Once and Future King

Legacy of Kain: Once and Future King

AU/continuation- fic of ‘Defiance’

I’ve decided to give the elder god italics (if they show up) just because he needed something to set him apart… also, I’ve started interleaving POVs between our heroes :-) Which will probably be the trend for the rest of the story… Section headers should hopefully give a clue as to the character in question.

The Beginning – Chapter 3

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K A I N

The game of harts-and-hounds was one familiar to any child of the region, villagers and noble-born both. It was no surprise therefore, that the childish amongst the vampire clan, and those whom considered themselves children at heart, indulged in the activity when weather and whimsy were in accord.

Vorador leaned against one of the pillars of his manicured front lawn, watching fledglings and soldiers both as the two groups ducked and dodged between the trees in a mock-hunt. Kain shook his head in dismay as Turel was dog-piled by no less than five of Vorador’s scouts when he mistakenly turned a corner without due caution. The joke was soon on them however, because five vampires were not sufficient to hold the infant down. Struggling upright and carrying most of his supposed captors aloft with him, Turel laughed boldly as he peeled them off one by one and dropped them gently to the ground. Turning from his now-defeated foes, he laughed again, to see Melchiah carried back to the Manor slung across a vampiress’ shoulder like a fresh-killed deer. Using the entertaining sight as a distraction, Melchiah’s older brother escaped back the way he had come. The scouts neither noticed nor cared, too busy cheering their clanswoman as she strode to the gate. Melchiah waved at them as he was carried through their rank, happily indifferent to his circumstance.

Vorador chuckled as well at the sight, leaning forward to kiss the girl in congratulations as she smugly dropped her ‘catch’ at Kain’s feet. Melchiah smiled up at him in weak greeting, not seemingly upset by his capture and casual abuse. “I fear I am not good at this game, sire.”

“Apparently not.” He reached down and easily hauled the boy to his feet, giving him a cursory brush on the shoulders to remove the leaves that he must have gathered in being run down amongst the trees. Seeing Vorador was well distracted in continuing his reward to his ‘wife’ he gestured that the fledgling might as well make good his escape in order to continue the game.

“Try harder to not be seen, next time.” Kain advised as his youngest peered around circumspectly and then bolted in a likely direction. No sooner than the boy was past the safety of the lawns, he was tackled again, this time by the scouts Turel had recently thrown off. Kain had to smile at Melchiah’s cry of dismay at being apprehended so speedily. His grin grew wider still at the sudden return of his formidable elder brother; Turel howling merry murder as he chased off the flock and made good a rescue. The pair soon lost themselves in the brush, leaving him to wonder at the state of the others.

No one had turned up with Raziel slung over their shoulder yet. Kain mused, pondering what tricks his cleverest offspring was concocting in order to stay ahead of the mob hunting him.

Taking a staircase up to the walkway along the outer wall of the manor’s forecourt, he dispensed with dignity enough to climb an adjacent rooftop in order to get a better view on the antics of the evening. He’d offered up a small bounty of gold to which ever of his children was apprehended the least as a token-motivation for their efforts, and it seemed most of them, Melchiah excepted, were putting up a good defense, even with a sizeable group arrayed against them.

A crashing of underbrush heralded Dumah’s emergence from the trees. Two vampires apiece squirmed as they hung from each of his arms, waiting to be dropped at the front gate as evidence of his prowess. In this case, clearly the hunted had turned the tables on the hunters.

Kain shook his head at the fledgling’s inability to grasp the intent of the game. Dumah wasn’t one for running and hiding, not when he could simply overpower anyone who tried to take him. There was no telling how far the thick-necked fledgling had carried the sore group of scouts. His strength and stamina were manifesting both early, and undeniably. He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and grinned at what he saw. A hunting party of women were creeping up on his boastful offspring with both bed sheets and ropes, ready to make good the adage that strength, without cunning, was good for little. Dumah’s yelp was far from dignified as he was rapidly set upon and subdued. Undoubtedly Turel would need to play rescuer to this sibling as well before the night was through.

He’d lost count of how many of the clan were playing the game. Other than his lot of fools, a number of Vorador and Janos’ younger children were using the warm evening as an excuse to stretch their legs while their elders patrolled the valley and watched on in amusement.

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R A Z I E L

The trick was to not be seen, Raziel concluded. He held his breath as he skirted silently around a cheerfully prowling vampires, minding his footing for anything that would give him away. Outnumbered as he and his brothers were, there was little choice but to use cunning, or simply run, when faced with the ‘hunting parties’ on the look out for them. Even running was problematic, given the limited nature of the territory, and the fact that the scouts were uncannily quick on their feet.

One particular tree-trunk seemed a likely-candidate for his next move, and he stepped back a little in order to get the necessary running start to scale his way to the lowest branch. From there it was a simple enough matter to scrabble aloft and get a better feel for the lay of the land around him. The game extended from the manor’s grounds out to the bottom of the hill where the swamp began in earnest. There was the road of course, cutting a fairly dry route through the wetlands and up out of the valley to where the humans lived, but that was generally off limits to fledglings.

Raziel crouched on his heels as he considered how he would proceed. Another tree, equal in size to the one he currently inhabited, seemed the most likely prospect. Gathering himself, he leapt across the open space between the branches, catching himself against the trunk when his boots might have slipped.

What he wouldn’t give for finger and toe claws of the sort the older vampires flaunted, Raziel sighed as he hauled himself higher up the trunk to a safer vantage point. Climbing would be trivial someday, but for now he was clumsy and slow by comparison to the soldiers and scouts he trained with. His hunters returned, backtracking through the clearing beneath him as they sought his lost trail. Holding his breath again, he waited for them to pass again before daring a second leap. The ancient trees possessed pathways and terrains all of their own, if one dared to navigate the high branches. He crouched and ran along one of the tangled mass of limbs, trusting his light weight to keep him from breaking any of the more fragile portions of timber.

It wasn’t like someone could honestly ‘win’ the game they were all playing. The point was simply to catch, and be caught, over and over again until both sides tired of the sport and returned to the manor for the night. Undoubtedly someone was keeping count, whom was easiest prey, whom were more canny… And his lord had offered gold to whichever of them was hardest to catch, he reminded himself. Not that the gold mattered terribly, as they had, as yet, nowhere to spend it. But it was the principle of the thing. He eagerly anticipated the day when the older vampires permitted them to leave the grounds at will and go down into the nearest villages. Having read and studied at length about human civilization, he was eager to see it for himself.

