Chlodvig stepped down from the rocky ledge and looked around. The forest floor was still wet from yesterday’s rain. It was dark and the sky getting more and more cloudy so that the moon, which was still visible around an hour ago, was now veiled thick. Two successive days of rain. This weather was unusual for August in this region. Chlodvig wondered about that. 

He squinted his eyes and saw the big white shape of Sarkel running towards him. The dog ran up to him and gave a single quiet growl. Chlodvig muttered “show me” in Frankish and put a large hand on the animal’s head. Chlodvig barely used his native tongue anymore. Only a handful of people alive remained who still knew it. And Chlodvig was not on talking terms with most of them. But he used Frankish when he spoke to his dogs. Even back when he was still normal, a regular human boy, he had a talent for training animals. His change into a vampire took this skill and changed it beyond anything vaguely human. Ever since the change, he was able to communicate with dogs and horses freely, easily conveying to them what he wished them to do. Whether they actually did it was another thing. He did not control them, he just conveyed what he wanted. Eye contact was usually enough. But he preferred accompanying it with words, even if it was only the intent behind the words which the animals understood, not the words themselves. Dog-whisperer, horse-whisperer, people sometimes said. But the ability was not a particularly unusual one in vampires. An ability which was unusual was something Chlodvig learned much later - seeing what the animal had seen for a brief moment. He could only do it with dogs. It was highly useful.  

Holding his hand on Sarkel’s head, Chlodvig closed his eyes. For an instant he ‘saw’ in his mind’s eye what the dog had seen: five riders cautiously following their tracks. Now and then, one of them was bending down from the saddle so that his face was barely above the ground, picking up on the slight hoof prints they had left yesterday. Chlodvig opened his eyes and scratched behind the dog’s torn ear absently. He scanned his surroundings, found a large flat rock a small way off, and sat down on it to wait. The dog sat down next to him, face alert.

When they set out yesterday, Chlodvig assumed that they might be followed. When Rhode was packing the books in Loukos’ house, four soldiers entered the house, looking for them. He  killed three of them. But one managed to get away. A shapeshifter, who flew off while he was taking care of the other three. Naturally, the shifter must have informed someone in charge of the supernaturals in the Norman army of the situation. Even if the shapeshifter hadn’t gotten away, the dead bodies would have alarmed someone. Chlodvig had half-hoped that a few books and a single mortal woman would not be enough to prompt trackers being sent out, but he did not really count on it.

He was glad they decided to show themselves this early. He didn’t like travelling with someone following. It was like an itch which he couldn’t scratch. It made him impatient. This was partly the reason why he decided to stay in the cave a bit longer after the sun had set – he had hoped that it would draw their pursuers out. But, he realized as he sat on the rock and scratched Sarkel’s scarred head, part of him simply didn’t feel like leaving. In fact, Chlodvig found himself wishing for an excuse to stay there longer and just talk to Rhode. Or, preferably, just listen to her talk. It’s not like he himself had anything interesting to say. But Rhode did, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she would say next. This was unusual for him. He usually found people’s conversations extremely tedious.

It hadn’t always been that way. Chlodvig remembered, vaguely, that he used to enjoy other people’s company. He was easygoing and, back in his earlier days, made friends easily. But recently – if you could call the last two hundred years or so ‘recently’ – he started finding interaction with other people terribly mind-numbing. Most conversations put him to sleep. Almost everything did, these days. The world passed before his eyes slowly, like a dull, foggy daydream, filled with vague, flimsy forms of people going about their business. The only moments when he felt fully awake was when he was fighting. Or when he was giving orders. These things actually required his full attention. It felt good to be focused. But as soon as a mission was over, he sank back into his blurry daydream, forgetting the faces of the people he had killed almost instantly. They, and the things they fought for, did not interest him.

Rhode Dokeiana’s odd request did interest him however. Her searing black eyes interested him. That strange nervousness of hers interested him. Most of all, the intensity and focus with which she talked interested him. She didn’t just talk to fill up silence. She talked with a focus which made Chlodvig actually listen to what she was saying. And wonder what she would say next. Theodosius, Chlodvig’s best friend, sometimes talked like this too. But only about politics. And Chlodvig didn’t like politics.

Chlodvig knew he wasn’t smart or educated enough to understand exactly the things which Rhode talked about much of the time, but he was smart enough to understand that what interested Rhode was reality itself. And that fascinated him. His own life, like most people’s, revolved around silly, made-up things like money, influence, custom, status, or honor. Rhode’s world seemed to revolve around something much more…real, though, at the same time, much less tangible. Which was an interesting paradox, he thought. It would be a great shame when the made-up things like money would pull her down. And they doubtless would, at some point. They always did, in the end.

A gentle hum of voices some distance away interrupted his thoughts. He muttered ‘cave’ at Sarkel, and the white dog trotted back to the tall rocky ledge and up towards the cave. Chlodvig waited, listening to the barely audible sound of hoofs beats. Soon he could see the outline of five riders amid the trees. He stood up, rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, and waited.  

______________________

People, Places and Things

Franks: The Franks were a Germanic tribe from northern Europe who settled in the northern parts of the Roman Empire in the 3rd century. While they sometimes fought Rome, they also often served as its allies or mercenaries against other barbarian tribes. In the 5th century, when the Western Roman Empire collapsed, Clovis, King of the Franks, united the Frankish tribes and formed a kingdom which encompassed much of what is now Northern France, the Netherlands and Belgium. The kingdom grew to finally encompass almost all of what is France today (and gave the country it's name) and then fell apart. The Franks formed only the ruling warrior class of the population of their kingdom the rest being Roman or 'Gaulish'. Over the centuries the Franks became more 'Latinized' and 'Gaulishized' and by the time this story takes place 'Frank' no longer means a member of the Germanic barbarian tribe but instead refers more broadly to Western Europeans.  

Frankish: A Western Germanic language. It went out of active use in the 10-11th centuries and was replaced by French which is a Latin-based tongue.