Once and Future King

Legacy of Kain: Once and Future King

AU/continuation- fic of ‘Defiance’

The Beginning – Chapter 5

* * * * *

R A Z I E L

Raziel awoke to a strange tinkling sound. Laying in the dim hall, he held his breath to listen better. The snores of his brethren all around him were easy to discern, but otherwise the mansion was as silent as ever. His fingers itched with unnamed anxiety as he sat up. The hour was, as usual, positively unpardonable, practically noon. He listened carefully for a moment, wondering if the rains that had swept the bog had cleared off or not during the morning. Springtime had brought uncomfortably humid weather, and an uncommon amount of precipitation. He’d lost count of how many nights it had been since they’d last been able to go outside comfortably. Slipping out of his bed, Raziel silently dressed and glided down the hall past the other sleepers. It had become habit on waking to check to see whether Kain was asleep or out and about in the house.

Despite his sire’s reluctant acceptance of his daytime habits, he did not like to flaunt his disobedience if he didn’t have to. Bumping into the kindly Janos was usually no worry at all. The ancient vampire always was willing to make time to speak with him about eons past and never failed to inquire after his health and happiness. Meeting with Vorador was a bit more worrying since the gruff lord was inclined to not forget their first daylight encounter.

Raziel still cringed at the memory of his own foolishness. Vorador had good reason to worry about him, apparently. He hadn’t meant to do himself harm, but there had been something so enticing about the sparkle of sunlight on the floor. He had thought that just a finger tip couldn’t be harmful. Getting unexpectedly yanked back by the collar and shaken like a puppy had half scared him to death. The memory of the green vampire’s subsequent tirade had been enough to keep him hidden in his dormitory for several days after. Only the extremity of boredom had made him risk another scolding of that magnitude. Still, the mansion was safe enough, even at daytime, for a sensible person. He carefully avoided the more dangerous rooms and explored whatever else he could. Vorador had even warmed to him after finding him flipping through the books of his library, deciding they were kindred spirits after all.

Raziel crouched down at the door to Kain’s inner office, peering through the keyhole to see if his lord was within. The room was dim save for the lit sconce, no windows to worry a young vampire. It was impossible to tell if the bedroom beyond the inner door would be in use however. Raziel had a healthy respect for his sire’s acute hearing, as well as the massive windows that adorned the wall of his sleeping chamber. But caution behooved him to check at least, before wandering arbitrarily throughout the house. The office door wasn’t locked. There was no need of it. Kain’s rule strictly stated that they were not to disturb him when the doors were shut. His punishment would be unpleasant, but not extreme, if he was caught.

Luckily the hinges were well oiled. Raziel wondered if they made a noise beyond his ability to hear as the door swung silently open. But if that were true then even now he was already overdue a scolding, so he might as well finish his spy work. Stepping into the office, Raziel paused a moment, confused. There was a strong smell of incense in the air, a cloying sweetness that choked in his throat and made his eyes water. Suddenly he had a powerful urge to lie down on the thick carpet and rest a moment. The need for sleep came on so suddenly, he wondered if he had been compelled by Kain himself.

He staggered and sank to his knees, feeling ill from the heaviness in the air. The scent was worse closer to the floor; a draft from Kain’s bedroom pushing the noxious cloud under the gap beneath the door. Daring to inch forward, Raziel forced himself to set an eye to the inner keyhole, wondering what dark sorcery Kain was working.

The room was surprisingly bright. He winced and pulled away, fearing the sun, but soon realized it was a matter of comparison. There was no direct light on this side of the manor after mid-morning, and the weather had forecasted to be cloudy if not actively wet. Looking through the small hole again, his eyes rapidly adjusted to the relative brightness, allowing him to wonder at how it was that Kain’s shutters were ajar, one side of the protective wooden barrier having been pulled slightly away from the windows, allowing the slice of muted light into the room.

It was unheard of for the vampire lord to forget to close and latch the shutters. Kain himself was supposed to be immune to such indignities, but everyone else had cause to worry. A flutter of movement between the open shutters caught his attention, a gloved hand reached in through the gap in the wood, and then through a broken pane in the glass door, to retrieve a little lantern of sorts. As soon as the antique device was pulled out of the room, Raziel found his breathing became easier. The smell of incense hung steadily in the air, but did not grow any worse.

