The future master of the vampire race accorded the young fledge a narrow-
eyed, calculating look.
"Do I know you?"
Freya hastily shook her head, words deserting her. Though it was true that she had spoken to the future incarnation of Kain on one occasion, he had been about to run her through with the Soul Reaver, and she was in no hurry to reveal that to this younger version - especially since he was currently holding the self-same weapon.
"But you obviously know me." He continued, circling her slowly, his voice low and his enunciation impeccably precise as always.
"Only by reputation." breathed the fledgling, finding herself for the first time since her time-streaming had brought her into the past in some fear for her unlife. Kain stopped at the warm, discarded body of the Sarafan guard, a connection quickly forming in his brain.
"So it is your path of destruction I have been crossing these past few days."
Freya maintained her distance and remained silent while Kain regarded the still-bleeding corpse disdainfully and shook his head, clucking his tongue.
"Did your sire never teach you to drain your prey?"
At the mention of her maker, Freya's previously subdued anger erupted once again.
"No." she snarled vehemently through gritted teeth, her hands clenched and her entire frame taut as a wire.
Although aware of the fledgling's tension at his question, Kain ignored it for now, focusing his attention on the knight's body.
"Such waste."
Freya's rage was momentarily forgotten once more while she witnessed a torrent of blood tear its way free of the man's body, twisting and undulating in glistering, gravity-defying scarlet ribbons as it made its way to the gullet of the waiting fiend. As far as she knew, Kain was the only immortal to feed in this manner. As she watched the future subjugator of the Vampire race indulge his Thirst, Freya's fledgling senses became increasingly and uncomfortably aware of his presence. It was as though she stood in overly close proximity to some mesmerising power source, the aura of almost arrogant confidence that surrounded the chalk-skinned vampire pulsating with hedonistic vigour. Even Raziel, when Freya had encountered him at the full height of his vampiric evolution, had never exuded such raw, sadistic potency. It seemed to the fledgling's beguiled mind that the creature sating its needs from the prone form of the Sarafan knight embodied the epitome of immorality, and despite that observation, the allure of the power and knowledge that resided in him was undeniable.
Kain smiled to himself. Nothing escaped his attention.
As the immortal had followed the young vampire's trail across Meridian's underground, he had been surprised at the wanton destruction that the creature had wrought, and now that he had seen her, and witnessed her reaction to his quip about her sire, he deduced the truth. A fledgling deprived of the calming influence of its master often had a habit of becoming feral. Without the guidance and instruction normally accorded a fledge during the first years of its unlife, the creature could easily be overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of a thousand new abilities, thoughts and feelings that were alien to the human mind. It was possible to correct the damage, provided that action was taken quickly. This one, however, was already on the borderline, and therefore dangerous: furthermore, Kain sensed a strong antipathy to himself, although he could not guess its cause.
He glanced thoughtfully at the fledge once more as he wiped the blood from his mouth, then without another word, he turned to leave.
As Freya watched the immortal depart, she was torn. His chilling presence, though a blight on her untrained fledgling senses, had offered a strange sense of comfort: the fact that he, as a mature vampire must know about the confusing drives and emotions that were wracking her system on a daily basis and sending her ever closer to the brink of insanity was a powerful lure. Even now, Freya felt somewhat calmer after his blatant display of power, and on a certain level, she was loath to see him leave. On another, deeper level, however, lay the knowledge of the heinous deeds this lifeless bastard would commit over the next thousand years. His oppressive rule with its unnecessary bloodshed, his damnation of the land, and last but not least his actions against Raziel, and consequently the rest of the Clan all amounted to a plethora of sins for which he would never be forgiven.
Kain paused with his back still towards her, and cast a throwaway comment over his shoulder.
"I am raising an army." Hearing no response, he swung lithely around to face the woman once again, his gaze at once seductive, knowing, reassuring.
"Come with me, fledgling. I have need of officers with appetites for such wilful destruction. Besides," he added shrewdly, "There is much I can teach you."
