A/N Well, you asked for it! Since you were all so nice about chapter one, here's another chapter for you to chew on. If you think these chapters are a bit long, or I'm packing too much into them, please, let me know. As I said, this is a fairly new piece and I'd be the first to admit that I find it hard to be objective about something I've only just written. In other words criticism is welcome! And probably needed too! ;) BTW Fanfiction.net have stated that review response chapters are no longer allowed, so I'll have to cram 'em in the Author's notes at the head of any subsequent chapters. That's it. Enjoy.
2 The Condemned Ate A Hearty Supper
Sunset, in the women's quarters of the Sarafan keep in Meridian.
Talia Locke is combing her hair. She turns away from the tiny, rust-speckled mirror and walks over to the window. The small, leaded panes are encrusted with grime, allowing barely anything of the outside world to be seen. She peers at them for a moment and then rubs at them with her sleeve, but although her sleeve is visibly dirtied, the panes remain stubbornly opaque. Talia opens the casement and leans out.
A single star hangs suspended in a clear sky of the most delicate blue, which fades down to a pale silvery gold, where it meets the horizon. The day has been unseasonably warm, for November and the stone walls are gently radiating the heat captured from the autumnal sun. Directly below her, in the physic-garden, the bay trees and herb bushes are wafting their perfume into the evening air. Talia inhales deeply. She loves being up here, especially at this time of day. She looks out beyond the walls of the keep. Before her, lies the twilight city, caught in that ambiguous moment between workaday living and the more glamorous, more dangerous world of the night.
It is a city transformed; an opaque mist is rising up from the harbours and inlets on the outskirts, drawing a discreet veil over those parts that lie on lower ground. The slums, the Smuggler's Den, all those sordid and run-down areas that the city elders would rather forget, are already hidden from her view. Only the houses of the rich can be seen clearly, thin columns of grey smoke rising up from their chimneys, the lights from their windows twinkling against the deepening sky. They rise above the mist like fairy castles afloat in a sea of purest white.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
However, the places concealed by the mist are far from pure. Already, thieves and cutpurses are out plying their trade, taking advantage of the fog as they stalk the unwary.
A couple of street-girls huddle together in the shadow of the Keep. They shiver in their gaudy finery, muttering about the "Bloody fog," and how hard it is going to be to get custom on a night when they can barely be seen from the other side of the road.
One of the girls turns towards the other. Her thin face is a pallid grey, a tone which contrasts quite startlingly with the colour of her nose, whose redness has been partly caused by exposure to the cold, damp air and also by a fair amount of drink, consumed before she came out. The girl leans forward and studies her companion closely, swaying slightly as she squints up at her.
"But in your case, Blanche," she says, after a minute. "The fog could work hout to your hadvantage."
The other woman, who is of altogether more generous proportions, turns towards her. Her face is indeed less than pretty; a livid bruise decorates one entire side of it and her eye is so swollen, that it is almost shut. The whole effect is made more ghastly still, by a heavy application of cheap rouge and powder, with which she has tried to conceal her disfigurement, topped off by a rather unlikely arrangement of blonde curls. "I don't see anyone payin' for that!" The girl continues. "Really I don't. Maybe tonight Blanche, you'll end up hafin' to pay them!" She doubles up in the gutter, shrieking with raucous laughter at her own joke, her shrew-like features looking even more wizened than usual.
Blanche rolls a ball of spit slowly and deliberately around her mouth, waiting until her companion stands up again. She looks at her for a moment, and then lands it, directly on the front of her skirt. The girl jumps back into the street, rubbing at the stain with her gloves and screaming abuse, her thin face contorted with disgust and rage.
Blanche watches her antics with satisfaction.
"You should watch yer mouth, Wren." She says sourly, "Or you might be getting' some of the same, yerself."
A third girl in a red dress, walks over hurriedly to join them, the heels of her high-buttoned boots clicking against the cobbles.
"Shut up!" She whispers fiercely. "Both of you. Shut up! There's things that lurk in the fog that you don' want to meet, an' your yellin' an' cursin' is only goin' to attract 'em!" She pulls her ragged shawl tightly around her shoulders and glares sullenly down the street. Blanche puts a large hand on her shoulder.
