A/N Having told you all about Nocturnally Damned's beautiful artwork, did I mention where it could be found? Of course not, that would have been far too sensible! To remedy that little oversight, the address is…Refusing to be uploaded **Screams and bangs head off keyboard in frustration at fourth attempt** Oh well, it is chapter 13!  Sorry folks, You'll have to go to her profile and find it yourself. But, do. It's well worth the effort.

13 Justice

Dumah's own quarters are reached through an enormous pair of golden doors located at the very centre of the corridor, each bearing the Dumahim clan emblem. Beyond them, stretches a long hallway, terminating at a second pair of doors, exactly the same as the first. Both sets of doors are flanked by guards.

Jas is ushered straight in. Evidently, Berrin is still with Dumah; they are not in the reception room but she can hear their voices clearly.

"You have until sunset tomorrow." Dumah is saying coldly.

"I will not fail you, my Lord. I pledge you my life. This matter will be resolved. I will restore my honour and the honour of the clan, or I will die in the attempt."

"I'm glad that is understood. Fail me, and I will personally ensure your death, and it will be uncommonly slow."

"My life is yours, Sire. I live but to serve you."

"If you wish to live long, you will have to serve me better in the future than you have served me recently. Now, get out!"

Berrin exits with as much haste as decency will allow, barely acknowledging Jas with a brief nod as he passes her. Dumah follows him, frowning. When he sees Jas, his frown deepens; he had expected her to be waiting in the corridor outside. She bows deeply to him.

"You sent for me, my Lord? If it is inconvenient, I can come back later."

Dumah continues to look at her; he is rather surprised by her use of such a formal greeting, but his expression gives little indication of this.

"No, stay," he says. "My displeasure is not with you."

She inclines her head again. "As you wish, my Lord."

Dumah begins to frown again; since their arrival at the stronghold, she has seemed tense, almost wary of him, and this conventional politeness is a disappointment. At this moment, Jas sounds like any of the courtly females who usually surround him, and he despises such falseness.

Where is the mischievous creature who beguiled him in the Sanctuary?

He has to coax an explanation from her, and when he does, he is still nonplussed. He has always been who he is. He has always been Kain's lieutenant and he has always ruled the Dumahim territories. Why would any of these things suddenly, be a problem for her?

It is only when he tries to reassure her that there is no ground for her misgivings, that he begins to appreciate the very real difficulties she is having with her situation.

"I feel like a prisoner here," she says.

Dumah glares at her indignantly.

"When did I ever say I regarded you as such?"

She shakes her head, "You didn't, of course. But tell me this, am I free to leave?"

He doesn't answer. He would like to tell her she is, but that decision is not his to make. She steps closer to him and tentatively takes his hand, his silence giving her the confidence to explain further.

"In the Sanctuary," she says, "we met as equals, both of us subject only to Kain, but here, it's different. Here, everyone is subject to your will and surely, that has to include me, too."

Now, he is beginning to understand what is troubling her.

"Both of us are still subject to Kain," he replies. "I follow his orders here, just as I would anywhere, but beyond the duty I owe my sire, I have no desire to subjugate you to my will and to be honest, I'm rather disappointed that you should believe otherwise."

Jas lowers her head, "I'm sorry," she whispers, curling her fingers tighter around his claws, "you have done nothing to merit complaint, and I am aware of how ungrateful this sounds. It's just that… this is hard for me. I feel self-conscious here, I don't know what to do, what's expected of me. This is completely different to the life I lived in the forest. Before you brought me to the Sanctuary, I lived without any restraints, I went where I pleased and I did what I wanted. I answered to no one."

Dumah sighs, even he, he realizes, was never that free. No wonder she feels as if she has been caged.

He puts an arm around her, aware that all he has to offer is sympathy.

"Nothing has changed," he says gently. "The location may be different but we are still the same. Believe me, you have nothing to fear."

