by Soledad
A Swordfeast universe story Timeline: about a year after ''Finally'' First part of the Cameron-storyline and my own SWF-stories.
Disclaimers: None of the ''Kindred''-vampires belong to me, and the background situation and the Richmond Tremere belong to the Swordfeast Universe. Cameron's bloodline, however, was created by me. I took his ancestors from the Brujah genealogy on the website White Wolfe Online. Some of the blood relations are authentic, others I simply made up. All the L.A. Kindred can be found in my original stories of the ''Pathways in the Dark'' universe, as well.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Julian Luna, Ventrue Prince of San Francisco, was just about to open the current Conclave meeting when the phone rang. Cash, his long-time lover and bodyguard (also the Primogen of the San Francisco Gangrel) answered it as usual. It was Michael from the gate, of course. No one else was given access to the Conclave room during a meeting. Cash listened for a moment, frowning, then covered the receiver with his hand and said: ''My Lord, one Lady Abigail wishes to present herself to the Pricne of the City. She claims to be the Tremere Primogen of L.A.''
All eyes turned to Thorne Severan, the resident Tremere Primogen, who - to common surpirse - lost his poker-face for a second.
''Do you know this woman, Thorne?'' Julian asked.
The chief magus of the city nodded. ''Yes, my Prince. She's an old adversary of mine. But if she comes openly, through the front door, then she's here on business.''
''So you're saying I shoud see her?''
''It would be best, my Prince. She could come in anyway, if she wanted. Announcing herself simply means she won't force you to cooperate.''
''Could she do that?'' Julian got several shades paler.
Thorne nodded, seriously. ''That... and more. Not even I would be able to protect you against her powers. She's not simply the Regent of another Chantry. She's the Pontifex of Southern California, but what's more, she's the Mother Superior of the Sisters of Greznich.''
Blank looks answered his announcement. Only in Daedalus' dark eyes sparkled understanding. Julian shot him a questioning look. ''The Sisters of Greznich are a coven of Tremere witches'', the Nosferatu explained. ''They were born with the Wild Power, that survives even their Embrace. As a result, they are the only Tremere who can practice true magic, without the help of thaumaturgical rituals. They live in celibacy, except of the five Feasts of the year when they select a mate for a few days, to unleash and renew their powers through sexual magic.''
'' The 'Weavers of Fate' are they called'', Thorne added, shivering slightly. ''Their Chantry is closed, even for other Tremere, but they often travel between Chantries, seeking out for new novices. It's considered the greatest honour to be accepted by their Order. Even the Council of Seven wouldn't dare to confront them.''
''So what's this Lady Abigail doing here?'' Lillie asked.
Julian shrugged. ''There's only one way to find out'', he said and nodded Cash. ''Let her be brought here.''
Cash delivered the order and a few minutes later Michael knocked on the Conclave room's door. ''Lady Abigail'', he announced simply, stepping aside to let the unexpected visitor enter. In came a medium-built woman, seemingly in her late thirties or early forties. She was pleasantly rounded on all the right places... somewhat stocky, actually, but having been born and lived before the insanity of the SlimFast Age, she didn't seem to be worried about her weight. Following Tremere customs, she was clad entirely in black: an anke-long, black silk skirt and a purple-and-gold-patterned, shrunk black silk blouse, that made her pale, almost transparent white skin positively glow. Her silky, reddish-brown hair was bound in a tight knot on the nape of her neck and covered with the traditional veil of a lead witch. An aristocratic profile and gold-frecled, greyish-blue eyes completed the picture of a very powerful person.
''My lord'', she greeted the Prince in a deep, pleasant voice and bowed slightly in his direction, ''thank you for seeing me in such a short order. My fellow Primogen'', she added with a hardly visible nod, ''greetings from your brethren in the City of Angels.'' Then she caught a glimpse of Thorne and the temperature in the Conclave room seemed to drop at least twenty degrees. ''My, my, that's a surprise'', she said, her voice becoming a faint, dangerous edge. ''If that's not our good old Tenisor! Overstanding your welcome in London, haven't you? Well, it lasted longer than I'd have expected. You must have learnt some manners, after all.''
''It's Thorne Severan now'', the San Francisco Primogen corrected.
Lady Abigail shrugged. ''It doesn't matter what name you're wearing now. That won't change the little weasel that was licking Goratrix' feet for decades... and abandoning him as soon as he'd fallen from grace. You've always been good at betraying people and destroying lives... or unlives... whatever.'' She shot a look at the sullen, submissive creature Cameron had become since Thorne made him his love slave and added pointedly: ''As I see you've managed to destroy another one. Congratulations.''
Julian Luna cleared his throath. The dynamics between the two Tremere made him extremely nervous, knowing that if the two get into a fight, many others would be hurt. ''Please, Lady Abigail, tell me the reason for your visit.''