"We'll stick together tonight. Eh?" She says kindly.
The girl sniffs. "As if that's goin' to help!" She says sulkily, but she stays close to them, all the same.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Talia closes the window and turns back into the room. She is being intently watched by another girl sitting on a nearby bunk, a girl, that Talia is trying very hard to ignore. The poor kid is only new and Talia knows she must be feeling scared and homesick, but even so, this hero-worship is really starting to grate on her nerves.
"Fog's getting thicker." Talia says, as much to herself as to the watcher.
The door to the room bursts open and another girl breezes in. She ruffles Talia's hair playfully as she walks past her, her dark eyes twinkling with merriment.
"Hey Dorton! Quit that!" Talia snaps, swiping at her with the comb.
Dorton laughs. "Come off it, Locke! You've hardly any hair to spoil anyway!"
Talia frowns, she smoothes her cropped hair down with her hands and then flings herself onto her bunk. "What are you doing here anyway?" Dorton asks. "I thought you'd be up country by now. Aren't you supposed to be on leave?"
Talia raises her eyebrows. "All transport was commandeered earlier, remember?"
Dorton raises an eyebrow. "That was hours ago." She says. "Surely there must be a coach free by now?"
"And obviously, you haven't looked outside any time recently."
"Fog's got thick, has it?" Dorton asks.
Well, let's put it this way." Talia replies. "I don't think anyone will be heading outside the city walls until it lifts. And that includes me!" She adds brightly.
The girl sitting on the bed smiles nervously.
"I heard they weren't letting anyone out of the city at all for the next few days, unless it's on official business. Too dangerous."
"Even better." Talia smiles.
"Don't you want to go home?" The girl asks.
Talia rolls over and looks at her. "No, Jay." She says. "I don't! The prospect of spending two whole weeks in the company of my sainted mother is not something I've been looking forward to."
Dorton laughs. "It can't be that bad, Locke."
Talia shakes her head. "But it is! Every time that woman sees me, she trots out another fine prospect she has found to tempt me into a life of wedded bliss, and each one of them is worse than the last. I swear, I did not know such creatures existed!"
"They're not creatures." Dorton explains patiently. "They are called men."
"You haven't seen them!" Talia retorts. "The last one was fifty if he was a day, and he said he'd only consider it if Daddy threw in the bottom field as well! I don't know what was worse, Daddy going on about how he wouldn't want to part with a field that's been in my family for four generations, or my mother, all delighted with the match and ready to sign the deal without so much as a by your leave! Well, she can say what she likes, I signed up till I was twenty five and that's three more years, when they're up, I'm going to sign up for four more."
"That's an awful long time," Jay says. "Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't you like to get married?"
Talia gives her a wry smile. "Not to some old farmer." She says. "And that's all that's on offer."
"What about a soldier then?"
Talia looks at her pityingly. "I do hope you're not serious." She says. "Start sleeping with one of those boys, and as far as most of 'em are concerned, you're just another soldier's whore," She jerks her thumb at the window. "Same as those poor drabs out there, 'cept you're following orders and wearing uniform. Trust me, I know, and I wouldn't choose to repeat the experience, not for anyone. Anyway, soldiers don't get married, it's a well-known fact."
"So, what will you do when you get older? You know, too old to fight."
"Sarafan don't get too old to fight." Talia says.
Dorton frowns, the other girl is looking distinctly worried now.
"That's out of order, Locke."
"No, it's the truth. How many old soldiers do you know of?" Talia asks her. "Well?"
Dorton shakes her head. "You may be right, but that's no way to talk, and certainly not in front of the youngster."
Jay opens her mouth indignantly, but she doesn't say anything. Talia's words have made her think, and she does not like the conclusion to which her thoughts are leading her.
Dorton turns to her. "Look," she says, kindly. "Things are bad now, but it can't stay that way forever. The vampire plague has got to be wiped out some time." Jay smiles back at her, nervously; she is not convinced.