Clearly there was evil at work. All instincts pointed to the fact that whoever was on the balcony, they had no business there. Craning his neck to try and get a better angle, Raziel couldn’t tell if Kain was in the bed or not, but a flickering glow from the silk-padded box beside the mattress implied the Soul Reaver was present, and where the blade was, its master was sure to be as well. Why didn’t the vampire stir? Surely Kain would rise and challenge the interloper?

Suddenly he realized that the incense itself was a weapon, and he had very nearly been its second victim. Glancing around, Raziel looked frantically for a blade or weapon in the office. His master’s simple style of decorating confounded his hopes of finding a spear or even a dagger laying handily nearby. Raziel didn’t dare run back down the hall to where his own weapons were hung. Fledgling that he was, he still had his nails. And despite Kain’s repeated strictures to never touch the soul stealing blade, he was confident his lord would forgive him if it was the only thing available. With no time to run for Vorador and raise the alarm, he charged the door with his shoulder, bursting into the smoky room.

“Halt where you stand! Make no move!” Raziel’s attempt at a forceful shout was hampered by the full force of the poison in the air. Doubling over, he wheezed as the vapors tried to disorient and subdue him.

“Well well. What have we here? A puppy pretending to be a guard dog?” Wrapped from head-to-foot in fabric and leather the intruder chuckled slightly. “How unexpected. How is it you’re not asleep, boy? Are you a human pet?”

Raziel couldn’t help but fall as a fist like a lead pipe connected with his head. He blinked to clear his eyes as he felt the vampire, for the strength was beyond human, crouch to give him a closer look. The interloper stared at him with yellow eyes for a long moment before placing a hand clinically on his chest. “You reek of Kain! Well well. The rumors were true. Hail and well met, little brother. Are the other fledglings near by as well? Perhaps we can make this a little family reunion. You can introduce me to them after I kill Kain. It is only fitting that all of you join your maker in death.”

“Never.” Raziel rolled out of the reach of the vampire’s long claws and came to his feet, despite the pain in his head. “Kain!” A quick glance down at the bed proved his worst fears. The huge form of his master _was_ sprawled out on the bed. His sire’s chest rose and fell in slow, labored breaths. “Kain!” He tried to rouse the vampire, rapidly realizing the seriousness of the predicament.

“He can’t answer.” The assassin chuckled. “He can’t even hear you.” Drawing a sword, the black clad vampire circled the bed. “The old bastard is off and dreaming of hell, or where ever he spawned from. Soon that will be all he’s capable of doing.”

“Who are you?!” Raziel feigned retreat, trying to buy time even as he shifted minutely to get a grab in at the dreaded Soul Reaver. The sword flickered faintly in its resting place, looking more malignant than ever. Maybe it knew somehow that its master was in danger. “Why are you here?”

“Who am I?” The vampire drew back, surprised. “Can’t you guess? Does not Kain even remember the Nemesis he created years ago?” Seeing Raziel’s bafflement, the man stood up straight and hissed in disgust, pulling off his hood to reveal a lean faced man with hair pulled back in a long tail. “I am Faustus, you little fool. Second born of your pathetic family. Raised, abused, and forgotten, along with my two brothers. We swore we would avenge our defeat, and today I shall drink my sire’s blood to the last drop and leave his pathetic corpse as a warning the rest. This world will soon be ours!”

Taking a breath, the man coughed at the noxious atmosphere in the room. “I am half tempted to let you live after all, little brother. Just to remember who it was who brought your master low.”

“Faustus.” Raziel shifted again, taking advantage of the distraction in his opponent. “Faustus….Faust…. Oh wait. I do remember having heard of you, once, from one of Vorador’s human servants. You were some sort of pathetic half-wit of a nobleman that Kain once took pity on and elevated. In return you betrayed him to the Saraphan after the end of the Second Crusade, and barely escaped with your skin intact. I heard your army was butchered like pigs just outside of the gates of the city by a mere handful of the cabal. The great ‘Third Crusade’ of the Saraphan Knights. What a joke.”

“You little shit.” Faustus promptly forgot his evil plans for the drugged vampire in front of him in favor of glaring at Raziel. “You useless, ignorant little catamite! I don’t know how it came to be that you’re awake, fledgling, or how it is that you can stand this foul smoke without being affected. But mark words, little brother, you are going to die in agony! I’ll cut you apart slowly on top of the body of your dead sire for your slander. What do you know of anything?”

“Kain!” Raziel dodged as the sword struck out at him with serpentine speed, hissing as the edge cut deeply into his arm. The weapons masters who trained with him were centuries older, but usually kept their movements to a reasonable pace when sparring out of consideration for his novice reflexes. This vampire had no such strictures, and easily leapt the bed to trap him.

