He fought.

With every once of strength in his body he struggled against the humans, his nails drawing red blood that could barely be seen in the dark against their olive skin. Their flesh parted so easily beneath nail and fang but they were relentless in their pursuit of him. They dragged him down when he tried to escape into the trees, their silver spears slicing his own pale flesh when he stumbled and they managed to close the distance.

It was hopeless. He knew that, had known it all along yet he fought on. He was stronger and faster than the humans that pursued him. His senses were superior and he possessed natural weapons that they did not. Their teeth were dull and small, not like his sharp canines. Their nails were weak and brittle while his were long and sharp.

Yet for every human he pushed back there was another to take its place.

He would find no escape, for where could a creature such as he hide? His skin was so pale the moonlight made it glow, the Night-Lord betrayed him with the same orb of light that had given him such pleasure just nights before. His golden hair was a banner to mark him as different just as surely as his blue eyes with their slit pupils.

There would be no sanctuary waiting for him no matter how many miles he won. Yet still he ran, for the longer he fought the greater the distance those he sought to protect would be able to flee. The better the chances that they would find the sanctuary he had denied himself when he’d broken free and killed the human that headed the hunt.

It ended swiftly, with the fatal splintering crack that he almost missed amidst pain blossomed in his shoulder as a silver spear pierced his back and he fell. He could have survived even that but when he struggled to stand his broken ankle failed to support him and he sank to the ground as rough hands grabbed the spear, forcing it down until he felt the tip burst though his chest.

Something came down on the back of his neck, pushing his face into the ground as fists and boots pummeled him. When he drew breath to snarl the heavy scent of the forest overwhelmed his senses, stirring the anger but he had no strength left to give it release. The humans shouted orders to one another and he struggled weakly as they beat him.

A boot connected with his temple and he knew nothing more..

When time started again for him the scent of the earth was replaced with that of the ocean. Silver glinted in the firelight, holding him immobile as only the Night-Lord’s substance could and his teeth ground into the gag wedged behind his eyeteeth. A human tended him and, though he snarled and struggled against his bonds, she would not relent in her careful tending of the broken ankle.

Of all the humans that came to tend him during the voyage he hated the human who wore the black robes and tending his wounds so carefully the most. It was not kindness that drove her actions and he resented the gentle touch for he knew that the woman held no gentleness in her heart for him. He was a thing to her, a beast of burden that must be tended lest he founder and his jewel-worth be lost.

Every day, when the Sun-Lord’s light was at its brightest and the Dream-Lord’s hands pressed heavily upon his mind, the man with the dark eyes would come. He would shake him until the Dream-Lord’s hold was broken and yank the gag from his mouth. He would demand knowledge, shouting at him as though he were an idiot and did not understand the language.

Where does your father make his home?

How did your father escape his master?

Who had sheltered him in the city?

How many other vampires had he sired while running wild?

He told the man nothing, even when he was bound to the wooden deck and the man’s whip tore the flesh off of his back. Only when they flung him out into the Sun-Lord’s rays had he lost his resolve, giving them his name as he clutched at blinded eyes. Only that and no more.

It was enough to begin to break him, though, for it was impossible to ignore their words when they called his name and spat it back at him as though it were a filthy name for a filthy thing. It began to wear at his memories for he could not help but compare the cold way they said it to the gentle way his father and mother had named him.

His memories of the great island city had always been happy ones but his return erased all that. It was a veritable parade as dark skinned humans, all bearing the same features and coloring, jeered at him as they dragged him behind their horses. He fought, frightening the horses and making women and children scream, even as his captors whipped and dragged him to the center of the city.

They left him in the market, chained to the ground with two guards who did nothing to stop the children from flinging rocks at him or the adults from making lewd gestures. They flung him food as though he were a dog, unconcerned that his body could ingest no food but blood. When he was thrown something he could eat people would gather to watch, exclaiming in disgust as he drank from whatever animal his captors deemed to provide him.

