Legacy of Kain: Blood Brothers

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Chapter One

After The Fall

“Cast him in.”

That was all Kain said, and with that cryptic command, Dumah and Turel hurled their brother Raziel off the precipice and into the churning whirlpool below. With an almost perverse fascination, they watched as Raziel fell, spinning in the air, flailing his arms, the dreadful sound of his inhuman scream following him down into eternity. Dumah’s blue eyes glittered when Raziel struck the water and was sucked below the swirling waves, cutting off his agonized scream as if with a knife blade. Turel looked at his hands and cast his other brothers a meaningful, worried glance behind Kain’s back.

Melchiah and Zephon, standing a few paces away, said and did nothing. Rahab, his eyes shining with malevolence, greedily rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. The wind whipped their capes around them, but the cold air did not chill their undead skin. Melchiah merely closed his eyes and tilted his head down.

Kain stared down into the Abyss, his expression unreadable. Apparently satisfied, he looked at the five remaining brothers, his five lieutenants, and only Turel returned his gaze. Was there a little bit of pleasure in Kain’s stare? Or maybe a warning?

“Let us go,” Kain said, and strode off back in the direction they had come, off the central mesa in the center of the Lake of the Dead, and across the wooden bridge to the mainland heading to the Sanctuary of the Clans.

Dumah, casting a dismissive glance at his brothers, flexed his muscular arms and followed Kain, and Rahab followed a few steps after him. Zephon rubbed his chin and stepped to the edge, looking down into the water like a curious scientist. He kicked a pebble loose and it plunged in after Raziel.

When Kain was safely out of earshot, Zephon patted Melchiah on the shoulder and smiled menacingly. “Well, I’m certainly glad it wasn’t me.”

“You would be,” Turel muttered.

“Yes,” Zephon admitted with a shrug. “I suppose that’s so.” And then he walked after the others, taking his time to enjoy the scenery.

“I wish it had been him,” Turel said, stepping to the precipice himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed down into the whirlpool, the wind moving his long brown hair around his face. The waters looked different now, even though he’d looked down into their endlessly circling depths hundreds of times at dozens of executions. The fact that one of his blood was now doomed there made the scene noticeably more important. And frightening.

Turel was the third born, after Raziel and Dumah, and perhaps of all the vampire brothers, he was the only one who might have been able to claim Raziel as a friend instead of just a rival. Despite this, when Kain ordered him to throw Raziel into the Abyss, he did not hesitate. Kain was his Master, and he prided himself on always performing his duty and following orders. But still, executing his own brother nagged at him like a bothersome insect.

Perhaps he felt a guilty sense of satisfaction from Raziel's death. While never openly bragging or claiming to be superior, Raziel still behaved arrogantly enough to make his brothers hate him the way those without power hate those with. They may have been brothers, but they were far from equals.

As far as the brothers were concerned, executing Raziel had two justifications. First and foremost, to destroy a powerful rival and perhaps place themselves higher in Kain’s esteem. And second, to punish him for his arrogance and vanity. Turel supposed it was ironic that when Raziel first appeared with a pair of beautiful translucent wings, the first emotions he felt were jealousy and envy. Raziel was the first-born, the best warrior, and probably Kain’s favorite, so why had evolution granted him another advantage? Why was one of the others not given such a gift to parade in front of their Master?

The irony, of course, was that the wings were no gift. None of the brothers had expected Kain to react as he did – tearing the wings right off Raziel's back and condeming him to a watery grave – but over the years it was becoming increasingly apparent that they could not anticipate anything that their Master did anymore. Being granted wings was just Raziel's bad luck. They were Raziel’s gift, let him suffer the consequences of their existence.

“I agree with Zephon,” Melchiah said suddenly.

Turel turned to look at him. “Is that so?”

Melchiah did not make eye contact. He rarely did. “Yes. I’m glad that it wasn’t me. Had it been, I don’t think you would mourn to this extent.”

