DRAGOR’S DECISION
Xavier returned to his office, a parade of First Army Officers marching in rows of two in front of the doors, blocking entry to and apparently from the room.
He did not break stride as he neared his office door, causing the many Vampires to stiffen upon eyeing him and move hastily to leave a clear path of marble tile that lead straight to the large doors. Walking down this path, Xavier shook his head at the welcome he was presented with. Dragor was always one for theatrics, he thought, grinning.
He entered, almost taken aback at the familiar state of the office. Nothing had changed. As long as it was wide, the office was lit with faintly glowing torches that spanned the room every other foot. The dim orange glow threw relief over the dark furniture, and his desk, which remained to the left of the door facing the rest of the room, was just as black and paper-lined as ever.
He closed the door behind him, cutting off the view the First Army Officers had into the beautifully designed room. Regarding it all as rather funny, Xavier marveled at the fact that he was barely here and yet Dracula saw to it that he had the utmost decorations fit for his favorite Vampire: There were green curtains that covered the large, arching windows, blocking the otherwise-splendid view of the large City that lay before the mansion. And, as usual, he thought with a smile, there was the gigantic portrait the Great Vampire had painted himself, which showed a vast valley and Xavier’s stallion in the center, grazing on the grass therein, that sat high on a wall, above the small bookshelf kept near one of the corners.
As he walked further into the room, he noticed three doors had been added, most likely leading to Victor, Lillith, and Damion’s offices, settled with magic, for the other Order members’ rooms were spread far apart within the mansion. Settling himself in a chair placed behind a wooden table, he undid his cloak and placed it on the back of his chair. He had little time to think quietly at all, for the deep voice of Dragor Descant reached his ears, sounding hollow from the amount of space in between them.
“Xavier, you are very hard to keep up with. It appears Dracula kept you the longest out of all the members. I wished to finish our little discussion we had earlier. You recall the one about Eleanor.”
Xavier glanced up from the table to see the ferocious-looking Vampire walking toward him. Apparently he had been sitting in a chair in the corner watching him this whole time. “Yes, I recall,” he responded, trying to keep the slight annoyance he felt out of his voice. He really did desire the quiet time necessary to think on all the pressing matters that surrounded him now.
Dragor, seemingly not taking the time to realize any of this, took a seat opposite him, his intense gaze never leaving Xavier’s face. Folding his large hands together, he smiled. It was a most handsome smile, one that looked incredibly misplaced upon the Vampire’s face: His pale skin was slightly wrinkled due to being turned at an old age, and his gray-brown hair swirled behind his head in a short frenzy of maddened messiness. If one were not careful to take note of the gleaming white fangs hidden inside Dragor’s mouth, one would assume he were a Lycan in human form.
“The Dark World has not been the same since you were ordered to the surface with the others,” his voice husky and unusually low.
Xavier eyed him. “I’m sure it’s been just fine, Dragor. I am quite sure my absence is not a problem with your ability.”
“Perhaps. But my ability to fight against the Elves when they attacked was most subdued,” he countered, glaring at him.
Xavier cleared his throat. “I was not present when that happened.”
“I know,” Dragor said, his eyes shining in the light of the candle that sat in front of him.
Shifting in his seat, Xavier said, as the question rose to his own mind, “If you know this, Dragor, then why are you mentioning it to me?”
“Because we both know the Vampire that was supposedly the most successful holding the Elves back was not the only one doing so.”
“Funny, I was not aware of this,” he said, fighting to keep the boredom out of his voice. How his mind swam with straining visions of Eleanor Black…a desperate Dracula.
Dragor cracked his neck. “Oh, you wouldn’t have been.” His features took on a more dangerous glow as he said, “Your First Seat...has anyone told you that he attacked myself and several others in the midst of battle against the Elves?”
Xavier sat up straighter now, taking in the fierce expression Dragor held upon his face. “He what?”
“You’ve heard correctly. He took his sword and placed it right here—” he tapped the right side of his chest. “I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but darkness…an eclipse of the light in his eyes. The blade dug so deep, it cut through my shoulder, breaking the bone. My sword dropped from my grip, my arm went limp, splashing blood everywhere. Of course, the City was already littered with the blood and bodies of dead Elves that the others didn’t really seem to notice what had taken place. Damion—ever the con artist—ran to Armand, who had just destroyed several Elves, and called him over to me—I had sunk to my knees from shock—and told him that I suffered a serious injury from an Elf and had to be taken into care immediately.”
“...Why are you telling me this now, Dragor?”
“You have the power to destroy him.”
He blinked. “Destroy?”
“Destroy his career in the Vampire Order, break his ties with Dracula, and let the truth of that event be known to all,” his voice rising as he spoke.
Xavier narrowed his eyes at the First Captain. He was never known for making up such fantastic stories, but it was true he loathed Damion and wished for his immediate removal from the Order. To ask him of this now... “Dragor, if Damion did this to you—”
“And others.”
“And others, yes, if he did this to you and others, why hasn’t anyone else come to me about it? And for that matter, why haven’t you told Dracula, told anyone?”
A scornful look graced Dragor’s face then. “Do you think Dracula would believe that the First Seat to Xavier Delacroix, Damion Nicodemeus, purposefully attacked myself and several other Officers? You don’t even believe it yourself.”
