Capper stood alone in the training arena. At this time of day most of the other Clan members would be in hibernation, with only a handful of thralls and guards left to man the perimeter through the daylight hours. In one hand hung a heavy double-headed axe, its blade eight inches across, keen and broad enough to remove a head in a single swing. He stared at the training mannequin for a long, silent moment, and then bounded forward. In three powerful strides he cleared the distance and lashed out. The blow connected with such force that instead of removing the wooden head of the dummy it smashed it to splinters.

He didn't stop there. He zig-zagged across the arena floor like a lightning bolt, striking out left and right at the scattered targets with savage force. The heads blew apart under his swings, carpeting the floor in slivers of shattered wood. When he finished his run he skidded to a halt, breathing lightly, the axe hanging by his side. He glanced back, frowning. The course had given him far less satisfaction than he'd hoped.

The altercation in the alley brought all of Brooke's words crashing back down into his mind with a vengeance. The arrogance of Clan Baelock made his blood boil with rage, and more than that, the way Vandel had looked at Gliss filled him with fury. With the Synod looming on the horizon the last thing they'd needed was an incident within the Glaive territory. Suddenly he found himself thinking of all the politics, of the push and pull of Veridian Shores' clans.

The consistent growth in size of the Clans had, ironically, become their greatest problem. It became harder and harder to keep themselves concealed from the millions-strong human population of the city, and also pushed their hunting grounds closer and closer together. Dozens of smaller Clans already engaged in periodic skirmishes with each other as they vied for resources and positioning. It mattered little if the minnows chose to bite one and other, but Capper knew full well that if the larger Clans fell into open conflict it could tear the city apart.

And he was stuck unwilling, right in the middle of it all.

Spinning, he gritted his teeth and let fly with the axe. It thrummed viciously across the training arena and struck a target at the far end, burying the entire blade into the wooden mannequin's head. Then he noticed two figures on the gantry above.

The one on the left was unmistakable. Even leaning forward with his elbows on the balcony Finbarr cut a big, imposing figure. Next to him stood Gliss, arms folded, watching with an approving look on her face.

"Not bad," she called down. "Mind if I join you?"

Capper spread his arms wide. "There's plenty of room."

She smiled and glanced at Finbarr. Her hulking chaperone nodded once, not moving from his position by the rail. Gliss turned and descended the spiralling metal staircase leading from the gantry down into the pits. She strode out across the grit-covered metal floor and reached the mannequin with the axe still sticking out of it. He watched as she wrapped a hand around the thick haft and wrenched the weapon free in a shower of splinters.

"So this is your style?" she enquired, giving it an experimental swing. "Not very elegant."

"It gets the job done," he replied.

"I don't doubt it." She tossed the axe to him in a lazy arc, and its handle thudded against his palm as he caught it. "I take it you're still sore about our little...adventure?"

He turned the axe over in his hands, checking the blade for any nicks. "I'm sorry you got dragged into the middle of that. And thanks for helping me."

"I wasn't just going to stand and watch you get your head caved in."

"I appreciate it, but you've made yourself some enemies in Clan Baelock."

She snorted. "It doesn't seem that difficult."

"I guess not." Capper sighed, still struggling to make sense of what had happened. "I don't understand it, to be honest. We have an arrangement with Baelock – we stay out of each other's way and everyone's happy." He turned and placed the heavy axe back onto the weapon rack.

"Well, I meant to thank you, too," Gliss told him. "For what you did with that creep, Vandel – for sticking up for me."

"From what I saw you didn't really need my help."

"I can handle myself." She smiled thinly. "But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the gesture."

"You're a guest. I wasn't going to stand there and let him treat you like a piece of meat." His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "But Vandel's always been a nutcase. It's Arcil that I don't understand. We're hardly friends, but he knows better. I've seen him dozens of times out in the city and he has never tried to pull a stunt like that. He knows that any conflict between the Clans would be a disaster for everyone."

Gliss shrugged. "Maybe he's just as tired of playing power games as you are."

"That's a long way from trying to start a full blown war, especially two weeks before the Synod that's meant to fix all this."

"So what is this Synod?" she asked. "You don't seem to be looking forward to it."

"That's because I'm not." He gave her a rueful smile. "It's a gathering of the Clans – a big political viper's next dressed up as a high class party. Theoretically any Clan could call a Synod but in practice only the biggest and strongest carry enough weight to make others attend."

"So Baelock call you and you just have to jump?" she said incredulously. "Sounds like they're already on their way to running this city."

