The Fall of the Lion
- by Ardeth Silvereni

- Part Two -
The Lion Cub: The Duke

I was conscious of Everard rushing into the hall behind me, the noise of his armour announcing his arrival. Steel clattered on stone. I ignored him. "'Tis not your kingdom I desire, but your army, Ottmar." I said calmly. "I require troops to vanquish the horde that descends upon us from the North."

I heard the duke halt abruptly, and breathe a deep sigh of relief. He had no doubt been holding his breath, waiting for my response to the king's generous offer. I knew some of his men had seen me leave Elzevir's home, and he had followed me back. He had no wish to fight a vampire for Willendorf's throne, and I was likely to live far longer than his elderly uncle. Such a shallow, self-interested man. A fool too, if he suspected that Willendorf would ever accept me as its ruler over him.

Even Everard wasn't that unpopular.

"Very well." Ottmar said with a decisive and approving nod. He spoke loudly to the people who were pouring into the back of the room, excited and curious to learn what had happened. "Courtiers, fetch me my armour and mace. There is war to be waged!" He shouted. He was greeted by a hearty cheer from the growing crowd. Their king had come alive again, and they would follow him to their deaths, if he asked.

I was bemused by the scene, and unsure of my next action. It would be a few hours at least before the army could be regrouped and briefed. Lacking anything more pressing to do, I continued to watch the Willendorf citizens for a while. There was no need to beguile them; I might as well have been invisible, such was their preoccupation with the good news. 'Tis a good thing my ego did not require their congratulations. Another man may have been irked when none were offered.

A smithy and his apprentice soon wheeled in a cart, heavy with newly-repaired weaponry - swords and shields. A good few youths were pestering a soldier to let them sign up for duty. Everyone was willing to do their bit for the great cause. How quaint... my cynical self started, but I cut the thought off dead. Cynicism usually served me well - the less one expects, the less one stands to be disappointed - but it had no place here. I realized that as I observed their enthusiasm and joy, I was finding it bizarrely infectious...

I was home.

Of course, this wasn't Coorhagen, but I felt a twinge of pride in my heritage that I had not known in years. I had abandoned the court in my early twenties, preferring to explore Nosgoth rather than live the closed, unexamined life of the upper classes. I exploited my nobility only when it suited me, although I believed I always conducted myself as a lord should. Was I seeking acceptance, now that my ostracism from these people was no longer voluntary? Mortal stubbornness could be overcome, forgiven and forgotten, and I could have been welcomed back into the fold whenever I chose. Vampirism was a different matter entirely. I was forever a pariah. My distaste of Ottmar's earlier self-pity faded as I pondered this. I even started to justify it to myself, rather than risk shattering the fragile sensation of belonging again.

Gazing around, I noticed Everard, standing in a darkened alcove, out of the way. I couldn't read his mind, but his expression and stance clearly reflected his turmoil of emotions. He did not share the jubilation of the rest of the court. Instead, anger triumphed over his earlier fear, barely concealed, as he realized how close he had come to losing everything he craved. He was furious at Ottmar for almost giving the kingdom, his kingdom away. He was bitter at himself, having wasting the opportunity to ingratiate himself with Ottmar and Willendorf's people. More than anything, however, he was enraged that I had rescued the princess' soul, usurping his glory and simultaneously compromising his position in the court.

He always had been a bad loser.

With a smirk, I remembered my youth in Coorhagen. Everard and I were the same age, and nobles only socialised with people of a similar rank. My parents had encouraged me to befriend him, as it did our family good to be associated with Princess Avis and her son, even if he was a spoiled whining brat. Inevitably we never got on well. On one memorable occasion he flew at me after I broke his blade. Everard had trouble mastering the sword but hated to be beaten at anything. I managed to knock out one of his teeth before we were wrenched apart, still screaming curses at one another.

Luckily we were only eight years old at the time, and the tooth grew back. I didn't permanently ruin his looks.

My nostalgic musings were interrupted by the bustle of Ottmar's sorcerers. I had laid the doll and Elzevir's head before the king, and now they were examining both carefully. They passed the head between themselves, holding it by the hair as I had, and it rotated slightly in their grasp. The face seemed fixed in a macabre grin, lips drawn back from the teeth, mocking them and their futile efforts to save the princess. One sorcerer beckoned a page, then he and five others carried the comatose girl out of the hall, lifting her bed on to their shoulders. The scene struck me as reminiscent of a funeral procession - a cortege - save for the smiles the men wore.

