Dhampir Part 5

"Where did you hear... ?"

"How can that be... ?"

"Where did she find out... ?"

Edwan's eyes closed as if the voices hurt him.

"Quiet," Teesha snapped. Both Rashed and Ratboy fell silent as she turned back to the ghost, speaking calmly and quietly. "Edwan, tell us anything you know about this."

"Everyone in Miiska knows the owner disappeared months ago." Edwan paused, and Rashed turned a suspicious glare in Ratboy's direction. "I listened to her talk with her partner. The missing owner owed money on the property to someone in Bela, so the tavern was sold off low just to pay the debt. This false hunter now holds the t.i.tle to the tavern, free and clear. She will arrive late tomorrow and intends to settle here to run the tavern."

Rashed lowered his head, murmuring to himself. "Perhaps she is not such a charlatan. I didn't kill our master and leave our home just so we could end up as some hunter's bounty."

The others remained silent, lost in their thoughts.

Finally, Teesha asked, "What should we do?"

Rashed looked back at her, examining the lines of her delicate face. He wasn't about to let a hunter anywhere near Teesha. But other thoughts also troubled him. "If the hunter makes it into Miiska, we'll have to fight her here, and we can't afford that if we're to maintain the secrecy we've established. Another death in town"-he glanced at Ratboy-"could ruin everything we have here. She must not reach Miiska."

"I'll do it," Ratboy said, almost before Rashed had even finished.

"No, she managed to destroy Parko," Teesha said, her expression changing to concern. "You might get hurt. Rashed is the strongest, so he should go."

"I'm the fastest, and I blend into anything," Ratboy argued, eagerness in his eyes. "Let me go, Rashed. No one on the road will ever remember I pa.s.sed by. People always remember you. You look like a n.o.bleman." A hint of sarcasm slipped in for only a blink. "That hunter will never even see me coming, and this will all be over."

Rashed weighed the possibilities. "All right, I suppose your bad habits might serve us this time. But don't toy with her. Just do it and dispose of the body."

"There's a dog." Edwan began speaking, then his words lost coherency. "Something old, something I can't remember."

Ratboy's pinched face wrinkled into a frown. He let out a grunt of boredom. "A dog is nothing."

"Listen to him," Rashed warned. "He knows more than you."

Ratboy shrugged and started for the door. "I'll be back soon."

Teesha nodded, her eyes a bit sad. "Yes, kill her quickly and then come home."

Ratboy stopped only long enough to roll up a canvas tarp that he could tie to his back and to put some of the dirt from his coffin into a large pouch. He brought no weapons. No one saw him exit the warehouse out into the cool night air.

Thoughts of the hunt consumed him. Rashed's obsession with secrecy meant that little or no killing was ever allowed in Miiska. The three of them commonly erased the blurred memories of their victims while feeding. While this nourished the body, it did not feed Ratboy's soul nor the hunger in his mind.

He loved to feel a heart stop beating right beneath him, to smell fear and the last tremble of life as it faded from his prey and was absorbed into his own body. Sometimes he killed outsiders, strangers, and travelers in secret and hid the bodies where no one would find them. But those were too few and too far between. Occasionally, he had gone too far and caused the death of someone who lived in Miiska and then tried his best to hide the body. Of course, the one time someone truly noticeable had disappeared, the old tavern owner, it hadn't been his doing, but Rashed still didn't believe him.

Tonight, Rashed had actually given him permission, and he would make the most of it, enjoying every slow moment. He felt the hunger rise up again, begging and demanding as he realized that he still had not fed this evening.

A quarter of the night pa.s.sed as he worked his way along parallel to the road. Now and then, he stopped to fully test the night with his senses. Sniffing the night air, he picked up nothing at first. Then a thin whiff of warmth reached his nostrils. He crawled through the trees and brush to the edge of the coastal road from Bela, and heard the faint creak and sc.r.a.pe of a wagon, its axle in need of grease.

Ratboy waited patiently beneath a wild blueberry bush. Peering through the leaves, he could see the wagon rolling closer. The horse looked old and tired. A lone driver sat with his head nodding now and again as he drifted in and out of sleep. This was certainly not the one he'd been sent to find, but it seemed a waste to let the opportunity pa.s.s. And catching the hunter while he was fully fed and powered would be best.

"Help me," Ratboy called out weakly.

The driver's head raised up, awake. In his well-worn, purple cloak, he looked to be a half-successful merchant, probably one who traveled a great deal and wouldn't be missed for a full moon. Ratboy fought the urge to lunge.

"Here, please. I think my leg is broken," he called in mournful agony. "Help me."

His face awash with nauseating concern, the merchant began climbing down instantly. Ratboy did so enjoy this.

"Where are you?" the merchant asked. "I can't see you."

"Here, over here." Ratboy kept his voice soft, plaintive, as he stretched himself out on the ground.

Heavy footsteps brought the smell of warm life running to Ratboy's side. The merchant knelt down.

