Malock pushed hard against the guard’s chest with his finger, easily knocking him off balance and into the chair with enough force to send it scraping backwards across the floor a few inches. The guard rubbed his chest and winced. Definitely a broken rib, or two. He looked up, met Malock’s eyes, and saw the dare – get back up … please.
The guard was strong, but Malock was old, as old as the members of the Council, and with age came a different kind of strength. The guard was no match for Malock and they both knew it. He lowered his head and slumped slightly in the chair.
“Good choice,” Malock said. “Now, stay. Good boy.” He turned to his guide and motioned for him to continue.
The hallway beyond the hidden door had rough stone walls and a cobblestone floor. His guide stopped just inside, next to an empty torch holder. Looking down the dark hallway, Malock saw more holders containing unlit torches. The human pulled on the holder, revealing a switch behind it. He flipped the switch, and the torches sprang to life. “We had these installed recently,” he said to Malock with a smile. “It’s so much easier than carrying a torch through these twisting halls.”
“That’s great,” Malock replied through clenched teeth masquerading as a smile. “Now, can we get moving?” The human nodded and headed down the hall without another word. Malock shook his head. Torches. Unbound from time, yet they still clung so tightly to the past.
They walked nearly fifty meters before encountering a side tunnel. His guide didn’t even give it a sideways glance as he passed. Malock, however, did. The passage looked almost exactly like the one they were using, even down to the new torches. The only difference he saw before moving on were doors. The hall was lined with plain, solid metal doors. What might be behind them was something he would have to find out later.
The next turn came less than twenty meters later, and this one his guide did take. Malock began keeping a rough map in his head, but after the sixth turn and thirteenth (or was it fourteenth?) cross tunnel he was losing faith in his memory. Honestly, they had made so many twists and turns they could be a mile away or right back where they started. It probably was a good thing he hadn’t killed the human in the hall above after all, he decided.
After what seemed like an hour of aimlessly wandering underground, the human finally stopped in front of one of the plain metal doors. He pulled on the handle and it swung open without protest on heavily greased hinges. “This way,” he said to Malock as he stepped into the room beyond.
It was a small, dark room, about the size of a large closet. Two spotlights shone down directly onto two chairs, which were the only furnishings in the entire room, and another door was directly in front of him. “The Council is waiting for you through there,” his escort said, indicating the door. “I’ll wait here until your business with them is concluded.”
When Malock opened the door he was instantly blinded by an almost painfully bright light. Even shielding his eyes, he could see nothing outside of the light.
“Malock,” a voice called out from somewhere in front of him. “We’ve been expecting you. Come forward and shut the door behind you.” He recognized the voice, so he did as he was asked.
The click of the door closing coincided with a louder click of the spotlight switching off. He turned to face the room and was transported back to his days as a young fledgling. They had built a nearly exact replica of the Council chambers used when his Master ruled. He had only seen it a few times, and that had been over six hundred years ago, but there was no mistaking it.
Directly in front of him stood an oblong table of black marble, surrounded by ten chairs of black mahogany. He could remember being impressed in his youth, but now it seemed a little too Goth for his taste, and the chairs looked damned uncomfortable.
The ceiling of the chamber was over twenty feet high, and a second floor tier circled the room. Pillars supported the open second floor, and from what he could see, it consisted of nothing more than a ring of bookshelves reaching all the way to the top of the chamber. What titles could have been deemed worthy to rest in the Council’s private library, Malock wondered.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” It was the same voice that had called out to him at the door. Malock found the owner half-way up the staircase leading to the second level. Sartius. The broad, fake smile he was flashing was almost more than Malock could stand.
“What do you mean?” Malock asked.
“Well, the whole room of course,” he answered with a sweep of his hand. “It’s an exact replica of the original Council chambers. Actually, it’s more than just a replica, much of it is from the old chamber itself. All of the pillars and decorative stone were carefully removed and placed here, as was the table.” Malock remained silent as Sartius continued the tour. “I noticed you admiring the books in the library.” He moved up the stairs as he spoke. “They are all from the original library, and are even in the same order.”
Malock was not impressed with their ability to recreate the past. He found their efforts to be a pathetic attempt at recapturing some of the old regime’s power. He did need to be careful with them though. Their power may be waning, but here within their own dominion, it was absolute.
“From what I can remember, I’d say it’s a job well done,” Malock said with fake enthusiasm. The smile on Sartius’s face grew even wider, which Malock was sure would have been impossible before he actually witnessed it. Wanting to remove it was practically an involuntary reaction. “But please tell me you’ve brought me here to do more than admire your work.”
It worked. The smile dissipated into a sour scowl almost immediately, but Malock’s remained fixed. “Of course that’s not why we summoned you here,” Sartius replied coldly. Malock felt his smile slip a little at the word ‘summon’. It was more like kidnapped. “I was simply trying to make your time here a bit more pleasant, but since you aren’t interested in that, please take a seat at the foot of the table. The rest of the Council will be here soon.”