"It's hideous." A large woman said intrusively, and I looked in her direction, drawn by the sound of her voice. She was clearly one of those nobles who eschewed subtlety, harbouring a misguided and inflated opinion of herself. She was pointing at the doll that held the princess' soul. It was crudely fashioned, hastily stitched with odd buttons for eyes. It could have been the first work of a disturbed child, except for the lock of hair nailed to its crown. "Why didn't he make another beautiful one?" She said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "That's horrible!"

"The poor girl..." Another lady commented mournfully.

I decided I had heard enough, and that it was time to take my leave. My tolerance of other people was limited even when they were interesting, and these women certainly were not.

"Kain? May I speak with you?"

Everard approached me as I was trying to remove myself from the busy hall. His years in the Army of Hope had strengthened his body, and he had grown to an impressive height. Despite this, I found it hard to forget the child he had once been, and I could not take the warrior Everard seriously. I was pleased to see he still knew me. Vampirism had not yet distorted my appearance as it had Vorador's, but I had been afraid that I was flattering myself, thinking I had left an impression on him during our boyhood years.

"I believe I am to be addressed as Lord Kain now, your Grace." I bowed my head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgement rather than acquiescence. My father and brothers are no longer among the living."

"Neither are you." Everard muttered.

"Touché." I smiled, allowing him to see my canines for a moment.

Everard swallowed visibly, but he did not miss a beat. "In fact," he said, brightening a little, "a cousin of yours has already asserted his right to the family title. He heard about your unfortunate demise. In Ziegsturhl, was it not?"

Everard found that highly amusing, regarding Ziegsturhl as a cesspool at worst, and a filthy, lawless peasant village at best. I could only imagine the minor scandal my murder had caused, as my reasons for being in such a place were scrutinised. Surely it was better stopping in Ziegsturhl - and being assassinated by brigands - than risk expiring in fragrant Steinchencröe with some whore's knife in my back? Experience informed me that this cousin of mine might not agree. In his case, the apple had fallen very far from the tree, producing a man with low standards, no taste and apparently no sense of smell. "Then perhaps you could tell him to assert that right in the same room as me." I suggested helpfully. "You may find him willing to step aside..."

I let him consider my statement. He stared disdainfully at me for a while, then stumped for a witty retort, his mask of civility fell. "Why did you come back here, Kain?" He lowered his voice to a hiss. "You were not welcome before, and you certainly are not wanted now! Leave! Leave now, or I'll - "

"You'll what? This ungrateful attitude does not become you, your Grace. You should be thanking me, as Ottmar is."

"Thanking you?" Everard was incensed. "Do you know what you've done?"

Of course I did, but did he? Really? Did he realize that I might have saved his precious kingdom for him? Victory over the Nemesis was unlikely at best, but at least Willendorf was in a position to fight now. The Army of Hope had a chance. What pretty delusions had he concocted for himself? Had he thought Willendorf would rise up more quickly to oust Ottmar and embrace him as their king? Did he think, as the fledgling monarch of a disillusioned kingdom, he could stand against the might of William? Idiot. His failure to save the princess earlier would likely cost him everything, including his life. Whether it had been selfish inaction or inability, it didn't matter. I had given him a prayer.

"I have gained an army." I said, as cordially as I could manage. "And as you heard, I will use it against the Legions of the Nemesis."

"My army. You seriously expect me to follow your orders?"

"My orders are only to engage William's forces, and defend Willendorf." I replied offhandedly. He was starting to bore me, and my mannerisms showed that. "It is up to you if you follow them. However, should you not fight, it might reflect badly on your Grace. Desertion is an ugly word, and treason is even worse."

Everard looked shaken. "Treason?" He asked. A tremor crept into his voice. He pushed his fingers through his short, dark hair in exasperation. "You refused the kingdom, Kain." He said. "You are not the king. Nor will you ever be."

"No. Your uncle is, and he will be leading the charge. 'Twould be a pity to see his noble line descend into cowardice, Everard."

