Judgement Day

The task is immense: I am one of the youngest Enforcers, still new to my strength, yet it is I the Council has charged to track down and destroy a renegade. A renegade Enforcer, no less.

There are reasons for their choice, I suppose, and many of them are obvious. I am one of the few Enforcers near the Councilate, and I am strong despite my youth. Not even the Council's power is enough to keep track of all the galaxy's Enforcers, so when matters are urgent they will call on the nearest available. This time, it happened to be me.

When I have calmed enough to consider my plan of action, I close my eyes and let my mind drift. For me, this is the most effective way to plan: my other sense comes into play and prompts response. First, I must go to the last known place attacked by the renegade, and assess those who have witnessed his depravity. From them, I may gain an idea of his next destination - or better, his aura - for although all Enforcers can shift millions of light years with no more than a little concentration, few shift further than the next inhabited planet or manned ship. Distance travel is too draining, and there are not always criminals enough to supply the necessary power - a consideration to which the renegade is not bound.

I Judge one of the criminals kept at the Councilate to give me strength for my journey, then focus my other sense on the coordinates of the renegade's last known attack. When I have the place firmly in my mind, I tell myself that I wish to be there.

There is a moment of disorientation, then the cold silence of the Councilate is replaced by the cacophony of a market. The air here is hot and smells of many things, not least mortal fear. From the minds around me, I can hear that the fear is due to my presence and the memory of the renegade.

"We don' want your sort 'ere." The cry is hoarse with terror.

I turn to the sound, opening my eyes to look at the speaker. "I am here for the renegade." My voice has a resonance which silences the crowd. "I ask nothing of you." As I had hoped, my words trigger memories in those trying to keep their distance from me - a hopeless endeavour in such a crowded place - which give me knowledge enough to continue the chase. I thank them as I focus on the next stop, then close my eyes again.

The nausea is worse this time, with nothing to fortify me for the shift, but I have come much closer. The renegade has only just departed, and the memory of him is recent enough that I can taste his aura. That taste is all I need: with it, I can simply listen for that aura, and take myself to it. Before I do this, there are matters to attend to here.

The place is bleak, one of the many colonies where mortalkind survives by sheer persistence as much as anything else. Wind-bitten trees stand in irregular clumps about the hunched buildings and gaunt people, and everything is a dull grey. Several people regard me with hostility, while others cluster around something which reeks of false Judgement. The renegade's victim.

"You be a real Enforcer?" The question is asked by an old man, one who has seen so much that even false Judgement cannot frighten him. Even without it, he has little time left to him - a year, perhaps two.

"I am." The wind takes most of the resonance from my voice.

The cluster parts, and a thin woman leads a child over to me. The child is paralyzed by terror: she stumbles the short distance to me without seeing any of it, and if left, would stand in unseeing terror until her legs would no longer hold her. False Judgement.

There is a challenge here, silent, but no less clear than anything voiced. They wish me to prove myself to them by reversing the false Judgement. I wish they had chosen some easier test.

I kneel to bring myself to the child's height, and adjust my aura to heighten comfort, sympathy, love. That is difficult enough in itself - the renegade's evil fills me with cold rage. To twist a child so.....

The gentled aura filters through the girl's private hell, and she stumbles to me, allows me to embrace her, enfold her in the flowing black that is the Enforcer's uniform. UnJudging is harder, and leaves me both weary and dizzy, but the child's cheerfulness as she runs back to her mother is worth the price. These are now people who will welcome Enforcers as they should, who know that justice can be kind as well as hard.

The mother cries as she thanks me, while others offer me reward they can't afford.

I decline gently, and focus on the renegade, on his aura.

The shift takes me to a searing wasteland, a desert without sand. There are no people here, only the renegade, who regards me with amusement as he waits for me to recover from the nausea. He stands on the bare rock with his hood thrown back, his face exposed to the glaring sun. It doesn't affect him, but I would be badly burned if I were to so expose myself.

He is old, with the cast of feature that marks so many of the old ones. The high cheekbones, aquiline nose and large green eyes are as much a uniform as the flowing black robes we both wear: I have them too, although my hair is nothing to his mane of auburn curls. I am jealous.

He chuckles. "You aren't going to try anything silly, are you?" His voice rings with the knowledge that if combat should come, he will destroy me.

I am weak, having shifted too far since I last Judged, and weakened further by the unJudgement I have made. Even were I not, he would defeat me: without surprise I cannot hope to fight him. I wonder again why I was chosen for this.

