A/N Sorry I've been rather slow to update this. A number of things got in the way, most of 'em far too boring to mention, except for Nocturnally Damned's fine drawings inspiring me to get out the pencils and do a bit of scribbling myself.

This chapter is a bit on the short side, so I will (Promise!) update again this week.

12 In the Halls of the Dumahim

The journey to the Dumahim territories is uneventful. They travel fast, and no humans cross their path, much to the disappointment of the youngsters. Most of the journey is marred by the weather, which is far from springlike. It turns from being misty, to drizzle, and then to a soft, persistent rain.

Jas and the fledglings pull their cloaks up around their faces, but their skin is still stung and sore, despite this precaution. She glances over at Dumah at the head of the party; he is soaked, the rain running off his hair and over his skin in rivulets and he doesn't even seem to notice it. Jas is distinctly envious.

As they move onto higher ground, the air becomes colder, for spring has not yet advanced this far north, and the rain gradually turns to snow. The fledglings throw off their cloaks with relief, and Jas does the same, laughing as the snowflakes brush against her skin.

"Well, this is better," she says to Esau. He makes no answer; he is staring at her in amazement. "What?" She asks.

"It doesn't hurt you? The snow I mean."

To her embarrassment, the rest of the party now stops to look at her.

"No, it hasn't had any effect on me for a long time, why do you ask?"

"It's just that those from the southern clans who are affected by the rain, usually find the snow no better." He says.

Dumah looks at her and shrugs. "Perhaps we are related, after all," he says with a smile.

*

They arrive at the gates of the Dumahim stronghold an hour before sunrise. The last part of the journey taking them through a tunnel, carved right into the heart of the mountains. They emerge into a narrow ravine, enclosed all around with towering, granite fortifications. At first, Jas thinks it is still snowing, for soft grey flakes fall all around them, but they do not melt, and on closer inspection, she discovers that they are ashes, no doubt the product of volcanic activity somewhere high in the mountains that rise before them.

Dumahim banners of violet and white hang from the walls, high above their heads, their colour enriched by the contrast with the grey stone and the paler grey of the ash. The stronghold itself, is on their left, two massive wooden doors being the only means of entry, these doors are flanked by two enormous lookout towers, with battlements extending to either side. From what she can see, it is clear that much of the stronghold must be carved deep into the mountains beyond the perimeter walls; the fortress appears impenetrable.

At this particular moment, the doors are standing wide open to welcome them. Jas looks up as they enter, realizing that the very solidity of these defences is what will give the humans the advantage when they finally come to sack the stronghold, far from offering protection to the vampires, they will serve as a very effective trap, preventing most of the Dumahim from escaping.

As their party walks through the doors, Jas sees that the whole clan has assembled to greet their leader; the courtyard is thronged with vampires, as are the balconies that look down on it; all of those assembled, bearing a somewhat uncanny resemblance to their Lord. As she looks around, it slowly sinks in, this multitude is composed entirely of Dumah's offspring; he is sire to every single one of them. She looks at him, slightly awestruck; his clan, the fortress that houses them, in fact, everything that she can see around her, has been wrought by his hands.

For the first time, Jas begins to comprehend the true extent of Dumah's power, and how incredibly audacious her actions in the Sanctuary of the Clans really were. Of course, she had known that each of the brothers held one sixth of Nosgoth under their dominion, but when they were in the Sanctuary, with Kain playing parent, presiding over the squabbles and the sibling rivalries, it was as if this knowledge had been suspended. There, it had been almost impossible to take them seriously as the six entities who ruled her world. Now, as she stands on the threshold of the Dumahim city, she finds herself forced to reassess her view of the clans and their leaders, and more importantly, her own position relative to Dumah.

The assembled vampires sink to their knees as they enter the courtyard, and Dumah leads them inside.

The interior of the stronghold is as impressive as its exterior. The architecture and decoration is less delicate than that of the Sanctuary, but no less rich. Carved granite paves every floor, sparkling subtly in the light of the lanterns, while most of the walls are clad with polished marble. Jas soon loses her bearings in the labyrinth of corridors and gated courtyards.

At last, they arrive at a corridor that ends abruptly in a deep shaft, beyond it, lie the staterooms, Dumah's own quarters and the accommodation for his most senior courtiers. A huge drawbridge is slowly lowered to allow them to proceed further. Before they cross it, Dumah dismisses the rest of their party.

The bridge is pulled up behind them as soon as they have crossed. More vampires, all of them mature in years, await them on the other side; these vampires form the hub of the Dumahim court. Dumah dismisses all but two of them.