She smiles up at him, not entirely reassured, but relieved that at least, he seems to understand.

"What was the problem, when I came in?" she asks. "If you don't mind my asking?"

Dumah does not mind; he is pleased to change the subject. Kain's orders regarding Jas have left him feeling uncomfortably constrained.

"There has been an incident." He tells her. "Three nights ago, five of my fledglings decided to go out and chase vampire hunters, without Berrin's permission, only two of them have returned." He clenches his fist, grinding his claws against one another. "Berrin should have been more vigilant!" He says, his face darkening with anger. "I can't afford to lose so many, especially for no return! They were all of them strong, foolish perhaps, but they had potential. Now I have three dead at the hands of the humans and two more awaiting trial for insubordination and deserting their comrades, and there is only one punishment for either offence." He glowers, "Not the homecoming I would have wished for."

He looks down for a minute, regaining his composure and when he looks up, his expression is clear and his tone lighter and more pragmatic. "Well, it is done," he says, "and there is no point in dwelling on it. Berrin will attempt to redeem himself; I have ordered him to exact a punishment on the mortals that they will not forget, and I will preside over the trial of the fledglings this evening. Beyond that, the situation cannot be mended." He looks at her and his expression softens slightly.

"Enough of problems. Tell me, how do you like my home?"

"It's most impressive, what little I've seen of it."

"And your own accommodation?"

"Very grand, but quite comfortable, thank you. Though, I was disappointed in one respect; there's a woeful lack of reading material on the bookshelves."

He laughs, "If it's books you want, you should have gone to stay with Melchiah! There are very few here. I fear that reading is not a particularly common pastime amongst my kin, we tend to prefer more active pursuits." He puts his hands on her shoulders and draws her closer, stroking her cheek with his claw as he lowers his head to kiss her. "Anyway, you won't have time to read and don't get too comfortable in your chambers either, because I don't intend you to spend much time in them. Today, you will stay with me, we have the afternoon to ourselves and I shall allow no interruptions. Of course, you'll be the talk of the entire clan by sundown, but what harm in that?"

No harm at all, she thinks, apart from making an enemy out of practically every vampire in the place!

"Why is it, I can feel the points of at least a hundred daggers being aimed at my back as you speak?" She asks.

He smiles. "Ah! You're well able to defend yourself. I notice it didn't take you long to bring Serrah to heel."

And who, she wonders, told him about that?

He walks into the next room, casually flinging cloak and armour aside as he does so and Jas watches, her lips curving into a smile, as she admires his physique and the fluid grace of his movements. He sits down on the bed and starts to unlace his trousers. Suddenly, he realises she has not moved. He turns towards her.

"Are you just going to stand there?" He asks. "What I had in mind requires you to do more than just watch! And if you don't mind my saying so, you are extremely overdressed for the occasion."

She raises an eyebrow in reply to this statement, shaking her head at the sudden change in his demeanour, and then she walks into the bedchamber to join him.

*

The trial of the two fledglings is held early that evening, but Jas does not attend. Dumah has no wish for her to witness the sordid details of dealing justice within the clan; he doubts somehow, that the brutal treatment he is about to mete out to the miscreants would give her any reassurance at all concerning him. So, he leaves her, sleeping peacefully in his bed and in consequence, she rises late.

The cold snap has continued, and when Jas awakens, a thin veil of snow brightens the ashen stone and softens the contours of the fortress. She had asked that she be given some means of occupying her time, for nearly two weeks of forced inactivity at the Sanctuary has chafed her nerves and left her feeling unfit and restless. Her reward is to spend the rest of this night with a group of fledglings who had been in Berrin's care, instructing them in hand-to-hand combat.

Esau is among their number, but despite their previous acquaintance, he does not prove to be an asset to the class. He is less friendly towards her now and Jas finds him reluctant to accept her authority. He does not actually refuse to follow her orders but his whole attitude suggests that somehow, he believes he should not have to.

