The night was cold and wet, and Rahab instinctively hunched tighter under the thick cloak, huddling against Kain's frame, as if he anticipated finding warmth there. There was none, of course – Kain's body temperature was only marginally above that of the night air, mainly because of the past few hours he'd spent in the close heat of the tavern. Humans, Kain knew, could perish quite easily of cold alone, at temperatures which scarcely made a vampire sluggish. But was it cold enough to kill, now? Kain did not know for certain; it had been a very, very long time since he had concerned himself with keeping a herd of slaves alive and healthy in the fields or quarries.
Kain's booted feet afforded poorer purchase on the muddied roads than cloven hooves. That brought to mind another problem – if he were forced to remain in the company of the boy for several days, or even weeks, how was he to maintain his shapeshifted form? It required a constant trickle of magical power. Not a great deal, to be sure, but eventually even Kain's reserves of energies would surely decline to dangerously low levels.
Within mere minutes, the little human began to shiver, even under the woolen cape. Its quaking ignited a knot of predatory hunger deep in Kain's belly – it would be easy indeed to tighten his grip, turn his head, and sink fang into the small, proffered throat… easy, yes, but surely not sweet. The boy was in poor condition, and his scent was that of an easy kill, not a fine meal. That helped. To an extent.
Despite the cloud cover, Kain could see as far as the surrounding forest permitted, the night no barrier to his vision. Once several miles from the town, Kain felt relatively secure that pursuit was unlikely for a time. No cry had been raised. With any degree of luck, the humans would remain too frightened to seek Kain out, and it would be morning before the minstral awoke from his stupor. Then it could be hours more before the local constable was summoned. A thick overhang of pine boughs beckoned, offering a little shelter, and Kain halted, setting the little human to his feet on the padding of needles. "Sit," Kain commanded shortly, gesturing the boy down. He expected to be obeyed without hesitation. Instead, Rahab set to tucking the brilliant red drape so that he could squat without soiling the fabric on the dirt and resin-sticky needles, unaware that the heavily-enchanted cape could be – and had been – dragged through sewers without staining.
The boy would have to learn proper obedience, just as any fledgling must, that was all there was to it. As soon as Kain could determine how to discipline the human without killing it, anyway. For the moment, he ignored the child, turning his attention instead to stripping small lengths of dry wood from the sheltered underbranches. Vampires needed little illumination and less warmth, and magical lights served far better than fire for the former, while carrying no risk of dangerous burns to volatile undead flesh. However, it seemed to Kain that humans always kept fire close to hand and heart if they could, huddling about it to fend off the terrors that lurked in the darkness. A fire would not, of course, defend Rahab from the greatest terror ever to stalk mankind – Kain had long since grown quite resistant to flames, after all. Still, fire was likely the quickest and safest means of keeping the little human warm.
Kain arranged the tinder some few feet from the boy, scooping loose needles away with his hands to bare a patch of soil. He'd last started a fire in, if he recalled correctly, the year 3902 – eighty six years ago, by his timeline. The wood was still damp – everything was damp – but once started, the pitch-dripping twigs should burn sufficiently well. Since Rahab already knew him for a 'warlock,' Kain had no qualms about utilizing a cantrip to light the blaze. There were a number of very simple spells which human mages could employ to set flames; Kain chose to chance none of them. Magic which called upon the element of fire directly was unpredictable at best in any vampire's hands, even his. Instead, he utilized upon a more complex spell to summon a sustained arc of electricity, the heat of which ignited the wood with a hollow crackle.
Rahab flinched back, though only momentarily. He huddled closer, tugging the drape closer about him with his good right arm. His eyes – so very blue, even in the flickering orange light – never left Kain. For his part, Kain fed the fire a few larger pieces of wood, and then simply and wordlessly slung his cloak from his shoulders, spread it at the base of the tree, and seated himself. After a few moments, Rahab made a small movement. "Sire… do you wish me to…" he started, in a voice which shivered nearly as much as he did.
"I desire your silence and for you to sleep," Kain interrupted, gaze sliding idly to the huddled boy and then flicking away. "That is all." For several moments, Rahab made no move. But as Kain issued no further orders, the boy set to curling himself up, close to the fire, gingerly adjusting his broken arm in its sling. The shivering eased, and eventually ceased as the fire grew.
