11 The Challenge
As she makes her way back from his quarters, Jas realizes that Kain has actually told her very little that she did not already know. She sighs, heavily. He may have been right to chide her for hiding away for so long, but how can she determine a course of action with such a dearth of information? Even though Kain is now apparently, willing to count her as an ally, his trust still does not extend far enough for him to tell her anything she might find really useful.
She finds herself wondering if the clan leaders also find Kain so infuriatingly enigmatic. Probably not, she realizes. At this point in time, the paths they see before themselves must seem straightforward and uncomplicated. As they evolve and grow in strength, their clans are evolving and growing with them and Kain rules over all, a benevolent dictator, just as he has always been. How could any of them envisage the terrible future that lies ahead?
*
When she arrives back at Dumah's quarters, she finds he has already left for the arena. A slave is waiting outside to show her the way.
The armoury in the Sanctuary is small but extremely well stocked. The slave tells her that Lord Dumah's orders are to select a sword to replace her old one, and then to choose the weapons she wishes to use in the arena. She finds a sword, almost exactly the same as the one that was broken, and settles on that. The decision of what to take to the arena is more difficult; there are many finely crafted swords from all eras of Nosgoth's history, and a fearsome array of pikes, spears and axes. Eventually, she chooses two of the weapons that were used by the Sarafan knights in the Meridian of her childhood. Though slightly heavy, she has always liked them. They are a refinement on the axe, with a long curving blade, over three feet in length, exactly the same length as the handle. There is a second grip near the top of the blade so the weapon can be wielded horizontally as well as being used like a conventional axe. She had acquired many of these in the past, as the knights who used them were always heavily armoured, making them slow and clumsy, fairly easy prey, even for a fledgling. She hands the blades to the slave to carry, and then follows as he leads the way to the training grounds.
She finds Dumah lounging at the edge of the arena, talking with Raziel and Melchiah, perfectly at ease, his hands behind his head, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks at her coolly as she enters the ring, just hint of a smile playing about his lips.
"We'd almost given up on you," he says.
Raziel turns his face away as she approaches, making a point of ignoring her, and she does likewise, bowing first to Melchiah, who is looking surprisingly hot, if such a thing were possible, and then to Dumah.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting, Lord Dumah. I came as soon as I could."
Dumah sits up slowly and takes one of the blades from the slave.
"Interesting choice," he remarks, checking the edge carefully with a thumb-claw. "You might regret it though, I'm rather fond of these."
"Modest as ever, I see!" She takes the second blade from the slave, who departs hurriedly. "What are the rules?"
"No magic. Weapons or bare hands only, and no permanent damage."
"No fun, in other words," Raziel interjects.
Dumah smiles, "We are here for our entertainment, not yours. Go and find a victim of your own if you're bored."
Raziel waves away this suggestion and takes a seat next to Melchiah, "No, no," he says. "I wouldn't miss this. It will be pleasant to see someone finally teach her some manners."
Dumah turns back towards her, "I think you'll find we still have enough scope to make things interesting," he says. "The rules apart, you may do your worst."
It is just what she needs, though she wishes the others were not there, Raziel especially; his presence reminds her of her interview with Kain and that, is a distraction she does not need.
It is not long before she is completely engrossed in the contest, Raziel and Melchiah both forgotten. Dumah is a formidable adversary, having the advantage in both size and strength. He is the first to draw blood, the blade stinging across the knuckles of her right hand as it slices them open. This wound, she realises, is not as trivial as it looks; while not very deep, it cannot possibly close while she continues to hold the blade. However, the pain concentrates her mind wonderfully.
She gets her revenge fairly quickly, slicing into his upper arm but she is not particularly pleased with her achievement. She would like to have given him something more troublesome, a simple flesh wound like that, is not going to slow him down in the least, and he is exceptionally fast.
They duel for some time, neither of them inflicting any significant damage. However, he shows no sign of tiring, while Jas can feel her reactions slowing, ever so slightly. To add to her troubles, her hand continues to bleed, and the blood is making it hard to maintain her grip on the blade. Defeating him is probably not going to be possible, she thinks, not this time, anyway. She manages to find space to wipe her hand and Dumah gives her a searching look, realizing she's in difficulty.
"Would you prefer to continue bare-handed?" he asks.
She shakes her head. She has no intention of discarding her weapon, she might as well concede as try to fight without it, not only does he have a longer reach; nature has armed him far better than it has armed her.
