THE GATHERING: V -- THE HUNTERS
Adoile let her in, she'd come to him immediately. She was still wearing her armour, and a bloodied polearm in her hand. She bowed, briefly.
"We found them."
He walked over to embrace her. "Sophia, you child of my heart. You bring the first good news in nights. Did you get them all?" She smiled a bit uneasily.
"All three of them, yes."
Raziel frowned, and shook his head. "That can't be. Three mortals could not have killed Konrad."
"Three mortals couldn't, no." Her face was drawn. Raziel could guess her meaning, but he didn't want to believe it. Those cowardly murders, the grisly trophies outside his gate, this was the work of his own kind? Sophia cast her eyes down and added, "They're in the dungeon, my Lord."
She followed him down to the half-sunken prison cells, where Sophia's battle-weary band had gathered. In one of the cells, behind steel bars and shackled to the wall, were three vampires, weak from blood loss. One still had a sword pierced through his chest.
"That is Stahl, Cermak's son. He left us several months ago, though I do not know why," Sophia explained. "The other two are of Turel's blood. They put up quite a fight."
Raziel looked at the weary crew gathered around them. "I can tell. If you wish, you may go to rest now. You are welcome to the cellars as well." Most of them left then, to their rooms or to the eastern-most cells, where the mortals were kept, and the bottled blood. Raziel gestured for the cell door to be opened. He stepped in; Sophia and three of her warriors remained outside, waiting. One of the Turelim followed him with his eyes, glaring at him from under heavy eyebrows. Raziel gripped the sword piercing Stahl's chest, and jerked it out.
Stahl gasped and struggled against his restraints for a moment before he realised it was futile. The wound on his chest closed slowly. His pale grey eyes met Raziel's.
"Ah, the crown prince of darkness himself." he said, softly, as if he did not want anyone to overhear. "Have you come to gloat over your catch?" The words stung, in spite of their futility. Raziel struggled to understand what had caused this hatred.
"I know you, Stahl. I trained your father myself. What on earth happened to you?"
The man showed a sickly smile. "Not what did, but what will happen changed me. The future stepped down to greet me, and I have seen its justice." His voice sounded ethereal, as if the words came from far beyond. Raziel bared his teeth. His patience was already wearing thin.
"You will speak plainly, Stahl, or I will make sure that this is only the prelude to your suffering." This made Stahl laugh. It was a mirthless laugh, filled only with despair and madness.
"Plainly then, I have seen him," he gushed. "The avenging angel, he will come down from the sky, and cleanse Nosgoth of its plague. A thousand years! I have seen it," he shrieked, "I have seen Kain die!" Raziel backhanded him across the mouth.
"Mind your words," he snapped. A thin trickle of blood ran from Stahl's mouth. It had shut him up, at least. Raziel turned to the man beside him. "And you believed in this madness?"
The Turelim vampire nodded devoutly. "My people have foretold this all centuries ago. The dark gods will reign for a thousand years, then they will fall. The true God's angel will come for your souls."
"Our souls? What about you?" Raziel shouted. "'Your people' are the Turelim. You are vampire! You murder your own kind and the only explanation you offer is this deranged fantasy?" He could feel the anger roaring in his blood. He struggled to contain it. In his mind's eye, he could still see his Konrad, his faithful lieutenant for centuries, lifelessly dangling from a wooden stake.
"We are all damned," Turel's man said, "but we may yet find redemption in preparing for His coming. Every soul we reap is one."
"You could have spared us the trouble and taken your own first," Raziel said, trembling with rage. For the first time, the third man spoke up. His voice was deep and ragged.
"Don't think you will escape, little God," he said. "He who stands highest, will take the deepest plunge." That calm, cold-voiced threat broke down the last of Raziel's self-control. He grabbed the man's collarbone, digging his claws deep into the flesh, and tore open the ribcage, which gave way with a satisfying crunch. He closed his claws around the still beating heart, tore it out, and discarded it on the dungeon floor.
"He will come for you," the other Turelim added as fuel to the fire. Raziel needed little encouragement. With a wordless roar, he plunged his hand into the man's abdomen, digging his way up towards the heart. He opened his mouth and willed out what blood remained inside the broken, battered body. It burst out of the man's mouth and flowed into his own, dark and strong. He held the ruined heart up to the third man, his own kinsman, who moved as if to speak. He leaned in close, their faces almost touching.
"Go on, say it!" he spat out, but the man just stared at him, unafraid, his pale grey eyes wide with his madness and heavenly visions. His unrepentant gaze enraged Raziel even further, and with full force he plunged his claws into those eyes. They squelched, and when he pulled his hand back blood gushed from the empty sockets.