Kain leaned his head back against the roughness of the bark, and permitted his eyes to drift shut. The boy should be warm enough, for the time being, and he'd been fed – what else did humans require? Water – but did they need it more than once a day? Kain thought not. Fledglings needed training, and a great deal of it, lest they become little more than ravaging beasts, like Vorador's mad 'brides.' The boy was no fledgling, but would need instruction to fulfill his purpose all the same. But to whom, in the whole of this era, could Kain deliver an orphan whore for proper indoctrination into the Sarafan sect?
A monestary might do… but the Sarafan were a political and governmental organization, as much as a military one. No matter his talent, Rahab was unlikely to claim a high rank without considerable wealth and influence backing him. Who had such political standing? Aside from a handful of families in Coorhagen, the history of which Kain had been taught some three millennia ago, he presently knew of few such sources of power. Come to think of it… Coorhagen was far distant from Moebius' stronghold in this time, which lay upon the shores of the Great Southern Ocean. Even this early in history, Coorhagen had physicians and surgeons aplenty, for those who could afford their services.
Very well, then – Kain would return to Coorhagen. The notion held a certain irony that satisfied him. His course decided, Kain stilled, endeavoring to conserve energy over the forthcoming night as he kept watch. He was forced to continue breathing, lest he arouse suspicion, but he allowed that artificial rhythm to slow. The crackle of the little fire and the throb of Rahab's heart, even the unending drip of thin rain, were small distractions. Kain would be fully aware of any interloper long before they spotted the small fire. The forest was sparsely populated – every creature that could sense Kain had long since fled, though Kain could still scent the distant traces of trolls and common wrights. The closest living beings larger than a rabbit were a trio of forest bucks, which browsed nervously a quarter mile distant.
It did not take long, however, to discover that Rahab had no intention of sleeping. If anything, the boy's heartrate sped as the clouds began to thin, as the thin drizzle of rain ceased at last. Within two hours, the fire died to a glowing bed of coals, and Rahab began to stir.
With a growing sense of amusement, Kain tracked the boy's small noises as he crept from his warm cocoon of thick red wool, the rustle as he gathered the blanket up into a bundle. Rahab's bare feet padded all but silently in the thick carpet of pine needles. The boy approached, and for a moment Kain thought the fool human would dare attempt to curl himself against Kain's outstretched leg.
And then he felt small fingers at his belt, where hung the pouch filled with coins. How very surprising – the little whore was a thief as well. Kain would not have supposed he possessed the nerve. The boy was quick, well-practiced, slipping the ties loose and cupping the pouch carefully, so that the gold and silver within did not clink as the sack came free.
To Kain's pleasure, the boy was as silent and thorough during his exit as he was during the theft – he tucked the pouch away, gathered up Kain's red clan drape, and snuck to a distance before breaking into a jog. Kain tilted his head, his golden eyes slitting open. Yes, the moon was assuredly bright enough to illuminate Rahab's flight safely – it was unlikely the boy would tumble into a ravine. However… from the sound of it, the little human was headed back towards the town. Now that was disappointing, though given the creatures that could lurk the night, perhaps not unwise.
Kain stood. Thoughtfully, he picked up his own cloak, brushed it off, then toed damp needles over the glowing coals. He folded the oiled cloth away into a dimensional pocket, and then lifted his head, filling his senses with the little human's scent.
He set off at a ground-eating lope, inhuman, silent and swift as the night itself.
Each of the boy's light footprints was picked out brightly to Kain's vision by the moonlight, dripping leaves offered up the scent laid thick upon them. Existence narrowed most pleasurably down to this, to the hunt, to his prey's panting breath, fluttering heart. Shepherding the mortal was simplicity itself – a flash of pale skin between the boughs, a low growl rumbling on the breeze, and the boy froze, turned away from the distant town, fled once more.
The mortal's panic grew as the minutes passed. There was a boulder which, Rahab was certain, he'd seen a short time ago. Every sigh through the trees became a spur, every call of distant night beasts a newfound terror. He stumbled on loose scree, and then there was the scent of freshly spilling blood, lending hot carmine piquancy to the chase with every stumbling footstep as Kain drove him on.
But, Kain knew full well, all amusements must eventually come to an end. The third time Rahab fell, his breath coming in shallow gasps and his heart hammering like a bird's, Kain could chance continuing his correction no further.