Capper shot her an irate look. "It's not that simple. We could refuse to go, sure. Then what happens? We've deliberately insulted Clan Baelock. Then they start ignoring the agreements we've made in return. That means incidents like last night, over and over and over. We'd be forced to have guards out on every patrol route armed to kill in order to protect our hunting grounds." He threw his hands up in resignation. "Things would escalate and escalate until the war we've been trying to avoid comes crashing down on our heads."

He was gratified to see the unimpressed expression on her face evaporate at his little speech. "Glaive is in a dangerous spot," he continued. "We've got just enough clout to stand up for ourselves, but we can't fight Baelock alone. And they can't really risk an all out battle with us. They would win, but their Clan would be badly weakened. That would leave room for other Clans to step into the void."

Gliss considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Sounds like one hell of a mess."

"Yep." Capper rubbed his eyes with one hand. "And I'm stuck with it."

"Why you?"

"Because I'm an Elder-Blood." The words felt heavy coming out of his mouth, an admission that he couldn't just keep pretending the woes of the world didn't concern him. He hated the authority he had over others; hated the fact that people looked to him as an embodiment of the Clan's power and status.

"Your sire," she said. "It was Jocasta, wasn't it?"

He nodded glumly. "Jocasta can trace his line back over a millennia. So with his blood running through me, people think I'm something I'm not."

"And what's that?"

"A leader."

An awkward silence hung in the air. He could see that his companion didn't know what to say, her face flashing through expressions of puzzlement and thoughtfulness as she searched for something. He didn't know what else to say either. He just stood there, scuffing the splintered wood with his foot.

Then she walked over to him, stopping barely a foot away and taking a gentle hold of his shoulders. He looked up and found himself staring into her large, gleaming emerald eyes, and a tremor of excitement passed through him.

"I may not know the politics of this place," she said softly. "But for what it's worth, I know how you feel – being stuck in a situation you didn't ask for. Sometimes we don't get to make our own choices, but your life's still yours. Do the best you can with what you've got."

He smiled. "I've always been good at improvising."

She gave him a light tap under the chin, the shining crescent of her teeth showing in a grin. "Then improvise away, and keep smiling. I like it better."

At that moment a loud and deliberate cough echoed across the empty training arena. Gliss jerked away from him as though she'd been scalded and they both looked up to the gantry where the noise had come from. Finbarr still stood there, no longer leaning on the rail and now looking thoroughly uncomfortable. The cause of his unease, Capper assumed, was the group of vampires standing just beside him; a band of Elder-bloods led by Marshall Roe's smug, preening face. Even his Aspect seemed arrogant.

Capper didn't need them to say anything. He glanced at Gliss; dipped his head toward the spiralling stairwell and set off toward it. With a growing sense of dread he mounted the steps, each one a countdown to the inevitable. A group of Elder-bloods being sent to collect him meant that something had happened that warranted the attention of all of the Clan's upper tier. That either meant last night's incident was more serious than he'd thought, or they were all the victims of a spectacular coincidence.

"Jocasta wants to see all of us," Marshall said flatly when he reached the top of the stairwell.

"Good to see you too, Marshall," Capper replied, not surprised by the other vampire's brusque manner. Marshall didn't like him, and the feeling was mutual – polar opposites trapped under the same roof.

"After last night's incident things are even more on edge." He cast a pointed glance at Gliss. "Finbarr, can you please take our 'guest' back to her quarters."

"I was told I was free to move around the mansion with an escort," Gliss snapped back before Finbarr could answer. "I'm not a prisoner."

Marshall's eyes narrowed angrily but Capper stepped between them before the confrontation could escalate any further. "It's alright, Gliss. Finbarr, take her...somewhere – I don't know, the library or something." He turned to the group of Elder-bloods. "We've got more important things to deal with right now, Marshall," he said, keeping his voice level. "So just lead the way."

Marshall's gaze lingered for a moment like a bad aftertaste until he eventually nodded to his companions and they turned for the passage leading back into the estate. Reluctantly leaving Gliss behind, he followed the others up into the gaslight. None of them spoke a word as they marched through the halls like a guard troop and that, more than anything, set Capper's nerves on edge. Marshall and his friends normally couldn't shut their mouths.

After they ascended through a handful of passages Capper figured out where they were heading. They'd turned away from the audience chamber where the eleven Elders would normally hold council and pass judgement, instead making their way right to the heart of the estate, to the grand audience hall. That meant every Elder-blood in the Clan would be there.

