Chapter 2:

Character

"Interesting," Count rested the knuckle of his forefinger against his lips pensively. "It's warm. Far too warm for this time of year."

Dulcinea shifted in her seat, leaning toward her window absently.

"Seasons are stranger every year," she murmured as her eyes tried to adjust to the glum stillness outside.

Rainclouds now obscured any stars and moon completely, and made the countryside almost pitch black. Only the carriage and its small entourage gave off the collective flickering glow of several torches and lanterns. Beyond the small luminous radius there was darkness, foreign and impenetrable.

"The land is changing," William supplied succinctly.

Shadows covered his eyes where he leaned back into the seat, leaving only a diagonal slice of light to illuminate his lower face. Dulcinea glanced at him with an agreeing sound.

"It is indeed."

Pilar glanced at William uncertainly, then spoke up for the first time, her tones low and subdued.

"They say it has been so ever since the fall of the Pillars-"

"You read too much history books, girl," Count interrupted with distracted annoyance. "And ascribe too much meaning where there is none."

She offered a defiant look, but said nothing more.

"The land is always changing," he continued curtly. "I am more concerned with political climate than the natural one. That one is far more dangerous."

"And you would know much of such dangers?" William inquired, in a way that made it unclear whether he was being sincere or venomous.

Count scoffed at him doubtfully, almost in surprise.

"Look at where we are, look at where we are going. Look around you, sir, and tell me it isn't so."

William leaned forward infinitesimally, his face never fully emerging from the shadows.

"It is so, it has always been so. This rot has been present for many years, it is merely its stench that waxes and wanes with time. Things have changed – but not truly."

Vollmayer nodded sagely.

"In this I agree with you," he readjusted his black necktie idly, ruffled silk under ringed fingers. "The human nature, the order never changes."

William angled his head at him in some emotion, perhaps amusement.

"The natural order?"

Count smiled thinly.

"Naturally."

Dulcinea and Pilar exchanged a quick, meaningful look.

The quartet fell into a sort of cumbersome quiet again, allowing the muffled sounds of horseshoes and wheels on dirt road to smoothly wash over the cabin. Count settled back in his seat comfortably, resting his eyes on the girl sitting opposite from him. Pilar was silent, her eyes darting to the half-curtained windows erratically. Dulcinea studied William through heavy eyelids, being sure to project aloofness. After a long while, she stirred and spoke, directing an anxious look at the Count.

"We will be stopping at an inn for the night?"

Count nodded in off-handed agreement.

"It's not very wise to travel by night like this. Indeed, it is unsafe to travel this far north-west these days. Bandits attack caravans regularly, to say nothing of worse things."

Dulcinea scoffed delicately, half-turning to him.

"Surely you do not believe these silly stories of vampires, Count?"

Vollmayer pulled his coat tighter about him in the chill.

"One would be a fool not to. These horrific creatures have caused far too much suffering to be dismissed so easily."

"You consider them beasts then?" William inquired, rather unpleasantly.

Count shot him a strange look.

"And you do not, sir? They are beasts, vile and twisted beings of the night preying on the hapless travelers."

William made an indelicate sound.

"You will find, good sir, that the things preying on travelers are far more manifold than you think, and that you are not as safe amongst your own kind as you would like to believe."

Count was taken aback by the forthright, even rude manner of this stranger who refused to identify himself properly, skewering him with a disapproving scowl.

"You credit me with more naivete than I deserve. I am well aware of the dangers of the human race, and its depravity, but that does not in any way diminish other dangers lurking all around us."

"I heard there were bands of gypsies roaming these parts," Dulcinea interjected, hoping to steer conversation elsewhere. "I do hope we don't come across any of them. They can be entertaining at times, but those people have no class."

Count rolled his eyes at her cautious tone.

"Gypsies should be the least of your worries. I hear peasants are revolting in the east again. Nothing the Sarafan can't suppress I'm sure. Still...unpleasantness. I've heard from reliable sources that Sarafan Order has sent more soldiers to the settlements around the Lake of Lost Souls, to aid the northern Dukes."

His tone grew warmer as he spoke, his eyes darting sideways in juicy speculation.

"Surely not?" Dulcinea said with fake interest.

"Oh yes," he said pointedly and nodded along dramatically. "There have been a few skirmishes between locals around Uschtenheim, and I hear several noble families of Coorhagen have hired mercenaries to harass the travelers throughout major southern roads, in order to spite the Sarafan."

"Mercenaries?" William repeated, with a mixture of casual interest and distaste.

Count leaned forward conspiratorially, glad to finally have an attentive, if not particularly intrigued, audience.

"Yes. After all, it would not do to have their own bannermen associated with such petty brigandry."

"It's still brigandry," Pilar said abruptly, then immediately looked down as everyone's attention shifted to her momentarily.

"It is a lot more than just brigandry," Count said to her, smiling slyly. "It is a statement."

"I have little love for mercenaries," William interjected crisply. "Those who would condemn a man to cold grave for the sake of coin alone."

Count snorted softly, shifting his eyes back to him.

