Dhampir Part 18

In the darkness of his coffin, Ratboy allowed his mind to drift back to their journey from Corische's keep. Due to Rashed's foresight, the trip was not uncomfortable. Rashed packed a large wagon with their coffins, stacked two on two, each carefully covered by a canvas tarp. He also broke into Corische's private quarters and took plenty of money. Ratboy never asked how much, but that was part of Ratboy's past and current dilemma. He always left the details, the planning and the worrying to Rashed. He constantly walked a fine line between hating Rashed and depending on him.

One night on the open road, low growls reached their ears as the wagon approached an overgrown bend in the road. A moment later three half-starved wolves dashed out of the trees and attacked their horses.

Two more wolves leaped up from behind into the wagon, and Parko kicked one away on instinct. More shapes poured out of the forest, and Ratboy realized just how outnumbered they were. He wasn't exactly afraid of wolves, but famine could make these beasts formidable, and their numbers were growing before his eyes.

The horses screamed. He kicked the other wolf out of the wagon and looked around for a weapon. Then the attack stopped.

Teesha was holding the horses' reins, fighting to keep them from running. Rashed was standing in the driver's seat with his eyes closed. He appeared to be whispering, but as close as he was, Ratboy could not hear a sound coming from his lips.

Snarls faded, and the wolves pulled back. A few of them even whined.

One by one they slunk away into the trees.

"What did you do?" Ratboy asked.

Rashed shrugged it off. "One of my abilities. I don't use it often."

"You can control the minds of wolves?"

"And sand cats and other predators."

Ratboy could not control the minds of animal predators. He knew that all n.o.ble Dead developed slightly different powers and abilities, but why did Rashed seem to have all the useful ones? It bothered him to depend so much on Rashed, yet he was forced to trust their leader, who always knew exactly what to do.

The crux of this dichotomy had occurred on the road nearly halfway to Miiska.

Before their undead existence began, Parko and Rashed were the closest of brothers. Ratboy learned this through snippets of memories that Rashed occasionally expressed. Parko had been a gentle creature, who needed the protection of his older brother. And again, although Rashed did not seem to recognize his own drives, Ratboy understood that the need to protect was built into Rashed's nature. However, once their lives as n.o.ble Dead began, Parko was a completely different person, savage and often incoherent. He became more and more difficult to control.

Once they left Gaestev Keep, Rashed's thin hold on Parko's behavior grew even weaker. Their leader planned each night's travel carefully and often consulted several maps he carried. Usually they arrived well before sunrise at a town or village with an inn. Rashed would pay well for cellar rooms if they were available, and since he knew they could never unload the coffins without drawing attention, he simply had his little "family" all keep pouches of dirt with their belongings. Each of them would sleep with these pouches next to their bodies until nightfall, when their travels resumed. Rashed always told a similar story to the innkeepers about how they had traveled all night and needed quiet rest. Teesha would appear to be dainty and exhausted, and Parko and Ratboy played the servants. Although he would never admit it, Ratboy found safety in Rashed's planning and the way he handled both mortals and the mortal world so easily.

Yet something about Parko's wild manner was attractive as well. And Parko hated Rashed's rules that they sleep inside and only feed when absolutely necessary. He rebelled at every opportunity.

One day on the road, they were forced to sleep in an abandoned church. Parko had slipped out of the wagon unseen. Once his absence was discovered, Rashed halted the wagon immediately. He stepped out and glared through the dark, turning slowly, searching. He stopped with his focus directly down the road.

Usually only a master such as Corische could do this to locate a created minion. Perhaps because they had been siblings in life, Rashed could sense Parko's whereabouts. Apparently, his brother had traveled out ahead of them. They would stop at the next village, down the road, to see if he was there.

When they arrived, the village was in a state of hysteria. A small cl.u.s.ter of people was gathered around the open front door of the inn, a few armed men holding them back. Voices were loud and angry, and it was easy enough to overhear that the innkeeper and his wife had been found dead in their beds. Ratboy watched as a guard came running out of the inn and began vomiting in the gutter of the street.

There would be no welcome for strangers in this village, and Rashed did not even slow the wagon. Once out of sight of the village, he whipped the horses into speed. Daylight was coming.

Although the roadside shrine they found down a side road looked ancient, as if untended and unvisited for years, Rashed clearly did not like the tenuous state of their situation. He raged over the idea of Teesha sleeping somewhere so insecure. When Parko caught up with them just before sunrise, his face and hands were covered in blood, and he no longer cackled and smiled as usual.

