Hemlock (The Manhunters Book 2)

by Jesse Teller

  “You killed the Lady Twilight,” he said, his voice dripping with fear.

  “I was framed.”

  “You kidnapped the king and held him prisoner.”

  Rayph grinned as he nodded. “Yeah, I did that one. Would you believe I did that with the very best of intentions?” Trysliana laughed, and the wizard looked at them as if they had gone mad. “This is what we are going to do. I want to talk to the lady of the city, and you’re gonna go get her for me.”

  “She is well-protected. She will not see anyone.”

  “Do this. Go to her now and tell her Rayph Ivoryfist is here to help. Tell her I would enjoy a chat with her and let her know I am in a rush and can’t wait for long.”

  Corry met them on the main floor of the deserted bar. He was a slight man, wide in the shoulders but lean, with fragile facial features and a small jaw. His wrist, hands, and knuckles were wrapped in tattered linens that trailed around his forearms like wisps of smoke. He had dark hair, moody eyes and was bare to the waist. His smile was sarcastic when he looked Rayph over and spat on the ground.

  “You’re not Rayph Ivoryfist.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No, you’re not. Ivoryfist is smarter than to come to a place he is obviously unwanted and make demands of a man he barely knows.” Men filed in, taking to the walls and lowering crossbows. “Rayph would know there is no way he is going to get what he wants, and Rayph is a man who does not waste his time, which you are obviously intent on doing. Now, you saw the door on your way in, find it on your way out.” Corry turned around and made for the stairs that went up to the rooms for rent.

  “Corry,” Rayph said.

  The man half-turned, looking over his shoulder with a glare of menace.

  “How are you going to kill them when they come?” Rayph said. “Your fists will destroy their drones, but they will rip right through you. Do you have a plan for them?”

  The man was a flash of speed, and Rayph moved on instinct, catching what was thrown, though it traveled so fast he could not see it. He caught a small Ironwood stake and looked down at its rough craftsmanship. “Nice, but they will come in force,” Rayph said.

  “Want an arrow, too?” Corry said, raising his hand. Rayph grinned at him.

  “You know what you’re dealing with, so why have you not run?”

  “Not the running type.”

  Trysliana stepped forward, and Corry snarled at her. She pointed to his chest at a deep bruise that might have been something else in the gloom. “You’re a Trailer, is that right?”

  Corry looked down at his chest and back up at her. “I’m a Trailer.”

  “They got you young, huh? Your tattoo is fading badly, though you look only twenty, maybe twenty four.”

  “Joined off the streets when I was young.”

  “Yeah, looks like it. How did Manson get the job to protect her?”

  “What do you know about Rangan Manson?”

  “I know he is pulling your strings. I know he doesn’t accept failure, and I know you are educated if you work for him,” she said. “You’re his main muscle?”

  Corry gritted his teeth and nodded.

  “Can I show you something?”

  Corry scowled but nodded. Trysliana pulled a cloth of red silk out of her belt and opened it to reveal a slightly glowing crest. It seemed a crude drawing of the city with dotted lines running through it of plated gold.

  “How did you get that? Who are you?”

  “Megan Weeps, and I saved Manson’s life,” she said. “He asked me to join his crew, but I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I already belonged to his.” She pointed over her shoulder at Rayph. “I will vouch for him and your package’s safety. Take us to her. We want to help.”

  Trysliana tucked the cloth back under her belt, and Corry nodded, leading the way. They came to the nicest room in the pub, indicated by the flowered plate that held the room number. Rayph entered behind Corry and saw the Lady of Hemlock lying on a bed. Her skin was patchy with color and pale. She looked as if she were in great pain, and Corry moved over by her bed and crossed his arms over his thin chest.

  A serving girl moved the lady’s head up and braced it with a pillow. In the corner, Balkaha, the wizard Rayph had incapacitated, glared at him. Rayph turned to Corry. “Can we turn up the lights?”

  “Light causes her great pain. It is not possible.”

  “May I examine her?”

