A/N Hopefully this chapter is not going to disappoint too many people (I'm thinking of you in particular here, Tremerid). I don't think events go quite as you might expect them to, they didn't quite go as I'd expected, anyway! But enough of my ramblings, if you care to read on, you'll see what I mean. Oh, and this chapter is rated for violence, sexual content and cheese, mountains of the stuff!

19 The Duel

Jas walks out of the second door that leads from the hall, and down a staircase similar to the first. This takes her not into a dungeon but into another large and almost empty room. As she enters, the door at the far end is slammed open.

Kain stands in the doorway.

She can see every detail of his face, see how his eyes narrow as he looks at her and how his lips draw back from his fangs into something that is halfway between a smile and a snarl.

"I heard you were awake," he says. "And just look," he adds, sardonically, "how you have changed!"

The lips draw back further, and there is no mistaking his expression now, it is pure malice.

"Defend yourself. Demon!"

With what?

She has to fight down a moment of pure panic as she realizes not only is she unarmed, but Kain is carrying the Soul Reaver.

The walls of the hall are decorated with shields and spears. Desperately, she wills a shield to her hand, ignoring the unhelpful voice inside her head that is telling her it is no good, that it is too far away, and anyway, the Soul Reaver could cut through it like butter. The shield flies to her hand, and she immediately calls a spear to her. Again it flies, fast and true.

Kain has not moved. She realizes he is grinning, the grin a wolf might give when it has cornered its prey.

The bastard's enjoying this!

He wants her to fight. He wants to take his time killing her.

In that moment, she becomes very determined that she is not going to make this easy.

There are two stands, one on each side of the hall, both of them bristling with spears. She concentrates on the one to her left. She has the spears now, about twenty in all, she holds them with her mind, making sure her grip is secure, and then, a split-second later she raises them high and sends them flying towards him, full force, each one aimed at his heart.

Kain raises his hand, and the spears stop in mid-air. They drop down vertically, about three foot away from him, their points upraised, arranging themselves in a loose arc before him. Jas sends the contents of the second stand flying towards him, and he stops them in the same way as he halted the first barrage. He grins, as he looks at her through the strange fence of spears.

'That's good', he whispers, gloatingly, 'but not quite good enough!'

He stretches out to take up a spear and Jas wills it away from his searching hand. She sends a wave rippling through the line as she pushes them away, one by one, out of his reach. She can feel his will opposing hers, and despite the danger, she is exhilarated to find she can match him. With a huge mental effort, she dashes the spears to the ground, and then sends them shooting across the stone floor, where they clatter harmlessly against the walls.

Kain laughs softly. He does not need them physically near to him. He raises his arm and the first spear flies into his hand. He hurls them at her, one after the other, but at such a ferocious speed, it feels as if she is facing a steady stream of wood and metal. She fends them off with the shield, waiting for the time when he runs out and she will be able to attack. He has a single spear left. He takes his time with this one, aiming it directly at her heart. Once again, she raises the shield.

What she has failed to realize, is the amount of force he has put behind the weapon. As soon as she is aware of it striking the shield, it has already gone through, splitting the metal-clad wood as though it were paper. Straight through her vambrace it goes and then straight through her arm, slamming it hard against her chest. Shocked, she moves her arm away. The spear has not penetrated far between her ribs. She breathes a small sigh of relief and then looks at her arm. The spear holds the broken shield hard against it, the point protruding about an inch from the underside of her forearm, it is red with her blood and more of the viscous liquid is sliding slowly down the point, and dripping onto the stone flags below.

