When The Hare Howls
Several hours had passed and bright sunlight poured relentlessly down from above. Doco had gotten to his feet but was in no mood to fly. A leisurely pace on foot was what he chose instead and the lumbering beast shook the earth with every footstep. though no other eyes but Crete's could discern his sickly gait, his powerful body stalked effortlessly beside his mistress who had quickly shot down D's offer to ride on his horse with him to speed up their travel. The lone rider, cloaked in shadow even in the middle of the day, dredged along ahead of them in dignified silence.
They had come out of the forest on the western side, and before them lay the rolling hills of abandoned farmlands and lush meadows of a place D vaguely remembered called Thistle Wilk. Nearly a hundred years after a massive disaster collapsed the tiny town, no survivors ever went back to rebuild. Nature took its course without mans' influence and re-paved the countryside with beautiful grasslands that flowed with the wind like an emerald ocean.
It made Crete nervous to be out in the open with no tree cover and had instinctively pulled the white caplets' hood over her pale tresses. The back of her hand that swiped along her forehead kept coming back slick with cold sweat; the onset of heatstroke was beginning already. She had clearly been out in the sun too long today and couldn't understand how D, a dhampire like herself, was faring so remarkably better in the direct sunlight for this long. She mused at different explanations, none of which suggested he was simply of a stronger blood than herself.
UV filtering clothes, personal force field technology, world class acting…
"Which direction are we headed?"
D asked plainly. She cleared the fatigue from her throat before answering him. Like Doco, revealing ones vulnerable state was not advised among uncertain company.
"North… Very far north, if you are still so inclined to assist. Though you don't owe me any favors, and shouldn't feel obligated to escort me until I get there."
"I'm inclined to locate the killer for my employer, and I haven't decided whether or not that still isn't you."
His curt reply caused Crete to instinctively lower her eyes to the ground before stealing another glance at the inky black silhouette of him, eclipsed against the sun. Despite the odd feeling of wanting to commit the tatters of his coat to memory than she was to argue, she parried and returned his sharp tone.
"If you had decided I was the killer of that nameless waif, you would have taken my head back to Faustino by now and collected the reward. I'm a difficult creature to kill, Master D. Many have tried, believe me- But I'm even more difficult to redeem, so godspeed with whatever endeavor you've chosen."
The next breath caught in her throat when his mount suddenly halted. The air turned still, and dared not move. A flash of fear streaked across her mind, hoping that perhaps she hadn't just given him the idea of an easier route to his end goal. D's head turned slightly. The sun made it difficult to see if he were staring at her or not as he spoke, despite seeing the clear outline of his perfect profile.
"Redemption is just a word. Like any other, it means nothing without truth behind it. If you're so sure that there is no hope to reveal your innocence, then we can end this here and now if you like."
Crete would have felt embarrassed, had fear not taken the front seat first. She looked away, angry at the emotion. D took it as her resignation as he turned back and lightly tapped at the withers of his cyborg horse with heeled spurs. A lingering quip flowed out behind him, the heavy words surprisingly gentle on the breeze as his mount trudged onward,
"And she wasn't nameless; her name was Rei'el..."
She looked off in the distance, angry for not knowing why she didn't just try and take his head off this very moment, nor why she hadn't done so when he was at his most vulnerable in the forest glade from Malthesics' poison… She felt embarrassed for having said her honest feelings on the matter, which sat at an odd angle in her throat. It was true that she didn't regard Rei'el any differently than the countless others sacrificed in the name of a Noble's banter and boredom. But D was certain to have this girl's life burden her like the center jewel in a crown of thorns. He had yet to decide whether her death had come from the hands of Crete herself, or from the specter woman in the water, but he knew there were connections there that she wasn't telling him. Even if the blood wasn't on her hands, it stained her conscience just the same.
Crete was beginning to understand just how uncomfortable it was going to be having to interact with this perfect ice sculpture of a man; every word, every look, made one feel completely exposed before him, and she despised that vulnerable ache. The white caplet's hood was pulled over her flush-stained porcelain face to shield herself- and this time, not just from the sunlight.