The woman's feral yellow eyes met his, her newly-made decision overriding her former fear of him, and silver light scintillated from a battered Razielim scimitar as she gave him her answer.
*
Isca lay sleeplessly in the shuttered chamber, the early afternoon sunlight denied entrance by the stout defence of ancient wood. Ever and anon he glanced at the sleeping form of the woman who lay curled against his side, a small smile curving her lips even in her sleep. As he gingerly stroked a renegade lock of hair from her pale forehead, he felt her react to his touch with a wriggle and a sigh, aware of his proximity even when in the grasp of fledgling sleep. At her response, the vampire was wracked again by guilt for the action he was about to undertake. Closing his eyes fleetingly as he willed himself to leave the comforting embrace of his lover, Isca gently detached himself from her somnolent grasp and rose to dress. Hazarding one last harrowed glance at the curving outlines of his mate, he exited the chamber. Although from her point of view the Clan would be gone for less than a day, Isca had no idea how long it might be for him before he would once again know the comfort of her tender affections.
Although the entrance hall in which the company was scheduled to meet lay but a few minutes' walk from the room he had just vacated, Isca chose to take one last tour around the periphery of the walled fortress, more to give himself time to think than to check for any imagined dangers. On a certain level he knew that Raziel had the right of it: the presence of a newborn fledgling on a mission such as theirs would amount to nothing more than an unmitigated hindrance. Despite the woman's frequent moments of insight, not to mention her recently enhanced fighting skills, her aversion to daylight constituted a serious impediment to the undertaking of their quest, one which Raziel was not prepared to accept.
The difficulty had been not in taking the decision, but in persuading his single-minded Lord not to tell the woman of their plan. Raziel was of the opinion that the fledgling should be content with her lot - she would after all be spared the unknown danger of the time-locked battle and yet be able to live in the new, safer future their efforts would provide. Isca on the other hand was well aware of Freya's prideful nature: she would most likely take the decision as a symptom of their chauvinist mindset and rebel - in spades. He had therefore convinced his Lord to keep their plan a secret to spare the woman's feelings, instead intending to deal with the repercussions upon their return.
He was almost looking forward to that part.
*
Raziel and the eight surviving Elite were awaiting his arrival at the front gates, the Vampire Lord making a show of tapping his cloven foot on the paved floor in mock-impatience. He shot his second-in-command a chiding glance as he drew level.
"Well, now that we have everybody. . ."
"No need to labour the point," grumbled Isca, his fledgling's slumbering mind still an intense presence in the back of his own. He became aware that Raziel was looking at him sharply and he added, almost as an afterthought, "My Lord."
His oversight brought back the conversation that had passed between the two of them as dawn rose that morning. They had been talking alone in the echoing vault of the conference room, having sent the remaining Elite to feed and rest before their departure, and Raziel had been elaborating on his theory for the restoration of the land.
"Janos Audron once told me that the Pillars were the lock and the Reaver was the key," He stated, idly swirling the rapidly cooling contents of his goblet. "Since the blade that is my symbiont now appears only in the Spectral Realm, I have assumed that I need the Reaver in its physical form."
"So all we need to do is travel back to obtain a physical version of the Reaver?" offered Isca.
"No. Not just any version: it must be the version that is aligned with this time - the Reaver that is of this world's true age. I need to find the very blade Kain tore from me in the Sarafan Stronghold."
"So we need to find Kain." Guessed the vampire, trying to follow his Lord's train of thought.
Raziel nodded, pacing towards the hearth, lost in contemplation. "The last thing he said to me was that we had walked into the Hylden's trap. This was something new to me - all Kain's dealings with that alien race were concluded long before he initially resurrected me and my brethren." The vampire paced back towards his companion, one claw pressed to his lips in meditation.