Xavier flexed his jaw at this statement. While it was true he didn’t completely believe that Damion would attack another Vampire, he still had to take in to account that Damion did indeed attack him. The sting of the Vampire’s words remained fresh in his mind: “...heir to the throne...” What did any of it matter if Eleanor lived?
Shaking away the oncoming thoughts regarding Damion’s words, Eleanor’s demands, Xavier spoke up, bringing himself to the present conversation and the well-known Vampire at hand. “He could be persuaded if one had proof of said attack,” he reasoned.
“Proof?” Dragor was incredulous. “Any proof I had any hope of gathering was conveniently whisked away while I was in the infirmary, healing with the many others who fell ill to Damion’s hand.”
“How are you so sure Damon harmed them as well?”
“How am I so sure?” he chuckled. “You mean to tell me that those bloody Elves could slice through a Vampire’s bone? No mere Elf did what I saw that day, I can tell you that, Xavier. Of the soldiers that went in, all suffered broken, dislocated, or fractured bones. And not in the same place, all different places mind you. By the look on their faces, I knew they felt the same way I did.” He scowled. “Betrayed.”
Xavier sat in silence as he stared at the Vampire, his friend. Almost everyone who met him loved Dragor Descant, and he was seldom in the infirmary, healing from an attack, if at all. The fact that Damion did that to those men, his own kind, it didn’t make the faintest amount of sense. “What would Damion have to gain by doing this, Dragor?”
“What he’s already gained by doing it, Xavier. Power. Prestige.” Dragor gestured a hand to Xavier as he said, “A place in the Vampire Order. Yes, he’s gained everything I’ve worked so hard for, for years in mere...mere days.”
“And you want me to remove all of this from him?” he asked, wondering if Dracula would allow such a thing.
“Yes.” Dragor’s eyes did not quiver from Xavier’s stare. “I realize I should have done this myself long ago, but when I finally left the infirmary, Damion was already your First Seat, and the other Vampires who were attacked lost any and all recollection of Damion attacking them. As expected of a Vampire with Damion’s rank...” His voice trailed away, but he resurfaced with, “This is all I ask of you, Xavier. Speak to Dracula, see what can be done.”
It was not long before he said, “Dragor, you say the other Vampires lost all recollection of the attack?”
“Yes. I’ve asked everyone who laid in those beds with me. None of them remember a thing.”
“You must understand how difficult a decision this is for me, Descant. What you are asking of me, I simply cannot do—”
“Why not?!”
Xavier glared at Dragor, who stood, scraping the legs of the chair against the marble floor. “The evidence is miniscule, there are no other Vampires who will claim that such an attack took place, as you have mentioned, and quite simply... I don’t believe that my First Seat has done such a thing. This took place three years ago, correct? Then why—even if Damion was already my First Seat—didn’t you march to Dracula and tell him everything?”
“He wouldn’t have believed me,” Dragor replied, his voice quiet in the large room.
“Then why do you expect me to believe you?”
“You are my friend, Vampire. If anyone would believe me, I expect it to be you, but I see...your royal blood has already begun to settle…” he sighed before maneuvering around the table, walking up to Xavier. He bent low next to his ear, sure to place a strong hand upon his shoulder. “You will make your choices, my Lord. Just know that everything you decide will have its consequences.” Then, giving Xavier’s shoulder a solid clasp, he began to take his leave from the room.
Xavier did not turn in his seat as Dragor’s heavy footsteps reached the doors. He only said, “The choice I have made now, what is the consequence of that?”
“We shall see.”
And then, the sound of the huge door closing, leaving an echo to resonate off the walls, his ears.
Before he could assess Dragor’s situation, and his own, any further, one of the doors on the other side of the room creaked open.
He did not have to look up to know that it was Victor. The Vampire’s thick blood could be smelled even with all the other blood that floated through the mansion.
“Xavier.”
“What is it, Victor?” he asked, never looking up from the table.
He knew the Vampire remained near his office door, for nothing in the darkness stirred, yet the Vampire said all the same, “Do you believe him?”
“I am not sure. And what difference does it make if I do or don’t?” he replied, running a finger straight through the flame of the candle he could not feel, miserable. What, indeed, was happening here?
And as Victor stirred, folding his arms against his chest, Xavier was pulled from his thoughts and eyed the Vampire, only able to see the violet eyes watching him from shadow.
“It makes all the difference. He is going to tell Dracula, Xavier,” Victor said, “and you shall be called in to settle the matter. Damion is your First Seat—you are responsible for him. Now, I was there when the Elves attacked, I can tell you that it was a gruesome battle. Many of our men were carried through our streets, most of them dead. Permanently. We lost a lot of soldiers that day, and now that I look back on it, it is odd that Damion Nicodemeus was the only one unharmed.”
Xavier stared into the violet eyes that never moved from his face he ran a hand over the flame of the candle and darkness plunged through the room before he stood. “Were you were harmed, Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see who attacked you?”
Victor sighed before seemingly deciding the truth was better than a small jab at his ego. “I didn’t see who it was, no.”
It was while before he said anything, a while before he opened his mouth to respond with, “Surely, you noticed a white robe swishing out of the corner of those eyes. The Elves only don their Etrian robes, they would’ve worn nothing else, or am I mistaken?”
