Page 12 of Captive
Boarstaff left without answering. Questions followed him up the worn steps toward sunlight and politics. By the time he reached the council chamber again, the debate had shifted from blame to practical concerns.
The debate continued through evening and into night. Strategic assessments, potential scenarios, contingency plans for both survival and war. As warchief, Boarstaff guided the discussion without revealing his own growing uncertainty. The transformation happening beneath their feet challenged assumptions both peoples had held for centuries. If Sebastian survived, if he woke to whatever he was becoming...
"We need more information," he concluded as the council's energy finally waned. "Information only the vampire can give us, if he survives this transformation."
"And if he doesn't?" Thornmaker asked. "If he dies in our most sacred space?"
"Then we prepare for war," Boarstaff said simply. "And hope our defenses hold against a father's vengeance."
He returned to the sacred chamber one last time before seeking his own rest. The scene had changed subtly in his absence. More shamans had joined the vigil, working in coordinated patterns to contain transformation that had spread to Sebastian's core systems. The vampire's mechanical heart, visible through brass that had partially separated from his chest, beat with erratic rhythm, each pulse sending steam rising in patterns that resembled forgotten languages.
"Tell me," Boarstaff asked Doechaser, who had taken over while Ochrehand finally rested, "the ancient texts mention vampirescontained here before. What happened to them?"
The elder shaman's hands never paused in their weaving of protective barriers. "Some died when natural power overwhelmed artificial resistance. Others..." She hesitated. "Others transformed into something between what they had been and what they might have become. The texts are unclear about what ultimately happened to them except that they did not live long enough to leave this chamber."
"And the brass in his eyes?" Boarstaff nodded toward Sebastian's face, where metal had begun to separate from flesh and was running down his cheeks.
"That's reaching critical transformation," she replied grimly. "If it tears free from the optical nerves before the organic tissues adapt..."
She didn't need to finish. Another mechanical component failing before organic systems could compensate meant death. And death meant war they could ill afford.
"Keep up your work," Boarstaff said. "I'll be back later."
As he turned to leave, Sebastian's body arched violently. A sound escaped the vampire, not the careful modulation of mechanical nobility, but something raw. Something that made the chamber's crystals pulse with answering recognition.
Boarstaff paused at the threshold, watching as the shamans worked frantically to contain the transformation. In that moment, seeing Sebastian's unconscious suffering, he felt the first stirring of something beyond tactical assessment. Not sympathy exactly, a vampire noble deserved no sympathy, especially the heir to House de la Sang. But recognition, perhaps. Acknowledgment that beneath brass and copper lay something that could still feel pain.
He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on immediate concerns. The council would reconvene later. Defensive preparations needed oversight. Scouts required new orders as vampire hunting parties pushed deeper into their territory. At least the sun in their territory would slow the vampires' advance. They were weaker under it.
The transformation occurring in their most sacred space was just one problem among many. That it shook foundations both peoples had built their societies upon was a complication he could ill afford to dwell on.
Chapter Seven
Boarstaff found himself in the training rings, watching the younger warriors practice with wooden spears. Three days had passed since Sebastian's capture, and news of vampire search parties had spread through the village, adding urgency to their drills. Some, like young Koric, showed natural talent that needed only refinement. Others compensated for lack of innate skill with disciplined form and relentless practice.
"The vampire prisoner," Koric asked during a pause in the exercises, "is he truly contained?"
The other young warriors stilled, waiting for Boarstaff's answer. No point denying what the entire village whispered about.
"He is bound by magics older than the Heart Tree itself," Boarstaff replied, demonstrating a proper defensive stance to redirect their focus. "Now, remember what I taught you about balancing your weight distribution."
But the questions didn't stop there.
"Is it true what the elders say?" another trainee asked. "That vampires were contained in those chambers before? When they were… different?"
Boarstaff considered his response carefully. These young ones had never faced vampire scouts directly, had only heard stories of mechanical precision and synthetic nobility. "The ancient texts speak of a time before they chose brass over bone. Before they hid their nature behind improvements."
"Were they more dangerous then? Or less?" Koric's eyes held genuine curiosity that reminded Boarstaff how young these warriors truly were.
"Different dangers," he said finally. "Now, focus on your defense,Koric. Your left side stays open, a mistake you can't afford in battle."
The morning council convened as the sun climbed higher. Thornmaker arrived first, his expression grim despite the healing cuts across his face from the previous day’s skirmish with a vampire scout.
"The scouts report increased activity at the eastern border," he said without preamble. "They've located the site where Ochrehand first encountered the vampire. Their hunting patterns have changed, more focused, more aggressive."
"They found his blood trail?" Moonsinger asked, settling into her place at the council table, the ceremonial water bowl already filled before her.
"Not yet. But they will." Thornmaker spread detailed maps across the ancient wood. "Our scouts observed them gathering samples from the clearing. Testing with methods we haven't seen before."
