Author's note.
Gimme those cheese graters back.
*hands out Moulinex food processors*
This could get tough.
*
Freya's heartbeat quickened as her master gave the initial order for punishment. She held her breath as she awaited his elaboration.
"Flay him alive."
As the sentence was passed, Isca's gaze rested resolutely with that of his fledgling. If any guilt at all was to be felt by the creature with whom he shared a powerful blood bond, he would ensure that it was at its utmost. He still felt the mental connection, and despite the lack of emotion on her face, he sensed that the woman felt it too.
The Inquisitor's eyes met those of the condemned, the dark spheres accusing, retributive, forsaken. All at once, unwanted images began to pour into her mind, their forced suppression lifted by the unexpected appearance of her sire. In her mind's eye, a pair of slashing blades fended off ancient vampire armies, their owners back to back and grinning in the delirious joy of combat; elsewhere, a dying immortal lay in a darkened cave, the woman at his side offering her own lifeblood so that he might survive; the scene changed with steadily growing clarity to her first hunt at his side, and the unmatched rapture of their first joining. As assailed by doubts as she was, Kain's Inquisitor remained steadfast, the magnetic presence of her Lord but a few feet to her right a stalwart assurance of the propriety of her decision. At a distracted flick of Kain's fingers, the guards prepared to escort Isca from the room. The condemned cast one last searching glance at his fledge, seeking the slightest glimmer of remorse. Seeing nothing hopeful in her hostile, resolute gaze, he shook his head and suffered the guards to lead him to his fate.
*
Freya passed the remainder of the evening with less than half an ear on Kain's condemnations, and as soon as the Vampire Master had retired to his quarters, she had turned her footsteps in the direction of her own. The Inquisitor's tread was hesitant, despite the familiarity of the shadowed hallways, and the comrades she unwittingly ignored as she progressed were struck by the haunted cast of her face. Freya began to reflect: Kain's perceptive manipulation of her unbalanced fledgling mind had focused on the seething hatred she harboured at her sire's betrayal. He had later convinced her to channel her considerable aggression towards the attainment of the unrivalled ecstasy she experienced in the kill. The results had surpassed even the future Emperor's bloodthirsty expectations. Now, unwilling though she was to admit such thoughts to herself, the unexpected re-appearance of her sire had stirred memories and feelings she had long since abandoned: the alluring familiarity of his supremely masculine form, the deep, arresting tones of his voice, and, most significantly of all, that look: the one she knew full well he reserved only for her. All these elements had quickly combined to form a knot of uncertainty in her gut.
The Head Inquisitor stopped short and slapped herself, mentally. None of this mattered. She had a new purpose now, stemming from her complete dedication to the Conqueror's cause – there was no time for such trifling sentimentalities, nor frivolous thoughts of fleeting fleshly pleasures. Her steps become more assured as she entered the hall that opened onto her quarters. Abruptly, she stopped, her hand lingering on the doorknob. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she could still sense her sire's presence in the Sanctuary. Giving vent to a vexed sigh, Freya was suddenly struck by a seemingly innocent idea - she would prove to herself that Isca meant nothing to her: she would march down to the prison cell and taunt him, even as Kain had done. That would make her feel better. Knowing that the vampire's punishment would be delayed by the sentences of those already ahead of him in the queue, she hastened towards the holding cells, deadly certain that her desire to see her sire wither before her wrath was the only reason she was running.
The stronghold's prison area was an abomination. Dank walls dripped slime and limescale in alternating hues of verdigris and cream, the moist atmosphere adding to the discomfort of those unfortunate enough to have earned a stay of execution. Considering that the entire structure was barely three years old, the area was deteriorating with unnerving celerity, and had from the earliest days become home to a multitude of creatures of both the scurrying and slithering varieties. Freya hurried from room to room, urgently seeking the one that held the creature that would soon feel her righteous ire. The last door on the left opened onto the sight she sought. The perfidious vampire fumed within the confines of a small, barred enclosure, his gaze centred on one of the two guards that flanked the door. From the intensity of his glare, Freya surmised he was either trying to Charm the man, or unnerve him by the sheer malevolence of his incomparable glower. Even if his use of the Dark Gift was not to succeed, he was apparently not doing too badly in his secondary aim.
Isca looked up as the woman entered, a low growl escaping his lips.
"Come to gloat?"
The Inquisitor did not respond. Her hand hovered an inch from the hilt of her sword, a new idea consuming her as she realised the power to finish him was in her grasp. Just a quick step forward, a thrust of a keen blade through the bars, and vengeance would be done - she would at last be appeased for his abandonment of her to the Hylden. Her breathing quickened, and before his frowning eyes, she drew the weapon, instantly alerting the two guards – one of whom dropped headless to the ground beneath a curving arc of scarlet.
"Traitor!" screamed the other, drawing his own blade a second too late, and shortly joining his compatriot in the spreading pool of blood on the floor.
The cell remained silent for several long, drawn-out seconds, the Inquisitor's eyes locked on the two cooling bodies until a tantalising voice broke the silence.
"For a moment there I thought you were going to finish me."
"Don't speak too soon," she replied, eyes still on the ground.
Isca arched an eyebrow. "Then why kill the guards?"
