A/N and review responses.

I changed my name 'cos being Sereda2 was really starting to p*ss me off. I'm a name not a number! A big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, I really appreciate it!

Dark Sephiroth: In the s**t? Can't help you there I'm afraid, I didn't really approve of you killing Kain either. I'm rather fond of him in case you hadn't noticed! At least you have left young Kain alive * bundles young Kain into cupboard muttering something about "You'll be safe there". Then locks door and wanders off with key and a very evil grin!*

Nocturnally Damned: Waves back across Irish Sea. So glad you are enjoying this. Tho' I must confess, you had me a bit worried with your response to Dumah in Chpt 3. Since when were the cavalry s'posed to tie you up and throw you in a dungeon?!!    ;)

Jackie Almasy: Delighted you like it. There's plenty more to follow too.

btw Am I making these chapters too long? whaddya think?

O.K.  on with the story, more bad behaviour in the Sanctuary of the Clans. (what else?)

6 The Brothers

It is mid-morning when Jas closes her eyes to sleep. Outside, the Sanctuary is in a frenzy of activity. Human slaves are out in number, most of them involved in the arduous duties of cleaning and polishing. Every banner has to be shaken free of dust, and every speck of dirt has to be cleaned from the fine mosaic floors and pavements. Every statue and every carving is to be inspected by a master stonemason and any defect, no matter how small, must be repaired. The Sanctuary always appears pristine, but today, nothing short of perfection will suffice.

Other, more unusual activities are also afoot.

Makeshift sewing rooms are working at full capacity. The slaves toil in silence, heads bowed over their work. They can afford no time to talk. They have been working since first light, and will not pause for either food or drink until the last stitch is completed. Jas is not the only lady expecting a new gown this evening.

In the kitchens where the food is prepared for the slaves, the peculiar ritual of cooking the food, whilst simultaneously cleaning every surface and utensil, continues as usual. Most vampires find the smells of cooking extremely offensive, and so every effort is made to ensure that this annoyance is kept to a minimum. Today, the chefs are particularly irritable, and the cleaners have to watch for kicks and blows if they even threaten to interrupt their work. For today, food is being prepared for guests. The finest dainties that Nosgoth can provide, and there are few enough of them, must be turned into a banquet more splendid than anything ever seen before, by sundown.

*

And what of the slaves who carry out these duties? What indeed? Who is there in the Sanctuary to care about even a single one of them? Beyond punishing transgressors, their masters most certainly do not care. The slaves are too dull, too low in every respect to merit even a moment's consideration. Nor do the slaves themselves appear to care overly for one another. The deaths are perhaps so frequent, that avoiding intimacy, with its inherent risk of loss and grief, is for most of them, a necessary defence. Whatever the reason, it has been centuries since any slave attempted to aid another, even against a human overseer, and almost as long since any have been seen to grieve over a loss. It would seem that the long years of captivity, along with the brutality of their daily lives, have left them not only devoid of hope, but almost completely devoid of feeling as well.

The only spark of human passion in the entire Sanctuary is to be found in the holding pens, where the remainder of the captured vampire hunters languish, awaiting their fate. Finding themselves in the charge of human jailors, they had initially pleaded with them for help. When their pleas were ignored, they tried remonstrating with them, but all to no avail. Disgusted by this lack of fellow feeling, they now resort to jeering and cursing at them, spitting on those foolish enough to get too close. Beyond the blows aimed at them through the bars in reprisal, they get no response at all from their captors. The slaves are as indifferent to the fate of the vampire hunters, as they seem to be about their own.

*

As the afternoon draws to a close, the frenzied activity subsides. The slaves begin to drift back to their quarters and their masters awaken and reclaim the Sanctuary for themselves.

The six have slept little today, age has greatly decreased their need for rest. Dumah is one of the first to be seen abroad. He is back from whatever errand took him from Kain's side yesterday and now he is making his way to the Great Hall, to see his brother, Raziel.

This hall is where the ceremony will be held. A wide central aisle, flanked by heavy columns of white marble, runs from the massive entrance doors to a raised dais at the far end. On either side of the aisle, the hall extends outwards, creating a room which is larger than the Throne-room itself. Usually, these cavernous spaces are veiled in deep shadows, for the hall is seldom used, but tonight every lamp has been lit, so that even the farthest recesses of the room offer no protection to those wishing to remain discretely hidden.

The hall has been decorated by the slaves in the customary fashion. Over a hundred of them have been engaged in this task and still it was only just completed before their masters awoke. At first sight, it would appear that the hall has been decked with flowers, but of course, it is centuries since flowers have bloomed in such profusion. Nosgoth's flowers are stunted, twisted things, barely clinging to life, their colours faded from the lack of light. The glorious blooms in the hall cannot be the work of nature; the colours are too bright, the petals too large, the leaves too green.