Not long after this, she manages to inflict a second wound, her blade scoring a line across his chest. Unfortunately, her triumph is short-lived; he strikes back hard, and it takes all her stamina to fend off his blows. He finishes the onslaught by kicking her feet out from under her. She must be tiring; she didn't even see that coming. What she does see, looking up as her hip grazes the sanded floor, is that he has leapt into the air, the blade held high over his head, and now, he is swinging it down towards her, full force. She rolls out of the way and the point buries itself deep in the sand, exactly where her head was a moment ago. Then, at the very second she begins to rise, the blade comes scything back towards her, this time at neck level. There's no chance of avoiding it, almost as soon as she's seen it, the edge is biting into her flesh, just above the shoulder. Her eyes shut, involuntarily, as the metal slices into her skin. Shocked incredulity and a horrible sensation of needles pricking her from scalp to toes, as it continues to bite deeper and she realizes, exactly, how this is going to end, and then the blade stops, dead. A slight sting as he removes the edge from her neck, and she has a flesh wound, quite deep, but nothing serious.
She barely had time to be afraid.
She opens her eyes. Dumah is standing before her, elegantly posed, the blade held vertically, his elbow resting on the handle. He has a somewhat smug expression on his face and he is not even showing the slightest sign of exertion. She realizes she is still holding her breath and exhales, slowly. He offers a hand to help her to her feet.
"Victory to me, I believe. Didn't scare you, did I?"
"Sadist!"
He chuckles softly, delighted with himself, and slips an arm around her waist.
Raziel is still seated next to Melchiah at the edge of the arena; he looks disdainfully at both of them.
"So?" He says, finally. "She's proved herself unworthy as an opponent. Why don't you just tell her she can go?"
Melchiah turns to him with a frown. "That's not very generous of you, Raziel," he says. "As an unbiased observer, I'd say the lady turned in a creditable performance. If it were anyone else, I'm sure you'd be praising them for having the courage to face such a foe, not dismissing them." He stands up heavily, putting a clawed hand onto Raziel's shoulder. "I do hope you are not still sulking over what I think you are," he continues, looking down at him, "because it's very unbecoming." Raziel shakes himself free of Melchiah's hand, and gets up; he glares at his brother.
"Careful." he growls.
Melchiah looks at him placidly, his arms folded across his chest. "I'm not going to fight you," he says calmly. "I've had more than enough exercise for one day. Perhaps you should try your skills against Dumah. Ease some of those frustrations. Eh?" He turns his attention to Jas, "I suspect that prohibition on magic was for Dumah's benefit, rather than yours," he says. "Next time it might be worth using it, I think it might possibly give you the edge. He has some devastating abilities, but they tend to be a little slow to execute, if you know what I mean."
She smiles at him and bows. "Thank you, both for the praise and for your advice. You're most kind."
He bows back to her, "Dumah likes to show off," he says, "but I don't think it should be encouraged. And now, I fear, I must take my leave of you. Duty calls. Thank you for the entertainment."
He walks out of the arena, his gait rolling and unhurried. Raziel glares after him, but he says nothing. As Melchiah's back finally disappears into the shadows of the entrance tunnel, he turns back to Dumah, looking at him speculatively.
"Well," he says, stretching his neck and then his arms until the joints crack. "Much as I hate to concur with Melchiah, I wouldn't mind taking the opportunity to put you in your place. What do you think, little brother? Are you up for a real challenge?"
Dumah shakes his head. "Another time perhaps."
Raziel stares, he didn't expect this reaction.
"There's a small question of a forfeit being due." Dumah says in explanation, brushing Jas' hair back from her shoulder and grazing the wound on her neck with his fangs. As her blood begins to flow once more, his tongue flicks out to catch it. Raziel grimaces in distaste.
"You can do that, anytime, surely?" he says.
'And not in public!' Jas admonishes, freeing herself from his embrace.
"I wouldn't mind staying a little longer," she says out loud. Indeed, she would very much like to see a contest between these two.
Dumah laughs, his arm tightening possessively about her once more.
"Alas, my sweet, you're in no position to dictate terms. You lost, remember?"
"Ill-mannered as well as sadistic! Whatever did I see in you?"
"Come back to my chambers and I'll show you."
Raziel shakes his head disgustedly as he watches them leave.
*
"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did," Dumah says, as they walk back to the armoury. "You've got some nice moves and you're fast."
"Not fast enough, apparently."
He smiles, "You drew blood, twice. Not many could."
"I didn't keep count of the damage you inflicted upon me," she laughs, "though I do believe it was more than twice. And as to your finishing move…"
"Did you like it?"
