by Kallysten
"I did, my lord. He usually strikes much better than this last move could suggest."
The Master's eyes seemed unforgiving as he turned them to her, and despite the curtain of her hair carefully arranged to cover half her face Eyrin felt as though he were detailing her still healing wounds.
"'Usually’ is not enough, Childe,” he chided. “You should understand that better than most."
She dropped her gaze to the floor in front of him. The heavy stones wore the trace of decades and decades of feet learning to carry or evade an attack; she had never noticed it before. She had never thought either that anything or anyone in the lair could change, but she had been proved wrong.
"With your permission, Sire,” she asked, daring to look up again, “maybe someone could teach Ian better than—"
He didn't even allow her to finish before answering with a stern, “No."
"But I cannot spar with him,” she tried to explain. The admission of weakness burned her lips, but it was necessary. “My leg won't allow it, and my vision makes training him difficult, let alone fighting against him. He would learn more from one of your better fighters. Simon, maybe, or Leane."
The Master considered her for so long, Eyrin thought she had convinced him. But in the end, he shook his head.
"Your body is healed enough. I want you back out and hunting as soon as possible. How do you expect to relearn how to fight if you don't even try?"
She was about to protest but he stopped her with a severe look. “Your duties to our villages did not end when you were wounded, Childe. You will resume hunting when Ian joins us. And it won't be in more than ten nights."
There was a note of finality to his words and Eyrin knew better than to argue any more. She inclined her head submissively; when she looked up again, he was gone.
"Do you hate me that much?"
Ian's quiet question reminded Eyrin of his presence and she turned to him warily. She had almost forgotten he was there as her discussion with their Sire had shifted from his training to Eyrin's.
"I do not hate you,” she replied dismissively. “Pick up where you stopped. That last attack was sloppy."
Ian didn't move. His face was set on a stubborn expression that Eyrin had often seen on him when he refused to admit defeat as they played Stones and Water.
"If you do not hate me,” he asked, still very quiet, “why does it pain you so much to teach me? Why were you trying to get rid of me?"
There was a hint of pain in his voice, and Eyrin hardened herself not to let the guilt take over again. She had done her best. He had no right to demand more from her than she could give.
"I taught you all I can. Others could do better than I do, now. And the more you will know, the safer you will be in ten nights when you go out and hunt. Now do that last move again."
For the past week, Eyrin had been working Ian hard, teaching him from late in the afternoon to the early evening, then again through the night after a couple of hours of break. He had obeyed each and every one of her commands, and been the most studious learner she could have asked for. The shock of seeing him turn his back on her and walk to put the sword back on the wall stand left her speechless.
"We'll work on that again tonight,” she managed to call after him as he left the room without looking back.
She bit back a sigh with some difficulty and went to the swords rack and picked one slightly longer but slimmer than the one Ian had used. Stepping in the middle of the room, she assumed the same position he had held moments earlier and slowly executed the same movement she had been teaching him. Her left leg throbbed when she leaned on it and she gasped. To show pain at all was bad enough, but Simon had chosen that instant to walk into the training room and Eyrin cursed softly. The polite thing would have been for him to pretend he hadn't noticed, but Simon had never been one for conventions.
"You can do the same thing without resting on your injured leg if you shift your hold on the sword and strike higher. It's more effective, too."
Looking at him icily, she shifted out of position. “I do not remember asking your opinion,” she snapped.
He shrugged on his way to pick up a sword. “Maybe you didn't,” he conceded. “But our Sire asked me to help you and your protégé. Although it looks like it'll be just you right now."
This time, she didn't manage to hold back her sigh. This was not at all what she had hoped for when asking her Sire to let others train Ian. She could recognize that Simon was one of the best fighters amongst the Childer, but she could barely stand him. Training with him promised to be torture.
"Ever thought about cutting your hair?” he said idly as he took place on her right side where she could see him. “It'd still cover your face but it wouldn't swing enough to be a distraction."
