X PREPARATION
"How do I look?" She twirled around under Raziel's admiring eyes, froze, and looked at him from under her eyelashes. She always wore her beauty like a badge of honour, and would not be seen before she had preened herself properly, but tonight she had truly made a spectacle of herself. She had bound her soft, rich curls back into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing an outfit she'd had made especially for the occasion. It consisted of solid, metal-plated boots, black leather trousers that hugged her plump figure, and were laced up on both sides over her delicious hips. She wore a metal breast-plate that seemed designed to accentuate the softer parts of her anatomy rather than protect them. Her back was bare, the smooth silk of her skin only broken by the network of straps that held the breastplate in place, and the clan symbol, tatooed in loving detail between her shoulderblades. She wore spiked vambraces around her forearms and a whip of leather laces around her waist as a belt. The ends tapped against the skintight leather. She looked like a warrior, if warriors cared more about style than survival.
"You look... radiant," Raziel said, and slowly walked towards her. He was wearing his ceremonial armour, the ornate shoulderguards and red cape, his chest bare, a ceremonial sword at his side. Dressed for state affairs, not for battle. He bent over slightly to plant a fatherly kiss on Adoile's forehead. "Positively... mouth-watering," he whispered. It was fair warning, but she still screamed in suprise when he snapped his head down to her neck to bite her.
"Raziel!"
He drank deeply, effortlessly drawing out her blood. She struggled, but Raziel pinned her arms. He was so much stronger. She could feel her strength being drained, the familiar burn of the hunger growing. She felt weak and helpless. To know he could drain her of her blood effortlessly if he wished, the thought that she was his to do with as he pleased, it was infuriating. Once again, he made her feel like a plaything, a mute slave as she kicked futilely against his shinguards. She blazed with anger, but mixed in with that, the helpless, choking love she felt for him burned ever stronger. Even if he killed her now, she would love him forever.
Of course he let her go long before she died, and she dropped to the floor, feigning weakness.
"Quite frankly... irresistable." He licked a last drop from the corner of his mouth.
"That's no excuse to steal my blood," she pouted, and wiped her neck. He grinned. "I should steal it back," she yelled defiantly. Raziel opened his arms, welcoming her.
"Go on. Try," he said and gestured for her to come closer. She jumped to her feet and flew at him, but he held her off without effort. He met every blow she aimed at him with a suitable parry; never giving her a chance even to touch him. Eventually, he opened his arms wide and embraced her, but when she bit his neck she only managed to hurt herself -- his alabaster skin was impenetrable. Laughing, he tossed her away, and she clattered to the floor once more. "Don't worry Adoile, there'll be enough to eat at the gathering, even for your weak little fangs," he said mockingly. He turned to the door.
She swiftly got to her feet again and crept up behind him, closing her hand around the hilt of his sword. It hissed as she drew it from its scabbard; the steel was dark and serrated near the hilt. She held it in front of her with both hands, and he slowly turned around.
"Perhaps I'll have more luck with this," she smiled. Raziel drew himself up to his full height, his eyes daring her to strike.
She took a swing to his midriff, as fast and powerful as she could manage. He snapped his hand around the flat of the blade, and pulled it up and towards him, Adoile hurtling after it into his rising knee. She took it just below the lower edge of the breastplate and doubled over. He drove his elbow into her shoulder to finish it, and she fell to the floor, clutching her stomach. He tossed up the sword, caught it by the hilt and calmly resheathed it, while she lay panting at his feet.
"Perhaps not," he observed drily, then turned to leave. "Come, my little warrioress. They are waiting for us."
Grumbling, she got to her feet and padded after him.
He was met in the hallway by Marius, the short, scrawny knight that had once been known as Mouse, and later, the Fearsome Mouse. His small stature belied his skill and passion with the sword. He had once, when he was still young, saved Raziel from being beheaded by a mortal knight, and had been an honoured member of the Razielim ever since. He had long since outgrown his nickname, but his warband was still known as the Mäuse.
"The men are ready, Lord. They are gathered in the inner courtyard," Marius said. He was briefly distracted by Adoile's appearance, but soon turned back to Raziel.
"Thank you, Marius." Raziel strode past his knight towards the courtyard.
"My Lord? Are you certain there is no other way?" Marius asked.
Raziel turned around.
"I can see nothing but more trouble coming from this," Marius pleaded.
