The Blood Of Vampire: Chapter 18 - The Shadowed Pact of the Alliance
The fortress of Ironspire Keep, Aerthos's forward operational base, was a sickening, brutal geometry of stone and spiritual malice. For Jatex, now thirteen, the Keep was not just a military obstacle; it was a beacon of everything he despised and feared. Situated precariously on the edge of the contested Sunstone Steppes, it was the only practical gateway to the territory of the Sun-Weavers, the goal of his current quest for the second Ward, the Chalice of Silent Light. The spiritual air around the Keep was heavy with Aerthos's Light-Aethyr—a pure, aggressive energy that countered the Vaelanar's Shadow-Weave like acid, making his every movement a battle against the risk of searing pain and immediate detection.
He was desperately weak. The Shadow-Blood Weave, the magnificent, terrifying power gained from the First Embrace, was proving to be a colossal burden on his small, immature body. It was a power designed for consumption, not sustained use, and the Thirst was a constant, gnawing cavity in his soul, demanding the complex, dense life essence found only in sapient beings. He had learned to manage it through sheer, traumatized discipline, but the constant pressure and the proximity of so much life in the Keep's garrison made him tremble with the internal cold and the agonizing, metallic craving.
Jatex had spent two days shivering in a ruined watchtower half a mile from the Keep, forcing himself to watch the movements of the heavily armored Aerthos guards. His goal was simple: find a way around the main blockade to continue the quest for the second Ward. But the sheer, unnatural volume of activity—the constant flow of non-Aerthos banners—suggested something far more urgent than a routine siege.
Finally, under the shroud of a pre-dawn fog, Jatex activated the subtler functions of his new power. He drew the Obsidian Amulet to his chest, whispering the ancient word, Sartus, and allowed the Shadow-Blood Weave to pull the ambient light and spiritual noise into a dense, local field of obfuscation.
He became a flicker in the periphery, a shadow that didn't quite belong to the landscape.
He slipped through the outer palisade and into the main yard. His blood ran cold as he witnessed the assembly in the central courtyard: not just Aerthos soldiers, but mercenary companies, their armor bearing the symbols of the hostile Dwarven Deep Road Clan, and even a contingent of the isolationist Northern Watchmen—factions that historically hated each other.
The sound of a heavy door sealing drew Jatex's attention to the garrison's primary assembly hall. He located a narrow, arrow-slit window and, using the unnatural burst of his enhanced speed, climbed to perch precariously on the cold stone sill.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by oil lamps. At a massive, carved oak table sat three figures, their faces grim and set. The central figure was a massive Aerthos General, clad in blackened plate armor that bore the scorch marks of countless battles. This was General Commander Vorlag, a man known for his rigid adherence to the Aerthos crusades. Facing him were the two emissaries: a short, powerfully built Dwarf with the tell-tale green-stained beard of the Deep Road Clans, and a chillingly stoic woman from the North.
"The Chancellor's patience has limits, Commander," the Dwarf growled, slamming a heavy, leather-bound document onto the table. "We have committed the Iron Path's resources for the siege of the Sun-Weavers, but the terms are absolute. The magical spoils from the Temple of the Chalice are ours. We need the artifacts, not the land."
Vorlag, his voice a dull, rasping rumble, leaned forward. "The High Strategist understands the needs of his allies. The Chalice of Silent Light will be yours, Dwarf. We only require the distraction and the manpower to secure the southern frontier from those Vaelanar curs." He pushed a scroll of his own across the table. "This pact secures the Alliance. Aerthos secures the land, the North secures the border, and the Deep Road secures the artifacts. We all win, and Syldavia is eliminated as a strategic threat."
The realization hit Jatex like a physical blow, silencing the scream of the Thirst for a moment. This was not just a military siege; it was a coordinated, high-level political campaign designed to partition Syldavia's ancient spiritual relics among its enemies, ensuring the total, permanent collapse of his kingdom.
Vorlag continued, unaware of the child hovering outside the window. "The Chancellor views the relics as mere powerful curiosities, but they are keys, gentlemen.
They are the locks that prevent other powers from being accessed. Once we neutralize all the spiritual guardians and the relics are secured in the Deep Road vaults, the Chancellor can proceed with his final, grand vision for the new Aerthos Dominion."
This single sentence—they are keys, not curiosities—connected the threads in Jatex's mind. Lord Zydian had told him to collect the Wards to seal The Sleeper. The Chancellor (the unseen enemy, reserved for Chapter 5099) sought to secure the artifacts for a "grand vision." The crushing scope of the Shadowed Pact uniting three hostile factions under the guidance of a single, unseen hand was almost too much for the 13-year-old's discipline to bear.
Just as the Dwarf reached for a quill to sign the pact, Jatex's concentration snapped. The cold, metallic hunger of the Thirst surged, momentarily overwhelming his spiritual control. The Shadow-Blood Weave flickered, and Jatex's small, pale figure became momentarily visible against the grey stone.
"Intruder!"
A low-ranking Aerthos sentinel outside the room spotted the fleeting shadow. Vorlag's massive head snapped up, his instincts razor-sharp. "Vaelanar! Outside the south wall! He is a Shadow-Weaver—bring him to me alive!"
Revised Chapter End
Jatex threw himself backward off the sill, dropping into a cramped supply alcove below. The panic was immediate and absolute, a wave of cold dread washing over his 13-year-old heart. He heard the thunder of heavy boots and the ringing of steel as Vorlag's men poured out of the assembly hall.
He did not fight. He fled. His unnatural speed, a gift of the Source Blood, sent him darting through the crowded courtyard.
Knowing he couldn't stop to fight, Jatex executed a desperate, tactical retreat: he slammed into a stack of replacement spears and iron shields near the main gate. The resulting clatter and chaos—metal on stone, the shouts of surprised guards—bought him a precious few seconds.
He didn't need to feed on the earth this time; the sheer, raw terror of being trapped by the architects of Syldavia's destruction provided all the adrenaline the Stain required. He vaulted the low outer wall, ignoring the searing scrape of the stone against his skin.
As he cleared the wall and sprinted into the enveloping fog of the Sunstone Steppes, Jatex risked a final, terrified glance back. He saw General Commander Vorlag—a towering silhouette of rage—standing over the collapsed pile of armor.
Vorlag did not shout at the retreating boy; he roared at his own men. "You saw the shadow! It was the Blood-Stain! You fail to catch it, you answer to the Chancellor! That boy is the key to the entire operation!"
Jatex froze, the Commander's final sentence—That boy is the key—landing with more crushing weight than any physical blow. The knowledge confirmed his worst fear: he was not merely a fugitive; he was the central piece in a world-ending game orchestrated by Lord Zydian and countered by The Chancellor.
Clutching the Obsidian Amulet, his face pale and set, Jatex turned his back completely on Ironspire Keep. The route to the Sun-Weaver Desert was clear. He no longer sought a Ward merely to save his people; he sought it because the enemy wanted it, too. His dark odyssey had just found a new, terrifying purpose. He was the key, and he would not be unlocked.