Traitor to the Blood

by Barb Hendee

  His next awareness was waking in a shallow open grave, covered in dead bodies. Their throats slit, blood spilling over him, soaking into him, saturating his clothing and flesh. Inside, he was drenched in his own fear. The pain still in his throat was so intense it made every muscle in his body spasm.

  And from nearby he had heard Welstiel's voice. "Are you awake yet?"

  Welstiel brought Chane back, but Chane had not come back the same. Too much of himself was still lying in that grave. And he couldn't even remember Wynn mourning for him.

  Chane reached out and fingered one of the new quills Welstiel had left, wondering where Wynn was and if she was safe.

  Darmouth walked into the council hall with Faris two steps behind him between two of Omasta's men. Darmouth had too many pressing matters and suspects to watch, and now Emêl had begged an audience for some stranger. The baron was the last of his trusted ministers and rarely asked for anything. Dismissing the request out of hand would be rash, and somehow Hedí was involved. This was enough to convince Darmouth to agree.

  The wall braziers were lit and fat candles glowed from the long table. Two heavy tapestries hung on the back wall, one depicting his family crest, and the other was a lone, faceless rider on a rearing horse against a black background. Darmouth cared little for art, but the rider appealed to him.

  Emêl stood waiting with a pale man in a knit cap. Darmouth crossed his thick arms and looked the stranger up and down.

  "May I introduce Viscount Andraso," Emêl said in a formal tone.

  Darmouth offered neither his hand nor a curt nod. Andraso looked about forty years old, of medium height and build. His eyes were strange, nearly colorless, like worthless quartz, and a slight bump widened the bridge of his nose. His clothes were hidden beneath a knee-length cloak, but that was no concern, as Omasta's men would have searched him and removed any weapons.

  "Why are you here?" Darmouth asked bluntly.

  "Lady Progae was attacked last night," Emêl said, "by a man with misshapen teeth. He bit her throat, but she is all right. We need to track down this creature, and the viscount believes he can help."

  "What do you mean 'bit her'?" Darmouth demanded. Being confused wasn't something he liked.

  Viscount Andraso held up a gloved hand. "Baron Milea is still distraught by the events of last night. I assure you that Lady Progae is well, her wound minor and attended. The baron's men intervened quickly, but she was attacked by a vampire."

  Andraso spoke with a distinct accent, and Darmouth forgot his confusion. He distrusted foreigners almost as much as his own nobles. "You're an outlander. Where are you from and why are you here?"

  "Droevinka,' Andraso answered politely. "Merely passing this way while searching for a friend."

  Emêl pushed a lock of thinning hair back and stepped closer to Darmouth. "Please, my lord, hear him out."

  "He's mad," Darmouth answered. "Vampires? I'm no addle-minded peasant! Throw him out."

  "No, please, my lord," Emêl said. "The… creature… that attacked Hedí was not a normal man, and I tended what was clearly a bite on her throat. Several of my men saw him—saw his teeth."

  Darmouth frowned. Emêl possessed no imagination, which was largely why he remained trustworthy. He was not given to overstatement or nonsense. Faris stepped closer to listen, his slender fingers intertwined.

  "I know something of such creatures," Andraso said, "as they've been seen in my homeland. A hunter of the dead, a dhampir, is needed to track one down and destroy it."

  Darmouth glanced at Faris, who backed away, and then turned to ask, "And you're such a hunter?"

  Andraso shook his head. "No."

  "Then why waste my time? If such a beast exists, my soldiers can deal with it."

  Even in concern for his future bride, Darmouth wearied of this stranger's prattle. He cared nothing for some madman loose in the city, as sooner or later his soldiers always found and eliminated any troublemaker.

  Andraso stepped closer, his eyes moving from Darmouth's face to his breastplate and back up again. "How many noblewomen live in the city at present?"

  Darmouth's frown deepened. "Why are you asking?"

  "By legend and folklore, some undead develop habits… specific tastes. This one tried to take a noblewoman behind the finest inn in the city. How will your nobles react if their women are threatened? Unless their lord takes action."

  Darmouth felt his own face grow hot at the insinuation. Who was this foreigner to try intimidating him?

