A tall, painfully thin, aging Shtriga stepped into the room where Heath and his mentor were being kept followed by the younger, middle-aged Shtriga, with light lavender hair, who wore the robes of a Grand Maestru. Behind them came half a dozen Dhampir, which Heath could tell by the looks Karen was exchanging with him, was not a good sign. The Grand Maestru gave Heath a quizzical glance, as if trying to ascertain certain truths about his very existence. Several different Dhampir had already questioned him in this very cell, some using more violent methods than others. The young Dhampir saw no reason to lie to them. If there was any salvation to be had, it would be with them. The young man told them about the entire harrowing experience, from the first punch that landed him in the ice box, to the death of his half-brother. No emotion, no half-truths, just the distant hope of help.

The Grand Maestru bent over by Karen, grabbing her by the face, forcing her to look him in the eyes, "I think it is about time that we send Grand Maestru Gerald a reminder about the importance of keeping to the Territory Truces. I don't want you maimed beyond use, I still need you. But...an eye should not prevent you from completing the task I have in mind for the remainder of your days."

The Grand Maestru stood up and gestured to the waiting Dhampir. Red Beard clubbed her hard behind the ear and his old mentor collapsed into a heap. Heath found it hard to have any pity for the old woman after the scars she had left on his yet young body. Then in horror, he watched as they wheeled a table and surgical equipment through the door, stainless steel tools clattering ominously on the table as the wheels vibrated against the stone floor. They took her chains off and unceremoniously tossed her onto the waiting metal table.

The Shtriga Maestru walked meaningful over to the waiting youth, leaning close enough to Heath's ear that he could smell the Maestru last meal still fresh on the Shtriga's breath.

"I want you to pay close attention Dhampir," the Maestru whispered, swapping to the other ear while running a sharp fingernail down that ear, "We here are willing to forgive and forget or to start sending body parts. Watch and learn young one. We will talk after."

"Now," the Maestru said with a cheery clap, "Maestru Cameron, if you could be so kind to bring me her eye and make sure she survives. Be a good chap."

Four Dhampirs stood to attend the surgeon while a leering Red Beard and another made sure Heath watched his lessons.

Victor slipped slowly up the back passage into Marumures, like he had done dozens of times before. Shadow communicates between the Grand Maestrus were a necessary instrument in keeping the Territory Truces alive and well. He was one of the few Vatalas to even know that another city existed, let alone visit it on a semi-regular basis. House Baciu was not as great nor old a house as House Albu but Maestru Gerald always hosted him lavishly and treated him with respect due to an emissary of another city.

The pouch he carried was sealed as always, and he would be expected to return with a sealed pouch in reply. Afterward, he would be paid accordingly. After this trek, he would have saved enough to pay for a breeding permit for himself and his Elizabeth. They had wanted a child for so long but Vatalas were not allowed unsanctioned breeding and the permits were so damn expensive he had turned to a line of work that could result in his death if he was ever caught in Maramures territory. He would be killed and all knowledge would be denied of ever knowing him by both Grand Maestrus.

If the Vatalas could have representation in the House of the Commons, then maybe they could have the breeding restriction revoked but then again, it all came back to the food supply. Vatalas remained completely dependent on the Shtriga for the human thralls because Vatalas did not have the blessing of Compulsion. Anonymity meant the very survival of their species and dead bodies draws attention. Thralls, who were well groomed by Dhampir before being selected as suitable food stock, were compelled to leave on their own, breaking all human connections so as not to leave a trail to follow.

He rounded the last section of the tunnel, stuffing a glow stick in his pocket. Gerald waited for him, his body old but hearing keen as ever. The old Shtriga raised an eyebrow questioningly to the Vatalas.

"I trust your journey went well?" Gerald asked politely.

"Quite well, this trip will buy that permit finally," Victor answered proudly handing the satchel over to the waiting hand of the Grand Maestru.

"Congratulations," he answered unenthusiastically. Gerald checked the seals and opened the satchel quickly. Scanning the contents of the letter, his face darkened and then he slowly reached into the bag and withdrew a wooden box, opening it with a shaking hand.

"I have a reply Victor," Gerald said, his hand blurring out the Vatalas throat, blood gushing from between his clenched fingers, "But I am afraid I will need another messenger to carry it. Sorry about the baby and all that."