"And what know the dead of such grief? They do not feel the coldness of the grave, nor the harshness of the tomb."

"Yes, it holds sweet oblivion – to some. Others, yet," he glanced out the sidewindow to the darkened forest pointedly. "Are more restless."

All eyes followed his gaze unconsciously, Dulcinea shifting uneasily at the sight of invading darkness. And more so, all hearts constricted at the thought of what it contained.

Dulcinea spared a quick glance toward William; he was now engrossed in contemplation, eyes scanning his dim surroundings in idle cycles, almost like a soldier constantly on guard for potential dangers. She liked his directness, the radiating confidence underlying his words. It was as if he was supremely assured of the truth of every word he spoke, and every word seemed teetering on the verge of contemptuous dismissal.

She decided to entice him into further conversation.

"There has been much talk of Willendorf lately," she said in a hopeful voice. "Did you hear that the Queen has given grants of land to the Diocese of Willendorf within the walls of Willendorf City? Such a thing is without precedent."

"I have heard nothing," William said noncommittally. "Then again, the affairs of Willendorf are of little concern to me, for the time being."

Dulcinea arched her brows at him curiously.

"For the time being? Do you expect them to become of interest to you in the near future?"

"No. I rather expect my affairs to be Willendorf's concern soon."

Dulcinea looked at the Count in mild disbelief, who gave her a pointedly amused look, and then back at William. He spoke clearly, with literary language and educated wit. A nobleman for sure, but of what kind? There was little of usual leisure one would expect from such a man, even if his words were often overbearingly cynical and even downright mocking. A knight errant, perhaps, down on his fortune? Someone hunted for his literary or ideological transgressions? The rather opposing stance that could be felt through his tone at times, coupled with clearly above average intelligence, certainly indicated such.

All this guessing made Dulcinea excited. She loved disclosing other people's mysteries, overcoming challenges of a stubborn man and making him a slave of his own lust. She appraised this William once more in the feeble light. This one definitely looked like a worthy challenge.

"Here we are," Count said drably, peering sidelong through the carriage window.

Up ahead, a tall shape of an inn loomed in the darkness.

---

Archbishop of Meridian was pacing his large cabinet restlessly, occasionally pausing to dab at his sweaty forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. It had been hours since he contacted them through proper channels, and now he was to do what he always did; wait.

The most difficult thing of all.

He attempted to distract himself as he waited, but just couldn't quite focus on anything properly. So he waited, and prayed. Oddly enough, the bright daylight coming through the arched windows and lighting up the room made little difference to his anxiety, and did little to contain his growing apprehension. Any uplifting thoughts that may have been brought on by the wonderful view from the study windows were suppressed by the encroaching unease of expectation. Normally he valued silence, but now it seemed oppressively overwhelming. Myriad of dust particles danced and floated where they were warmly enshined, and he busied himself with observing their silent patterns, letting them lull him into at least a temporary calm. This, in turn, took his thoughts in other directions, and his peace was lost again.

He paced some more.

Some idle concern lit itself in the back of his mind vaguely. He knew that sunlight made little difference-

"It is a wonderful day."

The voice, deep and sultry, appeared so suddenly and unexpectedly it actually made him stumble in startlement, and he had to support himself on the back of a large seat for a moment. Steadying himself, the Archbishop looked around the room sharply. Shapes of furniture and items normally so familiar and trivial now suddenly appeared threatening and alien, the walls too close in for comfort.

And there she was, standing calmly in a corner he could have sworn was empty a moment ago. Whether she just appeared or had been there for a while, only concealed to his sight, was irrelevant. She made herself known to him now, and that was all that mattered.

The woman stepped forward, revealing herself fully to him. He knew that vampires could conceal themselves with dark magic to be indistinguishable from mortal humans, but there was no disguise here now. There was no need for it, and no buffer to shield him from the full effect of this vampire's radiating presence. He shifted uneasily, trying to maintain a calm composure.

She was clad entirely in violet, her modest attire leaving very little to imagination.

Her dark hair hung from a tall ponytail down almost to her waist, the sharp curves of black tattoos winding over her cheeks and down her forehead. Sharp, elongated ears and the strange amber tint of her eyes were the most apparent signs of her nature. Sleek muscles outlined her exposed abdomen, a physique lean and fluid like a great cat. There was an air of that unearthly grace in her movement, alien and unnerving, the lethal allure so common to all vampires.

"You startled me," Archbishop said with false relief, resting one ringed hand on his chest meaningfully.

"You have news of Sarafan activities?" it was really more of a statement than a question.

He cleared his throat quickly.

"Yes."

She sat back on the edge of the massive desk in a way woman never should, especially a woman dressed like that. The Archbishop scowled in disapproval, but said nothing. Her expectant stare prompted him from stillness.

"I have written an exhaustive report for you..."

He was already moving around his desk, where he nervously unlocked a drawer with a small key he produced from his robes. A scroll of parchment, ribboned and sealed with blue wax. He offered it stiffly.

"It is coded as per usual."

As she took the scroll, he noted the pale delicacy of the fingers of her exposed left hand, felt their touch like silken ice brushing over his hand.

