Dhampir

by J. C.

  He was right, and Magiere knew it, but her first instinct was still to get him out of this place. She untucked her shirt-tail, ripped a piece off, and then poured water from the flask to clean his face and eyes. At first he protested, pushing her hands away, but when she refused to give up, he sat there and let her finish. Small cuts and abrasions marred his tan skin, but none of them looked serious.

  "You were lucky," she said.

  "The gods watch over fools," he answered, trying to smile.

  "Oh, shut up," Magiere snapped, all her panic released in irritation at one of his typically inappropriate remarks.

  Brenden shook his head. Magiere knew he thought them both quite odd. She didn't blame him.

  "All right, now what?" she asked her partner.

  Leesil looked back over his shoulder at the mound of debris choking off half the tunnel's space.

  "We'll have to crawl; drag our equipment through," he answered. "I think we are getting very close. That ghost must be some sort of guardian."

  He began checking his bag for any broken or ruined equipment. One of the flasks of oil had burst, making the others and his odd box of weapons slippery to handle. Only a small amount soiled his crossbow. He wiped the bow and other items off as best he could with the scrap of Magiere's shirt.

  "I lost the torch," he said. "We'll have to make do with just one."

  For someone who had almost died, his calm, competent manner both reassured and annoyed Magiere.

  "You crawl through and Brenden can hand it to you," he added. "But don't move down the tunnel until I'm there ahead of you."

  "Wait," Brenden said. "Stand still, Magiere. I brought something for you." He removed a small flask from the belt at his waist. "Hold out your arms."

  "What is that?" she asked.

  "Garlic water," he answered. "I took it from your kitchen. At close quarters, it might help protect you, or at least make those creatures think twice about grappling with you."

  He poured the garlic water all over her arms, shoulders, and back. She found his foresight impressive, but said nothing until he finished.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  He nodded.

  One by one, they crawled through the open space over the cave-in and again began their trek down the tunnel. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Magiere believed Leesil picked up the pace, and although he did check for traps, his examinations were brief.

  "I can see an opening," he said.

  A second wave of relief passed through Magiere as they stepped from the tunnel into an underground cavern and once again could stand side by side.

  "Over there," Leesil said, pointing across the cavern.

  "What?" Brenden asked.

  Leesil moved forward, holding the torch out. He glanced back.

  "Coffins."

  * * * *

  Edwan hovered invisibly over Rashed's coffin, torn between joy and frustration. He'd failed in his one chance to make the hunters kill themselves, and now he believed that appearing to them again would only decrease his chance at future shock tactics.

  But they had seen the warrior and Ratboy's coffins first, not Teesha's. Let the two of them fight these hunters; he cared nothing for them. For the moment, his Teesha was safe.

  He focused on his own form again and transported to his beloved's tiny cavern.

  "Wake up, my sweet," he whispered. "Please."

  This time, she stirred.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Some vampires rest more deeply than others in their dormant state. Rashed never admitted it to anyone, even Teesha, but he always struggled not to collapse immediately after sunrise, and he remembered little until dusk. Perhaps it was a condition singular to him, having nothing to do with all undeads. He considered this tendency a weakness, but as yet had discovered no remedy.

  This time, still lost in sleep, something not unlike a mortal dream touched the edge of his awareness. He felt as if something unseen watched him in the dark. He could see at night better than a mortal, but sight still required some form of light. This was blackness even his gaze couldn't pierce. But he felt that presence in the dark just the same, always moving and shifting, trying to catch him from behind.

  So many years had passed since he had thought of dreams. Such visions and concerns were for the living, not the undead. What pulled at him? With a sudden rush of anxiety, the presence in the dark moved inward toward him, and his eyes opened.

  Before he could act, his coffin's lid was jerked open from the outside.

  Torchlight illuminated the chamber behind a shadowed figure above him, but he could see easily in such light. The hunter stood over him holding a sharpened stake. Her eyes widened slightly. Both of them froze in surprise, and then she thrust downward with the stake.

