Dhampir

by Barb Hendee

  Rashed threw a pouch of money at his brother.

  “I am finished with you. You will not travel with us farther. Go down the Feral Path, if that is what you want. Perhaps the mob that village forms will hunt you now instead of us.”

  He stepped over the front of the wagon onto its seat and picked up the horses’ reins.

  “Teesha, get in the wagon.” Then he turned to Ratboy. “You have a choice. I know the careless abandon of this night was not your doing, but you gave in to him. You either come with us or stay with him. Choose now.”

  Parko hissed from his position on the ground, and Ratboy stared at Rashed.

  He wasn’t good at making his own decisions, and this was the most difficult one he’d ever faced. The idea of staying with Parko and following the Feral Path, slaughtering and drinking blood with no thought to rules, only the hunt—it pulled at him. Desire to throw off all sense of mortal trappings and become the full glory of a predator was difficult to resist.

  But Rashed kept them safe and always knew what to do, and Teesha knew how to make a home. Ratboy wasn’t ready to give these things up. Not yet. He was afraid to stay alone with Parko. The thought shamed him. He glanced once more at Parko’s hissing, writhing form, and then he climbed up into the wagon to sit behind Teesha.

  As they pulled away, he did not see Rashed look back once, and he alone watched Parko’s pinprick eyes fade in the distance. And for two more nights, Rashed did not speak at all.

  Lying in his coffin beneath the warehouse, Ratboy wondered about the wisdom of the choice he had made back then. He tried to stop thinking, to simply see nothing. After a while, he was finally able to fall dormant.

  Chapter Eleven

  Magiere left her tavern early that afternoon. As she stepped into the street, she noticed a “Closed” sign hanging on the door, painted in Leesil’s handwriting. Why hadn’t she thought of doing that? She gave silent thanks to her partner and walked directly to the nearest inn.

  Although Magiere sometimes referred to The Sea Lion as an “inn,” strictly it was not, since the building had no rooms for lodgers. Perhaps at one time the upper floor had been used for lodgers, the owner residing elsewhere. In truth, Miiska only boasted three actual inns, but a small town such as this had no need of more. Most sailors and bargemen slept on their ships, and she could not see many travelers wanting to come to stay in this out-of-the-way place. Even the scarce peddler, traveling merchant, or farmer from the outlying lands was more likely to camp with his wares in the open market on the north end of town.

  This inn was a shabby and run-down establishment with a sparsely furnished common room that smelled of fish and moldy bread. She began asking about Welstiel, describing the strange middle-aged man to a bone-thin woman in a soiled apron, who she assumed was the keeper of the place.

  “We got no one here like that,” she said crossly after hearing Magiere out, obviously thinking her time was wasted. “You try The Velvet Rose. That’s where you’ll find the likes of him.”

  Magiere thanked the crone and left. Everything appeared normal around her. The sun hung like a burning orange ball in the thin haze of high clouds. People talked and laughed and went about their business. Occasionally, a patron of The Sea Lion would wave or call out a greeting, and she would nod or raise her own hand briefly in return. Every now and then, she had the feeling someone was watching her, perhaps whispering with a companion and pointing in her direction. But whenever she turned it was as if no one noticed her at all. The scope of the world had changed, no matter how things appeared. And the only one who seemed to really understand the situation was an overwrought blacksmith with more muscle than brains.

  She wanted to talk to Leesil and try to explain the thoughts running through her mind. What if fate or the deities or whatever kept the balance in the world between right and wrong had finally caught up with them—with her? She couldn’t imagine what Leesil might think of such a notion. A month ago, he would have laughed and offered her his wine sack. Now their world had altered, and either he was changing with it, or he simply had been hiding aspects of himself. She kept allowing him to handle more and more situations that were basically her responsibility. This morning, he had handled Ellinwood for the most part, and this afternoon he took care of a temporary “Closed” sign for the tavern door. Now she’d gone out by herself, leaving him behind to comfort Rose and Caleb.

  No, she wouldn’t burden him with her own deepening guilt, confusion, and suspicions. He certainly didn’t need more to worry about.

  But the time had come to take some matters into her own hands. She’d traveled to this town seeking peace, and someone had forced a battle upon her. Brenden was right, and the cards were on her side of the table now.

  She walked away from the docks and farther into town. Not many people knew her by sight this far in, and she received no familiar greetings from passersby. She stopped in front of The Velvet Rose. It was quite lovely, reflecting its name even from the outside with red damask curtains peeking through the perfectly tended and whitewashed shutters.