He knew he was beaten. He was not clever enough with words to regain the advantage in our conversation, and I was embarrassing him. "I will have you staked by the dawn, Kain." the duke promised icily. He was wiggling his index finger at me like a scornful nurse, and I found it vaguely comical. "When this battle is won, I will drive a spear through your black heart, and leave you convulsing in the sunlight."

"If you win, and if the Nemesis doesn't do the same to you first..." I said. Verbal sparring with him was no longer entertaining. He wanted me twitching on a pole like an insect stuck with pins. I could wish him nothing less in return.

I turned on my heel, ready to walk away, when Ottmar himself requested my attention. I offered a bow, just a bit deeper than the one I had given Everard earlier. Ottmar - the man - had done little to earn my respect, but I had grown up loyal to the Lion's throne. I had worn the armour of Willendorf's militia. I was now dead, and my iron armour was tarnished by Necromancy and hellfire, but some vestige of that allegiance remained. And I was nurturing it. On an unconscious level, I wanted his approval.

"Nephew," Ottmar ventured, touching Everard lightly on his shoulder, "could you ready your men? We are to advance this eve, before our enemy learns our intent." There was sensitivity in his tone; he had seen the animosity between us. Perhaps he understood the other's frustration better than Everard realized. He did not wish to antagonise the duke more at this time. I was reminded what a renowned diplomat Ottmar had been in his younger days. Some skills, once learned, are never unlearned.

I did not have the same tact on this occasion. "Goodbye Everard." I called casually after him. "I will see you on the battlefield." His expression could have soured milk.

"You will fight with us, then, Kain?" Ottmar asked. He had invited me on a leisurely stroll through the palace corridors, where we could enjoy some small measure of privacy. It was quiet, and muted sunlight illuminated the halls. The peace was deceptive - the calm before the storm.

"I do not see that I have a choice, your Majesty." I replied.

"I'm sure you will be a great asset to our cause." Ottmar was every inch a king. He held himself with dignity, and was resolute in the face of adversity. I could see why he was so loved. But love alone would not win this war. Indeed, it had proved to be Ottmar's greatest weakness. If I took any lesson from Willendorf, it should be this.

We walked a little further, and emerged onto the battlements that divided the castle from the city. Ottmar paused to gaze down wistfully, observing the shops, homes and people below. I let him have his moment, allowed him to absorb the sounds and smells of his troubled kingdom. The warm aroma of freshly baked bread wafted upwards, tinged with the scent of exotic spices. Mothers ushered their children through the streets. Life continued, for today. After a long silence, he spoke sadly. "This is not the future I wished for Willendorf." Ottmar said. "A day, two days... there may be nothing left..." I held my tongue. What comfort could I possibly offer, under the circumstances?

"But while we breathe, there is still hope." Ottmar said suddenly.

"Some, your Majesty." I replied.

"Perhaps with the Soul Reaver on our side, we will triumph... Pray tell, Kain - how did you find it?"

I decided to humour Ottmar and retell the tale. I think it was more for my enjoyment than his, as I was still rather proud of myself for claiming it. How I, Kain - petty noble and drinker of blood - had ended up fated for such a weapon was anyone's guess. I described Avernus, the heavenly dimension, and the winged statue that held the blade. As I reflected, I felt something akin to childish excitement rising in me again, as it had when I first grasped the sword. The boy who had heard the legends of the Soul Reaver never dreamed he would one day be wielding it.

"That is good." Ottmar said when I had finished. "Rumours had placed it in the possession of the Nemesis. I am thankful that you carry it, and not one such as he." I almost laughed out loud at the comment. One such as he? Was a vampire not equally bad? Evidently Ottmar's gratitude towards me had entirely blinded him to my nature.

"Do you feel its dark hunger?" Ottmar asked. I had to admit that I did. I had been aware of the Reaver's sentience from the beginning. "I always thought that would be a most terrible thing," he said, "to be a spirit trapped, restless and tortured in such a shell... Oh, make no mistake, the blade is remarkable, but..." For the first time since taking it up, I contemplated the origins of the Reaver's conscious entity. I supposed Ottmar was right - it did not possess the sword, the sword possessed it, imprisoned in its cold corporeal form.

We both knew he was speaking about the princess, and not the Reaver at all. I ran my fingers idly over the carved skull. A terrible thing indeed, with no hope of rescue or release.