“Is that what I’m doing? Mourning?”

Melchiah glanced up momentarily. “What would you call it?”

“I'm just thinking. Wondering why Kain did what he did.”

“Why does he ever do what he does? If it bothers you so much, perhaps you should have refused to carry out his orders.” Without another word, Melchiah sighed and plodded off after the others, leaving Turel alone at the edge of the cliff.

Turel did not claim to be an intellectual, but he was no fool. Something important had just occurred, far more important than just Raziel’s sudden execution. Kain’s reaction had been too fast, too unexpected, too extreme. Turel might have expected Kain to be angry, maybe even violently so, but to throw Raziel into the Lake of the Dead? Even that seemed a bit too harsh a penalty for something Raziel surely could not have controlled. Clearly, something more significant than just an evolutionary spurt had just taken place.

With those thoughts in mind, Turel made his way back to the Sanctuary of the Clans. It was a brisk ten minute walk across the bridge, through a cavern, and down the deep valley leading south. The sky was a glorious shade of grayish-purple, the sun effectively blocked by thick clouds. Drops of blood marked the ground here and there, spilled from Raziel’s ruined wings when he was dragged to the Lake only minutes before.

When Turel arrived back at the Sanctuary, he made his way directly to the Pillars, and found himself intruding on the heated argument already in progress.

“My Lord,” Dumah said supplicatingly, “Please, let me assist you. You don't have to do this by yourself.”

“I'll do it myself,” Kain said, clenching his teeth as he spoke. “You threw him in. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Dumah would not be shrugged off, though. “I can help you,” he insisted, coming forward with his palms spread out, looking like a giant black bear trying to imitate a gentle posture. “Just give the word, my Lord.”

Kain sliced his hand through the air, cutting Dumah off. “You will stay here, and that is my order. I must do this alone. No one may help me.”

Turel edged toward Zephon, who stood in the corner, watching the proceedings interestedly, his darting brown eyes almost glowing with the tension and pressure flowing through the room. He thrived on such court intrigues and violent arguments, especially those with Kain in the center. Being dependent on such things for entertainment made Zephon a reliable source of gossip and interesting secrets.

“What’s going on?” Turel whispered.

Zephon rubbed his thin hands together. “Kain's going to take care of Raziel’s entire clan as well, and Dumah wants to help him.”

“What?”

Zephon’s smile grew wide and thin, like a cut across his face. “He’s going to kill the lot of them.”

Turel looked up at Kain, who stared right back at him. Both he and Dumah were actually taller than Kain in a strictly physical sense, but getting a dark look from Kain could make either of them seem inches tall. Kain strode over to Turel, his arms swinging with the steps like miniature pendulums. Zephon panicked and backed away, not wanting to get caught in the middle.

“Yes,” Kain announced loudly. “I’m going to kill the traitor Raziel’s entire clan. Do you not agree with this decision?”

“We serve at your command,” Turel replied mildly. “It doesn’t matter if I agree or not.”

Kain lunged forward and struck Turel in the chest with the side of his hand, knocking him backward. He staggered and nearly fell over, gasping for breath and grimacing in pain as if his ribs had been shattered by the blow.

“That’s right,” Kain snarled, “it doesn’t matter what your feeble attempt at an opinion is. Now get out of my sight before you join your late brother.”

Turel gathered some pride and marched out of the room, all eyes following him out the door and down the hall. Kain turned back to Dumah and pointed a finger. “And you. Do as I say, and let me take care of the Razelim alone. Stay out of it.”

Dumah, not willing to antagonize his Master any more than necessary, backed away respectfully and averted his gaze. “Yes, my Lord.”

Kain reached behind him and drew his curved black blade, the weapons known as the Soul Reaver. The hollow sound of metal scraping on metal, as the blade slid free of its sheath, echoed uncomfortably in the circular room. Kain lowered the sword until the tip rested on the hard floor. “Good,” he said, his voice grumbling, and headed out of the room, the blade scraping after him, scratching the floor.