"Let's see if you can still see any angels now." He was still trembling, but the need for violence had bled out of his limbs. Still the man would not bow his head.
"Your rage will not save you from the coming judgment," he whispered hoarsely. Raziel turned away, disgusted.
"And your God will not save you from the torment you deserve," he replied. He ignored the mumbled answer and addressed Sophia, who was lingering, alone, by the wall opposite the cell. "Feel free to throw him into the abyss at your earliest convenience," Raziel said, anger making his voice cold and his words hard. "And him too!" he added, indicating Kemuel, who was chained up at the end of the hallway.
Ignoring the tormented "my Lord" from Kemuel, he made his way up the steps, back into the keep. His children fled out of the way with startled expressions on their faces, and he realised his face, chest and hands were gored with vampire blood. He felt disgusted with himself. Catching those hunters should have been a victory, but instead, he felt only emptiness. He did not want to see anyone, did not want to be seen. Instead of heading for his rooms upstairs he descended into the crypt under the keep. The heavy steel door slammed closed behind him, and he looked around, his eyes adjusting slowly to the perfect darkness. No one came here, only the dead, and those who desired perfect solitude as they went through a change. He sat down on one of the cool, stone slabs, pulling his knees up in front of him. There was no one else here, but for one frozen form, dusty, doubled in on itself. It had been here a long time, and would be for a long time to come.
How he would welcome it now, the deep slowness that led him into the state of change, the dreamless sleep, almost death, free from thought. Instead, all his thoughts, actions and words were whirling around in his head and sleep had never seemed further away.
He sat like that for hours, staring into the darkness, waiting for rest that would not come. No daylight reached the crypt, and he had no idea of the time when the steel door slowly swung open, the old hinges protesting loudly.
"Leave me," he growled angrily at whoever was there, but the order was ignored. Adoile's soft voice spoke his name into the darkness. Adoile, that marvel of a creature. Astonishingly beautiful, sharp witted, and utterly fearless. She always spoke to him as though they were equals, despite being barely over twenty years of age.
"Raziel, I have prepared a bath for you." She stood by the door, doubtlessly unable to see him, waiting for an answer. He looked at his blood-encrusted hands. A bath... She had him there. Slowly, he got up and walked towards her. Without a word, she followed him out, up the stairs, down into a different set of cellars. The stairways were blessedly empty, and he wondered, was it morning?
Water burns a vampire's flesh, so they used churned milk to bathe. It was kept in this small cellar next to the prison cells to keep it from going sour. In the middle of the room was a granite tub, large enough to sit in comfortably. She had already filled it with milk, pure and steaming hot. Adoile helped him out of his clothes, and he stepped into the tub. He settled down and felt his muscles relax slowly. Adoile used a deep wooden spoon to pour warm milk over his shoulders, his back, and his face, and gently, bit by bit, she washed the blood from his skin. The roaring tempest of his thoughts finally died down. He was grateful for her silence, and her loving attention. She even untied and washed his hair, and when she was finished, sat back on her knees and simply waited.
"Adoile," he said finally. She looked up, in her eyes the same unquestioning, perfect faith that he always found there. "Do you ever think about God?"
"I don't suppose you mean Lord Kain," she answered.
"No, I don't mean Lord Kain." He stood up and stepped out of the bath. She met him with a soft towel, and began to rub his back and his arms, removing every trace of milk. "I mean the old God, the mortal's God," he went on. "The One they worship in their abbeys and churches."
"Then the answer is no, I never think of Him." She had draped the towel over his shoulders, and began to brush out his hair.
"But you must have believed, when you were mortal?" he asked. Her hands fell still for a moment, as she truly had to search her memory deeply to remember.
"I think we, as mortals, believed that God had abandoned this world, and that Kain was his successor." She went back to brushing his hair.
"Kain is no God," Raziel said, frustrated. "I know what they say of him, but he was once a mortal man, like any of us."
"And the mighty oak was once a tiny sapling," she answered enigmatically. "Does that mean we can easily push it over?"
Raziel moved to say something, but then let out his breath with a sigh. He was not sure what he meant to say. Adoile had finished with his hair, and moved down his hips to dry his thighs and his calves. He lifted one foot, and she toweled it between the toes.
"Kain's empire has brought order to this world, and nobility," she explained. "A dark nobility perhaps, but where would Nosgoth be without it? He leads our people, for better or worse, and all creatures bow down to Him. He has shaped the land and the sky to suit His will. Kain, you, your brothers... You are the divine influence of our world, there is no other God." He looked at her as she sat there: kneeled in front of him, the towel in her lap. He asked her a question the answer to which he could read in her eyes.
"Do you really believe I am a divine creature?"
She smiled. "Raziel," she said in an almost chiding tone, "of course you are."