Once again, she has to fight the urge to panic. The point cannot go back the way it came. There is only one way to remove it; it has to continue its journey through her flesh. Her mouth goes dry, the shaft is so long, and there is no time. Already Kain is advancing, sword drawn. If he reaches her in this state…

Desperately, she hurls her own weapon at him, the last spear. He snaps it in mid-air, the two halves falling to either side of him. Jas grasps the spear that has impaled her. She tries to push it further through her arm, but the shield and her armour resist her efforts. She tries once more, her blood is flowing fast now, and she only manages to force a few inches of the shaft through. She grasps it just behind the point and braces herself to pull, her hand slipping on the slick, sticky surface. The pain is nothing to her fear. As the red haze that has risen on the edges of her vision grows and blurs her sight, she sees that he has nearly reached her. In a last desperate attempt to stall him, she hurls a bolt of freezing energy across his path. He is so close, it has to hurt, it has to stop him, even for a moment, surely? His steps barely falter, and then, he has reached her. It is too late, it is all over. Dimly she is aware that he now has hold of the spear, grasping the shaft where it protrudes from the shield. She tries to back away, but he has her now. There is a sickening wrench as the spear is twisted by her motion and she sinks to her knees.

Kain holds the shaft steady with one hand and he snaps it, close to the shield. Then, he quickly does what she was unable to, pulls the broken end right through the shield her armour and her arm. She is released.

Her blood spatters onto the floor in a steady stream, She watches it pooling on the stone flags, as she waits for the final blow. After a moment, she realizes he still has hold of her arm, and she is not dead. She looks up at him confused, but he says nothing.

He casts the shield aside and removes the vambrace. His grip on her arm is like a vice. She notices the Soul Reaver has been sheathed.

Why? Why doesn't he just kill her and get it over with?

And then, she learns why.

She can feel his claw probing inside the gaping hole left by the spear, she winces as he twists it around and then she screams, as he slices up to her elbow, slowly and deliberately. Her arm is on fire, the wound from the spear ripped and lengthened. Then he inserts his claw again and slices down towards her wrist.

It is only the beginning of the torture. His claws are inside the wound now, tearing, widening, until she is past the point of crying out. The red mist rises in front of her eyes again and for one moment, she thinks she might slip into unconsciousness, but it is not to be. The pain engulfs her, each moment bringing fresh agonies until she is well past wondering when she will be at the end of her endurance.

It is many long minutes before her torment is ended. His grip relaxes on her arm, and she looks up, not quite sure what she is expecting to see. What has he done to her? She is just in time to see the shattered bones at the depths of the gash, they appear strangely orderly, almost arranged. She looks up at him in amazement, as the wound fills with blood and she realizes what he has been doing. Carefully, he folds the torn flesh back over the bones and holds the wound closed between his hands; she watches the miracle of her flesh as it starts to knit together.

"It will heal cleanly now." He says. "There will be no weakness in the arm." He reaches down and strokes her face, his claw still sticky with her blood. "I did not mean to test you quite so hard, Jaslinde. But at least, we both know now; you are ready to face whatever lies before you."

He helps her to her feet, and she leans against him, shaking with weakness from the loss of blood, and also with relief and confusion that she is still alive. After a moment, she hears the door opening again.

"Dumah!" Kain calls. "Come and help."

As Dumah puts an arm out to support her, Kain turns away. He walks out of the room without even a backward glance.

*

"Jas?" Dumah stares at her, he can't help it. He has never seen any vampire evolve to these extremes before; he is barely able to recognise her. Jas looks up and he manages to give her a thin, fleeting smile as his arm tightens around her. After a moment, he folds her in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder, his hand almost mechanically smoothing the back of her head as he takes in her distressed and weakened state and the scene before him.

What on Earth happened to her? He wonders. And what, is she doing here?

Jas is furious with herself for letting Dumah hold her like this, for she certainly hasn't forgotten Serrah, but at this moment, she has no choice; she has to lean on him, she is too weak to do anything else. She is even more furious to discover that she feels ridiculously pleased to have his arms around her once more.

Dumah looks down at her, trying to make sense of what he sees, the changes to her appearance, the pool of blood on the floor, dark now and congealing at its edges, the wound on her arm and the shield and broken spears, lying discarded nearby.

Did Kain just try to kill her? And if he did, how is it, she still lives?

He looks at her questioningly, but so caught up is she, between the pleasure of his touch and the complete self-loathing provoked by her reaction to it, she does not even notice.