Rahab appeared from behind one of the pillars and ran up to Dumah, watching intently as Kain marched down the hall. When he turned a corner and was out of sight, Rahab stifled a laugh, covering his mouth. Rahab, although the physically smallest of all the brothers, was not the weakest nor the least popular. He had one important ally in Dumah, who towered above him. Rahab was Dumah’s “little” brother in several senses of the word.

“For a moment there,” Rahab said, “I thought I might lose two brothers today.”

“It would have been no loss,” Dumah grunted. “Turel is nothing but a spineless coward. He's eager to stay in Kain's good graces, but has the nerve to act as if he possesses the moral high ground. If Kain doesn’t strike him down one of these days, I might be tempted to do it myself.”

From the other side of the room, Zephon snickered. “I'd like to see you try it, brother. It would surely be a good show.”

“Silence yourself or you’ll be next,” Dumah warned.

“Surely, surely. With Raziel gone, I suppose that makes you second-in-command among us, eh? Subordinate only to Kain now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Zephon smiled and took a few steps forward. “I guess it's no surprise then, that you shed no tears for our late brother.”

Dumah straightened his shoulders and clenched his large fists, what passed for a nervous twitch on his large frame. “He was a fool. He deserved exactly what he got. So will you, if you aren’t careful.”

“Oh, I’m always careful,” Zephon said, making his way to the door. “I’m the most careful one of all.”

“The most cowardly, you mean,” Rahab sneered, but Zephon was already out the door and gone.

Dumah cracked his knuckles. “Kain should have stopped with you, Rahab. Zephon and Melchiah are both wastes of vampire flesh. They should never have been created.”

“Better them than troublemakers like Turel.”

“Yes, you have a point there.”

“Do you think he’s going to try something?”

“You mean Turel? Even he’s not stupid enough to try something against Lord Kain. It would be suicide.”

“Might be fun to watch, though.” And Rahab laughed again, a high-pitched, nervous sound, like the chittering of a squirrel.

*****

“Lord Zephon, there's a visitor here to see you.”

Zephon closed the book he had been reading and leaned back in his thick wooden chair. The fledgling at the door backed away and pulled it open wide. Melchiah, still clad in his ornamental armor with yellow sash, entered the room. The door closed after him.

“Have a seat, brother,” Zephon said, gesturing toward one of the other chairs in his cramped library and study. The smell of incense and candle wax was thick in the air due to the poor ventilation.

Melchiah shook his head. “No, I’m not going to stay very long.”

Zephon shrugged and returned to his book. “What’s on your mind?”

“You’ve heard what Kain has done?”

“Of course I heard. I was there when he announced it.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Feel?” Zephon closed the book again and this time set it aside. “How do I feel about it?”

Melchiah’s expression did not change, it never did. He had a perpetual look of sorrow and indifference to him that irritated the rest of the brothers. “What? Are you not capable of feeling?”

“Capable, yes. I just choose not to.”

“You don’t care that Kain single-handedly wiped out the entire Razelim clan?”

“I could do nothing to stop it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Zephon shook his head and leaned back in his chair, setting his feet up on the top of the worn, stained desk. Dressed in a casual red robe open at the front, a sly smile always curving his lips, he was the epitome of relaxation and amusement. He and Melchiah in a room together were like polar opposites personified. Melchiah was broad and awkward in his skin, with a morose face and short black hair that laid upon his head like dead grass. Zephon’s own body was thin and wiry, and his narrow, aquiline face was outlined in a flurry of light blond hair that he normally tied behind his head.

“I don’t feel anything about it,” Zephon answered after some thought. “What would you expect? Sadness? Regret?”

“Fear,” Melchiah said.

“They were Raziel’s children, not my own.”

“Raziel was his favorite, his first born. If he can annihilate the lot of them, what should stop him from doing it to us as well?”