He chuckles again. "I would ask the same. As if they didn't want me stopped."

I am not surprised he hears my thoughts: the old ones can do that, while I gain only impressions of meaning. "Why haven't you killed me?" I ask. "You could have done so with ease."

His shoulders shift under his robes. If he is uncomfortable in the sunlight he gives no sign of it. "You are a child. Barely turned. And the questions in you.....Had you been one who followed the Council without question you would be dead now." He speaks without feeling.

I cannot still a shudder. The doubts I have hidden since the day I turned, buried deep beneath my aura, the doubts the Council had never charged against me.....How did he know them?

Again, he answers my thoughts. "I am older than most of the Council, and stronger than all of them." he says with something which isn't really a smile. "Like you, our Father runs strong in my veins."

"You know how we began?" Excitement overwhelms my last reserve. To know the source of the Enforcers, to know why some turn and most remain in the mortal world for their short span. It is a dream I have long cherished.

"Come." he tells me. "This is Earth, the homeworld. I brought you here to show you our origins."

So he had led me here, as I was beginning to suspect. It was impossible that one so powerful could not have sensed my approach. And this was Earth? This hellish place the paradise of the oldest legends?

"Paradise despoiled." he tells me. "Mortalkind poisoned their world, then fled it. We....well, some stayed, and some of our kin remained to shepherd them." He leads me across the desert, though what he seeks I cannot guess. "They call themselves by the old name, and they have no illusions about bringing justice with their needs."

He stops, then takes my hand and shifts us. I am ready to faint by this time, and my body craves sustenance.

Something warm presses against my lips, and the renegade says, "Drink."

I can no more disobey than I could stop my own heartbeat. Warm fluid fills me, richer and sweeter than anything I have tasted before. My weariness washes away, leaving me stronger than I have ever been.

"Better?" The renegade - Darnel - is amused.

I nod, and look around. I am in a cavern, being watched by some thirty people, none mortal, and all with the stamp of our shared ancestry. They are curious, intrigued, but they make no move towards us.

Darnel is known to them: they look to him for explanation.

"This is Sharalan." he tells them. "She would like to know our kind's history."

They accept this, although most are aware of my real reason for seeking Darnel. It is mere trivia to them, as it has become to me. The thirst to know is far more powerful.

They know how the Council works, and not just from me. Darnel's voice echoes silently in my mind. If you do nothing to offend them, they will tolerate you.

This is not helpful: I have no idea what will or won't offend them..... whoever they are.

Darnel's silent laughter is not comforting. Honesty is all you need, young one. Honesty and your good sense.

"Not many come from outside for the old lore." The speaker is a woman, so ancient that she shines with power beneath her porcelain-white skin. "Your Council discourages it." Her observation is both question and challenge.

A test for me to pass if I am to be accepted by these people. "The Council has no great interest in what has passed." I tell her. "They prefer to focus on what is now."

Good answer. Arila has no love for the Council.

I presume Darnel's silent comment means that Arila is the woman questioning me.

She nods, then asks, "Have you ever wondered why, child?"

Why? "I have, yes. It seems.....inconsistent with the tales sent to the inhabited worlds."

There is no humour in Arila's dry laughter. "It would." She grins, showing me her teeth as a sign of acceptance. "Many of them have histories far bloodier than your renegade friend here."

Somehow, this is less surprising than it should be. It is so right, fitting even the faint shame and regret I have sometimes felt in the older ones. "We have stories, long banned, of great battles amongst....the kin, before the Council was established. They speak of conversions." I cannot bring myself to use the old word for our kind, but Enforcer is not appropriate.

Arila offers another of those bone-dry chuckles. "And like all things forbidden, they find fruit, no doubt. And yes, there were conversions. When threatened with destruction, most will swear to something they detest. Particularly when they're being drained at the time."

I swallow. The blunt reference to the only means of destroying our kind disturbs me deeply.

Arila seems to find this amusing. "We don't mince our words here, child Sharalan. We are what we are, we take what we need for the strength of our bodies, and we live our lives as fully as we can."

This makes a sense to me that the Council never had. It is no different to how mortalkind exist, and lacks the quasi-religious trappings of the Council's dogma about which I had wondered, but never dared question. I feel I am beginning to understand now: the dogmas are a way of organizing life so that mortality will accept us and our needs.

"You chose well in this one, Darnel." Arila observes. "Surprising that your Council hadn't already dealt with her."

