Once and Future King

Legacy of Kain: Once and Future King

(A continuation fan-fiction for Legacy of Kain: Defiance)

/../- implies vampiric ‘whisper’ a.k.a. telepathy/mental projection.

The Soul Reaver isn’t capable of speech as such, but I gave it dialog anyway to show that Kain can interpret its wordless snark without difficulty? I have no idea. Just go with it.

The Beginning - Chapter 1

There was just something so horribly mundane about making war against mankind when other opportunities were available. Kain had spent the better part of a thousand years quashing one human army after another during his Dark Empire. He and his lieutenants had treated it seriously in the beginning. When they’d grown so strong that the need for seriousness was done, they’d looked on the chore philosophically. Finally time and repetition had dulled even that noble aspiration, and his children had just run down the idiots for sport.

There was no ‘winning’ a war with humans, Kain had finally concluded after centuries of studying the problem. There might be a cessation of hostilities as both sides retreated to lick their wounds, but a decisive victory was hopeless. Even if he trounced one generation, the one two cycles later would inevitably wish to revolt again. Human attention spans were short enough that they’d simply forget loses as they forgot everything else. To claim ‘victory’ when your opponent had the attention span of a magpie was at best an exercise in futility.

In the end he’s just left the remaining fools to their own devices. The Human City and its stony defenses served as a distraction for his evolving children after Raziel’s death at the hands of the maelstrom. The fortress was useful in its way, a deadly puzzle box for young vampires to wrestle with while their elders plotted and schemed against each other.

Given the choice of butchering humans, or picking fights with Hylden and their ilk, or better yet, the false god beneath the lake, Kain would have cheerfully left the lesser prey alone. Still, one could hardly refuse a fight when it was brought to one’s door. The Saraphan wouldn’t just go away if he told them their attempts at war were boring beyond belief. Kain snorted to himself. He would have loved to see the expression on the poor fools’ faces had he tried to dismiss them on the eve of battle.

As galling as it was to put so much food on the table for the tentacled beast, doing at least a minimal amount of harvest among the herd seemed unavoidable. He almost regretted that the Hylden wouldn’t come out and play in the form of the Saraphan Lord. Without Janos’ captive blood to help draw it forth into existence there could be no Even knowing that the Nexus stone to open a portal for his green eyed adversaries. He could feel them picking at the bindings that held them, but the Pillars were plenty strong as yet. The wouldn’t be getting through any time in the next few years. That left him only the humans, and ‘god’ to dally with. The squid, whatever it was plotting, was doing so very discretely of late. The humans however were little better than a nuisance. Kain had hoped that the Saraphan knighthood would be able to put up some sort of worthwhile offensive when pressed by an opposing political and military force.

Sadly not.

When faced with an organized foe, the church knights had precious little to offer other than ham-fisted tactics and repetitive speeches. Their power based in Meridian was eroding even as they spent their soldiers like pennies out on the hills and highways. Here and there Kain could sense Sebastian’s hand at work, a glimmer of subtly, a hint of cleverness, but the boy was centuries young yet to know how to correctly marshal the clods of mud he had for allies. He was only one mere vampire attempting to subvert a centuries old human institution. The odds of success weren’t favorable, no matter how persuasive he was. Once or twice he caught sight of a vampire in the heat of battle, Sebastian’s blue cloak, or Faustus’ red one. But they never tarried long where he might reach them. In that sense they weren’t fools. Vorador cursed steadily each time Faustus especially managed to escape his troops. The green nobleman had a long running grudge against his second-born offspring. Kain couldn’t blame him. There was something about Faustus that set any reasoning creature’s teeth on edge within moments of meeting him.

Still, other than the annoyance of not catching his misfit children and stepping on their necks, the war was not entirely pointless. It was proving excellent training for the young members of his extended family. From small sorties to major battles, his army was gaining in skill and experience with every year that passed. It would be considerable years yet until he was ready to sweep the continent, perhaps, but the smaller towns and cities were ripe for the picking. Soon Avernus or Wilhendorf might even be within the realm of possibility. Meridian he would undoubtedly have to save until the end. A prolonged siege of its sooty walls was not something to embark upon lightly.

With any luck, Kain mused, he wouldn’t have to fight the southern metropolis at all. Merchant-state that it was, Meridian might simply open the gates and let him in when the time came. The great city was too sensible of the profits in joining the winning side to zealously cry ‘down with the tyrant’ for long. The church elders were already finding the population of the slums remarkably apathetic about continuing their vampiric ‘purge’ now that the purging was proving more difficult than promised.

Kain watched the tail end of a particularly one-sided battle from the roof of an abandoned monastery. The humans had set fires to the grasslands, hoping to burn their enemies and buy themselves time to retreat in a single stroke. It was a pity therefore that the winds that had blown so promisingly all evening had died promptly when the blaze might have spread. He shook his head at the hopelessness of their task. Surely the church realized by now. ‘God’ might be on _their_ side, but Nosgoth was on _his_. Kain reached out and nudged the Pillar of Nature again for good measure. Not wanting rain, for that would hurt his troops as much as the fire would, but encouraging the hearty grasses of the meadowland to dig deep, pulling moisture up out of the soil and into themselves in order to become more difficult to burn.

The fire, like the human’s retreat, was a general failure. Seeing no need to participate further, Kain left the fighting to the young ones in the field. Vorador’s captains could use the practice, and the inevitable meal, that the battle would provide.

Sliding off his perch on the shingles, he descended into the main room of the tower, finding his green ally already inspecting the spoils. Some enlightened human had unwillingly bequeathed them a library. Kain glanced at a few of the gold-lettered spines idly, trusting Vorador to do a more extensive inventory. Undoubtedly the old bastard would want to take a cart’s-worth home with him to add to his collection. It was a harmless enough hobby. Kain saw no reason to disallow it. Vorador was far more genial about their co-leadership of the army when allowed to do as he pleased on occasion.