  Snarling more in rage than fear, he grabbed her wrist, the stake's point halting above his chest. Her sleeve and arm were wet, and his hand began to smoke.

  Half shouting in pain, Rashed released his grip as he kicked out. His foot struck her lower chest, and she stumbled back. He instantly rolled over the coffin's side to his feet. What had she done?

  A pungent smell reached his nose and stung his eyes. Garlic.

  He remembered Ratboy's whining about what the old woman in the tavern had done to him. The hunter had doused herself in garlic water.

  He could move his left arm a bit, but not enough to use it in fighting, and now his right hand was badly burned as well. The hunter flipped the stake to her left hand and drew her falchion with her right. Rashed reacted immediately, teeth clenching as he pulled his own sword with his burned hand.

  She was dusty and grimy, with strands of loose hair sticking to her pale face as if she'd been crawling through dirt, but her expression was hard and angry. She was a hunter, indeed—cold and pitiless, an invader who'd entered his home to kill him and those he cared for. He had not felt true and full hatred since the night he'd taken Corische's head, but it filled him now.

  A silver-furred dog howled and snarled wildly from across the cavern, where a red-bearded man held it at bay. Beside them knelt the light-haired half-elf, loading a crossbow.

  "Ratboy," Rashed called. "Get up!"

  The hunter rushed him, swinging the falchion. To his own surprise, he dodged instead of parrying, instinct acting for him. He could not allow that blade to touch him. If he were seriously injured again, he was finished, and there would be no one to protect Teesha. Disarming the hunter was his first and only real priority. He needed to back her into the tunnel where she couldn't swing and his strength might give him an advantage. But the wound in his shoulder from their last battle still burned. Feeling slightly off-balance by his near useless left arm, he gained good footing and charged back at her.

  * * * *

  "Yes, my dear," Edwan said, peering down at Teesha's fluttering eyelids, his head merged through the coffin lid. "Wake up. We have to flee."

  She wore her velvet gown of deepest red, like rich wine, and her thick curls of chocolate brown spread about the coffin's bed, framing her lovely oval face. He still remembered the first time she had smiled at him. It was one of the few old memories that stayed with him after death.

  Like Rashed, Teesha refused to sleep in dirt and spread a white satin comforter over the earth of her homeland. As she sat up and pushed open the coffin's lid, Edwan pulled back out of her way. She blinked at him, and he noted how the pale quilt lining of her resting place made the color of her dress more vivid.

  "We have to flee," he repeated.

  "Why?" she asked. "What is wrong?"

  He started to tell her about the stranger at The Velvet Rose, then realized that telling her of that was foolish. He must tell her about the hunter first, so that she would escape with him. Rashed was fighting the hunter. If fortune was kind, the warrior would be killed and Edwan would have Teesha to himself again.

  "The hunter has entered the tunnels," he said. "She brought the dog and other mortals and many weapons. We must go."

  Alarm altered T
eesha's pretty features. "Where's Rashed? Didn't you wake him?"

  "The hunter found him first, and Ratboy. They can fight her. Come with me, now."

  She quickly climbed out of her coffin and ran into the tunnel toward the warrior's cave.

  "No!" Edwan called in shock. He flew past her and stopped directly in her path. "The hunter is there. You are running toward her. We must escape through the tunnels on the other side."

  "Move, Edwan," she cried out. "I have to help Rashed… we need him."

  Edwan's shock increased when she ran straight through him. He could not believe this course of events and followed after her in stunned confusion. Sounds of growling and shouting and clanging steel grew louder as they approached Rashed's cave. Teesha stopped, leaning close to the wall of the tunnel at its opening.

  Edwan saw Rashed battling the hunter. Every clash and rush of steps moved them both closer to the opening on the far side of the cave. Rashed was trying to back the hunter out into that tunnel. To the far right, just beyond Rashed's resting place, the half-elf and a large red-bearded man, holding the silver hound, were about to open Ratboy's coffin.

  Teesha's eyes shifted back and forth between the hunter and her companions.

  "Edwan," she called, "help Ratboy, now!"

