BOOK II EPILOGUE
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Dietrich awoke to three things, the sound of running water, the taste of fresh blood, and incredible pain. Slowly opening his eyes, Dietrich groaned and tried to understand where he was and what was happening. Memories of the Ball and his defeat provoked more groans from him; he’d failed again and wasn’t even spared humiliation in death.
The source of Dietrich’s pain became clear as he took in his surroundings; he was suspended over a deep pit by strong chains. Chains that wrapped around him, and pierced through him. His arms, legs, and guts were woven with dwarven steel, trapping him like a fly in a torture spider’s web. Pulling free of the chains would mean ripping himself apart. He couldn’t even pull the bindings out of their mountings. Hanging in the air, he lacked any leverage or grip to use his prodigious strength. That is, if he could even access his power, he was pathetically low on blood, and layers of binding spells dulled his magic.
The pit he hung above was like some ancient Jotunn well. Extending both above and below him a great distance. The only entrance was a single archway carved into the pit’s side, leading out onto a slight lip of rock close to where he hung. Water flowed over the archway creating a waterfall curtain that poured off the small promontory into the shaft below. Standing on the rocky outcropping were two familiar figures. Argentari and the other masked man from the crossroads, except he was no longer hiding his face.
A low, pained hiss escaped Dietrich, and he growled. “Why do I still live?”
Argentari let out a bitter snort. “Because we thought you might make a good hostage.”
Another person would have laughed at the bleak absurdity; Dietrich just hung his head in exhaustion. Hostage exchanges weren’t uncommon between the League and Duchies. They were an intersection of sentimentality and practicality both empires shared. It took roughly fifty years for a Vampire to go from being an intelligent monster to something truly dangerous. Each noble of the Duchies represented a serious investment of resources and time. It wasn't practical to let centuries of experience and power be lost when they could be traded for over-bred mortals.
As a Scarlet Knight of a hundred and fifty years undead, Dietrich should have been a prime candidate for such an exchange. The Archduke repaid loyalty, as did most truly dangerous vampire lords. But Dietrich was dishonored; he’d been captured trying and failing to prove himself. His value as a hostage was middling; there would be no exchange.
Bearing his teeth, showing his missing fang, Dietrich growled. “You won’t get anything of value for me. Just take my head and let us be done with this.”
Argentari laughed. “Oh, you are quite wrong, Sir Dietrich. I just received a generous offer for your safe return.”
Eyes wide with shock, Dietrich tried to understand why. The other Priest in the prison, an old man with facial hair and hard eyes, spoke. “They want you back to execute you as a traitor.”
It took Dietrich several seconds to comprehend what had just been said. “I… I am no traitor. I failed my duty but did not break my oaths!”
The old man shrugged. “Then you are a fool manipulated by a traitor.”
Bridling at that, Dietrich pulled at his restraints, ignoring the terrible pain. “What lies have you mortals spread! What have you done!”
The old priest didn’t even blink at the Scarlet Knight’s fury. “We’ve done nothing. At first, we thought the Duchies were simply trying to distance themselves from the mess you and Scapin created. But we dug deeper and found hints of something more. Tell me, did Scapin ever say where he got samples of the Alukah’s blood? ”
Jaw clenching and unclenching, Dietrich tried to understand what they were saying. “Are you saying Scapin stole the blood?”
Argentari chuckled mirthlessly. “If my spies have it right, an Ashen Agent stole something of incredible value from the Fifth Eternal Legion, assassinating its General in the process. This assassin supposedly wanted to defect to the Holy League and is hunted as a traitor.”
Dietrich let a low groan escape him. “They think I joined him. They think I shirked my duty and betrayed the Archduke.”
Nodding, Argentari added. “It seems your friend Scapin intended to steal the Alukah for himself and leave you to take the blame.”
Confused and outraged, Dietrich snarled. “Why! Why did he do this!”
The old priest said, “We thought simple greed at first. An Ashborn is already a rare and dangerous monster. With the power of the Alukah, Scapin could grow into a legitimate rival of Drakovich. So he sends both League and Duchies into war with each other, distracting both empires while he gets stronger.”
Red eyes narrowing, Dietrich asked. “At first?”
Argentari nodded at his fellow priest. “I would have assumed the base motive, but Morri here convinced me otherwise.”