Adoile let her in, she'd come to him immediately. She was still wearing her armour, and a bloodied polearm in her hand. She bowed, briefly.
"We found them."
He walked over to embrace her. "Sophia, you child of my heart. You bring the first good news in nights. Did you get them all?" She smiled a bit uneasily.
"All three of them, yes."
Raziel frowned, and shook his head. "That can't be. Three mortals could not have killed Konrad."
"Three mortals couldn't, no." Her face was drawn. Raziel could guess her meaning, but he didn't want to believe it. Those cowardly murders, the grisly trophies outside his gate, this was the work of his own kind? Sophia cast her eyes down and added, "They're in the dungeon, my Lord."
She followed him down to the half-sunken prison cells, where Sophia's battle-weary band had gathered. In one of the cells, behind steel bars and shackled to the wall, were three vampires, weak from blood loss. One still had a sword pierced through his chest.
"That is Stahl, Cermak's son. He left us several months ago, though I do not know why," Sophia explained. "The other two are of Turel's blood. They put up quite a fight."
Raziel looked at the weary crew gathered around them. "I can tell. If you wish, you may go to rest now. You are welcome to the cellars as well." Most of them left then, to their rooms or to the eastern-most cells, where the mortals were kept, and the bottled blood. Raziel gestured for the cell door to be opened. He stepped in; Sophia and three of her warriors remained outside, waiting. One of the Turelim followed him with his eyes, glaring at him from under heavy eyebrows. Raziel gripped the sword piercing Stahl's chest, and jerked it out.
Stahl gasped and struggled against his restraints for a moment before he realised it was futile. The wound on his chest closed slowly. His pale grey eyes met Raziel's.
"Ah, the crown prince of darkness himself." he said, softly, as if he did not want anyone to overhear. "Have you come to gloat over your catch?" The words stung, in spite of their futility. Raziel struggled to understand what had caused this hatred.
"I know you, Stahl. I trained your father myself. What on earth happened to you?"
The man showed a sickly smile. "Not what did, but what will happen changed me. The future stepped down to greet me, and I have seen its justice." His voice sounded ethereal, as if the words came from far beyond. Raziel bared his teeth. His patience was already wearing thin.
"You will speak plainly, Stahl, or I will make sure that this is only the prelude to your suffering." This made Stahl laugh. It was a mirthless laugh, filled only with despair and madness.
"Plainly then, I have seen him," he gushed. "The avenging angel, he will come down from the sky, and cleanse Nosgoth of its plague. A thousand years! I have seen it," he shrieked, "I have seen Kain die!" Raziel backhanded him across the mouth.
"Mind your words," he snapped. A thin trickle of blood ran from Stahl's mouth. It had shut him up, at least. Raziel turned to the man beside him. "And you believed in this madness?"
The Turelim vampire nodded devoutly. "My people have foretold this all centuries ago. The dark gods will reign for a thousand years, then they will fall. The true God's angel will come for your souls."
"Our souls? What about you?" Raziel shouted. "'Your people' are the Turelim. You are vampire! You murder your own kind and the only explanation you offer is this deranged fantasy?" He could feel the anger roaring in his blood. He struggled to contain it. In his mind's eye, he could still see his Konrad, his faithful lieutenant for centuries, lifelessly dangling from a wooden stake.
"We are all damned," Turel's man said, "but we may yet find redemption in preparing for His coming. Every soul we reap is one."
"You could have spared us the trouble and taken your own first," Raziel said, trembling with rage. For the first time, the third man spoke up. His voice was deep and ragged.
"Don't think you will escape, little God," he said. "He who stands highest, will take the deepest plunge." That calm, cold-voiced threat broke down the last of Raziel's self-control. He grabbed the man's collarbone, digging his claws deep into the flesh, and tore open the ribcage, which gave way with a satisfying crunch. He closed his claws around the still beating heart, tore it out, and discarded it on the dungeon floor.
"He will come for you," the other Turelim added as fuel to the fire. Raziel needed little encouragement. With a wordless roar, he plunged his hand into the man's abdomen, digging his way up towards the heart. He opened his mouth and willed out what blood remained inside the broken, battered body. It burst out of the man's mouth and flowed into his own, dark and strong. He held the ruined heart up to the third man, his own kinsman, who moved as if to speak. He leaned in close, their faces almost touching.
"Go on, say it!" he spat out, but the man just stared at him, unafraid, his pale grey eyes wide with his madness and heavenly visions. His unrepentant gaze enraged Raziel even further, and with full force he plunged his claws into those eyes. They squelched, and when he pulled his hand back blood gushed from the empty sockets.