Cruel, and cold. Dead. Whatever affection that ethereal mind was capable of, whatever icy caresses could be coaxed from those long-dead limbs, it was surely too foreign and morbid to be enjoyed by anything living.

Still, one could not help but be taken by such pulchritude.

Archbishop scratched his palm absently; his skin was dry, leathery and wrinkled.

"There has been some shifting of garrisons, but nothing drastic," he supplied hopefully, anything to feed the silence.

She leaned back on her hands and studied him through half closed eyes, a gaze distinctly predatorial. The Archbishop averted his eyes, nervously clearing his throat.

He decided then that nothing so deadly should be so beautiful.

The vampire's eyes followed him as he made a few indecisive steps toward a window, glancing distractedly at the courtyard below. A pair of battle clerics could be seen crossing it in leisurely patrol. He wrung his fingers awkwardly, wondering whether her silence was a foreboding omen or merely lack of anything to say.

"Regarding the matter of Sarafan Keep; were you able to achieve any progress?"

Archbishop turned around, eagerly nodding.

"Yes, I am still working on it. My contacts in the Keep needed to conceal their activities for the time being. Several nobles have been executed for treason, and Sarafan Inquisitors are even turning their eyes toward the clergy. This is all dreadfully unpleasant."

He affected a grave expression to emphasize his words, and found himself oddly captivated by the contours of muscles in her stomach.

The vampire said nothing.

With elegant ease, she pushed herself off the maroon wood to approach. She stopped in a patch of sunlight spilling from a nearby window, pausing to stare at him eerily. Archbishop stared back, unable to take his eyes off her. The sunlight made her complexion appear that much more pale, a skin that could never be warmed by the luminous rays. For a moment in her motionlessness she seemed like a compelling sculpture of classical beauty, and the whole scene struck him as downright surreal.

Then she stepped forward, and it became very real and very unsettling.

Archbishop resisted the rising urge to step away from her and looked up at her tentatively, from this proximity that much more aware of the fact that she was almost a full head taller.

He noticed other details, too.

When light caught in her eyes just so, there was an odd glint of lilac to the cold amber. The intricacy of deeply golden detail on her gilded pauldron. The transparency of her violet top. Her skin looked flawless to him, and he imagined it possessed consistency and temperature of white marble. He suppressed a sudden impulse to reach out and touch, focusing his thoughts on the matter at hand.

"What of Marcus?" she inquired, scrutinizing him incisively.

Archbishop sighed deeply, bringing his hands together in front of his white robes solemnly.

"Lord Marcus' interest in the affairs of the Church is troubling," he allowed a note of shivering disquiet to enter his voice. "He has already gained much sway with local Bishops, and each day his involvement with our internal policies grows. He is bringing Sarafan influence into the Church, their doctrines and politics threatening our independence."

The vampire made a lazy sound, mocking even.

"It is a good thing then that the well-being of Church is no longer your concern."

"Yes..." he said distraughtly, then quickly recovered from the sudden pang of guilt that flashed through him. "But nevertheless this is dangerous. It would be most unpleasant, should he find something...incriminating."

"Indeed," she purred as she moved even closer, her voice in equal parts soothing and sinister. "The politics of humans will soon be the last of your concerns."

Archbishop opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't really produce anything, his eyes darting around her provocative form restlessly, never meeting her eyes. She continued to regard him in that unnerving manner, her tone levelling.

"We are seeking to resolve this matter."

He offered a grimace of pale relief, sighing helplessly as he turned away and took a couple of steps toward a bookcase, before turning back again. It was really more subconscious, ingrained habit than any conscious effort on his part. As a high Church dignitary, the Archbishop of Meridian was absolutely masterful at inducing guilt and shame through facial expressions alone.

"No official appointments have been made, but he was present at the last consistory and I could read surprise only on several Bishops' faces. I think you understand what this implies?"

"More than you imagine."

He watched her bitterly for a long moment, then shifted the subject in hopes of averting his growing dread.

"At the last Grand Council sitting, Bishop Pascale was supported by Lady Allegra, surprising."

"Not so. She is...amiable to our cause."

Archbishop arched his brows in surprise.

"Ah. I did not know that."

Another contracted silence, each passing moment only building his unease. Why did she look at him so, with those dead eyes? What depraved hunger was glinting behind that deceivingly placid gaze?

She shifted lightly, frowning.

"You did not attend personally?"

Archbishop raised a dismissive hand, acutely aware of the dryness in his mouth.

"No, I rarely do, especially when minor matters are debated. One of my Bishops goes in my stead."

Her frown deepened, and it seemed like she was to say something.

There was a subdued knock on the door then, interrupting.

Archbishop's grey brows knit together in a mixture of annoyance and apprehension.

"Some administrative matter no doubt," he murmured wanly. "You should..."

He trailed off as he turned around to the vampire – she was gone. A chill ran down his spine as his eyes glanced about the spacious study, all windows were closed and there was no other exit than the single door. Another knock came, more persistent this time, that startled him from his thoughts.

"Yes," he called out, taking a moment to compose himself. "Enter."