"Did you fall?" he said. "Don't worry. Miiska is not far, and there we can get you some help."

Ratboy s.n.a.t.c.hed the man's cloak collar and jerked downward while rolling, until the two had switched places. Staring down into the surprised face, Ratboy could not help mouthing the word, "Fool." Hands like bone manacles pinned the merchant to the ground. In panic, the man pitched wildly, trying to throw off his attacker. It did no good.

Pain stopped humans from exerting their bodies too far. Ratboy felt no pain, not as mortals did, and had no such limitations. The struggles of his victim amused him. A flash of pleasure coursed through him as he saw surprise turn to fear in the merchant's eyes.

"I'll let you go if you can answer a riddle," Ratboy whispered. "What am I?"

"My wife died last summer," the man said, panting, fighting harder to free himself. "I have two young sons. I must get home."

"If you're not going to play, then neither am I," Ratboy scolded, pinning the merchant harder against the ground. "Just make one guess. What am I?"

His victim stopped struggling and simply stared up at him in what appeared to be a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"Sorry... too late."

Ratboy bit down quickly in the soft hollow below the merchant's jawline.

The blood in his mouth was nothing compared to the life warmth filling his body as he fed. Sometimes he liked to rip and tear while his prey was still alive. Tonight the hunger was too strong for such playfulness. The heartbeat slowed in his ears, the taste of adrenaline and fear rose in the merchant's flesh, then both faded.

Whenever it was over, there always followed a moment of melancholy for Ratboy, like a child's last moment at a carnival, when lamps were snuffed out, the acrobats retired, and tents closed for the last time-until next year. He lifted his gaze to the road north. The hunter was out there, traveling toward him. It was just a matter of time.

Chapter Four

Just within sight of the coastline road, Ratboy traveled swiftly, slipping through the trees and constantly smelling the air for any hint of his prey, even though he knew she was still hours away. Just what did a charlatan vampire hunter smell like? Taste like? In an endless existence, anything new, any new experience was a rare and savory thing.

As night slipped away and the first streaks of dawn appeared over the ocean, he grew concerned, but not about where he'd sleep that day. Sea caves were easy enough to find, and in desperation he could always burrow under the forest mulch beneath the canvas tarp roped to his back. But what if she pa.s.sed him while he slept? Indeed, she would pa.s.s him. He'd hoped to come across her camp while she slept, but the scent of few travelers drifted to him and none with the fragrance of a woman. What should he do?

He realized he may have underestimated normal human speed. So how far away was she? And when she awoke, how far could she travel in a day? He frowned, knowing the need for cover was becoming imminent. The road next to the tree line lay empty in both directions.

Ratboy crossed through the trees to the sh.o.r.eline and looked around for a deep-looking cave or pocket in the cliff wall. Dropping over the side of the cliff, he scaled downward like a spider and disappeared into an ancient hole, crawling back and away from the light with no fear of darkness or whatever might already be living inside. He laid the pouch of coffin earth on the cave floor and curled around it on his side in the scant s.p.a.ce. Then he pulled the loosened canvas over himself against any stray lance of sunlight that might somehow find him.

Logic told him that although he'd only traveled for half the night, she would not be able to cover the distance to Miiska left to her in one day. He'd sleep and then back track. One way or another, he'd intercept her and then bring her head back to Rashed as a taunting gift. Every time anyone in Miiska disappeared, Rashed blamed him. In truth, sometimes he was to blame, but not always, and certainly not for the tavern owner. Some grizzly old drunk offered little temptation to a killer like himself.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he lost his train of thought.

By late afternoon that day, Leesil's narrow feet hurt, and his partial excitement about seeing their tavern began to wane. Even the beauty of the coastline and the sea running out to the horizon no longer filled him with awe. Such frantic hurrying seemed unnecessary. The tavern would certainly still be there no matter when they arrived. Magiere never pushed them like this when they were on the game. No, the three of them had simply traveled at a comfortable pace until reaching their intended target. He was getting sick of her constant nagging: "Leesil, hurry. Leesil, not far now. If we keep going, we'll make it tonight."

Even Chap looked tired of his cart ride and whined softly, eyes tragic with boredom, but Magiere wouldn't allow the dog to walk yet. The old donkey looked near death. What was Magiere thinking? This sudden desire to be an honest businesswoman had changed her in unpleasant ways. Close to exhaustion-or at the moment what he decided would count enough for exhaustion-Leesil noticed the sun's bottom edge meet the ocean horizon.

"Enough's enough," he announced loudly.

When Magiere, walking ahead of the donkey and cart, showed no sign of hearing him, Leesil stumbled theatrically to the roadside and dropped on the gra.s.s.

"Come here, Chap," he called. "Time for a break."

The elegant, gray-blue head of his dog jerked upward in hope, ears poised, eyes intently fastened on his master.

"You heard me. Come on," Leesil repeated loudly.