Beyond the stated-reward, there was a certain pride to be maintained in not making it too easy for the scouts to run him to ground, he mused, sliding down a trunk several meters from where he’d begun and sprinting across a dry streambed. His younger brothers were undoubtedly keeping closer to the manor, and would inevitably get tangled, but he was willing to give Turel good odds on survival, and his own luck seemed to be holding fairly well. By staying along the base of the hill, he forced those seeking him to patrol the widest amount of ground, increasing his odds of staying beyond their reach. The lower portion of the estate was also susceptible to the creeping fogs that filled the swamp lands, further aiding him by reducing the general visibility. On top of it all, the trees were older, untamed, at the edge of Vorador’s estate, giving even his novice hands and feet ample places to mount and scale the enormous obstacles. Raziel swung aloft again, leaping from stump to branch, and then pulling himself higher through the thickly clustered limbs until he was entirely shrouded by the damp mist. The scent of mud, peat, and primordial nature of the bogs nearby was heavy in the night air. He breathed deep, finding the atmosphere invigorating.

Being outdoors was far preferable to in, on such a fine night. The manor was comfortable, to be sure, but something in him craved the wilderness. Raziel breathed again, wondering at his own dichotomy. As much as he loved the trappings of civilization: his bed, meals with the clan, art, music, books, conversation, there were times when it was all just too… confining. The idea of getting out of the manor, out beyond what was ruled to be safe and assured, to really experience life and see the length and breadth of Nosgoth, was undeniably captivating.

Soon, Raziel counseled himself to be patient. Undoubtedly they would not be deemed children forever. Kain would lead them forth when he felt they were ready, able, to survive beyond the borders of their comfortable den. Still, if given the chance to test his limits, Raziel couldn’t not help but to try, just a little. He peered to his right, out into the deeper mists of the swamp, and listened as he’d been taught. There was nothing in the customary sounds of nighttime to lead him to believe that the swamp was more perilous than usual. He had his hunting knife on, out of habit. And if he kept to the trees, he might take a little detour out and around the next group of scouts, with no one the wiser of the fact that he’d crossed out-of-bounds. The trees were aligned almost perfectly for the route he wanted to take. Raziel smirked to himself at the confusion he was causing to his unsuspecting hunters as he leapt between trunks, and worked his way west, noting in idle interest at the heavier scent of the swamp once he moved only a few yards into it.

From one branch to the next, he paid careful attention to his footing. In the heavier air of the valley proper, all manner of mosses and lichens grew on the tree bark, making the going slow and occasionally treacherous. Raziel eyed the watery looking terrain at the base of his current perch and resolved to make his next jump without slipping. He took a minute to rest and gather himself for the necessary sprint.

Strange how quickly the fog grew in the lowlands as well, he mused. He hadn’t thought the air cold enough to sustain such strong mists lower in the valley. Hardly an expert on the bog and it’s nature, he shrugged, and inspected his surroundings to ensure he was still on course. The hillside marking Vorador’s lands was a dark shadow to his left, as it had been for the past several minutes. Its looming presence was a comfortable reminder that while he might have strayed past what was to be considered ‘safe’ at least he hadn’t strayed far.

The peaceful quiet was so pervasive, the air so still, that he swore he could hear the soft wing beats of owls as they hunted their tiny prey. Raziel crept along his route but paused a moment before his jump as a whisper of a call came to him. At first the voice was nearly indistinguishable from the low thrum of the marshlands, but then even that seemed to grow silent, and the whisper became clearer.

“Raziel…”

He froze at the sound of his name. The whispering voice was like nothing he’d ever heard before, not vampire, nor human, but something more. The need to hear it again, to discover whom was calling him drew him forward even as his spine tingled with the vague sensation of danger. Voices in the mist were not to be trusted, his instincts told him, but still... Raziel hesitated a moment. The next branch, and his route back to the hill were directly infront of him, but only a little out of reach was a different path, one that would take him just a little further, allow him to explore for a minute more, the strangeness that beckoned to him.

“Raziel.”

More than a whisper, and certainly not an idle fancy, the voice named him again, seemingly certain that it had his attention. The sound of its soft satisfaction, more than anything, decided his course. Raziel navigated towards a tree standing on a likely looking hummock of earth, needing to get lower to satisfy his curiosity. “Who is there…” He forgot for a minute that his whisper would not likely carry in the thick air. Drawing breath, he tried again. “Who is it who calls to me?”

“Raziel.” His unseen solicitor hailed him a third time, seeming to have not heard his question. This time however the whisper didn’t fade to silence but instead continued its recitation. Soft though the words might be, they seemed to echo in the darkness. Resonant and deep, he could feel the call in the marrow of his bones. “Bloodborn. Vampire. Son of Balance.”

“I suppose I am all these things.” Raziel agreed, climbing down carefully until he could get both feet back on firm ground, checking the long grasses carefully lest he put down a foot into some undiscovered bit of bog-land. “But who are you?”

For all that the unfamiliar speaker sounded closer than before, there was no trace of any life in the wilderness other than his own. Looking around in the marshy darkness, Raziel wondered at how even the animals of the valley had grown unusually quiet. He stared over his shoulder at where Vorador’s hillside was all but hidden from view, marking the direction should flight prove the best course of action.

His neck prickled but there was no immanent threat that he could see. Besides, the vampire lord’s scouts patrolled the entirety of the woods and bogs on a regular basis, he told himself. Nothing puissant to a vampire would be left un-remarked-upon so close to where the cabal took their rest. He’d heard on more than one occasion the elder members of the household remark on how rare it was, in recent years, to find a good bit of sport amongst the trees. Even the monstrous inhabitants of the swamp seemed to have learned to fear the growing numbers of vampires that now walked amongst them.

Chafing his arms to dispel some of the chill of the fog, Raziel picked his way across a dry tongue of land and onto another little island. A bit of broken pillar provided a silent testament that Vorador’s mansion was once not the only building the forest could boast of. Half-shrouded in mist one island further in, stood a broken piece of wall. A fragment of staircase still apparent, leading upwards, going nowhere.

