A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

After the interview is done, Marlan leads me farther into the complex and up the mountain. Just as before, many of the installations remain close to the surface so that gardens and promenades abound.

All the flaws too.

My last remark kills the mood a bit, and it is in silence that we arrive at a secluded area at the end of a corridor covered in frescos. We enter a square room acting as both a meeting space and storage with an unlit hearth on the side. Large stairs lead up to a set of double doors, all in the same sober white stone. We climb and I see another square cavern with no roof, the light of the moon shining down on a lone willow tree. Grass grows a vivid green under its boughs, and a covered promenade encircles it, leading to six different doors. Marlan walks forward and rings a bell hanging against the wall. The delicate chime fills the clearing.

Vampires in simple uniforms emerge from three of the rooms, one from each, with slow but purposeful steps. They try hard, but I have frequented ancient lords and I can tell when someone is pretending not to hurry. They were waiting for this.

I study the three newcomers as they line up in perfect order. In the army, they would have been chewed out for taking their time. Here, though, the Knights contend with Masters and if we have a humble person amongst our ranks, I have not met them yet. This is merely a dance to show that, although they serve, they are not subservient. Appearances are important when instincts are involved. This is the proper way.

They have decent aura control but I can still detect a hint of excitement behind their stony composure.

This time, their control fails. They stare at me with undisguised surprise.

Eyes bulge and brows furrow.

Auras explode, and a tall blond man with a trimmed beard and light blue eyes expresses his surprise.

The last person does not speak. She is a petite woman with dark hair held in a white shawl. Her skin is tanned and her eyes drift to corners in the manner of those who are always on guard. She is a Vanheim, I can tell. The lawyer man is a Lancaster, while the blond one is an Erenwald.

His words do not surprise me. A normal squad consists of four to six members, with some redundancies but always the four roles represented. If they were to compete without a Vanguard, they would surely be at a clear disadvantage against other squads.

Marlan bows graciously and leaves without a sound. We stand unmoving until he has left this section of the compound, which I understand is our squad’s private barracks. I turn to my new teammates before the situation becomes awkward and bow slightly.

He waits, placid, as immobile as a statue.

That is all he is going to say?

That is too much.

There is a small table near the willow with six seats. We take positions around it, the other woman still looking at everything but us.

What?

I watch him turn to the shawled woman, confused.

“Ahem. Lütfen, kendinizi tanıtın.”

The language is strange, and one I do not recognize. The woman glares at Phineas, or perhaps this is simply her normal expression. For the first time, she inspects me.

I would have a headache if I were still mortal.

Lars grunts, proving my point.

I cannot believe the only conclusion I can draw from all those elements.

Phineas nods wisely.

Dammit.

I stand up and Lars leaves for his apartment, returning with a steel sword and shield combo.

He nods. An instant later, Rose shreds the upper top of his shield to reveal his shocked face. An instant later, said shocked face is bodily grabbed and planted in the loam beneath the willow. Silence returns to the secluded garden.

They only frown. It appears that though Marlan warned them of my arrival, he left me to introduce myself properly.

Aha, my reputation precedes me.

Ugh.

Lars grunts in acknowledgement. As for Esmeray, she… grows wolf ears?

I watch in amazement as a pair of long, upward, fluffy parts pop comically out of her shawl. They twitch as she directs them to the door.

I point at them, speechless. The two men wince.

Then Esmeray squeals as I try to inspect the objects of my fascination, struggling against my overwhelming strength.

Wolf ears!

I have to try her essence.

In the end, the rest of the team strongly objects to a sampling, despite my assurances that it would not be fatal, on account of ‘propriety’ and ‘she cannot give consent’ and other such details that, though important, should be considered as secondary to wolf ears. Alas. I soon leave the common area to settle down in my own personal apartments. They are Spartan, according to vampire standards, but compared to what any military provides, they are positively princely. We have a bathing area with hot running water, a study room, a bed large enough to host the full team and a walk-in closet. The quarters are sober yet cozy and intimate, with a single major difference compared to what I am used to: we are in charge of our own cleanliness.

I do not think that I have cleaned my own bedroom in decades.