Seeing a particularly familiar volume tucked amongst the religious tomes on either side, he pulled it free of the stack and flipped it over in his hands. The idea that a farcial collection of short stories, supposedly collected from actual pilgrims on a journey to Avernus, was kept by a Saraphan librarian made him snort with laughter. Traditionally such things were burned. Either the keeper of the collection didn’t know what he’d had, or the human had possessed a rare sense of humor.

Kain held the book out for Vorador when the vampire raised an eyebrow at him to ask what was so amusing. The green furred nobleman shook his head in grim amusement. “I see you’ve found something fitting for even _your_ tastes here. I have a copy at home, you know.”

“Strange isn’t it?” He tucked the book under his arm, pleased at the discovery. “That the banned books are always the ones first to be transcribed when the copyists sit to their labors.”

“Copyists get bored of reading this crap too, I suppose.” Vorador gestured at the majority of the shelves. “Something a little sordid and funny probably goes a long way towards keeping a man sane when he spends the rest of his life transcribing the gloriously dull history of saints.”

“You find anything worth keeping?” Kain looked around, getting a rough sense of the library’s layout. The room’s caretaker had known his craft, from the looks of things. There was a sense of organization to the piled manuscripts and scrolls.

“A few treatises on astronomy that are interesting, a better copy of the Lingua Mathematica than I currently possess…” The vampiric nobleman had browsed most of the shelves already. “Some maps that you will no doubt want to get your claws into. One or two tomes of vampire script.”

“Really?” That at least caught his attention. “Anything of merit?”

It was rare to find a genuine piece of ancient lore left in the world after the mass burnings that the first Crusade had encouraged. The crumbs of wisdom left were well nigh unreadable due to age and the general prossiness of the script Janos’ tribe favored. Kain had taught himself portions of the tongue in a haphazard fashion during the later years of his Dark Empire, but only as much as he needed to solve the puzzles in front of him. General mastery of the language he left to people with more time on their hands. If there was something truly worth knowing, undoubtedly Vorador would tease him with it later.

The green vampire shook his head in answer. Seeming resigned to the idea that what little was left from the civilization that had raised him was tatters and junk. “Seemingly not. A record of commerce between two of their larger cities, now long gone, and a copy of The Book of the Wheel. Which I must confess, I find far less comfortable reading these days than previously.”

“What’s the matter… Finding it hard to enjoy tales of a kind and benevolent god after you’ve met him for yourself?” Kain drawled ironically, knowing as well as his companion did that the revelation he’d shared with both Vorador and Janos hadn’t been pleasant for any of them.

The old vampire ‘bible’ spoke of a god who was everywhere; within every heart, and stone, and river. Little had the poor creatures who’d written the verse known that the words were far more literal than their poetry had intended.

Janos had gone silent for two weeks together after coming face to face with the beast who called itself the Hub of the Wheel. Never having had counted himself particularly religious, even as a human, Kain couldn’t guess what had gone through the old vampire’s mind. Still Janos had overcome his shock, and while not comfortable speaking about the false god beneath the waters, he was at least free of its power to manipulate. With he and the Soul Reaver standing ready to deliver swift punishment for any infraction, the tentacled monster under the lake had been almost polite as it was inspected as avidly as any fairground attraction.

Kain could only be grateful that the sight the blade had granted to him on its rebirth could also be shared with others. The vampires had only to rest their hands on top of his, on the Reaver’s hilt, and they too could see into the Astral plane to where the beast lurked. If they’d had to take his word alone for it, he doubted he could have made the sage forgive him for the blasphemy. As for Vorador, the nobleman thought he was plenty mad most days, but raving about a world-eating cephalopod living underground wouldn’t have won him any prizes for sanity.

The distant din of arms and armor drew him to a narrow window. Once again curious to know how the battle fared outside.

The humans were making their last stand from the looks of things. Kain tilted his head to get a better feel for the lightness of the horizon to the east. There was time enough, if the children hurried, to make a proper end to the battle. He left Vorador to his books as he climbed the stairs once more. Pulling a horn from is belt, he blew a note for the men in the field, giving them fair warning of the hour. The troops didn’t stop in their work, but he could sense their renewed urgency as they cut their way through to the back of the mortal line.

From the roof, the charred acres of grassland around him looked like a massive smear of charcoal over an otherwise clean canvas. Kain tutt’ed at the mess, even as he felt the thrum of renewed life in the burned out patches. Nosgoth was brimming over with vitality in this age. Compared with the world he had lived in for so long? This realm was almost decadent in its fruitfulness. One good rainstorm, maybe a week of time, and the whole of the trampled and charred battlefield would be green again. Perhaps it could be restored even sooner, with a little help. He mused about tidying up his battlefield with a nudge of Pillar-assisted-magic. Probably it was best to leave well-enough alone. With his luck he’d restore the grass only to have it over run the abandoned Keep. The Pillars of Nosgoth were strong, there was no question. Working to make them grasp the concept of _subtlety_ was an ongoing process however.

Counting standards as his small army regrouped in victory, he made note of the various captains. All but Umah’s crests were present on the field. Vorador’s youngest and yet most talented wife was dispatched on a mission to Meridian. Still not sure if he’d done right in sending the dusky woman to do what, in a past life, he had done for himself, Kain looked forwards to news of her.

There was no Saraphan Lord in this era, but there was still a leader for the human crusaders. The Patriarch of the Saraphan order had not yet dared to challenge him directly on the field, keeping to the safety of the southern city’s walls. Had he been younger or more arrogant, he might have marched on Meridian and demanded the fool come out and give him satisfaction. He was far too old, and too bored, now to see how such a thing could have any purpose. If the human wanted to avoid a confrontation, he was more than happy to oblige him. Kain had no interest in creating a martyr.

