Sister of the Dead

by Barb Hendee

  "Would you look into this when you reach K6onsk? You and yours stopped Vordana here and might be able to take action others cannot. Just see if my brother is correct. "

  Magiere wasn't certain how to respond, but her Aunt Bieja lived too nearby for comfort and Magiere found Geza's suspicions unsettling.

  "I doubt Buscan would give us an audience, " she replied. "Or think us more than a nuisance, but if a chance arises... "

  Geza inclined his head, satisfied, and he walked with her back to the manor for breakfast.

  The morning passed swiftly. Wynn helped pack the wagon, and by late afternoon they were ready to leave. Leesil was silent for the day, and it was obvious to Magiere that his delusion of the night before still plagued him. For her own part, she couldn't rid herself of seeing Leesil offering himself up to her like a sacrifice. Talking would have to wait—but talk they would, for his sake.

  As they pulled the wagon around before the manor, Stefan stood in its doorway as Elena came out to see them off. If Wynn was right concerning what Vordana had done to Stefan, he would never again leave that house. Elena looked up at the dipping sun.

  "You should really stay the night and set out tomorrow. You will not get far today. "

  Magiere glanced at Leesil sitting quietly beside her on the wagon bench. He was still lost in his thoughts.

  "No, we need to move on, " she answered Elena. "Geza says the roads between here and Keonsk are smooth and dry. We'll keep going into the early evening and gain some ground. "

  Chap nuzzled Shade once more and ran for the wagon, leaping into the back to settle beside Wynn. He laid his head in her lap.

  Magiere offered polite farewells, snapped the reins, and Port and Imp pulled them down the inland road. When they reached Pudurlatsat and turned east along the main road, Magiere shifted the reins to one hand and grasped Leesil's closest hand with her other. He gripped her palm instantly.

  She held on to him until dusk.

  IChane awoke precisely at dusk and sat watching Welstiel slumber. He had done the same thing night after night. More recently, his companion had ceased mumbling and thrashing in his dormancy. Welstiel had become no less an obstacle to Chane's freedom than Toret had been, expecting obedience, though he could not will it as Toret had. Chane had no money and no where else to go, until Welstiel delivered his promised payment and letters of introduction. With such, Chane could seek a new existence, perhaps journey to one of the main branches for the Guild of Sagecraft.

  For all Chane's reluctance to be Welstiel's puppet, he had little choice but to obey—for now. And he became more and more curious about the artifact that Welstiel sought.

  But behind all this lingered a downfallen moment in the dark smithy.

  Wynn had turned him away.

  Part of him was strangely full of sorrow, and he was not normally given to melancholy. Wynn followed her conscience, and her clear wish to protect him from Magiere hung constantly in Chane's thoughts. A naive notion, as he needed no protection, but still...

  In that moment, the possibility of returning to Bela with Wynn had slipped out before he realized what he was saying. He should not have allowed himself such a fantasy nor pushed it upon her. She was a true intellect and understood that truths could never be forgotten—there was no way to change what was. Like trying to take back words that had already been spoken.

  His father's cruelty had taught him to defend himself, to look out for himself above all others. Wynn was the only person besides his mother that he'd ever wished to protect more than himself. He'd failed his mother; he might yet save Wynn.

  Welstiel stirred, and Chane cautiously tapped his shoulder. "Are you awake?"

  "Yes. We should ready ourselves. "

  "Do you wish to pack, or are we returning here?"

  "We leave directly from the manor. Pack everything. "

  When Welstiel began assisting with preparations, Chane was surprised. It was clear early in their acquaintance that Welstiel had been raised a noble, accustomed to having things done for him. He struck Chane as lacking in self-sufficiency; regardless of his own noble upbringing, Chane preferred to rely upon himself.

  He saddled both horses and strapped the tent over the rump of his own mount. He handed Welstiel his cloak.

  "You lead, " he said. "I'm still uncertain why you want to question this captain. "

  "Information, " Welstiel answered.

  How enlightening, Chane thought, but kept silent on the matter. It was puzzling, too, when Welstiel led them around the town to the east end rather than inland to the manor.