At first he’d refused to feed, not so hard a thing for a vampire who had been raised on human blood. The smell of the animals assaulted his senses, making him feel sick to his stomach. His captors had only laughed, assuring the gathered crowd that he’d break. To his humiliation he had for the Blood-Lord had a powerful hold on his kind and he it was one he could not deny for long.

During the days he was provided a small umbrella that provided just enough shelter from the Sun-Lord’s rays that if he curled into a ball he could keep from being burned.

He knew not how long they kept him like that until the crowds grew bored and the dark eyed man returned. He was taken underground and chained to the wall in a ‘stable’ until silver bands were bound permanently about his wrists and ankles. A silver collar replaced the hound collar someone had laughingly placed about his throat. He’d thought his bindings finished until the silversmith returned, a smaller ring sitting in the palm of his hand. He had not understood what its purpose was until the dark eyed man had gripped his sex in a tight fist, holding it up while the man knelt.

He had fought then but both men had waited until he’d tired himself sufficiently and then turned back to their task.

That ring had been the cruelest of them all for it was the one he could never ignore. Always he could feel it, constricting the most sensitive of areas tighter each day until he was forced over a bench and the ring was removed. But even that bit of relief was not without pain for the man made a lesson even out of that, driving in and out of his body relentlessly with his sex that burned within him until, this complete humiliation, he came, releasing his seed into the man's hand, and the ring was replaced.

The constant beatings, the animal’s blood, the silver he could not escape from, the humiliation, all of it drew the strength from him but still he maintained his pride. He went into his ‘lessons’ with fangs bared and a stubbornness the dark eyed man could not beat from him, no matter how many times the lash tore open his back. His desperation to escape and return to his family slowly became perverted under the strain of the nightly beatings until it became a desperation to die, be it from their hands or his own.

It was then that the dark eyed man found the one way to destroy his resolve.

He had known something was wrong the moment the man came into the stables before the servants had even come to his stall to unbind him. He’d caught one man in a cruel grip, waiting impatiently as the servant unbound him with shaking hands. Longer chains replaced the short ones that kept his arms bound over his head, allowing him to lower his arms and giving him more room to move.

His dark eyed tormenter had approached him then, a grin splitting his face. He crouched down on the stone floor, waiting quietly for the man to give an indication of what amused him so greatly.

The man had told him then, though at the time all he could focus on was the hank of hair in the man’s hands. Crimson blood mixed with golden hair, hair that no human possessed.

Never in his life had he had such strength as rage and grief had given him that night. Vampries could not break the Night-Lord’s silver but there was no such anathema for ancient stone that his bindings were attached to. Stone crumbled as his bounds came free.

For a long time only madness rained as golden hair fell from lifeless fingers and servants screamed.

 

Khaniko stared down at the still form. Chains, most only two or three links long, held the vampire’s limbs outstretched and kept him bound face down upon the stone ground. Guards stood nearby, uneasy eyes flickering over the pale form, looking for any sign of movement as nervous hands clutched at silver spears. They needn’t have worried, he mused as he watched the priest dip the empty end of the needled wand into the ink before bringing it back up to the unfinished pattern being etched into the pale skin; the vampire was too far deep in the nightshade’s poison to be any danger.

“It is hard to believe that he could be responsible for so much death.” He murmured, meaning the words only for himself.

However his companion took them for conversation and snorted, his large hands gripping the wooden railing. “You of all people should know the danger their kind poses to us. Solei made a true mistake in creating them.” He spat upon the ground.

Khaniko shrugged. “They were meant to be his children on earth. The Sun-Lord truly loved them and gave them all the gifts he dared. When he cast them aside and created us they had already become beloved of the other gods and they gave unto them the gifts that they would need to survive among us. Vampires long for the freedom and the love of the Sun-Lord, things he has given instead to us and we have taken from them. While at the same time the other gods play games and seek to return to them the world that was given to us. Is it any wonder that they are unconsciously driven to destroy us, my lord Penates ?”

