Dhampir

by J. C.

  "May I fetch ale, my lord?" Teesha asked politely, wanting some reason to move away from the table. "No, I came for you."

  The answer stunned her into confusion. "Beg pardon?"

  Corische stood up and pushed his cloak back. His skin was pale, but his shoulders and upper arms were thick beneath the armor.

  "I have already been in the village a few nights, watching you. Your face is pleasing. You will come back to the keep with me and stay while I'm detained here. A few years at most, but you'll want for nothing."

  Fear hollowed out Teesha's stomach, but she smiled as if his request were an ordinary flirtatious remark.

  "Oh, I think my husband may object," she said, turning to go back to her work.

  "Husband?" Lord Corische's brown eyes moved beyond her and settled knowingly on Edwan—fragile, fierce Edwan, who was tightly poised, ready to jump over the bar.

  "This is not the time, my lord," Rashed said quietly.

  A long moment passed. Then Corische nodded to Teesha, stood, and left without a word. Rashed got up and followed.

  That night in bed, Edwan begged her to pack her belongings and slip away with him.

  "To where?" she asked.

  "Anywhere. This isn't over."

  The small northern village was her home, and she foolishly insisted they stay. Two nights later, a local farmer that Edwan once quarreled with over the price of bread grain was found stabbed to death behind the inn. When Lord Corische's men came to investigate, they found a bloody knife hidden under Edwan and Teesha's bed. Rashed was there, seemingly overseeing the search, yet all he did was enter, sit at a table before the hearth, and wait. When the knife was brought out by Corische's soldiers, neither surprise nor anger registered in his transparent eyes. He simply nodded shallowly, and the guards proceeded as if their orders had already been given.

  Teesha was too stunned to cry out when soldiers dragged her husband from the inn in shackles. She saw Rashed's eyes, and how empty they were, except for a twitch she couldn't be quite sure of before it was gone again.

  Before Teesha could lunge after Edwan, a third guard snatched her by the arms from behind. Lord Corische then entered the inn and stood patiently in front of her, waiting for her to give up her struggling.

  For the first time, Teesha began to believe his crude appearance and rough speech were a disguise to mask some hidden self. There was no life in his face, no feeling at all.

  "What will happen to him?" she whispered.

  "He will be sentenced to death." Corische paused. "Unless you come to the keep with me tonight."

  Had she been stupid or just naive? She had heard stories around the inn about nobles and their abuses, destroying the lives of others without concern. She thought such tales were merely exaggerations.

  "If I come with you, he will live?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  He did not let her pack so much as a spare dress. She was escorted outside to two bay horses held at the ready by one of Corische's men. Corische mounted one, and Rashed the other. Edwan was nowhere to be seen.

  "Rashed is your servant as well now," Corische said. "He will protect you."

  Rashed leaned down and gripped her under the arms. He lifted her in front of himself as if she were parchment. Although horror prevented her from taking note of the moment, it came back to her many times later. On that night she was still Teesha the serving girl, who loved her husband and believed life consisted of songs and spiced turnips, Teesha the serving girl who couldn't understand where her Edwan was or what was happening to him. Sitting sideways on the saddle, she leaned back and clung to Rashed's tunic as his horse jumped forward.

  The ride to Gäestev Keep took forever. With no cloak, the freezing air cut through her dress. Rashed did not verbally acknowledge her presence, but after she shivered once, he rode with both his arms covering hers to shield her from the wind. Corische rode on ahead, with his remaining soldiers bringing up the rear of the procession.

  And still there was no sign of Edwan. Had he already been dragged off to some damp cell?

  The keep loomed ahead, and her fear shifted to her own fate. It was an imposing construction of stone, a squat and wide tower with a stable and guardhouse built against its sides. When Rashed lifted her down, she considered running but had no notion of where to go, and she feared what would happen to Edwan if she did run.

