14 Denunciation  

Within a month, life in the Dumahim stronghold has settled into a comfortable, if somewhat predictable pattern. Dumah is kept busy overseeing his clan and administering his territories, which means that it is often daybreak before Jas sees him, sometimes, long after. However, she finds life in the Dumahim stronghold far from boring.

She has been given sole responsibility for training the fledglings and this, she enjoys; they are fierce and warlike, like their sire, eager to learn and challenging to work with. She devotes both time and effort to the task and the fledglings make good progress under her tutelage.

Berrin is a frequent visitor to the class. Initially, it is because he is loath to hand over his charges, especially just so Dumah's female may be kept amused in the evenings, but it does not take long for Jas to allay his doubts. Berrin quickly comes to the conclusion that he approves of her and he often praises her work. However, there is no further mention of excursions, and that grieves Jas, for she would like to take the fledglings out and give them a true test of their abilities. As well as that, she realizes, she is yearning desperately to get beyond the fortress walls herself. As she told Dumah, on the night of their arrival, she isn't used to being confined so closely, and already, she is beginning to feel shut in.

She misses the exhilaration of the hunt, the sheer joy of pitting her wits and her strength against her opponent's. Feeding from the fettered humans in the pantries relieves her hunger, but there is no real pleasure in it. She resolves to ask Dumah if it would be possible for her to take the fledglings out with one of the Dumahim raiding parties. After all, the worst he could do is refuse and then, at least, she would know where she stands.

To her surprise, she is ushered into his quarters even before she has requested audience.

"Were you expecting me?" She asks.

He turns towards her, his face serious.

"We have a visitor," he says. "He tells me he has information on your origins." He pauses, apparently lost in thought for a moment. "What was that phrase he used to describe it?" he asks himself softly, "Ah, Yes! That was it! 'Disturbing' information."

Her mouth is suddenly dry, for she knows what this information is. Will Kain let her live, now that he knows the truth? She is not sure, she is not sure at all.

Dumah is watching her closely, "You appear concerned," he says. "Would you care to share the reason for that with me?"

He gives her another searching look and she finds her gaze sliding towards the floor, she really doesn't want to discuss this, not with him, not now.

He'll know soon enough.

"It's nothing," she says.

He looks at her in disbelief for a second and then his claw slams into the wall by her head, so hard that the marble cracks, his eyes are no longer golden, they blaze red with anger.

"Don't…ever…do…that…again! Lie to me once more and I swear I will put a mark on you that you will not recover from!"

His claw is dangerously close to her face now, her ear, her throat. She swallows hard and raises her head, forcing herself to look directly at him.

"You mistake me," she says, her voice sounding hard and cold, even to her own ears. "I did not speak with the intention of deceiving you. What I meant to convey, is that this, is none of your business."

The second claw slams into the marble on the other side of her head. She winces, closing her eyes as tiny pieces of masonry explode against her face.

Does she actually want him to strike her?

He steps back and looks at her; beside defiance, there is strangely, something almost defeated in her stance.

"Anything that happens in my territories is my business," he says. "I thought you realized that."

No answer.

"How can I help you, if you won't trust me?"

And how, is she expected to do that? At this moment, she feels she knows him better than he knows himself. There is only one being in all of Nosgoth who could trust Dumah, and it isn't her.

"Well, if you won't talk to me," he says, "you will have to talk to our guest. He is demanding to see you, and I cannot disobey an order that comes with Kain's authority. Come. We will meet him in the throne room."

*

The splendours of the Dumahim throne room are all but lost on Jas, she is still reeling from the shock of Dumah's revelation, and dreading his reaction, when he is finally told exactly what her origins are. As she walks on the soft, crimson carpet that leads from the doors to the throne itself, she gets only the vaguest impression of her surroundings.

To her surprise, the visitor is not Kain. It is Turel.

Dumah walks straight past him and takes his seat on the throne, he positions Jas so she is standing at his right hand. Turel gives her a particularly venomous look before he turns his attention to his brother; he does not bother to give him greeting.

