Destiny of the Vampire

by P. D. McClafferty

  “Did I hurt you?” he whispered, bending closer. He thought she was weeping at first, before he realized she was laughing.

  “Hurt me?” She nibbled his ear. “That was probably the most erotic thing that has ever happened to me… with my clothes on. It was almost better than sex.” Her eyes studied him. “Almost,” she purred. “And how are you?”

  With a small start, Max realized that he was fine—more than fine, really. His body was humming with vitality. A warm glow seemed to pulse out of his core and out to his limbs. He’d consumed human blood before, but it had never affected him so much. “I’m more than fine, Xia.”

  Pressing her body against his, she looked up into his eyes and bit her lip. “This could be complicated,” she murmured.

  He smiled, having already thought this particular conundrum through. “Xia, Maximilian Smith, of Boone North Carolina, was shot and died while visiting Romania and is survived only by his widow, Anita. Like it or not, on this world, I am Maximilian Arkady Kiritescu, the Earl of Wraniel. I have no wife, and I have no children.”

  “Well now.” A hint of a smile touched her lips. “It seems as if you’ve given this problem some thought, Maximilian, and there may be a solution after all.” She touched her neck, where two small punctures were still weeping a tiny amount of blood. “Your saliva acts as an anesthetic. Did you know that? There was no pain at all, but rather…” She began buttoning her shirt. “Another time then. For now, you should find a place to lie down.”

  He looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

  “Alone!” she added in a laughing voice.

  Chapter 9

  THE ELVES OF IDERYN

  Max walked up the wooded path toward the clan hall, drying his hair with a large white towel. The modest river running down from the snowcapped peaks and past the small town was called the Floxom Torrent, and Max had found ice on the banks as he went to do his morning ablutions. His work with the injured and what he’d seen in Sloobork had left him feeling unclean, while his recent contact with Xia had left him feeling quite the opposite. A cold swim, he figured, would do him good. He was more than a little proud of himself when he didn’t scream as he hit the freezing water.

  “Feel better?” Shy asked as he approached the camp.

  “Much better. How did the injured survive the night?”

  The elf woman sighed. “One more died, but the rest are expected to pull through, thanks to you.” She set down her mostly untouched Meal Ready to Eat, MRE, and gave him a long look. “I need to go home,” she said in a small voice. “Father needs to know what’s happening out in the world.”

  Max poured himself a cup of coffee. It had been explained to him that stimulants and depressants would no longer affect his vampiric body, but he still found his morning hit of coffee just as necessary as it had been before his death. Max rubbed his chin. “What is your father’s attitude about vampires?”

  Shyilia looked at her feet.

  “Ahhh, I see.” Max sighed.

  “I’m not sure you do. Father isn’t prejudiced against vampires so much as he is prejudiced against any that are not elf kind.”

  “Well, that’s just peachy,” Max grumbled. “How did he expect you to find anyone to help him?”

  Shy’s face twisted. “It was more along the lines of a royal command. ‘Go find us help, and don’t come back until you do!’”

  “So,” Max inserted after a moment’s thought, “it might be hard to get any help from him?”

  Shy snorted a laugh then looked embarrassed. “I’m asking you for help,” she whispered.

  “I thought as much,” Max said in resignation. “When did you want to go?”

  She looked at him hopefully. “Are you doing anything today?”

  The other members of Max’s team had set up shop in the corner of the clan hall, their sleeping pads forming a rough circle around the piled equipment. Casey looked up as Max and Shy approached.

  “News?” Casey asked, putting down the Fairbairn Sykes combat knife he’d been sharpening, and the others looked up from what they’d been doing.

  “Saddle up, boys and girls. We’re heading for the land of the elves, where I’ve just been informed the king has a pronounced dislike for anyone who is a non-elf.”

  “Was that in Alabama?” Moses asked, getting to his feet.

  Max laughed. “Just a little farther south, my friend.”

  “Ain’t nuttin’ farther south than Alabama.”

  “Are you speaking of the attitude or the location?”

  “Yes,” Moses replied dryly, already loading his pack.

  Xia gave him a small smile as she snapped closed the clamshell of her armor. “Tell us this, boss. We’re here for the money. Why are you doing this? You going native?”

  He studied them all, one by one. “Maybe. You all know I’m a vampire, and that limits my possibilities on Earth. While vampires aren’t generally liked here on Aeyaqar, they aren’t unknown or outright hated. I’m also an Earl here, and I even have a castle, if you can imagine that.” He laughed softly. “But that’s not the main reason I’m here.”

  The others stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at him.

  “I was told that the magic users on this world, both normal and vampiric, are not native to this world.” He couldn’t help grinning. “I was shown where the Imperial Colony Ship Divine Guidance is still in orbit about Aeyaqar. When I was asked what I wanted for helping them with their problem here on this poor benighted planet, that is what I said I wanted.”