  Edwan hovered behind her. She had not even looked at him, just ordered him.

  "No."

  Teesha turned back to stare at him in shock. Her mouth opened, but not a word came out. When she looked back into the cave, Rashed had the hunter two steps from the opening. He made a sudden rush forward, trying to close in, slashing down hard with his blade.

  The hunter shifted to the right against the cave opening and slashed down on top of Rashed's sword, driving it to the floor. Her other hand, gripping the stake, swung out and struck his wounded shoulder.

  The large warrior spun halfway around until his back flattened against the cave wall, his chest fully exposed. At the same time, the upper half of Ratboy's coffin lid shattered outward into the air. The hunter twisted back into the cave, facing Rashed, ready to strike again with the stake.

  Before Edwan could say anything more, Teesha launched herself wildly into the cave and leaped on the hunter's back. Edwan's beautiful wife screamed as her arms began to smolder.

  * * * *

  Leesil crept closer to the coffin's bottom end, crossbow aimed downward to pin the beggar boy with the first shot. His sack of supplies hung off one hip from the strap slung across to his opposite shoulder. The sound of Magiere's falchion clashing against the nobleman's long sword came from behind him, but he could not turn to look. He would have to trust her to keep her opponent busy, just as she trusted him to get the beggar boy. If either of them failed, the other would end up falling to an attack from behind.

  He nodded at Brenden, who simultaneously held the torch and gripped Chap by the scruff of the neck.

  "Let go of Chap and pull the lid open," Leesil said.

  Brenden moved to do as he was bid, but before his hand touched wood, the coffin lid's upper half exploded as Ratboy smashed his way out. Startled, Leesil lost his aim and stepped back.

  The beggar boy grabbed Brenden's wrist and jerked, hard. The blacksmith stumbled off balance and fell across the bottom half of the coffin, blocking Leesil's line of fire. Chap was forced back as Brenden fell, and the torch in the blacksmith's hand tumbled to the ground. Its light partially blocked by the coffin, shadows leaped upward along the walls in front of Leesil.

  Between the sudden shift in light and Brenden's falling body, Leesil lost clear aim at his target. Ratboy curled backward, feet thrusting up above his head as he flipped himself over the coffin's back end. He landed, sitting on the ground.

  Leesil tried to set his aim again, but Ratboy kicked out with both feet against the coffin's near end. It slid sharply across the floor, slamming bottom end first into Leesil's legs.

  Leesil tried to catch himself with one hand as he fell, and toppled on his side. With the lid's top half shattered, his torso dropped inside the coffin. His clothing snagged on shards of wood, and Ratboy was above him before he could twist over and right himself.

  Leesil glimpsed a shadowed and filthy alabaster face with round, red-tinged eyes and openmouthed grin. The teeth, with fangs jutting top and bottom, were yellow. Leesil twisted and ducked his head at a flash of movement.

  A clawlike hand slashed down, missing his throat. It caught him across the cheek and mouth. Leesil felt his own blood spatter across his face before feeling the pain.

  "No one will recognize your corpse," Ratboy hissed.

  Leesil closed his hands to grip the crossbow, but it was gone—he'd dropped it when he fell. Ratboy's hand flashed up again, and Leesil flinched, one arm raised to shield his head, while grasping at his belt for a stake or stiletto or whatever weapon he could find first.

  The face and hand disappeared in a silver-gray flash.

  Leesil thrashed his way out of the coffin, rolling over its side, and almost falling on the crossbow he'd dropped upon the ground.

  "Shoot!" Brenden shouted, now pulling himself up, a trickle of blood running from a gash in his forehead. "Shoot him."

  Leesil rolled again into a crouch, with the crossbow at ready, and saw Chap on top of Ratboy. Dog and undead were locked in a thrashing tangle of teeth, limbs, claws, and snarls that moved so quickly Leesil couldn't follow all of it. Chap's fangs snapped and connected over and over, and though Ratboy could not return the same, his claw-hands battered at the dog. Tufts of fur were ripped from Chap's body.

  "I can't. I'll hit Chap," Leesil answered through gritted teeth.

