by Ed Greenwood
‘Too much ale,” quipped a friend. The awkward moment dissolved into laughter, and the performers resumed their tune. Though the music was loud enough to drown out most conversation in the tavern, the Shark had come prepared to eavesdrop. She rested her chin on her hand, ostensibly engrossed in the singing. As she did, she held a tiny, perfectly formed horn to her ear, easily concealed by her flowing black locks. She whispered a spell, and the voice of the barmaid came clearly to her ears.
“That must’ve taken you months! What’s Shallen done for you that you give him so pretty a thing?”
The elf glanced back at the jeweler. “He wears his youth and happiness like a beautiful robe, for all to see and share in. That’s enough. When it’s time for you to get married, Maia, I promise I’ll give you and your husband something even prettier.”
Maia’s response was an uncertain laugh. “Don’t know as I’ll ever have a husband.” Slender, nervous hands gestured at her body, a shade too ripe for modesty, and her beautiful face, a touch too hard for innocence. “Most men like uncharted territory, Master Jander, and I’m more like their own backyard.”
The vampire reached to still her suddenly anxious hands. Gently, he said, “You told me something of that sort six months ago, when I found you in the City of the Dead. I told you then that your past need not destroy your future. I was right-Kurnin hired you at once, didn’t he?”
A sheepish smile played on her full lips. “Aye,” she admitted. “But, Master Jander, none of these people know what I am!” Her voice had dropped to a near-whisper.
The elf’s teasing expression grew more solemn. “You’re wrong, Maia. They know what you are. They don’t know what you were, and that no longer matters.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
As Shallen had been a moment earlier, Maia seemed close to tears. She blinked them back and allowed herself a true smile, revealing the purity of the beauty that lurked behind the hard facade. “You’d charm the very birds off the trees,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
Just as he’s obviously charmed you, the Shark thought with a slight sniff of contempt. Charmed you into being his next meal.
Maia left to refill the mugs of the celebrants, and the elf turned his attention to his wares. He carefully emptied the crate of at least a dozen small carvings, turned it over, and spread his cloak over the makeshift table.
The Shark’s heart beat faster with anticipation. What she was about to do next was risky, but it was part of the deadly game she loved to play, needed to play. She rose and went to meet her quarry.
The vampire glanced up as her shadow fell across him. The Shark noted, as if she needed further proof, that the undead cast no shadow of his own in the flickering lamplight.
“Your work is impressive.” She met the vampire’s gray eyes evenly. There hadn’t been a blooder yet that could charm her, but she enjoyed the danger of flirting with the possibility. To her disappointment, this golden vampire didn’t even try. He merely continued placing his carvings on the crate.
“Thank you.”
“Do you have your own shop here in Waterdeep?”
“I find it more congenial to work during the day and visit different taverns at night.”
I’ll bet you do, the Shark noted silently. She ran a finger along the hull of a tiny, incredibly detailed elven sailing vessel. “People are freer with their money when their throats are wet, I would imagine.”
He chuckled politely. “Perhaps they are. Do you like that piece?”
“I do, but I don’t have enough with me to buy it tonight,” the Shark replied, feigning disappointment. “Could I come to your home tomorrow and purchase it then?”
“I value my privacy when I work,” responded the vampire, a touch too swiftly. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. Shall I keep it for you?”
“I have an engagement, but I’ll send one of my servants for it. Who should she ask for?”
“Jander Sunstar,” the elf replied. “And you are?”
“Shakira Khazaar. Thank you for holding the piece for me.”
“Standard business practice. I’d hate to lose a sale,” Jander answered.
There was a strange expression in those silver eyes, and the Shark felt vaguely uneasy. She had done something wrong. She had gotten careless somehow. The thought was like a slap in the face. She smiled, hoping to allay his suspicion, and was relieved when he returned the gesture with the artless, seemingly genuine smile she had seen him use with the others, his “friends.” Still, she felt his eyes boring into her back as she left.