“Kain!” Raziel cried loudly, trying to rouse the sleeper. He had no choice but to dive across the bed to avoid another lethal thrust. His lord barely grunted as he slid over the sleeping vampire’s chest. The maneuver did little good. Faustus was capable of moving faster than his eyes could follow. Caught by the neck, Raziel was hauled into the air, fingers scrabbling at the clawed hand that was slowly choking him. His nails could break the vampire’s skin, but the muscle beneath was almost impervious to his efforts. Sinking his short claws in as far as he could he wondered if the assassin even noticed the pain. The scratches he made into the hand around his throat seemed to heal almost as fast as they were dug.

It occurred to Raziel with strange clarity that he might actually die. Physically he couldn’t match the fiend dangling him in the air. His only hope was to somehow trick the bastard, or at least delay him and hope that someone heard their scuffle. Willing Kain to awaken and help him didn’t have any more effect than calling him had previously. He gritted his teeth and forced the words out through his constricted throat. “Coward, you only dare challenge him when he cannot fight back!”

“Coward am I?” Faustus laughed cruelly, lowering his arm so as to get a better look. Raziel’s neck felt minor relief when he was able to take up some of his weight on his boot-tips, the older vampire perfectly content with holding him just barely off of the floor. He didn’t dare release his two handed hold on Faustus’ wrist however, knowing how easily the creature might haul him upwards again. His neck already felt half snapped, Raziel had no interest in feeling the reality first hand.

The vampire seemed to enjoy his distress, squeezing slightly to emphasize his supremacy. “Ah yes, I know your type, infant. All talk and honorable intentions aren’t you? I’ve killed hundreds just like you before, all of them prating on about rules of engagement and honor among warriors. It’s all bullshit you know. All of it.”

Suddenly talkative, Faustus bent his arm, bringing Raziel close enough to whisper conspiratorially. “All that matters is that I am strong and you are weak. I will win and you and your pathetic master will lose. I will go down in history as the mightiest vampire in the world. Mighty enough to kill even the ‘Eternal Kain’. And you? You won’t even be a footnote. All Janos and that green bastard will find later is a smear of dust on the carpet once I open the shutters and walk out. So tell me, weakling, just what is it about _you_ that is better than me? I mean, look at you! Here to save your lord? What a joke. What can a pup like you actually _do_ to stop me?”

Never having encountered madness up close, Raziel found staring into the older vampire’s eyes to be almost mesmerizing. On the one hand, Faustus was entirely correct, he should have never attempted to thwart the assassin on his own. His successes on the training ground meant nothing when compared to the reality of combat with a superior foe. Outclassed he might be, but that didn’t make him powerless. Like Dumah, this vampire’s greatest weakness seemed to be his overconfidence. Knowing it to be his only chance, Raziel let go of his death-grip on Faustus’ wrist, and wildly lashed out with all his remaining strength. His claws, fledgling though they were, bit deeply into Faustus’ jeering face, raking him from temple to jaw on the left and leaving a bloody ruin where the man’s eye had been.

The vampire screamed in agony, flinging him away as he clapped both hands to his face and howled. Raziel collapsed against the far wall and crumpled to the floor. Dazed as he was he gasped and lay half-amazed to find his neck not broken. One glance at his stalker’s ruined and furious expression and he knew he wasn’t saved yet. Faustus was hurt, but he was by no means defeated. Raziel scrabbled to his feet, all but tripping over himself as he staggered to the bed.

Even with the commotion, Kain barely stirred. “Kain, please!” He demanded hoarsely, daring to reach out and shake the arm closest to him. “Kain, you must get up!”

Faustus’ howling abated to a sort of whimpering snarl as the initial shock of his maiming wore off. Blindly reaching for his sword, the vampire recovered the lost weapon and swept it in front of him as his remaining eye tried to focus.

“You- you little… What’s your name, dearest brother? Tell it to me so that I may curse it for the next century while you writhe in hell!”

“Raziel.” He hissed back, preparing to lunge for the only weapon at hand. “First born of Kain’s true offspring and heir to the empire yet to come!”

“First? I think you mean fourth.” Faustus kept one hand pressed to his skull, blood seeping between his fingers and down his face and arm. “Or the nothing-th once I am through with you, meddling fool!”