Dumahim pride can be very irritating, she thinks.

About an hour before sunrise, when the sky is just beginning to show the first faint signs of lightening, she calls him up to spar with her. His skills are no match for hers, and she believes that a brief but not too painful, demonstration of her abilities should make him a more compliant at their next lesson. She is just about to begin, when there is an interruption.

"Berrin has returned!"

The cry goes up and is immediately echoed by the fledglings.

"Berrin has returned!"

 In seconds, the fortress is ringing with the news.

"May we go see?" One of the fledglings asks her.

"By all means."

They run quickly to the entrance, where the doors to the outside are just being opened; Dumah is already standing in the courtyard, waiting.

Berrin strides in at the head of the band of warriors, their clothing is torn and bloody and their faces and hair are streaked with gore. As they enter the courtyard, the smell of blood and smoke begins to pervade the air. They hold their heads high and their eyes glow like embers, the dull red of a battle-fury not long past. They look around at the vampires who have assembled to greet them with fierce pride. This is their moment.

Berrin carries five severed human heads. He flings them triumphantly down onto the snow at his Lord's feet, before falling to his knees in front of him. Another warrior steps forward and flings down four more.

"Is that all?" Dumah asks coldly, kicking one of the heads with a frown. "Am I to believe that these few were able to vanquish five of our kin?"

Two more vampires step forward, they appear to be carrying sacks on their backs. They dump their burdens unceremoniously on the ground, just behind the heads and the snow beneath them darkens immediately, the crimson stain spreading rapidly, pale at the edges where it advances across the snow. The bundles are not sacks at all, they are bodies, or at least what were bodies, once. Both have been tortured to the extent that they are almost unrecognisable as humans.

Jas averts her eyes momentarily, this sight brings back unpleasant memories. When she looks up, she sees Esau is watching her closely. He has noticed her discomfort and now, he gives her a look of pure contempt. She had regained control almost immediately and now looks impassively at the scene before her, but the damage is done; she is furious with herself for showing such weakness in public.

Dumah is still regarding Berrin, he does not appear to be satisfied.

"And this, is all you bring to me?" He asks.

Berrin looks up, "No, my Lord. This is the hunting party that slew our kin. These," indicating the corpses, "provided the location of their hideout, and information on their defences.

Their den is destroyed, Sire, burned to the ground, and every man in it, those that escaped the flames, did not escape our swords. I bring you no prisoners, my Lord, because there were no survivors. In addition, we discovered the village from whence these traitorous vermin originally came, Karlmund. It has been sacked. All the inhabitants were killed, from the youngest babe, to the oldest crone. We spared no one. Even their animals were slaughtered. We have burnt every dwelling and every corpse, and the ashes have been scattered to the winds. It is as if the place never existed."

He waits anxiously for Dumah's response, if his Lord is still unsatisfied, he will very quickly be joining the corpses in front of him. The crowd presses forward silently, eager to hear the clan leader's pronouncement.

Dumah looks at Berrin for what seems to be a very long time. Finally, he speaks.

"Rise Berrin, you have served me well this night." He turns to address the rest of the warriors. "This was well done. Put the heads and the two corpses, onto pikes and mount them where they will be seen, I wish all the humans in our domain to know the price of turning against their masters. When you have done that, your task is complete."

*

Jas leads the fledglings back to the courtyard to finish the training session. After a few minutes, Berrin joins them. The fledglings stop at once, crowding around him, eager to be noticed by the hero of the hour. He accepts their adulation quietly, offering words of advice and encouragement where he thinks they are needed.

"Thank you for standing in for me at such short notice," he says to Jas. "It doesn't pay to let these young hooligans spend too much of their time sitting idle." He turns back to the fledglings and glowers at them. "They tend to get into all kind of scrapes when they're left to their own devices!"