Once outside, the Shark crossed the street and slipped into an alley. After making sure she had not been observed, she drew the hood of the cloak over her head. Woven and ensorceled by her own hands many years ago, the cloak not only made her invisible, but also disguised the aura produced by her body heat-something vampires could see. The snow-speckled wind was strong, but she maneuvered herself so that it blew directly in her face. Though she was now invisible to the eyes of blooder and human alike, she was not about to risk being betrayed by her scent.
Her wait was not long. Just as the inn closed, the vampire emerged. The barmaid Maia was with him. Carefully, silently, the Shark followed, noting that Jander deliberately left bootprints in the snow, perpetuating the illusion that he was nothing more than an ordinary elf. Too many blooders, used to walking without tracks, forgot that little detail.
Maia and the vampire chatted quietly as he escorted the girl to her home, a single room atop a tailor shop. The Shark waited for the inevitable. The stupid girl, hypnotized by the creature, would invite him in. Of course he would accept, then drink his fill. That was the way it worked, and the Shark never interfered. She knew from a particularly harrowing experience in Suzail that it was unwise to startle a feeding vampire.
Her expectations were fulfilled. Casually, Maia invited the vampire inside, as if she had done so often. Courteously, the blooder accepted. The Shark waited with practiced patience, ignoring the cold. Eventually the vampire emerged, descended the stairs, and turned to stride down the street-still taking care to leave footprints. The hunter followed, slightly puzzled. Rather than assume the form of a bat or dissolve into mist, Jander chose to retain his elven shape and simply walk the distance. He seemed tense, though, and repeatedly glanced over his shoulder.
He thinks someone’s following him, she realized suddenly. How could he know?
The Shark’s mind raced back to the incident at the inn, and she finally recognized what she had done to arouse the blooder’s suspicions. She had not asked the price of the carving. Shame and fear rolled over her, bringing hot blood to her invisible face. Idiot! her mind screamed silently. How could she have jeopardized herself so? Her carelessness could have cost her life-and might still At that instant, Jander paused to look squarely at her, just for a moment. The Shark’s heart lurched… But no, he hadn’t seen her. The blooder turned and continued on his way.
At last he stopped in front of a small, stone cottage near the city’s outskirts. It wasn’t until Jander removed a key and unlocked the door that the Shark understood, with some surprise, that this was the vampire’s home. The wooden shingles and door were solid and in good shape. Beneath the shuttered windows stood the winter skeletons of rose bushes, carefully pruned and planted in neat rows. With a final, anxious glance around, Jander carefully knocked the snow from his boots and went inside.
The Shark tasted disappointment like ashes in her mouth. What kind of a challenge was a vampire who planted rose bushes? How could she prove herself against so feeble a foe? Surely something as exotic as an elven vampire ought to push her to her limits, test every bit of cleverness and skill she possessed! She almost felt that she could walk in right now and dispatch the creature without breaking a sweat, but her earlier carelessness tempered her resentment. She would come back tomorrow and kill him. It would be easy, she knew, yet she still needed to devise a back-up plan just in case something went wrong.
With a final, disgusted look at the cozy cottage that was home to a vampire, she turned and retraced her steps to town. There was one more thing to do tonight.
Protected from all eyes by her magical cloak, the Shark arrived at the blooder’s cottage the following afternoon. The vampire’s domicile was part of a small row of houses, which all seemed vacant at the moment; Shallen Lathkule’s wedding, held at the other end of Waterdeep, had indeed drawn a huge crowd. With speedy efficiency, the Shark picked the lock and slipped inside. Closing the door behind her, she allowed her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness, then looked around.
On this, the ground floor of the two-story building, she saw nothing sinister, apart from the shutters that were nailed closed and coated with pitch to seal out sunlight. There was a large workbench, with the woodcarver’s tools neatly organized. Half-formed carvings sat patiently on shelves. Where they were not covered with shelving, the walls bore lovely paintings and tapestries. In one corner, carefully preserved, was a suit of mail, a sword, and a shield. Relics, no doubt, from the vampire’s days as a living being. The stone floor was strewn with fresh rushes. Small squeaking sounds came from behind a curtain toward the back. Senses alert, the Shark moved forward carefully and drew back the curtain.