"So," he says smugly, stepping forward with a distinct swagger, "it appears your pet has deceived us all. It is not quite what it seems to be."

Dumah leans towards him. "Meaning?"

"Let me tell you," Turel smirks. "Though I guarantee you, you won't like it. Last week, we had the good fortune to capture a Sarafan priest in our territories, not a warrior, but part of some esoteric inner circle. He was a scholar apparently, privy to secrets so dire that they never dared to write them down, lest they should fall into the wrong hands. Instead they have been passed from master to apprentice for generations, and now, thanks to our prowess, they have also been passed on to us."

"My congratulations," says Dumah, a slight edge of sarcasm in his voice, "but what has this to do with Jas?"

Turel smiles unpleasantly,  "Patience dear brother, patience, I am coming to that. His cloistered life had left our prisoner somewhat…soft, even for a human. As I recall, there was not much entertainment to be had from him at all, he died so very quickly. But he did talk before he died, and the things he told us were extremely interesting." He pauses for effect before continuing. "That creature standing beside you is not a true vampire at all! She is the result of a Sarafan experiment in necromancy. The humans actually made her!"

Dumah looks at him, incredulous. "Impossible! And even if it were not, why would they want to do such a thing?"

"The Sarafan planned to raise their own slain warriors and set them against us, a whole army of undead at their command."

"And they actually believed they would be able to control them?"

"Apparently so. Our informant told us that the experiment was deemed a failure at the time; they never realized that they had succeeded in conjuring life into this, or indeed any, corpse. But when I thought of the Master's enquiries into the origins of this creature, the pieces of the puzzle began to fit into place. The time of her birth and the location, especially. They were apparently, unwilling to defile the corpses of their comrades until they had proven re-animation was possible. So they started by experimenting on the dead from their own torture chambers." He starts forward and seizes Jas, ripping her right sleeve down from her shoulder, so her entire arm is exposed. "And, as I thought," he says, "she bears the marks of a stay in just such a place." He smirks at Dumah, "though I dare say, you knew that already. Not exactly my idea of attractive, but then, each to his own."  

Dumah bristles. "You were correct in assuming that I wouldn't like your theory, I don't. And so far, you have offered me no proof! I will be interested in what the Master has to say when he arrives!"

"He will not allow the abomination to defile our lands one moment longer than necessary, I am sure. Though why he allowed something quite so stunted and deformed to live even this long, I don't know."

"Stunted?" Dumah looks at him, his brow raised.

Turel snorts, "Obviously! Allow me to demonstrate." He seizes Jas by the elbow and drags her over to a large water-filled urn that stands in the alcove to the right of the throne. He plunges her hand deep into the water and holds it there. She has no time to prepare or to even to think of defending herself. She cries out in pain, as the liquid begins to dissolve her skin. At this, Dumah starts forward but Turel raises a hand to him, in warning.

"Don't humiliate yourself, Brother! You'll never rule that rabble of yours if it becomes known that I defeated you in your own halls! As Kain's emissary, I have the power to act as I see fit, no matter whose jurisdiction I am in; and I am quite prepared to assert that right, by force, if you have trouble accepting it."

Dumah takes a deep breath and then leans back. He glowers at Turel.

"Make your point, and then, get out!"

Turel merely smiles in reply; he is enjoying himself immensely. After what seems an eternity, he pulls Jas' hand out of the water and turns back to Dumah.

 "Nine hundred years old, or so the Master tells me, yet look how weak it is! It burns like a fledgling. I'd call that stunted, wouldn't you?"

Dumah does not reply, he is furious at Turel's high-handed behaviour, and it is taking all his self-control to master his temper.

"And deformed?" He asks, his voice a harsh whisper.

Turel has not relinquished his grip on her arm. Now, he takes her by the wrist, ignoring her agonised reaction to his touch. He holds out her hand for Dumah to see; it looks as though it has been peeled. As he begins to speak again, he taps her fingers cruelly with his claw, leaving her gasping with pain.