†
Through centuries of battle, the great mountain fortress had held strong against the mightiest of foes from otherworldly science, to the times of noble houses warring against each other with fierce abandon. The strength of a noble's home reflected the strength of their character, and the mountain keep had been powerful indeed to withstand the elements of the harsh north with such magnificence as to garner the respect of the other houses. Set among the high peaks of the Alurian Tundra, the fortress of the Vidraru clan had been carved out the rock with the iron will of the first White Lord Vidraru. The feat of carving such an impressive stronghold from the unforgiving peaks solidified his position in Noble society that had gone unchallenged for centuries…
But gone were the days of majestic fortitude for the Vidraru family's crowning achievement. What seemed an opulent tribute to the will of Noble-kind, now stood isolated and alone among a sea of snowy white. Entire wings had rotted and crumbled away, while the main body held stubborn against the elements, unaware of its mortal wounds. The flecks of snow that found their way inside fell quietly to the floor like frozen tears, lamenting the fall of such strength and majesty from its former masters and into the hands of a mistress who seldom ascended from the holds' expansive halls in the underground depths.
Somewhere deep within the labyrinthine corridors, came the nervous step of a man bearing a tremendous weight- not on physical shoulders but as a great burden of the mind. He tried to construct different ways to deliver unfortunate news as tattered robes, heaped upon robes, dusted the empty hall as he walked kicking up remnants of snow and dust that danced once more in the wake of his tread. His mistress and the masters before her, were never ones to accept failure and it was fortunate for Malthesic that he had died in battle. He would not be left to suffer the consequences of admitting failure to Lady Arges, unlike Aurfeht. Not shooting the messenger was a humans honor that she never felt the need to abide by.
He soon approached a giant black door, the length of which ascended into the shadows of the ceiling above. Carved from two solid pieces of black crystal, it would have gleamed like glass, had there been enough light to give it reason to. Two armored guards eyed him suspiciously before each took an arm away from their giant towering spears to push open the doors. Spreading with a mighty crack as though they hadn't been opened in an age, Aurfeht slowly stepped through.
The interior of the great room had a strange pale glow. The expanse was void of any ornamentation or furniture, aside from a giant throne that stood draped among hundreds of strips of sheer silken fabric: remnants of the curtained ceiling most likely, that now looked dilapidated and ready to cave in at any moment. Such was the look of just about every room of the Fortress. In the recesses of his mind, he admitted that his prior masters would never have allowed such disgraces to befall their home, even for appearances' sake.
Aurfeht gulped down his pride as he looked around, squinting old eyes to perceive some small form of movement to indicate he wasn't alone. He couldn't detect any presence, but that didn't account for much in the house of a Noble. They would allow themselves to be known only when they desired. Just when he was about to surmise he was alone, a sultry deep voice filled the open space.
"You used the door, Aurfeht."
He had hoped his shudder of surprise had gone unnoticed. The voice continued, "I hope it isn't because your old age has left your gifts… dulled." Her quip let him know it hadn't.
He then noticed a single tatter of fabric that gently swayed like a stray piece of hair over the visage of the shadowed throne. The seams that separated the female figure that sat in the recesses of the over-sized chair from the darkness surrounding her, were beyond detection. They melded as one, and only when she turned her head, did he finally discern her outline.
He gulped again before he spoke, "No, my lady. I felt it was more a sign of respect to your grace, that a servant such as myself use a less intrusive entrance for an audience with one as beauti-"
"Spare me, Elder Time Ward. How fares the hunt?"
The boom of her dulcet voice echoed across the great hall, as if the space she occupied wasn't just seated in the throne, but all around him. She was ever-present, in the air itself and ready to suffocate him, should he offend her again with his shallow compliments. Ironically, immortals weren't known for their patience, and the Lady Arges was textbook. While an air of breath had never been spoken within the walls of the keep as to the strength of her sanity without swift punishment, a more forgivable description in regards to her temper had been the simple word of 'Unpredictable'.
Aurfeht was careful where he now tread. The rehearsing he had done in his mind before approaching the great hall was for naught. His mind now went blank in the face of a pure blooded noble. The flowery words he had thought up to mask the disgrace now fell away, only to reveal the naked truth that rolled out of his weathered mouth, tumbling down hastily into the dark.
"The dragon still lives. Malthesic is dead- slain by the hunter that now protects 'she who is disgraced'."
His old spine straightened with the stiffness of fear. He felt as if he was on the precipice of judgement, and for a moment he was unconsciously holding his breath. Would she scream hellfire and brimstone upon him? Demand he be skinned alive and picked at by the wild wolves? Hold him to her like a newborn babe, absolving him of his disgrace before snapping his neck with the gentle flick of her hand? He had seen these fates fallen on his bretherin of years before.
Being gifted with the ability to steal life from other humans he trapped in his webs of time and space had given him enough time to have seen just about all of his comrades fall to the whim of his Noble masters. No one except him wore the red hood of the Time Ward anymore… whether by their own miscalculations, or Aurfehts' own devious cunning, he was all that was left standing of the old order.
