Dhampir Part 30

"You'll have to find me first."

Magiere pursued. Behind her, Chap whined and then began barking loudly. She stopped and turned. Chap remained standing tensely in the clearing, barking at her, and Magiere's thoughts cleared again.

This undead woman was trying to draw her away from the real reason she'd come out here.

Wiping savage thoughts from her mind, Magiere ran back to Chap. "Go, I'll follow."

Chap turned and sprinted off into the forest.

Still panting, Leesil clutched the broken branch and forced himself to wait, to play the lame bird luring the fox in. If he attacked out of desperation, he would die.

Ratboy's pleasure and confidence were now marred. The blades thrust through his sides couldn't have hurt him much, but he was now openly angry. And that might make him careless again. He looked less human now and more like a filthy, feral creature.

"This is so much fun," he spit out, but there was less laughter in his voice than before. "I might even bring you home-except I have no home. Do you remember Rashed? Tall, dark-haired, dead eyes, big sword? Yes, I bet he'd love a word with you. That warehouse meant a lot to him, you know, more than simply a business. It represented freedom and his ability to exist in your world. Can your small mind understand such ideas?"

Leesil's chest hurt so badly that every breath cost effort, but he regained his composure and tried to appear restful. Pulling himself up, he flopped back to lean against the tree.

"If you'd stop your senseless chatter, we could go and meet him now," Leesil said. "I doubt he'd take this long to kill me."

Any remaining glee on Ratboy's face now faded. "Do you wish death?"

"Anything is better than listening to you."

Leesil tensed, antic.i.p.ating a rapid lunge. When it came in a blur of movement, he fell back into the past and became a product of his parents' teachings, someone able to set aside pain, someone able to strike a focal point with fluid second nature and the right amount of force. His hand thrust out of its own accord just before Ratboy's hands could reach him.

The sharp, jagged end of the branch burrowed into the center of Ratboy's chest before either of them could grasp what had happened. A small spray of warm, black-red blood spattered Leesil's jaw and ear as he tried to roll out of the way.

Ratboy screamed in shock and what sounded like fear. The undead stumbled back, wildly clawing at the branch in his chest.

"Leesil! Where are you?"

Those words had come from out of the forest, not from the beggar boy's gaping mouth.

Magiere was somewhere in the trees. Relief flooded Leesil's mouth like water, but he found shouting impossible.

"Here," he tried to call. "I'm here."

One of Ratboy's hands found its way around the branch, and he pulled it out. But he behaved nothing like he had when he'd pulled a crossbow quarrel from his body. He was choking, and blood poured, rather than leaked, from his body. He alternately gagged and whimpered, pressing both hands over the hole in his chest.

"I hit your heart, didn't I?" Leesil managed to whisper. "I didn't pierce it completely, but I hit it. What happens when you bleed out? Will you fall limp, too weak to move, and lie in fear till the sun rises?"

Ratboy gargled spitting sounds and stared at him in panic. Approaching footsteps could be heard, and Chap's growls. The undead made a limping run for the trees away from the approaching sounds.

Ratboy disappeared through one side of the clearing as Chap burst through from the other. Magiere was close behind the dog. Through a haze of exhaustion, Leesil felt a tongue licking his face and Magiere's hands on him, searching for injury.

"Are you cut?" she asked. Then she asked louder again when he didn't answer immediately, "Are you cut?"

"Go after him," he whispered. "Hurry."

"No, I'm getting you home."

"Brenden," he said. "We have to warn him."

She offered him neither comfort nor sympathy, but he heard the edge of hysterical sorrow in her voice. "Brenden's dead."

The underbrush grew thicker as Ratboy approached the small inlet river which hid the landlocked boat. Pain such as mortals feel did not plague him, but fear and exhaustion as he'd never known slowed his pace. All he could think of was Rashed and the boat and finding help. His lifeblood-taken from the tan-armed girl-covered every leaf and nettle he pa.s.sed over. He had no idea how large the hole in his chest might be, but the entire front of his shirt was soaked.

How? How had the mortal half-elf injured him again?

Ratboy used the trees to support himself as he lurched forward, desperate to find his own kind, no longer caring about pride nor the shame of needing a.s.sistance.

Through the dense, deep green around him, the smell of life hit his nostrils. He tensed in confusion, and then an unfortunate deer hopped almost directly in front of him. Large, liquid eyes and a flash of white tail registered in his vision, and he rushed forward on instinct, screaming out in desperation as he grabbed the creature by the head and bit into its neck.