Rashed was furious at his brother and actually shouted at him. Parko merely backed into a corner with his pouch of soil, his eyes unblinking as he glared at Rashed. Ratboy suspected Parko had acted from spite, sick of being restrained and forced to continually repress his natural drives and instincts. And Ratboy, as well, wondered what it would be like to let go, to revel in a kill as Parko had done. Parko was still glaring at his brother when Ratboy finally closed his eyes much later and tried to rest.

Teesha kept her own council where Rashed's brother was concerned, but Ratboy could feel tension building in the group. He himself felt torn. At times, he did feel Parko was too wild, but Teesha and Rashed were certainly too tame. Three nights after the inn incident, Rashed stopped the wagon at midnight near a small village so they could hunt. Teesha sat in the wagon for a little while, gazing at trails of smoke rising over the trees from the little huts, her expression wistful.

"Rashed, how far is it to the ocean?" she asked. "I'm so tired. Will we find our own home soon?"

Rashed was standing on the ground, strapping on his sword. He quickly climbed back in the wagon and sat beside her.

"We have a long way to travel yet, but we have the maps I took from the keep. Before we sleep in the morning, I'll show you where we are and where the ocean is." His voice was concerned and tender.

Suddenly Parko howled in rage.

"Home! Ocean!" he shouted. His black eyes turned toward Teesha. "You!" White flesh seemed stretched over his thin face, and his uncombed hair stood out in several directions. "No home," he said. "Hunt!"

Pain registered on Rashed's face. And it was not lost on Parko, who turned and ran into the forest.

Rashed looked at Ratboy. "Will you go with him? Make sure he doesn't do anything to endanger the rest of us?"

Their leader rarely asked asked Ratboy for anything. So, Ratboy nodded and slipped into the trees after Parko. Actually, it was a relief to be running through the woods after Parko, leaving Rashed and Teesha in their own private world. Ratboy for anything. So, Ratboy nodded and slipped into the trees after Parko. Actually, it was a relief to be running through the woods after Parko, leaving Rashed and Teesha in their own private world.

Ratboy reached out with his mind and tried to locate Parko as Rashed had done, but he could sense nothing. Instead, he resorted to mundane methods of tracking. Parko was in such a fit he'd left a trail that was easy to follow. It wasn't long before Ratboy caught up with his charge behind a patch of small trees on the far side of the village. He crouched down beside Parko.

"You see something?" he asked.

"Blood," Parko answered.

Even at this late hour, a small band of teenage boys was sitting outside what appeared to be a stable. They were laughing and pa.s.sing a jug among themselves. They had probably stolen some ale or whiskey and were feeling quite rebellious. The sight of them actually brought back memories of the "life" Ratboy had left far behind, long ago. He'd done the same thing in his youth often enough.

"No, Parko," he said. "There are too many, and they're out in the open. One of them would raise an alarm. We'll look elsewhere."

Parko turned to him.

"You are not Rashed," he said with surprising clarity. "We kill. We hunt. We fear no calls to alarm. We fear no boys. No men." He looked back at the drinking band of teenagers. "You should not be like Rashed. Drink with me."

Without another word, he darted from the treeline. Startled, Ratboy watched him move silently and swiftly along the stable's side. Uncertain, Ratboy followed him, until they stopped at the corner.

The boys were almost close enough to touch now. Ratboy could hear every word they were saying, mainly complaints about their fathers, interspersed with laughter and gulps of liquid. He could smell the contents of the jug-whiskey.

In a flash, Parko was gone, and then Ratboy heard laughter silenced as it turned to screams.

Hungry, excited, Ratboy stepped out from the corner of the stable to see three boys lying dead on the ground, their necks broken, and Parko drinking from the throat of a boy with dirty-blond hair. The boy was still alive and flailing his arms in terror.

A short, slightly pudgy boy with dark hair stood screaming. Why didn't he run? Ratboy felt free. He wasn't like Rashed. He was like Parko, and he grabbed the screaming boy and drove both fangs straight into his neck, closing his teeth over the plump throat until the boy was choked into silence. Fear and blood from his victim seeped into him in equal measures, and he felt euphoric, so alive.

Shouts from deeper voices began sounding down the street. Ratboy drank his fill and then dropped the body to the ground with a thud. He knew he should run. Common sense told him he should run, but he didn't.

Parko finished with the blond boy and laughed.

Instead of dropping the carca.s.s, he began dancing, capering with it. Covered in in blood, his black eyes wide, he looked completely mad, but Ratboy didn't care. He laughed as well. blood, his black eyes wide, he looked completely mad, but Ratboy didn't care. He laughed as well.