  “You,” Casey scoffed, “have delusions of grandeur, boss. What the bloody hell would you ever do with a starship?”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Oh, find my way back to Earth and then play Let’s Make a Deal? Trade an operational starship for… New Zealand?” He watched the rest of the team digest this, but Xia’s blue eyes said that she wasn’t having any of his made-up story. Shaking his head minutely, he continued. “But that dream is neither here nor there, and we have a job to do.”

  Reaching out, Tasaria touched his arm. “What do I do?” she asked in a small voice.

  Max looked at her. “That is up to you, but if you come with us, you may be jumping from the frying pan into the fire.” He looked around the packed hall. “They can surely use your help here if you stay, and it’s relatively safe. A bunch of battered refugees are no threat to the supreme governor, and he’s not about to spend a whole lot of time looking for them.”

  She let out a bitter laugh. “What could I ever do for these people?” she asked, looking around at the clusters of families and wounded. The vast majority of the people appeared to be women and children, clustered into extended family groups for support. Most of the men had been in the militia, so few of the village’s men remained.

  “You claimed to be a hunter—then hunt for these people. Bring them fresh meat to keep them alive. There is a river a few hundred meters off. Teach them to fish.”

  Tasaria gave him a flat look. “You’re trying to get rid of me,” she accused angrily.

  “Yup,” Max admitted. “If we’re successful, I’ll come back to get you and see you home. If I don’t come back, it will mean I’m dead, but you will be alive. My best advice then is to hunker down up here in the mountains and wait it out.”

  Her face was a mask of indecision, but it finally cleared. “I was a fool,” she whispered. “I’ll stay here and help as I can. What could I do with your team, that you couldn’t do better yourselves?” She turned away then, so that he wouldn’t see her cry.

  Max made a quick motion, and the others grabbed their gear, cast a quick look at Tasaria, and headed for the door. He touched the girl’s arm. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, Tasaria.”

  Still not turning to face him or even speaking, the Gypsy girl simply nodded. She was struggling, Max knew
, with the consequences of her own impetuous actions.

  Traveling is definitely the way to go, Max thought to himself as he opened a gateway well away from Capvering Keep, as Shyilia called the elven castle, and the home of the elves. Taking the detailed images directly from Shy’s mind, he had been able to open a gateway hidden back among the trees, well out of sight of sharp-eyed elves. Five hundred meters had been cleared back from the keep walls, to give the residents ample warning of attack and to offer a good field of fire for archers. In the dark, a low mist rolled across the open field, and although the drawbridge was down and the gate was open, a squad of elves stood watch against intruders.

  “What are you going to do?” Shy asked in an unnecessary whisper since com voices didn’t carry outside the helmets.

  Max studied the field and the gate carefully. “We’re going to wait a few moments, and then we’re going to walk in.”

  One of the team snickered.

  “One of the things these suits were designed for was to move soundlessly and invisibly in fog or mist.” He made a small adjustment to his suit then reached out to Shy and did the same for her. “There.”

  “Them elves is sure gonna be surprised,” Moses murmured, just a hint of mirth in his voice.

  “Yes, they are,” Max replied. “Shy, would you have any idea what the local time is?”

  She looked at the stars and studied the looming keep. “Judging from the lit windows and the stars, I would guess two or three hours before midnight.”

  “Good.” Silence descended as they waited patiently.

  “Is dat the ship you were talking about?” Moses asked.

  Looking up at the night sky, Max saw a moving dot highlighted by a red targeting caret. “That’s it.”

  “Must be pretty big, if we can see it parked in a Lagrangian point,” Moses said. “No other place it can be, after all this time unmanned.”

  “Oewaelle said it was two thousand meters in diameter and held upward of one hundred thousand colonists.”

  “Hmmmm,” Moses mused. “Guess I’ll have to come along too. You might need someone who can figure dat thing out.”

  In the darkness, Max smiled. “I’d hoped you would.”

  The mist swirled and thickened, drifting in gray eddies across the field. An owl hooted from a distant tree. The inside of his combat armor smelled of his own sweat.

  “Time to go.” Max stepped out of the woods. “Shy, you’re with me.”

  The six figures drifted like wraiths across the wide field and over the drawbridge. Max resisted the urge to sneak up behind an elfin sentry and shout, “Boo!” Passing beneath the raised portcullis, Max noted the thirty-meter-tall walls of the keep were solid fitted stone, twelve meters thick at the base and tapering to eight at the top. He could see elves on sentry-go at the top of the wall, their bows slung over their shoulders, bright helmets glittering in the starlight.

  If Shy was nervous or uncertain, she didn’t show it, leading them directly to the brightly lit banquet hall of the king. At a recommendation from Max, the armored chameleon suits faded to an ominous flat black as Shy pushed open the wide oak door with one hand and retracted her helmet with the other. Chairs crashed over backward around the long banquet table as elves jumped to their feet, swords hissing free of scabbards and arrows flying to hastily raised bows. Shyilia walked calmly toward her father, her face impassive.

  “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing, young lady,” Max said, knowing Shy could hear him via a small earbud in her right ear.

  “I do too,” she whispered into the tiny suit mic.