Penates  shook his head. “It is one thing to be told that vampires are dangerous, it is another thing entirely for one to not only destroy half a hunting part but to then make the market stables run red with the blood of good servants and trainers.” He sighed heavily, his hands pulling back to twist at golden rings given to him by the King of Kings.

Folding his arms over the wooden railing Khaniko watched as white skin turned red as the black marking spread over the back of his shoulders, dipping below the neck and ending oddly where the priest of the Fire-Lady would continue the design, tracing it down his spine to the curve of his buttocks where it would once again fan out, this time over his hips and down onto his thighs. It was the mark of shame; a mark designed to tell all who saw it that this was a vampire who could not be trusted to stay true to his training without the use of magic.

It was a mark that showed the world that this was a dangerous vampire.

It would take days for the markings to be finished. Afterwards a priest of the Sun-Lord would be called in to retrace the markings with golden ink that bore spells made of light. It would be weeks before the vampire would be able to move once they were finished. The mixture of fire and light spells would leave him ill and weak for a long time after. It was both costly and time consuming, two things that weren’t normally spent upon a vampire who had proven as completely dangerous as he.

“Forgive me for sounding rude, my lord, but why are we here watching a vampire, who by all rights should have been destroyed by now since I can think of no one who would buy him, get marked while my own vampire is undoubtedly wondering why I have not come to free him from his day bindings and feed him?”

A very small smile ghosted over Penates ’s face. “A true task-master at heart, aren’t you, my young friend? I bring you to see the vampire that has the entire city up in arms and all you can think of is your own timid charge.”

Khaniko shrugged, tugging at his white tunic as a breeze from the open doorways threatened to pull it free of the golden belt to bunch at his waist. “That is my duty, my lord, though I would not call Grigori timid.”

“Ah, forgive me,” Penates  said, placing a hand upon his shoulder and directing him towards the stairs, “You are correct, of course. Grigori is simply well trained.”

Khaniko took the praise with a small shrug as his sandaled feet came down from the final step and he moved within range of the bound vampire and orange robed priest.

“Your are wasted upon him.” Penates  stated firmly, causing him to look up in surprise.

“My lord?” He asked curiously.

The grey haired man folded his hands behind the spill of white cloth that made up his sash of rank, his brown eyes serious. “Any fool could keep Grigori in line, that is why his training was given to you, an apprentice. It is time now, I think to give you a bigger challenge.”

Khaniko glanced down at the slowly blinking vampire, his pupils dilated so greatly that only a small ring of blue could be seen around the black.

Penates  stepped up behind him. “I will not order you to this task, Khaniko. He has proven to be dangerous and even I am not sure he can be brought to heel but,” he hesitated, staring down at the form at their feet, “but I hate to give up on him. Yes, he has killed many innocents but what else could we expect from a creature chained and beaten? At the time I thought it the best method but I remember your protests. You told me that beating him would only drive him to desperation but I did not listen. Davio was sure that he could break him and, because his grandfather had once been this one’s father’s task-master I thought he would be the best person to care for him.”

Once again the older man fell silent, his eyes lifting to take in the marble walls before coming back to the vampire in question. “I was wrong. Davio was wrong. Perhaps you are the one who will be right.”

Khaniko knelt, reaching out the brush a stray lock of hair from the vampire’s brow. “Why? Why are you trying to reclaim him? Surely you know there will no buyer for him. He is wild born, those are hard enough to sell as it is for no one believes they are ever truly domesticated, not like the stable bred vampires. Besides, everyone knows his history and those who don’t would learn it the moment we showed them his papers.”

The smile returned to Penates ’s face. “Ah, yes. A fourth generation wild born vampire, son of Shanri, whose strength and wild desperation as he was instigated into a frenzy for a gasping audience, is still talked about. Whose daring escape sent the city in a panic for months and who, to this day, still defies capture.” The smile faded and Penates  shook his head. “You are right, even if the King of Kings still allowed such entertainment I doubt anyone would be willing to take a proven killer into their homes.”