Raziel sprang for the Soul Reaver even as Faustus’ outline blurred. His fingers closed around the hilt but before he could lift the mighty sword, a searing pain lanced through his chest. Looking down, he stared in horror at the foot of steel protruding from his stomach. Behind him the vampire laughed darkly and shoved the weapon in further. Raziel couldn’t keep from crying out. The very breath felt as though it was forced from his lungs. To his ears his own voice sounded weirdly echoed. The Soul Reaver shivered and moaned in his grip, seemingly sympathetic to his distress. The agony was immediate, but not so crippling as he might have thought. He still had control of his arms and his wits. In a fit of desperation, Raziel hauled the soul-stealing blade out of its resting place. Despite its length, the sword felt feather light in his grip, allowing him to hold it, even one handed. It shouldn’t have been possible for him, Raziel marveled, clearly the sword _was_ magic.

For a moment, they both stared in amazement at the flickering edge of the sinuous sword. Even Faustus had been conditioned to never touch the weapon, for he seemed as startled at Raziel’s presumption as Raziel himself was.

As if aware their awe, the Soul Reaver chose that moment to announce itself to the world at large. With barely a whisper of warning, it ignited in a baleful white blaze and screamed with a voice like a thousand tormented banshees. Faustus staggered back with a shout of horror, shielding his remaining eye from the light and abandoning his prey in favor of saving himself. Raziel turned to follow but found the room suddenly unfamiliar. Ceiling, floor and walls seemed confused, each bending and bleeding into the other. Windows mere footsteps away suddenly stretched to an impossible distance, and just as suddenly seemed far too close, as if reality was attempting to fold itself inside out. Faustus did his best to navigate the nightmare. Throwing himself forward and half falling, half crawling, he made his way to the balcony.

Raziel knew he was getting away but couldn’t seem to coordinate any will to move. The Reaver’s flame was indescribable, beautiful and terrible at the same time. He knew in his bones that picking up the blade had been a mistake. The very wrongness of it was what caused the weapon to shriek in dismay.

The Reaver was meant for Kain and only Kain. No other had any business trying to pick it up. He opened his mouth to apologize, to try and explain his need, but no words could come to him, his vocal chords felt frozen with the shock that rooted him to the floor. The sword twisted and writhed in his grip as if it wanted to escape him, and yet at the same time seemed to be draw forth his very will to live. The magical fire on his arms felt supremely cold. Numbness offset the burning pain in his chest where Faustus had abandoned his sword.

“Raziel!” Kain sat up from the bed as if stung, staring at him in visible alarm. “Raziel, drop the blade!”

“I can’t!” He choked out as he realized the truth of it, suddenly finding his voice. His fingers felt as though they were welded to the hilt. The cold fire would consume him just as it was meant to consume his master’s enemies. The weapon screamed defiance, its voice drowning out any attempt at rational thought. Through his elbow he could feel the blade’s fury and its desire to return to Kain.

Not normally aware of the emotions around him, Raziel stared at it in alarm. Somehow he knew, the sword wasn’t angry with _him_ but with Faustus, with the one who had threatened its bearer. It would use him, he realized. The blade was riffling through his thoughts even as it chilled his body, taking control of his muscles and bones, even the beating of his heart. It wanted Faustus, and it would use him to get to the man. Its metallic consciousness focused on the traitor’s rapidly fleeing form. Motivated by an impulse beyond his control, Raziel turned towards the balcony. His own injury and the daylight just beyond were irrelevant. The blood traitor would be made to pay.

“Raziel! No!” He felt a tremendous weight tackle him from behind, forcing him to the floor. The shock of the impact did what he could not. The soul eating blade jarred loose from his hand and skidded across the polished wood. Its fire extinguished the moment their connection was broken. He hadn’t the attention to notice, wailing in renewed agony as Faustus’ sword – momentarily forgotten in his chest- did him further damage still thanks to Kain’s weight on top of him.

The room stopped trying to fold in on itself at least, he realized as he panted on the floor. Finding the strength to open his eyes, he looked over at the now silent Reaver blade resting by the window, and marveled at what sorcery was contained within.

“What the hell just happened?!” Kain’s voice sounded loud, in the sudden quiet. Everything seemed so much louder. He swore he could hear his sire’s alarmed heartbeat as the vampire urgently shifted off of him to better examine his injury. The repetitive flap of enormous wings could only be Janos circling outside. He tried to focus on his sire’s question but found it hard to form words to respond. “Hush, child. Lay still, before you tear yourself completely in two.”