  King Thurdan Torlana, a portly, short elf of more than middle years, was already on his feet, glaring at his daughter. At a sharp gesture from him, bows were lowered and swords re-sheathed, although most hands remained firmly on the hilts.

  “What is the meaning of this… invasion of golems, Shyilia?” the king bellowed, his face turning crimson.

  “It is not an invasion, Father,” Shy replied calmly. “You gave me a royal command to go find help, and I did… to receive this reception.” She waved to a particularly large elf at the king’s side, whose sword was still half drawn.

  The king turned slightly to the elf on his right. “Sit down, Sir Filvendor. I can handle this.”

  The elf sat, but Max could feel waves of anger rolling out from the man. Taller and more heavily muscled than his neighbors, Sir Filvendor had long, elaborately coiffed hair and meticulously groomed eyebrows that came to fine points above his dark eyes. With skin several shades darker green than Shyilia’s, his face seemed to wear a perpetual sneer as he looked around the hall.

  Shy let out a long breath. “You can remove your helmet, Maximilian… you can all remove your helmets.”

  “Hold,” Max said, removing his helmet and sniffing air that was heavy with the scent of roasted meats and vegetables. “Keep your helmets on, for the intimidation factor, if nothing else, and to cover me if things get tense. This king has to see who he’s dealing with,” he said to the team via the tiny adhesive-mounted throat mic they all wore for situations when having a suit on wasn’t the best option. “Mérilla and Casey, move slightly left. Xia and Moses, slightly right.” He stepped up beside Shyilia and threw the king a level look and a short bow.

  “Humans!” Sir Filvendor spat, drawing his sword free with a steely hiss. “Let me cleanse the hall of this scum, sire.”

  In the silence that followed, there was a faint click as the snap over Max’s pistol came free. He stood smiling, his hand on the butt of his well-worn Colt 1911, his eyes never leaving the face of the big elf. Four more clicks followed as the rest of the team released their snaps to follow Max.

  Shyilia looked around once, taking in the situation in a glance. Her face turned ashen as she rounded on Sir Filvendor. “You great asshole, you are a single heartbeat from getting every elf in this room killed. Sheath that sword!”

  The elf glared at her and made no move to comply.

  “You damned moron!” she snapped. “When you get us killed, I’m going to haunt your fucking bones forever and shove that great silly sword up your spectral ass.”

  Max winced, noticing that Shyilia had picked up some of the more colorful aspects of his American speech. Through his earbud, he heard someone chortle.

  The king blanched, getting the general drift of the conversation. “Sheath, Sir Filvendor. That is a royal command!”

  The sword went back into the sheath, very slowly.

  Shy let out a huge breath, leaning against a table in relief.

  Max stood at her side in a heartbeat, supporting her by the arm. “You all right?” he said in a voice that went no farther than her suit.

  “Yes, thank you. I was just lightheaded for a moment. We almost died, and I was so scared.”

  Max snorted. “All of them certainly, and some of us probably, but not today.” He looked up to see Sir Filvendor staring at him with a look of undisguised hatred. “What’s that big elf’s problem?” he asked as Shy stood straighter.

  “My father the king promised me to Sir Filvendor when I was six. I am his betrothed—to be married to him next year,” she said in a sick voice.

  Max grinned. “There’s plenty of room in the Imperial Colony Ship Divine Guidance.”

  A look of wild hope flickered across her elfin face, and she gave him an impish little smile. “Thank you. You’ve given me a way out of an impossible situation, and it’s going to piss off any number of elves.”

  Max looked down into her smiling face. “We need to talk soon about your use of colorful American metaphors.”

  She frowned. “Was it wrong to say ‘piss off’?” she asked sincerely.

  Max tried very hard not to laugh.

  “What you said was perfectly correct, but we try to reserve our expletives for more… pri
vate circumstances. Unless it just slips out.”

  The edge of her mouth twitched up. “I’ll try to remember that.” She turned back to her father. “I found help for you. However, this team of humans could use the assistance of the elves in removing the supreme governor from power.”

  Sir Filvendor snorted a rude laugh, leaning over to whisper in the king’s ear.

  The monarch chuckled. “My friend Sir Filvendor says that your little group certainly needs all the help they can get.”

  From the corner of his eye, Max saw Shy redden.

  “Sir Filvendor goes on to say that humans can’t fight their way out of a paper bag.” The king watched Max’s expression, a look of wry amusement on his elfin face.

  Shyilia inflated, preparing to launch a bitter rebuttal, but Max touched her arm, stopping her, and stepped forward. “Your Majesty, perhaps a small test of arms, here in this room, will prove our worth.” He shot the king a condescending smile. “Unless your doughty elves are… afraid of mere humans?”

  Every elfin face in the room, save one, showed outrage, and Max smiled. “For our first match, I propose to test my prowess against any three elfin fighters. No ranged weapons, but your warriors are free to choose what they will. In the second match, we’ll pit our smallest female warrior against…” He grinned again. “Sir Filvendor, are you the king’s champion?”