Dorton shakes her head, she does not want to spend the entire evening in miserable contemplation of just how badly the vampire campaign has been going recently, and unless she does something fast, that's exactly what they will be doing. She puts on a bright smile, one that she does not particularly feel at this moment, and looks at her comrades. "Ladies," She says, "I've a proposal to make. I propose that we pledge, here and now, to be the first Sarafan Soldiers in Meridian to draw the pension." She extends a hand. "All in agreement?" The other two place their hands on hers.
"Agreed!"
"Agreed!"
"And to mark this momentous decision, I suggest we retire to the nearest tavern and drink ourselves into oblivion! Or at least into a better humour." She adds, digging Talia in the ribs. Talia laughs and pulls a crumpled jacket out of her pack.
"Sounds good to me."
They run down the stairs laughing and joking. As they turn into the entrance hall, Jay suddenly lets out a shriek.
"A rat! A rat ran over my foot!"
Talia watches as it scampers away down the corridor.
"Big one too." She says. She pats Jay on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll get used to 'em. This place is crawling with rats!"
Jay shudders.
"When they start chasing the cats, that's when you have to worry." Dorton adds.
"That one looked big enough to do just that!" Jay says shakily.
When they reach the doors, the guard bars their way.
"And where do you think you're going?" He asks.
"Out."
"To the tavern."
"We're on leave."
The guard smirks unpleasantly. "Oh no you ain't."
"Yes we are." Says Talia, "since noon today.
The guard shakes his head. "Uh, uh. All leave is cancelled. By order of the Sarafan Lord hisself. Lord Agrippa seems to think we have all gotten a bit lax recently. Says he's going to tighten things up. Put these vampires down once and for all. So," he bows and makes an extravagant gesture towards the stairs, "if you ladies would like to go upstairs and change into something more suitable, you're out on patrol in approximately five minutes."
"Shit!" Yells Talia. "Seriously?" She grabs Jay's arm, pulling her back towards the stairs. "Come on Jay, Ward'll go bloody mad if we're late." The three girls turn tail and dash back to their quarters, the guard watching them with smug amusement.
A little over five minutes later, they are standing in the courtyard in front of the keep, dressed in their uniforms and carrying their crossbows. Tonight, their squad is to patrol the Industrial Quarter. Each group of soldiers is given their area and then, they move out.
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As the girls are making their way into the heart of the now derelict industrial quarter, Ayden is entering the city. He makes his way warily through the deserted streets. He is also heading towards the industrial quarter and the keep, which lies beyond it. The fog is thick enough to make assuming mist form almost unnecessary for him, against humans anyway, human vision being poor enough at the best of times. He passes several of them, but they pay him no attention, seeing only what they expect to see, as they hurry towards the shelter of their homes. He feeds from one of the stragglers, pulling the struggling form into a shadowed doorway. Old, he notices and feeble, but the blood is still good. Time ravages humans in so many ways, but it doesn't seem to affect that.
He encounters only one vampire on his way through the city, a female. A lone hunter from Vorador's brood, he assumes, she dresses like one of them, anyway. Her scarlet leather pants are cut open at the sides, exposing her pale flesh beneath the tight lacing that holds them together. Above them, she wears a narrow band of leather that barely covers her breasts, and nothing else. Hardly the most practical garb for hunting, Ayden thinks, but then, an outfit like that, probably helps to mesmerize her prey.
She drops the corpse she had been feeding from with a hiss, her eyes blazing as she jumps onto a nearby roof, either to escape him or to launch an attack, Ayden does not wait to find out which. Cursing his lack of care, he backtracks and melts once more into the fog.
'Tarry.' She whispers after his retreating form. 'You might enjoy what I would offer you.'
He does not even look back. At any other time, dalliance with one such as her would most definitely have had appeal, whether she was offering a fight or something more interesting, but not tonight.
More cautious now, Ayden slips into the Industrial Quarter and begins the search for his quarry. It is not long before he finds what he is looking for, a band of three female Sarafan, on patrol around the empty buildings and slum dwellings of the people who were once the fodder for the Sarafan factories.