Every bloom, every leaf in the hall is, in fact, made of glass. Translucent green ivy veined with gold, winds up every pillar, its golden stems gleaming hot against the white marble. Garlands of the most sumptuous flowers hang between the pillars, each gaudy petal and verdant leaf catching the light from the lamps above and then casting it, tinted every imaginable hue, onto the floor below. More of this exotic crystal flora decorates the sides of the aisle and the base of the dais.

As Dumah opens the door, he disturbs the air, causing the garlands to sway between the pillars. They ring out with a high, brittle sound that fills the room as he walks up to the dais. Raziel is there, with several members of his clan. Dumah sees him and calls out a greeting,

"Raziel! There you are. What kept you so long?"

The two brothers embrace warmly.

"Dumah, it's good to see you."

"Which is why you visit so often, I suppose."

 Raziel laughs. "You expect me to journey to that desolate wasteland you call home?" He shakes his head, smiling at the foolishness of such a notion. "I think not, much as I enjoy your company. Anyway Dumah, where have you been? You've missed nearly all the fun."

"On escort duty, ensuring our guest arrives safely. But tell me, what fun have I missed?"

"Only an assassination attempt."

"Ah, who was it this time?" Dumah's interest is waning already; such things are, after all, a commonplace. In answer, Raziel merely points to himself. Dumah stares. "No! Who would dare such a thing?"

"The little Turelim who were left at home. Apparently they decided that it would be in their master's best interests of if I were to meet with an accident."

Dumah's face is incredulous. It is not unusual for those favoured by the clan leaders to have their lives attempted, and indeed frequently cut short, by their rivals, but this, though not unprecedented, is a most rare occurrence.

"What did they do? They didn't succeed, obviously."

"Oh, just arranged a little ambush for us. Not a terribly well thought out one, either." Raziel breathes onto a claw and polishes it carefully against the leather straps of his armour before he continues. "It was a good battle though, you'd have enjoyed it. We acquitted ourselves very well. We killed over half of them there and then, and we only lost two. We dragged the rest of the sorry creatures along with us, and gave them their final plunge into the Abyss before coming here."

"And Turel?"

Raziel grins maliciously, "Very embarrassed. His fledglings didn't exactly do him credit. And as to his not knowing what they were up to…"

"I'm amazed those boneheads of his had the imagination to think up such a scheme in the first place."

Raziel gives a short laugh.

"They didn't Dumah, I'm sure. Our dear brother Zephon is looking rather pleased with himself at the moment. You know how he is when he's done something really devious? Even more suspicious, he's been avoiding me." He pauses for a moment, as if lost in thought. "I think I'll be having words with him tonight," he continues. "I can't say I'm best pleased at being used so. He needs to understand that his elders are not here simply to provide his entertainment."

Dumah looks at him thoughtfully.

"Is there proof he was involved?"

Raziel smiles, "With Zephon? You know better than to ask, surely. Two things Zephon excels at, plotting, and covering his tracks. However, if I were inclined to gamble…"

"Which you are!"

"…that's where I'd put my stake."

The two brothers sit in easy silence after this exchange. Dumah delighted with this turn in events.

Of late, Turel has been a source of great irritation to him. The feral humans who roam his territories have always been an annoyance to Dumah, but recently they have grown bolder, and worse still, more successful in their hunting. No matter how hard he tries to crush them, and he has taken a personal interest in their extermination recently, they continue plague him, picking off fledglings even in the heart of his lands. Turel has been very vocal in his criticism, sparing no opportunity to point out Dumah's shortcomings to the others. This unexpected humiliation of his older sibling is something to be relished.

Other vampires begin to drift into the hall. A slave enters and extinguishes two of the lamps on the right hand side of the dais, Dumah watches idly.

"I see Rahab is making sure he has somewhere to flee out of the light," he remarks. "He seems less able to tolerate it than ever, since his awakening. Strange, this evolution that accentuates a weakness." He turns to Raziel, his expression concerned. "We should grow stronger as we age, should we not?"

"Could be for Melchiah," Raziel replies, avoiding the question. "He's not looking particularly pretty at the moment."

Dumah smirks, "He never did look pretty."

"True."

"But he has never been embarrassed about his appearance, either."

"True again. Do his clan members find each other attractive, I wonder? I hear that only his most favoured concubines are given the task of patching his skin." Raziel turns back to Dumah with a mischievous grin. "Could you imagine the reaction," he asks, "if you were to offer such an honour to one of your own clan? "

Dumah bursts out laughing, pushing Raziel away from him. "Enough!" he cries, "Some things are just too disgusting to think about!"