  The inside of the keep looked as bleak as the outside. No welcoming fires burned, and the bitter wind was exchanged for the bone-chilling cold of air trapped within stone walls. No pictures or tapestries hung on those walls. Old straw covered the main floor. Stone steps running around the inner wall led to the unseen upper levels. The only furniture visible was a long, cracked table and one massive chair. Two small torches on the wall burned to provide light.

  Lord Corische did not notice her chattering teeth and walked past her to lay his sword on the table. Torchlight glinted off his smooth head.

  "Ratboy," he called out. "Parko."

  The timbre of his voice dropped to an echoing, angry growl. Skittering, running feet on the stairs made Teesha unconsciously pull back behind Rashed. Two strange men—or creatures—entered the room.

  The first looked like a street urchin, covered with dirt down to the surface of his teeth. He could have been a boy or a young man. Everything about him was brown except for his skin, which she glimpsed beneath smudges of grime. The second figure, however, terrified her instantly, even more than Corische.

  An emaciated white face with bestial eyes that sparked in the torchlight looked as if it were carved from bone. Strands of filthy black hair hung down his back beneath a tied kerchief that she guessed had once been green. But it was his movements that frightened her most. Quick as an animal, he darted into the room, springing off the steps before reaching the bottom. He caught himself on the table and used his hands to propel himself around, smelling at the air.

  His eyes settled in her direction, and he lunged across the room, stopping halfway, neck swiveling and craning as he tried to see her behind Rashed.

  "You do not wait to greet your master?" Corische said coldly.

  "Forgive us," Ratboy answered in a lilting tone. "We were preparing the woman's room as you asked."

  His polite voice belied the hatred and mischief in his eyes. Parko dropped low to crouch on all fours and did not turn to face Corische.

  "Woman," Parko said, nodding.

  The numbness of Teesha's emotions faded as she looked about at the pit into which she'd been cast. These were the kind of men who served her liege lord? Where were the fires? Where were the guards and the casks of ale and the food?

  Rashed stepped forward, exposing her to view. He crouched down to Parko's level.

  "You cannot touch her, Parko. Do you understand? She's not for you."

  The odd, gentle quality in his tone surprised Teesha.

  "Woman," Parko repeated.

  "He does not need your warnings," Corische said, removing his cloak, "and you forget your place."

  Rashed stood and stepped back. "Yes, my lord."

  Corische then turned to Teesha. "I am not cruel. You may rest for a night or two before taking up your duties."

  "Duties? What are my duties?"

  "Acting as lady of the keep." He paused for a moment, then laughed as if he'd finally understood some elusive joke. The sound brought Teesha's dinner to the base of her throat.

  "If I am to be lord here," Corische continued, "I must have a lady, even a floor-scrubbing tavern wench like you."

  That was her first hint that Corische harbored no desire to play lord of Gäestev Keep. Most feudal overseers were assigned fiefs as gifts from nobles wealthier than themselves or from their own liege lords. But what did Corische want from her? She knew nothing of ladies or playing at nobility. She looked again at Ratboy and Parko in confusion. If Corische surrounded himself with lowly creatures in order to feel more important, then why enlist someone like Rashed? And why bother with a woman to play at being lady
of the house?

  She was locked in a filthy tower room that night and left to shiver with no fire and only a thin, moldy flannel sheet as a blanket. No one came all the next day, but the following night, she heard the door unlock and was caught between relief and terror. Rashed entered with a tray of tea, mutton stew, and bread, and he carried a cape over one arm.

  "It's freezing in here," she said.

  "Put this on." He held out the cape as he set the tray on the floor in front of her. "The keep is ancient. There are no hearths, only a fire pit in the main room. I found wood and lit it. Some heat might rise, but do not go down there without the master or myself."

  She couldn't tell if he was being kind or just instructing her in one more rule of the house. Then she realized it didn't matter. He seemed the closest thing she had to a friend in this vile place. Unwanted tears ran down her cheeks.

  "What about Edwan?" She stood, taking one step closer to Rashed. "Will he be released soon?"

  Rashed was silent for a moment, not moving, his eyes staring at the wall behind her.