I suspect that sending me after Darnel may have been the Council's way of 'dealing' with me, actually. Sending one as young as I after someone as old and powerful as Darnel could only be called a suicide mission.

Perceptive of you. Darnel observes with amusement. To Arila, he says, "She shields herself well, for a youngling. And the Council are lazy these days. They probably had no more than a vague disquiet about her."

I am, of course, not shielded now. When Darnel brought me here I was too weak to maintain even the weakest shred of protection about me, and I have made no effort to resume it, when such an act may be insulting to my hosts.

"She would." Arila is also amused. "She found you quickly enough." There is an undercurrent to her words, a sharing of something between her and Darnel which I can sense only dimly.

"Yes." Darnel shrugs fluidly. "I had expected to have much longer before I sensed pursuit." There is approval of me in his voice, as well as a degree of chagrin. Perhaps he did not bring me quite so much as I had first thought.

You underrate yourself. That is not Darnel speaking into my mind. This speaker is darker, deeper, and immensely more powerful.

All of those watching turn their attention to something behind me. Even Arila is awed: she and Darnel have fallen to their knees with the others, leaving me standing alone.

I turn and move to kneel, but am stopped by a hand to my chin. The touch is gentle, but I can feel the strength beneath that light touch. My head is tilted up to meet the gaze of the most ancient man I have ever seen. His skin is even paler than Arila's, with such power beneath that he actually glows faintly. The hawk-like nose is more pronounced than in any of the kin I have ever seen, the thin lips bleached by age to the faintest pink. Black hair curls to his shoulders and frames his face, which is dominated by his eyes. They are large, the green of deep forest leaves, and compelling. Once I meet those eyes I cannot look away, cannot even breathe.

"Come." His deep voice leaves a faint echo. "I have waited for one such as you."

There is no room for fear as he takes my hand, leads me from the chamber which suddenly buzzes with curious conversation. I am dizzy, bemused, but I can at least breathe now he has freed me from the power of his soul.

The corridors are high-roofed, and people move aside as we pass. All are mortal, many carrying things, and every one has the bearing of a servant who is honored to serve. Is that how these people take their needs?

For the most part, yes, my guide tells me silently. There is also a certain amount of what you would call Judgement. A silent shrug. No society is perfect.

And this meets the needs of all, I suspect. The mortals have what their kind wants most: security, ample food - although how they grow it I cannot begin to guess - and power to worship living among them. The kin too have what they want with this arrangement. It occurs to me now that all of the kin I have seen here are better nourished than I have ever been.

Again, my guide responds in silence to my thoughts. You are correct on all counts. You are also half starved. Anger colors his voice at the last, and I shiver. Surely no-one would ever choose to anger this man. The Father.

He chuckles deep in his throat. The sound is almost a growl. "Well done, child." A door slides open, and he guides me into the chamber beyond.

It is larger than the one I have left, and draped with sheer fabrics in tones of green. A mortal-style bed stands in the center of the room, a sleeping woman of the kin upon it. She is so like the Father she could be his sister, and she is equally as ancient as he.

"Not quite. My daughter. Do you know what happens when we are badly damaged?"

I shake my head, bewildered. We are immortal, immune to disease and able to shrug off injuries that would kill a mortal many times over.

"This is true." the Father observes in a murmur. "But exposure to the sun while young, or the removal of the head or heart.....These can cause the body to turn to dust. But the soul remains, trapped in the agony of the wounds, until the body can be restored......I think you can guess the means."

The means of our sustenance, of course. The ruby liquid that sustains our bodies over the centuries.

He nods. "One drop is sufficient to return the body to its former state. Whoever drops it usually dies, of course. After such pain, one is less than reasonable."

"Mortals, used to do this to us?" The idea is horrifying.

He nods again. "When I was young, they would hunt us down and destroy our bodies whenever they could. They never knew they couldn't kill us." He spreads his hands, gives the sleeping woman a look of such sorrow that tears come to my eyes. "We find those so trapped, and restore them. If their souls have been so damaged by the pain they are unable to regain their sanity, we give them peace." By draining them: I don't need to be told that. "It is hard to do, particularly for those who have been discorporate for a long time."

That, I think I understand. When we Judge a mortal, we know them intimately. As we take their life into our own, they become a part of us. The same would happen if we were to drain one of our own kind, once their shielding was gone.

"Precisely."

I swallow. "And your daughter, lord?"

He winces. "Please, call me Vlad. I am merely the first to discover the turning and its gifts."

"And ancestor to all of us." I point out.