A lot of powerful people in one room. He wondered if he was walking into an interrogation.

He heard the clamour of voices echoing down the passage well before they reached the room. Even from this distance his sensitive ears could pick out the angry swells of dissent as different groups argued back and forth and he could take a fair guess at what they were fighting about. One camp would favour diplomacy, the other would be out for blood.

Two turns later they reached the door of the hall and the voices would have been clearly audible even to a human. The barrier that remained between them was a huge brass disc ten feet across, bisected by a thin line. A pair of guards flanked it but more for appearance than necessity. The real estate guards patrolled the grounds and the walls with bolt throwers, while the two hulking men here sported colossal ornamental broadswords. One noticed their approach and grasped the thick stone handle built into the wall on the left. He turned it and the groan of the internal mechanisms sounded.

When the door opened the wall of noise hit him and he closed his eyes for a moment, bracing himself before plunging in. The Aspects hit his mind in one crushing wave and he winced as he stepped over the threshold into the warm hubbub of the audience chamber. A high, ribbed ceiling loomed overhead, shadowing the forty or so vampires beneath with its bulk. A long table shaped like a horseshoe ringed the arguing Elder-bloods, with eleven large seats at the top end for the Elders themselves.

All around the walls big gas lamps roared with heat and light, and between them hung ancient decorations of the Glaive Clan. Instead of the portraits there hung enormous intricately crafted murals, some carved of stone, others cast of ancient metals. Coils and spirals wove together in patterns and symbols long since abandoned by the Clans of the present. Capper didn't know what they meant – he wasn't sure anyone in the estate did.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the squabbling Elder-Bloods. He spotted Brooke right in the middle of it all, playing her part as the fiery delegate of the Glaives. While she looked young, he knew appearances were deceiving when dealing with their kind. The ageing process would be unrecognisable to a human. Hair didn't turn grey, muscles didn't atrophy and the body didn't weaken. As long as they fed regularly the vampire body would never give out. The signs of age and experience were altogether more subtle.

Despite her stature Brooke cut an imposing figure in the middle of it all, pointing fingers and snarling her arguments like a wildcat. Some backed down. Others confronted her and the exchanges intensified. All around her similar verbal battles raged in small cells: a dozen hurricanes of noise.

"By the First," Capper muttered grimly.

"Quite the spectacle, isn't it?" Marshall replied, a thin smile on his predatory features. "And all thanks to your little brawl last night."

"If you're trying to blame someone, blame Baelock. They attacked me."

"I know that, I saw the reports from Beel and the guards."

Capper sighed. Then he spotted Seneschal Tithe enter the room from a small doorway at the far end, sceptre and all. The big vampire's eyes searched over the assembly disdainfully before he took his position at the head of the table, standing over a huge brass disc. He stood there for a few seconds, then in a sudden, sharp motion, banged the bottom of the sceptre hard against the plate half a dozen times. The mechanism passed the sound of his striking around the room, amplifying the deep metallic boom until it reverberated deafeningly, silencing the bickering Elder-Bloods in an instant. Capper smirked. The seneschal certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

"Elder-Bloods of the Clan Glaive," he rumbled, his massive voice carrying over the air with ease. "You will take your seats in the assembly for the entry of the Clan Elders."

With a block of dread settling in the base of his stomach, Capper trudged to his seat with all the rest. He settled in against one of the high-backed chairs, uncomfortable against the overly plush cushions. Marshall slid into the space beside him; across the table Brooke took up her position, her face locked in an expression of barely suppressed anger. Once the others had filled in the spaces a door at the head of the room opened and the Elders strode in.

Huge and imposing as ever, Jocasta led the way, settling into the massive throne at the top of the horseshoe. Even sitting he seemed to loom out over the room like some kind of dark stone monolith. The other ten Elders slid into position on either side, their Aspects filling the room like the swell of a rising tide. Their eyes cast a piercing swathe through the Elder-Bloods gathered before them. Capper shuddered.

After several seconds of shuffling and whispering all the seats were taken and a tense silence settled over the hall. Capper's eyes flicked over to the Elders and he found Jocasta looking back.

"Fellow Clan members," the Elder rumbled. "You know why we are gathered here today. The situation in the city has become more...volatile of late. We can no longer sit and let events take their course. It is time to act. What course of action, depends on us here today."

A subdued mutter of agreement passed through the assembly. Capper let his eyes dart from side to side, trying to gauge the reactions of the others. Beside him Marshall remained impassive – he would probably wait to see which side of the argument looked like it had the majority view before throwing his lot it. Brooke still wasn't looking at the Elders, her face smouldering with pent up anger.