"Berrin," he says to one of the older males, "you report to me at once. I wish to know everything that has happened in my absence, spare no detail." He turns to the other vampire, a mature female of Junoesque proportions and rather superior demeanour. "Serrah, the lady Jaslinde will be staying with us, as our guest. Prepare chambers for her and assign her an attendant."

The female curtsies deeply. "Certainly my lord. There are quarters in the Southern wing that are unoccupied. I shall see to it at once."

"No, that is entirely unsuitable." He says. The female looks surprised. "Lady Jaslinde will be accommodated on this floor. Find her somewhere between my chambers and Berrin's."

"But…"

From the look on his face, Jas discerns that this is not a response that he is used to getting, and clearly, he does not like it.

"Was there something ambiguous about those orders?" he asks, his voice softly menacing.

"No, my Lord."

"Then may I suggest you follow them, before my patience expires completely."

The female gives her sire a frightened look. "Your pardon my Lord, at once." She turns to Jas. "If you'll follow me."

Dumah puts a hand on her arm. "I'll send for you when I have finished with Berrin," he says quietly. "I don't know how long we will be."

She bows deeply to him, "Until then, Lord Dumah."

The female, Serrah, has already started to walk away; she has barely spared Jas a second glance. Jas follows her, wondering if the rest of the Dumahim are going to be as haughty as she is. Of course, she reflects, pride is one of Dumah's more obvious faults. Little wonder then, that it should also be apparent in his progeny.

Serrah stops near the end of the corridor, she is looking at Jas rather suspiciously. It is a long while before she speaks.

"No fledgling has ever been granted rooms on this level," she says, disapproval apparent in both her voice and her countenance. "I take it you are still unable to stand the light?"

Jas nods, she sees no point in correcting the female's supposition that she is still immature, she has no wish to explain herself to this creature.

Serrah sighs. "In that case there is little choice. The chambers to the east all have windows, I doubt you would be comfortable with that, even with the shutters locked." She opens a door and indicates that Jas should enter. "These rooms are the only ones on the west that are vacant."

Jas steps over the threshold into an enormous reception room, which has obviously been unoccupied for some time; the air is cold and there is a faintly musty smell to it. All the furniture is covered over with white dustsheets and dust lies thickly on the marble fire-surround. No fire has been set in the hearth and the lamp only lights after several attempts, the wick also being choked with dust. There are two more doors leading from this room, one opens into a large bedchamber containing a bed, a dressing table, and a wardrobe that takes up the best part of an entire wall. The other door opens into a room, which has no obvious purpose, it too has a fireplace, a large table and six chairs, and what appear to be bookshelves, but these are all empty. Serrah whisks one of the dustsheets off a chair in the reception room and Jas puts her bundle down onto it, Serrah makes a point of immediately moving it onto the floor. She continues to remove the dustsheets until all the furniture is exposed. All three rooms are sumptuously furnished. The reception room, especially, is very grand; crimson velvet drapes decorate the walls, their folds held in place by golden cords, and crimson velvet cushions adorn the chairs and sofas. The furniture is all of generous proportions and solidly made, from a pale, honeyed timber that Jas does not recognize. She runs her fingers along the satiny surfaces of one of the chairs, admiring the understated elegance of its design.

Serrah turns to her, "If your taste would be for something simpler," she says, her tone implying that Jas has obviously not the first idea of how to behave in such civilized surroundings, "I'm sure Lord Dumah would be happy to oblige you."

"I see no need to question Lord Dumah's judgement." Jas says coldly. "And to be honest, I'm surprised you would wish to, especially twice in the same evening."

Serrah gives her a look that is distinctly unfriendly, and steps out into the hallway, she begins to walk away without so much as a backward glance. Jas is about to remind her that she should also be given an attendant, but then she thinks better of it. After all, she has lived long enough without servants, so she hardly needs one now, and if Serrah can't remember her own orders… well, that's her problem.

She closes the door and makes a closer inspection of her surroundings. The bed is made up, but the linens feel faintly damp. Worst of all, there is not a single thing that might be used for entertainment in any of the three rooms, not a book, not a pack of cards, nothing. What she does discover, is a basket of logs by the fireplace in the reception room and kindling; she sets a fire and searches for her tinderbox, which she finds at the bottom of her pack. Very soon after, she has the fire blazing cheerfully. This is just as well, for the oil in the lamp has not been replenished, and the light is already beginning to dwindle. She watches as it sinks down to a tiny blue flame, which gutters and then dies completely.