"At the age she claims to be," he says, "these, should have been long gone!" He throws her wrist down in disgust and looks at Dumah, his expression a mixture of wonder and contempt. "How could you bear to have it even near to you?"

"I think you have said enough! When are we to expect the Master?"

Turel sniffs scornfully, "Unlike some, I don't need Kain to direct my every action. It is obvious what needs to be done in this case, and since Raziel is not here at this moment, it falls to me to do it!"

As soon as he has spoken these words, he seizes Jas and teleports them both out of the Dumahim stronghold. The last thing she sees is Dumah, lunging out of his seat towards them, surprise and rage contorting his features, then he too disappears and she sees no more.

It takes Jas some time before she can get her bearings. Turel has taken her outside somewhere. High above their heads, a bird screams out a single note, harsh and discordant. She looks around; they are standing atop a cliff in the middle of a deep canyon. A chill wind is blowing from the east, sharp little gusts tugging at her clothes and her hair. Above the noise of the wind, she can hear the steady roar of torrents of water, cascading down the rocky mountainsides that surround them, falling and tumbling on all sides until finally, they converge, churning ceaselessly in some restless pool far below her feet. A fine mist of water droplets, thrown up by the ferocious decent of the waterfalls, burns against her hands and her face, torturing the flesh that Turel has already stripped of skin.

He has brought her to the cliffs above the Abyss, to the execution grounds.

Is this her fate then, to precede Raziel?

Several Turelim are already standing there, waiting for their master. At Turel's command, two of them come forward to hold her. They start to drag her towards the edge.

"Turel! Stop! You have no authority to do this!"

It is Dumah. He appears just moments after their own arrival, Berrin, and a host of Dumahim warriors materialising just behind him. They are all heavily armed.

Turel gives him a derisive look, his lip curling into a sneer.

"Cast her in!" He cries.

"No!" Dumah holds up his hand and the two Turelim hesitate. "Do that Turel and I swear you'll follow! You and your henchmen."

The two Turelim, look at Dumah doubtfully, the Dumahim have their own forces significantly outnumbered and there can be no doubt that Dumah means what he says. Then, they look to their own Lord; there is only one punishment for disobeying a direct order from a clan leader. It seems they are facing certain death, whatever they decide to do.

This is the opportunity Jas needs, before the two startled guards realize what is happening, she has broken free of them and now she darts forward, hurling herself towards the Dumahim.

She does not get very far. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Turel raise a hand and aim it towards her. Whatever it is that he hits her with, it knocks all the breath out of her body and stops her in her tracks. She falls like a stone. Instantly, the two Turelim guards start forward to reclaim her. There is a low, warning growl from Dumah, but Turel stands closer to them and their duty is clear. Even if it means their death, they have to obey their lord. They pick Jas up, half carrying her between them.

She is in agony, there is a searing pain in her side where Turel has struck her and that makes it almost impossible for her to stand unaided; she has no strength left to struggle. As the Turelim bear her up, she realizes that her fate is probably sealed, they are already too close to the edge for Dumah to prevent her execution; the best she can hope for, is that he might avenge it.

Just as the two guards are preparing to do their master's bidding, something stops them. There is a dismayed murmur from the watching Turelim behind her and their ranks begin to part. As they stand back, the cause of their disquiet becomes apparent.

It is Kain.

He walks up to Jas and her two guards step away at once, looking down and avoiding his gaze. He ignores them. He puts a paternal arm around Jas' shoulders, supporting her effortlessly.

"I really wouldn't stand there, if I were you," he says, leading her away from the edge. "The view is pretty, but it's not exactly safe."

He walks her over to Dumah, and leaves her standing in front of him. At once, she feels the weight of Dumah's hand on her shoulder, his claw almost imperceptibly squeezing the top of her arm. She leans back against him and closes her eyes, fighting the pain that is spreading like fire through her veins and leaving a steadily growing core of numbness in its wake. She collects her thoughts enough to say one thing.

'What he said, Turel. You know that it's true, don't you?'

The hand is removed from her shoulder.

