melchiah was silently laughing at him. He was, but there wasn't much he could do.
"Well, I have to leave, sibling. Until I see you again." Dumah gave a brief nod, then flicked his cape over his shoulder and left the chamber just as quickly as he had entered it. Melchiah thought he saw a look of happiness cross his older brother's rock-like face; some memories once brought back up to the surface could be very entertaining. A shuffling noise out in the hall made Melchiah look up and there, standing in the doorway with a book in one hand and fixing his glasses with the other was Rahab. The scholarly brother gave a slight smile and walked in.
"And here I thought this room would be vacant," Rahab mused. "Reminiscing, Melchiah? Is it turning into one of those days?" He looked at a collection of books that lined one of the walls, nodding his head as he recognized some of the titles.
"Yes, Rahab. Dumah had just finished telling me…well, when Clara first began training with him. It's weird, is it not?" Melchiah's voice took on a quiet tone. "The different memories that we all have of Clara?"
Rahab sensed the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. He did not want to add to Melchiah's dark mood, which he could see was growing darker by the moment and he did not need logic from a book to tell him such. Sitting down on the bed beside his youngest brother, Rahab opened up the tome he was carrying and began to chuckle. "Well, if you do not mind, then I would like to sit here and reminisce with you." He took his glasses off and polished them with his clan banner, then placed them back on. "You do not mind, do you?"
Melchiah shook his head. "I do not mind. It…helps me."
"Well then, do you recall Clara when she was stuck with me in my dreary, boring library and I tried to teach her the finer points of knowledge?"
"It was never boring for her," Melchiah protested.
"Hah! She was a child and it was boring for her, even if she did not want to admit it because she did not want to hurt her favorite uncle's feelings. But she was bright; I give you that much, Melchiah. Oh, Clara learned much with me and put it all to good use, even if she, and begging your pardon on this Melchiah, fought me every step of the way." Rahab saw Melchiah smile a little and felt the mood in the room lighten somewhat. "Oh yes, she put her hard won knowledge to good use indeed…"
"What did I do wrong now, uncle Dumah," Clara asked plaintively as the Clan Lord stood over her. Dumah folded his arms across his massive chest and gave a deep frown.
"The way you are drawing a sword, Clara. In the time you pull it from the scabbard, someone would have already lopped off your own head," he growled.
"But it's so heavy," she began to whine. "And I'm not as fast as you are or as strong." Clara felt like she was going to cry from frustration, but she held the tears back. She did not want to appear weak in front of an uncle that she knew was strong; she wanted to be as strong as him.
Dumah took the short sword from Clara and held it easily in one talon. "No excuses, Clara, and no whining. That is weak and warriors are not weak. Only through training and diligent practice will you be able to wield a sword, and then you can become a master of the blade."
"Like you?" Clara looked up at her uncle who was framed in the light of the rising moon. Practice for her had begun before the sun had set and it would continue until Dumah was satisfied with her progress. It had been this way since Clara had turned six, only two weeks ago. Her training had begun the day immediately following her birthday and would not let up until she was over twenty seasons old. She had no time to play now with her friends but when she thought of it, Clara would have rather spent more time in the training halls than anywhere else. If it hadn't been for the constant reminders from her uncle, then Clara would never have gone home to her father…and that had happened more times than not.
Dumah knelt down until he was eye to eye with his niece. Clara looked him straight in the eye, never away, and placed her hands on her hips. While some other humans would flinch from the powerful Lord of Clan Dumahim, Clara didn't and she prided herself in that. But then she knew she was not like other humans, that she had been blessed. Dumah chuckled and handed the sword back to Clara. "Yes, one day you might be able to match my skills with the blade, but until that day comes you must-"
"Practice," Clara finished without much enthusiasm.
"Yes."
The little girl looked up at the vampire lord. "Might I be able to take a break for a few moments, uncle Dumah?" She put on her most pitiful expression, which wasn't hard to do at all. Dumah had fallen for it more than once, and the only uncle that Clara's puppy dog expression had no effect on was Zephon. The vampire gave a grunt of acknowledgement and Clara happily moved towards the door that led into the training halls, away from the silent courtyard. Dumah followed and noticed cynically that Clara couldn't be all that tired if she was skipping and jumping around.