Victor shifted his footing. “They did wear their robes, Xavier. It was foolish, for they stood out amongst the soldier’s uniforms. As for who attacked me... I’m terribly sorry that I cannot say. The attacker came from behind.”
“I would imagine, Victor, that when the Elves ambushed the City, there was a barrier of sorts, the Elves approaching and the Armies standing guard—”
“No. It wasn’t quite in that way. We heard the screams—”
“Screams?” he asked.
“We heard the screams from the civilians inside Dracula’s mansion, Xavier. The Chairs were rounded up—Protocol 32—and the Armies were sent out into the streets.”
Xavier folded his arms, brow furrowed. How was it possible that Elves infiltrated Dracula’s mansion? He’d never heard that little piece of information before. “When were you called out?”
“When Armand Dragon ran into the mansion, frantic because Dragor Descant was hurt. At that point, I gathered my things and headed out into the fray.”
“What was running through your mind when you heard the First Captain had been hurt?”
“It seemed impossible—improbable for it to ever happen. I was thinking that no mere Elf could lay a finger on Dragor.”
“And then?”
“And then I saw him. As I left the mansion, he was coming in. Carried by two other soldiers. Both bleeding profusely. Not sure they made it. Dragor was in the worst shape I’d ever seen him in. His arm dangling off his shoulder, the bone disconnected and loose. He was unconscious at that point,” he replied.
Xavier said nothing for a time, mind rattled even more with the news he’d just been given. Damion, killing his own kind... Elves inside the mansion... It made no sense. None of it made any sense at all.
“Xavier?” Victor asked, as it had been so long the Vampire was lost in deep thought.
He blinked and pulled his thoughts from Damion, feeling that Dragor had the right idea, desiring to pull Damion from the Order. “Although I’m rather thrown to hear of this now, Victor, I thank you for your words. Dragor wished for me to make a decision, and I believe I have.”
“And what decision have you made?” the silver-haired Vampire asked, violet eyes dressed with concern.
There was not a sound in the room for what seemed an eternity and when Xavier finally spoke, Victor took a slight step back: “I have decided, General Vonderheide, to pay a visit to my First Seat. With the information I have received, there is no doubt in my mind that foul play was a part of the events of that dreadful day. And as we both know, Elves cannot break a Vampire’s bone.”
Damion waved the young Vampire out of his small office with a lazy flick of the hand. Yet another newly-changed Vampire, yet another waste of precious human blood that could be put to good use fulfilling the Vampires’ urge to feed.
Being back here, back in the City, brought on a vast ocean of hatred that Damion forgot existed when he was on the surface. He knew there was much question of his position. He could hear the Vampires whisper when he passed them in the halls, along the streets. It was at this thought that a particularly nasty wave of nostalgia hit him, for there was one Vampire who would surely retain any sort of remembrance on what took place those many years ago. But as fast as it came, he forced it from his mind, for he had dealt with it, it would not return to haunt him, this he vowed a ninth time since he laid eyes on the one Vampire who, he knew, would never forget.
He sat back in his chair, looking at the large pile of papers a young Vampire just dumped onto his desk. Paperwork. This was not what he’d had in mind when he wished to join the Order. He envisioned it to be ceremonious, honorable, and he had hoped he could tout his sanctimonious flair to other “lower bred” Vampires, but alas, the reality of the Order was dull, and tedious, filled with meetings about the various events in the Dark World.
He supposed the closest thing to freedom he had was to be able to venture and live on the surface for as long as he pleased. But even there, his true being was suppressed, and he was forced to live like another human, although the subtle pangs for blood would slip through the cracks every now and then.
Yes, it was absolutely not worth what he’d had to do to get there. He’d fought his way to the top and was not even assigned the position he’d eyed for more than a century. No, he was placed as that particular Vampire’s assistant. His bloody First Seat. A title that meant absolutely nothing. A mere foot in the door of being truly considered a part of the Vampire Order.
And Eleanor, her presence had eased the ridicule he’d faced, but was that her, truly, in the woods? Could it have been a memory? Staring around at the small office, he knew how ridiculous it could seem…how much he’d desired her to remain living—
The door opened, and in walked Lillith Crane, several scrolls of parchment nestled underneath an arm. “Have you seen a Vampire by the name of Javier Theron?”
“Javier Theron? No. I’ve never heard of him,” Damion said. He pulled the large stack of papers toward him in an effort to show her that he was terribly busy.
She curtsied her apology for the intrusion, and closed the door behind her.
He turned his attention to the large stack of papers before him, desiring to tear his thoughts from his demeaning title and the strangeness of his superior. He reached up, took down one dog-eared paper from the top of the stack, and read.
Silverchair Craven Winger’s Report on Rogue Vampires
The alarming rate at which these particular Vampires are growing in number is astounding at best. They were mostly all citizens of the Vampire City.
It has come to my attention that this group wishes to attack the Armies and their Captains, targeting specifically Xavier Delacroix. The Vampire we all know as Dracula’s preferred—
Damion threw it down onto his desk just as the door swung open, the large Vampire appearing there.
“Dragor,” Damion gasped, rising to stand.
He entered, closing the door behind him. “Did you think I would forget? That you would get away with it?”