"I really hate it here," Dorton whispers to Talia, as they turn into yet another fog-bound street. "It gives me the creeps, all that machinery standing idle. It's like something's died."
"Well keep your wits about you, or it'll be us doing the dying." Talia says. "There's always trouble down here, and so far," Crossing herself, "never from the vampires, just the people we're meant to protect. And Jay," she says, turning round. "There's a curfew. So, if you see something, you shoot first and you shoot to kill. Anyone who's out here tonight, shouldn't be. And it's better them dead than us."
"Amen to that!" Says Dorton.
After they have patrolled for nearly two hours, they find a murder victim, lying face down in the middle of the street. Talia looks down at the corpse with a grimace of disgust. She is cold, hungry and fed up.
"What should we do with this?" Jay asks, pointing to the still-bleeding corpse.
"Leave it." Says Talia.
"But the poor man…"
"Has gang tattoos all over him." Talia rolls the body over with her foot. "Somebody took his weapon, his associates will probably come back for him later, or not. He's not our problem anyway."
Dorton looks down the street. "I wish I'd eaten lunch." She says, morosely. "I'm bloody starving."
"There's a tavern nearby." Talia says. "What do you say we go and get something to eat? No one's going to miss us, not for half an hour or so."
The two girls set off at once and Jay trails miserably after them. She doesn't feel like eating at all. The sight of the body has made her feel sick, especially after Talia had rolled him over and she could see the ragged hole someone had bashed into his skull and the grey stuff, oozing from the wound and daubing the blood-slick cobbles.
The easy manner in which the other girls accept things like dead bodies, rats and crawling about in the sewers looking for vampires, is making Jay wonder if she is ever going to make a good soldier. Everyone has been kind, everyone says she will get used to it, but deep down she is not so sure. Jay shivers suddenly, as a cold breeze touches the back of her neck. The others are already well ahead of her. She breaks into a trot and just manages to catch up with them before they turn into the next street.
Ayden watches them as they make their way to the front door of the tavern. He wonders when they are due to return to the keep. Not for a while obviously, since they are seeking sustenance. Stealthily, he follows them, hugging the walls of the houses and staying deep in the shadows. Just before he reaches the tavern, he finds a narrow alleyway; he slips into it, and waits to see what will happen next.
The tavern is closed, of course. Talia bangs loudly on the door. It is opened by an ancient old woman with a hunched back and a sour face.
"The tavern's shut." She says, clearly taking some pleasure in being able to state the obvious.
"Then open it, in the name of the Sarafan." Dorton tells her haughtily, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword as added encouragement.
Grudgingly, the woman opens the door a little wider and lets them in.
"What do you want?" She asks.
"Food." Talia says, wiping a finger disparagingly along the sticky surface of the bar. "We're not fussy," she adds, "only make it quick."
"The kitchen is closed." The woman says.
Talia frowns. "Then open it!"
"Can't." The woman says.
"What do you mean, 'Can't'?"
The old woman fixes her with a beady stare.
"Cook's gone home."
Talia is infuriated, if the old woman thinks she is going to be so easily dissuaded, she is mistaken. Talia leaps lightly over the bar and stands facing her antagonist. She glares at her belligerently. "I'm not going to stand here and argue." She says. "We can cook for ourselves."
She heads towards the door that leads out to the back. The old woman immediately grabs hold of her arm; her scrawny fingers feel like bird claws. She digs them in feebly, trying to halt Talia's progress.
"You can't go in there." She says shrilly. "That's private property, that is!" Talia pushes her aside and grabs a couple of bottles of wine from the shelf behind the bar. Then, she enters the kitchen. The other two girls follow her in.
"Thieving Sarafan scum!" The woman cries. Talia ignores her and starts to open one of the bottles. "You put that down!" The woman shouts. She is literally hopping up and down with rage. Talia puts the opened bottle down on the table and brushes past her. Clearly, cook went home some time ago, the range is cold and much to Talia's disappointment, there are no pots of soup or stew standing on top of it waiting to be reheated. Talia opens the door to the pantry. Inside, she discovers some mouldy cheese and a rather ancient looking pie. As she picks up the pie, the old woman springs at her once again; Dorton holds her back with an amused snigger.