Clara's eyes adjusted quickly from the near-twilight outside to the harsh glare of torches along the walls. Her uncle Dumah's home was so different from her father's; Melchiah's chambers extended deep underground while Dumah's rose into the skies in the forms of steep battlements and winding staircases. Sometimes Clara felt a bit of fear whenever she walked along the parapets, but of course she never showed it, at least when she was with her uncle Dumah. Walking over to a bucket of water in a corner of the room that had been placed there just for her, Clara stripped off her gloves and dunked both her head and hands in. She pulled her head back out and laughed, then shook her hands, which caused the water to spray across the room.
"Watch it, Clara," Dumah warned her. She turned to see him sitting down on the only bench in the room, spears and javelins lined on racks on the wall behind him. On the opposite wall hung a few battleaxes, too heavy for Clara to ever lift. Only a vampire would be capable of holding them. The door Clara and Dumah had come through led straight down a narrow hall to more practice rooms, albeit not as big as the one she was standing in. "When I bring you back to your father, he will accuse me of trying to drown you, Clara. You look like something that was pulled out of the river."
"My daddy won't hurt you, uncle Dumah." Clara sat down next to the Clan Lord and squeezed the excess water out of her blond hair. "If he leaves me here with you, then that has to mean he trusts you."
The simplicity of the sentence that Clara spoke unnerved Dumah. His feelings for humans generally remained the same; they were cattle and only good as feed for vampires. But Clara, although human, was different from them. She was so much smarter than the other rabble…why it was as if she was more vampire than human, even if she had not been bitten. Sometimes Dumah forgot this and shook his head wryly. A warrior must always be on guard but Clara, for such a young age, had a way of putting him off balance. Or maybe because she is my niece and I am fond of her, Dumah thought.
"Uncle Dumah, will you be able to spar with me?" Clara stood up and hefted her short sword in both hands, standing in a defensive position. "You know, just for fun?"
Dumah quirked an eyebrow and grinned, showing his fangs. "You do realize that the chances of you beating me are not very good, child." His chest swelled with pride when he saw Clara nod. Like a true warrior, she knew the odds and wouldn't back down. Why hadn't she arrived on his doorstep instead of his weakling brother Melchiah's? "Very well then, but if you start crying when you get hit…"
"I won't," she piped. Clara backed into the center of the room, looking from the corners of her eyes to make sure nothing would get into her way. She then waited with feigned patience as Dumah looked at the weapons along the walls. He finally decided on a spear with the tip smooth on one side, the other cruelly barbed. The shaft was made of solid oak and looked worn, but still capable of crunching bone. Whirling the spear over his head, Dumah gripped it in both hands and faced Clara, legs braced apart and leaning forwards slightly.
"Begin," was all he said. Clara ducked to the left, her bare feet moving across the stone floor quickly, and then charged towards her uncle with the short sword raised out in front of her. Dumah easily moved to the side and Clara passed him by; the Clan Lord whacked her on the back with the butt end of his speak. Clara, instead of falling to the ground full on the face, managed to turn the fall into a shoulder roll and came back up quickly, her damp hair covering her eyes. Dumah grunted with pride, she had picked up the basic skills quickly and it looked like she would be ready to head into the more advanced classes within a month or two.
Dumah feinted to the right, then jabbed his spear down low and to the middle, looking to impale Clara in the stomach. Of course he would hold when it all came down to it, but the point of this sparring was to make Clara believe it would be real, for when you were out on the battlefield fantasy became reality all too quickly. The girl blocked the blow with her sword, the impact jarring her arms and nearly making her lose her hold of the weapon. The vampire lord pulled back, and Clara charged head first towards her uncle as he expected. She gave her own miniature war cry, which in Dumah's opinion needed to be worked on, but he said nothing. Dumah tried to slide out of the way again, but Clara had actually planned on that move and, ducking low, pierced Dumah in the left ankle.
He swore profoundly and twisted away from Clara and she rolled along the ground until she had her back up to the wall. She leaned against the stonewall, her face red from exertion but also from surprise. She had actually managed to nick her uncle. It wasn't much and more than anything else it had probably been luck, but she would brag about this to her father and he would defiantly be pleased. Dumah, on the other hand, was considering that Clara should be moved up into the advanced classes come tomorrow and that he would give her a dull sword.
