“Do not play games, orc,” Cassius said. “Our scouts saw him enter your settlement. We know he resides within your settlement.”
Sebastian’s eyes fixed on Boarstaff. Even at this distance, the tension in the orc’s posture was obvious, the calculated stillness of a warrior preparing for conflict. Beside him, a dwarf with an elaborate iron fist worked into his beard clasp leaned close, whispering something Sebastian couldn’t hear.
“Leave our lands,” Thornmaker called down. “You have no authority here.”
Cassius smiled, the expression cold and practiced. “I speak with the authority of House de la Sang. Cornelius himself has declared his son traitor and kinslayer. The penalty is death. Hand him over, or share his fate.”
Sebastian had heard enough. He dropped silently from his perch and made his way toward the gate, keeping to the shadows. As he approached, he heard Boarstaff’s response.
“If Cornelius wants his son, he should come himself, not send his lesser allies.”
The insult landed. Cassius’s face hardened, the pretense of diplomacy falling away. “You have until dusk to reconsider. Then we return with force sufficient to reduce this settlement to ash.”
It was an empty threat. Twenty vampires, even with their augmentations, couldn’t destroy the settlement. This was a scouting party, sent to confirm Sebastian’s presence before the main assault. If they returned to report, the attack would come sooner rather than later.
Sebastian stepped from the shadows into the torchlight before the gate.
“If you want me,” he called out, “come and get me.”
All eyes turned to him, orcs and dwarves above, vampires beyond the gate. Sebastian felt their collective gaze like a physical weight, assessing the changes in him. He stood barefoot in simple clothing; his body visibly altered even at a distance. No fine clothes, no aristocratic posture. Nothing of House de la Sang remained in his appearance.
Cassius’s expression shifted from shock to disgust. “Sebastian. What have you done to yourself?”
“Freed myself,” Sebastian replied. His voice carried easily, though he didn’t employ the projected tones of vampire nobility. “Something you might consider, Cassius.”
“You are a disgrace,” Cassius spat. “Killing your own brothers. Betraying your house. Living among—” his gaze swept the settlement walls “—these creatures.”
“Open the gate,” Sebastian said, looking up at Boarstaff.
Boarstaff hesitated, his gaze meeting Sebastian’s for the first time since he’d emerged from the Tree. Something passed between them, concern, question, understanding.
“Open it,” Sebastian repeated.
After a moment, Boarstaff nodded to the gate guards. The wooden barrier swung outward, just enough for Sebastian to pass through. He walked forward, bare feet on cool grass, until he stood halfway between the settlement and the vampire contingent.
“Your father sent us to bring you back for punishment and reconditioning, death if you refused,” Cassius said, dismounting from his horse. “I always knew you were weak, Sebastian, but betraying your own blood? Even I didn’t think you’d fall so far.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Sebastian said. “I did kill my brothers.”
The admission hung in the night air. Behind him, murmurs ran across the settlement walls.
“Do you truly think, knowing what I did to them,” Sebastian continued, “that I won’t kill you too?”
Cassius drew his sword, an elegant weapon with mechanical enhancements that would deliver electric shocks on contact. “Your brothers were caught off guard. I am not so easily deceived by false loyalty.”
Sebastian didn’t move as Cassius approached. He remained still, assessing. The vampire lord was older than him by several centuries, his body heavily augmented with mechanical enhancements, though none as elegant as what he was used to with House de la Sang. His movements had the fluid precision that came from the highest quality components.
“No weapons?” Cassius smiled, circling Sebastian. “Have you surrendered your dignity along with your heritage?”
Sebastian turned, keeping Cassius in view. “I don’t need weapons to deal with you.”
Cassius attacked with blinding speed, his sword arcing toward Sebastian’s neck. Once, Sebastian would have met the attack with equal mechanical precision, component responding to component in a dance of engineered perfection.
Since his second transformation, he moved differently.
Sebastian sidestepped the blow with deliberate economy, no wasted motion. Where vampiric combat traditionally emphasized elegance and form, Sebastian’s movement was purely functional. As the sword passed, he grabbed Cassius’s extended arm and twisted sharply.
The sound of metal components breaking within Cassius’s forearm snapped through the night air.