Umah, unlike most of the young ones in their army, _did_ grasp subtlety. It hadn’t taken much explaining to have her grasp the merit of his point-of-view. Death in battle would grant the knight just the sort of immortality his organization needed. If they couldn’t have a glorious victory, they might yet salvage their reputation by having a noble defeat. Having the paladin die by something as mundane and pathetic as falling down the stairs, or choking on a bone? That would ensure that no child growing up in the city had any interest in worshiping the priesthood in the years to come. Not when there was greater pride, not to mention money, to be had working an honest trade.

Exterminating the crusaders was a temporary solution. What Kain wished for, was to kill the idea of crusaders all together. In a generation the Saraphan would be a laughingstock, over-dressed, over-zealous priests with delusions of grandeur. Without any glory to attach to their names, they would be forgotten by society at large as an embarrassment of history.

Kain reached out and leaned on the Pillars of Mind and Dimension, letting them carry him further still, across the southern half of the continent to the massive city on the coast. Meridian slept peacefully, for the most part. He felt somewhat giddy with the sheer quantity of life within its sprawling perimiter, all the flickering points of mortal consciousness gathered into one unbelievable mass. Somewhere in the misty anthill of humans, Umah was plotting the death of one particular little spark.

From a distance –even up close- one mortal’s existence felt much like another to his magical senses. Picking out the Saraphan high priest amidst all the others was about as likely as finding a particular grain of sand on the beach. If he concentrated however, he could sense _her_. Barely more than a fledgling, Umah and her officers were still vampires enough to stand out from the rest. The general impression he got from the group was of patient anticipation. He withdrew his consciousness, not wanting to spoil their plans by meddling. They would either succeed, or they wouldn’t. Kain had nothing particular to lose either way. At worst, he’d put a puppy in his place at the gates of the grand city. At best, he’d get there just as they were hanging the black buntings for the unfortunate human’s death.

Inspecting the eastern sky again, Kain sounded his horn a second time. His troops didn’t really need the reminder. Already retreating back to the monastery in the face of oncoming dawn, the soldiers seemed in good spirits. Across the field, the last survivors of the human force picked themselves up and thanked their lord for the advent of day. They would be spared to fight again, perhaps. Kain put his horn away and folded his arms against a convenient section of parapet, watching the mortals try and make sense of their situation. If they knew what was good for them, they’d scatter and forget all about their former masters. Bored with watching their antics, he relaxed against the stone wall and studied the sky instead.

The horizon glowed silver with the advancing sunlight. With nothing to fear from the commonplace miracle, Kain studied the transformation of color overhead. The phenomenon was undeniably beautiful. Wispy clouds were caught against the rapidly shifting blues and pinks beyond them like scurrying shadows. Birds who had slept fitfully through a night of battle were making musical racket as they woke themselves and made a start on their morning routine. It was hard to worry about whether he was on the right course or the wrong one with such a scene of splendor playing out in front of him. For a moment he left off worrying about the future and simply enjoyed the simple splendor of the present. Kain closed his eyes as he inhaled the clean breeze, feeling his sword sigh in sleepy contentment even as he did.

… The Lark’s on the wing… the snail’s on the thorne: God is in his heaven… and all’s right in the world… Isn’t that how it goes?

For a moment Kain froze, uncertain if he was awake or asleep. The familiar cadence of Raziel’s speech came to him out of nowhere. His chest ached with the sudden yearning his child’s voice inspired. Kain opened his eyes again, not at all surprised to see the grasslands before him were not the same as they’d been a moment prior.

It was dawn, but he was not looking over a battlefield. Rather the tower he stood on was now a mighty height over a much wider expanse of plains and forests. He looked hesitantly around him, afraid that the illusion would shatter if he moved too quickly. To the east, the Pillars cast long shadows as the sun rose between them. Directly beneath him and spreading westwards, a glistening city slowly roused itself for morning. For a moment he watched the various citizens going about their business, amused to see two specific patterns in the flow of the streets. The human population was just coming awake and heading off to work, even as its vampiric neighborhoods settled down to sleep. Part of him marveled at the orderly coexistence even as another part of him insisted that it had been thus for years beyond counting.

… All is right in the world… He heard himself echo Raziel’s words. It was surreal to hear his own voice, yet know that no sound had passed his lips. The words felt familiar, as if he ought to know them. Kain was certain he had not heard them before, at least, not yet.

He _was_ dreaming, but it wasn’t merely an idle fancy. It was the future. Kain sighed softly, no longer tired, but more wistful than ever. It was a beautiful city. The idea that he could be its lord and master, someday, if all went well, was not an unpleasant prospect.

The fact that the premonition had come to him now of all times, had to be a good sign. If he was remembering such a pleasant ‘still to come’ then that meant he hadn’t made a hash of things yet with his war-games with the Saraphan.

It’s going to be a beautiful day, Kain.

The voice behind him spoke again, blurred a little, as if coming from a long way away. Half afraid of waking himself if he looked, Kain glanced sideways at where his companion leaned against the wall with him. He couldn’t help the feeling of nostalgia any more than he could keep himself from staring appreciatively at the man’s handsome profile. Raziel was dressed like a prince of the blood. A long finely tailored coat of crimson red fit tight from his child’s neck to waist before cutting away to expose a pair of pale breeches and elegantly tooled leather spats. Even the vampire’s toe claws seemed polished, as well tended as any mortal lord’s boots. Court fashion, undoubtedly, Kain thought to himself, wishing he dared to speak his thoughts aloud, to tease the man about his finery.

Sadly trying to communicate with the ghosts of his future was a sure-fired way to break the spell. He bit his tongue, hoping to prolong the encounter as much as he could. It would good to see Raziel again, even if only for a moment. The future seemed to have been a good one, for his child this time. Groomed and confident, the vampire seemed completely at ease with himself as he admired the view. Turning to match his look briefly, his lieutenant smiled briefly in acknowledgment before studying the sky again.

All in red leather and white linen, his child’s wings were a massive shadow at his back, as deep grey as the roof slates behind him. The individual feathers were not dull for all their subdued hue. Where they caught the light there were soft shimmers of iridescent color along their spines.

