The color of the ink changed from black to brown when his father wrote about his first night in the warrior camp. How cold it was. How scared he was. How much he missed home.
How alone he felt.
John empathized with the male to the point where it seemed as though there was no separation between the father and the son: In spite of the many, many years and an entire continent of distance, it was as though he were in his father's shoes.
Well, duh. He was in the exact same situation: a hostile reality with a lot of dark corners... and no parents to back him up now that Wellsie was dead and Tohr was a living, breathing ghost.
Hard to know when his eyelids went down and stayed there.
But at some point he fell asleep with what little he had of his father held reverently in his hands.
Chapter Eight
1671, SPRINGTIME, THE OLD COUNTRY
Darius materialized in a stretch of thick forest, taking form beside the entrance of a cave. As he scanned the night, he listened for any sounds worthy of notice.... There were deer tiptoeing around down by the quietly running stream, and the breeze whistled through the pine needles, and he could hear his own breathing. But there were no humans or lessers about.
A moment longer... and then he slipped beneath the overhang of rock and walked into a natural room created aeons ago. Deeper and deeper he went, the air thickening with a smell he despised: The musty dirt and cold humidity reminded him of the war camp--and even though he'd been out of that hellish place for twenty-seven years, the memories of his time with the Bloodletter were enough to make him recoil even now.
At the far wall, he ran his hand over the wet, uneven rock until he found the iron pull that released the hidden door's locking mechanism. There was a muffled squeal as hinges turned and then a portion of the cave slid to the right. He didn't wait for the panel to fully retract, but stepped through as soon as he could wedge his thick chest in laterally. On the other side, he hit a second lever and waited until the section was secured back in place.
The long pathway to the Brotherhood's sanctum sanctorum was lit with torches that burned ferociously and cast hard-lined shadows that jerked and spasmed on the rough floor and ceiling. He was about halfway down when the voices of his brothers reached his ears.
Clearly, there were a lot of them at the meeting, given the symphony of bass, male tones that overlapped and competed for airspace.
He was probably the last to arrive.
When he got to the iron-barred gate, he took a heavy key from his breast pocket and pushed it into the lock. Opening the way took strength, even for him, the huge gate swinging free of its anchor only if he who sought to enter could prove himself worthy of forcing it wide.
When he got down into the wide-open space deep in the earth, the Brotherhood was all there and, with his appearance, the meeting commenced.
As he took a stand next to Ahgony, the voices silenced and Wrath the Fair regarded the assembled. The Brothers respected the race's leader, even if he was not a warrior among them, for he was a regal male of worth whose sage council and prudent restraint were of great value in the war against the Lessening Society.
"My warriors," the king said. "I address you this eve with grave news and a request. A doggen emissary came unto my private home during the sunlight and sought a personal audience. After refusing to present his cause unto mine own attendant, he broke down and wept."
As the monarch's clear green eyes circled the faces, Darius wondered where this was leading. Nowhere good, he thought.
"It was then that I interceded." The king's lids lowered briefly. "The doggen 's master had sent him forth unto me with the worst possible news. The unmated daughter of the family is missing. Having taken an early retire, all appeared well with her until her maid brought forth a midday repast in the event she was of a mind for sustenance. Her room was empty."
Ahgony, the lay leader of the Brotherhood, spoke up. "When was she last seen?"
"Prior to Last Meal. She came unto her parents and informed them she had no appetite and would be requiring a lie-down." The king's gaze continued around. "Her father is a righteous male who has rendered unto me personal favors. Of greater weight, however, is the service he has offered unto the race as a whole as leahdyre of the Council."
As curses echoed around the cave, the king nodded. "Verily, it is the daughter of Sampsone."
Darius crossed his arms over his chest. This was very bad news. Daughters of the glymera were like fine jewels to their fathers... until such time as they were passed unto the care of another male of substance, who would treat her thusly. These females were watched over and cloistered.... They did not just disappear out of their families' houses.
They could be taken, however.
Like all things of rarity, well-bred females were of very high value-- and as always when it came to the glymera , the individual was less important than the family: Ransoms were paid not to save her life, but her bloodline's reputation. Indeed, it was not unheard- of for such a virginal female to be abducted and held for money, the sole leverage being social terror.
The Lessening Society was not the only source of evil in the world. Vampires had been known to prey upon their own.
The king's voice resonated around the cave, deep and demanding. "As my private guard, I look to you to provide redress of this situation." Those royal eyes locked on Darius. "And there is one among you whom I shall ask to go forth and right this wrong."
Darius bowed low before the request was put out. As always, he was fully prepared to discharge any duty for his king.
" Thank you, my warrior. Your statesmanship shall be of value under the roof of that now broken home, as shall your sense of protocol. And when you discover the malfeasor, I am confident of your ability to ensure an appropriate... outcome. Avail yourself of those who stand shoulder to your shoulder and, above all, find her. No father should have to bear this empty horror."
Darius couldn't agree more.
And it was a wise assignment made by a wise king. Darius was a statesman, true. But he had a particular commitment to females after having lost his mother. Not that the other Brothers wouldn't have given themselves over with similar dedication--except for Hharm, perhaps, who had a rather dim view of female worth. But Darius was the one who would feel this responsibility most and the king was nothing if not calculating.
That being said, he was going to need help and he glanced around his brothers to determine who he would pick, sifting through the grim, now familiar faces. He stopped looking when he saw a stranger's visage among them.
Across the altar, the Brother Hharm was standing beside a younger, thinner version of himself. His boy was dark haired and blue eyed in the manner of the sire, and shared the potential of the broad shoulders and wide chest that was characteristic of Hharm. But there the similarity ended. Hharm was lounging with an insolent lean against the wall of the cave-- which was not a sur prise. The male preferred combat to conversation, having little time or attention span to spare for the latter. The boy, however, was engaged to the point of transfixion, his intelligent eyes locked on the king in awe.
His hands were behind his back.
In spite of his outward appearance of calm, he was twisting those hands where no one could see, the movement in the tops of his forearms belying his nervous churning.
Darius could understand how the boy felt. After this address, they were one and all going out into the field and Hharm's son would be tested for the first time against the enemy.
He was not properly armed.
Fresh from the war camp, his weapons were no better than Darius's had been... just more of the Bloodletter's castoffs. Which was deplorable. Darius had had no sire to provide for him, but Hharm should have taken care of his boy, giving him well-balanced, well-made instruments that were as good as his own.
The king raised his arms and looked up unto the ceiling. "May the Scribe Virgin look upon those herein assembled with all grace and blessing as these soldiers of worth go out unto the fields of conflict."
The war cry exploded from the Brothers, and Darius joined in with all his breath, the roar echoing and rebounding and continuing as a chant started up. As the thundering sound rose higher and higher, the king held his palm out to the side. From the shadows, the young heir to the throne came forward, his expression far older than his seven years. Wrath, son of Wrath, was, like Tohrment, the spitting image of his sire, but there the comparison between the two pairs ended. The regent king was sacred, not just to his parents, but to the race.