  "How will you find this captain?" Chane asked.

  Welstiel sat watching the main road through town and occasionally the sparse forest around them. There was little activity past dusk. Then Chane heard a clattering bell off through the trees.

  A skinny young boy with thick black hair and freckled skin, not quite in his teens, was herding a group of goats through. The sound came from a crude bell hanging on the collar of the one male in the herd. The boy must have taken his charges out too far, or perhaps they had wandered on their own, and he was returning late.

  "Can you charm that boy into fetching his lord's captain?" Welstiel asked. "You seem to have a way with these peasants. "

  "I will try, " Chane answered, ignoring the barb.

  He didn't care for these commoners either, but Welstiel's distaste was more acute. Chane understood the crude minds of peasants and how to use them when necessary.

  The boy swung a switch to drive his small herd on to the main road, and Chane urged his horse forward through the trees. He kept his distance so as not to startle his would-be messenger.

  "Ho there, " he called.

  The boy stopped to look him over before answering. "Who are you?"

  "Friends of the dhampir, " Chane said, gesturing to Welstiel back in the trees. He spoke Droevinkan fairly well but with an accent. "Did you meet her?"

  The boy shook his head but his face lit up.

  "She's the one who saved us! They say she's white as ghost and can pull down a horse with her bare hands. You know her?"

  Chane's eyebrows rose. How quickly truth became legend—and sometimes myth—among the masses. If only they knew who had truly "saved" them.

  "Yes, and she sent us with an urgent message. It is of great importance but must be handled quietly, only given to your lord's captain. "

  "Captain Geza?" The boy nodded. "His Elena handles things at the common house for us. "

  "Can you fetch the captain but not let anyone else hear you? Tell him the dhampir sent us with urgent news, and he should meet us here, away from any ears. Can you do that?"

  The boy looked at his flock.

  "We'll keep an eye on your herd, " Chane said with a compassionate smile. "This is important, my boy. "

  The boy straightened himself as though a great duty had been placed upon him in service to this legendary dhampir. He nodded once and was off.

  Welstiel urged his horse forward beside Chane's. "At times, you astonish me. "

  Chane shrugged. "You handled the innkeeper in Bela well enough. "

  "Greed and ignorance require little more than a flash of coin. This is going to be a more... open interrogation. There can be no witnesses, you understand?"

  Chane suppressed an indignant retort. "Of course. "

  They dismounted, leading the horses into the trees but remaining in sight of the main road. The goats wandered by the roadside, and evening rapidly turned to night as the world grew darker.

  Chane wondered how this Geza would react to a boy's tale of strange men with a secret message from the dhampir. Had this happened in Chane's mortal life, he would have gathered a retinue of guards before setting foot outside. But Magiere appeared to inspire confidence, and he believed the captain would come alone. Soon a short man in a leather hauberk and gray-blue cape followed the boy up the road out of the town. Chane stepped out, raising a hand to hail them, with Welstiel close behind.

  The capt
ain's expression was apprehensive, but he approached with little hesitation and spoke in a lowered voice.

  "Young Tenan here says you have a message from Magiere. Has something happened during the journey? She's been gone less than half a day. "

  Welstiel stepped around Chane. He grabbed the captain's throat before the man could blink. Geza gripped Welstiel's forearm with one hand, reaching for his sword with the other. Before an inch of steel slipped from the sheath, Welstiel snatched his wrist.

  Tenan's eyes widened, and the boy turned to run. Chane grasped the back of his neck and pinned his small head against a tree.

  "Cry out, and I'll crush your skull, " he whispered.

  The boy stopped struggling and peered sideways at Geza for help. The captain released Welstiel's arm and struck with his fist.

  Welstiel's head barely turned under the blow. He tightened his grip on Geza's throat. As the captain's eyes half closed, Welstiel slapped the man's hand from his sword and pulled the blade himself. He flung Geza into the forest away from the road, and the captain tumbled to the ground, gasping for air.