Raziel wanted to apologize, his overactive senses allowing him to feel Kain’s worry and distress. The sword came out of him with an unpleasantly wet sound, and was cast aside without a glance to join the Reaver on the floor. “Vorador!” Kain roared towards the direction of the open door. “Vorador, I need you! Now!”

His master’s enormous hands grabbed at the edges of his wound pulling it closed with gentle claws. The old vampire muttered arcane words as blood flowed over his wrists and tickled down Raziel’s side. He blinked in confusion, welcome numbness replacing the pain again. Closing his eyes, he was more than ready to obey the silent command as Kain bid him sleep. Sleep was what he craved. His sire was alive and awake, he could rest knowing that and leave the rest to others better suited.

* * * * *
K A I N

Kain cursed the alarmingly large pool of blood forming under his fledgling’s torn body and fought to keep calm despite the horrifying awakening he had just had. Why the idiot child had gotten into his room when he was napping, and why the fledgling had thought to grab for the Reaver was a mystery in need of solving. All these were trivial in the face of the massive abdominal wound the vampire was sporting. And then there was the smell. Kain labored to halt the worst of the bleeding still trying to piece together the chaos, when the shutters were flung back with a bang, Janos calling his name urgently from outside.

“Careful you damn fool, there’s a fledgling in here!” He barked, leaning forward to shield Raziel as best he could from any inadvertent contact with sunlight. Up to his elbows in the fledgling’s vital fluids, he was not in the mood to tolerate the ancient’s well meant interference.

“It’s alright, the day is quite overcast.” Janos squeezed through the glass doorway looking agitated, “I heard the Reaver, Kain. What happ-” Finally noting the calamity in progress, the blue skinned vampire swore in an ancient tongue and knelt next to the wounded fledgling, paying no mind to the blood puddling on the woodwork. “Raziel!? What on earth have you done?”

Kain snarled at the accusation. “What have _I_ done? I have no damned idea! I awoke to the Reaver screaming murder, and found this damn fool had picked it up.”

“He wouldn’t! He is no traitor! There must have been a reason.” Janos’ magic was superior to his own, especially with his wits badly rattled. Finding himself no longer needed, he sat back and tried to take stock of the situation.

“I think he was attempting to defend himself.” The air was giving him the mother of all headaches. Kain shook himself, finding the lingering torpor unsettling. “God what is this stench?!” Seeing that the clouds were as thick as the ancient said, he dared to open the remaining shutters and windows, venting the entire suite out onto the balcony. “It smells like a crypt’s worth of rotted flora in here.”

“Helena’s Marigold.” Janos hissed mysteriously, not looking up from his work. “The child needs blood to replace that which he’s lost. Do you have a jug handy?”

“I don’t make a habit of eating in bed.” He looked askance at the old man. “Where the hell is Vorador?!”

“Here.” The green vampire strode into the room, holding a bloody rag. “Sorry for the- dear god is that Raziel?!”

“We need blood, fresh, at least two jugs.” Kain overruled the repetitive strain of conversation. “I’ll explain when you get back.” All but pushing the startled vampire out of the room, he knelt next to his comatose child, only slightly relieved to find that Janos’ skills had mended the life threatening aspects of the wound. “I would give you mine, boy, if I thought it would help,” he murmured, brushing a lock of damp hair away from the fledgling’s clammy skin.

“Too strong.” Janos confirmed quietly. “Maybe in a day or so, once he has recovered a little, but I would recommend something less occult for the moment.”

He nodded quietly and stood again, too anxious to remain in one place for long. The fresh air was doing wonders for his head, and in looking around, he found ample evidence now that his frantic worry had abated. “How did you get in, Janos? Did you break the shutter?”

“It was already open.” The blue skinned ancient followed his gaze now that his initial task was complete. Raziel’s head was pillowed in lap, but he shifted a wing to get a better look. “It wasn’t you?”

“No.” Crouching, Kain picked up a piece of broken glass and sniffed it gingerly. “Nothing there… but this is how they got in.”

“They?” Janos frowned. “Then this wasn’t your doing?” He gestured weakly down at Raziel’s sleeping form.

“Why in the seven hells would I disembowel my firstborn?!” Kain snarled, “Do you honestly think me that much of a lunatic?”

“I don’t know what to think, Scion! I heard the Reaver cry out! I came here and found the boy! What other possibility was I supposed to hypothesize?”

Vorador returned just in time to find them both hissing at each other, and hissed himself to get their attention. “Before we fall upon one another like rabid foxes… May I first administer this to the child?”