She didn't reply to that. It sounded like a good idea, but she wasn't about to admit it to Simon, not when he was looking so smug.
"Ready?” he asked, and without waiting for her answer he demonstrated the attack he had suggested when entering the room.
Eyrin reproduced his movement, her teeth clenched so hard they hurt. Ian should have been there to learn this too. She would have to teach him this attack later that night. By then he would have calmed down, she supposed, even if she didn't understand why he had been so upset.
Chapter Four
Leaving the bedroom that he had occupied alone since becoming a vampire, Ian glanced down the hall that led to Eyrin's room for a second. There were several unoccupied chambers in the lair, and Ian had come to believe that she had given him the one farthest from her own room on purpose. It made sense, seeing how she did all she could to spend as little time as possible with him. Now that Ian could accept human offerings of blood, it meant that he only saw Eyrin to train, and even for that, more and more, she relied on other Childer.
In the past, on the rare occasions when he had fantasized about what life would be like if he ever became a vampire, the main part of his daydreams had been Eyrin's constant presence at his side and in his bed. The reality was far enough from what he had imagined to make him wonder, day and night, how he could possibly have displeased Eyrin. Not understanding was driving him insane, and he had decided to try to get help. There was only one source possible.
He walked into the common room and quickly found the man he needed, sitting near the main fireplace with a Childe whose name escaped Ian at that moment. Swallowing heavily, Ian approached the two men and gave a small bow.
"Sire? May I talk to you?"
The Master gave him a long, piercing look before nodding at the Childe who had been playing Stones and Water with him, asking him to leave them for a moment. Once he had departed, Ian sat in his chair and he looked at the game board somewhat resentfully. He used to enjoy trying to best Eyrin, but she had refused to play ever since he had awoken as a vampire, insisting that there were more important things for him to do.
"Eyrin is avoiding me,” he said quietly. He knew the other vampires in the room would hear him anyway, but he could still pretend to be having a private conversation. “She is teaching me how to fight as you requested, but she never talks to me if she's not instructing me. She doesn't even look at me!"
There was a trace of petulance to his voice and Ian grimaced, wondering if his Sire would think him foolish again. During their first talk, on Ian's first night as a vampire, the Master had made it clear that Ian offering Eyrin to drink from his neck had been the most imprudent idea he could have come up with. Chastised, Ian had tried to stay out of his Sire's way until now, unwilling to feel like a child again. When he looked up at him however there was only sympathy in the Master's gaze.
"I know,” he said with a quiet sigh. “I've been keeping an eye on you two. I've noticed the way she acts. I thought it would get better with time but I guess I was wrong."
Ian shook his head, not understanding what his Sire meant.
"Eyrin killed a human she was sworn to protect,” he continued, his tone holding more patience than Ian had eve
r heard from him. “She wasn't herself when she drained you. The shock from her battle and from being wounded was still overpowering her. In normal circumstances, she'd never have taken too much blood from you. Now she blames herself for two mistakes, and being around you makes things worse."
The Master paused, but Ian barely noticed. He could remember suddenly the insistence with which Eyrin had demanded that he take her blood when he had first awoken. Had it been tinted by guilt? But if she felt guilty, shouldn't she have been nice to him, rather than distant?
"Maybe it's my fault,” his Sire started again with a shake of his head. “I was angered by what happened, and I was hard on her. Harder than I should have been, maybe, seeing how she was already so upset. And I thought being responsible for you would be an adequate punishment, a way for her to learn the consequences of her actions, but it seems to be making things more difficult. Your death touched her more deeply than I would have thought."
If anything, the explanation confused Ian even more.
"But I'm not really dead,” he protested. “And she will take human lives eventually, when she makes her own Childer, won't she?"
"Exactly,” the Master nodded. “That's the whole point. She killed you, but she didn't give you back this second life. I did."
He sighed again at that, and looked older suddenly. “Maybe I should have let her. She's strong enough to have Childer of her own."