“So why all of this?” Khaniko asked, gesturing to the marks and earning an annoyed glare from the red haired priest.

“Because the King of Kings has a task for him, one that only a vampire with such resilience as he has shown can perform. You know of what I speak.”

Khaniko paled and glanced down at the vampire. “And you would have me train him for that?”

Penates’s face took on a look of compassion. “It is a hard thing to do, I know, but it is a task that must be performed. It either that or have him staked out in the marketplace and await the return of Solei’s rays.”

The golden ring on his finger bit into the palm of his hand as Khaniko knelt at the vampire’s side, considering. “It might be better for him to die rather than suffer that.”

The Lord of the Market snorted, his compassion gone. “Someone is going to have to do it. Better he than another vampire like Grigori. The King of Kings has already agreed that it would be a suitable atonement for the deaths he’s already caused.”

Khaniko bowed his head. “This would be a permanent position?”

Penates  nodded. “Yes. I have already gotten the King of Kings’ permission. You and you alone will be his task-master, for as long as he is able to serve.”

“I want to be the one to appoint Grigori a new task-master of my own choosing.”

“Agreed.”

Khaniko considered a moment longer before nodding. “Alright, I will take this challenge of yours. What is his name?”

“Anduain.”

Reaching out Khaniko pulled the vampire’s lips back, baring fangs. He reached up into the vampire’s mouth, searching for the muscles that caused the fangs to slid from their sheaths. His finger found the two soft spots and the fangs lengthened. Catching one with his ring finger he tested it for strength and looseness. There was no give and when the vampire tried to pull away weakly he allowed them to retract and turned his attention to other things, checking for injury.

Finally he sat back on his heels, studying his new charge. “Do we know what set him off?”

A curt nod met his words. “Davio had believed his stubbornness came from a belief that his father would save him. He decided to dispel that by telling him that his father had been captured and killed. I believe that is what drove him into the Beast-Lord’s madness. Davio had expected anger but he was positive that once the anger wore away it would have left him broken and finally ready to be trained.”

Khaniko sighed and nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Well, if we are lucky his final prediction will be right. I hate to think of how else to break him. This will not be easy, my lord. He won’t be trained overnight. Indeed I’d be surprised if I even manage to teach him proper manners before your life is out, let alone get him into the orchard and willing put his hands into those thorn nests.”

Penates nodded. “We expected as much. The King of Kings is resigned to leaving his orchard unattended for the remainder of his life. It will be a fine day for you when your slave brings back his first harvest of fruit from those accursed bushes.”

Khaniko nodded his understanding, focusing his attention solely upon his new charge, only vaguely aware of the older man’s parting words. As his entire world has once been Grigori he began to fill his awareness with this new slave, Anduain. He would be the first thing he thought of upon waking and the last thing he thought of upon sleep. His nights would become nothing but learning the vampire’s essence, how he thought, how he felt, how he moved.

His lord had been right, stable bred vampires were easy. They were molded from the moment they were born into what their masters wished them to be. They had no bad habits to unlearn, no personality to retrain. They knew nothing but the silver bindings and their master’s whims. They did not know what it was like to run gayly beneath the silver moon, to embrace the Night-Lord and give their fidelity to the gods alone.

They did not know what it was like to be free and something other than a creature bent beneath lash and bound in silver.

In time, Khaniko promised, neither would Anduain. When he was finished his charge would remember such things only in nightmares and forget them upon waking. It was the only kindness he could afford to give the vampire for to leave him longing for such things would only increase his pain until he could serve no longer and he was destroyed.

It was the ultimate failure for a task-master, to see his charge descend into madness or be destroyed from the inside by the yearning for freedom.

It was not a failure he would allow to mar the creature that had been given into his care.

Nodding to himself Khaniko sat down upon the ground, gently lifting the vampire’s head into his lap and stroking the golden hair until the tightness left Anduain’s face and heavy lids dropped over unseeing eyes as the nightshade they had given him to calm him slowed his heart and lulled him into the Dream-Lord's grasp.