The priest, Morri, glanced at his companion with the barest flicker of annoyance before saying. “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. The Tenth Temple monitors relics and powers that can extend life or create powerful undead. In the last century, nearly a dozen have disappeared under disturbing circumstances. Someone or something is collecting power and doing a good job deflecting suspicion. Taking the treasure and leaving evidence pointing at a familiar enemy. Just like what Scapin attempted here.”
Glancing around the pit prison, Dietrich whispered. “Why are you telling me this?”
Morri looked to Argentari. “We wanted to know if you were part of this conspiracy. If you were, then we could start extracting secrets from you.”
The barest hint of what could have been fear slithered through Dietrich. He was in a place of power, a prisoner to two beings whose power and purpose were anathema to him. If they wanted to crack open his mind and soul, they could. “Why do you think I’m not allied with Scapin?”
Argentari suppressed a snort. “Because I’ve spent the last few weeks putting layers of lie-detecting spells on you. The only way you could be fooling us is if someone had altered your mind and memory. Considering you aren’t psychotic, at least not more so than your average Vampire, I believe you aren’t a traitor to your nation, just a fool.”
The last scraps of Dietrich’s pride tried to rise to the bait, but they couldn’t manage. He’d been beaten, tricked, humiliated, and dishonored. Dietrich had lost everything. Hanging his head, the broken knight rasped, “Send me to the Duchies; let me face my fate.”
Morri sighed in annoyance. “No, you don’t get to fall on your sword. Even if you weren’t aware of Scapin’s plan and nature, we still have use for you.”
A little of Dietrich’s steel returned to him. “I won’t turn Scapin’s lies into truth. You will get nothing from me.”
Nodding, Morri said. “We probably wouldn’t; Scarlet Knights tend to go insane before torture or memory probing gathers anything useful.”
The way the old priest talked made Dietrich think he knew this from personal experience. “Then what do you want of me if you aren’t going to try and pull secrets from me?”
“We don’t have adamant proof of this conspiracy, just reasonable suspicions. When we get proof, we want you to deliver it to Drakovich.” Morri answered.
Shocked, Dietrich balked. “Why would you do that? Why would you share information like that with an enemy?”
Argentari gave Dietrich an annoyed look. “Because we aren’t the only ones who’ve lost relics. Your master may be a bloodthirsty monster, but he’s not stupid. Many of the worst artifacts of undeath not in the Tenth Temple’s possession are in the Duchies, where they are kept safe and contained. Stopping this third party from gaining those relics and starting a war in the process seems like a good idea.”
Brooding on this, Dietrich asked. “Until you find this proof, what of me?”
Morri went over to the small waterfall and touched it, freezing a piece of the waterfall into a sharp stalactite. He gripped it like a lance and aimed the blade at Dietrich’s heart. “Until then, you sleep.”
Driving the sharpened ice forward, Morri pierced Dietrich’s heart and forced him into torpor.
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:: Somewhere in Aenea ::
The rolling hills and plains of central Aenea were littered with history. Ruins and relics of multiple civilizations filled the land. A testament to mortal ingenuity and time’s eternal march. Some of these great remnants formed the heart of cities or holy sites. The treasured inheritances of the current rulers of this land. Others were left to decay and be forgotten, becoming little more than a curiosity to any who stumbled upon them. Then, of course, some weren’t so much abandoned as fled. Avoided out of fear of whatever dark things nested there.
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In one of these old places, a tomb of a chieftain to a long-dead tribe, something foul stirred. Hidden beneath snow, dirt, and rock, the tomb had been built to hold the chieftain’s body and that of his descendants. Where generations would be laid to rest surrounded by the beautiful murals a score of artists had labored over. Now those murals and the remains they enshrined were gone, buried beneath ash. Ash filled every chamber and gallery of the tomb. Turning the ancient burial site into a mammoth midden heap containing naught but grey powder and flecks of burnt bone.
Now on the first new moon since the winter solstice, the ash started to move. Great slithering tendrils of soot crawled up the stairs of the tomb and reached the slab door sealing it shut. Pressing against the stone entrance, the soot pushed the huge rock a fraction of a finger length. Just enough for a stream of ash to dribble out of the tomb and into the surrounding frozen highlands. Freshly fallen snow was stained black as the ash pile grew. In the dark, barren night, deprived of moon and star, something was birthed from the ash.
Grey powder congealed into malformed flesh. It wasn’t a person or even a creature, but little more than thrashing meat. Boneless and formless, it twitched and grasped, looking for its missing pieces. The half-awake mind within the flesh started to process that something was wrong as it flailed uselessly in the falling snow. Where were its bones? It needed bones to function.
