I am somewhat hesitant to post yet another vampire story. Please be kind. More will be coming soon. Be sure to read it in order. I hope you enjoy.
Part I
Dark buildings stood like tombs in the dim light of cooling, flickering torches. The sky was a shroud of heavy shades of black, red, blue, shifting uneasily, empty of anything but the strands of the great nightweb. Cobblestones lined the path, uneven, missing in some places or worn and cracked in others. On the dimly lit street a man walked at a steady pace, cloaked. Little wind blew in the city of Hereot, yet a damp cold clung to it, a morbid, lazy cold that seemed tolerable at first but would slowly sink deeper, nestle in and burn into your bones like a quiet acid. It was kept that way by the city’s elder, Cren Methra.
Breathing heavily, the man was careful not to appear nervous. There was no hiding his nature, but behaving like prey anywhere in the nation was unwise. In Hereot, that was especially true. Sigurd was lucky to have been in Azgild, where his people were treated as honored servants. Hereot was not as bad as Acheron, where Minos Methra ruled humans like cattle, but it only shared Azgild’s laws, not its magnanimity. If no one in power was looking, Hereotans could be as sadistic as any Acheronian.
More than other mortals, Sigurd was fairly well protected. He was marked by Dren Methra himself, and wielded a necklace made by Tiresias, the greatest wizard in the blood-god kingdom. Still, he was taking a risk in wandering Hereot’s streets alone. The ambassador was relieved when he reached Destrin’s Inn, the nicest human tavern in Hereot. Passing an alley, he felt strong hands clamp over his mouth and chest and drag him into the shadows, moments before reaching the tavern door.
“Tasty little treat, wandering the streets,” hissed a gloating voice. “State your business quickly, without crying out, or I will drain you dry.”
Putting just a touch of authoritative outrage into his voice, Sigurd answered in a harsh whisper, “I am marked of Dren Methra, here on important business of state. You would be wise to remember the laws of your elder, Hereotan.”
“I am not a Hereotan.” The big man chuckled as a necklace much like Sigurd’s began to radiate purple light. There stood Atnos Kree, the most dangerous mortal in the nation, ambassador of Elysia and marked of Othinn Methra.
“You damned fool,” curse Sigurd, wincing at his own raised voice. He repeated himself more quietly. “You damned fool. I nearly soiled myself. What if I activated my etherstone? One of us could have gotten hurt.”
Atnos raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t have been me, Siggy. Come on, let’s go inside.”
Sighing, the official followed his technical superior into the tavern. They checked in and went to their room, closing the door fast and checking closets, windows and cabinets for anything suspicious before turning to each other.
“So, what have you learned?” asked Atnos Kree, feigning interest.
“Don’t pretend to care, Atnos. I know you harbor no real love or allegiance to your kingdom. Even Othinn Methra knows it. I don’t know how a blasphemer like you gets to surpass hundreds of actually devoted worshippers of Valk Hahwra.”
Atnos grinned mirthlessly. “Because they know my allegiance to our kind is as empty as my allegiance to theirs. Why pretend to not hate the ones with power over you? My honest loathing gets me as much power in this damned world as your blind worship.”
“They are our gods,” replied Sigurd. There was no debate in his voice. Neither thought they would sway the other in their thoughts.
“I know what they are, Sigurd. Answer my question.”
“Apparently the council of Hereot has deemed Cren Methra unfit for the rule of the city. They want him to resign.”
Atnos appeared sincerely surprised. “Why?”
Sigurd shrugged. “They feel he is not the sort of spiritual leader he once was. They are tired of his attempts to impose Azgildian laws. Most of the council members are directly or indirectly descendant of Minos, and his philosophies have grown more popular ever since the failed rebellion in the industrial quarter.”
“No council has the power to supplant an elder without either unanimous approval from the other elders, or an agreement from the Ancient himself. And, with the exception of Gauntra, every city whose elder was demoted was absorbed into the neighboring city. It sounds like Minos is trying to expand his grip,” reasoned the big man.
“That’s what I thought, until I learned who the leader is they want to make elder. His name is Lord Osiris. He is related equally to Minos and Cren, but also is the last heir of an elder who ruled over a city absorbed by Hereot. That makes Lord Osiris a direct heir of the Ancient.”
“He aligns with Minosian politics?”
“Yes and no. He wouldn’t enforce or allow the kind of open torture of humans that goes on in Acheron, nor would he create his own Arena. But laws of distinctly Azgildian flavor would be repeated under his rule. No temperance on bloodletting, no rules about private abuse.”
Atnos Kree nodded. “Sounds lovely.”
Sigurd frowned. “Just because this isn’t directly affecting you now doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care, Atnos. This will drastically realign the entire kingdom. Right now, four of the five cities are aligned as conservative humanist, giving our people rights as at least secondary citizens, in some cases almost equals to the vampires. Coerced servitude statistically weakens human devotion to Valk Hahwra, and . . .”
“Oh, shut up, Siggy. I know, I know. What you don’t get is, it doesn’t matter. It’s a mask on the same thing. Either they are stronger than us and treat us like dirt, or they are stronger than us and treat us like important dirt. I don’t give a damn about how many vampires respect human rights. The idea of it is a joke. Their nature is against human rights, whatever pretty words they dress it up as. Any power they give us is a charade to keep us quiet and help us forget the fact that we are their food.”
The other man sighed. “Look, Atnos, I know we have radical ideological differences. But the bottom line is Osiris is not a kind vampire. With him in power, we, our people, will be treated worse. If the council succeeds here, it could awaken the councils in Azgild, Gauntra and even Elysia . . .”