“Hello?” He asked, more confused than ever that anyone should be out in the middle of the uninhabitable valley. “Where are you?”

“Raziel. Red Prince.” The voice’s tone lightened, almost teasing, as it named him further, each grander than the previous. “The Prodigal. Day-walker. Knight of the Empire. Hylden’s Bane. Firelord. Defender of Nosgoth. Scion’s Champion... I call to you. Come to me.”

Which each title given, Raziel felt more and more at a loss. Some were strange, some were improbable, some defied explanation, but the voice named him with such assurance that he found himself nodding in agreement despite himself. “I do not understand.” He jumped a pool of fetid water, and climbed the few stone stairs in order to get a better view of what lay beyond. “I am but a mere fledgling. Do you seek to flatter me? If so, you’ve chosen an uncommonly strange method.”

“Do you know who I am, Son of Kain?”

“Indeed I do not.” He acknowledged. “Pray enlighten me?”

The mist cleared briefly, allowing him to realize that what he’d thought was a glimpse of moonlight was actually witch-fire, will-o-the-wisp, gathered in a dancing green flame above the crumbled remains of a building all but grown over by trees. Raziel blinked, recognizing the familiar figure-eight emblem still visible on the weathered blocks of masonry. It was the crest of the former Guardian of Time, Moebius, he remembered from his lessons. But what was it doing out here in the heart of vampiric dominion? The voice was stronger in that direction, the spectral fire seeming to shiver with every resonant word spoken.

“I am your future.” The words seemed to come from everywhere, from the distance, from beneath his feet. “I am all futures.”

Raziel pushed down his growing anxiety, studying his surroundings with sudden resolve to retreat. But which way had he come? Looking back where he thought he had crossed, he found the swamp changed, the span of watery mud between him and the next island several meters wide, further than he could comfortably jump. The ground trembled slightly beneath him and crouching on his perch, he hissed warily at his sudden predicament.

While the air between him and the ancient ruins was clear, the rest was hidden in the fog. Magic, he told himself, almost certainly. There was some sort of subtle wizardry at work.

Given the choice between reasoning with his unseen petitioner, and loosing himself in the fog, he decided on the former. Maybe his mysterious oracle would release him once it had spoken its peace. “You’re a prophet, then?” He asked.

In the lingering pause before the voice answered him, he got the distinct impression that it was waiting for him to draw closer, to abandon his bit of wall in favor of exploring the larger ruins ahead. Raziel sat on his heels, determined to not take another step further from the safety of his home. There was something uncanny about his situation and it seemed foolish to advance further into what could be a trap.

“I am your friend, young vampire.” Somehow, the statement didn’t do anything to settle his stomach, the rich blood of his most recent meal souring with his nervous mood.

“As such, I would give you friendly warning… If you would heed my council?”

The voice continued. The impression that it was beneath him, beneath _the swamp_ refused to be dismissed even when logic declared it to be impossible. Raziel looked around for a likely tree to climb, suddenly certain he did not feel comfortable on the ground. There was only one within reach, and even that, only barely. He bit his lip and judged the distance carefully. It would be unpleasant if he missed. The space beneath the outstretched tree-branches was open water.

Raziel cleared his throat to keep from sounding too unnerved. “I would gladly accept any kindly advice, Sir Oracle. I thank you for thinking of me.”

“Your master may name me a liar, child. But it is he who will beguile and misuse you. Not I.” The bodiless voice sighed as if in patient tolerance of the world’s frustrations. “Love him, if you must. For that is your nature. But do not trust him should he ever say he cares for you in return. For he knows, as I do, that serving him will lead to your certain doom.”

“What?” Raziel blinked at the unexpected statement. “I appreciate that I am full young yet, but surely you do not imagine me so naive that I would accept such a slander against the one who gave me life without questioning it?”

“I imagine nothing.” The voice replied, seeming unconcerned. “I know the truth. Someday, you will know it as well, Raziel-twice-born, but by then… it will be too late…”

“Why, ‘too late’?” He frowned. “What is this doom that is to befall me?” But the voice said nothing. Instead the air seemed unlocked from its earlier stasis, the fog around him pushed into uncanny whorls and twists with the suddenly gusting breeze. “Speak to me!”

Raziel stood up on his fragment of wall, searching for the witch-fire, and the ruins that had until a moment ago seemed mere paces away. The swamp was dark around him, but no longer silent, a host of unidentifiable rustles and soft splashes hinting at life returned to the wilds.

“Hello?” He sighed in exasperation. “Are you still there?”

Silence was his only answer. A gleam of faint light in the mist gave him brief hope that his unseen companion was still at hand. Raziel squinted to get a better view. Then the fog cleared with an errant breeze, revealing not the will-o-the-wisp fire of before, but the luminous eyes of a translucent monster the likes of which he’d never seen before.

As tall on its six segmented legs as an average man standing upright, its body was armored above and below by two wide plates of bone. The beast’s mouth was shrouded in jaws akin to some giant beetle. Its front legs terminated in crab-like clamps, easily of a size to catch him by the waist, perhaps to snap him in half.

Raziel didn’t wait to see whether its presence was friendly or not. He leapt, trusting instinct and luck to get him to the tree branches he’d been eyeing earlier. Luck was with him. His fingers closed over the rough bark and gave him the grip he needed to hang on, even with the limb swaying deeply in response to the sudden addition of his weight.

Raziel grimaced as he felt his dangling boot-tips graze the water of the swamp’s surface and pulled himself up in order to hook a leg over the flexing bit of timber. The monster had found its way to his perch as he’d fled, proving it was agile over both land and water. It silently chattered its jaws at him as it watched him try and crawl hand over hand to a safer distance, one claw swaying, outstretched in the air, as if tracking the branch’s erratic movements. For all that the creature seemed insubstantial, he could feel its presence along his skin. The fine hairs at the back of his neck standing up in response to its uncanny aura.

