Dhampir Part 2

"No warning. Not even a 'By the way, Leesil, I've been saving for a tavern." And you never mention it. How much have you been putting... no, never mind. We're in this together. I say we do four or five more villages and then talk about quitting."

"I'm done," she answered softly. "I want something of my own."

"What about me?"

"You'll like the town," she rushed in. "We just head for the coast and turn south. It's ten leagues down the coast from the capital city of Bela. I'll handle the drinks. You can run the gaming. I've heard you talk about running a faro table... every time you lose your last coin at one."

Leesil waved her off with his hand and a disgruntled scowl.

"Chap can watch over things," she continued, the dog lifting his head at his name. "We'll sleep inside every night and stop taking all these risks."

"No! I'm not ready to quit."

"You'll be the card master..."

"It's too soon."

"... a warm bed, plenty of ale and mead..."

"I don't want to hear any more."

"... and mulled wine from our own hearth."

Leesil became quiet. She could see him working his thoughts, examining the possibilities. He wasn't stupid, quite the opposite. Finally, he let out an exasperated grunt, or perhaps it was a burp.

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" he asked. Still sulking, he took another long drink.

"Yes, if you like."

And with that, Leesil rolled his back to the fire. Magiere leaned over, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the parchment he'd never even bothered to look at, and tucked it away again inside her vestment. As she settled down, Leesil suddenly sat up and looked about as if lost, startling Chap to his feet.

"How could you have saved that much money?" he blurted out in confused exasperation.

"Oh, shut up and go to sleep," Magiere snapped.

Leesil rolled over again, grumbling under his breath.

Sleep wouldn't come quickly enough, and Magiere felt restless and anxious. Leesil wasn't going to easily give in to this sudden change of plans. That much she'd expected, but he was at least thinking about it now. It wouldn't be too hard, she hoped, to push him the rest of the way, though it might take a little while. Waiting until he had coin in his pocket was the best time. With an empty purse, he would have been more resistant, wanting to wait for another ill-gotten windfall.

Magiere watched the small fingers of fire dancing before her. She noticed Chap had not curled up next to Leesil as he usually did, but sat a little ways apart, looking off into the trees. Finally fed up with watching him watch nothing, she closed her eyes. She didn't see him shift his place, taking position to the side of the fire, equally near both Leesil and herself.

Out in the thickness of the forest, something moved. From tree trunk, to bush, to snag-fall, to tree trunk, it darted closer to the wisp of firelight. It settled behind an aging oak with scales of fungus sprouting from its sides and peered into the clearing where two forms slept quietly. Between them was a dog, its body somehow shimmering too brightly in the watcher's vision for a normal hound. But the hidden watcher gave the animal no more notice when it focused its eyes of pinp.r.i.c.k lights close upon the woman lying beneath a wool blanket.

Her pale skin now glistened in the firelight, and highlights of blood red ran in her dark hair.

"Hunter," it whispered to itself and choked back laughter with a swallow as fingers tickled their claws down the bark of the oak.

Chapter Two

Chap lay with his long head down, nose just shy of his paw tips. His half-open eyes rarely blinked as he stared relentlessly into the darkness around the camp. Above the whisper of leaves and gra.s.s in the breeze came Magiere's light breathing and Leesil's soft, drunken snore.

The fire burned low in the late night, a pocket of molten-colored embers sprouting the occasional flicker of flame. The camp was well flanked by large trees in a black forest wall. Not far away, sounds of the Vudrask River, swollen with spring rains, gurgled as water splashed against rocks in its steady, ceaseless flow. Magiere rolled over on her blanket with a low murmur. Wisps of her hair loosened from its braid and caught in smudges of leftover dried mud on her face. Chap glanced at her once and then resumed his vigil.

Movement flashed between two trees a half dozen leaps outside of the camp.

Chap raised his head and growled for the first time since his companions had settled down to sleep. Silver-blue and gray hairs rose on his neck, and his jowls wrinkled until teeth showed between his lips. The rumbling growl swelled into a snarl. Magiere struggled in her sleep, but didn't awaken.

Another quick blur pa.s.sed in the darkness.

Haunches, shoulders, and leg muscles tensed. Chap dropped his head down again, growing silent, and inched forward along the ground.

A white face with eyes like glistening stone appeared above a bush two leaps out. It stared at Magiere.

Chap launched forward with a high-pitched snarl. In the time it takes to lick a muzzle clean with the tongue, the forest wall covered him from sight.

Magiere woke in a panic and thrashed off her blanket in time to see Chap's rapidly moving body disappear into the forest. She jerked her falchion from its sheath in confusion, still heavy with sleep as she wondered what noise had broken through her exhaustion.

"Leesil, wake up," she said quickly. "Chap is gone... after something."

The dog rarely barked unless threatened. He never attacked unless ordered to do so by Leesil, and in the years Magiere had known him, the hound had never abandoned camp.

