A sharp dig in the ribs forced Freya to roll sideways with a groan - surely
it was far too early to be thinking about getting up. As her relaxing body
settled back to its former position, another painful jab made her open her
eyes in annoyance. She bit down on the acerbic comment she'd been about to
make as she recognised her tormentor for a protruding root. Feeling a
little sheepish, and undeniably awake now, she glanced about to check her
surroundings. The ancient forest snaked off in every direction, diffuse
sunlight bathing the scene in a fresh emerald hue. Over to her right sat
the group of vampires in whose company she'd found herself the previous
night. Suddenly suspicious, she reached up and checked her neck. Intact.
The act soon brought another fact to her attention: sometime during the
night, she'd been covered with a warm red cloak. A little ashamed at her
own mistrust, Freya rose to join the circle.
She found the Razielim still discussing their recent revelation and making plans for a thorough search for their long-lost Lord. Isca nodded a greeting to her, accepting the return of his folded cloak with a suave smile. As her eyes roved over the assembled group, Freya found herself wondering anew at her change in circumstances; one minute awaiting the bailiffs, and the next sharing a camp with two score Vampire warriors. Recent events notwithstanding, she harboured no illusions about the possibility of these men maintaining a stable temperament; she was fully aware that these were vicious, deadly killers - not to be trifled with. The woman consoled herself with the fact that they were at least less likely to kill her than the local undead, more so since she'd apologised for killing their advance scout the night before - Isca had eased her conscience by confiding that he'd never liked the man anyway. Overall, she viewed her new situation as an improvement.
Much to the Vampires' delight, Freya was able to make some helpful suggestions as to where they might next look for Raziel. She didn't much relish the thought of wandering through the underground chambers that linked the Elder God's lair with the swamp, so she advised her companions that sooner or later, the Soul Reaver would be heading for Janos Audron's Aerie, and later to the Sarafan Stronghold. With the former destination in mind, they broke camp. Isca had by now exchanged his massive suit of armour for the more familiar Clan regalia, and Freya soon found an opening in the conversation to quiz him on his change of protective clothing.
"We were expecting trouble last night - hence the demon helm: the more imposing the armour, the more intimidated the Sarafan." replied Isca sagely.
An Elite at his side snorted derisively. "Ha! Don't let him fool you - he's not wearing it today because he likes to show off his muscles in female company."
Isca afforded his subordinate a quelling look. "Do you want advance scout duties tonight?"
Freya's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Touched a nerve?"
Isca looked hurt. Unable to contain herself any longer, Freya burst out laughing and punched him on the arm in jest. Seeing the funny side at last, the vampire's face broke into a broad smile as he clapped the woman on the back, an action which sent her stumbling forward several paces, bent double. She forced a laugh between gritted teeth, her eyes riveted on a most interesting shrub at the side of the track until the grimace was gone from her face. The Razielim mood was light as they travelled along - they were off to find their Lord, they had someone in their midst with inside information, and the path ahead was bright and clear.
Presently, the track they were following curved around to lead into a large clearing, bisected by a babbling stream and a half-tumbled bridge. The rest of the scene brought the group of out-of-time vampires to a dead halt. At irregular intervals throughout the grassy dell, long poles had been erected, their sharpened points reddened with gore. Upon almost every shaft in the entire clearing was impaled a wretched, hapless vampire corpse, the agonised expressions on those faces visible to the revolted group providing clear evidence of the circumstances of their demise. The ground was a mire of sanguine sludge. The first sign of trouble to reach Freya's senses was the familiar swishing rasp of numerous swords leaving their scabbards - the vampires were evidently on the alert, although the cause of their disquiet was not yet visible to the naked eye. Abruptly, as though summoned, the clearing teemed with Sarafan warriors, accompanied by the vicious torpedoes of bristling fur that were the humans' vampire- hunting dogs.
"Stand fast!" Came the cry of the Sarafan leader, "They are too few to prevail against us."
Isca's face twisted into a malevolent grin as he regarded this new enemy with predatory amusement. This human's miscalculation would be his last. Keeping to the Clan trait of maintaining silence in attack to unnerve human opponents, the Razielim rushed them.
