I nod.
Her face sinks. She knows better than to ask me my plans. I keep them close to my chest, and she wouldn’t understand anyway.
“Well, you’re not leaving likethat,” she says.
I furrow my brow—
As she rises on her tiptoes and plants a hard kiss on my lips. Our tongues swirl for a moment, making Garroway let out a needful sound, and then she steps back. “There,” she says. “A little forehead peck doesn’t do the trick.Nowyou are dismissed, I suppose.”
I clear my throat, adjust my pants from the hardness that’s threatening to rip free, and give her a stern nod. “I’ll see you two at Manor Marquin soon.”
My mission brings me up the mountain, into Olhav, and past the Chained Sisters’ dwelling. I march a westerly trek, heading deeper into the Military Ward.
Torch-lit lampposts with yellowed-glass enclosures guide my path along the main route through the district. As I make my way past the outskirts where the tenements and dilapidated buildings of Olhavian’s poorer vampires rest, including the Chained Sisters, the streets become busier. No longer are theroads filled with refuse and blood-sick commoners. Now I see straight-backed military men with bold topaz-and-black cloaks, dark armor encasing their bodies.
I pass a group of four soldiers armed with halberds and don’t stop my walk to acknowledge them, keeping my head lowered as I shoulder past.
“What disrespect,” one of the vampires growls in a low voice as I pass.
Another says, “Who the fuck does he think he is, taking up the middle of the road?”
I stop, slowly turning and lifting my head to pull back my hood. “What was that?”
The soldiers’ hands tighten on their halberds as they wheel, ready to strike me. I can only imagine the grins behind their dark, closed helmets, sensing a fight.
I imagine those grins disappear a second later when they stare upon my face.
“Shit, Master Stellos, apologies,” says one of the vampires with a formal bow. “Didn’t know it was you.”
I grunt. “Carry on and keep quiet.”
I’m on my way again, heading past the nearby barracks, mess hall, and the clanging smithy of the swordforger. I pass more armored soldiers as I delve deeper into the Military Ward, through straight, uniform streets. With my hood pulled back, I get more salutes and nods from the guards, which I don’t care for.
I enjoy fanfare about as much as I enjoy talking.
By the time I reach my destination, it’s past midnight. Whiling away my time with Sephania has pushed this meeting further back than I’d like and, more importantly, further back than he’ll like.
I stop at the fortress, staring at it with discerning eyes. The monolithic gray structure is a stronghold of thick stone walls,four corner watchtowers, and a gate and portcullis. Notches in the ramparts above show me the dark helms of archers standing at the ready.
I make my way toward the gate, the four soldiers there parting when they recognize me. “Master Stellos,” one of them says with a small bow.
I pass under the archway into the bailey. A few soldiers are training horses, running them in circles, and another bunch are fixing gear and sparring with blunted swords.
I hate being here, but it can’t be helped. There’s apullI’ve explained to Sephania, which I feel when outside her presence. It’s something I fought at first before succumbing to the desire and accepting her.
There’s another pull I’ve been feeling for months, however, which I haven’t been able to escape. It nags at the back of my mind, ceaselessly, infuriatingly, and now it’s come time to pay the toll.
I walk into the keep, gain the narrow, winding stairs, and pass a few brethren coming down on my way up. I recognize both vampires, dressed in more elegant, refined armor than the commons outside.
They frown at me, the stoic, sturdy bastards, and I return a grunt. It’s no more reaction than that, even though I haven’t seen my “brothers” in many months. It seems they’re heading out of the same place I’m going.
On the fourth level of the keep, I step out of the stairwell and into the small chamber down the stone hall. There, he’s waiting for me, sitting on a simple chair of oak, hewn from a single piece of wood.
“Master,” I say as I enter, bowing my head.
The vampire stands, flaring his nostrils to take scent of me. Surely he can smell Sephania, because his senses outdo even mine, though I hope he can’t scent her Loreblood on my tongue.
Barnabac Craxon is an imposing figure to all who meet him. He nearly stands to my height, which is a feat in itself given my considerable size. The overlord of the Military Ministry dresses in armor unlike any other in Olhav, with red veins cut into the granite-black cuirass. He wears a black helm atop his pale, hairless head, with two small horns sticking up at the top, because he considers himself a demon of the highest order.