At length Raziel got his weight onto a heavier limb and climbed upwards several feet for good measure, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the thing that was hunting him. Suddenly the idea of capture by the scouts of the cabal seemed a fine and happy thing. He exhaled and cursed himself at how real his ‘game’ had suddenly become. He should have never left the grounds. Easily wading through the shallow swamp, the monster below suddenly lunged a ways up his tree’s trunk, proving that its reach was considerable. Raziel climbed a level further up the tree, and seeing a chance to switch to an adjacent canopy, gathered and jumped. For a moment it felt as though his tactic would work. Staying out of reach of the beast would be a simple thing in the densely tangled branches of the trees, and the hillside was not so far away. He was fairly confident he knew his way home even with the mists making a mystery of everything more than a few meters ahead.

A whispery screech was all the warning he received that his earth-bound hunter was not alone. Something was in the trees with him. Raziel ducked, instincts yet again saving his life as claws cut through the air above his head with whistling speed only to embed in the wood behind him. At first he could make nothing of his new foe, the impression of semi-transparent robes, or scales, or perhaps even fins, struck him as he dove out of the way of another hook-shaped appendage angling to pierce his chest. He caught the next branch, but not well enough. Instead of scrambling into the adjacent tree’s crown, Raziel found himself swinging downwards, almost falling as he fought to keep his grip.

At least he’d crossed the worst of the marsh. He realized as he landed on a sodden hillock with a curse. His boots held against the moisture, but he dared not stop and check. The sloshing sound of many legs moving quickly through the bog let him know his first enemy was not far behind. The high pitched shriek of the second sounded frustrated, hungry, in the air behind him. Choosing a course at random from the drier terrain available, Raziel _ran_.

- - - - - - - -

Raziel panted as he fought his way amongst the often-false footing of the swampy islands he sought to lose himself between. Somehow he was staying ahead of the fiends tracking him, but never by more than a few breaths. With the familiar slope of the hillside still nowhere to be seen, he was beginning to truly wonder whether his false step off of Vorador’s hallowed grounds might prove fatal after all. The so-called oracle must have tricked him far deeper into the swamp than he’d imagined. Spying a drier looking patch of land, and some likely looking trees, he picked up his pace again, feeling almost optimistic.

The feeling faded abruptly when he collided with something unseen at chest height. The impact forced the wind out of him, and caused him to all but fall backwards in surprise. Raziel gasped, further surprised when he _didn’t_ fall. Caught by his leather vest, he half dangled as he struggled to regain his footing, looking down at his stinging chest to realize that he’d hit not a branch, but rather someone’s outstretched hand. He barely had time to digest the fact before he was hauled sideways, rammed up against a tree trunk with teeth-rattling force.

“_You_ are out-of-bounds, little one.”

Raziel hissed as he gathered his shaken wits and rubbed the back of his head where it had impacted painfully against the bark. Still, part of him was more than happy with the scold. For with the promise of punishment for his stupidity, came the assurance that he was amongst his own kind again. Looking up, Raziel sought to thank his unhappy savior, and was stunned for what felt like the third time in so many seconds. Barely a breath away from his face lay two of the most undeniably beautiful breasts he’d ever seen in his short life. Their generous curve filled the vampiress’ close fitting leather armor almost to the point of overflowing, and their scent, the subtle and sensual odor of the woman pining him, came to him without his truly intending to be crude enough to deliberately seek it.

Tearing his eyes away from the unexpectedly pleasant view before him, he looked up, and felt a measure of his interest fade beneath a far more rational and reasonable response to the woman in question.

It was Captain Umah.

He smiled weakly at her elegantly raised eyebrow. Undoubtedly she’d noted his momentary distraction and would add it to her tally when time came to mete out sentence for his night’s transgression. “My lady…” He tried to gather himself for some sort of explanation, or perhaps an apology, when he suddenly remembered why he’d been running in the first place.

“Lady Umah, we are in danger!” He found his feet and dared to shake off her grip, looking back the way he had come with the expectation of finding the monsters charging up the watercourse. Raziel froze in surprise to see that there was nothing of the sort. The swamp looked… positively mundane. Umah tiched softly, coming up to stand behind him. Even listening intently, he could hear nothing; no screech, no clicking, no scuttling of crab-legs through the muddy water. Raziel exhaled in disbelief. They were gone.

Turning back to Vorador’s fiercest wife, he could only shrug under her candid gaze. “I swear to you. There were two. One with an armored body, like a crab… one that could float in the air like a ghost… They chased me for nearly a kilometer…”

“Shadows. Raziel.” She gave him a wry smile. “Nothing more. You’ve spooked yourself, is all. You know better than to be out here. There are still plenty of beasts that make their home here, willing to make a snack of a roving fledgling stupid enough to walk into their territory.”

“I swear it. They were no fantasy.” He shook his head, suddenly wondering even to himself, what in the past hour’s events was reality and what was dream. It was all just too strange when told to another person. “There was a voice also. A voice like that of the earth itself. It called to me, from the heart of the swamp… It said… such things…”

“A voice?” Umah caught him by the chin, turning him to study his face closer, suddenly interested in his misadventure. “What kind of voice? What did it say?”

“It… knew my name.” Raziel took a shaky breath, feeling more certain by the moment, that it _had_ been some sort of strange fantasy he’d been living, brought on by the fetid air of the swamp, no doubt. Umah was real, strong, solid, and very much alive before him, it seemed impossible that she and the phantom creatures that had been chasing him, could both exist in the same reality.

“It felt so real, lady.” He exhaled again, looking over his shoulder in confusion. “I thought I’d be killed for certain.”

Umah let go of his face to ruffle his hair lightly, the affectionate gesture not entirely in keeping with her usually aloof demeanor. He smoothed his locks down when she was finished, watching a she pushed passed him to make her own inspection of the wetlands. Armed for hunting, she had both bow and swords slung across her back. She’d been scouting, he realized, rather than playing at the game with her younger sisters. In blatantly crossing the borderline of the swamp he’d crossed over from his mock-combat into her very-real domain of kill-or-be-killed. He rubbed his neck, feeling if possible, even more the child compared to her. Umah studied the swamp for a long moment, using eyes, ears, and probably occult senses as well. At length she shrugged as well, turning back to him with a small smile. “Well. It seems whatever it was you encountered has hidden itself away again. You are unharmed?”