Two grown men with wooden pitchforks came around the corner and halted in shock, then one jabbed his p.r.o.nged tool at Ratboy. The man looked more frightened than fierce. Ratboy simply feinted around the pitchfork, and tore the man's throat open with his fingernails.

He watched with pleasure as realization, and then horror, dawned on the mortal's face and the pitchfork tumbled from the man's hand as he clutched his gaping wound. Ratboy heard a crack behind him and turned to see Parko dropping the second man's body to the ground.

Parko seemed to be in the mood for breaking necks.

Ratboy wanted to laugh aloud again. They were invincible, free. Why had they ever feared discovery from these mortals?

Then movement caught his eye. Rashed was standing one arm's length away in absolute disbelief. His mouth was even opened slightly.

Euphoria faded. Five dead boys and two men lay on the ground around them. Other villagers must be aware but hiding.

Rashed seemed to search for words. "What have you done?"

By way of answer, Parko hissed at him Like an animal. Rashed closed the distance between them in two steps and swung hard with his fist.

Ratboy had never seen Rashed hit his brother. He didn't think Rashed capable. As the fist connected with his jaw, Parko crumpled and dropped. Parko tried to rise up, and Rashed struck him again, so hard that his brother flew backward and smashed through the outer railing of the stable. Parko lay still and silent in straw and mud.

Rashed grabbed his brother's limp body by the leg, and jerked him out onto the road. Lifting Parko, he slung the unconscious form over his shoulder and glared at Ratboy.

"You come now."

Ratboy followed without speaking. He was actually frightened, not of Rashed, but what would happen next. When they reached the wagon, Rashed dropped Parko on the ground. Then he climbed into the wagon's back, cut Parko's coffin loose from the others, and shoved it out the back. It thumped and skidded to the ground as Parko began to stir.

Ratboy looked to Teesha, who could sometimes bring reason to such scenes, but she stood silently on the other side of the wagon, watching.

Rashed threw a pouch of money at his brother.

"I am finished with you. You will not travel with us farther. Go down the Feral Path, if that is what you want. Perhaps the mob that village forms will hunt you now instead of us."

He stepped over the front of the wagon onto its seat and picked up the horses' reins.

"Teesha, get in the wagon." Then he turned to Ratboy. "You have a choice. I know the careless abandon of this night was not your doing, but you gave in to him. You either come with us or stay with him. Choose now."

Parko hissed from his position on the ground, and Ratboy stared at Rashed.

He wasn't good at making his own decisions, and this was the most difficult one he'd ever faced. The idea of staying with Parko and following the Feral Path, slaughtering and drinking blood with no thought to rules, only the hunt- it pulled at him. Desire to throw off all sense of mortal trappings and become the full glory of a predator was difficult to resist.

But Rashed kept them safe and always knew what to do, and Teesha knew how to make a home. Ratboy wasn't ready to give these things up. Not yet. He was afraid to stay alone with Parko. The thought shamed him. He glanced once more at Parko's hissing, writhing form, and then he climbed up into the wagon to sit behind Teesha.

As they pulled away, he did not see Rashed look back once, and he alone watched Parko's pinp.r.i.c.k eyes fade in the distance. And for two more nights, Rashed did not speak at all.

Lying in his coffin beneath the warehouse, Ratboy wondered about the wisdom of the choice he had made back then. He tried to stop thinking, to simply see nothing. After a while, he was finally able to fall dormant.

Chapter Eleven

Magiere left her tavern early that afternoon. As she stepped into the street, she noticed a "Closed" sign hanging on the door, painted in Leesil's handwriting. Why hadn't she thought of doing that? She gave silent thanks to her partner and walked directly to the nearest inn.

Although Magiere sometimes referred to The Sea Lion as an "inn," strictly it was not, since the building had no rooms for lodgers. Perhaps at one time the upper floor had been used for lodgers, the owner residing elsewhere. In truth, Miiska only boasted three actual inns, but a small town such as this had no need of more. Most sailors and bargemen slept on their ships, and she could not see many travelers wanting to come to stay in this out-of-the-way place. Even the scarce peddler, traveling merchant, or farmer from the outlying lands was more likely to camp with his wares in the open market on the north end of town.

This inn was a shabby and run-down establishment with a spa.r.s.ely furnished common room that smelled of fish and moldy bread. She began asking about Welstiel, describing the strange middle-aged man to a bone-thin woman in a soiled ap.r.o.n, who she a.s.sumed was the keeper of the place.

"We got no one here like that," she said crossly after hearing Magiere out, obviously thinking her time was wasted. "You try The Velvet Rose. That's where you'll find the likes of him."