"But Kain's catastrophic alteration of the time-line may well mean that they found a way to escape the demon dimension to which he consigned them. I believe he may have travelled in time to try to avert or alleviate the consequences of this particular event."
Isca nodded distractedly.
"We will travel to the Chronoplast: When I cornered Kain there previously there were several images on the walls outside - whatever changes have been made to the time-stream should also have affected the visions portrayed therein. Maybe they will give me a clue as to Kain's current location in time. I deem this to be our best chance for now - Are we agreed?"
When Isca failed to respond, Raziel swung around to see that the attention of his second-in-command was noticeably concentrated elsewhere.
"Isca!"
Raziel's harsh bark roused the vampire from his reverie. The Dark Lord approached with an air of ill-concealed displeasure.
"If your attention is going to wander thus in the battles that will surely come, I may be forced to replace you in the chain of command."
Isca found his shame at his distractedness quickly giving sway to anger as he balked at Raziel's inference.
"When the time for bloodshed comes, you will not find me wanting." He vowed ominously.
"I had better not. There are others waiting to take your place."
The remark galled the vampire, goading him into the ultimate rejoinder.
"A pity they were not so willing when Turel invaded the Clanlands." He snarled.
Silence held sway for long seconds as each waited for the other to rescind; the recently revitalised Saviour of Nosgoth and his precocious, determined offspring stood toe to toe in a gesture of stubborn, intractable menace. At length, Isca's deeply ingrained respect overruled his pride, and, with another destination exhorting an more irresistible lure with each passing second, he turned on his heel and loped out of the room, leaving the Vampire Lord in regretful solitude as he went.
The advent of a new day placed such foolish confrontations in a more sensible light, the parties involved attributing the minor dispute to heightened tension before so daring an undertaking. Even so, it was a subdued mood that held sway over the company of ten as they began their journey, forging a path in blind ignorance of the outlandish creatures they alerted to their passing.
Author's notes.
Yeah, in case anyone hadn't guessed by now, I've been playing Blood Omen 2 again, which was why I found it necessary to wax lyrical over Kain. *dreamy sigh*
"Do I know you?"
Freya hastily shook her head, words deserting her. Though it was true that she had spoken to the future incarnation of Kain on one occasion, he had been about to run her through with the Soul Reaver, and she was in no hurry to reveal that to this younger version - especially since he was currently holding the self-same weapon.
"But you obviously know me." He continued, circling her slowly, his voice low and his enunciation impeccably precise as always.
"Only by reputation." breathed the fledgling, finding herself for the first time since her time-streaming had brought her into the past in some fear for her unlife. Kain stopped at the warm, discarded body of the Sarafan guard, a connection quickly forming in his brain.
"So it is your path of destruction I have been crossing these past few days."
Freya maintained her distance and remained silent while Kain regarded the still-bleeding corpse disdainfully and shook his head, clucking his tongue.
"Did your sire never teach you to drain your prey?"
At the mention of her maker, Freya's previously subdued anger erupted once again.
"No." she snarled vehemently through gritted teeth, her hands clenched and her entire frame taut as a wire.
Although aware of the fledgling's tension at his question, Kain ignored it for now, focusing his attention on the knight's body.
"Such waste."
Freya's rage was momentarily forgotten once more while she witnessed a torrent of blood tear its way free of the man's body, twisting and undulating in glistering, gravity-defying scarlet ribbons as it made its way to the gullet of the waiting fiend. As far as she knew, Kain was the only immortal to feed in this manner. As she watched the future subjugator of the Vampire race indulge his Thirst, Freya's fledgling senses became increasingly and uncomfortably aware of his presence. It was as though she stood in overly close proximity to some mesmerising power source, the aura of almost arrogant confidence that surrounded the chalk-skinned vampire pulsating with hedonistic vigour. Even Raziel, when Freya had encountered him at the full height of his vampiric evolution, had never exuded such raw, sadistic potency. It seemed to the fledgling's beguiled mind that the creature sating its needs from the prone form of the Sarafan knight embodied the epitome of immorality, and despite that observation, the allure of the power and knowledge that resided in him was undeniable.