Ducking before she could rearrange his hair again Raziel took a moment to dust off some of the debris he’d collected in his sprint through the underbrush. Muddy, and winded, he could feel the bruises forming, but otherwise he felt unscathed. He shrugged at her question, not sure what to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a fool a second time. Umah snorted and tossed her long tail of hair over her shoulder at his expression, seemingly in agreement. Reaching out she cuffed the side of his skull, but gently, in a Kain-like reprimand. “Come. Let us return to the gardens. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night, fledgling.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You may call me Umah, you realize.” She snorted again, cupping the back of his neck with a no-nonsense grip as she steered him to walk ahead of her back along a narrow path. The vampiress was far older than him but not so old yet that she had three fingers instead of five. Her nails, while long and quite sharp, were not yet the claws of her sire. She still wore boots to protect her feet. Regardless of her relative youth, he felt far safer in the swamp with her at his side than he felt was prudent to admit. The female vampire was seasoned and deadly soldier. It was hard to imagine there being anything in the swamp that she couldn’t face. Still, his nerves prickled in silent alarm, unable to relax after his surreal encounter. Truly, telling himself it was a fantasy was the only way to make any sense of it at all.

In due turn their path led to the main road, and upwards towards the manor. So close he might have tripped over it, he shook his head at how utterly lost he’d felt mere moments before.

Raziel smiled while she could not see it, finding the beautiful woman’s grumbling to be not at all dissimilar to his own lord’s chiding reminders about unnecessary obeisance. In that sense the two vampires were rather alike, he supposed, although in every other way, he found it hard to compare them. Kain was Kain. Umah? He couldn’t help but fidget a bit under her touch, unable to stop himself. It was no wonder that she was Vorador’s favorite. He sighed in dismay at having been caught in such a childish error by her in particular. As far as he could tell she was favored by every man in the Cabal not blind or mentally-crippled. It was no wonder, with so much to admire about her. Rumor had it that her charms were evident to mortals as well. That she never had to run down her prey if she didn’t wish to, but rather could lure a man to her with the barest of glances, and have him under her thrall with a touch.

As tempting as her form might be, the personality that came with it left something rather wanting, he supposed, distracting himself from potentially risky appreciation of the woman in question. The hand on his neck could just as easily caress or kill, and the later was far more likely, especially when one of her waspish moods took her. He minded his footing and made an effort to cause her no further trouble. She was not one of the more lenient of Vorador’s wives, nor was she known for her gentle temper. It was best to err on the side of over-politeness than risk a more serious cuff from the scout captain and warlady. Seeing how she expected an answer from him, he shrugged again.

“I would not dare to, my Lady Umah.” He found his mood brightening as the slope rose with the road, taking them onto the familiar hillside of the Cabal’s home ground. “I am your captive, for the moment, am I not? It would be unseemly if I were to be overly familiar…”

“Do you flirt on purpose, Raziel? Or is your silver tongue a unconscious skill.” Umah wondered aloud, squeezing his neck in playful malevolence. “Sometime I think you have a little _too_ much of your sire in you. You are far too young yet to always have a prettily constructed speech ready at hand.”

“I beg your pardon, if I have offended.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, unable to help but smile again at the sight of her candidly unglamorous expression of defeat. She relinquished her grip on his neck a moment to cuff him again upside the head, then mussed his hair a second time for good measure.

“Little idiot. No more trouble now. You wouldn’t like it above half, I wager, if I were to tell Kain precisely _where_ I caught you… now would you…” She remarked archly as he grumbled and tried to both walk and tidy himself. With her fingernails pressing against his neck once again in unspoken threat to match her verbal one, he didn’t really have all that much of a choice. At least she wouldn’t tell Kain of his illicit wanderings, he consoled himself, at least, not unless provoked. Putting the strangeness, and the voice from the ruins behind him, he concentrated on his footing as they returned to the manor.

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K A I N

The game ended with the sinking of the moon and the first hints of false-dawn. Scouts and fledglings staggering back in, both together and alone, as their stamina waned. Turel and Dumah returned as a pair, shoulder-to-shoulder and chatting amicably as if their evening had been spent fishing or in some other idle pursuit rather than roughhousing from dusk to dawn. Somewhere earlier in the evening Turel had rescued his younger brother and the pair had successfully held off all comers after that. Zephon emerged with a group of scouts, tolerating their kindly teasing with his usual sardonic smile. Towards the end of the tail of stragglers, an unlikely pair emerged. Raziel and Umah, of all people, she guiding his eldest with a firm hand on his neck as she strode back to camp. Captured at last, he wagered from the boy’s rueful expression and generally disheveled state. It was inevitable when faced with such an opponent. Undoubtedly his child had overcome all lesser foes handily.

Waiting for the final arrivals to materialize, he watched his family gather to one side and the scouts and householders assemble in audience on the other. Taking a minute to examine his infant brood under the torchlight, he decided they’d had a good bit of fun, and hopefully a bit of practice in stalking as well. Such games were useful for the young. For if they could master the art of evading each other, human hunters would be a trivial matter. Overhead the clap of large wings in the night air heralded that Janos had left his post as ‘guard’ of the back garden gates, and was coming to see the final tally. The blue skinned ancient landed lightly at the edge of the crowd and smiled happily when several of the more attentive of the young ones immediately gathered around him to solicit praise or share stories of their adventures.

Kain shook his head at the apparent joy the flock of youthful demands for attention could inspire in the sage. Janos was never without some sort of small mob around him, most days. The old one seemed to appreciate the company, although how he could stand to have the idiots constantly underfoot was a marvel. Better this than the alternative, his cynical side pointed out grimly. For a man who’d likely spent centuries involuntarily alone, thanks to the Saraphan purges, the chance to be surrounded by an ever growing family of happily unmolested fledgings was probably a pleasant thing.

Strange that he’d survived a similar span of time in virtual solitude, and yet found no echo of Janos’ joy within his own chest. He rubbed his chin and mentally scolded himself for being an uncaring bastard. Then again, Kain mused, his isolation could in a sense be considered entirely voluntary. There’d been no particular reason to force the Imperial Court to disband after Raziel’s death in the maelstrom. He’d just stopped caring.