  Corry looked down at the lady, who nodded her head slightly. Rayph joined her bedside and lightly brushed her hair aside, exposing her neck. A ragged scar was forming there, a wound granted by a savage bite from a fanged creature. Rayph looked at her and back at Trysliana.

  “She’s been bitten.” Rayph touched the woman’s forehead feeling a slight fever and a gentle perspiration. “She has not turned.” Rayph felt a kick of excitement. He looked at Trysliana. “She is healing, but slowly. I’m not sure why she is not a vampire.”

  “What race is she?” Trysliana asked.

  “She looks human.”

  “I am human,” the woman whispered softly.

  “Do you have any answer for why you have not turned? Anything from your past I must know?”

  She shook her head. Rayph leaned closer to her, moving her blanket and placing his ear on her chest. A weak but steady heartbeat greeted his ears. Rayph grinned back at Trysliana. “She’s immune,” he said. “They will come looking for her since she hasn’t turned. She has to be hidden. She is a great threat to them.”

  “That’s why we were employed,” Corry said.

  “You’re not enough. I found this place quickly,” Trysliana said.

  “I’m sure they know you’re here,” Rayph said. “In fact, they have most likely been watching this place. Now that they have seen us here, they will be coming.”

  Trysliana looked through the board chinks and whistled. “That’s no lie, there are at least twelve cloaked figures standing out in the dusk. And more behind them, I would guess.”

  “We have to get her out of here,” Rayph said.

  “Where to?” Trysliana said. “Can we take her home?”

  “Not a chance, too risky. We would have to keep her indefinitely. I won’t have an innocent in my cells.” The sun was all but gone. Rayph was running out of time.

  “You brought them here,” Balkaha said. “You led them straight to her.”

  “Want your aura back?” Rayph asked. The wizard perked up, and Rayph nodded. “Then keep your mouth shut. You’re not helping.” The man scowled, and Rayph turned to Corry. “How many men do you have?”

  “About two dozen.”

  “Do you have a cloaked way out of this inn?”

  “I do. We dug a hole in the cellar that leads to the sewers.”

  “Tell me you have men stationed there.”

  “I do,” Corry said.

  “Get all your men out of this pub by way of that hole,” Rayph said.

  “I won’t do that. We will need them. I have some gifted archers.”

  “We are about to be hit. Your men will be overrun and turned. They will be a problem for us. Pick two or three gifted archers and evacuate the others. Close in the hole when they are gone.”

  “I’ve never run from a fight in my life,” Corry said.

  “Then stay, but get your men out of here.”

  Corry chewed on the notion before nodding and running off.

  “We need a safe place for her. Drelis, can you hear me?” Rayph said.

  “I’m here, dear.”

  “You okay to move?”

  “I was just a little winded, Rayph. I’m strong. What do you need?”

  “I have a woman immune to vampirism. That has to be valuable to your people, right?” Rayph said.

  “We are running out of time, hon,” Trysliana said.

  “They might be able to use her.”

  “I need them to take her in and protect her. She can’t be harmed, but she might be able to
help them in their work.”

  “I’ll talk to them. Let me get back to you.”

  “Make it quick. Dreark, send men to our location. About fifty of them, prepare them for blood.”

  “Do you want me with them?” Dreark asked.

  “No, hold your post. I may need more. Smear, Dissonance, you ready to get wet?” Two portals opened and in walked his two Manhunters. Dissonance nodded as Mort, the tiny priestess of the Pale, followed her in.

  “Room for one more?” Dissonance asked.

  “Definitely,” Rayph said.

  Corry returned to the room and nodded at the new people as he strapped wooden gauntlets to his fists. They bore three massive Ironwood stakes, and he knocked them together and grinned.

  Rayph tossed Balkaha back the crystal with his aura in it. “You ready?” The wizard crushed the globe with his foot and shook his head.

  “Don’t think so,” he said.

  Trysliana cursed as the sun disappeared behind the wall of the city. “Street is swimming with vampires. Two high-powered ones cloaked and in the back. I would guess—”

  “Kat and Tristan, yeah, glad they could make it,” Rayph said.

  The vampires outside the bar howled, and Tristan’s laughter boomed down the streets as the first wave slammed against the door downstairs.