“I...beg your pardon?”
“Did you think I would forget?!” he screamed, his voice booming against the walls, sending a shiver down Damion’s spine.
Not now, he thought, this was the worst time to bring up the past...to finally act—
He squared his shoulders, knowing the Vampire would not leave unless he addressed him directly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, First Captain.”
“You know damn well what I mean,” he said, moving toward the desk.
Damion froze, glaring up at the Vampire, quite aware he cut an impressive figure against the tame glow of the single candle atop his desk.
“The Elves, Damion,” Dragor continued, and Damion caught the silver of the Vampire’s sword at his waist, “I know you had me remember, but why, I cannot fathom. Out of all the Vampires injured in that...chaos, I was the one who remembered. Why?”
And in the darkness of the office, Damion smelled the scent of fresher blood, newer blood. Yes, he knew the Vampire was ready—ready should he be called. A smile graced his face. The time was near...
Just a moment more, Lucien.
Turning his attention to the Vampire in front of him, Damion let the smile fall slightly. Sighing, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Descant.”
And in his surprise he was lifted off the floor, the large Vampire having reached across the desk to grab him. He could barely say a word before Dragor was talking, and rapidly so.
“Your goal has been reached, Damion. You are now in the Vampire Order. Are you thrilled to know you slaughtered countless Vampires to sit at your desk? Are you pleased to know others have died for your goal? Three years. Three years and no words have been spoken. Well, my friend, the convenience you have come to enjoy is now gone. I will no longer hold my tongue because of your word. You shall pay for what you have done.
“How long did you think I would stay silent? I don’t know what sorcery you pulled over the others, but I have not forgotten. Whether it was your intention or not, my memory remains fresh. You are not with Dracula; this much is clear. You are a traitor, a liar, and you shall be put in your place.”
And the rough hands slammed him against the stone wall, his head bouncing against it. And as his vision receded, darkness flickering brighter than the glow of the candle’s flame, he let the dim smile lift his lips, for here it was. And he could not be happier.
You will be mine, Dragor, he thought, as all went black, I will know the secrets they did not want to share.
Dragor closed a trembling hand, staring at the Vampire over the desk, watching the eyes close. He seemed almost happy...but that was foolish, he thought, lifting from the desk and turning toward the door. The Vampire would not be happy about this...he wouldn’t know where all of this led, surely.
Dracula’s voice entered his mind before he could turn his thoughts to anything else: “Prepare yourself.”
And the door opened, the wind of their blood reaching his nose. He kneeled as the clean boots walked forward, stopping just before him, the light of brighter, dancing flames flooding the small room.
“You were right to be concerned, Xavier,” the voice of Dracula sounded from overhead.
He did not tear his gaze from the floor as another pair of boots entered the room. “What has he done to him?” Xavier asked.
There was shuffling of feet and then a slight intake of breath. He felt the sharp gaze upon him, but he did not lift his head. “First Captain of the First Army,” the voice sounded suddenly, “you are hereby stripped of your title, for assaulting my First Seat, Damion Nicodemeus. You will come with me to the Chambers of Question and we will get to the bottom of this event, immediately.”
He rose to his feet, feeling the eyes of Xavier and Dracula upon him, though it was Dracula’s gaze he lifted his chin to meet. The Vampire’s brown eyes were steady on him, the light of the torch he held in a hand illuminating his disproving expression, though the slight smile was there upon those lips.
“He is heavily unconscious,” Dracula said to Xavier, and Dragor realized Lillith Crane and a young Vampire he had never seen before remained within the doorway. “We must have the warden come look at him. I don’t think any amount of Unicorn blood is going to fix this...”
Xavier nodded. “Right away. Javier, go fetch the warden. Tell her to bring her supplies with her. We cannot waste any time bringing him to the infirmary.”
Javier, the young Vampire, nodded his blond head and whispered, “Of course, my Lord.”
Dragor watched him turn on a dime and run out of view, his white robes swishing around his ankles. He could barely ask himself who that was when Xavier stepped forward, placing a strong hand atop his shoulder, the glare of anger clear in those green eyes.
He moved forward with the Vampire, giving Dracula one last glance as they reached the door. The Great Vampire looked thoughtful.
I will do my part, your Majesty, he thought as Xavier led him down the long hallway, the passing Vampires giving him curious glances, I only hope the Vampire will do his.
Dracula set his torch upon a mount and stepped outside where Victor was waiting. “You never mentioned Dragor’s suspicions, or your own, when those events took place.”
He turned in surprise, having just waved away several Vampires that were curious about the commotion ensuing in front of Damion’s office. “I was never certain it was Damion who did it, Dracula.”
“Dragor apparently believes it was Damion. This is absurd. Three years and he mentions this now?”
“I believe he was just biding his time. Waiting until a Vampire with more power returned. Waiting for Xavier to return, so he could tell him his story. He most likely assumed, as good friends as they were, that Xavier would believe him without question. When that did not happen...” Victor cast a look to Damion’s slumped figure against the wall.
Dracula sighed, running a hand through his hair, sure to keep his expression one of exasperation. “Of all the times... In-fighting between Vampires. And in my own bloody home. With the arrival of these Creatures... I wished to keep you all here for a while longer but apparently this will not be so. You must return to the surface, Victor.”