"We have discussed this, Marius," Raziel said, sternly.
"I know, Raziel. We have, but I fear for their lives! They will be all alone out there, they are leaderless. And regardless of how you luitenants feel about each other, your clans are at odds." He had reason to be worried. The fifty that were set to join Rahab's ranks largely consisted of his men, and included his two sons. All of them were young and inexperienced, some had not even been through the first changes. Raziel put a hand on Marius' shoulderguard.
"Don't worry, Mouse. My brother has sworn to take good care of them," he said softly.
Marius gave him a lopsided smile. He had lived long enough to know that Rahab was not truly their enemy, but a century of war had soured him against the Rahab clan. He had seen their viciousness in battle, and knew their hatred, for it was mirrored in the hatred among his own men. That said, he knew better than to doubt his Lord, and so he would do as he was asked, even if it meant sending his own sons out into the wilderness.
The courtyard was crowded, the regiment of fledgelings was joined by those who would accompany Raziel to Melchiah's for the celebration, as well as many who were simply there to send off their brothers in arms or their children. All looked expectantly at the raised dais, where Rusanna and Axel stood, awaiting Raziel. They would accompany them tonight, like many others. Raziel climed the dais and stood in the centre, while Axel and Rusanna took up places at the back and to the sides of him. Adoile knelt just beside him, facing the crowd. It was a habit she'd gotten into, one that bespoke both humility and a certain arrogance. It irked Raziel, even though he knew it was one of the reasons she was so irresistable to him.
Once, centuries ago, there had been a throne where he stood, but he had had it broken down. It had been a pompous construction carved out of stone for the mortal count who had been lord of this castle long before Raziel was raised. Raziel preferred to stand.
Directly in front of the dais was the unusual army of fifty, all young soldiers. They all wore the same flowing capes of dark blue, Rahab's colour, and Raziel found it unsettling to see them in anything but red. It seemed they felt the same way, for under the blue capes many wore the clan symbol clearly visible. They looked apprehensive and downcast. All of them had been in the battle for Darheim; Raziel was certain the one who started the fire was among them, even if he did not know exactly which it was. None had refused the service. They knew why they had been asked.
And yet they now looked to him to explain. All his kin did, for anyone could understand that this move carried a great potential for disaster. They had been taught not to doubt their master, but in this, Raziel found he doubted himself. He knew Rahab needed men, and he knew he would do everything he could to prevent trouble, but he also knew how quickly things could get out of hand. Anyone can lead an army into battle, but to truly control your men is a different matter, as Kemuel had learned so late. The name left a sour taste in his mind and he put away his fear and doubts. The decision had been taken, and he would not go back on it.
"My children," he began, and there was perfect silence in the courtyard for a moment. "You look good in blue."
They chuckled; he heard Adoile's clear laugh beside him. It held a kind of malice he did not expect from her.
"I don't want you to think that I am banishing you, that would be a misunderstanding. I am not angry with you. You are not demoted. This is not a punishment."
He noticed Borah nodding gravely, but in the back two men exchanged a meaningful glance.
"I thank you for your years of service. You will continue to serve me, only for the next fifty years that will mean serving my brother. I have Rahab's word that his clan will treat you well; you are not captives, you will be part of his own troops. If this is not the case, I wish to hear immediately." At this, he looked at Borah, who, being the eldest, had been assigned the position of primus inter pares. Borah nodded briefly. "Likewise, I expect you to be on your best behaviour. You will respect your elders, regardless of clan, you will follow orders and you will be loyal to your new master -- and to each other. Should you find these standards too difficult to meet, then you will not be returning here." He paused a moment to let this sink in. Many of them had their eyes cast down. This did not bode well.
"Fifty years must seem like a long time to you, as some of you have not even lived that long yet. However, I assure you, when I welcome you all back here, in honour and with your red banners flying, you will wonder where the years have gone."
The assurance was met with sad smiles and averted eyes.
"And now, I send you off as agents of peace into the house of our former enemy, to represent our clan, and heal the wounds of war. Your task will not be easy, but I believe you will prevail, or I would not send you. Now go. Make me proud."
There was an appreciative murmer, some of their honour salvaged by this send-off. Borah raised his polearm, and stomped on the ground three times; thump, thump, thump. "Raziel!" they said as one, raising a fist or a weapon. Raziel smiled, and bowed ever so slightly.