'Later.'

All at once, she feels very alone.

*

Kain now turns his attention to his second son. He shakes his head, sighing wearily.

"Turel, Turel. In all these years, is it really possible that you have learned nothing from me? To exercise power, one also has to exercise judgement. This information you have received, it came to you so easily and at such an opportune moment, were you not even a little suspicious?" Turel looks at his sire, his face uncertain. "The Sarafan," Kain continues,  "have always been prepared to sacrifice a few martyrs to their cause. Someone in their ranks, has seen fit to throw you a bone, and, like a dog, you just accepted it. You never looked for the source of this gift and more importantly, you never questioned the motivation behind it." Turel lowers his head, glowering at the ground before his feet. "And then, to compound your mistake, you failed to consult with either myself or Raziel before you took action. You are fortunate Turel, that Dumah called me when he did."

Turel raises his head defiantly. "There was no need to consult, Sire! There can be no doubt about what she is! Our information was correct. I think you will find that I acted in the interests of the Empire."

Kain bares his fangs in a disdainful sneer. "You acted out of spite and jealousy! Petty emotions, even for a human, and most unworthy motivation for one such as yourself! Alive, she has proven to be of use to me. Dead, I doubt she would prove to be quite so useful. So, explain to me, Turel, how killing her, would be in my interests?"

Turel lowers his head again, he makes no answer to this question.

"All you sought to do," Kain continues, striding menacingly towards him, "was to deprive your brother of a plaything, and so keen were you to pursue this paltry goal, you allowed yourself to forget one very important fact; she doesn't belong to Dumah, she belongs to me."

At any other time, Jas would have hotly disputed the term 'plaything' as well as the issue of ownership, but under these particular circumstances, she feels no inclination to argue. Kain catches her eye as he speaks, and she could swear he is reading her thoughts, for she is sure she sees a fleeting glint of amusement in those cold eyes.

All trace of swagger and bravado has left Turel now, he looks at the ground and shuffles his feet, waiting for Kain to pronounce his fate.

Kain looks at him contemptuously.

 "What are you waiting for?" He asks. "A swift punishment that you can forget tomorrow? We have tried that approach already, and apparently, it is ineffective. This time, you do not escape so lightly." Turel blanches. "When I am finished with you," Kain continues, "you will know who is master."

He turns to Dumah and the warriors standing behind him, "Return to your stronghold now, all of you. I will join you later."

Dumah reaches out, ready to take Jas back with him, at the very moment that the numbness finally overwhelms her. She can fight it no more. Before his hands can take hold of her shoulders, she slips slowly out of his grasp and on to the ground.

"So very cold out here," she murmurs.

For a second, Dumah looks at the prone figure at his feet in shock; he'd actually forgotten she had been hurt. He tears off his cloak and wraps it around her; though even as he does so, he realizes the gesture is futile, there is no heat in her body for the cloth to keep in, no more than there is heat in his own flesh.

So why does she feel cold?

The answer comes to him as soon as he has framed the question.

Because she is bleeding, she is bleeding inside and her body is unable to repair the damage. Because she is dying.

He picks her up, within seconds, they are back in the Dumahim stronghold. He is vaguely aware of Berrin looking at him anxiously, everything else is blurred.

"Blood!" He says. "As much as you can, fast! My quarters."

As Berrin runs to obey his orders, he transports Jas to his rooms. He lays her on the bed and looks at her in consternation, she is barely breathing. Already he can hear the footsteps of those who are running to do his bidding, but they are too slow; instinctively, he knows there is no time. He raises his wrist to his mouth and slices it open with his fangs, then he tilts her head back, allowing his blood to flow over her lips but she does not swallow.

He holds her fiercely, willing her to live.

"Drink, damn you! Drink! You can't die now! You were left in my care, and I am not going to lose you."

Still, she does not swallow. Blood starts to trickle out from the corner of her mouth, if anything, her breathing is more shallow than it was when they arrived. For the first time that he can remember, Dumah feels he is in a situation entirely outside of his control. He lets her head back down onto the pillows and looks at her. He has no idea what else he can do and no idea what he is going to say to Kain, when he finally comes to reclaim his charge.