An eerie, hate-filled cry floated through the forest from somewhere near the river. It was nothing she could imagine coming from a dog's throat.

"Leesil... did you hear me?" She got to her feet. "Something is out there." Her amulets brushed against her companion's shoulder as she leaned over him and snapped, "Get up!"

He murmured something and rolled away from her. The wineskin lay empty beside him.

"You drunken sot," she said in frustration.

Another raging cry echoed low through the trees, and this time she knew it was Chap. She hesitated for a moment as she considered whether or not she should leave Leesil alone. Then she charged into the forest toward the sound.

Something had spooked the dog so badly that he'd attacked without orders or even bothering to wake the camp. Visions of Stravinan wolf packs tearing him apart pushed Magiere to move faster. She smashed through low-hanging branches and underbrush, the sound of the river growing stronger ahead.

He wasn't even her dog, but he'd thrown his own body between hers and danger enough times that the thought of him being hurt bothered her more than she expected. The strange wailing snarl she'd heard earlier mingled with Chap's usual growling bark, but the closer she got to the river, the more the gurgling rush of water made it difficult to get a bearing on the dog's location.

Magiere called out as she ran, "Chap, where are you?"

She had no torch, but the nearly full moon gave just enough light to distinguish some pa.s.sage through the forest. Twice she tripped, catching herself with her free hand while gripping the falchion tightly with the other. The earlier bungled fight with Leesil had left her muscles sore. She cursed the overzealous hound, from both frustration and concern. Through the trees she caught the glitter of moonlight on rippling water.

"Chap!" she called again, rushing forward.

A flicker of white pa.s.sed through the left corner of her vision and she stopped. From the same direction came the sound of Chap's chopped barks. Magiere ran toward the sound, only to have it move off to the right, again toward the river. The forest broke into a small clearing upon the river's sh.o.r.e. What she saw caused her legs to freeze. Even from behind Chap, she could see the dark stains around his neck and shoulders. She moved wide to his left, not wanting to startle him.

His muzzle was smeared and dripping, and though it was too dark to tell the color, she knew it was blood. Whatever fur on his body wasn't matted and wet stood straight out, making him look even larger than usual. The lips of his muzzle were pulled back, showing teeth in a shuddering snarl. Magiere's head turned slightly toward the dog's quarry, trapped against the river's edge.

Man-shaped, it crouched in the mud and gravel, hands placed flat on the ground as if it could move on all fours if it so wished. Shreds of a shirt hung from its torso where Chap had torn at it. Trickles of blood ran from wounds down the arms and chest of this moon-colored man. The dark hair hanging to his shoulders appeared out of place, as if he'd been carved from pale wood with blackened com silk placed on his head as an afterthought. The stringy hair shadowed his face, but his eyes shone as if reflecting a nonexistent light. He lifted one emaciated hand to stare at the gashes of teeth marks ringing his wrist. Small gnarled nails, like misbegotten claws, extended from each fingertip.

"Not possible... just dog... but its touch burns." The man's voice was filled with surprise. "Filthy mongrel..." he hissed in anger, "could not hurt Parko, not like this."

Glowing eyes turned away from his wounds as he became aware of Magiere's presence. The man's head began to tilt to one side, then farther and farther still, until it nearly rested upon his shoulder like an owl as he stared at Magiere. Hair fell away from his long face, and she tightened her grip on the falchion.

Sunken cheeks and eye sockets made dark pockets in skin as white as a cave grub's. Some illness had wasted him away to thin muscle and bone.

"Hunter?" he said with a sharp intake of breath, voice sweet and tonal. His head tilted farther sideways, then crow-chatter laughter erupted from his throat. "Hunter!"

Magiere felt cold and fearful at that word. The man knew of her, or at least knew why she'd come to this place, yet she had never seen him before.

He dodged left, springing from all fours.

"Chap, stay back," Magiere ordered, but not quickly enough.

Chap mirrored the man's movement, but before he landed, the white figure reversed direction in a forward leap to the right. Chap's front legs gave in the loose gravel as he tried to twist back. He toppled, skidding in a clatter on the river's rocky beach. Magiere saw the man's movement, right then left, then her eyes flicked toward Chap as the dog fell. She blinked.

The man was in the air coming down upon her.

Magiere ducked and rolled forward along the ground, pa.s.sing under the airborne arc of the man. There was no time to ponder how he moved so fast or leaped so far. She spun and came up with her back to the river in time to see her a.s.sailant twist in the air, already facing her again. His feet barely touched the ground before he lunged at her.

Magiere swung the falchion in a fast, short slash between herself and her attacker. It was a feeble attack, but she hadn't intended it to strike home. All she wanted was to scare him off. It would do no good to kill a local villager now, after she'd successfully worked her way out of Leesil's little impromptu performance.

The white man ducked and hopped to the side, avoiding the blade. She took advantage and shifted the opposite way to get her back away from the river. The man's disturbing laugh echoed off the surrounding trees.