“And what can two humans do about it? Should we go and whine before the council? Should we kill Osiris? Nothing changes the fact that vampires choose what happens to humans. That is the meaningless world we live in, Sigurd.”
“Submitting to the highest power is not meaningless,” replied Sigurd quietly.
“Not, but the vampires are not the highest power. They’re just higher than us.” He stood. “If that’s the best news you have for me, I am going to get in bed. There’s nothing else we can do here without consulting our superiors.”
“But Atnos—“
The big man swiveled his dark, glittering eyes to the other’s, his face as chilling as any vampire’s. “We’re done, Sigurd. That is an order.”
The politician sighed and nodded, and got into his own bed as well.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tiresias flipped the fold of his cape aside and gazed at the soldier, Guthrun. “What news do you bring for your elder?”
The general bowed. “Sir, we have again driven back the rebel humans. We hope to dislodge their camp from the border of the nightweb within the week.”
“Were there any casualties?”
“One of my front soldiers was taken down. All of the injuries were minor, aside from that. We are tired of these border wars, sir. If Othinn Methra gives the word, my troops are willing—“
“No,” the wizard snapped, his eyes flashing yellow. His patience was growing thin with war-mongers requesting conquest outside of the nation. “We stay within the sanctity of the nightweb, general. It is not our place to venture into the sun-stained lands. I want the rebels killed, all of them. None are to escape; retreat is not an option.”
The soldier bowed again. “Yes, sir.”
Tiresias watched the vampire return to his camp and sighed wearily. He was sick of the trickle of skirmishes called the border wars that had plagued the nation for hundreds of years. The soldiers were sick of it too, of course, but for different reasons than him. They wanted more. Low in the evolution of the species, vampire warriors would take any bloodshed they could get. They had no taste for the more refined pleasures of vampirism. Tiresias viewed humans as honored servants, creatures to be respected for their contributions, willing or not, to the cause of the blood-gods. Calloused slaughter, impious indulgence in blood for its own sake was a disgusting, Minosian practice for which the wizard had little patience.
He turned from the war camp and drew on his magic, his tall, thin frame dissolving into wispy ropes of mist, rising into the darkness of the nation’s eternal night. On air currents he drifted, invisible to any who did not look with enchanted eyes. In this form his consciousness would spread for miles, though it was against vampire law to spy in such a way outside of the city of his jurisdiction. Not that many would question him. He was, after all, the most feared and respected wizard in the blood-kingdom.
He noted a carriage passing the bridge from Hereot into Azgild. He knew who its passengers were. In a funnel of transparent mist he spiraled down and materialized inside. Sigurd and Atnos Kree regarded him without surprise.
“O great and powerful wizard, thank you for gracing our lungs with your smoky presence,” genuflected Atnos with unabashed sarcasm.
Tiresias bowed his head in pretended ignorance of the human’s sardonic tone. “My pleasure, it is, to provide a perfume to mask your natural scent.”
Sigurd watched the exchange with resigned disgust, then said with more appropriate respect, “Master, thank you for joining us.”
Tiresias grinned. “Always the serious one, Siggy. While I don’t recommend your companion’s flippancy, you might do well to relax a bit. Life is short, the saying goes.”
“Says the immortal,” snorted Atnos Kree.
Tiresias acquiesced with a smile. “How did your visit to Hereot go?”
“There is a plot afoot to remove Cren Methra from his place as elder. My whole world has been thrown askew by this startling development,” lamented Atnos Kree, dramatically pressing the back of his huge hand against his forhead.
Tiresias lifted his eyebrows and looked to Sigurd. “Is this true? Who is the council favoring as replacement?”
The more serious politician nodded. “Yes, Lord Osiris.”
The wizard grimaced. A qualified vampire, but not a principled one. Cren Methra founded Hereot himself, and neither Dren nor Othinn will approve his displacement.”
“What about the Ancient?” Sigurd’s voice was worried.
Tiresias smiled. “The Ancientloves his children. He would not see Cren displaced. Minos supports the movement, I imagine.”
“I’ve heard no official statement from Acheron, but I assume he does. Lord Osiris’s Minosian alignment is gaining popularity, and I worry that even without word from the other elders Hereot’s allegiance is already shifting.”
“A big step in the wrong direction,” observed the wizard.
“I am worried that Cren Methra plans in continuing his service at the border wars next cycle,” admitted Sigurd.
“No reason to worry,” assured the wizard. “No rogue human is a threat for an elder Methra.”
“It’s not humans that worry me.”
Tiresias looked at the human, and his eyes widened. He nodded. “You fear a coup. A battlefield is just the place for some extremist to arrange an accident.”
“Accidents don’t befall elders easily,” noted Atnos dryly.
“Still, we can’t take too many precautions, especially if Osiris is riling Hereot’s liberals the way Sigurd believes.”
“Hey, nothing wrong with liberalism,” said Atnos with a grin.
Sigurd and Tiresias shared eye-rolling glances.
“Well, I think it would be good to give Cren Methra some added insurance. When his cycle comes around, I think Dren and Othinn will be bolstering his ranks with their best human and vampire resources, including their skilled ambassadors,” said Tiresias slyly.
That brought a gleam to Atnos Kree’s dark eyes, though he replied with a sardonic, “How nice of you to make these choices for our masters.”
The wizard’s grin showed his sharp, glittering fangs. “I merely anticipate their sagacious decisions.”
Kree’s flippant reply was lost on the nebulous web of mists drifting out the window, that had moments ago been Tiresias.