He cared _now_, to an extent. He’d rather have the vampires of the cabal happy than unhappy, or dead. But he lacked the urge to be cosseted the way that Vorador and Janos seemed to enjoy. Other than the occasional verbal war with the old green bastard, or his new found habit of watching Raziel when the boy was about his business, he could be just as content alone as with the rest of the clan.

Chiding himself to stop woolgathering while the night wasted away, he clapped his hands to get the assembly’s attention. The sudden sound did the trick, all eyes drawn to him in anticipation.

“How many of you caught Melchiah?” Kain asked drolly when the crowd quieted, tisking lightly at the number of raised hands amongst the flock. Nearly everyone had gotten a hand on his youngest at some point, from the look of it. The child in question grinned sheepishly, cuffed in playful punishment on both sides by Raziel and Turel for his haplessness in stealth combat. “And of course, Lady Umah,” He smiled slightly at the smirking vampires. “You had the honor of recalling my eldest.”

Although until her arrival he hadn’t been aware she was playing the game, the woman had managed what her sisters and other scouts had not in bringing Raziel in at last. Glancing sideways at his lieutenant he noted Raziel flushed slightly as he recognized his defeat and bowed to Vorador’s wife. The current rendition of his child might be of a quiet nature, but he was no eunuch. Undoubtedly the experience of being hunted and caught by the amazon had left an impression on him.

That would be an interesting pairing to watch for in future, Kain smiled wider at Raziel’s worried look in his direction. Shaking his head to let the boy know that he wasn’t in trouble for his failure to evade capture, he schooled his expression into his usual bland indifference as he considered Vorador’s wife again. Something in her speculative way of watching Raziel told him all he needed to know.

They’d never suit in a serious relationship, he reasoned, knowing what he did of her nature, and of his child’s, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be an affair at some point in the centuries to come. Which of the two would gain the upper hand over the other was something he was somewhat curious to discover. He’d have to wait and see.

“Now.” He cleared his throat. “How many for Zephon?” Startlingly few raised their hands, a compliment to his second youngest’s wily tricks, no doubt. He caught the slim fledgling’s eye and smiled to show his favor at the boy’s budding skills. No surprises there. It seemed, Zephon was developing exactly as expected.

“And how many for Turel?” Seeing the number of hands, and hearing Turel’s disbelieving snort, he had to qualify his question. “How many of you actually were able to subdue him upon capture?” The number of claimants dropped dramatically, he chuckled at the boy’s prowess. “Very good, Turel. And You, Dumah? No need to answer I suppose. I see you’ve come untied at last…”

Dumah sighed in annoyance at the reminder of his undignified capture and glared at the group of still giggling women now clustered behind Umah. Undoubtedly he’d be sore for a day or two. Kain sighed at the openly inviting way several of the women were smiling at the youth. What the boy lacked in intelligence and personality, he made up in pure animal charisma. Not all of Vorador’s wives fancied lovers with refined manners and polite conversation, and those that enjoyed the ox-necked, chiseled-chin type had found their advances welcomed readily enough. They’d find a way to sweeten the idiot’s mood before the week was out. Dumah, at least, would need no encouragement in order to further that aspect of his education.

Kain sighed, his eyes settling on his children again. Counting heads, he frowned to realize he was off by one. There was a gap in their number. The quietest of their rank was not merely discreetly standing towards the back, but rather outright missing. “And where is Rahab?”

He looked to Raziel for his answer, not entirely sure why. It was usually the case that his eldest kept nominal tabs on his siblings, but seeing his child’s sudden confusion and dismay, mirroring his own, he pursed his lips. Turning to the crowd of suddenly worried scouts and soldiers he asked the question to the group at large. “Who among you captured my child, Rahab?”

When no hands went up, he frowned. “Who among you _saw_ him tonight?”

“He started the game with us, sire.” Raziel spoke up, searching the shadows around them as if expecting his brother to materialize. “But I lost track of him in the initial chaos.”

“I saw no trace of him in the trees.” Umah offered thoughtfully, giving the woods at the edge of Vorador’s lawn a quick inspection. “Nor did I smell him.”

Kain raised his eyebrow at her offhand remark, wondering what she meant by that. Rahab was hardly the most active of his children, and his personal grooming tended to be excellent.

“Book dust.” She explained succinctly, favoring him with an answer to his unspoken question. “He and my-lord-husband both have a penchant for smelling of their favorite hobby.”

“I see.” He had to smile at her keenly honed senses. “Still… He must be somewhere. Perhaps he has become inconvenienced in some manner…”

“We’ll run the grounds.” Umah agreed in a business like tone, nodding to her sisters to break into groups.

Vorador, having wandered over to join their discussion also nodded, looking to the walls of his manor thoughtfully. “He didn’t get past me and slip back in through the front. And Janos was guarding the back gate…. So the boy didn’t get by there…”

The vampire sage nodded in agreement with his lordly offspring, fanning his wings with his concern for the absent fledgling. “I saw him not at all, but it seems to me that he is close by… I shall check the ground from above, while the children search on foot…”

“Before any of you sprint anywhere in search of me…” A new voice claimed politely from the shadows overhead. “Perhaps you might consider the fact that I am not at all lost.”

Kain settled his hands on his hips and watched as a slim figure suddenly detached itself from the top of the nearest of the decorative columns that lined Vorador’s courtyard, and carefully shifted itself over the edge. Climbing with only a few scuffles and wrong-handholds down the carved stone pillar, his missing child dropped to earth at last, dusting off and presenting himself with a small smile of victory.

“I do not have my eldest brother’s luck, sire. Nor do I possess Turel or Dumah’s strength. Zephon, I have no doubt, is far slipperier than I. And Melchiah? Well, it is only a game to him, equally fun regardless of his own outcome. As I had no interest in being tackled, or tied… It seemed to me, my lord, the best way to win… was not to play.”

“You were up there the whole time?” He asked, torn between amusement and resignation at the youth’s dry appraisal of his chances. “It’s a wonder you didn’t grow bored.”

Rahab silently produced a small book from his pocket, shrugging at his brothers’ uniform groans of disbelief and dismay. “The moon was especially brilliant this evening, I found.” He remarked with a mildness to equal Kain’s own.