Are you here to hurry me, child? I am not so old and forgetful yet that I need a chaperone to remind me of my duties. Kain heard himself, his future aspect speaking, but the words grew more garbled as he tried to listen to them. Fate did not want him eavesdropping on the casual intimacy between his future-self and lieutenant, it seemed.

Ah, but you forget, it was you who sent for me this morning, oh-revered-sire. As you have called, here I am. What is your bidding? Raziel smiled with his reply, his entire posture radiating good-natured teasing. Kain could only gape at the vampire’s easy poise, reminded in spite of himself, of how the man had been right before the end. Only once before, in all his years had he ever encountered a Raziel as unconsciously intimidating as this one. At the time, the imminent end of the world had somewhat distracted him from a whole-hearted appreciation of the vampire’s beauty. This time there was no reason not to stare.

Raziel was perfection. He was like the glittering edge of a newly honed sword. What such a creature was doing speaking so kindly to an old bastard like _him_ was a genuine marvel. _This_ Raziel was his future? Kain couldn’t help but wonder how on earth the miracle had come about. It was his intention, naturally, to treat his lieutenant with a modicum more kindness in this resurrection than the previous one. Especially after witnessing the sorrowful future the alternate version of his offspring had sprung from. But to think he’d had any hand in creating the elegant nobleman beside him was a remarkable thing. He’d have counted himself fortunate just to have _any_ Raziel at his side.

Fly for me, Raziel. Tell me what you see this fine morning.

Watching as the handsome lord stirred and stretched beside him, he realized with a jolt that _he_ didn’t have wings. Only his child had evolved the massive pair of extremities. He wanted to laugh at the turn of events. In this future too, it seemed, his lieutenant was destined to trump him in that aspect. It was hard to feel jealous when faced with such a beautiful creature however. Wings _suited_ Raziel.

Kain blinked in amazement as the specter of his future child obeyed his idle command. Stepping past him, and up a set of steps seemingly put there to that purpose, the vampire perched on the edge of the tower’s railing a moment before fanning his wings and leaping into the air. There was no time for instinctive panic, only amazement, as Raziel moved from standing to airborne in the span of a breath. For all that their words were distorted by the haze of time, the clap of Raziel’s wing beats in the still morning air was unmistakable. Kain smiled in appreciation at how effortless his child made it look. A few vigorous strokes and Raziel stretched his limbs wide, able to glide silently for several meters. Pirouetting gracefully, the vampire hung caught in an invisible thermal, buoyed upwards above even the tower’s rooftop.

What do you see? He could hear himself ask the flier, the words clearer than any previously. Attune with his future-self, he could feel the teasing fondness for the man above him joyfully similar to his own sentiments.

Raziel spiraled overhead, flying with no particular agenda other than to enjoy the freedom from gravity it gave him. Sparing him a playful glance, his lieutenant angled himself in the air and dropped away from his tower, only to circle around the far side and sweep over his head again like the proverbial lark of the morning.

I see the world, Kain. Your fine capital, specifically. Raziel remarked drolly as he hung on the updraft again. I see you, dread lord. And really, what more could I ask for?

Flattery I do not need, child. Kain heard only pieces of his reply, extrapolating the rest as he recognized the unavoidable unraveling of the memory. It did no good to try and hang on to the vision. In concentrating on the fragment of ‘might be’ he was causing it to collapse all the quicker. Left with one final glimpse of Raziel sliding through the air, Kain blinked to find himself alone on top of the humble Keep again. Realizing his hands were out stretched, as if reaching for the now-absent specter of his lieutenant, he let them fall to his sides with a sigh.

It would probably be nine hundred years or more before he caught up with that particular sunrise encounter.

He rubbed his face and tried to council himself to patience. With so much time between then and now, there would be no guarantee that anything remotely close to what he had just witnessed would ever come to pass. There was plenty of time to mess up the timeline between now and then, and plenty of foes whom would undoubtedly enjoy meddling as well.

He half wondered if the fragments of future he was occasionally privy to see were meant to inspire him, or if they were rewards for his continued good behavior. Perhaps they came to him because something he did, or didn’t do, brought him closer to _that_ future. Kain frowned, trying to piece together the likely path of cause-and-effect. If he was living in a closed-cycle, as he knew he was, then the future he’d just witnessed was the one that held the Raziel whom would then travel back in time. The infinite Ouroboros that was his child’s destiny meant that he _was_ the Kain that would create that Raziel’s future, and that in turn the Raziel he created would become his savior of his past.

His memories of the end of the world, and the fragile-seeming knight-errant of a child he’d plucked from his proper time, were still very real to him, despite the vampire’s future now being an impossibility. Would his reminiscence change in time as his new Raziel grew into his future role? Probably not until that moment when the one course over wrote the other. Kain sighed in frustration. He was a creature within the timeline, for the most part, servant to its flow. He might get hints and glimpses of what was, and what would come, but no more than hints.

Still there was something undeniably interesting, in the idea of such a Raziel meeting up with him in Moebius’ keep in place of the other one. Kain smiled to himself, able to picture clearly the confidence and easy candor of the Raziel he’d just been shown. How would a lieutenant such at _that_ cope with the idea of a Kain from the past suddenly appearing under his nose? There would be no cringing from that one. The only wonder would be would the vampire even be interested in anything he had to say. A scruffy Kain from a shadow past demanding aid? Would such a Raziel scoff at the idea that ‘Kain’ needed his help? Would he quail at the idea of fighting Janos Audron? Surely not.

He grimaced at the idea of sacrificing such a wholesome Raziel to the Soul Reaver just to save his own jaded carcass. And yet, if the knight didn’t do as his predecessor had, there would be no Kain to raise him from the dead. Either way, Raziel would cease to exist. He shook his head. Another way would show itself in eventually. It had before, when a third option had seemed impossible. It would again. He’d just have to be patient. Raziel was not yet even born. There was time.