  "Fool!" Brenden spit out. He snatched up the torch and flung it skittering across the ground at Ratboy.

  "No, don't…" Leesil began. He barely had time to see the torch hit Ratboy in the hip. Both dog and undead struggled to get away from the flame.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Leesil saw the huge nobleman backing Magiere toward the tunnel opening, the two combatants swinging their blades at each other. Magiere chopped her opponent's sword to the ground and struck his wounded shoulder with her stake. The nobleman spun away along the cave wall, and Magiere pivoted back into the open. Both their faces were distorted with hatred beyond sanity, each having forgotten the existence of anything but the other. Magiere's own features twisted in a silent snarl of exposed fangs as she drew up her falchion to cut the nobleman down.

  Leesil started to turn his attention back to his own opponent when a flash of red rushed toward Magiere from behind.

  A woman. Brenden had been right.

  A mass of brown hair and a red dress enveloped Magiere as the woman leaped upon her back, arms wrapping around Magiere's shoulders and neck. The woman screamed as she began to smoke, burned by the garlic water. Magiere slammed her left elbow back into the woman's side, then, half turning, struck her in the face with her falchion's hilt. The woman toppled backward to the cave floor, and as she fell, Magiere slashed down once with the falchion.

  The action cost Magiere the advantage. The nobleman regained his footing and raised his long sword to strike.

  Everything else dropped from Leesil's awareness.

  He raised the crossbow and fired.

  Monster.

  The word echoed over and over in Magiere's mind as she slashed and charged and dodged the tall creature in front of her. She was vaguely aware of his physical appearance, his short black hair and clear eyes.

  Rashed. She knew that his name was Rashed. The name simply appeared in her mind, but she did not understand how. As her rage and strength increased and her jaw began to hurt, she recognized flashes of images from his mind.

  He saw her as a killer, an invader. But she knew what he was.

  Monster, she thought again, raising the falchion to strike.

  His name didn't matter. His head sliced from his shoulders—that mattered. She was strong, so strong… and fast. Her mouth ached, and she couldn't speak.

  A shriek sounded in her ears and weight col
lided with her back and shoulders. Strong, thin arms wrapped around her neck as the wailing voice in her ears turned to a pain-filled scream. Smoke rose around her head, obscuring her vision.

  Magiere thrashed backward with her elbow, connecting with a soft torso, and was answered with the pleasing sensation of bones snapping inside flesh. As the arms released, Magiere whirled and slammed her sword hilt at whoever had grabbed her, not even aware if the blow had connected. She only saw billowing red fabric obscured in trails of smoke, and chopped hard at it with the falchion. The blade connected, but she didn't stop to look at her target and turned her head.

  Rashed's sword arced down at her. Magiere twisted on instinct, trying to move out of the way.

  A crossbow quarrel suddenly sprouted from Rashed's stomach and the path of his blade changed slightly. It passed close by her shoulder and swept outward away from her.

  Magiere felt the hate rise up in her like burning elation. She spun back, her sword arm coming up, blade arcing over her head to come down on her prey.

  The monster reversed his swing before she'd finished turning.

  She felt surprise more than pain as the tip flashed out of sight just below her jaw. Hate and strength spilled out of her at the dull sting in her throat. Wet warmth ran down her body inside her vestment.

  Dropping to her knees, she released the stake and grasped her throat. The same warmth ran between her fingers from the side of her neck.

  Rashed staggered back one step, pulled the smoking quarrel from his body, then moved forward again, his lips curled in a sneer.

  * * * *

  Leesil dropped his gaze long enough to pull another quarrel from its holding place below the crossbow's stock. He couldn't afford to step between those two in their maddened state without being cut down by one or the other, so he readied for another shot. It might not kill the nobleman, but it could slow him enough for Magiere to take the advantage. Fitting it in place, he raised his eyes again as he pulled on the bow string.

  Magiere knelt on the ground, hand to her neck. Her face was no longer twisted in rage; rather her brow wrinkled in confusion, eyes wide. Her fingers were already dark with blood.