Dhampir Part 4

"We have to find out who did this. Where is Edwan?"

"He's nearby." Teesha closed her eyes for a moment. "My husband says he is sorry, too."

Rashed ignored the sympathies.

"Send him out. Tell him to find whoever did this and bring me a name. Tell him to look northeast." He raised his gaze inland again. "Tell him to hurry."

A soft glimmer wavered in the air near the two, almost nothing more than the light cast from a lantern's cracked shutter. Teesha's face turned in its direction and her lips moved as if speaking, but not a word was heard. The light vanished.

Chapter Three

We'll have to stop soon," Magiere said tiredly, running a hand across her face. "It's getting dark."

The sun was setting over the ocean off the coastal road of Belaski, illuminating the land with a dusky orange glow that made it appear less gloomy and hopeless than in full daylight. Leesil always liked dusk, and he stopped for a moment to watch the fading light over the water. The coastal road they followed south from Bela, the country's capital city, was reasonably fast and clear, much easier traveling than the five days' trek west out of Stravina.

It had been twelve days since the death of the mad villager, and Leesil had yet to ask any hard questions about what had really taken place that night on the sh.o.r.e of the Vudrask River. Magiere had provided scant details about what had happened to her and Chap. There still remained the puzzles of why Chap had attacked without orders, and why Magiere appeared so enraged and shaken. It was something beyond the killing of the villager. Neither of them broached the subject, even when they stopped at a village to purchase a donkey and cart to carry Chap-which should have raised questions about the reason for the dog's injuries. His wounds appeared mostly healed by then, but Magiere insisted he needed rest.

"Let's make camp," Magiere said.

Leesil nodded and strolled off the road. He watched Magiere run her hand across her forehead again, trying to push a few strands of hair dulled with road dust off her face. He knew she hated being dirty.

"Maybe we should slip down to the sh.o.r.e," he said. "Seawater's not the best bath in the world, but it'll do in a pinch. Though it's no good for washing out clothes, unless you like wearing salt crust."

She turned a suspicious glare on him. "Since when did you care about clean clothes?"

"Since always."

"Stop trying to humor me." She let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "I know what you want, and you'd better forget about it. We're not going to swindle even one more village. I'm through." She started to follow him off the road, then paused and looked back.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm not sure." She shook her head. "Since dusk, I've had an odd feeling that someone is..." She trailed off.

"Someone is what?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired." She shrugged.. "Don't put us too far from the road. It's too hard to get the cart through the brush."

Leesil's own cloak was beginning to feel thin in the rapidly cooling air, and he quickly chose a clearing in the trees. Magiere unpacked a dented cooking pot, loose tea, dried meat, and apples, while he cleared a s.p.a.ce of ground and got a small fire going.

Despite his outer calm, his thoughts were still troubled. Once again, they had fallen into simple routine, going through daily motions without really talking, and there were several subjects beyond tonight's dinner that he wished to discuss.

"Do you need help getting Chap?" Magiere asked suddenly.

"No, he can walk on his own."

Leesil went to the cart and wrapped his slender, tan arms around the dog's neck. "Hey, there. Time to wake up and eat something."

"How is he?" Magiere called.

Chap's eyes opened instantly, and he whined before lifting his silver-gray muzzle to lick Leesil's face. He pulled free of Leesil's arms and hopped out of the cart, heading toward the cooking fire.

"See for yourself," Leesil answered. "And I think he's about as bored as he could get with riding in the cart."

Leesil always found her att.i.tude toward Chap a bit odd. She never petted the dog and rarely spoke to him, but always made sure he ate and was well cared for with what little comforts could be offered. Leesil, on the other hand, enjoyed the dog's companionship immensely. But in the days before Magiere, Chap had often hunted up his own supper because his master simply forgot.

Leesil unhooked the donkey and tied it in an area with sufficient gra.s.s, then returned to the fire.

"We pa.s.sed a side road half a league back," he said absently, taking a waterskin off the ground and pouring water into the cooking pot for tea. "Might lead off to a village."

"If you wanted to stop, you should have said something," Magiere answered just as casually.

"I didn't want to..." Finally angered by his partner's polite front, he snapped, "You know exactly what I mean! Maybe this isn't Stravina, but the nights are just as dark in peasant villages here. We're pa.s.sing profit by for no reason other than you don't feel like working. You want to buy a tavern? Fine, but I don't see why we have to leave the game nearly coinless."

"I'm not coinless," Magiere reminded him.

"Well, I am!" Her serene att.i.tude infuriated him. "I've only a share from one village, and you didn't give me any warning. If I'd known we were backing out, I would have made some plans."

"No, you wouldn't have," she said, not looking at him, her voice still calm. "D'areeling red wine is expensive, or if it wasn't wine, you would have found a card game somewhere or a pretty tavern girl with a sad story. Telling you earlier wouldn't have changed anything."