Vorador found him still meditating on what ifs and maybes long after the sun was above the tree line. Wincing slightly as he adapted to the daylight, the nobleman sighed to find him woolgathering. “Still patting yourself on the back I see…”

“It seems so.” Kain agreed, stirring himself from his slouch against the roof. “All the little one tucked into bed?”

His companion snorted at his diminutive commentary on their troops’ morning respite. “Something like that. What are you plotting, standing here so long.”

“I plot nothing.” Kain shook his head. “I was just remembering… something. Tell me, Vorador, does a poem with the line ‘God’s in his heaven… And all’s right in the world,’ ring any bells for you?”

Vorador frowned thoughtfully. “I can’t say it does. Where did you hear it?”

“The future, I suppose.” Kain sighed, resigned to having to wait to hear the rest. Someday some random person would put pen to paper and compose the full verse. Until then he’d undoubtedly be haunted by the few lines Raziel had quoted at him on the tower. He cursed his child for teasing him with only half a recitation at the same time as he unconsciously rubbed his claw tips over the Reaver’s hilt. Thinking about Raziel, and the future, only made him want to hurry and start. All the dallying with the Saraphan was really nothing more than a way of killing time. Soon enough, he’d be able to take his first serious steps towards founding his empire. His fingers itched to get started.

*******

Meridian was too big, and too corrupt a city for Kain’s as yet small army to take on, but the Seraphan priests that sought to rule it were no more. Victorious, he and his cabal had set forth to try their hand at softer targets in order to further test their mettle. Uschtenheim was theirs, Janos’ aerie reclaimed, as was the fertile lands that had once belonged to the devilish dollmaker. Dark Eden had ceased to exist as of the world’s remaking, but its mountains and valleys were firmly within vampire dominion.

Hemmed in by Stahlberg to the west, and Avernus, Willendorf, and the other major human cities of the south. Kain was cautious not to boast too soon, but they had made considerable progress in expanding their ‘safe’ territory with the fall of the Saraphan priesthood. The way to the Pillars was not entirely within their control, the militias of Coorhagen and Stenchenroe fought them for the remainder of the woods. But no mere mortal action could keep _him_ from entering the Pillar’s sanctuary.

As much as some mortals might strive to prevent it, word of a vampire kingdom was already on the wind among the smaller towns and villages of the north country. Many of the more impoverished settlements were ripe for the picking, prepared to swear allegiance to any overlord that would not demand the lion share of their meager crops in exchange for protection from the bandits.

Exploiting the luxury of the rescued blood fountains still hidden about the countryside, Kain’s army did not need to depopulate the rural provinces in order to keep itself fed. The majority of the peasants that went missing, after his troops passed by, tended to end up as fledglings rather than food. It might not have been quite what the downtrodden villages had dreamed of in terms of salvation, but it was better than many had expected.

There was every hope that the cool-acceptance he had received so far would rapidly warm into proper alliances when an outside enemy arrived. Better the devils already known, then the maddened demonic horde just over the horizon.

Kain enjoyed the evening breezes from the rooftop of the rambling manor house as he mused over the future.

Vorador had been kind enough, or perhaps resigned enough, after their recent wars and current taking-stock, to allow him a suite at his marshy mansion during the wet season. Having spent the better part of a year walking and riding the country’s various highways in order to get a feel for what lay ahead; Kain was glad of a friendly place to shelter and plan his next move. He wanted to solidify his position as much as possible before the Hylden and their pet demons played their hand. All signs were favorable, but Kain wasn’t about to rest on laurels this time. He had seen what his enemy was capable of.

Resplendent with fall color, and drier with the lack of summer rains, even Vorador’s beloved swamp seemed more palatable than usual. Kain nodded in general approval, good humor steadfast for the moment. Even the recent gossip that had come his way, regarding his ill-favored offspring surviving the last Saraphan defeat, wasn’t enough to sour his sanguinity. They would go to ground a few decades at least. What ever their plans were, he wasn’t all that worried.

The dawn of the empire was at hand. Kain smiled to himself at the thought, not forgetting for a moment the troubles and frustrations that were to come. Claw-tips resting on the hilt of his favorite weapon he couldn’t help but be optimistic about the years ahead of him. Anticipated victories aside, there was another reason to celebrate now. It was well nigh time to try his hand at ‘fatherhood’ again. Some new lieutenants would be needed to assist with the continental wars to come. Raziel and his brethren would be a welcome change from his previous set whom alive or dead, had been little better than disappointments.

Patience was hardly one of his more pronounced virtues. Kain had to admit. Once beyond the walls of Meridian, the temptation had been there. Even knowing he was centuries early, he had weighed carefully and denied the impulse to seek his more long-lived children out and immediately raise them from their rest. Instead he’d contented himself with fighting with only Vorador’s mob for help. It had gone well, but the tedium of it all had nearly driven him to murder.

Hardly interested in lying to himself anymore, he knew that Turel and the others, while useful, were not his aim. How many years ago now had it been since he had spoken with Raziel? It had been over two hundred, at the least. Time had not made the vampire’s absence any less irritating to bear.

It was odd to realize how much he missed his lieutenant’s company. Even his first-born’s burst of white-hot fury toward the end, were in hindsight, endearing. As he had once told Janos; had their positions been reversed, he doubted he would have taken on the role of martyr any better than his favorite child had. Fate had been monstrously cruel to Raziel, and would be again.

Knowing as he did the full flow of time, he was certain that waiting had been the right thing to do. A century too soon and the former-Saraphan knights would be battle seasoned to the point of boredom when the Hylden were set free. It would change their perspective on the world, and so their decisions and reactions to the wars to come.

Somehow Kain was certain that if he played his cards right, the replacement of one great war for another would dove-tail nicely into the flow of time. Rather than pitting his infant children against the unified might of the southern cities, they would instead be fighting Hylden. In time the humans would be forced to either join, or die as the fiends encroached on any unprotected lands.