  Emêl stepped between them. "My lord, this man says a hunter named Magiere is here in the city. If you were to… to use official methods to locate her, we could retain her services quietly. If she's half what the viscount claims, she may track the beast down before word spreads, and this entire affair will be quickly over."

  Darmouth looked into Emêl's narrow face and his stifled rage subsided. Emêl might be weak and unimaginative, but he often provided sensible counsel. Nodding slowly, Darmouth turned to one of his bodyguards. "Get Omasta in here now!"

  As the bodyguard hurried out, Darmouth turned on Faris and didn't care if his dislike for the man showed. Vagabond trash that he was, the Móndyalítko and his wife had their uses—and talents. "Locate this hunter, Magiere. I want her found tonight."

  Lieutenant Omasta strode through the council hall archway, a clot of gravy caught in his blond beard. "My lord?"

  "Take a small contingency to the Bronze Bell," Darmouth instructed "Bring Lady Progae to the keep for protection." He paused at Emêl's shocked expression. "For her safety, until this is settled."

  Emêl nodded and stepped back to escort his guest out. For an instant, no more than that, Darmouth was puzzled. Had something… threatening flickered across the baron's plain features?

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Magiere rook another sip of tea and shuffled the deck of cards. Byrd and Leesil sat across from her at a table in the common room.

  It had been a long, unproductive day, but late as it was, no one showed interest in heading for bed. Wynn sat on the floor trying to tease Chap's interest in Potato and Tomato's wrestling game. Clover Roll crouched alone atop a table at the room's rear, glowering at everyone.

  A few patrons came earlier for an evening meal. Magiere gave Byrd a hand at the bar, missing the nights at her own Sea Lion tavern. She wondered how Caleb and Rose fared in Müska and hoped Leesil was right about Aunt Bieja heading there on her own.

  Magiere's assistance was also an excuse to watch over Byrd. Like Wynn, she thought the man deceitful at best, with designs on Leesil connected to the unfinished drawings he had so casually handed over. She wished they'd never come here, but Byrd might still be the only lead to answers for Leesil. After the patrons left, Magiere sat down to play cards. She chatted politely as she watched over Leesil, hoping Byrd would tip his hand in some way.

  Leesil's heart didn't appear to be in the game. He'd stayed upstairs, out of sight, until the last of the patrons were gone. As the night ran on, he grew more restless. Magiere knew that they must soon decide on some course of action.

  "More tea?" Byrd asked. "Or something stout? Your father never drank, but I don't know your habits."

  Leesil hesitated in a way that set Magiere on edge. "Just tea," he replied.

  Byrd headed off for the kitchen. Magiere wished she had the man alone. Getting Byrd drunk might yield something more than Leesil had gotten out of him.

  "Leesil, look," Wynn said. "Like four little hands!"

  Magiere glanced down. Tomato had all four paws wrapped savagely around Wynn's arm as if locked in a life-and-death battle. The sage's fascination with the kittens baffled Magiere, and the attempt to get a smile from Leesil failed. Chap was merely bored, head lying on his paws.

  Clover Roll yowled.

  Magiere tensed, and Chap instantly sprang to his feet. The cat's mouth opened wide, exposing missing teeth in a long, grating hiss. As Byrd trotted back in from the kitchen, clunking the teapot down on a tab
le, the mangy animal's noise grew louder.

  Clover Roll leaped from table to table all the way to the front window's sill and pushed at the closed shutters.

  "What's up?" Byrd asked and joined the fat feline, but when he cracked the shutter to peek out, he whirled around, all traces of the witty innkeeper gone. "All of you, get in the kitchen, now! Keep quiet and out of sight."

  Leesil stood up. "Byrd—"

  "Move!" Byrd whispered harshly, and grabbed Wynn's arm, pulling her up as he rushed them all into the kitchen and jerked the curtain closed. "Not a sound."

  Magiere looked to Leesil for answers, but he shook his head, white-blond hair falling forward over his shoulder. The curtain swayed slightly as Clover Roll sauntered in, weaving through their legs away from Chap to settle beneath the kitchen table.

  There was a knock at the inn's front door. Magiere hooked the curtain with one fingertip and peered out.