*

While this conversation is taking place, Jas is being woken by one of the slaves timidly knocking on her chamber door. She has not slept long, but she is not sorry for the interruption; her dreams have been sorely troubled. Ragged shreds of them still cling to her, as she struggles towards consciousness. They slip away at every attempt she makes to remember them, and leave her with only disjointed images, blood-soaked and horribly vivid, of war, death and decay. She berates herself for not having paid more attention to the affairs of the clans when she was living safe in her tower. If she had, perhaps these disturbing visions would make more sense.

Another knock at the door and the slave enters, very cautiously, bearing Jas' new clothes. Two suits of everyday wear, trousers and jerkins both fashioned from soft blue leather, a new pair of boots, and the gown.

With some relief, Jas leaves her troubling thoughts aside and concentrates on the trivial matters before her. She looks at the everyday clothing first, and is amused to find a simple thing like having new clothes can actually give her pleasure, even now. They fit. Perfectly. Everything she has worn before has been stolen. Good fit, good workmanship, colours, have all been largely matters of chance. These clothes are exquisitely made. Strong and supple, they allow the full range of movement while flattering the body beneath.

Only when she has tried on everything else, does she even look at the gown. It is a sheath of deep blue velvet, lined with silk of the same colour. The velvet is embroidered with crystal beads and silver threads, so that it appears to be frosted. Her right arm and shoulder are concealed, but the left, almost unmarked by the Sarafan, is left bare. The skirt of the dress is simply formed from two narrow panels, which hang down at front and back. Blue stockings and dark blue shoes complete the outfit. While vanity has never been one of her vices, she has to admit the transformation wrought by these courtly garments is very pleasing indeed. The slave who has been helping her, dresses her hair, offers her a selection of jewellery to choose from and then, when all is as near to perfection as possible, directs her towards the Great Hall.

*

Jas had hoped to slip in unobtrusively. When she arrives at the massive carved doors, she realizes that this is not going to be possible. Two fledglings are stationed there, their purpose being to greet each guest and then fling the doors wide, announcing the arrival to the company assembled within.

As she enters, Jas sees Dumah, Raziel, Zephon and Melchiah ahead of her, on the dais. Zephon is seated, apparently having a heated exchange with Raziel, who towers over him in a manner almost threatening. As she is announced, they pause their discussion. Raziel does not deign to turn his head, but Zephon looks straight at her, his features sharp and inquisitive.

Melchiah hardly seems to notice anyone; of more immediate concern to him, is the discomfort that inevitably accompanies new skin. Much of his skin has been recently renewed, carefully selected from the finest human donors and patiently pieced by his most skilful clanswomen. He turns away from the crowd irritably; the machinations of court have long since ceased to amuse him.

Dumah appears to be coming to meet her. As he leaves the dais, Raziel makes to follow; Zephon throws them both a questioning glance, but gets no discernable reply. Seeing this, Jas slips away to the side, she has no desire to meet either one of them. Unfortunately, Dumah has anticipated her action and instead of escaping, she finds herself face to face with him.

"Lady Jaslinde, what a pleasure." He catches her hand as if in greeting, too quick for her to avoid.

"Lord Dumah," she murmurs, trying at the same time to free herself. His grip is steel. He tightens it a little in response to her struggles.  She keeps her face easy and smiling in spite of the pain.

No getting away then.

He begins to lead her back towards the dais and she offers no resistance. There is little she can do, any attempt to escape or struggle will only make her look extremely foolish, and who, in the entire assembly, is likely to come to her aid? Most of them, she suspects would find her distress very amusing. This way, at least, she has some chance of keeping her torment relatively private.

He continues the pretence of making pleasant small-talk,

"I must say, you are looking charming tonight, almost… civilised. Who would have thought you'd clean up so nicely?"

She ignores this petty jibe, wondering exactly, what he is planning. Then she sees Raziel.

Dumah turns to her, a malicious smile playing about his lips.

"Have you met my brothers yet?" he asks. "Allow me to introduce you."

From the dais, Zephon is watching intently; he is hoping this will prove entertaining enough to distract Raziel's attention away from him.

Raziel looks at her coldly, but says nothing.

Jas bows politely to him, and then turns back to Dumah.

"I had the honour of making your brother's acquaintance yesterday evening," she says softly, "but I doubt he would wish to be reminded of my existence at this particular moment." She turns to face Raziel once more. "Please forgive the intrusion, my Lord. It was unintentional."

The look he gives her is chilling. Although she is fairly sure Kain has ordered his subordinates not to harm her, Jas does not feel at all secure in the face of such open hostility. Instinct tells her to leave now, to find somewhere safer, but Dumah still holds her captive.

Raziel rakes her with another glance,

 "Obviously you have a short memory," he says, "or you have not the wit to realize just how dearly you have cost me. I wouldn't advise you to come before me again. When the Master removes his protection from you, I will seek you out myself, and then, I will have vengeance."

'Satisfied?' she asks Dumah.

'Oh no.' He purrs. Not yet.'

'Let me go.'

'Or you'll do what, exactly?'