  Although her hair was back in its neat braid, she felt underdressed in breeches and boots, muslin shirt and black vest.

  A large, mahogany desk waited just inside the entryway. The man behind it struck her as attractive in a strange way, even in her current state of mind. She had seen a few full-blooded elves during her travels, though they were not common in this land. His light brown hair looked as soft as down feathers and hung loose, pushed behind his oblong, pointed ears. But his face was more slender with a narrower chin than her partner’s, and his amber-brown eyes and thin eyebrows slanted upward at a more pronounced angle than Leesil’s.

  When he looked up at her, she could see his skin was a dark, even tan and smoother than any human’s she’d ever seen.

  “May I help you?” he asked smoothly.

  “Yes,” she answered, suddenly unsure of how to proceed, or if she would even be allowed into the place. “I was hoping to find a friend of mine here, a Welstiel Massing. He’s about my height, well dressed, and gray at the temples.”

  Without thinking, she motioned to her own temples as if to help the description, then felt foolish for doing so. She hated feeling so nervous and desperate.

  “Yes, Master Welstiel currently resides here,” he responded, his tone composed, his speech clear and distinct. “But he seldom receives guests and never without notifying me first. I am sorry.” He turned back to the parchment on his desk, as if his words were all the dismissal she needed.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I may not have an appointment, but he’s come to see me several times, and now I am returning his visits.”

  The slanted brown eyes flashed back up in surprise.

  “Young mistress . . .” he began sternly, and then he paused a moment as if half-remembering some forgotten detail. “Are you Magiere, the new proprietor of Dunction’s?”

  “Yes,” she answered cautiously. “It’s called The Sea Lion now.”

  “Apologies, please.” He stood up quickly. “My name is Loni. Master Welstiel did mention your name. I don’t know if he’s here now, but I will check. Please follow me.”

  This elegant elf—who basically functioned as a guard—did not even know if Welstiel was home or not? That seemed odd to Magiere, but she put it aside for the moment.

  As they stepped farther into the inn, the place was even more opulent than she expected, with walls painted oyster-shell white. Red carpets, thick enough to sleep on, covered the main floors and hallways, climbing up the staircase at the entryway’s far end. Large, dark-toned paintings of battles, seascapes, and tranquil landscapes hung in strategically tasteful places, and the perfect deepest shades of saltwater roses had been chosen for simple and exquisite ivory vases.

  “Not bad,” she remarked to Loni. “You could use a faro table.”

  “Well . . .” he said. “Yes, certainly.”

  Magiere almost smiled, knowing his stuffy front was carefully constructed
. He was likely as good as Leesil at hand-to-hand encounters, or he wouldn’t be working the front of this establishment all by himself. She followed him to the stairs, but rather than going up, he took a key out of his vest pocket and unlocked a door to the side. Opening it, Magiere faced another set of stairs leading downward.

  Now came the difficult part. To Welstiel, this abrupt appearance would seem like she’d come to grovel for help. On some level, she suspected he would enjoy this. If there were any other way, any way at all, she would have chosen some other option.

  Loni descended, and Magiere followed. At the bottom, they reached a short hallway that led to a single door. Loni rapped gently on the door.

  “Sir, if you are in, the young woman is here to see you.”

  At first there was no answer. Then Welstiel’s distinctive voice said, “Enter.”

  Loni opened the door and stepped back.

  Surprised at her own mild anxiety, Magiere swallowed once and entered the room. The door clicked shut softly behind her, and she heard Loni’s soft footsteps retreating back up the stairs. Expecting to find decor which mimicked the wealthy display of the inn’s main floor, she was surprised by the room’s interior.

  Upon a plain table, next to a narrow bed carefully made, rested a frosted-glass globe on an iron pedestal. Within the globe flickered three sparks of light, bright enough to illuminate half the room. One small travel chest sat in the corner and three leather-bound books lay on top of the table. Each book cover was marked in a language she’d never seen before and had a strap and lock holding it closed.

  Welstiel sat in a simple wooden chair, reading from a fourth book. He projected such a striking appearance that no one would notice the nearly barren room if they examined him first. His well-tailored and perfectly pressed white shirt and black trousers seemed more a part of him than mere articles of cloth he’d donned. Dark hair was combed back over his ears, exposing the gray-white temples that made him look wise and noble at the same time. And if not for these, the soft light from the orb illuminating his face would make his age difficult to guess. With finely boned hands resting on the book, he seemed unconscious of the missing portion of his finger, even when she glanced down at it.