“I’ll tell you what I am interested in,” Malock remarked as he made his way towards the table. “I’d really like to know why I was drugged.” His accusation lost some of its punch as he plopped into the small chair to which he had been directed. He had misjudged its size, but could see what the intended effect was. He would be forced to look up to everyone else while they would all look down on him. Subtle.
Sartius waved the question away, “All in due time. We have more pressing matters to discuss first.” A door opened on the far side of the chamber, preventing Malock from arguing any further. “The Council returns.”
The remaining seven Council members filed in silently, taking their seats on either side of the table. Sartius moved towards his own seat, but didn’t sit. The chair at the head of the table remained empty, reserved for the Head of the Council. Due to centuries of constant bickering and feuding, this new Council had been without a Head since its creation, although Sartius seemed to be gaining ground in his long-running bid for the position.
Malock looked in disgust at the faces surrounding him. None of them was more than just a few decades older than himself, and held their positions by no virtue other than having masters who had perished the same night his own had survived. It was almost funny. They didn’t trust Malock because he still had an Elder master, but his was simply the only one known to have survived. There were others, and over the centuries they had managed to spread their influence far enough that they directly controlled three members of this Council. Whether they knew it or not, they were all still doing the Elders’ bidding.
“I believe we are all ready now,” Sartius remarked, casually making his way towards the head of the table. He always spoke from here, trying to plant the idea it was where he belonged. “The Council requests a progress report on your attempts to capture the hybrid known as ‘Braughton’.”
Malock could only hope his face didn’t betray the shock he felt. So far as he knew, capturing Braughton was Master’s plan. The fact Sartiu
s knew not only his name, but that he was also a hybrid meant someone had been talking. More than that, now it seemed the Council was making it their plan. Anger boiled away the shock, but his face retained only a faint smile of amusement.
“Progress report,” Malock echoed, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Seeing as this is the first one I’ve been asked to give you, I should probably start at the beginning. Don’t you think?” A few members shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but Malock and Sartius stared silently at one another. Sartius finally gave Malock a slight nod, which was all the acknowledgment he needed.
“Let’s see, first there was a couple of centuries chasing down every myth, legend, and story about this hybrid, separating out the facts, figuring out if he really even existed. After that, were several decades of tracking him, following a trail of dead vampires and burned buildings, trying to discern for what he was searching. Once I figured that out, I just had to sit back and wait for him to come to me.”
He paused a moment, looking down at his hands. “There was an unfortunate incident that left him without his human servant, and me without my brute. But,” he raised his head, small smile on his lips, “that was when he started chasing me. He was forced to find another servant, and I was able to track him to one of his safe houses.”
He rubbed his chin again, “Now, did I miss anything?” He raised a finger, “Oh yes, the past four days, which included being driven a day’s distance away from Braughton, and then being drugged and unconscious for three more days.”
“I believe,” Sartius added, “you also forgot the part about blowing up the safe house, and killing five of our kindred.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” Malock answered with a shrug.
“Yes, well, I see you and your … ,” Sartius stopped, his eyes searching the room. “Where is your apprentice?” Without waiting for an answer, he addressed the Council, “Were we not told both he and his apprentice were brought here?” He then looked back accusatorily at Malock. “Well?”
Malock shrugged again. “His present whereabouts is probably a subject I would know more about had I not been unconscious for three days. I’m afraid all I can offer you is a guess.” He flashed a small smile filled with pointed teeth. “Now, what can you offer me?”
Sartius stared blankly at him for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t understand. What do you want?”
Malock released a frustrated exhale and spoke slowly. “Why was my meal drugged?”
“We needed to test its effects on someone close to the same age as Braughton.”
They used him, risked his life like some kind of lab rat. The words were on his lips, ready to spew out on them, and then he would kill them all. He gripped the chair, ready to spring, stopped only by Sartius’s next sentence. “It was your master’s idea, and we are all very pleased with the results.”
Master. He couldn’t say it was much of a surprise, but discovering the betrayal certainly tempered his rage. He shifted slightly in his seat, and released his grip on the arms. “As long as my master is happy,” Malock said with a smile, “then my purpose has been served.” The smile was genuine, but it was because he had finally decided what he would do with Master once he claimed power for himself. Nothing. Malock could think of nothing more tortuous than to simply let Master rot in his tomb, forgotten and powerless. His plans for the Council though, well, he shouldn’t let his smile grow too large.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Sartius remarked, adding, “as I’m sure your master would be as well.” Malock decided it best to simply nod his head. “Now, what of your apprentice?”
“His orders were to track Braughton, but not engage, and report back if he had not heard from me within three days. My best guess is he’ll show up on your doorstep any moment now.”
