Fixing Raziel's backstory for LoKtober
Today's prompt was "Fledgling."
This is an excerpt. I haven't had the best history with Reddit's automod and I'm paranoid it will flag me for violence. You can read the full story on AO3 without an account.
Corpse clean up was the second worst job for a Sarafan squire, only preferable to latrine duty. That was what everyone said. Raziel thought there was room for debate. The stench was about the same. They both made him sweat, even in winter and the work was dull and repetitive, nothing at all like what he wanted to be doing.
He became a squire when he turned 14, like everyone else. For the last year he had been serving Sir Malek, Conflict Guardian and General of the Sarafan, under the recommendation of Moebius, Guardian of Time, who proclaimed great things in his future. Everyone else called it favoritism. Even Sir Malek sneered at his presence. I already have two experienced squires. What use is a third? Raziel overheard him say.
Someday he would show them.
Raziel lashed the dead vampire's arms to the crucifix while another squire pushed its severed head into the stake at the top. Working together, they raised the crucifix using ropes and held it steady while an older boy buried the base in soil, inside a hole Raziel had dug himself. The earth was hard during winter. If Raziel had as much sway over the Time Streamer as his peers imagined he would have asked him to make time move faster. He missed summer, even with all the flies.
"Sir Malek, I've finished my rounds," he said to the Conflict Guardian seated on his black horse. He was surveying the killing fields, seeing that his trophies were arranged to his liking.
"It's about time," Sir Malek grumbled, flaring his nostrils. Raziel hated seeing him from this angle. "That will be all for now. Head back to camp, clean yourself up, and make preparations for our return. And don't forget to decant the wine, I want it ready and waiting for me."
"Yes Sir," he replied flatly, burying his contempt beneath his helmet.
Raziel trudged through the snowy ruins, glaring at his boots. The Sarafan had rooted out an entire den of vampires this day, meanwhile he was relegated to guarding the horses and hammering stakes into lifeless corpses. It wasn't fair. He was old enough to fight, practically a man.
A whispered rumbling drew him out of his stewing resentment. The snow shifted underfoot and suddenly opened up, dropping him into darkness. Raziel barely had time to gasp. His back hit the ground just as suddenly, landing on a pile of snow and rubble, the wind knocked out of him. He looked up, grimacing. The snow had hidden a weak point in the stone, which broke under his weight. He scooted backward to avoid more rubble as the ceiling cracked. Only a few pebbles tumbled down.
The burning in his chest faded to a dull ache after several deep breaths as he began to take stock of his surroundings. No one seemed to have noticed his fall, judging by the quiet. Part of him felt grateful to avoid the embarrassment. Now he needed to find his way back to the surface and alert Sir Malek to the danger, lest this misfortune claim another unlucky knight. Maybe then he would be counted for something. Responsible Raziel. He hissed under his breath, "Damn it."
This appeared to be some kind of storage room supported by wood pillars that had decayed over time. A segment of wall on his right had fallen away, leaving only about a third standing, beyond which lay a sunlit depression laden with sparkling snow. If his bearings were correct the depression should lie beyond the ruin's outer wall. That must be why he hadn't seen it before.
He picked himself up, rolling his shoulder and rubbing at the bruise under his armor. Chainmail and padding protected him from the worst of it. Suddenly, a pair of bright eyes flashed from the shadows. Raziel drew his short sword – a pitiful toothpick fit for the Sarafan's lowliest squire. The creature cowered against the broken wall, small body pressed deep into the corner, clawed hands clasped over its unquestionably fanged mouth, staring back at him like an owl.