Kain smiled to himself. Nothing escaped his attention.
As the immortal had followed the young vampire's trail across Meridian's underground, he had been surprised at the wanton destruction that the creature had wrought, and now that he had seen her, and witnessed her reaction to his quip about her sire, he deduced the truth. A fledgling deprived of the calming influence of its master often had a habit of becoming feral. Without the guidance and instruction normally accorded a fledge during the first years of its unlife, the creature could easily be overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of a thousand new abilities, thoughts and feelings that were alien to the human mind. It was possible to correct the damage, provided that action was taken quickly. This one, however, was already on the borderline, and therefore dangerous: furthermore, Kain sensed a strong antipathy to himself, although he could not guess its cause.
He glanced thoughtfully at the fledge once more as he wiped the blood from his mouth, then without another word, he turned to leave.
As Freya watched the immortal depart, she was torn. His chilling presence, though a blight on her untrained fledgling senses, had offered a strange sense of comfort: the fact that he, as a mature vampire must know about the confusing drives and emotions that were wracking her system on a daily basis and sending her ever closer to the brink of insanity was a powerful lure. Even now, Freya felt somewhat calmer after his blatant display of power, and on a certain level, she was loath to see him leave. On another, deeper level, however, lay the knowledge of the heinous deeds this lifeless bastard would commit over the next thousand years. His oppressive rule with its unnecessary bloodshed, his damnation of the land, and last but not least his actions against Raziel, and consequently the rest of the Clan all amounted to a plethora of sins for which he would never be forgiven.
Kain paused with his back still towards her, and cast a throwaway comment over his shoulder.
"I am raising an army." Hearing no response, he swung lithely around to face the woman once again, his gaze at once seductive, knowing, reassuring.
"Come with me, fledgling. I have need of officers with appetites for such wilful destruction. Besides," he added shrewdly, "There is much I can teach you."
The woman's feral yellow eyes met his, her newly-made decision overriding her former fear of him, and silver light scintillated from a battered Razielim scimitar as she gave him her answer.
*
Isca lay sleeplessly in the shuttered chamber, the early afternoon sunlight denied entrance by the stout defence of ancient wood. Ever and anon he glanced at the sleeping form of the woman who lay curled against his side, a small smile curving her lips even in her sleep. As he gingerly stroked a renegade lock of hair from her pale forehead, he felt her react to his touch with a wriggle and a sigh, aware of his proximity even when in the grasp of fledgling sleep. At her response, the vampire was wracked again by guilt for the action he was about to undertake. Closing his eyes fleetingly as he willed himself to leave the comforting embrace of his lover, Isca gently detached himself from her somnolent grasp and rose to dress. Hazarding one last harrowed glance at the curving outlines of his mate, he exited the chamber. Although from her point of view the Clan would be gone for less than a day, Isca had no idea how long it might be for him before he would once again know the comfort of her tender affections.
Although the entrance hall in which the company was scheduled to meet lay but a few minutes' walk from the room he had just vacated, Isca chose to take one last tour around the periphery of the walled fortress, more to give himself time to think than to check for any imagined dangers. On a certain level he knew that Raziel had the right of it: the presence of a newborn fledgling on a mission such as theirs would amount to nothing more than an unmitigated hindrance. Despite the woman's frequent moments of insight, not to mention her recently enhanced fighting skills, her aversion to daylight constituted a serious impediment to the undertaking of their quest, one which Raziel was not prepared to accept.
The difficulty had been not in taking the decision, but in persuading his single-minded Lord not to tell the woman of their plan. Raziel was of the opinion that the fledgling should be content with her lot - she would after all be spared the unknown danger of the time-locked battle and yet be able to live in the new, safer future their efforts would provide. Isca on the other hand was well aware of Freya's prideful nature: she would most likely take the decision as a symptom of their chauvinist mindset and rebel - in spades. He had therefore convinced his Lord to keep their plan a secret to spare the woman's feelings, instead intending to deal with the repercussions upon their return.
