I had once seen an act of utter inhumanity.

Deep below the laundry rooms where I had habitually toiled, the used liquids were siphoned from the slave pits by means of massive grilled troughs.  From time to time, the bars at the base of these depressions would become blocked with ordure and scraps of linen, and flooding would result if the blockage were not cleared quickly.  On one occasion, the obstruction was particularly severe, and no amount of prodding with the specially formed poles would clear it.  The priests' solution to this dilemma was to lower a young boy head first into the water, with the mandate that he must unblock the grate before he was allowed to return to the surface.

We watched speechless as the priests held him under, swearing and cursing while the bubbles rising to the top diminished along with the thrashing of the waters, until at last the surface was still. It was while we had our heads bowed in grief that the adepts grabbed another of our number and threw her in next to the body of the dead youth.  She was threatened loudly with an identical fate if she did not finish the job.

Four of my fellow prisoners expired in the murky waters of the laundry drain that day, and I still wake up sweating on occasion, half-convinced that my lungs are straining for air, my head bursting from pressure, my eyes clouded by the miry liquid – and yet still able to see with horrific clarity the four rotting bodies that float and bump against me as I drown.

Needless to say, this escape route was making me wish I had stayed on Traitor's Row.

The water itself was not cold – likely it was likely polluted with effluent from the kitchens as well as the baths and commodes - but it was sluggish, and filled with tiny particles of detritus that seemed to coalesce into solid mass as I moved forward.  I did not want to imagine what constituted the heavier flotsam that nudged against me with the surging of the tides.  To my mind the water heaved with corpses, all of them jealous of my continued life, and eager to steal it from me.  To make my situation worse, my face was swollen and bruised where Turel had struck me, and my neck, too was aching from the force of the blow.  I was exhausted, mentally and physically from the events of the last few hours: but still, I pressed on.  The cave soon gave onto a narrow tunnel, just tall enough for me to stand upright without stooping.  The dark grew ever closer as I distanced myself from the main cavern, until eventually I stopped, aware only of the cool surging of the water, afraid to advance any further.  I had lost the last of the light.  Presently, encouraged to speed by the squeaking of vermin, I began to feel my way forward, hands on the walls to either side of me. That was when the floor unkindly slipped out from under me and I tumbled screaming down a long, natural rock chute, my head mostly submerged.  Fortunately, the descent was not overlong, and I soon found myself ejected at a rate of knots into a shallow pool at the base of a gigantic cliff.

Dawn that morning had painted the sky the colour of soiled winding shrouds - but to my eyes, it was the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen.  It was also the first, but the mind takes little account of such trivial details when appreciating aesthetics.  I dragged my bruised and weary body to the far shore, hauling myself out with the help of a long-dead tree, its twisted and gnarled branches forced by nature's art into the semblance of an old man with a walking stick.  I sat on the bank awhile, lamenting the state of my magnificent dress, stained and torn beyond all hope of repair.  Then, as the sun rose higher behind the ever-present cloak of smog, I saw how far I had fallen.  The Turelim fortress was seated atop a rocky crag on the northern coast – this much I knew – but I could not possibly have conceived of the sheer height of the escarpment that supported it.  No wonder it was reputed to be unconquerable: tales of its impenetrability were told in hushed whispers by the priests at the Temple, as well as the overseers at the slave pits.  None could enter who were not bidden, and likewise none could leave without Turel's sanction.

That thought enervated my clouded and weary mind: I, Althea, had already proved them wrong!

The Tavern was emblazoned with the unlikely name of 'The Eagle's Feather', and sat in an equally unlikely spot between the local constabulary office and an apothecary shop. I stood outside for a long time, shivering in the unfriendly chill of early morn.  I had never been in a free house before, and, scantly dressed as I was, and stinking of the sewers, I wished I could think of an alternative.  Soon, however, the cold that was eating into the very marrow of my bones overrode any latent sense of propriety, and I reluctantly pushed open the door.

I crossed the threshold to find that even in the early post-dawn hours, the pub was thronging with patrons, none of them too friendly-looking, and all of whom rose to their feet as I entered. As one, they moved to point their rusted and battered swords at my throat.

The stresses of the last twenty-four hours finally took their toll: from my apprehensiveness before meeting Turel to my failed assassination attempt; from my brush with death at Traitors Row to my subsequent eleventh-hour rescue; then, my nearly drowning in the foul depths of the slurry pit, and my race through the wight-haunted woods to the Tavern; if this was not enough, I had arrived at my destination only to find that the people with whom I had hoped to find sanctuary were about to kill me!  My overwrought mind and body rebelled against me, and I shortly gave up the fight, wondering at the encroaching dark that furred my vision while the floor came rushing up to meet me.

The remainder of that day I spent mostly asleep.  Belfield's kindly wife Sarah had taken one look at my pitiful, crumpled form before ordering the men to put away their weapons ('for shame!') and arranging for me to be removed to a comfortable bed.  When I came around, I recounted my tale to Belfield and his wife, mentioning that Farsight had sent me, and emphasising my gratitude for their shelter. On hearing the extent of my miseries, Belfield's good lady, filled with sympathy for the bedraggled and distressed waif who had landed on her doorstep, promptly mothered me until I cried.

Later that night I sat in the bar soaking up the atmosphere, and, relaxed and warm for what felt like the first time in an age, I fell to thinking – about freedom, about my future, and particularly about my mysterious friend.