Jas decides to continue unpacking; it does not take her long. She hangs her clothes in the wardrobe and can't help laughing aloud at the absurd sight of her few garments hanging in such a vast space. Her dress is completely crushed from the journey, quite unwearable, despite her attempts to shake out the creases.

After that, there is nothing more to do. When, she wonders, will Dumah send for her?

 'Send for her.'

There is something about that phrase that makes her distinctly uncomfortable. Since her arrival in Dumahim territory, there has been a perceptible shift in the balance of power, and not in her favour, either. Does she want to be subject to Dumah, even temporarily?  Jas shakes her head and sighs. Even as she asks herself this question, she knows that what she wants, is irrelevant. She is subject to him. And, now that he has control, she can't help wondering if she will have cause to regret her impulsive behaviour back in the Sanctuary.

She sits and stares into the fire, and finds herself wishing, quite sincerely, that she had not agreed to come.

Suddenly, she comes to a decision. She jumps up and flings wide the door leading into the corridor, almost running into a male vampire on the other side, he apparently, being just about to knock. He looks extremely surprised but recovers himself almost immediately.

"Lady Jaslinde, I presume?"

"You're correct."

"I have a message from Lord Dumah. He regrets that it may be some time before he is able to see you today."

Even better, it gives her time to act.

"In that case," she says, "I would like you to show me to the Lady Serrah's quarters. I assume that is where she will be at this hour?"

"Most probably," he says. "Her room is this way." He indicates a stairwell at the end of the corridor and proceeds to lead her down two flights of stairs.

That probably explains some of her attitude, Jas thinks, as they make their descent; it must have taken her a long time to rise even this far. How annoying then, that some foreign fledgling should apparently, ascend so easily above her.

When they arrive at Serrah's door, Jas dismisses the male and then knocks loudly. Serrah does not seem particularly pleased to see her. Jas gives her no time to speak.

"Lady Serrah," she says, "I have been waiting most patiently, but the attendant you were to send me has not materialized." Serrah's features contract into a frown. "Also my rooms are far from satisfactory," Jas continues, "I demand you move me into more fitting accommodation, immediately!" Serrah stares blankly, she was not expecting this. Jas gives her a contemptuous look. "I take it that domestic matters are not a Dumahim strongpoint," she says pointedly. "Though your own room appears to be clean enough. I refuse to stay in that dingy hole you assigned to me a moment longer. If you can't get those chambers habitable, you will have to find me somewhere else."

"There is nowhere else, I explained that." Indignation is beginning to creep into Serrah's voice.

"Then move someone."

"Impossible!"

Jas gives her a long, hard look. "Serrah, I have no wish to bother Lord Dumah with trivial matters of housekeeping," she says. "Obviously, he assigned this task to you, so he would not have to concern himself with such petty details. However, it appears to me, that he has made a mistake in assessing your abilities. If you are truly incapable of following his orders, I shall not be slow in bringing it to his attention."

Serrah draws in her breath, preparing to launch an attack of her own.

"Furthermore," Jas tells her. "I am hungry. Is it not customary for the Dumahim to feed their guests? Allow me to make a suggestion. Call someone to take me to feed, and try to get those rooms into order before I return to them. Do you think you could manage that?" Serrah lets her breath out again, slowly, she is not too sure how to react to this. She had assumed that one so young would be out of her depth in the Dumahim court and therefore, easy to dominate, in spite of her favoured position, but now she is not so sure.

Serrah calls a slave and Jas is taken to the pantries. The humans are fettered around the walls of the rooms here. She chooses one and feeds hungrily, the cries of horror and distress from the rest of the inmates doing nothing to spoil her appetite or dampen her spirits, quite the opposite in fact. As she leaves, she turns to the prisoner nearest the door, a young male. She winks at him roguishly, stroking his throat with a claw.

"Don't fret," she tells him, "I'll be back for you, later."

When she returns to her chambers, it would appear that Serrah has taken her suggestion seriously; everything is in perfect order. The rooms are clean and bright, the bed has been freshly made up and her dress has been removed from the wardrobe, presumably for cleaning, several other garments now augment her own sparse possessions, some soft leather shoes and several silk wraps being most welcome additions. Jas kicks off her boots and settles down in front of the fire. She is adding a second log to it, when there is a knock at the door. The male, who had taken her to Serrah earlier, is standing outside; he informs her that Lord Dumah requests her presence. Jas steps into the corridor and allows him to lead the way.