Whichever way the Elder-Bloods leaned, however, Capper knew full well that Clan Glaive was not a democracy. While he would listen, when it came time to make a final decision, Jocasta needed no-one's support.

"We have heard the reports," the towering Elder continued. "What is without doubt is that Baelock Clan members have overstepped their boundaries. However, our response is not clear cut."

"They should be punished," one of the Elder-Bloods interjected. "We cannot leave an incursion unchallenged."

"And what would you suggest?" Brooke erupted. "Execute them all on the territory border? Send them back to Baelock in urns? What would that achieve?"

"It would send a message!"

"The wrong kind of message."

"What's done is done," Marshall said, casting a sidelong glance at Capper. "The only Elder-Blood present for the incident chose to let them go."

All eyes rotated to look expectantly at Capper, and he suppressed a shudder. Some of the stares were angry; others sympathetic. Some simply looked curious to hear his side of the story.

"Arcil and Vandel are high up in the Baelock Clan," he said, injecting as much steel into his voice as he could. "Whatever I wanted to do, killing them would have been a mistake."

"Capper's right," Brooke agreed immediately, her strong voice echoing out over the chamber. "Whether Baelock encroached on our territory or not, any deaths would have pushed this incident beyond salvaging. Responding to a random trespassing by killing six Baelock Clan members – let alone their two golden fools – would have plunged us into a war."

He shot her a grateful look, before turned to Jocasta. "What worries me more is why they did this. The territory boundaries are clear. Arcil knows that, and he knows that we have to respond somehow. If he acted alone then Baelock should punish him for being so reckless."

"Unless he acted with their blessing," a female vampire near the bottom of the horseshoe piped up. "In which case, Baelock are seeking a war for themselves."

A murmur of unease rippled through the group at her declaration. Capper looked over at the speaker – a slim individual with short-clipped amber hair. Isobel didn't meet his gaze, instead keeping her eyes aimed squarely at the Elders gathered at the top arc. Her expression remained an unreadable, calculating mask.

"I find that...illogical," Jocasta told her carefully. "Baelock are in as strong a position as they've ever been. Launching our Clans into open conflict would only serve to weaken them."

"That depends on us," Isobel replied.

Brooke gave her a curious look. "Meaning what?"

"It means they're testing us!" Marshall cut in, so sharply that Capper flinched away, wincing. "If we don't react to what they've done then they'll know we don't have the stomach for a fight. Then their position grows even stronger! They'll be able to tell the other clans that they invaded our territory and we did nothing to stop them."

Capper cast a sidelong glare at the other vampire. "So what's your great solution? Declare all-out war on Baelock?"

"If we do nothing we look weak," Marshall persisted angrily. "They've intruded on our feeding grounds. They don't think we have the strength to challenge them. If we do not prove them wrong they won't be so easily dissuaded next time!" The rumble of assent from around a third of the gathered vampires seemed to embolden him and he stood, thumping a fist against the table in emphasis.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Capper couldn't help noticing the irony that a vampire who'd never so much as set foot in the training arena was advocating blood for blood. It was all well and good for him, sitting back in the estate and demanding that the guards and low-bloods do the dying for him.

"Our response is clear," the Elder-Blood continued, sweeping his gaze across the assembly, searching for support. "They attacked one of our key feeding grounds in the city. We need respond proportionally – show them that we'll match what they throw at us. If we do that we can stop them from pushing this any further."

"So we fight to prevent a fight?" Isobel mused. "It could work."

"There will be no punitive measures!" Jocasta thundered suddenly, standing up like a rising storm. The ranks of the Glaive Elder-Bloods fell silent and Marshall instantly dropped back into his seat. Capper could feel the swell of the Elder's Aspect as he imposed his formidable presence on the room.

"In two weeks time the Synod called by Clan Baelock will go ahead as planned," he continued. "Until then we will secure our territories and I will speak directly with the Baelock Elders to ensure there are no further incursions. There will be order."

The other Elders nodded sagely in support of their nominal leader, but Capper could see over a dozen confused, angry faces scattered through the rest of the Clan gathering. His was not one of them, however. For his part he was quite happy to avoid an all out war with the largest clan in the city. He glanced at Marshall to find the other vampire's face twisted with frustration.

"And if they invade our territory again?" he questioned, keeping his voice low.

Jocasta's face hardened. "Then there will be Baelock blood spilled in our streets, and you will have your war."