The witch turned back to him. ''My apologies, milord. I don't get angry easily; not that angry that I'd forget my manners, anyway. I'm asking for permission to stay in your City for a few weeks. I'm having some personal matters here that need to be taken care of. After that I'll go back to my Chantry where I'm needed.''
''What kind of business? And how long do you want to stay?''
''Not long. A fortnight, maybe. Perhaps even less. It depends on how fast I can take care of my... issues. I swear by Mother Eart not to practice any magic in your City, unless it's for the protection of my existence, and I won't Hunt, either. I'm perfectly capable of going on without Feeding for several weeks, if necessary. Besides, my host surely will have bottled supplies in his house.''
''May I ask who your host is?'' Julian inquired.
Lady Abigail nodded. ''Of course. I'm staying with an ancient True Undead, Lucius. I believe he uses the name Lucien LaCroix in these days, though.''
The Conclave room became deadly silent. ''LaCroix?'' Julian repeated slowly. ''You're a friend of LaCroix?''
''Not really'', the witch replied. ''To be honest, I don't even like him. But we've known each other for the last millennium or so, and he asked for my help.''
''What kind of help?'' Julian asked. ''I'm sorry for being this inquisitive, but LaCroix has caused us considerable trouble, ever since he set foot in my City and I have to know what he's up to, at any given time.''
''That might be harder than you probably imagine'', Lady Abigail warned him. ''Trouble is Lucius' middle name, has always been. But you don't need to worry about this one. He's in need of some serious healing - the mental sort of it -, and I am a healer. It won't make him any more powerful, I promise. On the contrary; taking care of his inner wounds might make him less unexpectable... and a lot less dangerous.''
Julian looked at her, doubtful. ''Are you sure you can handle him? He's about two millennia old and very strong. He interrupted the Ritual of Thorne's entiry Chantry once.''
''Tenisor's Chantry is a bunch of obnoxious Childer'', the witch answered, her eyes steel hard and ice cold. ''I'm older than our whole Clan itself, I'm even older than Lucius. I'd already been several centuries old when your little warlock friend here was conceived. I could tear him apart by sheer willpower... or Lucius, as a matter of fact. Fortunately for both of them, I despise violence.''
Julian looked at Thorne, questioning. ''Could she really...?''
The San Francisco Tremere nodded. ''She could, my Prince. I've seen Wild Power at work... it was devastating, although the witch involved wasn't nearly as old and as strong as Lady Abigail. None of us can wear off Wild Power.''
''That's why Tremere love to kill witches'', Lady Abigail added in a bitter voice. ''I've lost many promising candidates for our Order because my clansmen got to them before I could have. They fear Wild Power as much as most vampires fear True Faith.''
Julian shuddered. ''Do you have to use that filthy word?''
The witch shrugged. ''I am a filthy vampire who Feeds on mortals in order to stay alive... or undead... and so are you. No need to be overly sensitive about semantics. Becoming a vampire was the lesser evil for me, nothing more, and I don't have much love for my Clan. My sisters and I have chosen to be Embraced to save our Order. We all had been the ghouls of Old Clan Tzimisce for almost a millennium when the Tremere started murdering our Masters. They, in exchange, planned to sacrifice us for their survival - to corrupt our powers and knowledge for their agenda. So we fled forward and joined the Tremere. Otherwise the Order would have been extinguished - just as the Tremere murdered nearly all of the Salubri. With the Salubri gone, we were the only remaining healers. We had to survive.''
''You are one of the original sisters, aren't you?'' Daedalus asked quietly.
''I'm the founder'', the witch answered simply. ''There had been others before us, of course, our kind is as old as humanity itself maybe even older. But I was the one who gathered the others around myself, in the Carpathian Mountains, at a time when the Roman Empire was still a republic. I lived 450 years as a mortal - the Wild Power slowed down our aging process to ten years during a century. Then, when the Romans - led by the Ventrue - invaded Dacia, we fled to the Tzimisce. They made us their ghouls... their servants. They believed they could control us...''
''And paid the price'', Thorne said. ''You betrayed them - just as you've been accusing me...''
''We left them'', Lady Abigail corrected. ''We never turned against them. That was something their own Childer did. Not many of the Old Clan are still around. Most of them were slain by their own progeny... or power-hungry Tremere warlocks. We never hurt any of them. In fact, half of our Order - mostly the younger ones - have been destroyed by Tremere and other vampires while protecting our Masters.''
''And yet you've chosen Clan Tremere'', Daedalus said. ''There must have been a reason for that.''
''Two reasons, actually. The Tremere were the only Clan that was remotedly interested in practicing magic - and I'm not talking about alchemy here. Alchemy is an alternative way of science, as you very well know. Our powers are different. In other Clans, we wouldn't have been able to practice our magic.''
''And the other reason?''
''Tremere had always been a threat to us. By being inside, we hoped to be able to control that threat.''
''And? Have you succeeded?'' Cash asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
''Yes'', the witch said simply. ''There are always rogues, of course, or idiots who hope they can hide from us after killing a witch who'd scared the shit out of them. They cannot. As I said, we despise violence, all of us, but if we hear of a witch-hunter, we go and hunt him down.''