The fledglings break into rather embarrassed grins at these words, despite his gruff tone, for Berrin is smiling as he speaks and that is something he has not been seen to do recently. For the past few days, his sense of humour has been completely absent and even minor misdemeanours have been treated with severity; it will be a relief to have Berrin back to his usual self again. 

He turns back to Jas. "Lord Dumah tells me you will be staying as our guest." He continues. "Perhaps, M' Lady, you would care to join us on our next excursion."

There is a snort of derision from behind them.

"Hardly!" Says Esau.

Everyone turns and looks at him in surprise.

"Since when has it been custom to let prisoners run about outside wielding weapons?" He asks. "And despite appearances, that all she is, a prisoner! Lord Dumah captured her on the outskirts of the Termagant forest and he had her dragged into the Sanctuary of the clans like any traitor or common criminal. I put her in the cells myself."

"And thank you so much for the reminder," Jas says quietly, "but as you can see, I'm not bound now."

Somehow, he fails to notice the threat underlying these words.

"To Hell with you!" He says. "When our Lord tires of you, no doubt he'll put you in the cells again, until then, I'm not wasting my time here. It's not your fighting skills he values!"

He turns on his heel, and starts to push roughly through the other fledglings. Immediately, Jas leaps into the air; she lands on his back, knocking him face down into the gritty snow and the fledglings draw back, forming a loose circle around them. She puts her knee across him, using her weight to hold him still, and then she twists his right arm up hard, behind his back. Her other hand, she uses to push down the back of his head, grinding his face into the slurry of slush and ashes, churned by their feet earlier.

"You…are beginning…to annoy me!" She says.

He forces his head up, coughing and spluttering.

"Let me up, you bitch! You're breaking my arm!"

She pushes her knee harder into his back and he struggles vainly against her, belatedly realizing that she is far stronger than she looks; after a minute, his struggles cease. She leans down, her face close to his, her breath on his cheek, just a shade warmer than the frigid air around them.

"Now that, wasn't very respectful," she says quietly. "But as to breaking your arm, well… that might be a good idea. Perhaps, it will teach you some manners."

She waits for one moment, taking a grim delight in his uncertainty, for she can sense him wondering if she is really going to do it. A sudden, vicious, little twist of her wrist and Esau's scream tears the night, his forearm breaking with a dull, wet snap. One or two of the youngest fledglings wince, but most of them smile their appreciation, fangs bared in pleasure at seeing some real damage inflicted, infinitely more entertaining than the interminable pretence of the drills.

She gets off him, kicking him hard in the ribs, before she steps away. Esau groans and gets to his feet shakily, his face streaked with melting snow and dirt. He wipes it with his sleeve, grimacing with the pain of the break and the burns on his face, painfully aware of the others who have witnessed his humiliation. He cradles the injury and glares at Jas, but he says nothing.

"One thing, any clan leader expects," she says, "is discretion from those who serve him. Remember that, the next time you are tempted to speak of matters that don't concern you."

Now Berrin steps forward, he grabs Esau roughly by the shoulder, and pushes him through the door, pointing him towards the infirmary, though it is unlikely that anyone will be there to tend him at this hour.

"Insolent pup!" He growls. "You're not fit to serve our Lord! Consider yourself lucky you got off so lightly. Now, go and get that seen to before it starts to set, otherwise it will have to be broken all over again. Not that you'd deserve anything less!"

Jas dismisses the rest of the class and then makes her way to the pantries, for the incident with Esau has given her a thirst. She is a little disappointed to find that the human male she had promised to come back for is no longer there, for it would have amused her to have kept her word to him, but there are plenty of others to choose from and her hunger is soon satisfied.

*

When she arrives back at her chambers, a slave is waiting with the message that she should report to Lord Dumah immediately. She makes her way to his quarters, and finds him just about to leave.

"Forgive me," he says, "I have some business to attend to and it won't keep, but I shouldn't be long. Would you mind waiting for me here? I'd be very interested in hearing your report on how the training went today. Rumour is," he adds with a smile, "that you've been mistreating my fledglings."