"What happened?" He asks, eventually.

She makes no reply, she is not really sure what the answer is herself.

*

He helps her into another dungeon and she feeds, but it is not like the last time. These kills are made from simple necessity and her thoughts crowd in to distract her, so she feels only the faintest shadow of the heady pleasures she had experienced on her awakening.

When she is sated once more, Dumah is waiting to hear what happened between her and Kain.

"I should have been there." He says, when she has finished telling him.

She looks at him coldly.

"Why?" she asks. "What could you have done? Are you telling me you'd have offered me your protection?"

He looks down.

"No." He says, slowly. "I'm not. I couldn't. Not from him. I'm sorry, but…no."

Has he only just discovered that? She has known it since the day they met.

Strangely enough, it feels as if he is the one in need of comfort. But she has none to give.

"You can go," she says, freeing herself from his arms. "You don't have to stay any longer. I am quite recovered now. Go back to the Lady Serrah, she must be wondering where you are by now." She turns away and the bitter words escape her mouth, before she can stop them. "I must confess, I was disappointed, to see you consider her to be an adequate replacement for me. Clearly, I had fallen somewhat, in your estimation, even before our meeting today."

He doesn't make any reply to this, and he doesn't move.

She turns back to him with a disdainful look. "Are you still here?" She asks.

Dumah's face darkens; she can see the anger beginning to smoulder, quite literally, behind those golden eyes.

"How dare you?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous. "How dare you imply that I'm at fault here? You, left me, if you recall."

She stares at him in amazement. "I did what?"

"You, left me. 'Call Kain,' you said, and I did. And that was the last I heard from you, until today. Seven months, Jaslinde! You left with Kain seven months ago and you never sent me so much as a word since. I thought you had gone, either that or you'd simply gone up in the world! One thing was clear though, you'd no further use for me!"

She looks at him in amazement, "But I was asleep," she says gently, taking his hand in hers and stroking his palm with her fingers. "I've only been awake for a few hours."

"And how was I supposed to know that?" He asks indignantly, but his anger is dying now, she can hear it in his voice. "Raziel has lain dormant for two and a half months, and it is expected he will rise again within a fortnight. That, is the usual time-scale for our evolution."

"Well, I'm not sure that the 'usual' applies in my case." She says, with a smile. "I don't think I'm quite the same as you, or your brethren."

Dumah gives a wry laugh, stroking the now unfamiliar contours of her face.

"Obviously not." He says, as he looks at her.

Jas' mind is racing as he speaks.

Raziel sleeps?

Suddenly, she is aware of time pressing her urgently.

As they stand there, Dumah considers what he should tell Jas about Serrah, that Serrah means nothing to him, that it hadn't even occurred to him she might be upset by his taking another female, but in the end, he decides against making any excuses, even if they are true.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He says simply.

 She slips her arm around his waist.

"So, what do we do now?" She asks, after a minute.

"Come home with me, we'll decide from there."

*

They enter the Dumahim halls together, but it is a quiet homecoming and very few of the Dumahim are aware of their Lord's return. Berrin is waiting outside Dumah's chambers. He is in a state of high agitation, for the Emperor of Nosgoth has preceded their arrival and after waiting for some time, extremely terse and impatient, even for Kain, he has left again.

He has instructed Berrin to tell them that Jas' ship lies in the harbour, supplies have been loaded, and the crew is in place. Everything is ready for her departure. Kain's orders are that Jas should send word to him directly, as soon she is ready to leave for the Hylden city. Jas knows, he does not expect to be kept waiting long.

*

She spends the night alone with Dumah and she is glad of his company, but they hardly speak; there seems little left that can be honestly spoken between them.

"Will you come back to me?" He asks.

"If I can." She replies.

And both of them, know what that means.

In the bedchamber, he undresses her slowly, his eyes seeking every minute change in her appearance, committing to memory exactly how she looks on this last evening.

She lies on the silken sheets of his bed, resting her head upon her elbow and he lies down beside her, kissing her languorously, while his hands explore her body, starting with the crests upon her brow and working slowly down to the curiously shaped hooves that have replaced her feet.