A crunch of footfalls alerted the flesh, and it wriggled toward the noise. The clatter of something hitting the ground excited it, and the flesh moved faster. After a few agonizing seconds of slug-like slithering, it found the prize, bones, human bones. The flesh started to dissolve back into ash and reform around the bones, rebuilding into a proper body. Becoming Scapin, or more accurately, Scapino.
Scapino blinked away ash and looked up at his savior. An unassuming woman with common features and simple clothes. A look of disgust showed on her face, having witnessed Scapino’s boneless plight.
Trying to remember how to speak, Scapino rasped. “Thank you, Columbina. The Alukah… she is stronger than we thought; she damaged me. Forcing me to abandon my bones and return to my nest.”
Columbina sniffed in displeasure. “Pantalone received your plea for help. I was nearby and decided having you in my debt was worth watching that little horror show.”
Bowing to her, Scapino acknowledged the debt. “I…I need to report to the others, but yes, you are right. I owe you for this.”
Looking over her comrade, Columbina frowned. “What did she do to you? I’ve never heard of a Vampire needing new bones.”
Touching his face, feeling the new structure and features, Scapino looked at Columbina. While none of the members of the Troupe would ever admit it to each other, there was a level of trust between them. “The Alukah can influence any being with her blood. She drained my ash body and severed my connection to the set of bones I was using. Forcing me to abandon ‘Scapin’ and reform here, without any bones to model a body around.”
Columbina made an indecipherable noise. “Well, you seem to have failed rather spectacularly, Scapino. Both Annoch and the Homunculus slipped through your grasp for a second time. I’m certain Magnifico will be interested in whatever excuses you have for him.”
A slight twitch of fear crossed Scapino’s face. The leader of his cabal was not a being to anger; none of them were. But Magnifico was as old as he was cruel; his displeasure would burn like a cremation fire.
Turning to leave, Columbina reached into her dress and pulled out a rusted athame. With a deft motion, she cut the air, and the world recoiled. Reality split, and multi-hued blood dribbled from her incision. Reaching out, Columbina pulled on both edges of her cut and widened it. Stepping into the wound, she disappeared from view. Hidden by undulating walls of pseudo-flesh.
Stepping forward, Scapino prepared to follow her into the Troupe’s parlor. As he did, one of his legs dragged behind him. Confused, Scapino looked down to see much of the flesh around the new limb had dissolved into ash. Shocked and concerned, he focused on the limb and the ash recollected around the leg. Entering the rift, Scapino felt a slight pang of worry. How much damage did the Alukah do to him?
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Isabelle floated in a lake of crimson, staring up at the moon while waiting for her guest to arrive. She’d called out to Natalie and hoped her student would answer soon. Possessing Natalie had drained Isabelle, and she’d only just reawakened and had little idea of how much time had passed. Thankfully Natalie had responded to her call, waylaying any fears some calamity had struck while she slept.
As she waited, Isabelle did what any self-respecting researcher would when left alone; she tried to solve a problem. The mystery of Cole’s enhanced strength and sense of smell was nagging at her. Isabelle thought she knew the mechanic behind it but was not completely certain.
Her attempts to build an ‘improved’ soul had been wildly and disturbingly successful. The evidence suggested Cole’s soul didn’t just repair severe damage like she intended. It improved itself using whatever material was available. The basic structure of Cole’s soul, its aetheric lattice, grew and evolved like a living creature. Something that excited and terrified Isabelle in equal parts.
This was not how souls were supposed to work. A person’s life could alter a soul to a degree, but not like this. The normal changes to a soul were like a body gaining larger muscles through exercise or, contrastingly, withering under some ailment. Circumstances and choices could alter the soul and even cripple it, but they couldn’t change the fundamental structure and nature of the soul. If the normal experience was like strengthening muscles, then Cole’s alterations were more like growing new limbs. Fascinating and unnerving in equal measures.
It was a painful reminder that Isabelle once played with arcane powers she was talented enough to manipulate but not knowledgeable enough to fully understand. Of course, when creating Cole, she had no doubts about her understanding. Back then, she’d been flushed with pride, and confident in her mastery. Death and other revelatory experiences stripped some of that arrogance from her.