"Let's see if you can still see any angels now." He was still trembling, but the need for violence had bled out of his limbs. Still the man would not bow his head.
"Your rage will not save you from the coming judgment," he whispered hoarsely. Raziel turned away, disgusted.
"And your God will not save you from the torment you deserve," he replied. He ignored the mumbled answer and addressed Sophia, who was lingering, alone, by the wall opposite the cell. "Feel free to throw him into the abyss at your earliest convenience," Raziel said, anger making his voice cold and his words hard. "And him too!" he added, indicating Kemuel, who was chained up at the end of the hallway.
Ignoring the tormented "my Lord" from Kemuel, he made his way up the steps, back into the keep. His children fled out of the way with startled expressions on their faces, and he realised his face, chest and hands were gored with vampire blood. He felt disgusted with himself. Catching those hunters should have been a victory, but instead, he felt only emptiness. He did not want to see anyone, did not want to be seen. Instead of heading for his rooms upstairs he descended into the crypt under the keep. The heavy steel door slammed closed behind him, and he looked around, his eyes adjusting slowly to the perfect darkness. No one came here, only the dead, and those who desired perfect solitude as they went through a change. He sat down on one of the cool, stone slabs, pulling his knees up in front of him. There was no one else here, but for one frozen form, dusty, doubled in on itself. It had been here a long time, and would be for a long time to come.
How he would welcome it now, the deep slowness that led him into the state of change, the dreamless sleep, almost death, free from thought. Instead, all his thoughts, actions and words were whirling around in his head and sleep had never seemed further away.
He sat like that for hours, staring into the darkness, waiting for rest that would not come. No daylight reached the crypt, and he had no idea of the time when the steel door slowly swung open, the old hinges protesting loudly.
"Leave me," he growled angrily at whoever was there, but the order was ignored. Adoile's soft voice spoke his name into the darkness. Adoile, that marvel of a creature. Astonishingly beautiful, sharp witted, and utterly fearless. She always spoke to him as though they were equals, despite being barely over twenty years of age.
"Raziel, I have prepared a bath for you." She stood by the door, doubtlessly unable to see him, waiting for an answer. He looked at his blood-encrusted hands. A bath... She had him there. Slowly, he got up and walked towards her. Without a word, she followed him out, up the stairs, down into a different set of cellars. The stairways were blessedly empty, and he wondered, was it morning?
Water burns a vampire's flesh, so they used churned milk to bathe. It was kept in this small cellar next to the prison cells to keep it from going sour. In the middle of the room was a granite tub, large enough to sit in comfortably. She had already filled it with milk, pure and steaming hot. Adoile helped him out of his clothes, and he stepped into the tub. He settled down and felt his muscles relax slowly. Adoile used a deep wooden spoon to pour warm milk over his shoulders, his back, and his face, and gently, bit by bit, she washed the blood from his skin. The roaring tempest of his thoughts finally died down. He was grateful for her silence, and her loving attention. She even untied and washed his hair, and when she was finished, sat back on her knees and simply waited.
"Adoile," he said finally. She looked up, in her eyes the same unquestioning, perfect faith that he always found there. "Do you ever think about God?"
"I don't suppose you mean Lord Kain," she answered.
"No, I don't mean Lord Kain." He stood up and stepped out of the bath. She met him with a soft towel, and began to rub his back and his arms, removing every trace of milk. "I mean the old God, the mortal's God," he went on. "The One they worship in their abbeys and churches."
"Then the answer is no, I never think of Him." She had draped the towel over his shoulders, and began to brush out his hair.
"But you must have believed, when you were mortal?" he asked. Her hands fell still for a moment, as she truly had to search her memory deeply to remember.
"I think we, as mortals, believed that God had abandoned this world, and that Kain was his successor." She went back to brushing his hair.
"Kain is no God," Raziel said, frustrated. "I know what they say of him, but he was once a mortal man, like any of us."
"And the mighty oak was once a tiny sapling," she answered enigmatically. "Does that mean we can easily push it over?"
Raziel moved to say something, but then let out his breath with a sigh. He was not sure what he meant to say. Adoile had finished with his hair, and moved down his hips to dry his thighs and his calves. He lifted one foot, and she toweled it between the toes.
"Kain's empire has brought order to this world, and nobility," she explained. "A dark nobility perhaps, but where would Nosgoth be without it? He leads our people, for better or worse, and all creatures bow down to Him. He has shaped the land and the sky to suit His will. Kain, you, your brothers... You are the divine influence of our world, there is no other God." He looked at her as she sat there: kneeled in front of him, the towel in her lap. He asked her a question the answer to which he could read in her eyes.
"Do you really believe I am a divine creature?"
She smiled. "Raziel," she said in an almost chiding tone, "of course you are."