  Trysliana ripped her bow from her back, and Smear joined her, doing the same. They pulled their quivers of Ironwood arrows and began raining down hell from the windows. Rayph turned to Dissonance and Mort.

  “You two are my front line. Take the hall. Its walls will work to your advantage. Corry, station your men behind them to fire over their shoulders and around them.”

  Corry nodded to Rayph and waved off his men.

  “Thank you. Now get over here. You’re with me.”

  Corry grunted and joined Rayph. He looked back at the woman on the bed behind him and cursed.

  “How many do they have?” Rayph asked Trysliana and Smear.

  “Many and more, boss.”

  Rayph heard them shatter the front door. He had little time. He thought of Dissonance and Mort and the wave that would be coming past them. He wondered if maybe he should be there by them, wondered if maybe his idea of sticking them forward was a mistake, but as the first of the hissing vampires reached the stairs and rushed forward, Rayph knew his time to change his plan was over.

  Dissonance and Mort prayed at once, two conflicting pleas. One spoke of honor and power, called on a god of light to hold them up and make them deadly. The other begged for destruction and decimation. It spoke of a wake of bodies and death of all who opposed it. It begged for death’s charm to lie within Mort’s fingers. The first vampires that reached the holy warriors died screaming deaths at the point of Dissonance’s spear, or silent deaths at a touch of Mort’s hands.

  Smear fired shot after shot into the streets as Trysliana followed suit. She wore a look of concern where he wore a grin of enjoyment. Rayph watched the door, where a wave of vampires leaped over his first defense to land on all fours behind them. Their bloodthirsty eyes gleamed red, their bruise-colored purple faces contorted in a snarl of rage.

  “Here they come,” Rayph said. Corry laughed and slammed his Ironwood gloves together.

  “Come, foul demons, find me here awaiting your wrath,” Corry shouted. Rayph rolled his eyes.

  The first wave came at Rayph, and his sword swiped at them, catching them in the faces. They dropped to the ground screaming as the next line rushed forward. Corry’s hands were a blur. They slammed his opponents with a speed Rayph had never witnessed. The blows were perfectly placed, caving in a head or stabbing the heart. He moved with a grace that reminded Rayph of the great dancers of the nation of Drine, when he had seen the Virgins of the Horns perform many years ago. Corry was an artist, and Rayph could almost feel his movements as he placed his strikes. Rayph moved in perfect harmony as soon as he had the lay of the man’s rhythm.

  The wizard climbed atop the bed and cast a shielding bubble over it. It covered the lady in a shimmering dome that rose up above Balkaha’s head and down tight against the floor. Rayph thought it might hold up against the lesser vampires they fought now, but Tristan and Kat would rip through it. He swatted away the next group with practiced ease, fighting to control his breathing and steady his heart. This would be a long battle if Smear’s estimation of numbers was right, and Rayph did not want to get winded.

  A crowd of wounded and screaming vampires lay around them. Rayph spoke a word and a wave of the bodies at his feet lifted and rolled forward, driving his attackers to the ground. Trysliana and Smear left their post at the window to stand beside him. Smear dropped his bow to the floor and pulled free his Ironwood fist daggers. Trysliana slowly unsheathed her sword and kissed its tip. It was the sword Rayph had given her. He reached over and rubbed its crossbar.

  With a sudden burst of light, dense smog rolled forward and, all at once, the vampires could not see. They fumbled through the cloud, staring with wide eyes as they searched for their enemies. Trysliana and her allies saw right through the milky smoke as if it were not there.

  “Well, now, that is fun. Thanks, Rayph.” She looked at Smear, who pulled up his hood on his spy’s jacket. He turned a hazy gray color and blended into the mist around him.

  “Seems that sword is full of tricks, isn’t it?” Smear said.

  “Your cloak, too, by the look of it,” she said.

  The two stepped forward into the fog, slicing their unseeing foes to pieces. But more vampires rushed headlong into the mist without slowing or stopping. They came in a dash of fangs and claws that Rayph and Corry had to struggle to slow. The vampires leapt over them to get to the bed, where they crouched on the shimmering dome and hissed. Rayph moved Corry around, placing his back to the mighty warrior and staring forward into the mist.