Just as he has abandoned all hope, Jas coughs weakly. Dumah takes her in his arms again and holds his wrist to her lips, letting the blood drip slowly into her mouth, she coughs again before she swallows, but slowly she begins to drink.

Berrin enters the room, bearing a goblet of blood, Dumah indicates that he should leave it down on a small side table. Tentatively, Berrin approaches his Lord.

"There's more, Sire. Shall I bring it in?"

"No use, she couldn't drink it if you did."

"Is…is she alive?"

"Barely."

Berrin looks at them for a moment longer and then quietly, he begins to withdraw.

"I hope the pantries are well stocked," Dumah says, "if I succeed in reviving her, I will have a sizable thirst, and as you know, I prefer to drink fresh."

Berrin nods, "I'll make sure everything is in order, Sire."

While they have been speaking, Jas has gained strength, she is no longer simply a passive recipient, Dumah smiles as he feels her lips close against his skin, feels her drawing the blood from his veins.

Suddenly, her mouth opens wide and she sinks her fangs deep into his flesh, jarring them against his wrist bones. For a second, the pain is intense, so much so, that he has to fight the impulse to pull away. She is feeding greedily now, driving her fangs steadily deeper as she does so. He is amazed, at her strength and pleased as well; it can only be a good sign that she is capable of exerting such force. Dumah holds her close and lets her feed until she is sated. When she has finished, her fangs are still deeply embedded in his flesh; he removes them gently, she offers no resistance and her eyes remain closed. Is she asleep, or still unconscious? He is not sure.

He leans down and kisses her, but there is no response.

The taste of the blood on her lips awakens his own hunger, sharp and insistent, and he realizes that he is actually feeling light-headed. He gets up, seizing the goblet that Berrin had left for Jas earlier, and drains it in a single draught, grimacing as it hits his throat. It is cold, already stale to his taste, and far from being enough. He calls Berrin back into the chamber, leaving him to watch over Jas and then he goes to feed.

*

Jas sleeps for the rest of that evening and through the whole of the following day. Dumah watches over her for much of the time, only leaving as evening falls, heralding the imminent arrival of Kain to the stronghold. When she awakens, the first person she sees is Berrin.

"By all that's dark!" He exclaims. "You've had us worried." He gets up and starts for the door as soon as he has spoken.

"Where are you going?"

He turns back to her, surprised she should even ask. "To inform Lord Dumah you are awake, of course. His orders were quite specific, any change and I am to inform him at once."

"Wait Berrin, please."

"What is it?" He walks over to the bed, his expression concerned. There is something going on, that much is clear, though beyond the fact that it involves Kain and Turel, as well as this female, who is at present, favoured by his Lord, he has no inkling what it might be.

"What time is it?" She asks.

"Evening. The sun's been down an hour."

"Good. Would you mind opening a window for me, please? It's stuffy in here."

He smiles, feeling curiously relieved that her request is so trivial. "I can do better than that," he says. "I'll open the doors to the balcony."

As soon as he has left, Jas begins to peel off her clothes, or what Turel has left of them. She shakes her head, reflecting that she has been through more clothing in the last six weeks than she has in the whole of the previous year, probably longer.

Her right side is still swollen and very tender to the touch; she grits her teeth as she eases away the leather jerkin that covers it, to reveal a livid purple bruise, the core of which is the size of her two fists. Radiating outwards from it are jagged lines of red and purple, almost black where they start, growing fainter towards the edges. She looks at it aghast; it looks like something has exploded inside her.

There is no way she can put her clothes back on, taking them off was painful enough. There is a black silk robe belonging to Dumah next to the bed, something he only bothers to wear very infrequently. Jas slips it on, the coolness of the fabric soothing her skin, then, she stands up and tries to walk, it is possible, so long as she does not try to move too quickly.