Good question.

He holds her a moment longer, enjoying her discomfort, and then releases her. She moves away slowly, backing towards the darkness, where the slave had extinguished the lanterns earlier.

"Careful," Dumah warns. "Distasteful as you find me, you might yet find something worse waiting for you in the shadows."

"Did I say that I find you distasteful?" she asks.

"You mean that you don't?"

"What I find distasteful, my Lord, is your arrogance."

He closes the distance between them incredibly fast. Though she steps back to avoid him, the tip of his claw still makes contact, slicing open her cheek.

She puts a hand up to her face, assessing the damage. She is relieved to find the wound is only superficial. Dumah is standing in front of her now, ready to bar her escape and awaiting her next move. She holds his gaze without faltering. Slowly, she runs her index finger along the length of the wound, helping it to close and collecting some of the blood he has spilled, at the same time. A lascivious smile spreads across his face as he watches her.

"Come here, sweetness. Let me help you with that."

He captures her hand again and pulls her towards him, flicking out his tongue and sweeping it across her cheek before she has time to turn away. She pulls back sharply, her expression fiercely indignant. Dumah smirks but he does not let her go. Instead, he brings her hand up to his mouth, all the time keeping his eyes fixed firmly on hers. Softly, his dark lips envelop her fingers. He sucks the blood from them one by one, his eyes half-closed, the tip of his tongue gradually working downwards, forcing her fingers apart and lingering against the sensitive skin in between them. Only when he has consumed every drop of her blood, does he release her hand. She snatches it away immediately, rubbing it against her dress and hiding it behind her back.

'You disgust me!'

He looks at her, his eyes full of mocking laughter. From behind them, Zephon sniggers.

She backs away, careful to keep her steps unhurried, into the welcoming anonymity of the shadows. Raziel laughs softly as she makes her retreat,

"You know Dumah," he says, just loud enough for her to hear, "I do believe she likes you."

*

Of course, it would be too much to ask that she should find herself alone in the darkness. Rahab has been observing these proceedings, unseen, from the very corner she is heading for. She would have backed into him but for his putting out a hand to warn of his presence.

"Running away?" he asks.

She nods, no point in dissembling. "I know when I am outnumbered," she replies. "Sometimes discretion can be the better part of valour,"

He chuckles, "You have clearly annoyed my brother Dumah, and Raziel too. Do you enjoy making enemies?"

"I think I have enough for the moment," she says, "probably more than enough." 

Rahab smiles, "So I can assume that I'm safe then? For the moment, anyway."

She is wondering what reply she should make to him, when a fanfare of trumpets announces the arrival of Kain. Inscrutable as ever, he strides straight up the aisle, without looking to either the right or the left. The females of the court all curtsy deeply as he approaches, the males bow low, no one rises until he has taken his place among his sons.

He sits enthroned in the centre of the dais, but he does not acknowledge any of his lieutenants or the assembled throng. An air of hushed expectation settles over the crowd. Moments later, one of the huge, carved doors is slammed open. Everyone jumps, except Kain, and looks towards the cause of the disturbance. It is Turel. Kain says nothing; the expression on his face conveys his displeasure eloquently enough. As Turel catches his sire's eye, he seems to shrink a little.

"Apologies," he growls. "I had urgent business and was detained longer than I had thought."

Kain's scowl deepens. "Respect demands that you are here on time," he says.

"And Rahab?" Turel asks, waving a clawed hand towards the dais.

Kain is looking positively dangerous at this point. "We are not discussing Rahab," he says, in a voice full of quiet menace. He indicates the shadows, where Jas and Rahab still stand. "He is here, anyway. The issue, Turel, is your discourtesy, towards our guest, and, towards me!" He raises his voice impatiently, "Come! Take your place, while you still have one to take!"

Turel bows his head in submission and Kain watches him coldly. The crowd is completely silent now, no one speaks, no one even moves. The tension between the two vampires is almost visible. Despite his show of obedience, Turel is clearly in the grip of a barely suppressed fury. For a moment, his eyes dart about the crowd, as if searching for something to strike at, then, he stalks up to the dais and throws himself into his seat without so much as looking at the others.

Rahab touches her elbow gently,

"I have to leave you now," he says. "A word of advice, before I go. Whoever else you choose to upset, stay away from Turel. He is powerful and dangerous, even when unprovoked. But right now, it is possible that even the Master may not have him under complete control."

He bows farewell and then goes to take his place next to his brothers.

It is the first time Jas has seen all six of the brothers together; until this moment, one or more has always been missing. There is a perceptible sense of completeness in the group, a sense of power that was not there when they were apart. Despite the obvious discords and tensions between them, it is clear to her that they belong together. No, more than that, it is almost as if they are not individuals at all, as if they are all parts of a single entity. Powerful as each one is alone, their strength together is far greater than the sum of their individual parts.