“Common sense, hopefully, if nothing else. There’s no reason to kill the rest of us, even if he wanted to. We didn’t grow any damned wings.”

Melchiah’s eyes were like spheres of onyx. “Not yet, at any rate.”

Zephon’s smile melted off his face as he realized what Melchiah was getting at. After all, their evolution did usually follow a pattern. Raziel might have been the first to grow wings, but would he be the only one?

“I see your point,” Zephon whispered, putting his feet back on the floor. “Do you truly think we should be concerned?”

“Why do you care what I think? I’m just the runt of the family.”

“Perhaps that’s why you thought of this when no one else did. You’re accustomed to being spat on by destiny.”

“You have such a way with words, brother.”

Zephon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I'll think about this and let you know what I come up with. Is that acceptable?”

“More than acceptable,” Melchiah said, and turned toward the door.

“Oh, and Melchiah?”

“Yes?”

Zephon smiled at him and then casually rubbed the side of his own face. Melchiah lifted a gloved hand and did the same, and a thin chunk of flesh fell away from his cheek, exposing deterioration beneath. Melchiah rubbed his fingers together, crushing the decayed bit of skin. “Yes, this one is nearly dried out,” he said quietly, and left the room, closing the door once more behind him.

Zephon didn't go back to his book right away. He watched the closed door for a few more moments as if expecting Melchiah to come back inside. When he did return his attention to the desktop, he saw a small spider skittering across the surface. Gingerly, he swept it up in his hand and lowered it to the floor.

*****

A thick wooden staff was like a toothpick in Dumah’s hands. He easily blocked off two thrusts from his opponent, the sound of the staves striking each other reverberating up and down the long hall, and swung his staff up, slamming his opponent right across the chin. He flew into the air and crashed to the dirt, his staff clattering away like a dropped toy.

Dumah laughed heartily and broke his own staff over his knee, tossing the pieces aside like kindling. His opponent, a member of his clan named Arkos, slowly got to his feet, both hands on his jaw. Blood seeped from between his lips.

There was a smattering of applause from some of the other clan members standing around to watch the fights. Dumah held combat demonstrations on a regular basis in his clan hall. Originally, he handed out rewards to the winning fighters, until it became apparent that he could easily collect the rewards himself if he chose. No one had yet bested him in physical combat.

“Does anyone else want to try me?” he asked, although it was more than just a request.

A female servant came up to Arkos, who was gently holding his mouth, wiping away the oozing blood. Dumah smiled at him, his teeth like silver daggers. “What’s the matter, Arkos? Was I too good for you that time? Maybe if you practiced more often, it wouldn't be so easy for me to drop you.”

“My Lord Dumah,” the servant said softly, “You’ve shattered his jaw.”

Dumah put his hands on his hips and laughed. “Yes, well it will heal in time. It’s not as if he talks that much to begin with. Isn’t that right, Arkos?”

Arkos nodded curtly, trying not to betray the excruciating pain in his face. He left the hall, followed by the servant. Dumah walked over to the weapon rack and pulled out a battered wooden sword. He was ready to fight again, and that meant someone had to choose to get beaten.

“Come on,” he said impatiently. “Someone grab a sword and face me.”

However, this time none of the clan members stepped forward. They had been brutalized by Dumah enough times to know better than to volunteer for what was sure to be another one-sided beating. Dumah was just too strong and too large for anyone to be a challenge for him. He usually won the combats in a minute or two without getting scratched, while his defeated opponents went away battered and wounded, like Arkos just a few moments before. Sometimes, if Dumah was in a particularly active mood, his opponents were beaten unconscious and had to be carried away. It was just a matter of time, they decided, before he wound up killing one of them.

Dumah’s grim smile faded when no one volunteered. He gritted his teeth and tapped the edge of the blade on the ground. “Is no one here loyal enough to face their Lord? Are you all cowards?”