  “Tristan and Kat will be here anytime now,” Rayph said. “And when they do, they will collapse this dome and all those vampires will land on her and rip her to shreds.”

  Corry shook his head and spat. “Can’t let that happen.” Rayph grabbed him by the belt and spoke a word as he threw him into the air. The pugilist landed on the top of the dome and began laying waste to everything there. Rayph watched the room in front of him, waiting for the end of the drama to find him.

  Dissonance and Mort slowly backed into the room as Tristan and Kat calmly walked in.

  A crowd of bestial vampires behind them hissed.

  Dissonance and Mort moved past all the broken and torn vampires on the floor and stopped beside Rayph.

  “You finally found her. It has been hell waiting for you to get here. The Lady Hemlock makes such a delectable trap, does she not?” Kat walked through the mist with no sign of weakness. Smear and Trysliana slowly set their backs to the sides of the bed.

  “Couldn’t wait to get you here. See, immunities are so rare they are almost legend. Kinda like fairies or unicorns,” Tristan said.

  “Or vampires,” Rayph said.

  “Myth and legend for sure,” Kat said. “People don’t even believe you when you tell them you’re a vampire. They just laugh and toss back another glass of wine. You have to show them to get their attention. But then, I’d say, you really have it.”

  She waved her hand across the air and the dome collapsed. Corry fell onto the center of the bed. The wizard whimpered, and Rayph grunted.

  “This is how it ends, Rayph,” Tristan said. “You can’t run to your little hideout, and you can’t get past us. Your magic is no match for mine, and you have no idea how to kill me. You brought your whole crew to this party. I will rip them all to pieces except maybe,” Rayph sheathed his sword as Tristan laughed. “Maybe that one right there.” He pointed at Trysliana with his nub of an arm, “I have never seen her before. I bet she has a lot of juice on this town when you squeeze her.”

  Rayph called for a pocket of air and reached in to pull out a new sword. It was white and light, thin and well-balanced. He slashed it through the air and
pointed it at Tristan like a rapier.

  The smile soured on Tristan’s face, and he could not go on.

  “What’s wrong, Tristan the Lover? Shaken by the prospect of getting skewered by a bone sword?”

  Rayph stepped forward, and Kat put herself in the way and hissed. Rayph grabbed Smear and shoved him at her with his Ironwood fist daggers. Kat’s face registered fear. She stepped back as Tristan looked around for an escape. He grabbed Kat with his stub of an arm and pulled her toward the window. Trysliana snatched up her bow and fired, hitting Kat in the chest. She gasped and screamed, and Tristan wrapped both arms around her and leapt from the window.

  “Kill the rest,” Rayph commanded. The Manhunters rushed forward with Corry a step behind.

  Making Peace with the King

  Two days of no sleep. Two days of vomiting up every shred of food they gave him. Two days of wishing he was dead. Aaron the Marked walked to a rain barrel in Ironfall, down the street from Dreark’s Stalwart, and he stared at the face reflected there.

  “Are you a fool?”

  He waited for the water to talk but no reply came.

  “Maybe what your father said was true. Maybe they are laughing at you. Maybe you are expendable to them.” Aaron dipped his head in the water and drew it out quickly. The cold liquid rolled down his shoulders and his back. He shivered and looked at the warped and hideous reflection, and he grinned a sarcastic grin.

  “That is what I am. Twisted. A monster. Broken.” He watched as the water slowly, with a bit of time, sorted itself out. The shape turned less bestial, the head solidifying from a ripping sty to a human visage. The whole of his face settled, and he stared at the black scar on his cheek.

  It had busted open again in the ring against Dreark. The wound had never healed, would never heal. He tapped it with a finger before slipping his tongue through it and out his cheek. He stared at the horrifying image, and he wept.

  He had been trying to save Jordai’s life when he had earned that scar, had been trying to keep the man from running to his death. He had saved his brother and had been rewarded with this diabolical wound. The only lasting gift his brother and countryman had ever given him had been a curse on his face.