He nods. "I taught my children, and theirs, how to survive the weakness that comes on us at maturity. They passed the knowledge to their descendants when the sickness came to them." A shrug, movement against his simple dark clothing. "Before me, those with it wasted away and died." He regards his daughter in silence for a long moment before he says, "My Ersbeta was the first to follow me. Her husband found out and drove a stake through her heart, then burned her and scattered the ashes. We found her only recently, and her mind.....is gone. She is kept like this, asleep beyond her pain, until someone can be found with the strength to take it from her."

I stare at the woman on the bed, at the pale face and black hair, the inconceivable torment behind that peaceful visage. "You want me......to try?"

Vlad sighs. "I would not ask it, when even I have failed. I ask only that you understand why I brought you to see her."

I think I understand. This fate is what the Council dogmas are designed to avoid. And the Council had never known any other way was possible.

"There is something else." he observes. "And that is something your Council has never understood. The power of love."

I swallow, look from Vlad to his daughter, and back. "This is why they forbid joining?" To be honest, physical celibacy has never bothered me as it has tormented others. Love, too, is something with which I am unfamiliar. I begin to wonder if this is not to my good fortune: to carry such a burden through eternity must be terrible.

"It can be." Vlad admits. "But it can also be illuminating, especially after that pain." He indicates his daughter. "Sometimes love is all that keeps us sane."

I can no longer resist the pull I feel from him, the sorrow and deep-seated anger which roils my stomach. Also, my commitment to the Council's rule is deeper than mere law. True justice, to see the doing of what is right, that drives me more than any other. And to look at Vlad's daughter is to see something wrong which must be righted.

My step is uncertain as I move towards her, but my soul is calm. Whatever the outcome, I can no more leave this room without trying to help than I can stop my own heartbeat.

Vlad's gasp echoes in the dry air as I arrange myself beside the sleeping Ersbeta, take her limp form into my embrace. The sounds fade as I take her life into mine, and I am drawn into Ersbeta's memories.

The pain is strongest, terrible pain that I can bear only for a moment more. And another, and another, as I move deeper through her torment to the lost soul buried beneath. I am faintly aware of my breath rasping, of tears scalding their way down my face, but this does not matter. What matters is to find the woman lost in this torturous sea and to free her of it.

Finally, the pain recedes and I am in an island of calm enclosed by pain. In it, I see the slim form of Ersbeta, and in her gaze I see myself as she sees me - too thin, my features sharpened to a mask by my thinness, my green eyes too wide, my light brown hair lank and lifeless.

Who are you?

She has no awareness of time or the outside world here, I realize. To escape the pain, she retreated to this island of her soul, and here she has stayed, unable and afraid to leave. Someone who would help you.

Freedom? No pain? There is terrible eagerness in that. No-one has ever come to me to help.

Come to me, then. I can't promise success, but I will give you all I have to give.

Without transition, she is with me, and I am immersed in her soul. Her sorrow and loss at her husband's actions are as bad as the pain, perhaps even worse. From them, she could have no escape. With it runs a guilt I cannot understand: guilt that she must live by taking life from mortalkind, that her own beloved husband was not free from her needs. Still, I try my best to assure her that she has no need for remorse, that there is no evil in doing what must be done.

It is a very long time for me until all is quiet, until there is nothing but the final few droplets of her soul to come to me, until at last, the cool hand in mine becomes hard as marble and there is no more to be done.

I pull myself away from her, try to stand despite a head that spins without mercy. I am caught, in time to see the alabaster statue that was Ersbeta crumble and fade into dust which glows briefly before disappearing.

"Thank you." Vlad's voice echoes through to the marrow of my bones. I cannot see his face, but I know it is streaked with tears, as I know his gratitude comes from the depths of a soul wearied by immeasurable time. "You must rest now."

The command is undeniable: I cannot disobey.

I wake to echoing quiet from a rest which has been filled with confusion. Age makes our kind powerful, and despite her long time lost, Ersbeta was filled with ancient power, and that power bewilders my senses. Usually, it comes so slowly that one does not realize its growth.

Beyond the quiet around me I am aware of activity, of mortal servants on their errands, of animated meetings and couplings, and of a buzzing excitement linked to myself. Word has passed of Ersbeta's release, and there is speculation on how one as young as I could do such a thing. I am not sure of the answer to that, myself. I know only that I have done it, and have grown immeasurably in power as a result. Before, I could never sense at such a distance, nor with such detail.