"I win," Clara shouted out suddenly, a large smile lighting up her face. "I win, I win, I win against you uncle Dumah! I-" The little girl didn't say anything else. Dumah's spear slashed through the air quickly, connecting with Clara's short sword and knocking it from her small hand. The blade spun through the air and landed near the opened doorway. It was too far for Clara to run to and even if she tried then Dumah would strike her with his spear. She looked at her uncle's face, which was an expressionless mask. His spear tip was a hand's breath from her throat, unwavering. Clara gulped and looked at her uncle Dumah.
"I don't win," was all she could say at the moment.
The Clan Lord straightened and went back to place the spear on the wall. The cut Clara had given him was already healed and there was no sight of blood. Dumah turned to look at Clara as she went to retrieve her short sword and placed it in the scabbard. "Now, what do you think you did wrong, Clara?" Dumah stood immobile, waiting for a response.
Clara shuffled her feet and wiped a grimy hand across her forehead, leaving a black streak. "I…I became overconfident, uncle Dumah." She cast her eyes downwards, wishing that she could crawl into one of the cracks and hide away. "And that was why I lost. It won't happen again."
Dumah nodded. "Good. You are learning. And it takes time. Now twenty laps around the courtyard, then you can go home."
"Oh, uncle Dumah," the whine was back in her voice.
"Go." The command he gave his niece was the same he issued to his warriors, binding and unbreakable. With a sulky look to her face, Clara walked out of the training room and began to run laps around the large and still empty courtyard. Dumah leaned against the wall, turning his gaze from time to time to the moon above, which hung as a crescent in the dark sky. His yellow eyes followed Clara's shadowed form as she completed her tenth lap; strain was showing on her face but all she did was press her lips in a line and continued to run. For a six year old, she was so mature.
"You will make a find warrior, Clara. And you do your uncle proud," Dumah whispered to himself.
* * *
"I cannot believe that I actually let you do that to her," Melchiah grumbled slightly. "But then, she was boasting as much as you did when she came back home, saying she had managed to cut you." Dumah folded his arms across his chest and shifted uncomfortable, thinking Melchiah was silently laughing at him. He was, but there wasn't much he could do.
"Well, I have to leave, sibling. Until I see you again." Dumah gave a brief nod, then flicked his cape over his shoulder and left the chamber just as quickly as he had entered it. Melchiah thought he saw a look of happiness cross his older brother's rock-like face; some memories once brought back up to the surface could be very entertaining. A shuffling noise out in the hall made Melchiah look up and there, standing in the doorway with a book in one hand and fixing his glasses with the other was Rahab. The scholarly brother gave a slight smile and walked in.
"And here I thought this room would be vacant," Rahab mused. "Reminiscing, Melchiah? Is it turning into one of those days?" He looked at a collection of books that lined one of the walls, nodding his head as he recognized some of the titles.
"Yes, Rahab. Dumah had just finished telling me…well, when Clara first began training with him. It's weird, is it not?" Melchiah's voice took on a quiet tone. "The different memories that we all have of Clara?"
Rahab sensed the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. He did not want to add to Melchiah's dark mood, which he could see was growing darker by the moment and he did not need logic from a book to tell him such. Sitting down on the bed beside his youngest brother, Rahab opened up the tome he was carrying and began to chuckle. "Well, if you do not mind, then I would like to sit here and reminisce with you." He took his glasses off and polished them with his clan banner, then placed them back on. "You do not mind, do you?"
Melchiah shook his head. "I do not mind. It…helps me."
"Well then, do you recall Clara when she was stuck with me in my dreary, boring library and I tried to teach her the finer points of knowledge?"
"It was never boring for her," Melchiah protested.
"Hah! She was a child and it was boring for her, even if she did not want to admit it because she did not want to hurt her favorite uncle's feelings. But she was bright; I give you that much, Melchiah. Oh, Clara learned much with me and put it all to good use, even if she, and begging your pardon on this Melchiah, fought me every step of the way." Rahab saw Melchiah smile a little and felt the mood in the room lighten somewhat. "Oh yes, she put her hard won knowledge to good use indeed…"