“But Damion—”
“Damion,” Dracula said, “will be under close watch. No need to worry, once he is at peak health he will join Dragor in the Chambers of Question until I get to the bottom of this matter.”
Victor closed his eyes and sighed, Dracula sensing his desire to protest, to stay just a while longer, but when the Vampire opened his eyes, resignation existed within them. “Where is Lillith? I was hoping to tell her she is to stay with me.”
“She moved to her own office,” he replied. “If you leave now, you will catch her before she enters.” And with this, he smiled, the blankness of it reaching his first Vampire with the desired effect: Victor bowed low, though his gaze never left Dracula’s face, and nodded, a hand over his dead heart.
Victor headed toward Lillith’s office, leaving him standing in the doorway of Damion’s office, the faint darkness of the room seeping past his being, joining the greater darkness of the hallway.
The large hall spread out around them as they passed through the doorway. Rows of chairs faced the elevated desk, long as it was wide. It stretched through all four chambers, divided by four pillars every few rows of chairs.
Xavier was glad the Chamber Masters were not yet here, though it was only a matter of time before they were called from their place in the Clearance Committee building, where they oversaw every Vampire’s entrance and exit from the City.
He gestured for Dragor to sit in a nearby chair. “That was the consequence for my choice, Dragor?” he asked once the Vampire was seated.
Dragor stared at his feet, head bowed low. “Yes, it was.”
“What drove you to do such a thing, to attack him like that?”
There was silence. Then: “I wished to only speak with him. Get him to admit his wrongdoing. But upon seeing that grin—those eyes—he was taunting me. He knew what I had come to discuss. He knew what he did, and it was his intention to have me remember. To make it so I’ll never forget. Let it sit in my mind…torture me endlessly. And it has. When it came to that... His life is not worth the title he was given.”
Xavier folded his arms. “So you believed you’d kill him?”
“Kill?” he whispered, gasping the word as if he didn’t believe he were capable of it. He removed his large hands from each other and stared down at them. “Truthfully, I am not sure what I planned to do with him. I suppose I wished to hurt him like he had hurt me. In the end, I have only ended up like him... No, I will never betray my people, this City, Dracula....”
Xavier took a seat in front of Dragor, facing him. “I believe your story, Descant. You are just lucky Victor has said more or less the same as you concerning Damion. You say he has betrayed us. Well, I would definitely see this as an act of treason against the Vampire City.” At this Dragor looked up, and Xavier continued, “I am sure he did not do this to help those Elves, but I am also sure he is not happy with the title given. Just know, Dragor, had you been promoted, you would have received your rightful place alongside me, my friend. I believe it’s called ‘Third in Command,’ not ‘Xavier Delacroix’s First Seat.’ Damion was only given that title because of what we all believed he did for the City, and also because he was in such a low ranking in the Third Army.”
This bit of information seemed to put Dragor at ease, though he said, “And my title, my foolish acts have stripped it of me. What’s worse is the Chamber Masters will not listen to a Vampire that has attacked his superior officer. I’m afraid I have trapped myself in a corner.”
“We shall see what the Chamber Masters believe soon enough,” Xavier said, his eyes on the open doorway where four Vampires could be seen approaching.
A tall Vampire with flowing blond hair spoke first, “Xavier? We did not know it was you who called us here.” He looked around the empty Chamber. “Indeed, what Vampire has committed a crime?”
Xavier stood, tilting his head toward the Vampire next to him. “Dragor Descant is the Vampire in question, Civil.”
A dark Vampire with glowing red eyes and cascading black hair stepped past his colleague, mouth agape. “Dragor?! The First Captain?”
The Vampire known as Civil lifted a pale hand to ease his comrade, his gold-lined robes swaying as he did so. “Now, now, Warren, easy, easy,” he said, his soft brown eyes gliding over Dragor’s face, taking in his hard features. “We have yet to hear Lord Dragor’s story. Perhaps he was wrongly accused...” those same brown eyes darted to Xavier’s cold countenance, “...perhaps. In any case—” Civil made his way toward the long, elevated desk at the back of the room “—let us get this over with before it becomes unnecessary publicity, shall we?”
Still casting a curious glance toward Dragor, the Vampire named Warren stepped away from Dragor and Xavier and joined Civil behind the long desk, the other two Vampires joining them.
Once all were seated, Dragor and Xavier approached the massive desk, Civil staring down at them.
“Will the Vampire in question make himself known to the Chambers?”
Dragor kneeled and spoke to the floor, “Dragor Descant, my Masters. First Capt—former First Captain of the First Army Battalion.”
A red-haired Vampire with black eyes spoke up next, “What is your crime?”
“I attacked Damion Nicodemeus, the First Seat to Lord Xavier Delacroix,” Dragor said keeping his voice steady.
All four Vampires cast each other shocked looks. Civil turned to Xavier, looking down at him, and asked, “Are you a witness to this event, my Lord?”
Xavier glanced at Dragor, who still kneeled, his head down, and said, “I did not witness the attack, but I have seen Damion’s condition, and it is clear Dragor did it.”