Kain plucked the soft-bound novel from the boy’s hand and lightly smacked him on the head with it. His child took his punishment with his usual grace, bowing and accepting the book back before taking his place with his siblings. They gave him a few shoves and scolds of their own for good measure, but Kain could only shrug again, seeing that the boy’s plan was not without merit. As the night was waning fast, there was no particular reason to delay in dispensing his modest award and providing some closure to the contest.

“Rahab, it seems, is the only prey to escape this evening un-captured. Although I do not personally agree with his tactic, it was singularly successful.” He smiled as he tossed a small pouch to the fledgling in question, not above making the ‘win’ uncomfortable for his shy and retiring middle-born child. “He gets the prize of five gold marks, as promised.”

His other children groaned again, frustrated by Rahab’s un-victory. Kain grinned wider. “Assuming of course, that he can keep hold of them until morning?”

Seeing the speculative look dawn in Turel and Raziel’s eyes, and Rahab’s suddenly hunted expression, made the evening worth all the bother of humoring the children’s sport. He gave Rahab an arch look. “If I were you, child, I’d start running.”

Vorador laughed out loud next to him as Rahab took off, fleet footed despite his bookish demeanor. His brothers hesitated a minute and then broke to give chase as a group, Raziel pointing silently for his next-eldest brothers to flank him through the side doorways even as he dove through the front entrance after his escaping sibling. Umah found her way to her sire’s side, leaning against the nobleman and accepting his fond arm around her waist as she too chuckled at the sound fledgling antics within the house. “That was cruelly done, Balance Guardian.” She scolded lightly.

“Not at all.” He disagreed with a smirk, appraising the hour with a glance at the sky before strolling back into the house. “Boy can use the exercise…”

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R A Z I E L

The stars were lovely in their winter brilliance. With coats and cloaks enough that the air didn’t bite too sharply, he and his brothers had piled out onto the roof of the manor after their arms training was complete for the evening; determined to spend a little time in idleness before being recalled to the warm but tedious duties that awaited them indoors. Raziel settled on the steeply pitched slate roof of the main annex, careful that his cape stayed between him and the frosty shingles as he gingerly lay back and allowed himself to relax. Turel made a face as he settled beside him, standing a moment to tuck a second layer of his cloak between him and the icy surface beneath him before stretching his long legs out and folding his hands behind his head. Dumah settled with pacing the walkway nearby, still clearly energized by their sparring session with the older fighters. Raziel grimaced at his brother’s limitless stamina, feeling his bruises from where the bigger fledgling had landed a hit or two on him. Dumah wasn’t clever, but he _was_ strong.

“Want to trip him?” Turel asked cheerfully under his breath, noting his annoyed expression. “With the ice on the pavers, he’d probably slide on his ass all the way down to the garden, if caught at the right moment.”

Raziel suppressed a grin, giving his supposedly ‘younger’ brother a merry look. The age difference between them, he had been told by Vorador and Janos, was a matter of mere minutes, but somehow the order of their precedence was as strict as if they were years apart. Of all of his siblings however Turel was perhaps the most equal to him in many ways. It often felt a little contrived to him, to apply the junior title to the vampire. “He’ll howl blue-murder when he lands… and probably chase us all over the damned mansion in order to get his revenge…”

“Eh. Too much effort.” The large framed fledgling beside him agreed, letting his head fall back onto his hands as he too considered the stars. Rahab emerged from the tower door a minute later, sheperding the last two of their company with an indifferent ear towards Zephon’s grousing. The slender vampire made no pretense of enjoying the cold air, but rather made a bee-line for the space between Raziel and Turel on the roof, wedging himself between their outstretched legs in an attempt to leech some of their warmth, or at least gain the benefit of their cloaks on top of his own. Turel kicked the pushy vampire with an idle boot, ignoring his hiss of complaint. Turning to Raziel he sighed, “Wretch has a point, you know. It’s fucking freezing up here. Remind me again why we’re braving frostbite?”

Gesturing up at the stars, Raziel ignored the grumble he received in answer and grinned at Rahab as the lean-faced fledgling settled on his other side. Rolling his shoulders in evident soreness from his own stint in on the training grounds, Zephon’s elder brother favored him with a tired look of resignation. For all that the vampire grumbled that hand-to-hand was a stupid way to fight, he had acquitted himself well. Even Melchiah had received praised from their teachers tonight.

Glancing back to his other brother, Raziel noted that Turel favored staring at the insides of his eyelids more than the heavens, and tisked softly at his lack of interest in the grand vista overhead. Rahab gave the stars a cursory inspection and then turned his attention to their other brothers whistling sharply to get Melchiah’s attention when he deemed the fledgling’s curiosity regarding the icicles forming along the edge of the roof’s edge would lead to inevitable danger.

The youngest of their group, and truly, Raziel couldn’t help but think of Melchiah as ‘young’ despite their negligible difference in actual age, grimaced and backed away from the edge of the roof at the unspoken chide. Digging in his cape’s deep pocket’s instead, he drew forth an odd assembly of wadded paper, wire and string.

“Anyone want to see a neat trick?” He held his handful up proudly.

Raziel propped himself up on his elbows and gave his brother a chagrined look, exhausted from a day of only intermittent sleep and a half night’s efforts with the sword, he marveled at Melchiah’s seemingly infinite supply of energy when it came to building and testing his odd little toys. Turel groaned beside him, having less patience with the strange fascination that their sibling had with all manner of mechanical problems. Zephon, likewise, snorted in tired disinterest, uncaring of his brother’s crestfallen expression.

It was that, more than anything that made Raziel sigh in defeat and gesture that Melchiah might as well attempt to astound them with his latest disaster in the making. Sometimes the fledgling’s experiments worked, and were genuine marvels. Mostly so far, they tended to be a trifle overcomplicated, and often, somewhat dangerous. Rahab pursed his lips, but likewise nodded that Melchiah might as well continue.

With an audience of two willing to observe his latest achievement, their sibling grinned merrily and set about assembling his home-made device. Raziel looked to his bookish brother with a raised eyebrow, receiving a candid shrug in response. There was no further information to be had from that corner. Rahab had no more idea of what the vampire was up to that he did.