She closes her eyes under these unusually gentle ministrations and sighs as he rolls her onto her back. His lips move away from hers and start to caress the lobes of her ears. She moans softly and pushes her head back against the pillows, arching her neck to expose the tender whiteness of her throat.

His cold kisses linger at the place where her pulse beats the strongest, and she draws her breath in sharply, her whole body growing suddenly tense, as his fangs brush lightly across her skin. He remains motionless above her for a moment, his mouth open and his lips drawn back, savouring the sensation as her skin yields beneath this gentle pressure, and the ambivalent nature of her response, for he can sense both her anticipation and the fear that lies beneath. She lets her breath out slowly, and when Dumah feels her body beginning to relax again, he removes his fangs from her neck. Now, is not the right time for such playful behaviour, maybe later.

His lips resume their journey downwards, following the path traced by his hands earlier. When his head draws level with hers once more, she opens her eyes to look at him; his face is just above hers now. She raises a hand to touch him and her fingertips trace the contours of his cheek, his jaw, and finally, those dark lips. She holds his eyes for a long moment, and then, her hands slide down to his shoulders and she pulls him closer, her eyes bright, her touch suddenly fierce and demanding. She turns her head aside, deliberately avoiding the kiss he was about to bestow and her lips brush softly against his ear. She whispers to him, urgently, in the darkness.

"Hurt me."

*

The next morning, finds Jas unusually wakeful. With each hour that passes, she is growing more anxious about the voyage she is about to undertake. She is eager to set off and yet, at the same time she is loath to leave, for many reasons. Nosgoth is the only home she has ever known, the place of both her death and her rebirth as a vampire. The prospect of not seeing it again, of never setting foot on its soil, pains her deeply.

Dumah is on the point of falling asleep beside her. He hasn't slept for several days, he tells her apologetically, as his eyes begin to close, despite his efforts to keep them open.

She watches over him as he drifts into unconsciousness, and continues to watch him while he sleeps, his pale skin gleaming against the shadows. She is reminded of one the angels depicted in the stained glass of a church window, a church of the old faith, from the Meridian of her human childhood.

That's what you looked like, she tells herself. An angel. That's what we all look like, when we're young.

But what do we grow into, Jas? Running her fingers along the horn that curls up by her cheek. What are you growing into now?

'Demon.' Kain had called her.

Demons and monsters. That's what all of Nosgoth's vampires will become, in the end. Live long enough, and you turn into the stuff of your own nightmares.

Dark are her thoughts this day.

The image of Dumah, fettered and impaled upon his own throne, has haunted her dreams since their first meeting, and it haunts her now. A Dumah she barely recognizes, devolved, deformed.

Lord, only of the silences. Condemned to preside over the empty halls of the Dumahim as they fall into decay around him. The humans rob him of his life, yet he finds no peace, for he cannot die. Centuries pass, and still he'll remain, caught in some shadowed realm that she is barely able to perceive. Bound and abandoned, with only the dead to bear him company, and the ashes, which fall perpetually, soft and cold as the winter snows. Waiting, alone in the silent halls. Waiting for the time that Kain has appointed for him to die.

Kain.

The first betrayal.

His clan.

Many survive, but they no longer serve him and none come near their ravaged halls.

The second betrayal.

And where, she asks herself, will she be, when this happens? Dead? Quite possibly, but if she lives, she'll be as guilty as they are.

She can bear it no longer.

She slips out of bed and pulls on the first of her clothes that come to hand, careful to make no sound. As she reaches the door, she turns back to look at her lover, still sleeping. Softly, she steps over to him and kneels down beside the bed. She brushes a stray strand of hair back from his face and leans over to kiss his brow, her lips lingering against his skin. He doesn't stir. Briefly, she presses her cheek to his, more tenderly than she ever would if he were awake. Then, quiet as the shadows gathering around them, she rises and walks out of the room, whispering to Kain that she is ready to depart.

The third betrayal.