Warren let out a gasp, and the red-haired Vampire shook her head. An older-looking Vampire, one with a full head of gray hair and glasses he did not need, spoke up next, his deep voice drawing all eyes to his corner of the desk. “You may rise, Dragor. Although your title has been removed, you are no lower than the Vampire you stand next to. Now tell us, what drove you to attack Damion Nicodemeus?”
Dragor obeyed and looked up at the older-looking Vampire. “Thank you for your kindness, Chamber Master Richard. I believe you may recall the ambush on this City by the Elves of Etria.”
“We do,” Civil said.
“Hard to forget that,” Warren chimed in.
Dragor continued, “Yes, well, I was attacked that day.”
“Yes, and so many others. I remember, Dragor,” the red-haired Vampire said.
Dragor went on, not casting her a glance, “I have strong reason to believe that Damion was the one responsible for every single one of those Vampires injured and killed that day. The Elves do not have such strength. And we had no trouble at all killing them off, although there was a vast amount of them. To my understanding, they retreated after a time?”
“Yes, they did leave the City after several of them had been slain,” Richard said.
“But why would you think that Damion harmed those Vampires, his own kind, Dragor? This is all news to me,” Warren said.
“I had just slain several Elves, and I turned to Damion, for he called my name, that was when he struck. His blade sliced through my shoulder and dislocated my arm. Of course, I had to be taken off the battlefield, which Damion had no problem drawing attention from other Vampires to do,” Dragor said, making sure his every word was heard by the Chamber Masters.
Civil spoke up after a time, though he addressed Xavier. “Has he told you of this story?”
“The very same,” Xavier said.
“And what do you think?”
“I had my doubts at first, but Victor overheard our conversation and told me his side, which was fairly the same.”
Civil’s brown eyes seemed incredulous in the torch-lit room. “And where were you when this attack on the City took place, my Lord?”
“I was on the surface, where Dracula said I should be,” Xavier replied.
“...Quite right,” Civil observed before turning his attention back to Dragor. “Due to the complications that would arise out of such an accusation, Dragor, you must wait until we hear from Victor and Damion ourselves. We cannot move further unless we have more witnesses and the accused himself present and able to talk. Do you understand?”
Dragor’s blue eyes pierced Civil’s. “I understand.”
“Very well. The Chambers of Question are adjourned. Dragor Descant, you are to be sent to the Chambers of Waiting until we are ready for you once more. Xavier Delacroix, allow me to have a word,” Civil said, rising to his feet.
The other Chamber Masters did the same. They filed out of the room, one by one, until only Dragor, Xavier, and Civil were left.
Civil was the first to speak. “What exactly is happening in this mansion?”
Xavier responded, “To be clear, Civil, I believe that is none of your business.”
Civil chuckled at the glare Xavier gave him. He was very brave. “If it concerns the Armies and the Order, I believe it concerns me very much. Especially,” he cast a look to Dragor, “when a Captain of said Armies attacks a superior officer over something that happened over three years ago. It’s ridiculous. Not the kind of thing we need dampening our name with the other Dark Creatures—”
“Rest assured, Civil, this will not reach the ears of the other Creatures. It will remain here, in this mansion, and it will not go past these walls. This is the last thing Dragor needs. Now, I believe him, whether or not you do depends on the accused, does it not? Fair trial and all that?” he retorted.
Civil’s sanctimonious grin left his face. He seemed to fight with himself over what to do or say next, his extravagant features strained. He tore his gaze from Xavier’s glare and turned to Dragor. “I-I will escort the criminal to the Chambers of Waiting. If you would please proceed,” he said to the Vampire.
Dragor did not move, and Xavier stepped in front of Civil. “Criminal? Such a bold word to use so soon. Dragor Descant is no criminal, and you will not be the one escorting him to the Chambers of Waiting. It shall be me. Have I made myself clear, Chamber Master?”
“Crystal,” he responded, catching Dragor’s amused expression. He scowled and holding his head high, although his eyes were now completely red, he strode to the doors, slamming them behind him.
“Isn’t he the nice fellow,” Dragor said.
Xavier smiled. “I am sure they are still absorbing the blow you have given them. I believe you will be waiting in the Chambers of Waiting for a while, Dragor.”
“Damion’s treachery will finally be heard. I have comfort in that.” He placed a strong hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And you, Xavier, I should thank you for listening to me even when I did not seem my usual self.”
“Attacking Damion... I am sure he had it coming to him sooner or later, yet I know Damion would not allow you to cause such an injury. How were you able to do that to him?”
Dragor cracked his jaw. “He was not disturbed when I picked him up and slammed him into the wall. He did not fight back. Indeed, now that I think of it... No, I wouldn’t say...there is no way that would be possible...”
Xavier raised an eyebrow. “What wouldn’t be possible?”
“Well, it has only just occurred to me, but I believe this is what Damion has wanted all along. To have me stripped of my title, and go through all of this—have my name tarnished, slandered.”
Xavier was silent. And then he began to walk toward the doors leading out of the Chambers. “If that is so, I shall see to it that Damion Nicodemeus is the one destroyed. Completely.”
The men stood in the large cave, ignoring the droplets of water that dampened their hair and bodies, yet one man stood away from the others. He stood in the corner, his sandy-blond hair stuck to his head due to the rain that now hammered the soft ground outside.