"So why didn't you?” Ian asked, quelling the small voice inside him that tried to point out how questioning his Sire was hardly the best thing to do. The slightly exasperated look the Master gave him said exactly the same thing.
"Being a Master is more complicated than siring a Childe. And I don't think she's ready to be freed and to found her own lair. It'll take her time to adjust her fighting to her new limitations. She didn't want to kill you in the first place, and I didn't have time to ask her if she was ready to take on this kind of responsibility."
Ian frowned. “But you told her to look after me. You made me her responsibility."
"I did. So she would see firsthand the consequences of her mistake. I also wanted you to distract her, and to stop her from feeling sorry for herself. But now she's feeling sorry for what she did to you. That's not much of an improvement."
For a long moment, Ian considered the game in front of him. On the Master's side, the green pieces had formed three bridges already to advance and capture the central squares, but the brown were close enough to take advantage of the bridges themselves. He could see, with no trouble, how to win the game, whether he played green or brown. Why couldn't he understand Eyrin and now how to act with her just as easily?
Looking up once more at his Sire, he hesitated before pronouncing the next words. He felt a little silly asking about this, it almost felt like asking kissing advice from his father, but he didn't know whom else he could ask.
"What can I do so that she'll love me again?"
The Master's blink clearly indicated that he hadn't expected the question, but he answered immediately.
"Vampires don't love, Childe. You might as well forget this ridiculous notion right now. She should have taught you that already."
Ian's spirit plummeted at the cold admonishment. He'd had strong feelings for Eyrin before becoming a vampire, feelings he had been certain were love, feelings that hadn't faded in the slightest when he had changed. But if vampires couldn't love, did it mean that he had never loved Eyrin, and had only been fooling himself? His distress must have been apparent, because his Sire spoke again, more gently this time.
"Vampires don't love,” he repeated. “But occasionally, they let themselves be seduced."
A small frown and an equally small, hopeful smile battled each other on Ian's features as he observed the Master and struggled to understand.
"How did you seduce her the first time around?” his Sire asked, the faintest grin playing on his lips. “Nothing says you can't try to do it again."
* * * *
Even though Eyrin refused to acknowledge them, the gifts kept appearing. Sometimes they were left in her room, usually on her pillow and now and then by the fireplace. Sometimes, she found them in her cloak's pockets. Since she had resumed hunting demons four nights earlier, they had started appearing threaded to the pommel of her saddle, or inside the satchels. They were small presents, usually small enough for her to hold inside her closed hand. Small animals carved out of wood and polished until they gleamed. Flowers and scented herbs woven together in intricate bracelets. The same kind of small gifts Ian had once offered her when bringing her the blood offering for his village. There was no doubt in her mind these new trinkets were from him, and night after night, it became increasingly difficult not to answer to them, not to give him a simple thank you, or maybe even just a smile.
She should have returned them. It would have been the right thing to do, the honest thing to do. She had a small idea what Ian thought would happen if he kept giving her small gifts like these. The first time around, she had taken him to her bed, and it was doubtless that he hoped the same thing would happen again. But in truth, the gifts had had little to do with him becoming her lover. He was a good looking man, she enjoyed talking to him and she had had only one occasional lover at the time; the decision to bed him had been easy enough to make. It was cruel of her to lead him on by accepting his presents and allow him to believe they would resume their physical relationship.
She had to tell him that he needed to move on. She repeated it to herself every time she arranged a new carving on the edge of the mantle over her fireplace, every time she slipped a delicate woven bracelet onto her wrist. And yet, she couldn't manage to refuse the trinkets. The most she could do was refuse to recognize she had even received them, as ridiculous as it was; Ian always made a small comment or gave her a pointed look whenever she would wear his bracelets during the hunt.
And that was something else altogether. Ian had been deemed proficient enough with a sword four nights earlier and since then, their Sire had made a point to have both him and Eyrin accompany his hunting party every night. As a rule, the groups changed every couple of days, but he had been keeping the two of them close and Eyrin couldn't help but wonder why.