The boy had fallen in a small vale, a sloping field through which trickled a small stream, cast in silver by the moonlight. His over-large clothing was wet through, and clung to his shivering body. Rahab's wide eyes fixed on Kain, and the boy attempted to scramble to his feet. His ankle failed him once again, and he clawed his way, one-armed, backwards over the wet grasses. There was, for once, no trace of resigned acceptance in the storm blue of Rahab's eyes, rather an animalistic drive for survival. The boy clearly expected no mere beating or rape in retribution for his theft, but rather death. Kain was glad to see that spark of life, of defiance. The boy's hand closed on a thick, fallen branch, and he tensed, stilling, prepared to strike the moment Kain approached close.
"I believe you possess something belonging to me." Kain came to a halt just outside the boy's striking range. He drew a slow and unnecessary breath, tamping down the killing instinct thoroughly. The urge to complete the hunt was like the first gout of blood spurting down his throat, was like the fluttering pulse of prey under claw and fang – a beacon, a draw, a need. Kain was no neonate, his self-control had been forged in millennia of trials. Even still, it took a moment.
"You know me for a warlock, boy," Kain's voice was a grating rumble, the slide of shale down a mountainside. "What precisely do you think to accomplish against me with a half-rotted twig?"
If Kain believed that pointing out the child's helpless position would in some manner pacify the boy, the vampire lord was very much mistaken. Rahab's fist tightened around his weapon; he said nothing, but glared back. Evidently, if his death was assured in any case, the boy meant to perish fighting. And while Kain applauded the sentiment, Rahab's timing was, frankly, on the poor side.
Kain lifted a hand and with a well-practiced gesture – careful, lest he seize a chunk of the boy's flesh as well as the purse in the telekinetic weave, and thus potentially separate both from the wretch's body – Kain reclaimed his erstwhile possession. The pouch of coins slipped from the boy's tunic and flew the intervening space, clicking into Kain's hand. His gaze narrowed as Rahab tensed with shock. If the human attempted to flee once more, Kain would flog the pads of the creature's feet until it could do naught but crawl for a week. That would solve the problem. Provided, of course, Kain was able to avoid inflicting permanent harm – perhaps he could employ his most lightweight strop, or a short length of reed... "Do you know why I retrieved you from that hell, boy?"
Rahab lay frozen a long moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head, just a small movement to the side and then back.
Kain loosed the drawstring of the purse in his hand. He found the coin he wanted by feel alone, by the scalloped edges and the embossed slickness of the metal. Kain withdrew the large platinum disk, held it up. The metal caught the light of stars and both visible moons, magnifying the glow, heightening it, casting a radiance around Kain's hand. "You are destined, boy, to become a prince among men." If that last word was presaged by a slight pause, Rahab seemed not to notice.
"This coin will someday be dug from your mines, minted by your forges." As the boy watched, Kain drove the pointed tip of one nail through the edge of the platinum disk; it took some small effort, for Kain was not so strong, nor his flesh so tough, in this form. He plucked from the air a thin length of leather thong, and threaded it through the hole at the rim of the coin, meanwhile entwining about the coin a minor magery: a spell to track and monitor the bearer of the enchanted object. "And like all currency from your great kingdom, it will be – has already been – inscribed with your image, Rahab."
Kain proffered the coin. It spun on its cord, flashing in the moonlight, now showing the seahorse stamped into one side, now the bust upon the other. Slowly, tentatively, Rahab reached for the coin, and Kain let it fall into the boy's one good hand. The little human had seen his face in puddles before, and once or twice in the looking glass the innmaster kept. But never had he seen himself like this – the figure that stared boldly back from the coin was arrogant, assured, prideful in its strength, fiercely intelligent, an edge of humor lurking perhaps in the curve of the mouth. It was older, too, and smooth-skinned, not gaunt with hunger. And yet, there was something about the eyes, the high and fine arch of cheekbones, that struck Rahab as familiar.
The boy glanced up, and Kain needed no mind mageries to read his expression. "I have no cause to lie about this, boy, nor to go to the effort of spelling an illusion. The likeness is yours, and a true one."
There was silence as the boy turned the disk over and over in his hand. His voice was a whisper. "How… how did you..."
"You presented it to me," Kain said, somewhat wryly. "Or rather, you will." As tribute, naturally, though Kain saw fit not to mention that.
The boy's eyes, when he looked up, were like the night sea – black sapphire. "Are you Lord Moebius?"