This chapter came up a bit earlier than planned. I was aiming to have it up middle of next week. In other news I have entered another contest, the June MWC which is focusing on "Cinematic Action". My entered piece is a sci-fi war short, which I will be posting up here for easy findings once the contest has been judged, which will probably be late July, going into August. The contest itself ends July 1st. Good ol' Canada Day. Speaking of, I may enter in another "Blood of the Damned" Special for Canada day. It'll be fun to write another zombie piece, and this one, if done in time, will focus on events in Canada. Don't actually expect it as I'm still not sure if I'll do it or not.

Would also like to point out that this chapter contains a lesbian sex scene. It's rather brief, but for those not into sex, or don't like reading about any homosexual pairings, just skip the first sub-section of the chapter. Enjoy.

Table of Contents/ Subscription
Previous Chapter

Chapter 8: The Council

The heat of her skin was intoxicating. The rise and fall of her breasts as she let her breath in and out slowly was enchanting. The sheets fell over her hips gracefully, hiding her legs from view, but Gwenhwyfar had been between them not fifteen minutes earlier.

Arya smiled sweetly, turning over onto her side, blonde hair framing her soft features, blue eyes looking at the noble woman she shared a bed with. Gwenhwyfar returned smile, running fingers down the servant's neck and over her breasts. Arya's lips parted gently, eyes fluttering closed as Gwenhwyfar soaked in every second of this intimate moment.

Cupping the servant's breast, Gwenhwyfar sidled closer to her feeling a shiver run up her spine as the other woman let out a soft moan. Arya pressed herself against the vampire, lips tracing a soft trail down the noble woman's neck to the gentle slope of her shoulder. Gwenhwyfar bit her lower lip, feeling hands run over her flanks, kisses rolling over the swell of her breast before teeth trap a sensitive nipple.

As Gwenhwyfar let a moan of lust spill out into the room, Arya flicked her tongue over the bud clamped in her mouth feeling it stiffen under the attention. With a smile Gwenhwyfar couldn't see through closed eyes, Arya moved further down, fingertips ghosting over cool skin, warm kissed running over the noble's flat stomach, over a scar gained centuries before. With fingers running through the servant's hair, Gwenhwyfar eased Arya further down, her legs parting gently as the other woman settled between them, the kisses sinking her further down.

As Arya's tongue gently ran along Gwenhwyfar's womanhood, the vampire arched her back, letting out another low moan, a hand running along her own body as she was explored most intimately. Arya began to hungrily lick at the vampire's sex, drawing more moans of lust.

The chamber door opened, as Elishka walked in without warning. Arya let out a yelp, jumping up and grabbing at the sheets to conceal her nudity. Cut off unexpectedly from her euphoria, Gwenhwyfar gave the intruder an irritated glare, before noting the bundle tucked under Elishka's arms, as Arya huddled at the edge of the bed, sheets pulled up over her breasts.

"What do you want?" Gwenhwyfar demanded.

"The council has been called together, your attendance is expected. Here put something decent on," Elishka said, tossing the bundle onto the bed, revealing it to be a rather expensive looking dress of black and crimson.

Gwenhwyfar lifted the dress, feeling the soft dyed linen beneath her fingers, before coming to portion that covered her torso, and finding it made of firm leather with crimson laces running up the back. Despite herself, Gwenhwyfar raised an eyebrow and looked up at Elishka, whilst behind her Arya pulled on her own clothing to hide herself a look of confusion of her face, unable to understand the English words.

"It's a style some tailor made in France. It never caught on, but Lord Kessler seems to think you may like it," Elishka said simply as Gwenhwyfar pulled the dress on, slipping her arms down the loose sleeves, her hands completely free in the wide cuffs. Elishka moved up behind Gwenhwyfar and grasped the lacings.

"The most unfortunate part of this horrid design, is that you require another to get behind you and tighten it," Elishka said, pulling the garment tight, pushing Gwenhwyfar's breasts together. Arya glanced over, and the corner of her lips twisted up.

Gwenhwyfar frowned, adjusting her breasts beneath the dress until she was comfortable.

"That thing seems such a mockery of modesty. There's hardly anything I can't see. Regardless, we're wanted down in the council chambers," Elishka said in disgust before turning and moving back towards the door.

Gwenhwyfar turned to look at Arya, giving her a coy smirk before entering the hallway and closing the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two descended into the cold darkness beneath the castle. Cracked stone walls were covered in ice, and torches set in iron sconces flickered faintly, so close to extinguishing. Elishka walked before Gwenhwyfar, neither speaking as they approached the doors nestled in this underworld. Both could feel the unnatural chill in the air, could feel ice on their skin.

Elishka pushed the doors open, and the two women stepped inside a round chamber ringed with stone chairs carved into the wall, all looking in towards a large pit of blue flame. Facing the door was a large throne, wolf heads carved into the arm rests and the back, arching over a solitary figure clad in thin robes.