  "Your husband was sentenced this morning and executed at dusk." He said it without any change of tone in his voice.

  He turned toward the door, preparing to leave. "Do you wish to sit by the fire?"

  A kind of madness tickled Teesha's brain.

  "Do I wish to… ?" She began laughing. "You bastard."

  For nothing—she'd come to this nightmare pit for nothing, and Edwan, who deserved a peaceful life more than anyone she'd known, was dead simply because some twisted lord fancied his wife. The vicious comedy of it all became more than she could bear. Death was far preferable to this existence.

  She bolted past Rashed, running down the short hall. She didn't know if Rashed pursued her or not as she ran down the stone steps to the main room. Lord Corische sat at the cracked table writing on a scroll with a feather quill. Teesha ignored him and ran for the great oak doors.

  As she reached out for the iron latch, Parko sprang in front of her as if sprouting from the earth, snarling and sucking in her scent. She staggered back in reflex, but did not turn around, her eyes focused watchfully on the disheveled figure in front of her.

  "Let me out of here!" she ordered Corische. She had nothing left for him to take, nothing that mattered to her, and so no more reason for fear.

  Then she saw the enormous iron bar across the door. She hadn't even noticed it while rushing to escape. It was wider than her own upper arm and so thick and heavy it didn't seem possible that any one person could have lifted it alone. It was most certainly impossible for her to do so by herself.

  "Take this down," she said, her back still to Corische. "Our pact is over."

  "Rashed put that bar up. Even I would have difficulty removing it. Did you enjoy dinner?"

  Hatred was a new emotion for Teesha, disorienting, and it took a moment to think through Corische's insulting chatter.

  "If you wanted a lady for your house, why didn't you find one? Are you afraid she would detest your crude manners and lowborn airs? No, you wanted someone beneath you that you could lord over"—she looked at Parko, no longer frightened by him, then caught sight of Ratboy hovering in the corner—"like the rest of your wretched little mob."

  She heard something slam down on the table hard enough to make it slide and grate on the stone floor. He was easy to anger. Good. She turned about to face him and saw clean, unmasked rage.

  "You live at my mercy," he said, "at my whim. Do not forget that."

  "Your mercy?" The madness in her laugh matched Parko's eyes. "And what makes you believe living has anything to do with this? You murdered my Edwan, and I will do nothing to bring you pleasure. Do you understand me now? I will not grace your table nor entertain your guests nor do anything you desire. I will try to escape every day until I succeed or you tire of it and kill me."

  Corische appeared stunned into silence.

  Teesha only blinked once, reflexively, and he was suddenly across the room at her side.

  His hand lashed out and grabbed her arm. The stale smell of him filled her with revulsion, but his grip hurt so badly she couldn't help crying out.

  "You will do as I say," he hissed. "I am master here. This keep may be a pathetic hovel, but I am still lord and you will obey."

  "No," she whimpered. "You murdered my Edwan."

  Corische swept the floor with one foot, kicking aside the straw to reveal a worn wooden hatch with an inset iron ring. Before Teesha could resist, he jerked up the hatch and shoved her inside.

  Teesha expected to fall straight down, but instead she tumbled along stone steps in the dark. When she reached bottom finally, her head banged against a stone floor she couldn't even see in the half-light spilling down from the open hatch. A hollow thud echoed through the chamber as the hatch slammed closed, leaving her in complete darkness.

  She sat up, feeling along her limbs for any wounds greater than bruises or scrapes. At least now she was away from him for the moment.

  A savage grunt came from the dark.

  "You will do whatever I ask," a voice said, "because you won't be able to stop yourself."

  Corische had come down the steps behind her and was somewhere in the chamber.

  Teesha slid back from his voice. Finding the bottom stair with her hand, she turned to scramble upward to the hatch. Something tangled in her hair, jerking her back, and she felt fingers coil tighter just before her head was slammed to the floor.