The vampires of this time were as far removed from their future cousins as housecats from lions, the humans of the time having little difficulty in keeping them under control. It was because of this preconception that this first group of Sarafan were ill-prepared for the sheer ferocity of the beings that beset them. These huge, malevolent beasts bore down on them without so much as a battle cry, barely pausing in their stride as man after man was cut down in fountains of crimson and scarlet. Sated with the impersonal approach, Isca grabbed a nearby woman, armed and armoured as her male counterparts, and hefted her from the ground by his grip on her breastplate. Having never encountered a creature of such palpable power before, the Sarafan's sword slipped from her limp fingers as she shook her head in denial of the sight before her. Anon, she began an impassioned plea for her life, the note in her voice eliciting a gradual softening of the vampire's scowl. Relieved that her words were having some effect, the woman continued, her hand seeking out that of her captor in an attempt to placate him further. Tiring of the game, Isca plunged his sword straight through the Sarafan mare's chest, watching in satisfaction as thick gouts of blood marred her uncomprehending expression. Dropping the body to the ground, he twisted the weapon as he retrieved it to seal the female's fate. The act completed, his sweeping gaze sought his comrades and found to his approval that they were deriving as much pleasure from this battle as he.
Freya meanwhile had backed up against one of the still-standing pillars that supported the remains of the bridge, unprepared for this particular scenario. She had never in her life killed another human being, and although - had circumstances allowed - she would have ended Antaris' life in an instant, the Sarafan Lord had been trying to kill her. Repeatedly. These Sarafan on the other hand had done nothing to her, so for the moment she contented herself in watching the battle royal that was being enacted before her. Although she had faced Vampire armies many times as the Sarafan P'ramma, the tumultuous rush of combat often meant that one had no time to focus on anything other than one's own opponent, and the chance to see these engines of destruction in action when her own life wasn't at stake was too good to miss.
Everywhere she looked she saw scenes of raw carnage as the Razielim engaged these fanatical warriors with a bloodlust that suggested it had been some time since they fed. She observed closely as a Sarafan who had managed to force his adversary's head beneath the rushing waters of the stream backed off in horror as the vampire re-emerged, impossibly unscathed by the treatment. The man retreated further as the demon rose swiftly before him in bare-fanged amusement, a clean side-swipe of lethal talons separating the human from his internal organs. The Sarafan leader, whose initial pompous proclamation had been proven so very inaccurate was running in shameless fear from an Elite guard, the latter's current weapon of choice an armoured Sarafan limb. The vampire was hard pressed to contain his mirth.
Suddenly, something moved on the edge of Freya's field of vision, causing her to drop her hand to the hilt of her katana in preparation. Two Sarafan were sneaking up on her from behind the bridge. They flanked her, weapons at the ready, pausing to exchange a few words before attacking.
"This one's too good to join in the fight." scoffed one.
"Whassamatter, pretty, don't want to get blood on your nice clothes?" added the other.
Glancing from one sneering face to another in alarm, Freya explained, "I'm human."
The derisive smiles that had marked the men's attitudes vanished sharply, to be replaced by a look of hatred far more concentrated than any they had afforded the vampires.
"Vampire-loving scum!" yelled one. As the two began a vicious, frenzied attack, Freya belatedly remembered that the Sarafan from this time were, if anything, even more mindlessly zealous than those with whom she had served.
"Your kind - are worse than the monsters themselves - it's because of you - that these unholy parasites - lay waste to the land!" cried the other, his words punctuated by the maniacal blows he was aiming at her head.
Freya sighed resignedly. So much for humanity.
Isca turned as his latest conquest fell writhing into the dirt at his feet, just in time to see the two Sarafan corner and attack Freya. A snarl curled his lip as he set off for the bridge at a loping run, wondering why the woman had allowed them to get so close. Keenly aware that if they lost her now, they'd lose their best chance at tracking down Raziel, the vampire resolved to have a few words with her when the fighting was done. If she survived.
The vampire's concern was misplaced. Having decided to fight for her life, the two young zealots were no match for Freya's considerable and well- practised skills. Using a leg sweep to knock the first off his feet, she kicked the sword from his hand, timing her next movement carefully to simultaneously duck his companion's awkward slice at her neck and pick up the discarded weapon. Thus armed, she thrust both blades into their respective abdomens with a satisfying crunch. Freya watched sadly as the still-upright warrior slid off the end of her katana with a bubbling moan. So it began. She was now a murderer.
The fight over, Isca motioned to his men to continue scouting ahead, drawing Freya to one side of the clearing as he did so. Still a little numb from the realisation of what she had done, Freya allowed herself to be led beneath the shadow of the ruined bridge. Isca waited until her attention was focused on him once more before he began.
"You hesitated." He stated in level tones.
"I had a slight moral dilemma about killing other human beings." retorted Freya. "Don't worry - I'm over it now."
"Your hesitancy almost cost you your life."
"I'll be more careful." She moved to follow the others into the clearing, but found her path blocked by Isca's unyielding form. "What is it now?" she asked in exasperation.
"You could be harder to kill."
Interpreting the subtle implication, Freya set her jaw and shook her head in mute refusal. Isca tried another tack.