The device, such as it was, didn’t look like much when all laid out. Carefully pasted together, pieces of paper seemed to form a crude sort of triangle-shaped sack, which was in turn, attached to a shallow wooden cup by a series of thin wires. Where he’d found the wire, or the time to make the contraption in the first place, was anyone’s guess. Raziel pushed himself upright to better witness his brother’s antics.

When the next items produced from Melchiah’s pockets were a flint, tinder, and bottle of lamp oil he hissed in dismay. “Do you have a deathwish?”

“I’m very careful with them!” Melchiah paused in his preparations to give him an exasperated look. “Even our sire says so… especially after last time…”

“God reserves a special portion of his love for fools and inventors.” Rahab sighed softly at his side. “Go on then, Melchiah, but do try to avoid catching your cape alight?”

“You need help?” Raziel winced at the careless way his brother poured the oil, and then absently wiped his fingers on his cape.

One of these days the man really would set himself alite by accident, and there would be hell to pay. Not that he was enchanted by the idea of handling fire, but at least he was certain he’d be more careful with it than his occasionally over eager sibling. Melchiah waved that both he and Rahab might as well join in the upcoming carnage. Sliding off the roof, Raziel allowed himself to be giving the chore of holding half of the paper sack while Rahab held the other, lifting it out of the way of their brother’s nerve-wracking attempts to catch spark with wool and wood shavings. Eventually a tongue of flame blossomed in the little bed of kindling, and using a spoon undoubtedly stolen from Vorador’s collection of silver, Melchiah proved he could be careful when he wished as he gently lifted the burning litter up and into the oil filled bowl.

The heat from the tiny cup of flame was enough that Raziel could feel it on his fingers, even with the general chill of the night. He lifted his side of the paper bag and held it over the flames even as Rahab mirrored him. Seeing Melchiah’s eager expectation, Raziel idly wondered whether the oil would burn out, or the paper in his hands spontaneously combust before whatever grand event his brother was waiting for would occur. Then Rahab hissed in evident surprise, and he looked down to be startled himself.

The bag was inflating slightly of its own volition, not only expanding, but actually growing buoyant in his hands. Raziel tentatively let go of his side, curious to see what would happen. Instead of fluttering earthward to be consumed by the flames, the paper stayed aloft, actually tugging at the wires attaching it to the bowl, straining upwards against gravity as it glowed with the light of the fire beneath it. Rahab likewise let go, and shuffled backwards a pace, watching with avid interest the results of Melchiah’s latest foolery. Their younger brother didn’t have their hearty appreciation of the inherent danger of his toys, reaching forward with deft fingers, he plucked the little bowl of fire up and gently held it in his palm, blowing a little on the flames to encourage them to flare higher.

All in a moment, the true marvel began. Melchiah dropped his hand away from his toy, leaving it suspended in mid-air. With no breeze to speak of, the little contraption of paper, fire and wood hovered quite easily without outside interference, even drifting upwards at a slow but measurable pace. Melchiah clapped for joy at his success, punching Rahab lightly in the arm and pointing at the cheerfully lit bit of paper floating over the rooftop. Rahab rubbed his short hair into a haystack in brotherly congratulations, eyes drawn upwards with a thoughtful expression as everyone else’s were.

“Pretty.” Turel commented laconically where he lounged against the roof, having bothered to open his eyes and watch once assured there would be no explosions. Zephon and Dumah both watched silently, not willing necessarily to compliment their brother, but unable to pretend disinterest at the unusual sight.

Raziel joined Rahab in ruffling his younger brother’s hair. “Marvelous. What is it called? How did you come to think of it?”

“I read about it in a book.” His brother offered deferentially, unwilling to take responsibility for the invention. “I just wanted to try it, is all. It’s called a balloon.”

“Hot air rises above cold.” Rahab remarked abruptly, deducing at last how the feat was accomplished. Turning to his brother, he offered the fledgling one of his rare smiles. “Very clever.”

“What’s it do?” Zephon was obliged to puncture his brother’s moment of happy pride by asking the obvious question. He glanced from uncertain sibling up to the glowing balloon and back again. “I mean. It’s clever. I concede. But does it have a purpose?”

“I’m sure we could think of one.” Raziel remarked quellingly to his younger brother in Melchiah’s defense. “Besides, Turel is right, it _is_ rather pretty. Imagine what it would be like if we used colored paper… Or had several of them aloft at once…”

“… Forgive me if I don’t find the idea of burning bowls of oil floating overhead to be very cheering, to be sure.” Zephon pointed out one of the more severe flaws in the invention caustically as he lay back down, huddling next to Turel against the chill of the night.

Raziel grimaced, the man had a valid point. Suddenly he had a genuine interest in not just how the balloon stayed aloft, but how to expedite getting it safely down again.

“It’ll burn off soon.” His youngest brother sighed in exasperation, “It’s just a toy… It’s not going to set the house alight…”

“Even so.” Rahab murmured soothingly, eyes also cautiously on their drifting spectacle as it wafted out over the gardens. “I don’t think we should repeat this particular experiment in the dry season.”

Raziel clapped his hand on Melchiah’s shoulder again, offering him an encouraging grin. “We’ll find a lake some time and you can make a really big one… we’ll let it drift out over the water.”

“Don’t goad him into further folly.” Rahab hissed softly behind their brother’s back at him. Melchiah paid his remark no mind, eyes suddenly aglow with the possibility of building a larger balloon. Raziel simply shrugged, unrepentant, wondering if he should bid Dumah to fetch a slingshot so as to land the balloon safely on the pavement before it could drift out into the trees.

The inevitable exhaustion of the oil supply saved him from bothering. The flames fluttered and suddenly died for lack of fuel, leaving the balloon dark and defeated, sinking to earth with a soft clatter. Melchiah wasted no time in bolting down the steps to retrieve his successful treasure, undoubtedly with plans to modify it into an even more elaborate device in future.

Feeling his toes going numb with the lingering chill Raziel took one more glance upwards a the densely packed constellations before sighing in regret and motioning that he too was going down stairs, back into the mansion. The rest picked up and followed with minimal grousing, seemingly content to follow his lead for once. Undoubtedly someone would come looking for them soon if they weren’t in the library ready to resume their more esoteric studies.