She craves fresh air. A cool breeze is blowing into the chambers now, but it only serves to emphasise how stale the atmosphere is inside. Slowly and rather painfully, she makes her way to the balcony. It is worth the effort; the balcony is the size of a small room, two arched windows looking out on either side and the centre completely open, right down to floor level. There are several cushions and rugs scattered around and Jas soon makes herself comfortable, sitting at the very edge so she can look up at the night sky.

The wind must be strong, high up where the clouds are, for they are moving quickly tonight, racing across the heavens, the moonlight illuminating them from above and turning them to silver in places where they grow thin. Occasionally a gap appears between them and Jas catches her breath in delight as she sees her first star in a very long time, even by a vampire's reckoning.

*

She senses Dumah's presence as soon as he steps through the doors, but she doesn't turn her head. She holds her breath, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he walks over and kneels down at her back, slipping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close to his chest. Jas closes her eyes and leans back against him. Dumah holds her closer; leaning forward and rubbing his cheek gently against hers.

"Something wrong with my bed?" He asks.

She turns towards him, looking deep into his eyes before she answers.

"Am I still welcome there?"

He smiles, tapping her forehead with his claw. "What kind of a question is that? Did Turel strike you in the head as well?" He kisses her brow and then draws back, looking at her seriously for a minute. "But Jas, seriously, you should have told me."

She looks down, shamed almost, for her lack of trust, and also by the gentleness of his reproof.

"I was afraid…afraid of how you'd react."

He takes her hands in his. "What you are, is more important to me than how you came to be. According to Kain, there are many ways of making a vampire, and while a Sarafan sire is unusual, to say the least, that is still what you are, a vampire. No matter how we are birthed, our nature always remains constant."

She looks up at him, "I'm glad you think that way." She says." Do you happen to know if Kain is in agreement with you on this issue?"

He shakes his head slightly. "I don't. He has said nothing to me. I'm afraid, you'll have to ask him yourself."

"He's here then?"

"Yes, but we don't have to go down to him straight away. Tell me, how are you feeling, are you healed?"

"I think it would be more accurate to say that I am healing."

"Show me."

She loosens the robe, and pulls it back so he can see. Although the bruising is considerably diminished from when she last looked at it, he still draws his breath in sharply at the sight.

"You're lucky to be alive."

"I know."

She draws the robe back across her stomach, hiding the bruise from sight.

*

Dumah finds his thoughts becoming surprisingly lustful, sitting close to her like this, for the thin silk of his robe does little to hide her body. If anything, the partial concealment accentuates her curves. He finds her irresistible, even now. He puts his arms around her again and draws her to him, his lips seeking hers. He kisses her, gently at first and then, as she responds, more forcefully. He can feel the soft round of her breast as she presses her body close to his, surrendering to his caresses, her lips parting softly, as his kiss deepens. After a minute, she moves her head back slightly, and opens her mouth a little wider; a shiver of excitement runs through him, as the sharp edges of her fangs rasp against his skin.

For a moment, neither of them moves. He savours the delicious suspense of the moment, anticipation almost as sweet as the fulfilment of desire itself. Then, she draws his lower lip gently in between her teeth and ever so slowly, pierces his skin.

Unexpectedly, his body grows tense beneath her hands. He stops and pulls away from her, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"I can't do this!"

Jas turns her head away almost at once, but not before he can see the hurt in her eyes.

"So, you don't want me, in spite of everything you just said?"

He reaches out, turning her face back towards his.

"Of course I want you." He says, "But… I don't want to hurt you."

She looks up at him, her expression suddenly mischievous, full of wry amusement.

"Well, you never said that before!"

He smiles, in spite of himself.

"I'm serious Jas, I can't risk injuring you, not now. You are still weak." He holds out his hands, showing her his claws, "and these, well, you've experienced them already. They're not exactly easy to use gently."

She takes his hands in hers and pulls him towards her.

"You haven't hurt me yet," she says. 

"But…"

She puts a finger to his lips.

"No 'buts'. I need you. I heard what you said, but what I need, is for you to show me that you meant it."