Elder Asgier stared at the two newcomers with unblinking eyes, his leathery skin drawn tight against his bones, ears elongated and pointed. He raised a skeletal hand, and gestured to two empty seats with pointed claws without a word, the fire flaring as he moved.

Both Gwenhwyfar and Elishka bowed before the elder before taking their seats, the fire calming as Asgier's hand fell back to the armrest. Gwenhwyfar's eyes darted about the room, finding herself in the company of about ten other vampires of her clan. She noticed Jurgen amongst the gathered, and recognized others as warriors of some form. So this was to be a council of war.

A well dressed man stepped out before the council, bowing to the elder. Gwenhwyfar noticed Elishka twitch slightly at the man's appearance; this must be her maker, Lord Von Kessler. His oiled and tied blonde hair, and perfectly trimmed beard instantly reminded Gwenhwyfar of her own maker, and she instantly despised the man. She also hated wearing this dress knowing it came from him.

"Fellow knights of the Wolf. We are gathered here to discuss grave matters," Von Kessler began, and again Gwenhwyfar glanced over to Elishka, wondering when she had gained the title of knight.

"In the east, as the humans fight over land and Gods, the Rose is becoming a weed that must be plucked out. They are toying with the very nature of our kind and calling it science," he continued, and someone stood up with a bow towards Asgier before speaking.

"Science should be left to the ever curious humans. What do they hope to claim through questioning our gift?" the noble man said before sitting once more.

"That is the question. They are converting humans into ghoulish monstrosities. Shadows of our own kind who seek only to tear and rend and do their bidding and feast on flesh. They are poised to strike against the kingdoms of humanity, and stake their own claim and set themselves as Gods with an army of blood thirsty angels at their beck and call," Von Kessler said, punctuating each word with a gesture of his hand.

At this, Asgier lifted his hand, gesturing towards Von Kessler's empty seat. The lord bowed deeply, moving back to his chair, before the elder rose slowly, the flames in the pit flaring brightly.

"What Von Kessler says is truth. Already, outside the walls of Antioch, one called Lancelot du Lac is turning crusading soldiers into a monstrous army, using the war and hate to move amongst them unrevealed. It will not be long before he makes his move on the holy cities, using their dead against them. I have called this council to wage the first war between clans since the era of the Romans," Asgier said, his voice like gravel as it left his lips, but everyone heard it like silk passing over their brains.

As he spoke though, Gwenhwyfar's back stiffened at the mention of Lancelot; her maker. The one who pulled her from the path of honour. The one who took advantage of her love for the kingdom, and in the end her act of betrayal had torn Arthur's heart asunder, and the kingdom had fallen to the Saxons. Still she listened to the elder, unable to escape his words that wormed inside her skull.

The elder went on, speaking of raising troops on the journey east, of attacking the castles and fortresses of the Clan of the Rose. While he spoke, he hardly moved, save small gestures of his head. Finally he stopped, his eyes turning to face Gwenhwyfar, seeming to bore into her soul.

"And you, lady Gwenhwyfar, shall strike against Lancelot in the holy land. Strike him down, get your revenge. Regain your honour," he said, all eyes of the council turning in her direction.

"Yes my lord," Gwenhwyfar stated as calmly as she could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alan walked carefully amongst the dead, holding his sword tightly in his fist. His helmet lay abandoned somewhere in the sand as he shuffled amongst the mutilated corpses, all of them wearing the uniform of the Lionheart. There were no others, none of Du Lac's men, no Saracens. Even most of the column was missing rather than laying desecrated in the desert. Curtis bent by each body, trying to see if any still lived, despite the very obvious state of death. The scout commander took daggers and swords from the fallen, strapping them to the horse that followed him obediently.

"My God," Alan muttered, eyes flicking from one torn body to the next, and finally settled on a spear driven into the ground, Garret's head impaled on the blade, blood running down the shaft. A buzzard had already landed on the knight's head and was picking at his eye.

"Get away from him," Alan yelled swinging his sword at the vulture. The bird let out a squawk and took off into the air, circling above the massacre with his fellow carrion eaters.

Falling to his knees, sword falling from his hands, Alan pounded on the ground, sorrow and rage clashing within him. Before him, the decapitated body of another friend was slumped against the spear. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looking up, saw Salaam standing above him.

"Now is not the time to grieve. Now is the time to take up arms and destroy the evil which is doing this to both your people and mine," the Saracen warrior said calmly.

He moved to stand before the desecrated body of Garret, blocking it from Alan's view, and held out his hand. Alan clasped it firmly, letting this man who should have been his sworn enemy, help him to his feet.

"Together then," Alan said, pulling back his shoulders and not releasing Salaam's hand.

"Together, we shall fight the true holy war," the Saracen said.

Next Chapter