Kain turned back to the window, fighting for rationality while Janos claimed the first ewer and continued his nursing. His eyes swept the usually unremarkable flagstones, and noted the bloody smear on the railing, the extinguished lamp, and the Soul Reaver, laying forlornly where it had been forgotten. He cursed himself and scooped it up, sliding it home into the sheath on his back. Kain felt better almost immediately, always feeling more in control of a situation with his weapon at his side. The idea that he had almost lost it, or more importantly, lost the soul meant to inhabit it, gave him chills. The temporal distortion had been very real. The stomach churning sensation, more so than the Reaver’s protests were what had dragged him from the depths of sleep. Some experiences one just didn’t forget over the years.

The Reaver felt no worse for the wear despite his momentary lapse in ownership. He tested its aura carefully with his mind, seeking any sign of the furious wakefulness it has exhibited a moment before. The boy’s touch had undoubtedly provided a catalyst for the soul trapped within the sinuous blade, he had felt for a moment not one Raziel’s presence, but two. The fledgling’s spirit all but lost in the wash of powerful emotions from his favored weapon. There was no sign of the upset now, however. Kain grimaced at the disjointed impressions he got from the sword, a sleeper awakened before its time, it was unwilling or unable to remain so for long. The petulant burst of irritation he felt from the blade at the disruption if its rest almost made him smile in spite of the nearly catastrophic turn of events. Muttering its displeasure, the sword seemed content to once more rest against his spine, its presence and steady warmth providing him something to ground himself against in the middle of the chaotic afternoon.

A second sword caught his eye as he turned back towards his disheveled room and it took him a moment to remember how he’d plucked it from his lieutenant’s side and cast it away mere moments before. Blood smeared nearly the entire length of the elegant weapon. He picked it up and sniffed delicately, recognizing the unmistakable tang of Raziel’s essence. The question was where had the weapon come from? And what kind of unmitigated bastard would want to impale his favorite child with it?

“Vorador.” He caught the vampire’s attention. “Is this one of yours?”

“No.” The nobleman didn’t even bother to take the weapon up to inspect it. “But I think I know whom it might have belonged to.” He pulled free the rag he had stored in his belt loop and offered it to Kain for inspection. “I got two claws into a fleet-footed shadow out on the grounds a moment ago, and came away with this. Hence why I was delayed. You might find it interesting.”

Taking the rag in hand, Kain turned it over a few times, trying to comprehend its nature. “A bit of sleeve from the look of it? Someone bled on it. Raziel perhaps.” He sniffed at the still damp residue, and the smell didn’t immediately register. A fleet footed vampire with gaudy taste, had trespassed the grounds at daylight to try and kill Raziel? It didn’t make any sense. And then, just as quickly, it did. Kain let his eyes drift again to the broken pane of glass, and the bloodied sword. He felt surprisingly calm at the shocking news, “Faustus.”

“Faustus.” Vorador growled in agreement. “I caught a whiff of him out in the garden, and went to investigate, but by the time I figured out where he was, he was already fleeing as if his tail was on fire. How that boy learned to move so fast is beyond me.”

“It was his gift.” Kain murmured, not feeling any antipathy towards his old friend for not being able to run the vampire down. Not many could. Even he would have had to resort to laying a trap, most likely. Faustus was fast, but criminally stupid. “Faustus was here. Faustus tried to kill me? What was that damn fool thinking of?!”

“Probably of revenge.”

“But that was decades ago!” Kain shook his head. “It’s a little belated to be bitching about the failed Saraphan crusade now, don’t you think?”

“I have no idea.” Vorador threw his hands in the air. “If you had heeded sane council and chosen apartments on the interior of the manor, rather than this drafty old store room, he would have had a harder time getting to you.”

“If Raziel wasn’t a damn insomniac, he would have succeeded.” Kain grimaced, swooping down on the broken lantern to investigate it closer. The sickeningly sweet smell still clung to the oil within. “What is this crap, and where did an idiot like Faustus come by it?”

The green furred vampire took the odd device, noting the odor with a grimace. “I’ve smelled this before, a long time ago. At the dawn of the first crusade, I think.”

“Helena’s Marigold.” Janos confirmed cryptically. “Or rather the essential oil from it. In ages past it was harvested by vampires as a remedy of sorts, a balm for the sick. But the Hylden learned to refine the process and create a distilled ester that was ten times as potent.”

“What is its purpose?” Kain frowned. “I know of no poison for vampires, and yet, this one clearly had an effect.”