Did he want to keep an eye on her, still? She could understand as much, her fighting was still sub par and even if they had found no more than a couple of demons at any given time so far, she was a liability for the members of her group.
But she didn't understand why he would keep Ian with them too. He had once explained to her that fledglings should be allowed to grow into their fighting skills away from their Sire after their initial training, so that they wouldn't feel they were being judged each night. Why was their Sire breaking the rules where Ian was concerned? Then again, he had left his training to her, for the most part. Maybe he didn't trust her teaching had been sufficient. Maybe he wanted to be there when Ian would make his first mistake, and maybe he wanted Eyrin to be there too so she could see him correct it; more punishment for what she had done.
"We'll split here."
Her Sire's voice startled Eyrin out of her thoughts and she chastised herself for being so distracted by her situation that she had forgotten where she was and what she was doing. She looked around surreptitiously. The other Childer didn't seem to have noticed her inattention, except for Ian. His gaze on her was slightly concerned, and she looked away, annoyed, to focus on the Master.
"They used this clearing as a campsite before,” the Master continued, and a couple of Childer nodded. “It's easy enough to take over if we surround it and attack from different sides at the same time."
With quick gestures and brisk words, he formed three groups, two Childer in each of them. Eyrin wasn't overly surprised when her partner turned out to be Ian. She was stunned, however, to realize the Master didn't plan to accompany them and was riding out by himself instead.
She almost started protesting, but already he and the other Childer were pressing their horses forward and scattering in
different directions, leaving Ian and her to stand alone.
"Come on,” Ian pressed her, an eager edge to his voice. “We need to get into position."
With that, he heeled his horse forward. A growing feeling of unease settling in her stomach, Eyrin followed him. He shouldn't have been so excited to finally see a real battle. Their group had met lone demons in the past nights, scouts, and twice also pairs of them. Ian had danced his first fight and earned an approving nod from his Sire, even if all Eyrin had seen in his attacks had been flaws and openings. But this would be the first group attack in which Ian took part, and he didn't seem to realize how dangerous it would be. Anything could go wrong. The demons could surprise them by being more numerous than they expected. They might hear one of the groups approaching and attack first.
They might slaughter everyone. Starting with Ian.
Had her heart still been beating, it would have broken free of her chest at the idea that more harm could come to Ian, once more because of her if she was unable to protect him. She had to prevent that. She knew just the way.
Softly calling his name, she indicated that they ought to dismount and leave their horses so they could be stealthier. Ian didn't suspect anything, and she easily knocked him out with a blow to the head when he turned to tie off to a tree the reins she had handed him. She caught him as he fell and gently eased him to the ground. The memory of kneeling next to him as he had been too weak to stand tried to take precedence in her mind but she pushed it away. Now was not the time for such memories. She was protecting him, even if she was too late to save his life.
Eyrin eased her sword out of the scabbard on her back before stepping forward and toward the clearing. It had been long enough. The others would be attacking soon, if they hadn't already. She forgot the pain lancing down her leg and, as she strode out of the cover of the trees and into the demon camp, she was almost as eager as Ian had sounded earlier.
No one knew where exactly demons came from. Legends said they were born out of air during thunderstorms, but Eyrin had long since stopped believing in legends. The same tales said vampires could fly and talk to cats. The one thing that was certain was that demons were attracted to humans like bees to honey. Sometimes, lone demons would attack a village and do some damage there, but it was rare. Usually, they converged until they had a small attack group, then chose a target. And usually, vampires managed to stop them before they reached the village. It helped that demons were heavy and slow on foot. They also left easily recognizable tracks that allowed vampires to hunt them down. It helped, also, that they weren't fond of sunlight. It wasn't lethal to them as it was to vampires, but only the strongest demon leaders could coax their troops to advance during the day. When it happened, the best chance of the village under siege was to arm everyone with a bow or crossbow, send a rider to warn the lair and hope that the demons wouldn't have killed everyone by nightfall. Thankfully, it didn't happen very often.