Dozens of rats milled about in a large pen. She watched them carefully for a few moments, aware that sometimes such simple beasts could be controlled by vampires, but the rats behaved in a perfectly ordinary fashion. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she let the curtain fall. “Between meal treats,” she said softly. Most blooders kept something of the sort on hand.
She checked the wooden floor for any hidden doors, but found none. The Shark frowned, puzzled, and glanced at the ladder that led up to the upper floor. Most undead liked their lairs cool and dark, belowground if possible. The Shark shrugged. Upstairs, downstairs-it made no difference to her. Soundlessly, she climbed up to the small loft. She raised her head cautiously, then drew a swift intake of breath.
This vampire had no coffin. Neither did he lie rigid with his hands neatly folded atop his chest. He slept sprawled on the floor, arms and legs bent at unnatural angles. The beautiful features that had smiled in the lamplight last night were contorted in what looked like fear. For an instant, the Shark hesitated. She’d never seen a blooder sleep in that position. Could she possibly have been wrong?
No, she decided in the next heartbeat. She had never been wrong where blooders were concerned. Quietly she climbed the rest of the way up and walked carefully over to Jander. No chest movement. He was certainly dead-but why this position? Then it came to her. Blooders slept as they had died, and most had been laid out and buried in coffins. Jander Sunstar had obviously met his vampiric fate in a less tranquil fashion and had never seen a proper ritual burial.
She leaned forward for a better look, and the hood dropped into her eyes. Annoyed, she slipped the hood to her shoulders, instantly becoming visible. It didn’t matter. Jander, like every blooder she’d ever slain, was vulnerable, unable to move, let alone fight, during daylight hours. He would die, too. The only question in her mind now was how she would kill him. Her strong hands fell to her wide belt, which hosted her tools. Jander’s contorted position did not give her a clear shot with her favorite weapon, a small, specially crafted crossbow she could wield with one hand. She had to go with the traditional implements-the stake and hammer.
Straddling the undead body, she placed the tip of the sharpened stake to his breast. She raised the hammer and said the words that she always uttered before a kill: “The Shark sends you to the Nine Hells.” Then, in a disgusted tone, she added, “You were too easy.”
A gold-skinned hand seized her left wrist. Silver eyes gazed up at her. “Not that easy,” replied the vampire.
The Shark recovered almost at once from her shock. A quick flick of her wrist liberated a small glass ball from up her sleeve. Liquid-holy water-sloshed within the delicately blown sphere. She shoved it down toward the vampire’s face, but he was unbelievably fast. He loosed his grip on her arm, his hand flying up in a blur to protect his face. The glass ball broke, but instead of searing his eyes, the holy water ignited his fingers.
Before the monster could take mist form and flee, the Shark leapt clear, pulled her crossbow from its harness behind her back, aimed, and fired. The slim wooden bolt sank deep into the vampire’s chest. Immediately his body began to desiccate; the flesh shriveled and turned from golden to dull tan. Gasping, he dropped to his knees on the wooden floor. The Shark watched eagerly, hungry for the creature’s pain. She hadn’t expected the vampire to retain so much of his former race that he could move during the day. But she had gotten him, in spite of-Flailing golden hands closed on the shaft, and the Shark realized that, although the wooden arrow had hit Jander’s chest, perhaps even grazed the heart, it had not pierced that most vital of the vampire’s organs. With a mighty tug, Jan-der pulled the shaft free. His golden coloration returned in a rush, and his features took on their normal shape-save that the gentleness was gone from his face.
The Shark scrambled for the ladder, Jander in furious pursuit. She could not defeat him here, not now, and was intent on leaving with her skin intact. Behind her, she heard a savage growl and knew he had taken wolf form. She let go of the rungs and dropped the rest of the way down to the first floor, but not before sharp teeth clicked shut mere inches from her fingers.