Allowing what must happen to correspond closely to what he remembered happening in his alternate timeline, was beneficial on several levels. Ideally, it would aid him not only to stay on course with the future he was hoping to align himself with, but also would give him a measure of control over the predictability of new situations that might arise. His clansmen called him an oracle. Kain only wished that such a title was the truth. It wasn’t that he didn’t ‘remember’ the future, from time to time, but such dreams were rarely prophetic in anything but the most general sense. Mostly he was obliged to rely on simple observation and common sense. The fact that occasionally his previous trek through time overlapped with this reality gave him only a modest edge.

Even with reason and rationality telling him to wait, it had been painfully hard to not seek out the Saraphan tomb prematurely. To even go and look at it would have been too tempting, and so Kain had given the area between the Pillars and Mobius’ former refuge a wide berth during his wanderings. The idea of setting out in the near future to deliberately go and unearth the shrine made him smile.

Considering his options, Kain concluded that late autumn would be a propitious time to fledge a set of new vampires. With the shortened days and dry weather, there would be plenty of time for the young fools to gain agility and a modicum of understanding before the inclement wet of springtime in the swamp drove them either indoors, or out into drier-if-less-friendly territory. It did leave a question of manners to resolve, however.

As ignorant of their unlived alternate future as everyone else, Janos and Vorador had at least met Raziel in the past. Or rather, met what was left of the vampire after the abyss and false god had done their work. Kain grimaced remembering his own culpability in his firstborn’s ruined appearance. Still, at least his two contemporaries would understand, should he decide to announce his intention of retrieving Raziel and the others. They were fully aware of the end result, if not how the child would get to that point. The when and how of his firstborn’s origin or demise, he had not as yet seen fit to share. There was no point, when everything might change again at any moment. All they needed to know was that Raziel and the others were necessary.

With six fledglings about to run amok in Vorador’s already crowded manor, it was best to ask, or at least warn the other vampire lords of his plans. It was either that or schedule his immanent relocation to Moebius’ abandoned fortress. The sanctuary was vampire domain now, but he found prowling the halls brought back too many memories for him to rest easy there. A flock of idiotic children to tend to would provide ample distraction he supposed.

Kain gauged the hour by the angle of the moon and decided that there was no time like the present to begin planning. Descending into the manor proper, he sought out the old vampire’s customary hiding place in the library.

*****

What Kain had expected, on announcing his intention to raise a new batch of lieutenants to his closest allies, was their promise not to interfere. What he’d gotten in the end, was a bit of a parade. He glanced behind him as they left the road and traveled further into the woods, and sighed in frustration. Several of the fledglings were bungling an effort to coax one of the ox carts off the mud track and between the old trees. Vorador leaned forward in the saddle as he alternately scolded and advised his more adept children in correcting the mistake.

On hearing his agenda, the green vampire had not only endorsed the endeavor, but had volunteered himself to assist personally. Kain couldn’t deny that the process of getting his six fledglings safely to the manor would be easier for the escort. The image of the massive furred vampire as some sort of demented midwife was hard to dispel however. Then there was Janos, who wasn’t about to sit idly by and wait if Vorador was going to come along. Between the two of them, they had brought the better part of a brigade of attendants, companions, and guardsmen; along with such a quantity of supplies and goods that Kain was vaguely sure that he and his new brood could very easily weather out the better part of the year without ever having to return to the mansion.

His idle hope of a quiet reunion with his first-born and the others had been quickly and utterly dashed. As it was, he would be luck to get two words in private with any of his fledglings until they were all several months old. The crowd of vampires was full of chatter and energy, and not at all the discrete party that Vorador had initially outlined. On the other hand, Kain had to admit, the trip was far easier with all the extra hands to do the fetch and carrying. And being able to offload some of his more energetic children into the welcoming arms of a brood of supporters would allow him more chances for sleep than previously. It was hard to weigh whether he was better off. The first time had possessed a serene sort of tranquility, alone beneath the trees, but the care and feeding for his lieutenants first weeks of life had taken more effort than he cared to remember.

Overgrown and half buried as it was, Kain couldn’t truly explain later how it was he knew they had arrived. Some distant memory, or perhaps a psychic vibration of the place, was enough to compel him to dismount and start pulling at an otherwise innocuous hummock of bushes. The earth and wind of Nosgoth would probably bury and reveal the tomb’s outer walls dozens of times down through the ages before the crypt finally tumbled and fell. Already weather beaten, at least the carved stone angels were recognizable where the stood sunken into the forest floor. Kain uprooted the brush and small trees around the slab entrance while Vorador did him the service of keeping the overly curious at bay. Soon enough the vault’s door was levered open and the inner sanctum revealed.

Kain’s clawed feet clicked hollowly against the dusty marble surface of the floor. He scuffed a foot against the trapdoor leading to the hidden passages and treasure rooms below but had no interest in delving at the moment. There was plenty of time for that later if he needed the money. Moving into the center of the room he took an experimental breath and found the air stale but not yet unbreathable. The feeling of anticipation drove him to check that everything was as undisturbed as it should be.

Rahab’s casket was closest. Kain’s claws made quick work of the antiquated red wax seal and decorative nails used to secure the lid. Prying it gently from its resting place, Kain propped it against the wall before turning to inspect what was left behind. Laid out with only his weapons and helm to accompany him, Rahab’s corpse was just as expected. Truly, his scholarly child-to-be didn’t look his best. The corpse was long desiccated by the dry air of the crypt, even with its lead lined sarcophagus. But insects hadn’t found their way into the tomb yet, and the Saraphan embalmers had done their duty by the holy-knights. Rahab’s paper-thin grey skin held together against his bones, his dark hair was dusty and brittle, but hadn’t pulled loose from his skull. The man looked centuries dead, naturally, but in good shape none-the-less.

Kain shrugged philosophically and repeated the process of removing casket lids for each of the interred occupants of the chamber. Even in death, Dumah seemed to sneer at the world while Melchiah had a more startled look about him. Death, or rather the manner of it, had clearly been unexpected for the knight. Kain smiled at the memory of Raziel’s outraged assault on Moebius’ fortress and its unlikely consequences. He had bent time more often than bore remembering, but in all his manipulations of the continuum he had never once been angry enough at his former-self to wish him dead. Really, he had gone out of his way to make sure to not interfere with his own past at all where ever possible.