Magiere thanked the crone and left. Everything appeared normal around her. The sun hung like a burning orange ball in the thin haze of high clouds. People talked and laughed and went about their business. Occasionally, a patron of The Sea Lion would wave or call out a greeting, and she would nod or raise her own hand briefly in return. Every now and then, she had the feeling someone was watching her, perhaps whispering with a companion and pointing in her direction. But whenever she turned it was as if no one noticed her at all. The scope of the world had changed, no matter how things appeared. And the only one who seemed to really understand the situation was an overwrought blacksmith with more muscle than brains.

She wanted to talk to Leesil and try to explain the thoughts running through her mind. What if fate or the deities or whatever kept the balance in the world between right and wrong had finally caught up with them-with her? She couldn't imagine what Leesil might think of such a notion. A month ago, he would have laughed and offered her his wine sack. Now their world had altered, and either he was changing with it, or he simply had been hiding aspects of himself. She kept allowing him to handle more and more situations that were basically her responsibility. This morning, he had handled Ellinwood for the most part, and this afternoon he took care of a temporary "Closed" sign for the tavern door. Now she'd gone out by herself, leaving him behind to comfort Rose and Caleb.

No, she wouldn't burden him with her own deepening guilt, confusion, and suspicions. He certainly didn't need more to worry about.

But the time had come to take some matters into her own hands. She'd traveled to this town seeking peace, and someone had forced a battle upon her. Brenden was right, and the cards were on her side of the table now.

She walked away from the docks and farther into town. Not many people knew her by sight this far in, and she received no familiar greetings from pa.s.sersby. She stopped in front of The Velvet Rose. It was quite lovely, reflecting its name even from the outside with red damask curtains peeking through the perfectly tended and whitewashed shutters.

Although her hair was back in its neat braid, she felt underdressed in breeches and boots, muslin shirt and black vest.

A large, mahogany desk waited just inside the entryway. The man behind it struck her as attractive in a strange way, even in her current state of mind. She had seen a few full-blooded elves during her travels, though they were not common in this land. His light brown hair looked as soft as down feathers and hung loose, pushed behind his oblong, pointed ears. But his face was more slender with a narrower chin than her partner's, and his amber-brown eyes and thin eyebrows slanted upward at a more p.r.o.nounced angle than Leesil's.

When he looked up at her, she could see his skin was a dark, even tan and smoother than any human's she'd ever seen.

"May I help you?" he asked smoothly.

"Yes," she answered, suddenly unsure of how to proceed, or if she would even be allowed into the place. "I was hoping to find a friend of mine here, a Welstiel Ma.s.sing. He's about my height, well dressed, and gray at the temples."

Without thinking, she motioned to her own temples as if to help the description, then felt foolish for doing so. She hated feeling so nervous and desperate.

"Yes, Master Welstiel currently resides here," he responded, his tone composed, his speech clear and distinct. "But he seldom receives guests and never without notifying me first. I am sorry." He turned back to the parchment on his desk, as if his words were all the dismissal she needed.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I may not have an appointment, but he's come to see me several times, and now I am returning his visits."

The slanted brown eyes flashed back up in surprise.

"Young mistress..." he began sternly, and then he paused a moment as if half-remembering some forgotten detail. "Are you Magiere, the new proprietor of Dunction's?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "It's called The Sea Lion now."

"Apologies, please." He stood up quickly. "My name is Loni. Master Welstiel did mention your name. I don't know if he's here now, but I will check. Please follow me."

This elegant elf-who basically functioned as a guard- did not even know if Welstiel was home or not? That seemed odd to Magiere, but she put it aside for the moment.

As they stepped farther into the inn, the place was even more opulent than she expected, with walls painted oyster-sh.e.l.l white. Red carpets, thick enough to sleep on, covered the main floors and hallways, climbing up the staircase at the entryway's far end. Large, dark-toned paintings of battles, seascapes, and tranquil landscapes hung in strategically tasteful places, and the perfect deepest shades of salt.w.a.ter roses had been chosen for simple and exquisite ivory vases.

"Not bad," she remarked to Loni. "You could use a faro table."

"Well..." he said. "Yes, certainly."

Magiere almost smiled, knowing his stuffy front was carefully constructed. He was likely as good as Leesil at hand-to-hand encounters, or he wouldn't be working the front of this establishment all by himself. She followed him to the stairs, but rather than going up, he took a key out of his vest pocket and unlocked a door to the side. Opening it, Magiere faced another set of stairs leading downward.

Now came the difficult part. To Welstiel, this abrupt appearance would seem like she'd come to grovel for help. On some level, she suspected he would enjoy this. If there were any other way, any way at all, she would, have chosen some other option.