“Peaceful sleep.” Janos stroked Raziel’s hair. “In small doses it allowed healers to lull the sick into a restful oblivion for a time. However in larger doses, it eventually suppresses life altogether. One under its influence would be slower, calmer, or simply comatose.”

“Hence why I didn’t awake until almost too late.” He retrieved the lamp from Vorador to look at it with new respect. “Remarkable. But if it has not existed for several centuries, how has it come to be here?”

“Someone must have rediscovered the formula.” Vorador rumbled thoughtfully. “If the Saraphan could decipher it from old Hylden records, someone else could have certainly decoded it from theirs. Or perhaps someone was in contact with the Hylden directly. It’s not impossible. The flower itself is common enough in the highlands.”

The green vampire snarled in sudden annoyance. “How many other ‘forgotten’ weapons will we stumble over, I wonder, in this idiotic war?” Turning to Kain he pointed angrily. “And you! Why didn’t you foresee this? Aren’t you supposed to be our oracle? How is it you of all people were taken unawares? Good god what would have happened if you had died? The Pillars would have fallen again!”

“Inconclusive.” Kain countered seething at the implied negligence. “For all we know they’d have chosen nine new guardians and gotten on with their existence quite happily. As for the rest, I am not infallible, you old fool. The fact that I can predict these things at all is a bloody miracle which you ought to be grateful for! No. I didn’t see this particular attack coming! I didn’t foresee that useless trio of fools out living their Saraphan allies, truth-be-told!”

Tossing the lamp into the corner of his room in irritation, Kain paced to vent his need to crush something. “I didn’t know they would actually manage to piece together a plot that would come close to touching me! And I certainly didn’t expect a damnably unlucky _child_ to attempt to thwart such an attack single-handed! So you can damn well accept my apology for not being bloody omnipotent!”

He pressed his fists against his forehead, claw on horn, forcing the rage back, saving it for when it could be better applied. Vorador did him the honor of holding his tongue for several minutes, perhaps aware of how close he was to getting a closer look at the Soul Reaver’s edge than he might wish. Even Janos seemed to be holding his breath, awaiting a pause in the argument.

“Kain,” The ancient tentatively broke the prolonged silence.

“Yes?” He drew a breath to steady himself, feeling a fool for letting emotion get the better of him after so many years of self-control.

“I believe Raziel is able to be safely moved now, and would probably do better in a bed for the near future. Given rest and quiet, he may very well wake tonight, tomorrow at the latest.”

“Thank you. Janos.” Kain relaxed his clenched fingers and turned around to examine the blue vampire’s handiwork. Raziel looked pale where not bloodstained, but generally whole. A nasty mess of a scar made a livid pattern across his mid-drift. He snarled in anger at the lingering reminder. Faustus would pay dearly for his impudence. He would make sure of it. Raziel nearly dead before he began had not been part of his plan.

He knelt in the congealing mess, torn between taking charge of his wounded offspring and hunting down Faustus like the animal he was. The vicious urge was not reasonable. In all likelihood the sprinter was half a league away by now, off to sulk somewhere not easily found. To hunt him would be to waste precious time, and probably expose himself to any other nasty traps that Sebastian had concocted along the way. He was not the flash-point tempered fool of his youth. It was time to act like it.

“Is the grey room still free at the end of the hall?” Kain gathered up the limp body of his fledgling from the floor, feeling the sticky texture of drying blood on his arms. “It had a built-in tub, as I recall.”

Vorador scratched his neck thoughtfully. “I can’t honestly remember. But if someone is there, we can easily move them.” Clearly feeling conciliatory, the vampire held the door open to assist with the transfer. “It has a sitting room as well, if you’re thinking of a semi-permanent relocation.”

“At least until we pull up the floor in here. I doubt this stain can be sanded out.” Kain looked around at the general havoc Faustus had wrought; promising himself that he would come back and collect those few things that mattered later, after Raziel was settled properly. “We can deal with it in a few hours. For now just nail the shutters shut and lock the door.”

“Aye. I’ll set some children to it later tonight.” Vorador lead the way past the sleeping fledglings in the hall and out into the main corridor of the building. Around a corner and tucked into an alcove was another gilt door. The old vampire went in ahead to light the candles.

“Perfect, it is untenanted. And the cistern is full, if you don’t mind chilled milk? I can drag up some decanters if oil would be easier for you, or better yet, you can wait a few hours and I’ll send up a woman to assist you.”