Isabelle created something beyond her. An immortal creature capable of gaining strength and powers through death. Something capable of limitless suffering and near-infinite growth. Far surpassing her original goal and entering the territory of Gods. Then as if the universe needed further proof of her hubris, she fell in love with the creature. Letting withered emotions return and push her toward a foolish demise.
The mask of analytical scholar and magi started to fall away, and Isabelle let out a pained sigh. Tasting Cole’s blood and touching him through Natalie’s skin had been wonderful. She’d almost forgotten how warm he was, and even now, she wished to feel him again. The whole absurdity of this situation made Isabelle want to laugh and tear her hair out. Here she was, having surpassed both nature and divinity, now pining over Cole like a love-sick village girl.
Further proving the universe had a sense of humor, Natalie entered her death-dream then. With an annoyed sigh, Isabelle reshaped her mindscape so she sat in her familiar chair facing her student and rival.
Natalie raised an eyebrow at Isabelle’s weary expression. “You called me here; I don’t know what you are complaining about.”
Waiving off her discontent, Isabelle said, “I’ve been thinking about Cole’s evolution. I have no clear answers but a few ideas.”
Interested, Natalie called up her own chair, a carved thing of some emotional significance. “What can you tell me?”
Drumming her fingers, Isabelle explained. “Not much; I don’t think it's dangerous to him, at the very least. His aetheric lattice is expanding and adapting to-”
Seeing the blank look on Natalie’s face, the old vampire rolled her eyes. “His doll is growing bigger and better carved every time it's smashed.”
Natalie seemed torn between annoyance and understanding. She clearly remembered the metaphor Isabelle had used in a previous meeting. “Well… that’s good to hear. Something happened recently, and Cole wanted you to know.”
Isabelle listened as Natalie described the strange dreams her darling was having. She remembered the ash wastes of Cole’s internal world and her own meeting with a god there. As Natalie described Cole’s vision of the dead man, she winced. This was rapidly becoming more complicated than she had hoped.
Once Natalie finished, she waited expectantly for Isabelle to speak. After a few long moments picking her words, she did. “Death is messy, the body ceases functioning, and the soul strains against its broken container. In that time, before a soul truly passes on it… it sheds pieces of itself. Usually, just flickers of soul stuff, but sometimes larger chunks are knocked loose. I fear Cole’s unique nature makes him sensitive to such spiritual debris.”
Both vampires looked at each other, Isabelle wasn’t telling the full truth, and Natalie knew it. When it became clear Isabelle had no desire to share more, Natalie clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Is that why you summoned me? To give cryptic hints about Cole’s immortality?”
Isabelle sighed; she was indeed being intentionally vague and cryptic, but not without reason. Cole would not react well to the full truth, and the more people who knew it, the worse it would be for him. It was better the secrets of the Homunculus Knight stayed with her, lest the information spread into dangerous hands. A canny Magi could take her discoveries and use them even less wisely than she had. So Isabelle would play the insufferable genius and protect Cole and Natalie from the truth and whoever might covet it.
“No, I asked you here to discuss your offer, to help me move on.” was Isabelle’s answer, enjoying the look of shock on Natalie’s face.
Before any assumptions could be made, Isabelle said, “I don’t want to truly die, but I acknowledge my current existence isn’t… tenable. Existing in isolation without a body is wearing on me. You are decades away from the power required to create me a body, and I fear what my mind might be like by then.”
Taking a pointless breath, Isabelle made her proposal. “I don’t want to die, but I’d rather go peacefully than decay away. At the same time, I have things I still need to do. I refuse to let my knowledge die with me. Many of my discoveries could revolutionize the world in the right hands. And… I want a little time with Cole, just enough to love him a little more and say goodbye if I need to.”
Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, Natalie asked. “What do you want, Isabelle?”
Pushing down the flair of anger that suddenly boiled within her, Isabelle said. “Twelve days, I want twelve days out of each year, one for each month. Days you give me when you choose, days you will sleep inside your mind and let me experience the living world.”
Jaw tightening, Natalie opened her mouth to protest, but Isabelle reached out to her with real desperation. “You don’t have to decide now; I just wanted to offer this compromise. I… I am asking this favor of you as a friend. Please, just consider it.”
Natalie swallowed nervously and looked at Isabelle for a long time. Then in a half-whisper, she said. “I… I will consider it.” then, with a ripple of thought, she exited the shared dream.
Letting herself relax in her chair, Isabelle smiled. A good plan had the most ways to win and the fewest ways to lose. By that standard, her little compromise was a very good plan.