''Or her'', Daedalus added.
Lady Abigail gave him a grim look. ''In my over two thousand years of existence, I hardly ever met a female one. It's always the men who feel threatened by female power; and their only solution is, usually, to kill the woman in question - and not only the witches. During the great witch hunts in the Middle Ages, the vast majority of the murdered weren't even remotely attached to magic. They were midwives, healers, scholars... or simply independent or wealthy. And most of the real witches murdered during those Burning Times hadn't practiced dark arts, either. '' She turned to Thorne, her voice becoming icy again. ''Should I remaind you of Deirdre? The Celtic priestress whom I had to save from the burning stake, set off by your fanatic lackeys?''
''Well, you certainly had your revenge'', Thorne hissed, his handsome face darkening with hatred. ''I've lost three Childer on that day.''
Lady Abigail shrugged. ''It was their own fault. I told them to back off, but they wouldn't listen. Everyone who crosses my Circle of Protection will burn. I told them that much. They didn't believe me. They thought, just because I was a short, middle-aged woman, they could break my Circle. The unlucky fools. I didn't want their Final Death. I only wanted to save Deirdre. And I did.''
''You killed three of your own Clan?'' Julian gaped.
''I didn't kill them'', the witch replied calmly. ''I warned them not to go to their doom. I told them what would happen. They chose to challenge Fate - and lost. I'm the Weaver of Fate. They should have listened.''
''Their blood is still on your hand'', Julian said.
''And that from the Butcher of Manzanita'', Lady Abigail replied with a faint smile, watching from the corner of her eye as Cameron slowly raised his head and gave the Prince a long, bitter look. ''No, Prince Julian, their blood is on the hands of their Sire who didn't taught them not to challenge true magic. Nobody should provoke the powers that are vastly greater than their own.''
''Is that a threat?'' Julian asked, his nostrils flaring.
''Of course not'', the witch answered. ''I'm not interested in your City or your position, Prince Julian. I only came to inform you that I'm here. In two week's time I'll be gone again. Probably earlier. It depend on which condition Lucius is in.''
''Very well'', Julian sighed, deciding, it wouldn't be wise to make this incredibly powerful Methuselah mad at him, ''I don't intend to hinder you. You've permission to dwell in my City as long as your mission is done... but I'll have to ask you to leave after that.''
''I do not have any intention to stay in a City where I have to share the air with Tenisor'', Lady Abigail bowed slightly towards Julian's seat. ''Thank you, milord. I shall handle according to your wish. In the meantime, my fellow Primogen, I have messages for some of you.''
''What messages?'' Lillie asked.
''None for you, Ms Langtry, I'm afraid'', the witch answered. ''Victor Girard still doesn't react positively by the mentioning of your name, and there aren't any of your bloodline in L.A. right now. But I'd met Cash' people before I left. Some of them are hiding from Cyrus' death brigades on the borders of Garou territory. Hawk sends his regards to Daedalus... and a letter full of questions regarding high-level alchemy, I guess. And, first of all, I have a very important message for Cameron.''
''From Cyrus?'' Thorne asked when his personal slave failed to react.
''No'', the witch said, ''from his grand-Sire... not that it would be any of your business, though. Cameron, it's of paramount importance that we meet... in private. Please, select the time and the place as soon as possible.''
''Any time and any place is fine with me'', the Brujah muttered.
Julian, who noticed his condition for the first time, started getting worried. There was something definitely... odd with his sworn enemy. ''Well, I don't want to interfere with that'', he said. ''But I'd like to speak with you some more, Lady Abigail... inofficially, let's say. Would you mind if I invited Daedalus and Thorne to that meeting?''
''I have no objections considering Daedalus'', the witch answered. ''Tenisor is another matter entirely, but if you feel safer with him present, I'll tolerate him for your sake.''
She pulled a thick manila envelope from a hidden pocket of her long skirt and reached it the Nosferatu. ''Your letter. Hawk will be returning to L.A. in a month or so; I can deliver your answer if you want.''
The Nosferatu bowed politely. ''Thank you, Lady Abigail.''
''You are welcome'', the witch turned back to Julian. ''What time do you want to have this little meeting of us?''
''I'll have to have this Conclave first, but... what about three hours?''
''Excellent.''
''Do you want to wait in the library or in the garden?''
''No, thank you. Three hours are enough for me to meet someone else in Sausalito. I'll be back on time. Good night, my lord... my fellow Primogens.''
She bowed slightly again and left. Everyone glared a bit shocked after her. Everybody but Cameron, whom doesn't seem to really touch anything lately. The young Brujah sat slumped in his chair, his once keen eyes sunken and lifeless, his bony shoulders hunched.
[He's on the verge of a mental breakdown], Daedalus thought. [Let's hope the message of his grand-Sire will have a stimulating effect on him. Should a common threat arise, he won't be any real help in this condition.]
The End