"Only one," Jas says, "and he thoroughly deserved it."

He laughs when he hears this answer, turning back to her as he leaves. "Make yourself at home," he says as an afterthought.

Jas looks around, the room is similar to the reception room in her own chambers, only larger and decorated in purple rather than red. Another similarity with her own accommodation is that there seems little to occupy oneself with. To her left, is the bedchamber, the door shut at present, and to the right, another door, leading to the study. Straight ahead, is another pair of doors. They are flanked by velvet curtains which hang from the ceiling right down to the floor. These doors apparently lead outside somewhere, for Jas can see light beginning to seep faintly through the gaps in their boards. She shivers as she looks at them. The Sun must be up by now and even a stray beam of light stealing into the room could prove very painful. She walks over and pulls the drapes across, covering the window entirely. Then, feeling safer and more comfortable, she continues looking around, finally entering the door which leads to the study.

Despite Dumah's invitation to make herself at home, she still feels uneasy; she almost creeps into the room, being careful to disturb things as little as possible. There is a large desk in the centre, covered over with maps, one spread out, showing the borderlands between the Dumahim and Turelim territories and several others rolled haphazardly on top of it. To her surprise, she finds that there are also bookshelves, and despite what Dumah told her yesterday, quite a few books too, though the subject matter is somewhat disappointing. Most of them seem to be ancient texts on warfare and in particular the military organisation of the ancient order of the Sarafan. There are also a few on metallurgy and weaponry but there is nothing particularly entertaining and no works of fiction at all. On the very bottom shelf, is a box of chess pieces and another box which opens out into a backgammon board, neither of which is any use to her at the moment. Next to these, shining like jewels in their soft leather bindings, is an elegant set of seven volumes documenting the history of the clans, each book bound in the appropriate colour. The seventh volume is dedicated to the history of the Emperor of Nosgoth himself, bound in scarlet like the book of the Razielim, although this book appears to be part of a separate set, as the spine proclaims it to be volume number three. Jas takes the violet-bound volume, and then goes back to the reception room, settling herself into a chair to read. It is not long before she is soundly asleep.

Dumah returns within the hour. He is somewhat surprised to see Jas curled up and sleeping in a chair, but when he sees her choice of reading material, his surprise lessens. He takes the book from her fingers with an amused smile, noting that she had reached page ten, before he closes it.

In contrast to their sumptuous bindings, the content of these books is remarkably dry. Only a dedicated historian could find any pleasure at all in the dull facts contained within their pages. The first chapter of this particular volume, is nothing more than a torturously detailed description of the extent of the Dumahim territories and their precise boundaries, including a full account of all minor changes which have occurred over the years, as well as any minor disputes which have arisen with other clans. Young Dumahim scholars who have been set the task of memorizing these details have been known to weep over them, and page ten, is much further than Dumah has ever managed to read himself.

Jas' eyelids flutter open as the book leaves her fingers and Dumah leans down to her with a smile that is gently malicious.

"Comfortable?"  He asks.

When she tries to move, she understands the reason for his amusement. Somehow, her body has got wedged into the chair in the most unnatural position imaginable. She groans loudly as she attempts to straighten out her neck and he laughs as he watches her, making no move at all towards giving her assistance.

"Your present predicament is, I believe, the reason why most of us choose to rest in a bed." He tells her. "Did you not know they could be used for that purpose? Or did you just forget the way to my bedchamber?"

She picks up the book and swats at him in irritation. He catches it neatly.

"Well, I'm glad to see you've regained your full range of movement," he remarks, setting the book down with exaggerated care. "And your temper too! But please, don't use that as a weapon! If you damage it, we will have the wrath of the entire clan Melchiahim to contend with. Melchiah is unaccountably proud of those unreadable tomes. Now," pointing to the door on the left, "pay attention. The bedchamber, is that way."