Chapter 408

We start the year with two chapters.

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The days of activity were wearing on the leaders of the Slane Theocracy. Dominic closed his eyes as he rubbed his temple, the throbbing in his head was going to drive him mad. "Master, please relax yourself a little…" Yarvin said. He placed his hand on the spot between his master's shoulder blades and rubbed it gently. "Everything will be fine. The elves will be found, returned, and the Theocracy will survive. Humanity will find a way, it always has, even in its darkest hours."

Dominic let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding in, "Thank you, Yarvin, I didn't realize my stress was so obvious."

"It is, master, it is." The slave said and set a cup of diluted wine down near Dominic's hand. "Why is it so difficult, if I may ask." Yarvin straightened and held the tray upright against his chest as he spoke, what he knew of the trade in his own kind was that the Slane Theocracy kept careful track of everyone they purchased to ensure minimal chance of mishap, everything from the ones who might be unawakened kinget of the late Elf King, to the common halfbreeds that were born of liaisons between elves and men.

Finding a handful of stolen free elves should have been easy.

But it wasn't.

"It's harder because of Raymond." Dominic admitted, "You're forbidden from speaking of this, obviously, but it's Raymond's fault."

"Master Raymond… your colleague?" Yarvin felt his eye twitch a little. The human Cardinal was an odd one, having abandoned human supremacy and tradition, his promotion of elvenkind as deserving of better, and the end of the slave trade, had made far more headway than Yarvin or Dominic or anyone might have anticipated. But so badly that it interfered with an investigation? That was news to Yarvin.

"Yes. His… work, spawned sabotage movements. Records being destroyed, going missing, slaves being bought at auction and then simply taken to Demalbion or the Elf Kingdom or Carne or… who knows, and being let go. Even the younger ones of great houses are being infected." Dominic took up the unasked for cup and took a long, deep drink, the wine was tart and slid easily down his throat until the cup was drained and had nothing more to offer but a few stray drops.

He sat the cup down harder than he needed to and stared down at the book records… "And these were kidnappings, raids, they aren't on the usual books. It used to be, that happened and it was just to avoid sales taxes, but now it's different. Back then we'd just levy the tax, fine the guilty, and with official registry the slaves would be confiscated and resold. But as things are?" He slumped back in his chair and tilted his head over the back of the seat so that he was looking almost upside down at Yarvin. "Now for all we know they've already been liberated and returned, and worse, the ones responsible aren't going to come forward for fear of prosecution for more serious crimes."

Yarvin thought that through, "Master, forgive this humble one's impertinence, but may I ask you something?"

Dominic nodded, "Ask."

"Have you considered asking the slaves directly? They would know if someone new arrived under strange circumstances, even if the masters of the great latifundia's don't notice, the ones who work the land and the houses definitely will." Yarvin suggested, and for a moment he wondered if Dominic was angry, after all, his lord was many things, but quiet and pensive were not on that list.

"Slaves cannot testify in court." Dominic remarked.

"Master is not looking to prosecute a crime. Only find some stolen property of the new Elf Kingdom monarch." Yarvin replied, and Dominic's murmured statement was not added to.

The cardinal rubbed his chin and slowly nodded up and down, "That is a good point… there are only so many places they can be, if anyone would know… and I suppose we can 'reward' the reporting elf with a trip back to their Kingdom, a token of good will to King Mare Fiore…" Only Yarvin's sharp hearing let him catch Dominic's words, but it was enough to bring a smile to the elven slave's face after feeling useful.

"I'll set the Agante to it at once. If you're right, we'll find them in a day or two, I'm sure of it." Dominic said and yanked out a scrap of paper, reached for his quill, and began to scribble out the order. 'At least we'll avoid destruction for the moment.' He thought with a deep sigh of relief.

Aalon held position on the mountain outcrop, the icy wind battered his body, and he felt nothing. Over a century and a half of preparation was now coming into focus. 'The Black Scripture are all gone, the others are scattered all over the Theocracy, and the army morale is at an all time low. There's never been a better time than now. After all this time, all this time and I can finally avenge my Nua…' He lost sight of the city of Feron in front of him, and for a moment all he saw was her again.