  "Now, " Welstiel said, "we need to know where the dhampir has gone and, if she told you, why. "

  Chane watched the captain lying on the ground, trying to catch his breath in astonishment at being so quickly undone.

  "You're after the dhampir?" Geza said between gasps. "She saved this town, and I'll give you nothing to cause her harm. "

  "Harm?" Welstiel said, and looked to Chane. "Would you please show the good captain what we are capable of?"

  Chane snarled. Without hesitation, he lifted the boy from the ground by his neck, so that they both faced Geza. The boy had no time to scream as Chane's teeth wrapped around the slender neck, halfway to the boy's throat. He bit down.

  Tenan's legs kicked in the air a few times and fell still.

  Chane seldom fed on children. As sweet as their blood could be, they were incapable of putting up a fight. When finished, he tossed the fragile body before Geza, who stared at him in horror.

  Welstiel crouched before the captain. "If you think that undead sorcerer was a plague, imagine my companion loose among your people for one night. Or should we start at the manor?"

  Geza drew a breath but did not speak. Chane stepped close behind Welstiel, watching the captain with mild interest. The outcome of this conversation was obvious, and all that remained was to see how long it took to play out.

  "Without your assistance, " Welstiel went on, "we have nowhere else to go. Do you have a son here? A daughter? A wife? I'm sure someone at the manor would cooperate in answering our questions. "

  Geza's brow furrowed as he rubbed his throat. Chane could tell the man was not accustomed to being helpless.

  "What do you want?" the captain whispered.

  "I told you, " Welstiel responded. "We need to know where the dhampir is going and why. "

  "And if I tell you, then you and this murdering carrion will go on your way and leave my people be?"

  "You have my word, " Welstiel said.

  "Keonsk, " Geza sighed, dropping his gaze. "She heads to the capital. "

  'To pass through or to stay?"

  "It is her destination, to the best of my knowledge. "

  "Why?"

  "Fief records concerning her family. She's looking for information about her father, and that is all I know. Now leave us in peace!"

  Chane was surprised how quickly the captain supplied the answers. Even stranger was his sense that the man spoke the truth straight out, and that his ignorance was sincere. But instead of being satisfied, Welstiel gripped the man by the throat again.

  "Records of her father?"

  Unable to breathe, the captain nodded his confirmation.

  Welstiel slammed the palm of his free hand into the side of the captain's jaw. The man's head jerked sideways with an audible snap, and his body went limp. Welstiel stood up as Geza flopped to the ground, eyes open and head tilted at an unnatural angle.

  "What is it?" Chane asked, almost alarmed.

  Welstiel had never before lost all his composure like this. He stood shifting his weight back and forth.

  "Come, " he finally said. "Gather the bodies and get the horses. "

  Chane did as instructed and rode after Welstiel down the road for a half a league. When Welstiel turned aside into the trees and dismounted, Chane followed. The copse Welstiel had entered was so dark that even Chane had trouble seeing clearly. Welstiel stood deep in thought.

  "What now?" Chane asked.

  "We need to slow Magiere down. You and I must reach Keonsk first. "

  "Why?"

  "Just do it!"

  Chane had never seen Welstiel so unsettled. "And what do you suggest?"

  His companion paused and pointed to the urn hanging around Chane's neck.

  "You are skilled with animal spirits, yes? Send something to stop her without causing her injury. The captain said she had been gone less than half a day, so she is not far ahead. "

  Chane shook his head. "What you ask is a complex process, and at present, the only familiar I have is a rat. I doubt that will suit your purpose. "

  "Magiere is my only interest, " Welstiel returned. "Anyone with her is no concern of mine. Slow her down or I will have to do it myself. And my methods are not as... precisely controlled as yours. "

  Chane blinked. Welstiel knew enough of his private interests to use Wynn against him. A flash of anger and resentment brought harsh words to his lips, but he fought them back.

  "Do you have wolf speech?" he asked.

  "Do I have what?" Welstiel returned.

  "It is what I call it, " he explained. "My maker, Toret, told me that each of our kind develops different abilities. Toret lived for many years with another Noble Dead who possessed the power to call upon wolves. Do you?"