The lady Arges hung her head for a moment, before rising it slowly. The whites of her eyes held an evil that froze him down to the core, far beyond what the chilling wind outside could ever do. With an eerie calmness, she addressed him slowly.
"You spill this bile at my feet, and expect me to clean up your mess, Aurfeht?"
"N-no, my lady. I-"
"Malthesic was one of the old ones. His death is not without consequence. Who will take up that consequence, I wonder? The one who slew him in battle, or the one who sent him there in the first place?"
This was his nightmare and what he had been secretly dreading. Despite his ability to manipulate time and space, and escape anywhere he wished, the very fear that manipulated his own mind was enough to keep him firmly planted in the hear and now. Had he tried to escape, she'd simply pluck him back with a delicate hand and descend him into a maddening hell that he dare not consider now and jinx himself.
It was her eyes: the way they studied him- searched him for the weaknesses of his heart that they both knew was filled to the brim with cowardice and treachery. Humans weren't meant to live as long as he had… it did things to their sense of morality, and their value of life. Especially ones in the service of the Noble who took little thought in crushing the delicate bodies of mankind. "To walk among them is to harm them" The old saying went, and much like walking among a field of flowers, the vampire couldn't walk amongst humans without a few getting caught underfoot.
"M-my lady, I know I was the one to send him, but this hunter has no respect, and killed him without mercy. Please, allow me to show him the same courtesy, personally. Allow me this vengeance to my comrade. I'll send his soul to hell with him, so that Malthesic may claim his victory there forever!"
The seething hatred for this hunter was not without genuine emotion, but was still a cunning effort to show his mistress that he was just as upset. Perhaps the kinship of anger may snap her mood to a more favorable outcome. Aurfeht was old, but still not without his cleverness.
His mistress sat back in the throne, and the air in the room seemed to relax its choking grip. It was a long time before she spoke again, this time with a somber tone.
"She has been so clever at hiding… Always concealing herself with whatever bits of the world she can scavange. The dragon, the theatre folk, and now this hunter dog who dares scratch the face of my kin- my very sister!"
She spoke of the indignity dealt to her one and only pure blooded sibling: Valea's spell had been cast so genuinely across the astral plane, that the strike he had dealt the mirage at the waterfall, had come through time and space to wound her actual physical form. To have such a skill was unheard of, and would have given them cause for concern, had Arges' pride ever allowed it.
Her only thought was the all consuming need to wipe clean the slate of her family, and finally dispose of every trace of her father's weakness. She was convinced that Crete, the half-breed spawn that dared to share the same blood as her own, was an abomination against the Sacred Ancestor. She had waited years to finally absolve her clan of this stain, and a lowly hunter with a lucky aim was not going to stand in the way.
"I tire of these little shields she offers up as pathetic sacrifices to my power. Tear them down, Aurfeht… Kill all who give her refuge and comfort. Let her know there will be no place to hide, no one to help, and no one to return to…"
The old man's face crinkled into a malicious grin, as he understood his lady's orders. Draping the red hood over his face and stepping backward into a bow, he knew what he had to do. A tremendous weight had been lifted, as he began to feel like he was now home free. Her reaction wasn't so bad, at least he still had his head on his shoulders. Perhaps she regarded him with more favor than the others, or felt him more valuable- no, the most valuable servant she had. Yes, that was it.
"I am your right hand, exhaulted one. Their pain will be my pleasur-"
A spindly hand encircled his throat like a snake and yanked his withered head back with a fierce jerk. She was impossibly fast; the dilapidated silk had barely shuddered at the small puff of energy it had taken for her to move like lightening to his back. He was going to die now, he was certain of it, whereas just a moment before he had been certain of his indispensable value. She whispered into his ear, with the elegance of an all-consuming nightmare.
"I am weary of your face, Elder Time Ward. It sickens me, you know… The impropriety of wearing your age upon you like a mask is abhorrent to my senses. It mocks me with every expression."
He would have apologized and begged for his life if he could speak. He could only stiffen every muscle in his body as her other hand graced the side of his face like a motherly touch. A bead of red blood trailed after the long sharp tip of her fingernail as it etched a path from temple to chin into his flesh.
"I am not as forgiving as father was. Hear me well, Elder Time Ward: I will cut off this offensive scowl, should you fail me again. For your pain is my pleasure!"
It seemed like an eternity before she finally released her grip. In the seconds it took for him to fall to his knees and take in a great lungful of glorious air, she was gone from his senses; vanished without a trace. Only a stillness in the air and the chill of death clung on to the wings of a promise remained.