Blood and Honor

She suspected that Wultram was trying to break her will and make her a more cooperative subordinate, but she swore to herself that she would never be a willing party to this abomination; he would have to force her to carry out every order. Even if it was true that the Flame had abandoned her because of what she had become—and the others told her so often enough—she vowed that she would never abandon the Flame. Even though she could no longer speak its name or look upon its image, she would remain faithful in her heart. The alternative would be to give in to the red madness.

One night, Wultram told his spawn that they had been summoned to attend a great ritual. For the first time since she had arrived, Brey was able to see parts of the complex outside the vampire’s chamber. Although Wultram kept a close eye on her, she looked for any sign of her rangers, fearful of what might have been done to them. But she saw no familiar faces on the way to the cavernous temple to Vol where the ritual was to take place.

The temple was laid out around a huge, bloodstained stone altar. The smell of blood—both new and old—was so strong in the air that Brey’s stomach twisted with hunger, and her fangs ached with longing for the fluid of life. Looking around, she could see that some of the others were looking restless. Only Wultram seemed unaffected, and he curtly ordered them to be still.

In addition to the vampire spawn, the temple was thronged with zombies, and the pale, cadaverous assistants who served Dravuliel. To one side of the altar was a vast orrery made of silver, gold, and precious stones; it did not reflect Eberron and its moons as Brey knew them, and it was too far away for her to make out the markings on its various spheres.

When Dravuliel entered, Brey realized that although she had heard his name spoken almost daily, this was the first time she had actually set eyes on him. He was tall for an elf, towering over even the half-orc zombies that flanked the arched doorway through which he entered. He was thin, too, even for an elf. She wondered for a moment if he might be a lich. His robes were exquisitely embroidered with symbols that made her shudder, and cut in the style of Aerenal. This puzzled her. She had always been told that the Aereni generated life rather than death, and that their revered Undying were beneficent creatures, and not the product of foul necromancy.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Dravuliel mounted the steps to the altar and began to speak.

“This night is one of great significance. Tonight, you will all become stronger and more capable than you have ever been. Tonight, the power of Mabar itself will be yours!”

His cadaverous assistants applauded, and he paused for a moment to acknowledge their adulation.

“Tonight, we shall create a link with the Endless Night, a permanent link that will not weaken with the shifting juxtaposition of the planes. Its dark energy will flood this temple, and flow through all of you! You will be transformed!”

Though her body remained rigidly still in accordance with Wultram’s orders, Brey’s heart quivered. During her training at the Temple of the Silver Flame she had learned something about the different planes of existence, and Mabar was one of the darkest and most dangerous. She had already seen how Dravuliel’s necromancy had strengthened the zombies, and she shuddered to think of the horrors he could perpetrate with this new power at his command. She tried with all her will to move, to do anything to disrupt the proceedings, but her body would not respond. She had been commanded to be still.

As Dravuliel went over to the orrery, his disciples began a low chant. He set the machine into motion, and the gemstone spheres began to rotate around each other in a complex, shifting pattern. The air in the temple seemed to become thicker, cold, and heavy like a winter fog. Above the spinning orrery, the air shimmered and darkened. The chant rose in pitch as the darkness coalesced, sinking into the orrery itself and hiding it from sight. The candles and torches that lit the temple flickered, their flames leaning toward the darkness as if blown by a strong wind. A deep sound below the range of hearing vibrated the floor and walls.

Dravuliel stood in rapt contemplation of the darkness as the chanting continued. It expanded steadily, seeming to drag the light out of the chamber. The vibration intensified. Suddenly a tendril of pure darkness shot out and wrapped around Dravuliel’s body. He screamed in surprise and struggled as it lifted him off the floor.

For a moment, no one in the temple moved. Then the cadaverous disciples stopped their chanting and hastened to help their master. Wultram leaped forward, drawing his greatsword and calling on his spawn to follow him. Like ants attacking a rat, they swarmed around the darkness, assaulting it with spell and blade. Brey joined them as she had been ordered, although she longed to leave the elf to his fate.