"I cannot guarantee your continued safety in our company." She met his steady gaze, uncertainty furrowing her brow. "When the Thirst comes, it won't matter that you've fought at their side. All they will see is a meal on legs. "
"They?" queried the woman.
"We." amended the vampire. "Consider it," he added gravely before turning to follow his Clan from the clearing.
With a distinct feeling that time was running out, Freya followed the departing Vampire.
This did not bode well.
She found the Razielim still discussing their recent revelation and making plans for a thorough search for their long-lost Lord. Isca nodded a greeting to her, accepting the return of his folded cloak with a suave smile. As her eyes roved over the assembled group, Freya found herself wondering anew at her change in circumstances; one minute awaiting the bailiffs, and the next sharing a camp with two score Vampire warriors. Recent events notwithstanding, she harboured no illusions about the possibility of these men maintaining a stable temperament; she was fully aware that these were vicious, deadly killers - not to be trifled with. The woman consoled herself with the fact that they were at least less likely to kill her than the local undead, more so since she'd apologised for killing their advance scout the night before - Isca had eased her conscience by confiding that he'd never liked the man anyway. Overall, she viewed her new situation as an improvement.
Much to the Vampires' delight, Freya was able to make some helpful suggestions as to where they might next look for Raziel. She didn't much relish the thought of wandering through the underground chambers that linked the Elder God's lair with the swamp, so she advised her companions that sooner or later, the Soul Reaver would be heading for Janos Audron's Aerie, and later to the Sarafan Stronghold. With the former destination in mind, they broke camp. Isca had by now exchanged his massive suit of armour for the more familiar Clan regalia, and Freya soon found an opening in the conversation to quiz him on his change of protective clothing.
"We were expecting trouble last night - hence the demon helm: the more imposing the armour, the more intimidated the Sarafan." replied Isca sagely.
An Elite at his side snorted derisively. "Ha! Don't let him fool you - he's not wearing it today because he likes to show off his muscles in female company."
Isca afforded his subordinate a quelling look. "Do you want advance scout duties tonight?"
Freya's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Touched a nerve?"
Isca looked hurt. Unable to contain herself any longer, Freya burst out laughing and punched him on the arm in jest. Seeing the funny side at last, the vampire's face broke into a broad smile as he clapped the woman on the back, an action which sent her stumbling forward several paces, bent double. She forced a laugh between gritted teeth, her eyes riveted on a most interesting shrub at the side of the track until the grimace was gone from her face. The Razielim mood was light as they travelled along - they were off to find their Lord, they had someone in their midst with inside information, and the path ahead was bright and clear.
Presently, the track they were following curved around to lead into a large clearing, bisected by a babbling stream and a half-tumbled bridge. The rest of the scene brought the group of out-of-time vampires to a dead halt. At irregular intervals throughout the grassy dell, long poles had been erected, their sharpened points reddened with gore. Upon almost every shaft in the entire clearing was impaled a wretched, hapless vampire corpse, the agonised expressions on those faces visible to the revolted group providing clear evidence of the circumstances of their demise. The ground was a mire of sanguine sludge. The first sign of trouble to reach Freya's senses was the familiar swishing rasp of numerous swords leaving their scabbards - the vampires were evidently on the alert, although the cause of their disquiet was not yet visible to the naked eye. Abruptly, as though summoned, the clearing teemed with Sarafan warriors, accompanied by the vicious torpedoes of bristling fur that were the humans' vampire- hunting dogs.
"Stand fast!" Came the cry of the Sarafan leader, "They are too few to prevail against us."
Isca's face twisted into a malevolent grin as he regarded this new enemy with predatory amusement. This human's miscalculation would be his last. Keeping to the Clan trait of maintaining silence in attack to unnerve human opponents, the Razielim rushed them.
The vampires of this time were as far removed from their future cousins as housecats from lions, the humans of the time having little difficulty in keeping them under control. It was because of this preconception that this first group of Sarafan were ill-prepared for the sheer ferocity of the beings that beset them. These huge, malevolent beasts bore down on them without so much as a battle cry, barely pausing in their stride as man after man was cut down in fountains of crimson and scarlet. Sated with the impersonal approach, Isca grabbed a nearby woman, armed and armoured as her male counterparts, and hefted her from the ground by his grip on her breastplate. Having never encountered a creature of such palpable power before, the Sarafan's sword slipped from her limp fingers as she shook her head in denial of the sight before her. Anon, she began an impassioned plea for her life, the note in her voice eliciting a gradual softening of the vampire's scowl. Relieved that her words were having some effect, the woman continued, her hand seeking out that of her captor in an attempt to placate him further. Tiring of the game, Isca plunged his sword straight through the Sarafan mare's chest, watching in satisfaction as thick gouts of blood marred her uncomprehending expression. Dropping the body to the ground, he twisted the weapon as he retrieved it to seal the female's fate. The act completed, his sweeping gaze sought his comrades and found to his approval that they were deriving as much pleasure from this battle as he.