"You put that back, you saucy baggage! That's Bert's supper, that is."
Talia sniffs dubiously at the crust and wrinkles her nose.
"Well he's welcome to it, whatever it is!"
Dorton takes hold of the old woman by the shoulders and propels her gently towards the door. "Now," she says. "You are starting to give me a headache. So, either go in there and sit quiet by the fire, or go outside and yell in the street. With any luck, the Scourge of Nosgoth himself will hear you. I'm sure he'd love to help you get three Sarafan out of your kitchen. Only problem is, he'll probably make a quick snack out of you, first."
Resentfully, the old woman lets herself be manoeuvred through the door.
"Thieving bitches!" She mutters. "Got no right to come in here and push an old woman about." Dorton shuts the door firmly behind her. "Bad luck to the lot of you!" The old woman screams through the door. "I hope you all rot in Hell!"
"Charming!" Talia says, going back into the pantry. She browses the sparse provisions with a sigh. "This is ridiculous. There must be something fit to eat in here." Finally, she finds a large, square basket sitting on the stone floor under the shelves. "Ah!" She says opening the lid. "Chickens, four of 'em, and a few vegetables too. Now we're in business!"
Ten minutes later, she has the range lit and is standing at the kitchen table, cheerfully slicing the breasts from the four birds. "Chicken Meridian?" She asks the girls. "Accompanied by beans, spuds and a rather good bottle of red wine. What more could you ask? Not too humble for your sophisticated tastes is it, Dorton?"
Dorton smiles and shakes her head.
"Is this really going to be edible?" She asks sceptically.
"Oh ye of little faith! It'll be better than edible. But I promise you one thing, Dorton, you're going to have terrible indigestion, 'cos I'm going to make you eat a big slice of humble pie first. You'll have to say sorry really nicely if you want any of this."
"I'll wait until it's cooked." Dorton retorts. Talia chuckles.
Once the chicken is sizzling in the pan, even Dorton has to admit it smells extremely appetizing "Okay Locke, " she says. "That does smell rather tempting."
"And?"
"And what?"
"I'm waiting for my apology, Dorton. You didn't think I was going to let you off that easily, did you?"
At that moment, Talia notices the kitchen door is slowly beginning to open again. "Jay," she says. "Put that poisonous old hag outside again, will you?"
Jay goes over to the door but she is unable to close it. It is as if an irresistible force has somehow gotten behind it. Her feet start sliding across the stone flags and she puts her shoulder to the timbers but still, the door continues to open. Suddenly, the door is flung wide open. Jay just manages to jump out of the way as a heavily armoured figure strides in, closely followed by two others.
"Locke, Dorton. What exactly do you think you are doing? That old biddy out there, seems to think her place is being ransacked by marauders!"
"Captain Ward!" Gasps Jay, her face a study in panic. Dorton stands up and salutes awkwardly, her eyes mutely telling Jay to do the same.
Talia continues cooking for a minute and then she turns coolly towards the captain.
"Good evening, Captain Ward. Gentlemen. You're just in time Sir."
"For what?" Growls Ward, his face set in an expression of stony disapproval.
"For the meal, Sir. Since we all had to go out on extra duty this evening, the girls and I thought we'd cook you supper, Sir."
"Ward walks over to her and sniffs the pan where the seasoned chicken is frying gently in garlic and butter, an amused smile playing about his lips.
"You did, did you?"
"Yes, Sir. Can't have our captain going hungry, can we, Sir?"
Ward picks up a knife and cuts a small piece of the meat. When he tastes it, his smile broadens; it is very good. Like everyone else, he was forced to go without a meal this evening and it will be at least another two hours before he can return to the stronghold. If past experience is anything to go by, there will probably be no food on offer when he does get back, either. He turns to Talia.
"Locke," he says, "has anyone told you, you are a complete chancer?"
"No, Sir. Not recently, Sir."
"Well, you are."