"Thank you, children."
"How do I look?" She twirled around under Raziel's admiring eyes, froze, and looked at him from under her eyelashes. She always wore her beauty like a badge of honour, and would not be seen before she had preened herself properly, but tonight she had truly made a spectacle of herself. She had bound her soft, rich curls back into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing an outfit she'd had made especially for the occasion. It consisted of solid, metal-plated boots, black leather trousers that hugged her plump figure, and were laced up on both sides over her delicious hips. She wore a metal breast-plate that seemed designed to accentuate the softer parts of her anatomy rather than protect them. Her back was bare, the smooth silk of her skin only broken by the network of straps that held the breastplate in place, and the clan symbol, tatooed in loving detail between her shoulderblades. She wore spiked vambraces around her forearms and a whip of leather laces around her waist as a belt. The ends tapped against the skintight leather. She looked like a warrior, if warriors cared more about style than survival.
"You look... radiant," Raziel said, and slowly walked towards her. He was wearing his ceremonial armour, the ornate shoulderguards and red cape, his chest bare, a ceremonial sword at his side. Dressed for state affairs, not for battle. He bent over slightly to plant a fatherly kiss on Adoile's forehead. "Positively... mouth-watering," he whispered. It was fair warning, but she still screamed in suprise when he snapped his head down to her neck to bite her.
"Raziel!"
He drank deeply, effortlessly drawing out her blood. She struggled, but Raziel pinned her arms. He was so much stronger. She could feel her strength being drained, the familiar burn of the hunger growing. She felt weak and helpless. To know he could drain her of her blood effortlessly if he wished, the thought that she was his to do with as he pleased, it was infuriating. Once again, he made her feel like a plaything, a mute slave as she kicked futilely against his shinguards. She blazed with anger, but mixed in with that, the helpless, choking love she felt for him burned ever stronger. Even if he killed her now, she would love him forever.
Of course he let her go long before she died, and she dropped to the floor, feigning weakness.
"Quite frankly... irresistable." He licked a last drop from the corner of his mouth.
"That's no excuse to steal my blood," she pouted, and wiped her neck. He grinned. "I should steal it back," she yelled defiantly. Raziel opened his arms, welcoming her.
"Go on. Try," he said and gestured for her to come closer. She jumped to her feet and flew at him, but he held her off without effort. He met every blow she aimed at him with a suitable parry; never giving her a chance even to touch him. Eventually, he opened his arms wide and embraced her, but when she bit his neck she only managed to hurt herself -- his alabaster skin was impenetrable. Laughing, he tossed her away, and she clattered to the floor once more. "Don't worry Adoile, there'll be enough to eat at the gathering, even for your weak little fangs," he said mockingly. He turned to the door.
She swiftly got to her feet again and crept up behind him, closing her hand around the hilt of his sword. It hissed as she drew it from its scabbard; the steel was dark and serrated near the hilt. She held it in front of her with both hands, and he slowly turned around.
"Perhaps I'll have more luck with this," she smiled. Raziel drew himself up to his full height, his eyes daring her to strike.
She took a swing to his midriff, as fast and powerful as she could manage. He snapped his hand around the flat of the blade, and pulled it up and towards him, Adoile hurtling after it into his rising knee. She took it just below the lower edge of the breastplate and doubled over. He drove his elbow into her shoulder to finish it, and she fell to the floor, clutching her stomach. He tossed up the sword, caught it by the hilt and calmly resheathed it, while she lay panting at his feet.
"Perhaps not," he observed drily, then turned to leave. "Come, my little warrioress. They are waiting for us."
Grumbling, she got to her feet and padded after him.
He was met in the hallway by Marius, the short, scrawny knight that had once been known as Mouse, and later, the Fearsome Mouse. His small stature belied his skill and passion with the sword. He had once, when he was still young, saved Raziel from being beheaded by a mortal knight, and had been an honoured member of the Razielim ever since. He had long since outgrown his nickname, but his warband was still known as the Mäuse.
"The men are ready, Lord. They are gathered in the inner courtyard," Marius said. He was briefly distracted by Adoile's appearance, but soon turned back to Raziel.
"Thank you, Marius." Raziel strode past his knight towards the courtyard.
"My Lord? Are you certain there is no other way?" Marius asked.
Raziel turned around.
"I can see nothing but more trouble coming from this," Marius pleaded.