The images that flashed before his hazel eyes confined him to this corner. He thought of his wife and the man that hauled her away over a shoulder. He thought of the Lycan that transformed so effortlessly before him—how it was possible at all. He thought of all these things, and felt nothing but anger and sadness. His mind so warped from the event that transpired only hours ago, he could not pay attention to the other men who fell silent, as a larger figure appeared in the jagged entrance to the cave.
Lore wore no cloak about his body, instead, he fashioned a torn, ruffled blouse and red vest, his white breeches dirt-stained and wet, his shoes caked with mud. He entered the cave, and all eyes fell on him. Now out of the demanding rain, he ran a strong hand through his dark-brown hair, which bled with the rain. His strong eyes searched the cave for the man he wanted to see. He wished to know what happened that night regarding a human woman and an unauthorized attack on a Vampire’s manor.
A low growl escaped his chest as he spotted him in the corner, his face down. Lore thought the man frozen, for he was so still, until he finally looked up, his eyes blank, tears lining his cheeks.
“What is the meaning of this, Thomas?” Lore asked.
Thomas blinked and prepared to take a step back, although the cave wall prevented him from doing so. He wiped away his tears and breathed. “It was my idea. I had them attack Lillith Crane’s manor.”
“I know it was your idea. No other Lycan would think up such a ridiculous plan. And what of this woman?” Lore said.
“Mara...she was taken by...”
Lore growled, causing several men to gasp and cast each other frightened looks. “You had her with you?!”
Thomas growled back. “I had no choice! She accepted what I was! She was involved in everything I did concerning this side of my life!”
“Yes. Yes, it’s apparent she was, because she is now missing, is she not? What were you thinking, bringing a human woman to such a dangerous place?”
“They knew not to attack her. They knew not to touch her,” Thomas replied.
Lore chanced a skeptical glance around at the men who watched curiously and soon turned back to Thomas. “None of these men touched her you say? Then where is she, Thomas? No Vampire was there to do the job since they were called to their City—which I am sure you are aware of—so what? What attacked her?”
“I do not know, father!” Thomas snarled. “I do not know what I saw.”
“Yes...you do know what you saw.” His voice dropped. “You cannot keep anything from me, Thomas. Something took her, what was it? Tell me.”
Thomas hesitated, then said, “It was a Lycan.”
“I thought you said none of my men attacked her.”
“None of them did. This Lycan was something else. I am not even sure I could call it one of us.”
Lore turned from his son at that moment and eyed the vast number of men before him with narrowed eyes. They stood as still as stone, waiting for him to speak, their gazes apprehensive.
“Did any of you see this Lycan attack Thomas’s wife?” he asked.
They all shook their heads, faces bewildered.
Lore narrowed his dark eyes even more. “Do not lie. If you have witnessed something, come forth.”
Wengor stepped forward from behind a newly-turned Lycan—who looked as though he wished to be elsewhere—and said, “With all due respect, my Lord, we were all much too busy destroying the manor to notice what went on outside of it. We saw
nothing.”
“...Fine,” Lore said after a careful evaluation of Wengor’s words. “You may all return to your lives for the time being, when I need you, I will call.”
The men hesitated, never before having been told to leave Lore’s side.
Running a hand through his hair once again, Lore eyed the men. “I believe I have told you to leave.”
“Not many of us have lives in the human world,” Wengor said. “We have never strayed from your side, we would have nowhere to go—”
“For those of you in need of a place to rest, there is the Dragon’s Cavern, located south from here, as well as the Northern Hills. Make due,” he said.
“B-but those are Inns! You wish for us to reside amongst the humans, my Lord?”
Lore snarled. “You will need to for the time being, Wengor. With your charm and power, acquiring a room should be of no issue. Now leave Thomas and I, we have much to discuss.”
Still stuttering, Wengor turned from Lore and out of the cave along with the other men.
Lore watched as they each ventured outside the shelter of the cave into the rain that thundered down. Their silhouettes were visible, if only for a second, before they disappeared into the woods before them, leaving their leader to tend to his son.
Turning back to Thomas, Lore stretched his arms, and it was with a sigh that he said, “You have always had a hard time listening to me.”
Thomas said nothing.
“Perhaps now you will do a better job.”
His eyes darkened. “That is not fair.”
“If you think I am going to nurture your every wound, you have many surprises in store for you. You have disobeyed me; you will suffer the consequences. What happened tonight was not because of me, it was your own selfish fault.” When Thomas did not respond, he continued, “What did I tell you a few months ago?”
He searched his mind for anything significant Lore might have told him, but it was not long before Lore cut through his thoughts:
“The human woman, Thomas. Have you forgotten so soon? She has the blood of that damned Vampire. She can destroy us. It is imperative that you kill her.”
He gritted his teeth. “She is one human. I do not see what the threat of her existence is!”
“She has the blood of Dracula flowing through her veins, you fool. It is a power so strong one simple drop is all it takes to turn our existence to ash. If the Vampires get a hold of her first, we will not stand a chance against their Armies and her. That, Thomas, is the threat of her existence.”
Thomas grew silent, as Lore knew he would.
Taking advantage of this, he continued his lecture, “Why did you go against the order given to you, instead attacking a Vampire’s manor?”