Not so with Raziel. His firstborn had worked through a long and bitter path in order to reach a level of self acceptance, multiple paradoxes aside, but renouncing your former self unto death was a rather extreme move. Not to mention a paradox of near ludicrous proportion. A pity he would never be able to tease him about it. It was unlikely that the Raziel he was about to resurrect would have any memory of the occurrence. Staring down at his favorite’s corpse, Kain decided his condition was as good, or as bad depending on one’s expectations, as the rest. For the first time, Kain looked at the knight’s face and recognized why the man seemed so aggravated. What a humiliating way to die, really. First belittled, and then out classed by the walking corpse that you would someday become; how ironic.

“Well well, child.” He couldn’t help but murmur down at the coffin. “Today is going to be the first day of the rest of your life.”

A gentle thud of wood-on-stone behind him reminded him of the entourage waiting out side. Vorador was unloading the first of many kegs into the tomb proper. Gently settling the massive barrel in a clear patch of floor he returned to the narrow doorway to receive the next of the many deliveries.

“And to think… Last time I just settled for hog-tying half a village’s worth of peasants to the wall.” Kain drawled as Vorador returned with yet another barrel.

The vampire grunted and set his load down next to the first few. “No need to massacre the valley and announce ourselves to all and sundry. We stopped the Saraphan from destroying the blood fountains, so we might as well use them.”

“Call me old fashioned, Vorador, but I’d still rather my children fed first on live prey.” Kain mused. “There’s something so very _docile_ about drinking from a magical puddle by comparison.”

Vorador merely rolled his eyes and turned to offer assistance as his maker wriggled through the low doorway. Janos’ wings didn’t make his entrance any easier. In the end the blue skinned vampire was obliged to shuffle in backwards, his long appendages stretched to minimize their vertical dimension. Kain ducked an outstretched wing and resisted the urge to smack at it in annoyance. Finally able to stand upright, Janos soon had himself contained more tidily, looking around with calm interest before giving Kain a semi-irritated look.

“I’ve no doubt that you’ll have your brood ravaging humanity soon enough.” To his credit, Janos managed to critique without sarcasm. “Despite your prejudices, the fountain’s powers are usually superior to that of a live captive, especially an unwilling one.”

Looking down at one of the corpses, the ancient’s face took on a pained expression. “Of course, it is your blood that will have to be strong enough to recall them to life in the first place. There isn’t much to work with, is there…”

“You doubt my strength?” Kain chuckled. “There’s potential enough with these knights, even now. But I confess, the fact that the sarcophaguses are lined with foil ought to expedite things nicely.”

“Indeed.” Vorador was inured to their moral squabbling and simply ignored it in favor of more practical concerns. “It’ll be far easier to just pour than to try and lift these bones without doing further damage.” Looking around, the green vampire nodded in satisfaction. “A bit cramped, but it will do nicely. I’ve set some of the more capable youngsters to patrolling the valley. I think you’ve picked an unusually fine night for your labors, Kain.”

“Naturally,” He smirked. Fussing with the closest keg, he tried to keep from feeling awkward about performing in front of an audience. Unlike his fellow vampire lords, who had between them and their cabal engendered every vampire currently at large in the world, the number of fledglings he could lay claim to totaled a measly twelve through out the entire span of history. Even then, only three of them belonged to this timeline. Still three were enough practice to keep the process of resurrection fresh in his memory. And what had once been done, could certainly be done again. He approached the matter with more confidence than he might have the first time.

Gently taping the top of the first keg, he crushed the thin wooden end planks inwards and then plucked them out and dropped them on the floor. The heady smell of fresh blood immediately filled the room. Kain looked to his old ally, gesturing that Vorador would take his position. “You’ll do me the honor of decanting?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” The large vampire feigned a bow. “Which first?”

“Raziel, of course.” Kain surprised himself with being annoyed. As if the question even had to be asked? But again, Vorador would have no knowledge of particulars. In all the world, only he walked every moment with the sensation that he was repeating himself. To everyone else, each day was a novelty. He shook his head at the tedium of it all. “Raziel, then Turel, Dumah, Rahab, and so forth around the circle.”

Nodding, Vorador took his mood swings in stride. He positioned several of the casks for his later convenience. “I still think you mad, Kain, for attempting six all in the same night. But I’m ready when you are.”

“You say that as if I’ve ever done anything the easy way,” Kain laughingly replied. He dispensed with his clan cloak and gloves to expose bare skin as he considered the task before him. Raising the Saraphan in mass was possible; he’d done it before after all. But this time he wanted to make an effort to correct what had been, the first-time, an error of distribution. He wasn’t above doing what he could to see that his less irritating children received a greater portion of his gift than they had the first time. Especially if it meant poor Melchiah would be able to keep his skin together in his old age. It was not a trivial thing. Kain remembered how exhausting the bloodletting became towards the end.

Staring down at his first-born’s sour features, Kain had to smirk. At least this one wouldn’t be difficult. If he erred with the others, it would be a pity but not a crucial loss. He dug his claws into his wrist with a grimace and forced the blood to flow. Holding his maimed limb out over Raziel’s casket he concentrated his will on the task at hand. Using his own life-force he called on his once and future ally, searching for his spirit amidst the ruined and wasted flesh being bathed in his blood, compelling it to resume its former home. The Soul Reaver on his hip twitched anxiously in response to his summons, but imprisoned in the steel’s grip, the spirit within the blade could not obey. Nor did it need to, for another spirit imbued the corpse in answer to his call. Kain felt the flicker of a long familiar aura, faint but immediately recognizable, from the still form. Once again Kain found himself in awe of his favorite’s dual nature. In an odd way it made sense. Like the old liturgy went. One to have, and one to hold; he smirked at his mental mis-phrase.