  She couldn't be sure if she'd lost consciousness for a moment, but she became aware of someone large crouched over her, pinning her down. The smell of Corische's breath hit her in the face. His hand was still in her hair, pulling hard enough to hurt as her head tilted back. She tried to thrash free and cried out instinctively. Her scream was cut short as she felt canine teeth bite down on her throat.

  Teesha gasped in panic, wondering from where the animal had come, and became rigid with shock when she realized it was Corische. Air became harder and harder to take in as she heard him suck her blood through his teeth. As he continued to drink, the dark around her began to tingle on her skin. Her head swam, her breath grew shorter and shorter, until she could barely feel the air move in and out through her slack mouth.

  He pulled back suddenly, and she wheezed in a lungful of air just before she felt herself jerked up to sitting position. Her arms were still pinned to her sides by Corische's thick legs. Both his hands clamped across the back of her head, and he crushed her face into his chest.

  The stink of his flesh made her gag, but his skin felt chilled. And there was something wet smearing against her face.

  She opened her mouth, trying to breathe, and the wetness spread across her lips. A coppery taste hit her tongue. The liquid was as cold as his skin, but she could still recognize the taste from the times she cut a finger or thumb while preparing food in the inn's kitchen—and she'd raised the small wound to her mouth, trying to stop the drops of blood.

  Corische pressed her face tighter against his chest until she could not breathe at all, only feel and taste the slight bit of his blood escaping into her mouth. Every sensation in the dark became unreal and distant until all feeling in her body faded and her breath stopped altogether.

  * * * *

  Teesha awoke on the stone floor in the dark. Had it been hours or days? It felt… somehow felt even longer. There was light in the room, yet the hatch above was not open. Rashed kneeled over her, a small oil lamp in his hand. Something flickered across his cold features. Pity? Regret? She sat up to look about anxiously, but Corische was nowhere to be seen. A heavy wooden door with an iron slide bolt was set in the wall opposite the stairs that led up to the hatch. Otherwise, the room was empty.

  Rashed stood and opened the door to expose a long hall angling downward into the earth. Along its sides were other doors like the first, each with a slide bolt, but also looped steel at the jambs where the door could be secured with a lock.

  "This used to be a dungeon of some sort," he said.
/>   Teesha was too weak and confused to either question or object when he scooped her up in his arms, lantern still in hand, and carried her into that hallway. He did not stop at any of the doors but walked to the end of the passage, and placed his free hand firmly against the end wall, careful not to drop her. The stone under his hand gave, sinking into the wall, and he reached inside to some hidden pocket of space.

  Teesha heard something akin to grinding metal, then the grind of stone as the hall's end pivoted open to reveal a set of stairs angling farther downward. Rashed slipped through and descended.

  He walked on and on until finally he reached an end chamber. Within it was nothing more than five coffins. Four were of plain wood and little more than long boxes, while the fifth appeared to be of thick oak with iron bindings, crafted for the final rest, yet without any handles on the outsides of its lid.

  "This is where you must sleep now," he said, "in a coffin with the dirt of your homeland. If you go out into the sunlight, you will die." He set her down in one of the four wooden coffins. "You will rest here near my own. I've already prepared it for you."

  And so Teesha, the carefree serving girl, was gone, and something else was born in her place.

  She learned many things over the next few nights: That she could not refuse the wishes of her master, that she needed blood to exist, that Rashed's coffin was half full of white sand, and that she was undead. Rashed taught her everything with his endless dispassionate patience, and although she sometimes wished for the rest of true death, hatred for Corische kept her rising every night.

  He was more than lord of the keep. He was a master among the Noble Dead, those beings among the undead who still retained their full semblance of self from life in an eternal existence no longer subservient to the mortality under which the living grew old and weak. They were the vampires and liches who possessed physical bodies, their own memories, and their own consciousness. The Noble Dead were the highest and most powerful of the unliving. The only weakness for vampires, however, was that they were slaves to the one who created them. Corische's master, his own creator, had somehow been destroyed, and so he was free to create his own servants.