  Byrd opened the front door, revealing a slender man. His wild black hair, dusky complexion, and silver earrings marked him as a Móndyalítko. When he turned his head, she noticed he wore the rings in only one ear. His other ear was missing, and only smooth scars remained.

  Magiere didn't care much for these wanderers with their wagon houses. She and Leesil had encountered their traveling families over years on the road. They wore motley bright clothes and had open smiles for strangers, and their laughter came too easily to be trustworthy.

  The man in the doorway was different. Closed and serious, with hard eyes, he showed none of his people's sly mirth. He was rather plainly dressed in a burgundy shirt, high boots, and a thin belt. As he stepped into the common room, several cats scurried out from hiding beneath tables. Even Tomato and Potato skittered around behind the bar in a strange panic.

  "Bit late for a visit, Faris," Byrd said.

  "As if I'd make a social call here," the man answered.

  "Then what do you want?" Byrd shut the door but didn't follow his visitor into the common room. He stayed at the bar's far end near the front door.

  "Lord Darmouth wishes to find a woman named Magiere. He's been told she's in the city."

  Magiere stiffened. Why and how had she come to that tyrant's attention?

  Byrd merely shrugged. "And what of it?"

  "We were told she's a dhampir." Faris offered a shallow smile of mockery. "A noblewoman was assaulted outside the Bronze Bell last night. The story is that the attacker was a vampire."

  Faris waited for Byrd's reaction. When none came, he continued with a shrug of his own.

  "Our lord wants to protect the city, of course, so he wishes to engage this hunter's services… for whatever fee. Put the word out and be quick about it. He wants her found tonight."

  "Of course." Byrd paused. "But which noblewoman was attacked?"

  "Lady Hedí Progae. She is safe now, under our lord's protection."

  As Faris spoke the name, Magiere heard a breath sucked in behind her. Something clattered to the floor, followed by a hiss. She glanced back to find that Leesil had retreated back against the kitchen table, knocking off a carving knife and startling Clover Roll. Leesil's gaze was fixed on the curtained doorway, and he didn't blink.

  The noise had surely attracted Faris's attention, and Magiere dropped one hand to her hip. The falchion wasn't there. She'd stowed it behind the bar while serving drinks earlier that evening.

  Clover Roll scurried out from under the table. Magiere ducked back as the doorway curtain rustled in the cat's passage. When the fabric settled in place, she peeked out again. The cat sauntered around the bar's near end and out into the common room.

  Byrd looked down at the cat and smiled calmly. "Ah well, I forgot about my partner's late night nibble. My kitchen will be in quite a state for that oversight."

  Paris sneered in disgust. "Just find the hunter—tonight." He pushed past Byrd to the front door and left.

  Magiere spun around, stepping close in front of Leesil. He didn't acknowledge her.

  "What's wrong?" she said. "That woman's name…"

  Magiere stopped. Leesil's gaze wandered across the floor, eyes shifting quickly as if he was watching something. When she glanced down, there was nothing to see. Leesil remained silent, and at first Magiere thought she saw him shaking his head ever so slightly. Then she realized he was shuddering.

  "Leesil? What has that woman to do with this?"

  And still, he didn't seem to know she was there. She was about to grab him and shake him to awareness when Byrd stepped through the doorway curtain.

  "You heard?" he asked.

  Before Magiere could answer, Leesil whispered.

  "A trap…"

  Magiere slowly reached toward him and then stopped.

  "If Darmouth knows of Magiere," Leesil continued to himself, "then he knows she's with me. He knows I'm here, and this is just a pretense to draw me out."

  "Don't be so quick," Byrd warned.

  "What if there is a vampire?" Wynn asked, looking to Magiere.

  The little sage stood off to the side and couldn't see Leesil's face as Magiere could. Leesil blinked, finally focusing on Magiere, then slowly tilted his head toward Wynn as if realizing she was there and had spoken.

  "There are better cities to settle in," he said, "where prey is just as plentiful."

  Byrd's brow wrinkled at Leesil's response. Magiere wished Leesil hadn't been so quick to reveal their belief in such creatures. And normally he wouldn't have.

  Byrd shook his head and answered hesitantly, his brow wrinkling as he eyed Leesil.