"Poor hunter," he moaned playfully, raising fingers with stained nails and straightening from his crouch.

Magiere took a step back. "I just want the dog. I don't want to hurt you."

He laughed again, eyes half closed until their glow resembled sparkling slashes in his face.

"Of course, you don't," the man said, his voice as hollow as his cheeks.

Then he sprang.

It was the same dream, but this time wine-soaked slumber couldn't wash it away.

Leesil, only twelve years old, squatted on the floor of the dark room beneath his parents' home, listening to his father's lesson.

"Here-" his father pointed to the base of the human skull in his hand-"is where thin straight blades can be applied while the individual is distracted. This will cause instant and silent death in most large-skulled humanoids."

Father rolled the skull over to expose the opening where the spine would have been attached.

"It is a most difficult stroke. If you fail to execute it correctly"-he scowled briefly at Leesil-"a hard side stroke on withdrawal may save you before the target can make any sound. Always use the stiletto or similar thin strong blades for this-never a dagger or knife. Wide blades will jam in the base of the skull, or be deflected by the top vertebrae."

The man stared at his son. A thick, peppered beard hid the lower half of his thin angular face. He held out the skull. Young Leesil looked at it, but mostly noticed how slender and almost delicate his father's hands were, so graceful in everything they did, no matter how vicious.

"Do you understand?" his father asked.

Leesil looked up, the stiletto in his own hand a little too large for a boy. In waking hours, he remembered nodding silently in answer to his father's question, but the dream was always different than memory. He was about to take the bone skull, but hesitated.

"No, Father," young Leesil answered, "I don't understand."

Out of the shadows rose a second figure, seeming to sprout from the dark ground in the corner of the room. She was tall, slightly more so than his father, and delicately slender, with skin the honey-brown of Leesil's own, though smooth and more perfect than any person's he had ever seen. Long hair and narrow, feathery eyebrows glistened pale gold like threads of a sunlit spiderweb. The points of her ears rarely showed from beneath those polished tresses. Her large amber-brown eyes slanted up at the sides, matching the angle of her brows.

"The proper answer is yes, Leesil," she said in her sweet voice, a loving mother's admonishment for misbehavior.

Her eyes looked calmly down at him and made him ache inside for want of pleasing her, even when it made him sick inside to do what she asked.

"Yes, Mother... yes, Father," he whispered. "I understand."

Leesil rolled over in his sleep and moaned, pulled suddenly awake, but uncertain what had interrupted his slumber. For a moment, he was grateful for whatever had roused him. His head hurt from exhaustion and too much wine. He'd drunk too little to block out the dream on this night, yet barely enough to achieve slumber. With his vision blurred, it took several moments for him to realize the camp around him lay empty.

"Magiere?" he called. "Chap?"

There was no answer. Fear began to clear the alcohol daze from his thoughts.

From a distance came a wailing he couldn't call human or animal. Leesil pulled himself to his feet, shoved two stilettos up his sleeves into wrist sheathes, and staggered through the forest toward the sound.

Magiere shifted away again, holding her a.s.sailant at bay with short swipes of her blade, which wouldn't break her guard. Her breath was coming harder now from exhaustion, but all her feints and maneuvers hadn't discouraged her opponent. He ducked and dodged each swing, grinning one moment, or letting out a short, cackling laugh as he hopped and danced. Her foot brushed something low to the ground, a bush or a downed branch, and she realized he'd maneuvered her back toward the trees.

Panic rose in her throat. She'd barely managed to keep him at bay, not taking her eyes from him for fear he'd make another leap that she couldn't stop. If she had to concentrate on not losing her footing in the forest, she'd either stumble and fall or, worse, get distracted and lose her guard.

"Hunter, hunter," the white man sang as he leaped to her right, landing in a crouch, all fours poised together. "Come catch your prey!"

Panic became tinged with anger.

Playing his game was a losing battle, and she began to suspect that this fever-maddened villager somehow knew more of her occupation than he should. Still, she preferred to avoid killing him if at all possible. A madman babbling about a charlatan hunter of the dead would be a questionable accuser. A dead body cut down with a sword on the night she'd pa.s.sed by would raise many questions, perhaps enough for the villagers to insist that the local lord hunt her down. Magiere settled herself, waiting for him to move again and looking for an opening to bludgeon him unconscious with the flat of her blade.

A whining growl came from the riverside, and she remembered Chap tumbling hard to the ground. Reflexively, both Magiere and the man glanced to the side, then back quickly enough to see the other's mistake. He lunged, hooked fingers aimed for her throat. Magiere had no time to think and acted on instinct. She brought the falchion down in a sharp slash.

The claw-hand missed its mark, slamming into her chest. The sword blade smacked against his collarbone. Fingernails sc.r.a.ped across leather armor. Sharp steel slit away tattered cloth and bit into white flesh.