Rather than complaining about it, I simply remember the methods I was taught as a human. The Knights are still an armed force and, like all good armed forces, they require discipline. I expect fixed training hours and strict commands. Once more, the powers-that-be dance a delicate jig between control and freedom. I believe that only our willingness to be here and the oaths we took permit them to order us around. Otherwise, we would be too prickly.

I quickly unpack everything including my armor which I will not use, and change into one of the provided uniforms. They are almost my size, only a little tight around the lower back. I will have to ask for adjustment or risk them cracking at an inopportune time. A request to Phineas and a mortal seamstress comes to pick them up. Next, Lars guides me through the common areas.

This section of the underground complex is dedicated to training. Besides the lodgings for three other teams — which are off limits to us unless specifically invited — we have a sparring hall, a library, and a workshop with some of the most advanced equipment I have ever seen, Dvergur facilities included. The library also contains a spellbook section that I promise to myself that I will visit later, if I can make it past its stone-faced custodian. It takes the rest of the night to see everything and I return before dawn to realize the extent of the protection in place. Vast slabs of stone descend shortly before daylight to isolate every exit against anything but the deadliest of explosives. Even then, all dwellings are deep underground under several redundant layers of magical and mundane protection. They are also isolated from each other, so that anyone trying to take advantage of it would have to progress one chamber at a time. I inspect the enchantments themselves and realize that they are all isolated and self-contained. No one could force the gates to open from the outside because there is no lock to fiddle with. The path will remain closed come hell or high water.

Training resumes the next day.

For the first week, I am given more comprehensive tests by the individual instructors in charge of various disciplines. There are only twenty squires currently training here, which is apparently quite a bit above average, and around ten specialized instructors. It means that we have ample opportunities for individual lessons. Truly, Knight training is some of the best one can hope for on this planet.

As for the number of recruits being so high, I blame it on the current political climate. It appears that many Europeans have felt the need to ‘withdraw from the world and its vicissitudes’ recently. It certainly beats being tortured.

At the end of the first week, my team and I are set to face another in a small competition. We travel a few kilometers to a maze-like arena sitting incongruously in the middle of acres of rocks. There, we are set against team Oak.

In any case, the instructors have not seen fit to forbid me the use of my own weapons, and so the four of us walk out into a dusty, gravelly square surrounded by several entrances. I bet that some amusing games could be played here. Five Master vampires exit from the opposite path. A tall instructor in charge of squad tactics awaits us in the middle, clad in his pride and a more elaborate suit of armor.

I meet the glares of our opponents. They clearly had no intention of holding back to begin with.

Everyone watches as I unbuckle the belt holding the Big Iron. The massive, custom-made revolver is left on a nearby stone with an audible ‘plonk’. Let them feast their eyes on this marvel of aesthetics and technology, its silvery engraving shimmering under the light of the stars. I even have a matching purse, but sadly no opportunity to wear them together.

We bow to our vis-a-vis.

We do, of course, have a strategy. The strategy is that, since my team and I have not trained together yet, they would support each other and let me go to town.

I sprint forward and extend Rose, sliding her under the nearest opponent's kite shield to bite into his foot.

Five chains erupt from my left hand. They latch on a surprised spear-user who yelps. Her confusion increases when I use my Natalis essence to smash her into her wounded partner. The two fall into a pile, which I jump over to get at their panicking Vestal.

I allow the spell to bounce on my defenses and dive under a small sword’s stab. A punch throws the mage against the wall. Immediately, I duck under an axe blow from one of the foes who came to aid his flailing allies, and sweep a foot under his… oh, hers. I had not realized that the axe user was a powerfully-built woman. She manages to keep her balance by dancing back and throws a counter attack which I easily deflect. I also take a step back and quickly overwhelm her with a flurry of strikes.

The fallen ones pick themselves up.

Again, I do not begrudge his attempt to limit me. In fact, I relish the challenge. The poor oak team has done nothing to provoke me, yet I fear that tonight I must make an example out of them.

After all, I cannot force myself to lose.

I listen as the instructor offers feedback to both teams, crediting the axe woman for heading back but castigating the spear-wielder for not watching her sides. My own allies are told to stay closer to me to provide support and maximize the threat. His tone is calm and respectful to soften the blow of public criticism. He eventually gives us a short lecture on the challenges of facing a stronger opponent, then round two starts.