Sighing, Leesil searched his mind for a way to convince her. He knew she was thinking a great deal more than she said. They'd been working together a long time, but she always kept an invisible wall up between herself and everyone else. Most of the time he was comfortable with that, even appreciated it. He had his own secrets to keep.

"Why not one more?" he asked finally. "There's bound to be other villages along-"

"No, I can't do it anymore." She closed her eyes as if to shut out the world. "Pushing that mad villager's body into the river... I'm too tired."

"All right. Fine." He turned away. "Tell me about the tavern then."

The enthusiasm in her voice picked up.

"Well, Miiska is a small fishing community that's doing good business on the coastal sea route. There will be plenty of workers and a few sailors looking to drink and gamble after a hard day. The tavern has two floors, with the living quarters upstairs. I haven't thought of a name yet. You're better at things like that. You could even paint a sign for the door."

"And you want me running the games, even though you know I lose half the time?" he asked.

"I said running running the games, not playing them. That's why the house wins, and you always end up with an empty purse. Just run an honest faro table, and we'll go on being partners just like always. Things aren't changing as much as you think." the games, not playing them. That's why the house wins, and you always end up with an empty purse. Just run an honest faro table, and we'll go on being partners just like always. Things aren't changing as much as you think."

He got up and put some more wood on the fire, not knowing why he was being so difficult. Magiere's offer was generous, and she'd always been straight with him. Well, as straight as she could be with such a tight lip. No one else in his life had ever included him in their every plan. Perhaps he just didn't like the unknown risks that might be hiding in so much change.

"How far is this Musky place?" he asked.

"Miiska." Magiere sighed heavily. "It's called Miiska, and it's about four more leagues south. If we make good time, we might make it there by late tomorrow."

Leesil pulled the wineskin from his pack as Chap circled the camp, sniffing about. His mind began to truly consider Magiere's plans for the tavern, and the possibilities gnawed at him softly. A bit of quiet and peace might put an end to his nightmares as well, but he doubted it.

"I may have a few ideas for a sign" he said finally.

Magiere's mouth curled up slightly, and she handed him an apple. "Tell me."

At the edge of the camp, a soft glimmer hung in the forest. Most would have taken it for the fading light of dusk, except where it moved through the shadows of trees. It moved closer, pausing each time the armored woman or fair-haired half-breed spoke, as if listening to every word. It stopped behind an oak at the edge of the fire's reaching light and settled there.

Rashed paced inside the back room of his warehouse. Tonight, he didn't wish to go outside and observe the giant glowing moon, as was his custom. Nervous tension lined his pale face as his booted feet clomped across the wooden floor. Personal appearance was important to him and, even in crisis, he'd taken the time to don black breeches and a freshly laundered burgundy tunic.

"Pacing like a cat won't make him return any faster," said a soft voice beside him.

He glanced down at Teesha in mild annoyance. She sat on a hardwood bench cushioned with paisley pillows, sewing impossibly tiny st.i.tches into a piece of tan muslin.

Her work-in-progress was beginning to depict a sunset over the ocean. He never understood how she could create such pictures with only thread and sc.r.a.ps of material.

"Then where is he?" Rashed demanded. "It's been over twelve days since Parko's death. Edwan is not fettered by physical distance. It could not possibly take him this long to gather information."

"He has a different sense of time than we do. You know that," she responded, breaking off a piece of blue thread with her teeth. "And you didn't exactly give him much to work with. It could take time just to find and confirm whomever or whatever he might be looking for."

Holding the needlework with delicate hands, she examined her st.i.tches as if this were just another night-although usually she could be found absorbed in some ancient text after sundown. In one of the lower rooms, her shelves were filled with books and scrolls they'd paid good coin to acquire. Rashed did not fully understand why words on parchment were so important to her.

He wished her calm could infect him, so he sat down next to her. Candlelight reflected off her chocolate-brown hair. The beauty of those long, silk curls held his attention for only a short time. Then he was up and pacing again.

"Where could he be?" he asked no one in particular.

"Well, I'm getting sick of waiting," a third voice hissed from the corner shadow. "And I'm hungry. And it's dark now. And I want out of this wooden box you call our home!"

A thin figure emerged from the corner of the room, the final member of the strange trio living in the warehouse. He appeared to be about seventeen years old, though perhaps small for his age.

"Ratboy," Rashed spit the nickname out as if it were a joke told one too many times: "How long have you been skulking in the corner?"

"I just woke up," Ratboy replied. "But I knew you'd be upset upset if I went out without saying h.e.l.lo." if I went out without saying h.e.l.lo."