Someone approaches my door, and I realize it is Vlad as the door is opened. He comes to me and regards me for a long moment before he speaks. "Come. You need nourishment."

This is without question: the craving is so deep it colors my soul. That I have come to regard this as normal does not alter the fact.

He takes my hand as I rise. "Would you prefer to pass a Judgment, or to try our more usual method?"

I elect to Judge, as I doubt I will be able to control what I take. Curiously, the notion of drawing nourishment from other than the guilty no longer disturbs me. I think this is perhaps Ersbeta's influence.

Judgement is quick, and I relax into the warmth of full nourishment. It feels like eternity since I was last sated, though I know only a few days have passed.

Vlad chuckles. "You will need more soon. Chronic malnourishment can take some overcoming."

This is the second time he has referred to this: evidently what is normal for the Council is less than generous by the standards of his people.

The sound from Vlad's throat is less than polite. "Your Council demands semi-starvation." he tells me. "I have never met one of us who could thrive on less than daily feeding."

That is a shock. I am accustomed to Judge perhaps two or three times in a month. The craving for more I have always known the Council calls evil, and preaches abstinence. I wonder how many of the Council practice it.

"Few, I would suspect." Vlad observes. "I would suggest you shield yourself, child. There are many curious to meet you, and unshielded as you are, the experience could be traumatic."

Only then do I realize that Vlad is shielded as tightly as I have ever known one of our kind to be. It is the work of a few heartbeats to replace my own shields, and I am surprised when this action quiets the buzzing in the back of my head.

"You are far more sensitive than you were." Vlad explains. "You will need time to adjust to what Ersbeta has given you."

I am beginning to realize how true this is.

The meeting place where I first met these other kin is quieter this time, with only Arila and Darnel there. They have coupled: I can smell this in the air.

Darnel studies me for a long time. "Do you think you can fool the Council, little one?"

For my answer, I strengthen my shields, allowing only the tiniest part of my new strength to show. I suspect I know why he has asked this of me, and I am surprised to find the idea attractive.

Darnel smiles at me. "She'll do, yes Father?"

Beside me, Vlad chuckles. "She would have done anyway, as you know. The strength of my line is something the Council has forgotten."

Arila nods. Her eyes gleam against her porcelain skin. "Do you know what you are to do?"

"I have some idea." I tell her. "I would like to know more detail."

The three of them explain their plan. Darnel found the homeworld many years ago, it seems, and has been planning to bring the Father to his rightful power ever since. The kin of Earth have prepared themselves, and waited only for an innocent who was strong-willed enough to take the power of one of the lost ones, yet open-minded enough to see that the Council's rule was not all there was. Darnel has played renegade before, but I am the first he thought might meet the Father's requirements.

I am to return to the Council, supposedly with news of the renegade's destruction, but mainly to provide a link through which Vlad, Arila and Darnel can bring themselves to the Council without weakening themselves overmuch. All three are eager for the battle they are certain will follow.

It is measure of how much I have changed that I am not appalled by this scheme, but find it enticing. I think perhaps the honesty it offers is appealing: to be able to be myself, without having to hide my soul from my own kind, to shield only what I wish to keep private and not because to reveal would see me dead......The thought is intoxicating.

The Council is unchanged: ten old Enforcers in dusty black robes, their places shrouded in darkness while the spot where I stand is lit brightly enough that it would hurt the eyes of a mortal. The light no longer bothers me, and through my reinforced shields I can see the Council as one of the kin of Earth might. Their faces are hidden, but they are not shielded - deeming, perhaps, that one as young as I can not read them. Before Ersbeta, this would have been so. Now, I know they are surprised by my return, that my mission was indeed intended to bring my death. They intend it to be so anyway: they plan to kill me here and claim gross heresy.

They have no notion of the gross heresy I am in fact planning.

At the President's order, I give my report. It is mostly true, differing only in the fate of the renegade, whom I claim to have found while he nourished himself, and taken him in that weakness. I say nothing of Vlad and the others, of course.

One of the Council notes that I must have learned why the renegade turned, and I can feel that this is to be the pretext for my execution.

I respond that my commitment to justice is unchanged, and one man's selfishness is not sufficient to turn me.

The skepticism of the Council is so obvious I would have felt it had I been the weak youngling they think I am. The President demands that I explain how I know I have not been corrupted.