"Let's just say I have every intention of paying you back, no matter how long it takes."
He laughs, "That could be a very long time indeed."
She stops and turns to look at him.
"Has anyone told you that vanity is a distinctly unattractive quality?" She asks. "I'm beginning to think it's a good thing I did lose! If I had defeated you before such a distinguished audience, I doubt you'd still be talking to me." She pauses, considering. "Though on reflection, that wouldn't really have been a problem."
Now he turns to look at her, "It wouldn't?" He asks, in mild surprise.
"Not in the least." She gives him a wicked little grin. "None of the forfeits I had in mind, required you to say anything at all!" She dodges out of his reach as she speaks and stands at a safe distance, laughing at his vain attempt to catch her.
*
"Jas," he says later, when they are lying quiet together, her limbs twined around his. "We're due to leave here soon, in two nights. Have you thought about where you'll go then?"
She rises up on her elbows and looks at him, "Why do you ask?"
"Because I'd like you to come back with me, to my home."
She smiles down at him, "And why, would you want me to do that?" She says. "Don't you have females in Dumahim territory?" She falls back against the pillows and gazes up at the ceiling, "I'm sure you have." She continues. "Why, there must be at least half a dozen ladies in your bed there already, and every one of them absolutely desperate for your return."
"I'll evict them," he whispers, finding her earlobe and nipping it sharply.
"And then what? You'll tire of me in a week, and you know it. Will you evict me too?"
"I think you underestimate your charms," he replies. "I was prepared to grant you at least a fortnight!"
Her retaliation is far from gentle, but he seems to enjoy it, all the same.
How long, she wonders, is it usually, before boredom sets in?
It doesn't matter. Their time is nearly run out as it is.
*
The next evening, preparations are well under way for each of the clan leaders and their entourage to move out. Dumah is insistent that Jas should come with him, if Kain will give his permission. The Dumahim who have accompanied him are nearly all fledglings, and, he tells her, he would appreciate having the benefit of her experience on the journey. While she is flattered by this, she can't help feeling that she is simply about to exchange one cage for another.
To make matters worse, there is nothing for her to do, she has few possessions to pack, and, not being a member of any clan, she has had no duties assigned to her. She sits in her chamber, feeling bored and faintly depressed, until a slave arrives with a message that Kain is in the throne room and wishes to see her immediately. She wonders if Dumah will be with him, she rather hopes he will not.
Her wish is granted, Kain is alone; he is seated on the throne, apparently lost in thought. She stands in the doorway, unsure whether or not she should approach him. He looks up after a minute and she curtsies, when she rises, she notices he is smiling.
"The surroundings do tend to make one observe the formalities, don't they?" He says. "But we won't stand on ceremony tonight, Jaslinde. Dumah has requested that you accompany him back to his territories, are you agreeable?"
"You said that you would keep me until your enquires about me were complete," she says. "I take it they are not."
He looks at her in surprise. "Somehow, I thought you would be more pleased."
"Forgive me, I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but I'm used to living alone. I doubt that particular arrangement would prove to be very comfortable for either Dumah or myself, if I should be compelled to stay beyond my welcome."
His smile broadens a little as he hears her answer. "I see." He says. "Tell me then, ideally, where would you like to stay?"
"Somewhere of my own choosing," she says simply. "Though of course, that is hardly practical at the moment. I understand that I must remain under your… protection, until you have completed your investigation, and I am also due to enter the state of change, when I do, I'll be vulnerable, I'll need somewhere secure to sleep. If you would consider aiding me then, I would be grateful."
"That is already in hand," he tells her. "I will ensure your safety personally, when the time comes."
Will he?
She looks at him, frowning a little, suddenly suspicious of his motives.
"When Raziel dies," he explains, "there will be war. If events should overtake us and this happens while you are asleep, you could be caught in the middle of the clan territories and that would be a very unsafe place for you to be."
He's right, of course, she hadn't considered that possibility.
She bows her head in agreement.
"And when you wake…" he continues. "Well, we shall see."
"Thank you, that is more than I'd hoped for."
"Until then, however, I see no reason why you should not stay with Dumah. He lost one clan member on his arrival here; it would do no harm to put another mature vampire in his party to oversee the youngsters on the journey back. Does that arrangement please you?"
"Yes," she says, "that pleases me, very much."
He dismisses her and is almost immediately lost in his thoughts again. As she reaches the door, she glances back at him; he looks troubled. She does not intrude, Kain keeps his own counsel. She closes the door softly and makes her way back to her quarters.