The deer kicked hard and dragged him a short way, but the terror of true death coming for him made his strength maniacal. He hung on with his arms and rolled his body, pulling the beast over to the ground. The animal weakened and began to grow limp in his arms. Feeding on animals was a pale shadow in comparison to people. An animal's life energy did not fill him with satisfaction or contentment, but it still offered life and healing. He released the animal as it died.

Panic subsided. The opening in his chest closed just enough for his own bleeding to stop. He left the deer where it lay, its eyes wide open, and headed for the boat again.

Now that true death was not imminent, his state of mind changed. He was uncomfortable and embarra.s.sed by his previous fear-and his need for Rashed. Undeads lived in each other's company out of choice, not need.

The wild, clean life force of the deer flowed through him, unfettered by the complexity of relationships and emotional attachments. He felt the heart of the forest beat inside his ears, even though his own stopped beating many years ago. Wolves howled and an owl hooted.

Did he wish to hide inside the belly of a boat for weeks while Rashed forced them all to sail until settling in a new town-but just like this one? Would they build another warehouse and pretend to live as mortals?

Ratboy slowed his pace. He looked down at his chest and then ripped off what was left of his shirt. Torn flesh met his inspection. The blood of a mortal would finish healing him. Again, he wondered about the best course of action.

Teesha had wanted to flee.

Rashed wanted to stay and fight.

Both their motivations were becoming clear. Rashed wanted revenge and to make certain Teesha would be permanently safe from the hunter. Teesha just wanted to keep Rashed away from that hunter. But what about him? What about Ratboy? Did he matter to them at all? He had stayed with them all these years because he'd never really liked living alone, but standing there in the forest, looking at his wounded chest, he wondered if he hadn't been alone the whole time.

"Do not be one of them," a mad but familiar voice breathed in his ear.

He cast about wildly, but saw no one. He knew the voice. Unbidden, images of Parko danced in the darkness, and he longed for the freedom to hunt and kill and feed as the need drove him.

The white face and feral laugh of his old companion followed when he started moving again. And where was Parko's body now? At the bottom of a river because some hunter put it there-the same one who now hunted him.

He heard the sound of a hammer pounding on wood and moved up quietly behind a tree. The mild inlet river gushed softly as it flowed past, and Rashed stood not far away with his own shirt off, attempting to repair the hole in the boat's hull.

Rashed's white skin was the only unnatural element of his appearance. The heavy bones of his bare shoulders and the practiced swing of his mallet seemed completely human, completely mortal. Other tools and boards lay on the ground, waiting to be used.

"Is he a true n.o.ble Dead?" Parko's dead voice whispered in Ratboy's ear.

"No." Ratboy shook his head. He stepped back, realizing the futility of Rashed's actions, the pointless danger of remaining to fight this hunter, the regret of leaving Teesha behind.

There was no indecision, no real turmoil inside him anymore. He wasn't going back. The forest called him. He could kill along the way, steal clothes from his victims, and be true to his own nature.

One last pang of longing pa.s.sed through him as he thought again of Teesha. Then he disappeared into the trees... heading north.

Even though the hole in the ship's hull was small, Hashed was beginning to realize he'd never be able to mend it himself without proper supplies-and even then it would take several nights to make her seaworthy. He'd ripped some boards from the deck and attempted to use them for hull repairs. At first the work pleased him, as it gave him something constructive to do and reminded him that he indeed controlled his own fate. Now he decided a different course of escape might be in order. If they could travel by road at night to the next town along the coastline, he could buy them pa.s.sage on a ship.

He frowned. That would take money. He had counted on being able to delay concern over finances.

His thoughts turned to Teesha.

Her method of hunting did not give him cause to worry, but he still glanced backward occasionally, wishing she would appear.

Often given to admiring aesthetics, he could not help noticing the beauty and variety of forest life growing on and around the boat. Vines of purple and white, bell-shaped flowers hung down from the bow and the stern, connecting to heavy fir trees and wild lilac bushes. Even in the moonlight, glowing blankets of light green moss covered many tree trunks and roots like soft carpets. The thought of fleeing such a place only fueled his anger toward the hunter who had desecrated his current existence.

"You could have been a carpenter," said a sweet voice behind him.

He turned to see Teesha inspecting his work, which he hardly thought worthy of praise. With her dark curls falling like a blanket around her pet.i.te face and shoulders, the glorious colors of nature faded in his estimation. Nothing compared to her.

"Is the blacksmith dead?" he asked flatly, not mentioning his relief at her return.

"Yes..."

Something was wrong. He lowered his mallet and walked to her.