“The order you gave did not seem important,” Thomas defended himself. “It seemed a waste, going after a human woman when there are Vampires out there who are able to kill us. And I thought you’d already found this woman, father.”
“I did. But a foolish Vampire interrupted me—”
“Xavier?” he asked at once.
Casting him a disgusted look, Lore replied, “No, it was not Xavier. I believe that bloodsucker was his brother, Christian. He held no power, survived no training. The way he attacked me, it was clear he wished for death.” Lore regained his serious countenance. “The human woman...her power is real. I have felt it. The light of her blood—” Lore shuddered “—it burned right through my fur and struck my own blood. And then others came.” He rounded on his son. “You will find her, Thomas, and where I have failed, you will kill her. Do this for me, and I shall step down from my throne, and make you King.”
He stared upon the man before him as if not believing what it was he said. It was only after a few minutes that he repeated, “You will make me King?”
He closed his eyes and sighed, opening them to reveal a softer gaze. “You have my word on this, Thomas.”
“Th-Then I will find her, father. I will find her and kill her before the Vampires reach her. You have my word.”
“Yes, of course,” Lore said. “Return to your home, my son. I am sure you must keep up appearances with the humans.”
Thomas nodded and turned to leave. Though he froze as he glared at the entrance of the cave.
Lore noticed this and turned to his son. “What is it?” he said, stepping up to reach him.
At Thomas’s side, Lore snarled upon seeing the line of figures that stood there, their tattered cloaks weighed down with the rain. He glared at all of them before deciding that they were not human, but they were not Vampires or Lycans, or any Dark Creature that he was familiar with. What in the hell were they? And why couldn’t he sense their presence? When did they arrive?
Thomas whispered, his gaze transfixed on the figure in the middle, “That’s him. He took Mara.”
“The Lycan?” Lore looked at the cloaked figure. “He is no Lycan, Thomas...”
“Then what are you?” Thomas screamed at the cloaked figures that would not move from the entrance of the cave.
One of them stepped forward and removed the hood from his head, revealing long dark-brown hair. His eyes focused only on Thomas, his tongue slithered through his lips as he talked. “Thomas Montague. Son to Lore. Prince of the Lycans. You have been called.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Called? Who are you?”
The man smiled. “I am Aciel. And you will be escorted to Eleanor Black. She wishes to speak with you.”
Lore stepped forward, his features brazen and dangerous. “Who is this Eleanor Black and why does she want my son?”
Aciel did not appear intimidated at all. He continued to smile his thin smile, and addressed Lore for the first time that night. “This does not concern you, beast. Kindly retreat to the back of the cave like the good dog you are.”
“What?!” Lore howled, unable to control his outrage. His clothes ripped from his body as he grew hairier, larger, his teeth stretching and growing into massive fangs. “Care to repeat your words?”
“No,” Aciel said. “But I will tell you this: Symbolia Menta.”
“Wh—?” Lore began, but his mouth snapped shut before he could continue speaking and he was thrown to the back of the cave by an invisible wind only targeted to him.
Thomas started to transform, but Aciel spoke before he could get very far. “Careful, Thomas. We were told not to lay a finger on you, but it’s best you don’t do anything you will regret.”
Another cloaked figure stepped forward and Thomas remembered it as the one who whisked Mara away from him. He instinctively stepped forward, his eyes narrowed dangerously. The cloaked figure removed his tattered hood in response to Thomas’s stare and revealed a head of black, short hair and gleaming eyes. “Come now, Aciel, can’t we have some fun with him? You should’ve seen the way he cried and ran after his wife.”
“Enough,” the Creature named Aciel said, lifting a hand to silence the man. “Return to the line, Amentias.”
Amentias did as he was told, and with a snaky grin to Thomas, he placed his hood back over his head and fell back in line with the others.
Aciel said to Thomas, “Now. You will come with us, Lycan.”
“And if I don’t?” he snarled.
“Well,” Aciel responded as though bored, “I suppose you shall never see your beloved wife again. Oh, yes, she is alive, Thomas, but not in a pretty shape at all. Oh no. You see, it appears humans cannot survive losing large amounts of blood like we can. She’s barely holding on. We know you love her to no end, and we know you are going to listen to whatever it is we say, or else, the death of the Duchess of Holden shall be on your hands, my Duke.”
The loud growl ripped through his teeth as he grabbed Aciel by the collar of his tattered cloak. “What have you done with her?”
Aciel lifted another hand to the cloaked figures to stay them. He glared into the hazel eyes of the enraged Lycan. “Let me go,” he commanded.
“Not until you tell me what you’ve done to her.”
Aciel sighed. “I’ve done nothing to your precious human, Thomas. Quite the contrary, you are causing her death by asking absurd questions and demanding things that don’t exist. Now, if you would please, let me go, we will take you to her.”
Thomas stared into his dark eyes before finally releasing him. He stepped away from the man, and turned to stare at his father, who was still in his beastly form, still unconscious, and it was then that he knew he had no choice: If going with these Creatures was the only way to see Mara again, he would do it. “All right. I’ll go.”
Aciel smiled. “You say that as if you had a choice.”
Thomas scowled as he ventured into the heavy rain with the cloaked strangers, partly because he wished to see Mara again, and partly because he knew Aciel was right. He never had a choice to begin with.