Sartius’s mouth dropped. “You sent your apprentice after Braughton? Alone?”
The sudden concern for his apprentice confused and, frankly, insulted Malock. “You left me little other choice. Besides, he tracked down Braughton before, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“It’s not your apprentice’s well-being we’re worried about,” Sartius assured him. “What concerns us is what he might do to Braughton, or his human slave. We don’t need a repeat of the incident at the library.”
“You’re concerned about the human?” Malock simply could not fathom this concern over the slave.
Sartius placed both hands on the table, leaned across, and almost yelled, “The human is the key to our entire plan, and I will not have your disfigured, masked creation ruining it!” He stopped, smiled, and stood back up. When he spoke again his voice was soothing, as though he were talking to a child. Condescending. “You don’t have a clue as to what’s really going on here, do you?”
In light of recent events, specifically, being a guinea pig, Malock had to admit to himself he might know exactly what Master’s plans were for Braughton. Moreover, he hadn’t the foggiest idea what Sartius thought those plans were. “Enlighten me,” he said with a smile.
Sartius hesitated, and his eyes narrowed as he wondered if Malock was mocking him. “What do you know of his human slaves?”
Again, the fascination with humans. Thinking upon his encounter in the library with Braughton’s last pet, Malock was far from impressed. He shrugged, “Almost nothing, other than he seems compelled to have one.”
“You really should pay more attention,” Sartius scolded. “He bonds them to himself with his blood, which changes them. It makes them practically equal in strength and speed to a full vampire, and fiercely loyal.” That was a surprise to Malock, although he had yet to see any evidence of such claims. Still, he could see where this was headed.
“So, you want to capture them, study them, and make more of these human slaves for yourself?”
Sartius nodded. “Exactly!”
Malock allowed a wide smile to cover his face. They had no idea what Braughton really was, content instead to focus on the pathetic human. It was hard not to laugh.
“You see now why the human is important,” Sartius spoke quickly. “Why we can’t have your apprentice wandering loose.”
“You needn’t worry about him,” Malock assured him. “I admit I planted and nurtured seeds of hatred for Braughton in him, and I will reap the reward of their harvest when the time comes, but he has his orders. Rest assured, it is fear of me that keeps him loyal. Fear which existed long before hatred, and has never failed to keep him obedient.”
“But how can you be sure?” interrupted Sartius.
Obviously someone who has had trouble with loyalty, Malock thought, which did not bode well for the likely next Head of the Council.
“Even if I have lost complete control over him, I can guarantee he won’t kill Braughton,” Malock answered. “There will be torture, there will be pain, and it will last a very long time. By the time death comes to Braughton, its sweet release will be the only wish he will ever remember having.”
“I suppose we have no choice but to trust you,” Sartius admitted. “Although, we strongly suggest you do not send your apprentice after Braughton alone again.”
“Not exactly my choice,” Malock mumbled.
Sartius leaned forward across the table again. “I would also remind you to be more respectful in your future dealings with the Council. It is only because I realize you haven’t fed in three days that I’m willing to overlook your transgressions.”
“You’re too kind,” Malock replied with a slight bow of his head. Truth be told, he knew such behavior would have never been tolerated by the Elder Council of his youth. At this point he would have found himself chained to a tree, facing east, and waiting for dawn. This, however, was not the Council of old. It was a mere shadow, a copy of what once was, and no human army would change it.
“Which brings us to the final reason you are here,” Sartius continued. He produced a small vial of a red liquid, holding it aloft for all to see. “This is the sedative which
rendered you unconscious for most of your stay here, and is the weapon you will use to safely capture Braughton.”
Sartius droned on for what seemed like hours. He talked about how the serum was developed, how it worked, praising their team of scientists. Human scientists. The same team that would figure out how to use the hybrid’s blood to create their new loyal subjects. The new order, bringing the vampire population under control, restoring the full power of the Council, and on, and on, and on.
To Malock it all made one thing abundantly clear – the Council’s reign was at an end. When presented with a weapon like Braughton, their grand plan was to use it as a tool to create human slaves. Pathetic.
Malock allowed his mind to wander, indulging thoughts of his own plans, his rise to power. Unfortunately, that meant he had no idea how long the silence had stretched while everyone stared at him. He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, I was just so caught up in the vision you were so vividly describing. The army, the respect, the return to power.” He shook a clenched fist triumphantly in the air. “All great stuff. Very exciting. Now what was that last thing you said?”
“I said,” Sartius repeated, “you aren’t even listening, are you, Malock?”
“No, before that,” Malock quickly replied. “Of course I heard you say that.”
Sartius simply stared for a moment, half smile frozen on his face. “Along with the sedative,” he tapped a black case Malock had missed being placed on the table, “we’re also sending along some of our personal guard to assist you.” Malock shook his head and began to wave his hands in protest, but Sartius stopped him. “We insist.”
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