Still, none came forward. The entire crowd of vampires looked away and tried to appear invisible. “If one of you does not take up a sword and practice combat with me, I will choose one of you. And if I must do that, I will not go easy on them.” It was an empty threat, since everyone knew that Dumah never went easy on anyone he faced.

Surprisingly, a voice called out from the far end of the hall.

“I’ll face you, Dumah.”

The sadistic grin returned to Dumah’s face as his brother Turel walked forward, his bright green sash rhythmically swaying behind him like a tail.

“Ah, Turel. This visit is most unexpected.”

“I came to talk to you.”

“Talk can wait. Get a sword.”

Turel pushed away the side of his cape, revealing the sword sheathed there. “I already have my own.”

Dumah tossed away the wooden one he held and retrieved his own sword, which had been leaning against his throne. “A real challenge for once! Are we fighting to the death, brother?”

“You’d enjoy that, I’m sure.”

“Yes, very much.”

Turel unhooked his cape and sash and threw them into a corner so they would not get in the way. “Let’s spar and see where it takes us.”

Dumah rushed forward with his sword raised and slashed down at Turel, who slid out of the way at the last possible moment. He charged and their swords collided with a deafening clang, but Turel was not one of Dumah's fledgelings, and he stood firm and pushed Dumah away with a forceful barrage of his own. Thrust after thrust, parry after parry, the two vampire Lords circled each other, battering their blades against each other with enough force to chip the metal. Dumah’s clan members saw the seriousness of the duel and backed away in haste, making plenty of room, not wanting to get in the way where a stray sword stroke might hit them instead.

“It’s good to face someone who knows what they’re doing,” Dumah said. “It’s been so long since I’ve faced a true swordsman.”

“I remember the last time you battled Raziel.”

“Yes, I beat him that time.”

“But just barely.”

“The extent of the defeat is irrelevant, brother. Not even Raziel could defeat me in equal combat, and you know it.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever faced you in equal combat, Dumah.”

“Ah, still bitter over the fact that I was born so much larger than everyone else?”

“Your size is the primary reason you're so successful. Had you been of normal size, Raziel would have beaten you senseless.”

“And you, Turel?”

“Perhaps.”

Dumah swung his blade down and Turel adroitly dodged the blow, jumping to the side and thrusting forward once more. Dumah escaped a stab to the ribs and knocked Turel’s sword off the mark. He lunged but Turel had already backed out of his reach.

“I suppose that's why you had no qualms with executing Raziel,” Turel said. “He was the only threat to your supremacy.”

“And you, brother?” Dumah sneered. “You carried out his execution as much as I did. Unless you’ve forgotten, Kain ordered us to execute him. We carried out the sentence, you and I.”

“That's true, but I saw a look of pleasure in your eyes when you cast him down.”

“Well, Raziel and I were never on good terms, you know.”

Dumah slashed sideways and Turel dove for cover. Dumah’s blade cut through a wooden pole holding up a burning lamp and it crashed to the ground, spilling fire. The clan members gathered around scrambled for cover and backed away as the fight spread out into the center of the hall.

Turel made three quick slashes and feinted right. Surprisingly, Dumah went for it and Turel gashed at his right side when he left himself open. Dumah danced backward, roaring excitedly.

“Ah! You got me that time!”

He launched into such a ferocious attack that Turel had no choice but to retreat backwards in the direction of the throne. He swung an arm and knocked over the weapon rack, scattering the collection of battered wooden swords and worn staves. They fell to the ground like dry bones and Dumah kicked them out of the way. Murder was glinting in his eyes.

“Planning on killing me too, brother?” Turel asked, his breath ragged.

“Now that you mention it, yes. You chose to fight with real swords. I cannot help it if an accident occurs.”

“I won’t make any difference, you know.”

“Any difference to what?”

“You still won’t be any closer to ruling Nosgoth.”

“Is that what you think I’m after?”

