Darben had been among them for some time now. While the others slept during the day, Darben took the responsibility of running the Castle. However, most times, he found himself practicing the fighting techniques Angus would show him from the night before. But in hopes of becoming one of them, he slowly began to day slumber more often. He was obsessed with becoming one of them. Always in the ear of his hero, Angus, on the details of being a vampire. The taste of blood. The power and the hunger. But after three years, he was becoming concerned that maybe, it would never be. He was nineteen, surely Lucien would make him one now.
But still, he remained nothing more than a mortal. One night, they received a visit from a couple of vampires known as Mos. Mos were friendly with the Lucians, but since their numbers were small, they mostly lived among their own in caves and deep within the forest. They had news about a battle that had taken place in the land of Lutz between six hundred or so Krethans and just seventy-five Twellers, led by the once niece of Lucien and now Queen of Twells, Karlise. They spoke of how the Twellers, although small in number, highhandedly defeated all six hundred Krethans. But Lucien didn’t seem surprised by the outcome.
There had been similar stories of late about the queen and her army of seventy-five. Putting down large numbers of vampire and mortal armies, some so fearful of the queen’s great and freakish strength and speed that the mortals signed treaties of peace with the Twellers right on the spot. But what the mortals of the 'Twelve Kingdoms' feared most were vampires, especially Krethans, whose numbers had grown somewhere between ten to twenty thousand. What took place in Lutz was the first encounter the Krethans had with the Twellers, and by all accounts, just may have been the last. The two visitors were also eyewitnesses to the events in Lutz.
“The Twellers didn't move like vampires, but moved with the speed of Cheetahs and with the quickness of hummingbirds,” one said. “They even took to the air, able to fly for great distances at a time.”
“Each had the strength of about two-hundred soldiers,” continued the other.
“The queen wore hosen and a cape like a man. Her hair was cropped and styled as a man's. She herself fought against seventy Krethans at once. Never have I seen such a thing in all my existence.”
Lucien and those who were once Twellers often spoke with fondness about Twells. But accounts as these, never once came up in any of their stories.
In fact, they appeared puzzled. “Is it possible they have found it?” Angus inquired from a bewildered looking Lucien.
“Their swords,” Lucien asked. “The Queen’s sword. What did it look like?”
“Like the sword of her men. They all had the insignia of Twells upon them. Why?”
But Lucien didn’t answer and neither did the others. Their silence even raised Darben’s curiosity. Although he had been among them for all this time, there were things that he still didn’t know about them.
The following night, the atmosphere down in the dungeon of Castle Dorfman was raucous and intense. Tonight was the night of the trial; a Lucian was challenging the captain of their army for his position. Their captain was Angus, the best Lucian warrior next to Lucien himself. The noises of swords clashing together seemed to rise and fall over the noise of cheering and encouragement coming from the crowd of fellow Lucians.
Darben was anxious as he watched the ensuing challenge standing alongside Lucien, yearning with a passion to possess their power and their strength. Envisioning that it was he, and not Thallon, challenging Angus to the delight of Lucien.
He marveled at Angus’s great skill with the sword as his eyes took in the powerful arms and torso of the captain who vowed to die to protect his brothers in arms. So enamored was he with the captain, Darben had even begun to fashion his hair after Angus. He wore his hair long and wild, like the heavy leaves on the drooping branches of the weeping willow tree. Yet Darben couldn’t shake feeling a little dejected watching the eyes of Lucien. How he secretly longed to be held in such esteem in the eyes of the great warrior. He was ready, but didn’t understand Lucien’s hesitation.
“Father, why have you not made me? Is it that you think that I am not ready?”
Lucien lovingly draped an arm around Darben’s shoulders with his free hand pointing to his chest.
“I don’t doubt that your heart or your mind, are ready,” he said, squeezing his undeveloped arms, feeling for muscles, much to Darben’s amusement. “It is your body that isn’t ready. You are yet just nineteen; still very young. All of your brothers were at least the age of twenty-five when I made them. If I were to make you a vampire now, although you would possess our powers, the others would still have to look after you, because you would be the weakest amongst us.” Lucien’s eyes followed every movement of Angus’s sword as he placed his over-matched challenger on his hip, flipping him hard to the ground, causing him to surrender his sword in defeat to the wild exuberance of those gathered.
“Did you see that?” Lucien shouted excitedly over the crowd. As the group of warriors began to disband, Lucien walked with Darben from the Dungeon. “You are more skilled with the bow than any of your brothers and getting better with the sword; however, you need to be perfect with it. So when I make you, you will no longer ‘think’ about the sword or when to strike. Your skill will become your nature, and then you will move with speed and grace and deadly precision. You understand?”
Darben nodded, looking disappointed as Lucien playfully grabbed him by the back of the neck. “Be patient, young warrior,” he said with a confident smile.
From that day, Darben worked harder; becoming so proficient with the sword that he even amazed his teacher, Angus.
Along with getting stronger, he also grew a foot taller; now standing eye to eye with the six foot four Angus himself. Two years later, when Darben had reached the age of twenty-two, it was time. The night he had longed for was finally upon him. Lucien was going to make him a vampire. On a cold, cloudless night, he stood in the midst of all four hundred and thirty of his brothers, gathered outside the dark castle, while Lucien stood in front of him with a dagger.
“My son, look upon your brothers. From this night forward, you shall share their blood. Whatever you were before this night, no longer applies. You will live according to our ways, share our knowledge, and refine our skills. Now, recite the seven edicts of the Lucians.”
You were expected to know them by heart. Darben slowly began to recite them with pride.
“Love my brothers, honor our father, feed not off the weak and inferior, refine one’s skills and intellect, show respect to worthy opponents, offer no mercy to our enemies, fight with honor.”
Lucien smiled with pride. Then, with his dagger, he made a small incision upon his wrist, holding up the dripping blood to Darben’s mouth. Slowly taking the wrist, Darben drank the blood from it. At first, he felt woozy, then painful nausea; his body caught in the vicious grip of the death.
The words of Angus, who had warned him beforehand of what to expect, came to mind. Don’t fight it. Focus on breathing. Allow it to happen. But it was proving easier said than done. Everything ached as his limbs felt as if they were on fire.
He fell to his knees as his hands dug deep furrows into the soil. His heart was beating within him fast; he couldn’t catch his breath. Then suddenly, it was over. Slowly, he rose to his feet. He could hear the thoughts of the animals that scurried around in the darkness. He felt powerful, strong, and yes, he felt the hunger. The hunger for mortal blood. With his tongue, he licked his teeth, feeling the fangs with it. His transformation was complete. He was now a vampire.