"We have discussed this, Marius," Raziel said, sternly.
"I know, Raziel. We have, but I fear for their lives! They will be all alone out there, they are leaderless. And regardless of how you luitenants feel about each other, your clans are at odds." He had reason to be worried. The fifty that were set to join Rahab's ranks largely consisted of his men, and included his two sons. All of them were young and inexperienced, some had not even been through the first changes. Raziel put a hand on Marius' shoulderguard.
"Don't worry, Mouse. My brother has sworn to take good care of them," he said softly.
Marius gave him a lopsided smile. He had lived long enough to know that Rahab was not truly their enemy, but a century of war had soured him against the Rahab clan. He had seen their viciousness in battle, and knew their hatred, for it was mirrored in the hatred among his own men. That said, he knew better than to doubt his Lord, and so he would do as he was asked, even if it meant sending his own sons out into the wilderness.
The courtyard was crowded, the regiment of fledgelings was joined by those who would accompany Raziel to Melchiah's for the celebration, as well as many who were simply there to send off their brothers in arms or their children. All looked expectantly at the raised dais, where Rusanna and Axel stood, awaiting Raziel. They would accompany them tonight, like many others. Raziel climed the dais and stood in the centre, while Axel and Rusanna took up places at the back and to the sides of him. Adoile knelt just beside him, facing the crowd. It was a habit she'd gotten into, one that bespoke both humility and a certain arrogance. It irked Raziel, even though he knew it was one of the reasons she was so irresistable to him.
Once, centuries ago, there had been a throne where he stood, but he had had it broken down. It had been a pompous construction carved out of stone for the mortal count who had been lord of this castle long before Raziel was raised. Raziel preferred to stand.
Directly in front of the dais was the unusual army of fifty, all young soldiers. They all wore the same flowing capes of dark blue, Rahab's colour, and Raziel found it unsettling to see them in anything but red. It seemed they felt the same way, for under the blue capes many wore the clan symbol clearly visible. They looked apprehensive and downcast. All of them had been in the battle for Darheim; Raziel was certain the one who started the fire was among them, even if he did not know exactly which it was. None had refused the service. They knew why they had been asked.
And yet they now looked to him to explain. All his kin did, for anyone could understand that this move carried a great potential for disaster. They had been taught not to doubt their master, but in this, Raziel found he doubted himself. He knew Rahab needed men, and he knew he would do everything he could to prevent trouble, but he also knew how quickly things could get out of hand. Anyone can lead an army into battle, but to truly control your men is a different matter, as Kemuel had learned so late. The name left a sour taste in his mind and he put away his fear and doubts. The decision had been taken, and he would not go back on it.
"My children," he began, and there was perfect silence in the courtyard for a moment. "You look good in blue."
They chuckled; he heard Adoile's clear laugh beside him. It held a kind of malice he did not expect from her.
"I don't want you to think that I am banishing you, that would be a misunderstanding. I am not angry with you. You are not demoted. This is not a punishment."
He noticed Borah nodding gravely, but in the back two men exchanged a meaningful glance.
"I thank you for your years of service. You will continue to serve me, only for the next fifty years that will mean serving my brother. I have Rahab's word that his clan will treat you well; you are not captives, you will be part of his own troops. If this is not the case, I wish to hear immediately." At this, he looked at Borah, who, being the eldest, had been assigned the position of primus inter pares. Borah nodded briefly. "Likewise, I expect you to be on your best behaviour. You will respect your elders, regardless of clan, you will follow orders and you will be loyal to your new master -- and to each other. Should you find these standards too difficult to meet, then you will not be returning here." He paused a moment to let this sink in. Many of them had their eyes cast down. This did not bode well.
"Fifty years must seem like a long time to you, as some of you have not even lived that long yet. However, I assure you, when I welcome you all back here, in honour and with your red banners flying, you will wonder where the years have gone."
The assurance was met with sad smiles and averted eyes.
"And now, I send you off as agents of peace into the house of our former enemy, to represent our clan, and heal the wounds of war. Your task will not be easy, but I believe you will prevail, or I would not send you. Now go. Make me proud."
There was an appreciative murmer, some of their honour salvaged by this send-off. Borah raised his polearm, and stomped on the ground three times; thump, thump, thump. "Raziel!" they said as one, raising a fist or a weapon. Raziel smiled, and bowed ever so slightly.
"Thank you, children."