Blood-Born

Chapter IX - Omen of Clarity

"The future is uncertain but the end is always near."

- Jim Morrison

The Farm

Rubicon emerged from the mists of her forge far angrier than she had been since the arrival of the former savage and her spawn.

The demon smith had managed to get under her skin much like Leviticus before him; having deprived her of any joy from rediscovery of old weapons otherwise perfectly reborn to her.

She yanked off her chest guard as she discarded her long swords without a second thought, having replaced the ties in practiced memory that guided her fingers.

Once she had slipped the chest guard back on, she re-secured the sides and attached each fang blade to her back before having tested their hold as the freshly pulled tightness of her armor felt much like the soft touch of familiar hands pressed hard against her in places that no hands were ever allowed even casual trespass.

Quickly walking out to her horse, she untied the reins and swung up having opted to ride out to the open fields to check on progress, or lack thereof that may have taken place.

As her mount made its way through the outer rings, she took in the activity around her.

Men moved and organized supplies; checked and rechecked their equipment and that their weapons were properly cleaned and ready while armed guards continued to remain diligent inside and out for any trouble that may arise.

It had taken her some time to get used to the wights under her command; men raised from death simply stuck in time at the moment of their death to serve their master for eternity.

She admired the Picts attempt at double jeopardy, having made Leviticus watch them fail a second time had they not escaped their doom.

Loyal beyond fault, they readily accepted her without question as Praetor; something unheard of when they had last been alive.

At the inner gate she turned her mount in a slow circle while she carefully scanned the outer walls.

Something the smith had said continued to trouble her.

"Did the man visit the Indian and her cubs at any point?"

The visit had been closely monitored by her troops and she had verified and double checked their progress personally.

The magic user had not been anywhere near this field the entire time.

That they even had methods to monitor his every movement and sensors to alert them if he had even managed to sneeze out a spell casting had not been passed on to either of their visitors.

Leviticus had been so highly suspicious of their cousine and her companion's sudden request for an audience that his mandate had been made perfectly clear to each and every one of them before they had arrived.

Cousin Grace was not allowed to know anything at all about their defenses of any sort where creativity and dodginess were to be encouraged with answers given to any questions that their visitors may have been posed.

As her mount slowly moved between the small outer domes, her growing unease did not pass as she had hoped it might even here among the usual peace and quiet of their guests.

"But, she ... did."

The annoyingly deep basso voice of the cursed smith had presented a bit of a quandary for her to consider as she remembered the look in his eyes while he had brought it up.

She suddenly reigned to a halt and dismounted.

With quick strides she approached the nearest dome where she pulled herself up and climbed to the top.

As she stood and looked around the keep, everything seemed normal enough although she sensed with growing dread that it was not.

Knelt down at the hatch, she unlatched and slid the view slot open only to find the dome below her was completely empty.

It only took three strides and an exceptionally long leap to gain the top of the next dome where she found the same result.

Her training allowed her to avoid idle panic as she quickly began to check other nearby domes that she new for certain were supposed to be inhabited.

But now, each and every one was found empty and bare.

From atop of the most recent dome in her search, she scanned the area around her with renewed interest while the depth of her failure as Praetor began to fully sink in.

If her lycan charges had somehow been set free the first sign of warning should have come from within the farm works itself or from outside as the cemetery guardians reacted to their sudden presence.

Attack and run like cowards; lycans had never failed her with that particular expectation as it appeared to be something naturally found to be part of their beastly nature.

They just could not help themselves, each and every time.

But none of that appeared to have happened as no alarm had been raised as of yet.

Her eyes settled upon the large center dome where Poe and company had gone to visit the Indians and she groaned in cursed agony.

"Nil Tada Nios Measa Na Bod Ina Seasamh ..."

Without having to look, she reached for her belt and pulled the one flare that would alert everyone to her failure.

De Lascanti had designed them; affectionately having referred to fire sticks as her chemist's stars for reasons that she had never bothered to explain.

There were several options available; colors chosen to reflect level of alert or emergency.

Without having bothered to look up, she activated the flare that she had selected and held it high as the pulsing red star raced skyward to slowly arch down toward the front gate.

An unmistakable sign to anyone who would see it for what it was.

Pulsing red – the highest alert possible; red for breach and defend in place, red for impending attack inside and out.

Red meant that she had failed as Praetor to properly defend her farm – by far the worst possible outcome of any plan that they had prepared for.

She was rewarded with the frantic sound of the alarm suddenly having been raised in every quarter and the calm activity's swift change to practiced frenzy as her men reacted in ways repeatedly drilled into them.

Once she regained her saddle she turned her mount toward the center dome.

There would really be only one way to test her new weapon's worth and that would be in battle.

At least now she knew where the fight would be coming from.

Without prompt, her mount moved quickly as if it had read her mind; perhaps as afraid of what might await them there as she was.

Her failure might already be complete and she'd been too blind to see it coming.

Now she could only react as she'd been charged so long ago.

As Praetor with nothing less than blind blood filled vengeance.