“Of course it is. Why else would you be so willing to carry out Raziel’s execution? You know as well as I do that he did nothing wrong.”

Dumah kept moving forward until Turel was almost pinned in the corner. While they spoke, the speed of their sword movements slowed, but Dumah appeared as if he was just about through talking.

“Who cares what he did wrong? Kain wanted him executed, so we executed him. His scream on the way down was a beautiful thing indeed.”

“As beautiful as yours is going to be?”

For a moment, Dumah paused. His sword stopped and his eyes narrowed, staring deeply at Turel. “What are you talking about?”

Turel made no move to attack, even while Dumah was distracted. “I’m talking about Kain. He killed Raziel for no reason, and who knows which of us will be next.”

“If I kill you now, Kain won’t have to. I’ll be doing him a favor.”

“Yes, getting me out of the way, and thereby putting yourself a step closer on his list of those to die. Do you really think he’ll stop with Raziel, or that he’ll spare you, Dumah? Which one of us will evolve wings next?”

That last line finally got to him. Dumah opened his eyes wide with the realization of what Turel was insinuating, and he let his guard down. He lowered his sword just the tiniest fraction, and Turel rushed in to knock it out of the way. Dumah roared and tried to bash Turel aside, but Turel sidled up beside him and slid his blade up under the back of his armor.. He grabbed the back of Dumah’s collar and easily threw him off balance.

Turel hurled Dumah over his shoulder and he crashed into his throne, knocking it off its marble pedestal and smashing to the ground. The Dumahim ran for cover, shocked senseless at the sight of the Lord's defeat. Dumah staggered to his feet, blood gushing down his face from where he’d bashed his forehead on the corner of the throne. By the time he wiped enough away to see straight, Turel was back in the center of the hallway.

“Think about what I’ve said, Dumah. And think about what Kain might be doing right now, what he might be planning. You shouldn't worry about me, brother. Worry about Kain. He’s the dangerous one.”

Dumah used a cloth to wipe blood off of his forehead. “Get out of here, Turel. And consider yourself lucky.”

Turel retrieved his cape and sash and made a hasty exit out the door. Turel lifted his throne back into place and sat down with a grumbling sigh. He tossed the bloody rag aside and took a goblet of wine from a serving girl’s tray.

“I think I’ll watch someone else fight for the time being,” he said. “Someone clean this mess up.”

*****

Outside, Turel considered himself very lucky indeed. He wasn’t sure that he'd be able to throw Dumah off-guard like he had, but Dumah was not the best conversationalist. The only way Turel could succeed in getting his point across was to beat it into Dumah’s head, literally.

Melchiah had actually thought of it first and had passed it on to Turel, the idea that Raziel was merely be the first victim of their evolution. If growing wings was truly what set Kain off, and not something else they were unaware of, then they'd have to tread very carefully from then on. Their evolution flowed in a pattern, coming to each of them in turn. Raziel had been the first this round, but who would be second? And would Kain punish them as well?

The thought that Kain might go on a rampage was enough to startle Dumah, who surely had not considered any such thing. Dumah, although incredibly strong and agile, was not the smartest of Kain’s lieutenants. He rarely made plans and he was no good at tactics. To conceive of Kain coming after him was simply beyond his mental ability.

But he was thinking about it now. As was Zephon, who Melchiah had spoken to a few days before. Rahab would stay uninformed for now, since the other brothers could not trust him to keep it silent. He would run and tell Kain their suspicions the second he was left unattended, Turel was sure of that. Rahab was utterly without morals or ethics and would sell out his brothers for the slightest advantage or good favor from Kain.

With any luck, Rahab would be the next one to evolve, and then they would see just how much they had to fear. Turel had a terrible suspicion that Raziel’s execution was just the first link in a chain of events that none of them could accurately predict. In the end, they were all just like Raziel, doomed to fate and the whims of their own evolution. It would just take longer for them to find this out. Turel wondered if Raziel might have been the lucky one after all.

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