Date: Wed, 23 Oct 1996 11:27:01 -0500 From: Carla Martinek Subject: The Spoils of War (1/1) Well, here's my first FKFIC posting... this just sort of popped off my keyboard during lunch the other day. I may use it as a prelude to another story sometime in the future, (minus the last paragraph) but I was encouraged to send it up as is for now. I have always been a N&NPacker, but I'll be darned if those Cousinly tendancies won't stay in the grave where they belong.... they just had to come out in my first posted story! Time period could be anywhere from 1228 to, oh, I'd say the 1700's. No particular date intended at this time. Comments, criticisms, flames, etc. all cheerfully accepted. The Spoils of War (vignette) by Carla Martinek (1/1) ************* In the hours after midnight, the moon rose pale and full over the plains of the battlefield. Its light reflected on the few pieces of metal, here and there, that still remained. Most of the bodies lay half naked, an odd sight until one noticed the scavengers. They were present after any battle, and had almost picked the area clean. Jewelry, clothing, weapons.... anything of value. Many of the bodies had been mutilated - their fingers severed to retrieve a ring or two. The fortunate ones were dead before this happened. The unfortunate were not. Suddenly, two new scavengers appeared on the scene. Those still present gathered their newfound treasures and fled, fearing for their lives. Had it been nothing more than soldiers or the gendarmes, they would have stayed, protesting their right to the booty, as it was their crops that had been destroyed by the marching armies. But the cold eyes of the newcomers allowed no quarter, no warmth, no excuses. Better to flee and live than stay and die. Stories circulated about these... these... creatures of the night. They appeared after almost every battle, and hastened many a dying soldier to his death. Some called them Angels of Death. Others whispered another name for them....... A scream shattered the night as one scavenger, too weighted down by his greed to leave any of his treasures behind, was suddenly yanked back at the edge of the field by a newcomer. Although the newcomer faced away from the weak light of the moon, its eyes glowed yellow in the darkness. Teeth glinted razor sharp as they lowered towards his neck. A sudden pain, and then no more. ......Vampire. That was the word whispered by the villagers in the aftermath of battle. ************* "That was unnecessary, you know," the man gently chastised his partner. "Those that still live - they will remember, and be afraid. They will leave us alone when next we come to feed." The woman had a sinuous grace, her eyes once again dark as her hair, and with a gallic shrug of her shoulders, said, "It is of no import. He was only a mortal. They exist so that We may exist." The woman paused, and stood still, as if listening. Nothing could be heard in the silence of the night, but suddenly she moved unerringly towards a pile of bodies. There, as she approached, a soldier raised a weak hand towards her. "M'aidez, madam. M'aidez... je ne veux pas mortir." As he finished his plea, he coughed, and a stream of red dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. The woman's eyes began to take on a golden glow again as she reached for the boy, for in truth that's all he was. A boy, eager for the excitement of battle, having left home with his father's sword. "Mon petit, I will help you. Come, let me hold you." The boy went willingly to her arms, and as his head rested on her shoulder, she lowered her mouth to his neck almost lovingly. A small pain caused him to flinch, then a lethargic warmth spread over him. "Oui, Maman," he murmered, lost in a fantasy, "I will be careful. I love you, too, Maman." His voice drifted away, and his beating heart slowly stopped forever. The woman raised her head, the trickle of red at the corner of her mouth matching the one on dead youth's. She laid him down on the ground, and moved to face her companion. His startling blue eyes took on a golden glow as they rested on the blood at the corner of her mouth, and he slowly reached out his finger to wipe the blood away. The dark red liquid glistened on the tip of his finger, and he placed his fingertip against the woman's lips, where she licked it away. He had not removed all of it, however, and he pulled the woman to him abruptly. His face lowered to hers, and his lips caressed the corners of her mouth, his tongue cleaning away all traces of the boy's blood. Faint images of the battle stirred in his mind, as well as the boy's last thoughts of his mother. And then he wanted more. "Allons, we must feed. It grows late, and we are still far from the castle." They separated. The woman fed on any that she found still living. Most were near death and unconcious. Some, though, were not mortally wounded - just injured enough that they were unable to leave the field on their own. But it was no matter - she took them all. Her cheeks flushed pink even in the moonlight, and her skin, normally so chill, radiated warmth from the blood she had drunk. The man was more fastidious. He searched out only those destined to die tonight from their wounds. As he gathered them close, a golden-haired Angel of Death, the concious ones struggled uselessly as his fangs came near them. Pity for their final fate allowed him to offer them a gift of a sweet fantasy in their minds to replace the reality of the dark menace embracing them. And somewhere, some*when*, one charged with keeping track of such things took note of his small act of kindness. Perhaps, over time, it would be enough. ************