She hit the ground running. Shoving her left hand into one of the pouches on her belt, she felt the gooey combination of bat guano and sulphur. ‘Twelve feet ahead, three feet high!” she commanded, then pointed her right index finger at the far wall of the cottage.
A small ball of fire appeared at her fingertip, growing in size as it hurtled toward the wall. It exploded on contact, igniting many of Jander’s beautiful carvings. Sunlight streamed into the cottage, and the Shark dived headfirst through the opening.
Despite the cushion of snow, she landed hard, and the wind was knocked out of her. For a wild instant, she wondered if this vampire, in addition to being active during the day, was also immune to sunlight. But Jander did not follow her.
The Shark rolled over, gasping for breath. At last she stumbled to her feet and peered in through the hole in the wall. He was nowhere to be seen, of course; he was hiding from the burning light. She was glad now that she had taken the time last night to plan for just such trouble.
“Vampire,” she called. Silence. “Vampire! I know you can hear me!”
“I hear you.” The same voice as last night, melodious, but this time laced with pain and anger. The sound gave her pleasure. He had surprised her up in the loft. Now, she had a surprise for him.
“I have Maia.”
Silence. Then, “You lie.”
“I followed you both from the inn last night, then I went back and got her.”
A low groan was her reward, and her pleasure grew.
“Don’t hurt her… Please. She’s innocent. She doesn’t know anything about me. I’m the one you want!” The sounds of movement came from within. “I’ll… I’ll come out.”
Alarms sounded in her head. “No!” she cried with more emotion than she had intended. She’d fallen for that trick before, let a vampire volunteer to die in the sunlight, only to discover that the blooder was also a mage who could cast a sphere of darkness about them both. Unconsciously, her hand went to her throat, touched the healed scar there. She’d been bitten, but she’d won-and had learned a lesson about the treacherous nature of vampires.
But if this blooder were acting, he was quite the thespian. The Shark heard real pain in his voice. “Why would you want to do that?” she asked. “What is Maia that you would surrender yourself?” She wanted to hear his answer, but she kept alert for any attack.
From inside, Jander said softly, “She’s lovely, and I appreciate beauty.”
The Shark snorted. “So you were simply admiring her beauty last night in her room.”
A pause, then: “She is untouched. I visit her
each night. I’m teaching her how to read.”
“Untouched is hardly the term I’d use to describe a two-copper whore, and as for reading-”
“What she did to survive does not concern me.” Anger thrummed in the rich voice. “What she is now, and what she might be, is what I care about. She is eager to learn. I want to help.”
“You want to help, not kill, is that right?”
“Someone once gave me a chance to atone for my past How can I not do the same for Maia?”
The Shark couldn’t help it. Her amusement grew until she actually laughed aloud. He couldn’t possibly expect her to believe such a wildly preposterous story. “You are most entertaining, Master Elf. But I remain unconvinced. If you truly wish to insure Maia a pleasant future, you’ll follow through on your offer. My terms are simple: your unlife for her true life. Meet me tonight, at the monument in the City of the Dead. If you don’t show up-well, the slut means nothing to me.”
Another pause. “Most who hunt the nosferatu are holy people. You are not, Shakira Khazaar. Had you been, I would have rejoiced that you had found me, and I would have known why I was hunted. You have asked questions of me, now I ask you: Why would you use an innocent like Maia so? Why do you wish to kill me when I have done no one in this city harm?”
The Shark was taken aback by the unexpected query. No one had ever asked her this before. She killed because that was what she did. She’d done it all her life-first in self-defense, then for money as a hired assassin. When the pleasure of taking human life paled, she’d turned to stalking the undead. Blooders were a challenge, and everyone wanted them destroyed. She was no longer the thief Shakira, afraid and alone. Neither was she a nameless assassin, who hunted and hid in shadows. She had transformed herself into the Shark, who always caught her prey, whose prowess in the fine art of killing was sought after and widely praised. But these reasons did not come to her lips now. Instead she spat venomously, “Because Captain Rhynn Oriandis wants you destroyed, you gods-rotted bloodsucker.”