“I’ll manage with what’s there.” Kain murmured, rage slowly returning the longer he had to think about events.

Sensing that he was meant to depart, Vorador hesitated at the door. “I’m just going to go assist Janos with… well, I’ll have someone bring up a change of clothes for the child later this evening, if that’s soon enough?”

“That will be fine.”

“You’ll call if there’s anything urgent in the meantime?” The green vampire looked around for anything else that needed tending.

“Vorador. Send out a hunting party when the children wake up.” He formed the words slowly and carefully. Not wanting to alarm the vampire with a second explosion in so many minutes. “I don’t expect them to find the bastard. But I’d like to know where he came from, and where he ran to, if at all possible.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Of course, if he should be foolish enough to let himself get caught…”

“I’ll see that they understand the seriousness of his actions.”

“That will be all, old friend.” Kain murmured, not taking his eyes off of the fledgling still asleep in his arms.

He waited until he was alone before looking up, assessing the new set of rooms for items to solve his immediate needs. His memory hadn’t served him false. A tiled alcove in the bedroom sported a sizeable claw-footed tub of gothic design. The polished pewter glowed with reflected candlelight. Attached to the tub through a clever network of pipes, was a large tank in the room above, filled by some long suffering member of the household with liquid appropriate for bathing in. Apparently the room had been prepared for someone in the near future, as milk was a desirable commodity, but tended to spoil quickly if unused.

He peered over the lip of the tub to make sure that the drain was stoppered and then gently lowered the comatose fledgling in. Actually looking at the vampire’s clothing for the first time, Kain found Raziel was dressed in his regular trousers and cuffed shirt as opposed to the loose tunic he wore when sleeping. Kain pondered the mystery as he pried the blood stiffened cloth off of the vampire. Either the child had been roving in his usual manner and observed Faustus on the grounds, or had been otherwise taken by surprise. His own clothing amounted to little other than the pair of pants he had fallen into bed with. Neither of them would have a stitch worth salvaging by nightfall it seemed. His clothes were stained with Raziel’s blood from knee to cuff. Raziel’s shirt was shredded to almost rags thanks to his encounter with Faustus.

The various unsalvageable bits of fabric were easily collected in a bucket meant for the hearth. Kain unapologetically tore out some clean rags from the remains of his clothes to act as crude washcloths. There was no sense spoiling Vorador’s toweling needlessly. He pulled the chain to open the sluice above and used the initial torrent released to scrub off his arms and shins while waiting for the tub to fill a little. The fluid rapidly turning pink as it spilled over Raziel’s limp body.

Finishing with his own rough scrub down, Kain proceeded far more gently with his second chore. Even working quickly, he felt Raziel begin to shiver from the prolonged soak. Draining the fouled bath, he let the tub fill again to rinse off what was left and then hauled the vampire out to towel him dry. Finally clean, Raziel was tucked into the large bed, and Kain was left little to do but watch him sleep.

It didn’t make for a pleasant vigil. Images of what had very nearly come to pass danced in his head. The look on Raziel’s face as he held a loft the living Reaver had nearly stopped him cold. If the blade had consumed him, then it would have all been over. No Raziel to become a vampire lord in this timeline, meant no Raziel to be drawn back in to the past. No Raziel to aid him against the Dark Entity. No Raziel to unravel the mystery of Moebius’ paradox. No Raziel meant no heart to call his own. Kain grimaced, rubbing his chest beneath the old scar. That heart had gotten quite a workout since his awakening.

He hadn’t experienced such an unpleasant shock in over a century. Not really since he had restored Nosgoth. If surprises like this were his reward for not murdering Sebastian and his lot when given the chance, he had to concede Vorador was right. He had been a short-sighted fool, and now had to reap the ill harvest sown. Kain reached out and combed a claw through Raziel’s damp hair. “I think you’ve proven your greatness with remarkable flair today, child.” The vampire shifted slightly in his sleep, too exhausted to do more. He repeated the gesture, marveling at how horrifyingly human, and frail, the fledgling looked. “Not that I had any doubt, of course.”

Lingering adrenaline would not allow him to curl up next to Raziel as he half wished to. Not even his favorite lieutenant could calm his itch to strangle Faustus until dead. Kain stood, wrapping a stained towel around himself out of consideration for any early rising vampires patrolling the mansion, and set off for his rooms. With any luck he could salvage what few possessions he had before Vorador’s mob of children descended to investigate and gossip over the ruins.

*****