"Yes, Sir."
"And you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"Absolutely, Sir."
Ward sits down.
"I'm glad we've got that straight." He looks up at her with a smile he can no longer conceal. "Well, don't just stand there, woman. Pour me a glass of wine and serve my supper."
A plate is put in front of the captain and the food is dished up. Ward helps himself to a generous serving, ignoring the hungry looks from his companions and the three girls. He takes a bite and savours it; then he takes a deep draught of the wine, refilling his glass from the bottle. Somebody's stomach is growling audibly, by this stage, though he is not sure whose it is. Ward takes another bite and chews slowly. He's enjoying this.
"Strange," he remarks conversationally, after a minute or two. "There seems to be rather a lot of food here for just one person. I certainly couldn't eat all this myself. Would any of you care to join me?"
Within seconds all the Sarafan are sitting around the table.
"How did you know to prepare so much?" Dorton asks Talia in an awed whisper. "Did you know they were going to show up?"
Talia gives her an enigmatic smile, but the truth is, she had only ever cooked on the farm at home before, and there were at least twenty people to be fed at every meal there, sometimes more. She had not been too sure how much to food to cook for three. As well as that, the prospect of using up everything edible in the kitchen, and leaving the old bag of a landlady hungry for the next couple of days, had been very appealing.
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It is a pleasant gathering in the little kitchen. The fire is bright and the food and drink are plentiful. Ward and his men are in no hurry to go back out into the fog, so the meal is taken at a leisurely pace. More wine is brought through, and the conversation begins to flow.
"I'd suggest you girls behave yourselves for a next couple of weeks," Ward says genially. "Your new captain might not be quite so understanding as I am."
"New captain, Sir?" The girls all stare at him in astonishment. "Where are you going, Sir?"
"Willendorf." Says Locke. "I've been promoted."
"Congratulations, Sir." Says Talia. The others immediately join her in wishing him well with obvious sincerity; Ward has been a popular commander.
"It's no more than you deserve." Says one of the male soldiers. "Let's face it, you're a bloody hero, catching that fiend and bringing it back alive."
Ayden, standing silently in the tavern courtyard, beneath the kitchen-window, suddenly becomes very attentive.
Ward shakes his head diffidently. "I was lucky, that's all." He says. "I did what anyone would do."
"Not anyone," says Dorton. "Vampires are hard enough just to kill. To bring in an old one like that, without losing any men… well, it can't have been easy."
"This one wasn't all that old." Ward says. "Strong though, I'll grant you, and unusual."
"Unusual?" Talia leans forward, curious. "In what way was it unusual, Sir?"
"Well for a start, water barely hurts it. Anything less than total immersion and it seems almost unaffected."
"You speak of it in the present tense, Sir. Does that mean it's still alive, after all these weeks?" Talia asks in astonishment.
"It is very much alive, Locke, and hopefully, it will provide us with a lot of useful information before its execution."
Dorton frowns. "I thought water burned all vampires." She says. "Like acid to them, I heard."
"Not this one. The interrogators have never seen anything like it."
Dorton looks down at her plate, for a minute, chewing her bottom lip in consternation.
"So are they getting stronger, Sir?" She asks.
Ward shakes his head. "I don't think so." He says reassuringly. "As I said, this one's unusual. It is strong against water but other ways it is very weak. Light really hurts it, much more than any of the others, I've seen. It's eyes practically burned in their sockets, the first day we questioned it."
Outside in the courtyard, Ayden listens to Ward's graphic descriptions of his brother's torment. He stares into the fog and lets his head bang gently against the crumbling brickwork behind him. This is his fault, he realizes miserably. The Sarafan are torturing his brother and it is all, his fault.
"Is the creature able to regenerate, like the other fiends do?"
"Indeed it is. But it is permanently blind, we made sure of that. Lord Agrippa is determined to extract every possible scrap of information from it, before we release its soul, but we're keeping it as weak as we can, just in case. Safer that way. In captivity, the demons' powers of regeneration can be used against them. They can withstand torture that would kill a human suspect, and then they heal, enabling our comrades in the dungeons to repeat the process almost indefinitely, if they're careful."