What sort of name was 'Farsight', anyway?  Not a real one, to be sure - but then, were I a vampire attempting to shift the balance of power by betraying my own kind, I would not be eager to reveal my true identity either.  Nevertheless, the mystery plagued me.

"Who is Farsight?" I asked the inkeeper in a moment of relative calm, my curiosity getting the better of me at last.

Belfield, officiously polishing a tankard with a dirty rag, beckoned me down to join him in a whispered conversation over the bar.

"It is said - " he paused to cast several suspicious glances around his establishment, "That he is one of the clanless."

I hardly caught the last word, for the inkeep seemed determined to mouth it without vocalising in the slightest.

The clanless? I had heard of no such people before, and though I could guess what the word meant, I found myself at a loss to work out how a vampire could have no Clan.

Belfield, sensing my ignorance, continued to whisper across the bar.  I had to lean in close to catch every mumbled word.

"They are the outcasts, the deserters, the ones who think his rule is unjust."  He peered about him again, seemingly deaf and blind to the dispute that was brewing in the far corner of his pub.  "From what our friend tells me, they, along with the remnants of the human armies, are gathering in great numbers to the east, and when they have enough men  . . ."  He stood upright and went back to polishing the tankard, coating the inside with a fresh layer of grime.

I remained hunched over the bar with my mouth open expectantly, waiting for him to continue.  He shrugged.  "His days'll be numbered."

I leaned back on my stool.  The ruckus in the background had reached new heights and furniture was starting to splinter.

"Here, knock it off, you lot!"

I was left alone again as Belfield went off to sort out the troublemakers, and I turned to watch him to see what he would do.  To my utter surprise, the rotund barman showed considerable strength, catching two of the rabble by the scruffs of their necks and evicting them forthwith; the third he actually picked up by collar and seat and launched him out of the door in a manner I had thought reserved for high storytelling.  My estimation of the man rose considerably.  He returned to the bar, brushing his hands together in a satisfied manner.

"That'll learn 'em!"

I spent the next few days in a sea of uncertainty and tension.  Although Belfield was kind enough to offer me a small room, and food and drink in exchange for a number of light menial chores, I could not help but be distracted constantly by concerns for Farsight's safety.  My evenings I spent in the main room of the inn, listening in wonder to the tales of free men, and at length it occurred to me that this village was not much farther from the Turelim stronghold than the slave pits were, on the far side.  Overcome again by my insatiable curiosity, I plucked up the courage to question Belfield on the potentially sensitive matter of the town's apparent impunity.

The man's face darkened and the lines of pain, written clearly on his face but more often buried beneath bluster and bravado came into clear relief.

"How do we keep' em off our backs, you ask?"  He shook his head and turned to tend the spit.  "We pay for it with our dearest blood."

I decided to let the line of questioning drop.

Review Response

SeredaThanks very very much for your detailed reviews – as I think I mentioned before, your analyses usually remind me what the story's actually about and help me figure out where it's going!  Oh, and your quip about Elvira had me choking on my Glenmorangie!

Vladimir's Angel: Thanks for the reviews, m'dear, and great to hear that the characters are having the desired effect.  So where's chapter 2?  Eh?  Eh?  *rummages around online*   Love the new ID btw :P

MikotoZoku Glad to hear the suspense is working, and hope you've got something new up your sleeve too? *wheedles*

SilmuenAre you still tantalised? *chuckles evilly* Ta for all your lovely comments – dark gift, eh? *giggles insanely*  As for that 'for humanity' thing.  Er. It shall be explained! *scuttles off to write something into the story (not that she'd forgotten…)*

ShadowrayneGood to see you back writing (and reviewing!), and no, you can't have the rest on email cos it's all messy!   

SyviaWhy would anyone take offence at being called 'devious'? :P  And yup, more surprises to come. *starts wrapping them in foil paper* 

*hugs* back atcha!

Dragonseer: 0.0 I got a review from Dragonseer.  *falls over*  :D Thanks for the comments and glad you're enjoying, and I could tell you his Clan but I'm not going to, so there :P.  This damn writing time thingie is a pain in the proverbial to find *looks at clock*  Good job I'm on flexi time…

Aquasword Thanks very much for your kind comments – hope the story's still holding your interest – more of Turel to come, honest!

HealerAriel: Nope, it's not Faustus – the story's set quite a bit later than that.  And as to your other question, no, it's still not Faustus. :D All will be revealed shortly.

Skriana The Shadow Dragon:  Yup, it's good to take a different perspective once in a while – not that I don't love the versions that champion the Vampire side ;)

Dark Sephiroth: :D Thanks for the comments about my characters *dances around* – I hope you realise that the two fight scenes I'm working into this story are mostly just for your benefit! :P

Genesis Idiocy: Glad you're enjoying it, and thanks for all the flabbergasting comments. You've been skulking around here before, I take it? ;)

Mad Alice: Hopefully the interesting factor hasn't worn off yet… :D

Tom T Thompson: Glad you like!

Kitcho and Chelsea Foreverthanks very much – it's always nice to get new readers, especially ones who wouldn't normally read my mad ramblings!

Hope I didn't forget anyone, much grovelling if I did.  Next chapter up soon *glares at draft*  disentangle yourself, gosh darnit!