This time, the stout axe-woman, limber spear-user, and the shield-bearer all rush me, with the Vestal and a man wielding a dagger providing support.

The obfuscating cloud swallows them, and I enjoy the surprise on their face when they realize that they are blind as bats. Even Octave had issues perceiving me by sight, though he immediately compensated for it. Those recruits do not stand a chance. The second fight is even shorter than the first.

The instructor’s voice feels more tired this time. We go over the effects of large-area spells, deception and diminished perception.

I remove my gauntlet and place it next to my gun. The other squad appears more annoyed and ill-at-ease than before, but if any harbor true hostility, they hide it well. I would be a bit miffed at being beaten repeatedly. Come to think of it, this is what my spars with Jarek or Torran look like.

The third round begins much the same as the second. I sent three throwing knives at the shield-bearer in quick succession, with one drawing a painful dark line across his calf. He stumbles with a curse. I step backward to avoid an axe strike and kick my assailant in the chest.

Lars rams the spear-user with a javelin as she tries to stab me. I twist and grab her weapon while she falls. Phineas and Esmeray take my sides.

I twirl the spear in my hand in the hypnotic, distracting dance that Nami created. I am far from being her equal, yet the hum of the blurry weapon robs the last traces of hope from team Oak. I smack the axe-woman’s face with the butt of the spear, then stab from behind her at the shield man. He does not see me well, though he still manages to scramble away from the strike.

I let the Watcher essence fill my nails and slap the spell away. The Vestal’s face shows considerable dismay and I use the distraction to plant a throwing knife in his gauntlet. Their flanker tries to stab me and I manage to block the attack at the last minute, although his other attack bites into my shoulder. Because the weapons are made of steel, the wound heals almost instantly.

Esmeray uses the opening to take him down.

A decent magical projectile emerges from his own gauntlet, only to be dispersed by the enemy Vestal’s shield. It does not seem to affect his good mood. With this, all our opponents but the Vestal are disabled and the instructor calls an end to the third round.

We receive advice on positioning and moving as a squad, though the instructor informs us that we will be trained thoroughly on squad tactics further down the road. Even then, it is clear that he is running out of steam. You can only pretend so much before it becomes clear that our side wins simply because I outclass every other combatant by a significant margin. Some of our foes clearly received instructions in the art of battle. It simply does not compare to being tutored by Naminata the singing spear, Torran the soul smith, and Jarek the whatever-he calls-himself, possibly ‘the earthquake’ or something equally ostentatious.

Oh, and stealing essence over sixty years of bloody battle.

I drop my throwing knives and replace them with steel training gear, something I should have done before. On the fourth set, I plant them in the axe woman’s eyes, steal the shield-bearer’s shield and bash her with it.

The shield I just threw crashes in the wall over the Vestal’s kneeling form, showering him with dust. He looks up as the steel pane falls on his nose. His reflexes save him.

We do so. Both teams train to move through the maze while maintaining a flexible formation that protects their Vestal. We are supposed to keep an eye on the other formation without engaging. The dance feels forced and contrived. We even have an accident when Esmeray, who did not perfectly understand the nature of the exercise, throws a stone at a complaining Oak team member. I remember the smooth cooperation of the American Knights and only now realize how much effort went into reaching their level of performance. I suspect that working with vampires from different bloodlines does not come naturally.

The training ends an hour later, and we move back to attend our respective classes. Phineas boasts that he managed to cast a spell in a combat situation. He deems it ‘encouraging progress’. I discover that he was an untrained mage before he died, but his sire did not see it fit to give him a formation, which I find unbelievable.

Lars is to study eloquence, and Esmeray, Akkad. I can only assume that it is a recent development since the results have yet to show. At all.

As for me, I find myself facing Octave in a secluded grove. As before, he wears a casual white cotton shirt and wields a training sword, this one made of steel. Steel means that he will not be afraid to cut me to ribbons.

He lifts a hand to silence me, and I comply.

Seeing that I do not object, Octave continues.

He snaps his fingers.

He swings and the sword blurs in his hand.

This might sting a bit.