"So it is being questioned as we speak?" Jay asks.
"Oh yes! I'm sure of it."
"I'm glad!" Everyone present looks at her in surprise. Her expression is no longer timid; her face is suffused with hatred. "It's only right! It should suffer!" She says, vehemently. "Did you see the bodies that came in from that battle in the docklands last month? I did, and I still have nightmares! Anything that could do that to a person, to a living, breathing human being, deserves all the pain we can give it. All the pain in the world!"
"You can expect to be rounding up a few more human sympathizers, as well." Ward continues after a moment. "It hasn't given us any names yet, but they think they're close to a breakthrough."
Talia frowns. "Human sympathizers. They're worse than the vampires as far as I am concerned. Do you think there will be many?"
Ward nods earnestly. "Oh yes, I'm sure of it, and some of them in very high places as well. We all know our history, without human help, the Accursed One would never have been resurrected, and the Sarafan Lord, the first Sarafan Lord would undoubtedly still be with us. We have been rounding up sympathizers ever since the disaster, and their numbers have not been falling."
Talia shakes her head. "How could anybody sink so low as to aid the vampires against their own kind?" She asks. "What could they possibly hope to obtain?"
Ward shrugs. "Money, power, who knows?"
"Money!" Talia exclaims. "What use is money when you are dead or enslaved? And how naive must a person be, to think these creatures want to share power?"
Ward nods in agreement. "You're right of course, but unfortunately, Locke, not everyone has your clarity of vision." The captain looks around the table, this turn in the conversation has sobered everyone. "But remember," he says. "We will prevail. Have no doubt of it. God is on our side, and while the Sarafan have hearts as true as those gathered here, we cannot lose." The company is visibly cheered by his words, despite the fact that they must have heard this tired rhetoric many times before, and the Sarafan are still no closer to turning the tide in their quest to annihilate the vampires. In some ways, Ward finds it depressing to see how easily they can be manipulated. He suppresses a sigh and raises his glass. "A toast." He says. "To true hearts." They all rise and raise their glasses to him.
"To true hearts!" They chorus. Talia refills their glasses with the last of the wine.
"And now, "she says, "a toast to our gallant captain, and to Willendorf."
"To Willendorf!"
Ayden listens impassively to their merrymaking. Tonight they live, but he vows he will not forget their words and he will repay them, every one. While the toasts are being drunk, he slips back into the alley that connects the tavern courtyard to the street, and waits for the revellers to emerge.
He does not have to wait long. As soon as the wine is finished, the Sarafan leave. The old woman is waiting for them as they re-enter the bar. She darts at Ward, giving vent to a string of curses and remonstrances for their despicable behaviour until one of his companions silences her with a sharp blow from the hilt of his sword.
"Hold your insolent tongue, you old witch. Lest I decide to cut it out for you." He sheathes his sword and pushes her roughly aside. She falls against one of the tables and sinks to her knees with a cry, clutching her head, which is now bleeding freely. The Sarafan soldier does not even look at her; he strides past and opens the door to the street, checking the coast is clear, before the others emerge.
Ayden watches as the Sarafan to make their way back to the keep. They walk right past him oblivious, and he gives thanks that the energy that once suffused their glyph armour and weapons has finally died, a process that has taken years. Ward is wearing glyph armour and even a year ago, that would have meant discovery for any vampire in his immediate vicinity, but although he passes close enough for Ayden to reach out and touch him, the armour does not react at all, even to Ayden's enhanced vision.
The three women are bringing up the rear, and Jay is trailing behind again. Once more, Ayden breathes upon her, laughing to himself as he watches the hairs rising up on the back of her neck. He backs away as she spins round and she looks right through him and into the empty street beyond. The silly little thing hasn't even drawn her sword. The temptation to kill her is almost overwhelming.
"Jay! Come on!" Talia calls sharply. "This is no place to tarry!"
Jay turns and runs after her companions and Ayden silently tracks them through the deserted streets and back, finally, to the Sarafan Keep.