Freya finally risked meeting the vampire's uncertain gaze with her own distant one, her confusion evident in the lost look she gave him in response.
"I don't know."
"Open the door." The command left no room for insubordination.
Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult; the fledgling's heart was hammering a militant rhythm that her system was having trouble containing - she wondered distractedly if Isca could hear it. As Head Inquisitor, she was fully aware of the implications of letting this prisoner go free, and despite fears for her own safety, Freya knew she wanted nothing more than to make it happen. Feeling almost sick with trepidation, she snagged the keys from the hook on the opposite wall, turning to see that Isca was gripping the bars of the cell tightly, his concentration obvious as he mentally willed her to complete the action. Freya paused with the keys in her hands, indecisive: it was yet a monumental decision for her to take. She vacillated, the influences of her sire vying with those of her mentor for supremacy, until at length the tense silence was broken as the corridor outside filled with the sound of running footsteps. The guard's dying cry had alerted the Inquisitors to the danger. There was only one door to this prison chamber, and Freya was currently standing over two dead allies with a bloody sword in her hand. This did not look good.
"Get back against the wall." She hissed. Isca frowned, but complied.
Reaching the door before the stampede arrived, Freya interposed herself between the Inquisitors and the cell and halted them before they could enter.
"Where have you been?" she demanded angrily. "The prisoner has escaped and the guards are murdered!" Freya stepped forward, sword hidden behind her back, exerting the influence she held as Head Inquisitor.
"Go! Search the grounds – and bear in mind I will be having words with Kain about the dawdling speed of your response!"
Thoroughly chastised, the remaining Inquisitors bowed in acceptance of her order and hurried off in search of their quarry.
Freya turned once again to the cell and her waiting sire, finally sure of her course of action. With every ounce of Kain's influence over her screaming in defiance, she unlocked the door.
The action was tantamount to opening Pandora's Box: Freya had no idea whether the being about to emerge from the cell would prove himself friend or foe, and now that his freedom was a foregone conclusion, she was uncomfortably aware of each step the unknown quantity took in her direction. With one hand ever hovering close to the hilt of her weapon, she stepped back to allow him to exit.
"A wise choice." advised Isca, his demeanour reminiscent of a storm cloud about to break.
The pair regarded each other in apprehensive silence for a moment, each wondering if the other was going to make an aggressive move. Freya was armed, but fairly sure that it wouldn't deter him – it certainly hadn't the previous day, as evidenced by the rapidly healing but nonetheless deep scar across his chest. Freya quickly averted her eyes. Isca, for his part, knew he would need the woman's help to escape, but was prepared to act if necessary. Freya nodded implicit understanding of the situation and poked her head around the door to check the environs.
"Follow me."
A short but nonetheless nerve-wracking flight brought Isca and Freya to a balcony at the end of an upwards sloping corridor, the narrow terrace offering an escape route via a long but feasible drop to the ground. Freya indicated the line of trees that flanked this eastern side of the fortress, their dubious safety beckoning from a distance of a few hundred metres - the vampire should be able to clamber down and be out of the grounds before anyone were the wiser. With a regretful smile and an enjoinder to return to his men, Freya clapped her sire lightly on the shoulder and turned to leave.
"Where do you think you're going?" He demanded.
Freya eyed him with a fatalistic air. "To undo my wrongs."
"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, taking her by the wrist, "They'll kill you."
Freya resisted, pulling back towards the stronghold. "If you had any idea of the atrocities I've committed these past few years in the name of that . . . monster . . .you'd understand why . . ."
"Bah! Don't give me that martyr rubbish! What's done is done." He continued, dragging her towards the edge.
"I want to atone," insisted the woman, wrenching her arm free.
"You rescued me – that counts as atonement. Now let's go."
Isca's attention had been caught by the approach of several of Kain's Inquisitors, who had spotted the unusually-clad vampire unfettered in the company of one of their comrades. Time was getting short.
"No." she stated firmly, the set of her jaw reminding him of just how stubborn a wench she could be when she put her mind to it.
"No?" The vampire's incredulity was boundless, as was his fury, and in a rare moment of vindictiveness, he invoked the seldom-used influence of his bloodline. The link between Sire and Fledgling offered the maker some means of control over unruly offspring, the wrath of the sire conveyed by a sensation of boiling in the youngster's blood. Despite Kain's corruption, Isca's influence was still considerable, and his efforts were shortly rewarded as Freya cringed miserably in response to the intolerable sensation in her veins. Nonetheless, she continued to back towards the approaching pack, shaking her head to stress her resolve.
"Oh, fine." Snapped the irritated vampire, "You want to stay here and sacrifice yourself in some melodramatic display of self-immolation, then far be it from me to stop you."
The ruse was working: the woman looked unsure. As she glanced back towards the approaching Inquisitors to ascertain their progress, Isca's gauntleted fist caught her upside the chin with a brutal crunch of metal on bone, and the world faded to black.
"I owed you one."
Author's Note
Gah! Slush! I never thought I'd sink this low. But then, as I said, this story has nothing to do with me, except that it comes out of my fingers (which, by the way, are really sore since I bought a guitar on Saturday and I have since spent several hours annoying my other half with horrendous interpretations of Bon Jovi riffs).
*Awaits her fate, fully understanding if reviewers wish to make demands to see blood spilt*