Magiere heard Leesil's shout this time and turned her head just in time to see Chap bounding out of the cart and back down the road to where Leesil sat. Her normally stoic jaw dropped slightly as she stopped in the road. The donkey and cart moved on without pausing.

"What in... not again," she stammered, then caught sight of the escaping cart. She grabbed the escaping beast's halter and pulled it to a stop. "You elven half-wit," she called back to Leesil, dragging donkey and cart back to where he sat. "What are you doing?"

"Resting?" he said, as if asking for confirmation. He looked down at his legs stretched out comfortably on the ground, then nodded his head firmly. "Yes, most a.s.suredly. Resting."

Instead of lying down, Chap sniffed around the rough sea gra.s.s, stretching his limbs, then bounded off into the brush nearby. Leesil took his wineskin and slipped its carrying strap off his shoulder. He popped its stopper, then tilted it up and over his open mouth for a long, satisfying drink. The dark D'areeling wine always tasted slightly of winter chestnuts. It comforted him in ways he couldn't describe, and that was likely all the comfort he'd get, unless Magiere stopped driving all of them with her stubbornness. But two could play that game.

Magiere stood dumbfounded, glaring at him, covered in road dust and in need of a wash.

"We don't have time to rest. I've practically dragged you since midday as it is."

"I'm tired. Chap's tired. Even that ridiculous donkey looks ready to keel over." Leesil shrugged, unimpressed by her apparent dilemma. "You're outvoted."

"Do you want to be traveling after sundown?" she asked.

He took another drink, then noted he, too, was in need of good bath. "Certainly not."

"Then get up."

"Have you looked at the horizon lately?" He yawned and lay back in the gra.s.s, marveling at the tan-colored, sandy earth and salt sea smell in the air. "We'd best make camp and find your tavern in the morning."

Magiere sighed, and her expression grew almost sad and frustrated at the same time. Leesil felt a sudden desire to comfort her, until the ache in his feet reminded him what a pain in other regions she was being. Tomorrow would be- should be-soon enough, even for her. Let her stew over it if she liked, but he was not moving another step down the road until morning.

He watched Magiere's gaze turn toward the ocean, noting the clean lines of her profile against the brilliant orange of the skyline. She glared out at the horizon as if willing the far edge of water to deny the sinking sun access and hold it there. Her head slowly dropped, just enough for her hair to curtain her face from view. Leesil heard, just barely, the soft sigh that came from her lips. He gave an exaggerated sigh of his own.

"It's better this way. You don't want to wake the caretakers up in the middle of the night." He paused, waiting for acknowledgment or rebuke, but Magiere remained silent. "What if the place looks bleak and depressing in the dark? No, we'll arrive like true shop-folk at midday or so and a.s.sess the place in broad daylight."

She looked back at him for a moment, then nodded. "I just wanted to... something pulls me like a puppet."

"Don't talk like a poet. It's annoying," he retorted.

She fell silent, and once again they took up their familiar routine of setting up camp. Chap continued to sniff at and dig in the sand, thrilled to be released from his rolling prison.

Leesil occasionally glanced over at the sun. Perhaps they had been in the gray, damp world of Stravina too long. There was a definite difference between wet and damp. Wet was thin salt spray blowing inland from a fresh sea, with an offsh.o.r.e breeze to gently dry you off. Damp was s.h.i.+vering in blankets that brought no warmth in some mountainside hut and watching the walls mold.

"Will we see this every night in Miiska?" he asked.

"See what?"

"The sunset... light spreading across the horizon, fire and water."

For a moment, her forehead wrinkled as if he spoke a foreign language, then his question registered. She, too, turned toward the sea. "I expect."

He snorted. "I stand corrected. You are no poet."

"Find some firewood, you lazy half-blood."

They made camp on the far side of the road that divided them from the sh.o.r.eline. In reality, it was quite a distance down to the water, but the enormity of the ocean created an illusion of closeness. The last hint of daylight dropped below the horizon, and thick, wind-worn trees provided cover from the evening breeze. Leesil was digging through burlap bags in the cart for leftover apples and jerky when Chap stopped sniffing playfully about and froze into a stance of attention. He growled at the forest in a tone that Leesil had never heard before.

"What's wrong, boy?"

The dog's stance was rigid, still and watchful, as if he were a wolf eyeing prey from a distance. His silver-blue eyes seemed to lose color and turned clear gray. His lips rose slightly over his teeth.

"Magiere," Leesil said quietly.

But his partner was already staring at the dog, and then at the forest in equal intervals.

"This is like what he did that night," she whispered, "back in Stravina near the river."

They'd spent a number of nights in Stravina near a river, but Leesil knew which night she meant. He pulled his hands out of the cart and put them up his opposing sleeves until he grabbed both hilts of the stilettos sheathed on his forearms.

"Where's your sword?" he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the trees.

"In my hand."

Ratboy's eyes flicked open, and the black, damp walls of his tiny cave disoriented him for a moment. Then he remembered his mission. The hunter. Time to backtrack.