  "Yes, I can do this, " Welstiel answered, and he glowered in distaste. "But it is neither speech nor a kinship with wolves. You can abandon such superstitious nonsense. It is an expression of hungering instinct, cast out to catch the attention of any predator within reach. A base and crude ability which most of our kind develop over time. "

  Chane pondered this for a moment. In his short time as a Noble Dead, he had not manifested abilities beyond what any undead would have—speed, strength, suppression of pain and physical duress, amongst others. It was curious that one such as Welstiel, so repulsed by anything uncultured and raw, would have developed such an ability.

  "Setting wolves upon them, " Welstiel said, "is not the precise approach I expected from you. "

  "I only need one, " Chane replied. "And it will be more focused than you imply. "

  He knelt down and pulled a brass urn, a candle, a silver dagger, and a bottle of olive green liquid from his pack.

  "We'll clear a space where I can carve my symbols in the earth for the ritual. "

  Welstiel became immediately agreeable, and this raked Chane more than the man's previous manner. Welstiel was exactly like Toret in some respects. Polite, so long as Chane did as he was told. They picked a clear space in the copse, and Chane prepared for the ritual as Welstiel cleared the forest mulch with his boot.

  "Now, call a wolf, " Chane ordered.

  * * *

  Magiere sat with Leesil upon the wagon's seat and drove Port and Imp down the road through the night. It took little attention, as the horses were surefooted and never veered from the road.

  Wynn and Chap were still awake in the wagon's back, and the sage had unpacked two cold lamps at dusk. Leesil lashed these to either side of the wagon's front footboard. He leaned back and took an apple slice from Wynn.

  "So, you destroyed that creature by melting its urn? Clever. "

  Wynn didn't respond and continued cutting fruit to hand out.

  Chap sat before her with his front legs set wide to balance against the wagon's rock. When Magiere glanced back, the dog licked his muzzle with ears straight up, his full attention on the next apple Wynn peeled.

  Magiere hadn'
t forgotten what Chap had done in the forest for Wynn, though how was still a mystery even after Wynn's tale. What the sage had described was far more astonishing than the simple swipe of tongue that Magiere had witnessed. Chap became a larger puzzle each time they learned more of him—most often with no help from the dog himself.

  Wynn looked tired and weak, and Magiere wondered how much of this was her ordeal with Vordana, her mantic mishap, or their stay in the village under the sorcerer's draining presence. Leesil had shaken off his fatigue, and this gave Magiere another reason for pause. Vordana had tried to strip his life away, yet he was less worse for wear man the sage.

  Then there was Wynn's description of what she'd seen of each of them in her altered sight. Magiere had shared this with Leesil. However, there were more pressing concerns to discuss for what lay ahead.

  "Geza showed me a letter from his brother, " she began.

  "Antes fiefs are being taken from their nobles by men sent out by Lord Buscan. "

  "Vordana was not an isolated incident?" Wynn asked, her voice rising. "There are more like him?"

  Magiere shook her head.

  "I don't know. The replacements carry letters of authority from Keonsk, but I can't imagine many sorcerers still about in this time—or any time I've heard of. Geza's brother thinks this is happening in eastern Droevinka, as well, and Geza asked us to look into it, though I've no idea how. "

  Chap lunged forward, threw his front legs over the bench's back, and growled at her. The sound startled Port and Imp, and they pulled up, dancing sideways.

  "Stop that!" Leesil ordered, shoving the dog back.

  "You know he does not want us on this journey, " Wynn said. "Or anywhere in Droevinka, it seems. I suppose he does not want us involved in the captain's suspicions either. "

  It sounded to Magiere like Wynn had become as weary of Chap's behavior as Leesil or herself.

  "All right, " Leesil said. "Stop the wagon. "

  Magiere pulled in the reins, bringing Port and Imp to a halt. "What's wrong?"

  "We're not moving another league. " He hopped down, circled around the wagon's back, and climbed in to crouch before Chap. "Not until we get some answers from you!"