I turn to face him: he is the most powerful of the Council, powerful enough that even the weakest Enforcer can feel it. I do not let my shielding drop. "There is nothing I can say or do to prove such a thing." This is simple truth. "I can only repeat what I have already told you." I sense others now, close to me, but young. The Council must have called them in to see the end of a renegade. My senses tingle with the nearness of peril, and I send my silent call to Vlad, knowing that he will not come in time to stop this fight. I have known all along that I am to be a sacrifice.

I will not be a meek sacrifice. With Ersbeta's strength in my veins, I may even survive.

The President gives a silent signal, and the younglings close in.

I discard my cloak and robes to reveal the close fitting clothing beneath. The better to fight with, this gear.

Two lunge for me at once, their lips drawn back in canine snarls. My hand closes about the wrist of one, swings him into his fellow even as I pull the trapped hand towards me, and sate the deep craving within me. I have fasted for this encounter, knowing that I must appear like any other Enforcer. There is a meaty sound as heads meet, and both fall limp, the one in my grip now a flailing weapon to hold off the others.

I am surprised by how easy this is, how much my power has grown. I am so fast that the Council are only beginning to rise to their feet, and the younglings have taken only a step towards me.

The last drop enters me, and I send the cooling statue careening into the Council before it can dissipate, and take another of the young ones. The rest flee, their terror so great it seems to glow about them. By the time I have drained the second youngster, the room contains only the Council and me.

I let my shielding drop, allowing my new power to shine through my being, and project at the Council the pain and terror that was Ersbeta's. They falter in their advance, unable to see beyond that agony to where it holds me too. I, though, have carried Ersbeta's agony for many nights now, and it no longer leaves me helpless in its grip. I am not challenged as I approach the Council, as I draw the President into my embrace.

His cool sweet substance jets into my mouth, filling me with new strength, driving away Ersbeta's pain. Now I am one with the President, witness to the hypocrisy he has made of the Enforcers and the Judgement. He dies quickly, though not cleanly. I can Judge my own kind if the need arises.

As his shell falls away from me to shatter on the stone-clad floor, the remainder of the Council attack as one.

This is harder: while I am able to keep them from passing false Judgement on me, I cannot evade all the slashings of hardened nails, nor drain them as I would prefer. My own blood mingles on the floor with theirs.

My nails slash through skin, tearing open a woman's neck. I catch a little of her scarlet self before she falls screaming. There is a crunching sound that silences her, as someone breaks her spine. The heel of my hand cracks another's spine, his fall leaving his body useless wreckage to be trampled underfoot in the struggle. I duck against a slash aimed at my throat, feel hot pain as my forehead is ripped open even as I catch the hand that does it and break the bones in the wrist.

Cool white flesh comes within reach of my teeth: I tear at it, gaining a few precious swallows of nourishment before their source pulls away from me.

And then I am alone in the chamber, the Council sprawled about my feet, their bodies so battered that they can know only the pain. My own pain is great, but I move to each broken body in turn, draining them of their precious liquid and bringing them the peace of death.

As I stand, waiting for my dizziness to subside and my breath to come in less painful gasps, I become aware that I am no longer alone. Terrified youngsters have crept in, witnessing how much of what I have done I can not say. Vlad is here too, and Darnel and Arila.

Vlad smiles at me as I look up. "Well done, dear child. I believed you could do this."

Darnel and Arila are surprised: they had thought to send me to my death. The knowledge does not disturb me: had I been given the chance Darnel would once have been dead at my hands.

Vlad glides over to me, shining with the power of his ancience. He takes my hand in his and turns us to face the gathering crowd of Enforcers.

It is no surprise that so many are come here: the younglings who fled me would have sent word to every Enforcer they could reach, and now those Enforcers wait to learn what will become of them with the Council dead and one far older than any of the Council standing in their place and shining with power greater than any they have ever seen.

Vlad smiles at them, and they retreat a little in awe which is shadowed by fear.

Arila speaks, her brittle voice aglow with adoration. "Behold your Lord, your Father."

"Obey Him as you would the Council, and you need fear nothing." Darnel adds, his eyes aglow with triumph.

There is a rustle of nervous murmuring amongst the gathered Enforcers, a rustle silenced when Vlad speaks. "Behold also my Queen, the Lady Sharalan."

I keep my expression calm, but send to him a silent question.

I marked you as my own the moment I saw you. Vlad tells me without a sound. Your strength has no need of the power time brings us.

For that moment, he opens his heart to me, and I understand. My eyes mist as he returns his attention to the Enforcers.

"And know me as I was known in the days of my youth: Lord Dracula."