Freya meanwhile had backed up against one of the still-standing pillars that supported the remains of the bridge, unprepared for this particular scenario. She had never in her life killed another human being, and although - had circumstances allowed - she would have ended Antaris' life in an instant, the Sarafan Lord had been trying to kill her. Repeatedly. These Sarafan on the other hand had done nothing to her, so for the moment she contented herself in watching the battle royal that was being enacted before her. Although she had faced Vampire armies many times as the Sarafan P'ramma, the tumultuous rush of combat often meant that one had no time to focus on anything other than one's own opponent, and the chance to see these engines of destruction in action when her own life wasn't at stake was too good to miss.
Everywhere she looked she saw scenes of raw carnage as the Razielim engaged these fanatical warriors with a bloodlust that suggested it had been some time since they fed. She observed closely as a Sarafan who had managed to force his adversary's head beneath the rushing waters of the stream backed off in horror as the vampire re-emerged, impossibly unscathed by the treatment. The man retreated further as the demon rose swiftly before him in bare-fanged amusement, a clean side-swipe of lethal talons separating the human from his internal organs. The Sarafan leader, whose initial pompous proclamation had been proven so very inaccurate was running in shameless fear from an Elite guard, the latter's current weapon of choice an armoured Sarafan limb. The vampire was hard pressed to contain his mirth.
Suddenly, something moved on the edge of Freya's field of vision, causing her to drop her hand to the hilt of her katana in preparation. Two Sarafan were sneaking up on her from behind the bridge. They flanked her, weapons at the ready, pausing to exchange a few words before attacking.
"This one's too good to join in the fight." scoffed one.
"Whassamatter, pretty, don't want to get blood on your nice clothes?" added the other.
Glancing from one sneering face to another in alarm, Freya explained, "I'm human."
The derisive smiles that had marked the men's attitudes vanished sharply, to be replaced by a look of hatred far more concentrated than any they had afforded the vampires.
"Vampire-loving scum!" yelled one. As the two began a vicious, frenzied attack, Freya belatedly remembered that the Sarafan from this time were, if anything, even more mindlessly zealous than those with whom she had served.
"Your kind - are worse than the monsters themselves - it's because of you - that these unholy parasites - lay waste to the land!" cried the other, his words punctuated by the maniacal blows he was aiming at her head.
Freya sighed resignedly. So much for humanity.
Isca turned as his latest conquest fell writhing into the dirt at his feet, just in time to see the two Sarafan corner and attack Freya. A snarl curled his lip as he set off for the bridge at a loping run, wondering why the woman had allowed them to get so close. Keenly aware that if they lost her now, they'd lose their best chance at tracking down Raziel, the vampire resolved to have a few words with her when the fighting was done. If she survived.
The vampire's concern was misplaced. Having decided to fight for her life, the two young zealots were no match for Freya's considerable and well- practised skills. Using a leg sweep to knock the first off his feet, she kicked the sword from his hand, timing her next movement carefully to simultaneously duck his companion's awkward slice at her neck and pick up the discarded weapon. Thus armed, she thrust both blades into their respective abdomens with a satisfying crunch. Freya watched sadly as the still-upright warrior slid off the end of her katana with a bubbling moan. So it began. She was now a murderer.
The fight over, Isca motioned to his men to continue scouting ahead, drawing Freya to one side of the clearing as he did so. Still a little numb from the realisation of what she had done, Freya allowed herself to be led beneath the shadow of the ruined bridge. Isca waited until her attention was focused on him once more before he began.
"You hesitated." He stated in level tones.
"I had a slight moral dilemma about killing other human beings." retorted Freya. "Don't worry - I'm over it now."
"Your hesitancy almost cost you your life."
"I'll be more careful." She moved to follow the others into the clearing, but found her path blocked by Isca's unyielding form. "What is it now?" she asked in exasperation.
"You could be harder to kill."
Interpreting the subtle implication, Freya set her jaw and shook her head in mute refusal. Isca tried another tack.
"I cannot guarantee your continued safety in our company." She met his steady gaze, uncertainty furrowing her brow. "When the Thirst comes, it won't matter that you've fought at their side. All they will see is a meal on legs. "
"They?" queried the woman.
"We." amended the vampire. "Consider it," he added gravely before turning to follow his Clan from the clearing.
With a distinct feeling that time was running out, Freya followed the departing Vampire.
This did not bode well.