He was almost looking forward to that part.
*
Raziel and the eight surviving Elite were awaiting his arrival at the front gates, the Vampire Lord making a show of tapping his cloven foot on the paved floor in mock-impatience. He shot his second-in-command a chiding glance as he drew level.
"Well, now that we have everybody. . ."
"No need to labour the point," grumbled Isca, his fledgling's slumbering mind still an intense presence in the back of his own. He became aware that Raziel was looking at him sharply and he added, almost as an afterthought, "My Lord."
His oversight brought back the conversation that had passed between the two of them as dawn rose that morning. They had been talking alone in the echoing vault of the conference room, having sent the remaining Elite to feed and rest before their departure, and Raziel had been elaborating on his theory for the restoration of the land.
"Janos Audron once told me that the Pillars were the lock and the Reaver was the key," He stated, idly swirling the rapidly cooling contents of his goblet. "Since the blade that is my symbiont now appears only in the Spectral Realm, I have assumed that I need the Reaver in its physical form."
"So all we need to do is travel back to obtain a physical version of the Reaver?" offered Isca.
"No. Not just any version: it must be the version that is aligned with this time - the Reaver that is of this world's true age. I need to find the very blade Kain tore from me in the Sarafan Stronghold."
"So we need to find Kain." Guessed the vampire, trying to follow his Lord's train of thought.
Raziel nodded, pacing towards the hearth, lost in contemplation. "The last thing he said to me was that we had walked into the Hylden's trap. This was something new to me - all Kain's dealings with that alien race were concluded long before he initially resurrected me and my brethren." The vampire paced back towards his companion, one claw pressed to his lips in meditation.
"But Kain's catastrophic alteration of the time-line may well mean that they found a way to escape the demon dimension to which he consigned them. I believe he may have travelled in time to try to avert or alleviate the consequences of this particular event."
Isca nodded distractedly.
"We will travel to the Chronoplast: When I cornered Kain there previously there were several images on the walls outside - whatever changes have been made to the time-stream should also have affected the visions portrayed therein. Maybe they will give me a clue as to Kain's current location in time. I deem this to be our best chance for now - Are we agreed?"
When Isca failed to respond, Raziel swung around to see that the attention of his second-in-command was noticeably concentrated elsewhere.
"Isca!"
Raziel's harsh bark roused the vampire from his reverie. The Dark Lord approached with an air of ill-concealed displeasure.
"If your attention is going to wander thus in the battles that will surely come, I may be forced to replace you in the chain of command."
Isca found his shame at his distractedness quickly giving sway to anger as he balked at Raziel's inference.
"When the time for bloodshed comes, you will not find me wanting." He vowed ominously.
"I had better not. There are others waiting to take your place."
The remark galled the vampire, goading him into the ultimate rejoinder.
"A pity they were not so willing when Turel invaded the Clanlands." He snarled.
Silence held sway for long seconds as each waited for the other to rescind; the recently revitalised Saviour of Nosgoth and his precocious, determined offspring stood toe to toe in a gesture of stubborn, intractable menace. At length, Isca's deeply ingrained respect overruled his pride, and, with another destination exhorting an more irresistible lure with each passing second, he turned on his heel and loped out of the room, leaving the Vampire Lord in regretful solitude as he went.
The advent of a new day placed such foolish confrontations in a more sensible light, the parties involved attributing the minor dispute to heightened tension before so daring an undertaking. Even so, it was a subdued mood that held sway over the company of ten as they began their journey, forging a path in blind ignorance of the outlandish creatures they alerted to their passing.
Author's notes.
Yeah, in case anyone hadn't guessed by now, I've been playing Blood Omen 2 again, which was why I found it necessary to wax lyrical over Kain. *dreamy sigh*