  "Faris thinks it's all nonsense… but he believes Darmouth is convinced that your woman can deal with this… vampire, supposedly. Any truth to it?"

  "Yes," Magiere snapped, her self-control faltering. "And call me 'his woman' again, and I'll fix you so you've no interest in one of your own."

  Byrd didn't even react to her warning. "Anyone before ever try to locate you like this? To hire you?"

  "We spent years on the backroads, working the remote villages of southern Stravina," she answered. There was no point letting Byrd know it had all been a ruse until last season.

  "We never worked this far north," Leesil whispered, "No one here would've heard of her by rumor. Someone told him we were here… told him of Magiere."

  "And now Darmouth has invited me inside the keep," she said, and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  Leesil's gaze lifted to her face as if her voice had startled him. His eyes widened, and his head shook. Not truly in denial but more like the shudder within him had grown suddenly.

  "This is over!" he tried to shout, but it came out harsh and grating rather than loud. "You're not meeting Darmouth in that keep or anywhere else. We're leaving tonight."

  Before Magiere's anger fueled a retort, Byrd pushed her aside to face Leesil.

  "Don't be a fool! She's fierce and clever, and she's been handed an invitation to the last place your parents were seen. She can handle Darmouth. I didn't think Nein'a's son would go belly-up so easily."

  Leesil tensed, and his features slackened for an instant before his eyes locked on Byrd. He started to lean forward as if ready to lunge.

  Magiere shoved Byrd back. "Shut your mouth and get away from him!"

  For a second, Byrd peered straight in her eyes, waiting. He backed up to lean against a cutting block table at the kitchen's side wall.

  "Am I right?" he asked her. "You think about it… and maybe get him to do the same."

  Magiere's instincts rose like hunger in her throat. Leesil's self-control had slipped farther than she'd ever seen before, and it had something to do with the woman's name Faris had mentioned. Getting inside the keep might be her only avenue to help him find answers, but now Byrd was suddenly pushing too hard. Why had the man lost his temper the instant Leesil mentioned leaving?

  Wynn stepped away from Byrd to the kitchen table, but she was watching Leesil as warily as the innkeeper. Leesil lowered his head, hands gripping the table edge as he clenched his ey
es shut.

  "I am coming with you," Wynn said quietly to Magiere. "So is Chap. We may recognize things of interest while you are negotiating services with Darmouth."

  "No," Leesil said hoarsely. "Wynn, don't—"

  "We'll have Byrd feel this out," Magiere cut in, "and try arranging an audience. If it smells bad—or we don't like the way he handles it—then we're gone. All right?"

  "Why ask me?" Leesil said coldly. "You've made up your mind."

  He shoved off the table so hard it slid several inches, making Wynn jump back and Chap sidestep out of his way. As he swatted the doorway curtain aside and left, Magiere watched in stunned silence. Worse still was that she didn't know whether to leave him be or follow and force out of him whatever had just pushed him over the edge.

  Magiere turned on Byrd. "Set it up. Tell me as soon as you hear anything."

  Byrd's eyes were on the kitchen curtain, still swaying in Leesil's wake. He glanced at her, nodded with a frown, and left. It wasn't until Magiere heard the inn's front door slam shut that Wynn came up to her.

  "Chap and I are going with you," Wynn insisted, and grasped Magiere's arm. "You will need us."

  Magiere looked at her, and finally nodded. "Yes, Wynn, I know."

  Hedí sat at a mahogany table in the small common area of the Bronze Bell Inn. It was little more than a wide alcove just off the foyer and the main hallway running between the front and rear doors. She wore a midnight-blue velvet gown with a matching wide ribbon around her neck to hide her recent wound. She picked at an apple tart with a fork as she waited for Emêl's return.

  The clop or hooves grew loud outside the inn, and the creak of the front door followed. Hedí was slightly surprised when Lieutenant Omasta strode through the foyer into view. Emêl was close behind, and the subtle widening of his eyes and clench of his jaw muscles told her something was wrong.

  "What has happened?" she asked.

  She stood up, her head barely reaching the top of Omasta's leather hauberk, and stepped around him to Emêl standing in the hallway. There were four of Omasta's guards waiting near the front door and no sign of Emêl's own men.