"What is it? Did the half-elf escape Ratboy?"

Teesha raised her chin to look him full in the face.

"I think Ratboy has left us. I felt his separation."

Rashed didn't understand, but he knew Teesha's mental abilities surpa.s.sed his own. "What do you mean?"

She reached out to touch his arm. Earlier, he'd removed his torn tunic to work with greater freedom, and the sensation of her fingers on his bare skin made him tremble.

"He is gone," she said simply. "He has followed Parko onto the Feral Path."

A sense of loss. .h.i.t Rashed. It was not so much because he cared for or missed Ratboy, but more that his safe world was unraveling around him and he could not seem to rewind the skein.

But that which mattered most still stood by his side, still needed his protection. If he were capable, he would have embraced Teesha tightly and whispered comfort in her ear.

He was not. Instead, he turned halfway toward the boat and said, "So there are only two of us now?"

"And Edwan."

Yes, Edwan. Why did he always forget the ghost? "Of course," he said.

Teesha hesitated. "We still have one another. Perhaps we should see Ratboy's decision as a sign. Perhaps we, too, should forget everything here and slip away."

For a brief moment, Rashed wavered. Teesha was safe. She was with him. Perhaps they could just leave this place and disappear into the night. But then an image of the hunter flashed in his thoughts, as well as the memories of himself pulling Teesha through collapsing tunnels while his home burned over his head.

"No, that hunter dies. Then we leave. I'll kill her myself tomorrow night. You will stay here. I won't be long. I can't take the chance that she'll follow us." He gestured toward the boat. "This is not repairable with the tools and supplies I have, but I promise we'll leave here soon. I have an errand to take care of tonight. We'll need money for traveling."

She dropped her gaze and her usual facade of casual charm.

"All right," she said quietly, "but I want you to know that I'm afraid, and very little in this world frightens me."

The urge-and the inability-to comfort her became physically painful. "I won't let anything hurt you."

"That isn't what I'm afraid of."

Rashed waited outside The Velvet Rose until a tall, richly dressed patron exited the inn. Stepping from the shadows of a side alley, Rashed punched the man in the face hard enough to drop him. He stole the man's purse and then his cloak. Rashed quickly donned the cloak, making sure its hood completely hid his face. Even at this late hour, The Velvet Rose could sometimes teem with life and he did not want to be recognized.

Upon entering The Velvet Rose, he only saw three people: a maid, another patron preparing to depart, and Loni, the elf who functioned as a polite proprietor and guard. His mental abilities could handle all three. Casting out with this mind, Rashed projected a suggestion that they should ignore him, that he belonged here. Teesha was better at this, but Rashed knew how to use his abilities when necessary.

Once past the foyer and the front desk, he walked up the stairs and knocked on Ellinwood's door. There was no answer but he could sense the constable's presence inside.

He reached down and turned the k.n.o.b. It wasn't locked. At his previous visit, the constable had made him welcome, so he was able to walk right in.

Upon entering, he saw Ellinwood's enormous form half lying in a damask-covered chair. The flesh around his partially open eyes was puffy and tinged with a pinkish-red hue. Drool ran down one corner of his mouth and dribbled into a wet pool on the neck of his green tunic. On the table next to him sat an empty, long-stemmed crystal gla.s.s, an urn, and a bottle of amber liquid. Rashed walked over and looked in the um. He knew of yellow opiate. In his soldiering days in the Suman empire, he'd seen enough of it in the back-alley bars and dens where the desperate gathered to sate their needs. He'd long suspected Ellinwood spent his profits on some addiction, but he'd never cared enough to seek an answer.

Disgust filled Rashed. Why should anyone mourn for these mortals when they so frequently chose to destroy themselves? And Suman opiate was dangerous. It consumed those enslaved to it. The constable would soon do anything to acquire more.

"Wake up," Rashed ordered.

Ellinwood's eyes fluttered several times before opening completely. He was dazed and incoherent at first. Then his expression cleared. As the sight of Rashed registered, confusion was replaced by shock.

"Ras... ?" he managed to say.

He tried to sit up, but the soft muscles of his ma.s.sive body would not cooperate. Without his hat, his brown hair was visible, sticking to his skull in lank, unwashed strings.

"Yes, I'm here," Rashed said quietly. "You are not dreaming. I need money."

Gaining more control over his body, Ellinwood now sat straight.

"You came here for money? How did you escape the warehouse? That hunter's partner burned it to the ground."

"We lost everything," Rashed said, ignoring his question. "I need to take Teesha away from here. I believe you can spare a bit of wealth, considering what we have been paying you."