Everything but his skin appeared brown, and even that had a slightly tan cast from months'-possibly a year's- old filth. Plain brown hair stuck to his narrow, pinched head above plain brown eyes. Rashed had heard many terms in his life to describe different shades of brown-chestnut, mahogany, beige-but the dirty figure of Ratboy brought no such words to mind. He played the part of the street urchin so well, the persona had become part of him. Perhaps that was one of his strengths. No one ever remembered him as an individual, just as another grubby, homeless adolescent.

"You don't need to worry about my anger, unless you give me reason," Rashed said. "You should be concerned for yourself."

Ratboy ignored the warning and sneered, his upcurled lips exposing stained teeth.

"Parko was mad," he answered back. "It's one thing to revel in our greater existence and senses, but he lost himself. Someone was bound to kill him sooner or later."

Hard words froze in Rashed's throat. Although his voice was soft and calm, his expression betrayed him.

"Needless killing is another subject you should not criticize."

Ratboy turned away, shrugging slightly. "It's the truth. He may have been your brother once, but he was mad with love for the Feral Path, obsessed and drunk with the hunt. That is why you drove him out." He picked at a fingernail with his teeth. "Besides, I already told you, for the thousandth time..." His voice trailed off like a falsely accused child facing a disbelieving parent. "I didn't kill that tavern owner."

"Enough," Teesha said, looking at Ratboy like a scolding mother. "None of this is helpful."

Rashed paced rapidly across the small room again. He owned the entire vast warehouse, but this room had been designated for private use a long time ago. Several trapdoors in the walls and floors led outside or to lower levels. Teesha had decorated it herself with a mix of couches, tables, lamps, and elaborately molded candles in the shapes of dark red roses.

With the exception of their unusually pale skin, both he and Teesha pa.s.sed easily for human. Rashed had worked hard to set up their life in Miiska. It was important that he find out what happened to Parko, not only for revenge, but for the safety of all of them.

"I'm sick of waiting every night," Ratboy said petulantly. "If Edwan doesn't come soon, I'm going out."

Teesha's mouth opened to answer him when a soft, shimmering light appeared from nowhere and began gaining strength in the center of the room. She simply smiled up at Rashed.

The light grew dense and swirled into the shape of a ghastly form floating just above the ground. A transparent man stared at Teesha.

He wore green breeches and a loose white shirt, the colors of his clothes vivid in the candlelight. His partially severed head rested on one shoulder, connected by a remaining strip of what had once been flesh. Long, dark-yellow hair hung down his blood-spattered shoulder and arm with the illusion of heaviness. His appearance was exactly the same as at the moment he'd died.

"My dear Edwan," Teesha said. "It has been lonely without you."

The ghost floated toward her as if the small distance between them was too much.

"Where have you been?" Rashed demanded instantly. "Did you find Parko's murderer?"

Edwan's movement stopped. His body half turned until his sloping head faced Rashed, and he stayed there in a long silence.

It was unusual for the ghost to appear visibly like this. His own appearance embarra.s.sed him, and he did not like to see horror, revulsion, or even simple distaste in the eyes of others. Normally, he only appeared to Teesha, who never showed any sign of discomfort. But lately he'd taken to materializing in the most grisly detail whenever Rashed was present.

Rashed kept his expression emotionless on purpose. "What have you learned?"

"It was a woman called Magiere." Edwan's hollow voice echoed. He turned to face his wife as if Teesha had actually posed the question. "She hires herself out to peasant villages seeking to rid themselves of vampires and their like."

"I think I've actually heard that name," Ratboy chimed in, perking up now that his attention was stimulated. "It was a traveling peddler. He mentioned something about a 'hunter of the dead' working the villages of Stravina. But it has to be nonsense. There aren't that many of our kind. Not enough to make a living off of, if anyone was good enough to try. She's a fake, a charlatan. She could not have killed Parko."

"Yes, she did," Edwan answered, his words like whispers from the past traveling down an endless hall. "Parko rests in the Vudrask River, his head... his head..."-he stuttered briefly before continuing-"his head severed from his body. She cut his head off. She knew what to do."

Ratboy scoffed under his breath from the corner. Teesha simply sat listening and thinking. Rashed began pacing again.

He'd himself heard much about the occasional "hunter" traveling the lands, calling themselves by fanciful t.i.tles such as "exorcist," "witchbane," and "hunters of the dead." Ratboy was correct on one count. They were always cheats and mountebanks merely seeking profit by preying on peasant superst.i.tions-regardless of whether those peasant fears were based on a hidden truth. But Rashed knew something more had happened this time, and Parko had died because of it. It was difficult, almost impossible, for a mortal to kill a vampire, even one who'd abandoned his intellect to run wild through the nights, lost to the Feral Path.

"And more," Edwan whispered.

Rashed stopped. "What?"

"She's coming here." The ghost now turned completely to face Rashed. "She's purchased the old tavern on the docks."

At first no one moved, then Ratboy rushed forward, Rashed stepped close, and even Teesha was on her feet. Their questions barraged the spirit, one upon the other.