"Please! Aalon! What's happening! Why?! Why?!" The shock of betrayal on her face, the utter disbelief as she was dragged up on the auction block, he'd tried so hard not to see it, but he had, thanks to a mirror passing in front of him at just the wrong moment on its way to be sold, just like her, on an auction block.

Her desperate clawing, her sobbing as she tried to reach for him, the jingle of coins in his pocket, and the memory of Pharmakia's contented, wicked smile when he presented her with the coins received for selling the slave that offended her so… it burned his vampire soul like the light of his first dawn as an undead.

He put his hand up to his chest, closing his fingers around the pouch holding the now rough and old silver coins. He could hear them scraping together, he'd done this gesture so often that the faces on many of the coins were now worn smooth, turning them into just little silver disks.

"If I can't find you, and maybe you died a long time ago, then at least I can avenge you." He muttered to himself, the rest of the mountain elves he'd rescued since his immortal life began were still taking their positions, but it wouldn't be long now.

He took care not to clench his fist around the coins too tightly, and thought of Pharmakia, the feel of her throat being squashed within his hand after her failure to poison him, brought comfort in these final minutes of peace. 'Whatever happened to Nua after that… I wish I could blame only you, you evil bitch…' He cursed the dead woman for the ten thousandth time. The fate of his former lover, and the love of his life, scratched at him, had she died in a field? Had she fled and died on the run? Had some monster taken her and worked her to death, or had she simply taken her own life in despair, as Aalon himself considered many times?

Whatever the outcome, the Slane Theocracy was about to pay a long, long overdue debt.

The darkness of the city began to grow in ernest, the many torches and candles that lit up the homes of the people went out, darkness closing in everywhere save for the walls of the city and a handful of intersecting roads of the great manufacturing city.

When the darkness was at its peak, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Father." A soft, feminine voice whispered in his ear and he saw the arm rise to point up at the sky. A cloud was drifting over the moon. Changing the weather was too much to ask, but a handful of clouds was all it took to hide the light of the moon. That much was easy enough to manage.

He took the coin pouch from around his neck and began to shake it, the jingling of coins was the signal every free elf was waiting for. They fitted gags into their mouths to stifle any undisciplined cries, and began to slide down the ropes from rock to rock, allowing the entire army to descend the mountain within the hour.

They were clad in scalemail armor forged from the ore of the mountain in which they lived, or leather made from hardened goat hides. A handful had enchanted gear, and those moved ahead of the main host.

The rest walked on fur wrapped boots to stifle the noise, and Aalon watched from on high, his signal arrows ready to command his host with multicolored fire each of which gave a different, single order.

Feron was well mapped, right down to the sewer system, and its military force was small, little better than enough to hunt down bandits or escaped slaves and other criminals.

'They don't have a prayer.' Aalon thought while his red eyes beheld his advance teams. Feron was a peaceful place, the guards did very little work and paid very little mind to anyone or anything. Nor would they get the chance to.

With well mapped blindspots followed, the advance teams of elves rushed to the wall and began to scale it using hooks with sap coated tips to muffle any noise, their cloaks fluttered in the cool breeze of the lowland plain.

Still, despite his certainty, Aalon held his breath, he glanced to the sky as if fearing that the Six Great Gods would return to stop his nefarious plan.

But the sky was no traitor to his cause, the night did not light up, the gods did not descend to save mankind from his revenge. The advanced teams moved over the wall, and silent death followed as knives slit throats or pierced lungs.

His lungs ached with breathless tension while he watched the first ranks reach the walls, ropes were thrown up and secured, ladders were raised, and feet began to climb atop walls that were captured while the city of Feron slept.

When his elves began to go down over the wall on the other side, Aalon could see nothing, he couldn't even hear the sound of death, though his vampire instincts told him blood was being spilled.

But sight or no sight, sound or no sound, smell or no smell, when the game was up, it was obvious, as the alarm bell of the city began to ring, and the howls of centuries of accumulated hate burst from the lips of thousands of elves at once.

And the blood of Feron began to flow like a river through the streets.

When he heard the cries of the humans, and the rage of the elves, all Aalon could do was sigh with contentment, and then he reached for his first arrow to send a signal to his officers.