The corpse shuddered as blood splashed over dry lips and cheeks. Fueled by the vampiric curse and the spirit’s hunger, the ichors readily flowed against gravity, soaking into the slowly awakening knight. Weighing his remaining strength against the five coffins left, Kain was still reluctant to step aside for Vorador quite yet. More and more of his dark gift flowed into the reviving corpse until finally he forced himself to clamp down on his wound, confident that life had firmly taken root. The old vampire at his side rolled up his fine linen sleeves to hoist the open keg aloft even as Raziel’s withered mouth opened in a soundless scream of hunger. Gently tipping the contents, Vorador completely submerged the half-alive corpse in a soothing bath of magic-enhanced blood. With no lungs yet to breathe, the body in the coffin stilled and lay passive as its immediate need was satiated. Eying the fluid level as the blood was slowly absorbed, Vorador nodded calmly and moved on to the next cask.

Kain watched the unremarkable pool of blood that filled Raziel’s casket for a moment as well, but it was too soon to attempt to judge the result of his handiwork. It would be hours, or even days before his first-born was anything but a mindless litch in need of feeding. Standing over Turel, he reopened the cuts in his arm and began the process again, a little more miserly than before. Despite his desire to conserve strength, the large knight took a lot of blood to awaken. As methodical and grudging in this as in everything else he did. Kain cursed the fool as he moved quickly on to his next target.

One by one he progressed around the room. Each corpse became more and more of a trial. Out of the corner of his eye, Kain saw Janos move to assist Vorador, picking up a barrel of his own in order to refill the depleted blood pools of Raziel and Turel. He pushed dizziness aside as he concentrated on Melchiah’s resurrection. The chill of extreme anemia was already making his muscles weak, but he was confident that he would accomplish his task better than before. Kain didn’t feel badly for stinting Zephon and the others a little of their share. Their relative weakness would not be apparent to anyone but him. Dumah and Turel would still be more than strong enough for the wars he would set the vampires to win. Rahab and the others’ greatest assets had always been their strategic minds.

Looking down at the opaque surface of the blood filling his second youngest’s coffin he regretted the necessity of raising the vampire at all. Five lieutenants would have served as well as six and he never did like Zephon’s waspish tongue. But six lieutenants was what he had started with, and six was what he would settle for now. Kain had a feeling that he would need the complete set. Even the less interesting ones had their purpose. If he had found himself capable of living with a century of Sebastian’s idiocy, he could certainly put up with future inconveniences. Once the empire was settled, he could easily farm his more irritating offspring off into the wilds of the frontier with promises of glory and kingdoms of their own. Let them be a headache to someone else for a century or two.

A final cask of blood had been kindly left in the center of the room for Kain, he noticed as he turned from his labors. He couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to hesitate. His skin itched with the need to replenish what he had so freely spent on others. Bracing himself on the rim of the barrel to keep from tipping into the drink entirely, he sank his face into the refreshing liquid and gorged himself like a fledgling. It was only when the level of blood in the cask had dropped to a degree that he could not conveniently reach that he leaned back to wipe his chin. One of the empty casks had been tipped up to make a table for him, a large goblet waiting for him to remember himself enough to eat in a civilized fashion. Kain claimed the vessel, forbearing to comment on the hypocrisy of ‘civilized’ for a race which needed to sup on the blood of the living to sustain itself. He was still hungry, and debating with Janos was an exercise in futility. Sipping the rest of his meal slowly, Kain considered his handiwork for the night.

The tomb looked like the inside of a demented butcher’s shop, spilled and sloshed blood was painted about the room in a colorful display. He made a mental note to have the worst of it scraped up and cleared away before they sealed the chamber again, not that he expected any of the evidence of the night’s handiwork to last into the next century, much less as long as it would take for any of his children to grow old enough to question their origins.

Janos tipped out the last of his barrel’s contents over Rahab’s coffin as Kain looked on. There was another wagon’s worth of blood in the camp, but that was provisions for Vorador’s flock outside, not to mention meals for his own hungry little family. Watching the level of blood still sinking steadily in Raziel’s coffin, Kain wondered if maybe he shouldn’t encourage Vorador to send the now empty wagon off to get another load. He hadn’t remembered needing so much of the stuff the first time. But for all he knew, the fledglings had been half starved for their first few weeks of life. At the time he had been too exhausted to fetch them more food or truly, to care at all whether they were comfortable or not. As soon as the pitiful wretches were animate enough to walk, he had marched them off to the nearest village and let them feed themselves. For a moment he pitied that long gone hamlet. Being at the mercy of half-mad fledglings suffering from blood lust was a messy way to die.

His children were adapting to their new situation as befitted their natures. Most lay calmly, only semi aware, in their comfortable bath. Others were already twitching and shifting mindlessly as their strength returned. A blood soaked glove slipped weakly along the edge of Turel’s casket before sinking back beneath the surface. Kain looked down at Raziel, curious to see the corpse’s reaction to its new state. The fluid was almost low enough to make out the knight’s features. The corners of Raziel’s surcoat floated wetly to the surface. The new vampire seemed unconcerned, lying calmly as he regenerated, seemingly asleep.

“Best to let them absorb their fill, I think.” Vorador joined him in his study. “I’ll have a fresh load sent for tomorrow to feed the children outside, they can spare a barrel or two more for one night.”

“My thoughts as well.” Kain agreed, exhaustion catching up with him now that his stomach was full.

“Time for us to rest then.” His companions eyed him with concern. “The guards will alert us should we be needed here or elsewhere. We shall take our turn at watch during the day when the younger ones are compelled to sleep.”

“I’ll stay here.” Kain wiped sticky hands along a rag thoughtfully provided. “I’ve slept in worse places. You two go ahead and settle yourselves in the camp.”

Not waiting to hear their response, Kain settled himself against the wall, uncaring of dust and funerary debris, and closed his eyes to nap. Later he was certain he had found unconsciousness before he had drawn two breaths.