“There you are, bard!” Talarius’s voice boomed, echoing in the vast room.
“So much for the silence of the library.” Antefalken shook his head in exasperation. Was he ever going to get this ballad written? He looked up from the scroll he was reading at the rapidly approaching visored knight. “The temperature in this room is quite modest; you can take your helmet off,” he told the knight.
The knight came and stood across the table from Antefalken. He removed his helmet and set it on the table. He was looking rather haggard for some reason. Apparently he was not getting enough sleep. “The D’Orcing ceremony has raised some questions for us,” he said.
“Us?” Antefalken asked.
Talarius gestured at the sword on his back.
Antefalken nodded in understanding. “And what might those questions be?”
“You are a scholar, yes?” Talarius asked.
“Somewhat. I’m a bard and student of history,” Antefalken replied.
“You are also a demon.”
“Obviously,” the bard replied calmly.
“So you know where demons come from?” the knight asked.
Antefalken raised one eyebrow in a questioning glance. “Are you asking me about the birds and the bees for demons? Seems to me I just had this conversation not that long ago with Damien.”
“I think you know what I mean. The new D’Orc — he was created from an orc.”
“Yes, we were all there,” Antefalken said. He now knew where this was going. Not surprising, he supposed.
“So, in your mind, what is the difference between a demon and a D’Orc?” Talarius asked.
“The initial race,” Antefalken said calmly. “And, of course, consent.”
Talarius blinked. “So you admit it?”
Antefalken shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? Particularly since you obviously knew the answer before you asked the question.”
“So, this wizard you work with — you are conspiring with him to create more demons?” Talarius asked.
Antefalken blinked in surprise and shock. He had not seen that one coming. He started laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” Talarius demanded.
“It’s just that it’s rather ludicrous.” Antefalken shook his head. “Damien has no idea, at least as far as I know, where demons come from. None of the wizards do. If they knew, and kept doing it, they would have to admit to being evil.”
“So you admit they are evil?” Talarius asked.
“Every demon in the Abyss will tell you that they think wizards are evil. You have to understand — they summon and bind us against our will, ripping us from our homes and families, and then enslave us. They torture us when we do not do what they want. We are at the mercy of their every whim,” Antefalken said.
Talarius was silent, staring at Antefalken in shock.
“You know all those stories of demons using tricky words to get out of their contracts, hopefully to someday rip their accursed master to shreds?” Antefalken asked.
Talarius simply nodded, saying nothing.
“That is not because we are necessarily evil, it is simply revenge for that which they have done to us,” Antefalken said.
“Necessarily evil?” Talarius got a small gleam in his eye.
“Yes, if you believe in evil. There are good demons and bad demons, even as there are good people and bad people. No difference. I am simply saying that there is more than one possible motivation for a demon ripping its master to shreds. In most cases, it is simply revenge,” the bard told Talarius.
Talarius was silent, thinking, or perhaps discussing this with Ruiden.
“So were you once human?” Talarius asked.
“Indeed I was,” Antefalken said. “I was a normal human bard. A long time ago.”
“Lilith?” Talarius asked.
“She is very old. One might think she was once human, but I am not so sure. She and Sammael have quite a mythology cooked up. In it, she was one of the first four humans ever created; yet they were also immortal and two of the four chose to give up immortality to live on the Planes of Man. Lilith and Sammael did not and stayed where they were, presumably here in the Abyss. I have no idea if this is true, but it is their most popular story, and in it, they were never truly human as we know the term.”
Talarius shook his head, turning to leave.
“Talarius,” Antefalken said, his tone cautioning.
The knight looked back.
“You are one of very few humans, mortals, who knows this. I can fairly safely say that I doubt any other mortal in Astlan knows it. The reason we do not enlighten people is not for lack of trying, but rather it is due to ingrained disbelief. People believe what they want to believe, and when they are set in their ways, by their culture, their religion and to some, what they observe, trying to change their view is very difficult.”
“Meaning?” Talarius asked suspiciously.
Antefalken shrugged. “Nothing. You are free to tell whoever you want. Trust me, however; people in Astlan and in your own church will think that not only are you blasphemous, but that you are also insane, or more likely, possessed by a demon. They will say you have been corrupted by the evil lies of the demons, and most likely try to cure you.”
Talarius turned a ghostly shade of pale white as Antefalken’s words, and his own experience on the other side of the story, sank in.
Hilda and Stevos followed Aeris and a Shield member down into the Citadel’s dungeons. They were, as dungeons went, quite clean and well lit. Hilda suspected that if you were locking up Unlife, good lighting would be important. In particular, Light of Day devices should be installed to flash hallways to keep them from escaping. She shook her head. This was idle speculation; whatever they were doing here, it had been working for centuries.
“These first two rooms on each side contain the re-turned vampires; the third one on the right is Vladimir and the third on left is the dhampyr,” Aeris informed them.
They walked up to the large iron door with a small barred window at head height and a food slot at the bottom. Aeris waved her hand over the lock, mouthing a small unlocking chant; the guard then inserted a key and pulled on the handle.
“He is chained to his bench; the chain will only barely reach the door,” Aeris said.
“I should be fine,” Hilda said, moving into the room. She brought forth a small ball of light to illuminate the room as Stevos and Hilda followed her in.
The dhampyr lifted its head to look at his visitors, blinking at the sudden light in the room. It seemed to take a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but once he recognized Hilda he gave a small, rather pathetic cry and cowered back on the bench.
Hilda frowned. Were those tear streaks running down the dhampyr’s face? His eyes were certainly red, as if he had been crying and rubbing them; not the blood you saw sometimes with vampires.
“Go ahead!” the dhampyr sniffled. “Just kill me already. My life could not possibly get any worse than it has been these last few months!” He began to cry.
Hilda blinked. This was not quite what she had been expecting. The dhampyr, who appeared to be an extremely thin young man of about sixteen or seventeen years, was a bit less imposing that she would have thought for a soldier of the Storm Lords.