  “How pleasant to see you,” he said, his tone expressing neither pleasure nor wonder at her arrival.

  Magiere imagined he fancied himself a rich gentleman who studied ancient lore and magic in his spare time. But why would a nobleman live in these cellar quarters when more suitable comforts were likely to be had upstairs in The Velvet Rose’s standard rooms? And if he were such a self-made scholar, what was he doing in a place like Miiska? More likely he was some ne’er-do-well who thought he knew something of the dark half of the world and had simply stumbled across her path by chance. Perhaps he couldn’t help her as she hoped.

  “I didn’t stop by for a social call,” she said abruptly. “You either know something, or think you do, about the murders and disappearances in this town. My tavern was attacked last night and one of the caretakers is dead.”

  He nodded slightly. “I know. I have heard.”

  “Already?”

  “Word travels quickly in Miiska, especially if you know what to listen for.”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Welstiel,” she snapped, stepping farther into the room. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Then stop denying what your own eyes see and begin accepting reality,” he answered back, just as harshly.

  “What does that mean? What does any of this have to do with me?”

  He put the book down and leaned forward, pointing at her neck.

  “Those amulets hidden beneath your clothes and the falchion you usually carry are telltale signs. If I were a vampire, I’d hunt you down the moment you set foot on my territory.”

  She blew a breath out her nose. “Don’t start all that again.”

  But her voice pretended a confidence she no longer felt. If she truly believed that nothing unnatural was happening in this town, then why had she come to Welstiel, who spoke of such things?

  He studied her face as if it were the cover of one of his books, hoping to catch a hint of what lay behind it.

  “You can’t escape this. They see you as a hunter and will therefore hunt you first. Take the battle to them.”

  She no longer had the strength nor inclination to argue and sat down slowly on the foot of his bed.

  “How? How do I find them?”

  “Use what is already available to you. Use your dog and the facts you’ve gathered. Use the skill of your half-elf and the blacksmith’s strength.”

  “Chap?” she said. “What can he do?”

  “Do not be dense. Let him hunt. Haven’t you at least figured that part by now?”

  He was mocking her, and she felt a sudden edge of hate for his superior manner. How could he possibly know so many things that she did not?

  “If you know so much, then why haven’t you hunted these creatures down?”

  “Because I am not you,” he answered calmly.

  She stood up again, pacing. “I don’t even know where to look. How do I start?”

  Without warning, his expression became closed, as if he were a living book suddenly tired of producing information. He got up, went to the door, opened it, and repeated, “Use the dog.”

  Her fear concerning her fate threatened to emerge once more as the tangle of coincidences grew more entwined. How did Chap fit into all this?

  Welstiel’s opening of the door announced the end of her visit. Besides, he was apparently strong willed, and any further pushing on her part might lead to alienating the only outside source of information she’d found so far. She stepped into the hall and then turned back to him.

  “How do I kill them?”

  “You already know. You’ve practiced it for years.”

  Without another word, he closed the door.

  Magiere made her way quickly back up the stairs, and hurried through the lobby, glancing once at Loni on her way out of the foyer. For all Welstiel’s cryptic discussions, only two points truly bothered her. First, to the best of her knowledge, Welstiel had never even seen Chap, but he knew a great deal about the animal. And second, he either knew or pretended to know aspects of her past that she did not. Though that last issue troubled her some, she’d never really cared about her past. There was little worth remembering.

  In the years before Leesil, all she had was loneliness, which turned to hardness, which turned to cold hatred of anyone superstitious. A mother she’d never known was long dead, and her father had abandoned her to a life among cruel peasants who punished her for being spawned by him. Why would she want to remember such things? Why would she want to look back? There was nothing worth concern in the past.

  As she walked quickly toward home, she noticed the sun had dropped a bit lower. She suddenly felt an urgency to get back to Leesil. For all his cryptic words, Welstiel was right about one thing. They had to give up their defensive position and go after their enemies—and they had only a few hours to prepare before sundown.

  Sitting on his bed in his room, in complete solitude, Leesil decided that he hated uncertainty more than anything else, perhaps even more than sobriety. At the moment, he was as sober as a virtuous deity, and that condition gave him clarity—another distasteful state of affairs.

  Unlike Magiere, he’d neither bathed nor slept and the odors of blood, smoke, and red wine permeated his nostrils. He knew he should go downstairs and wash, but something kept him here in his room.

  Brenden had left the tavern for his home, promising to return soon with appropriate weapons. Caleb had taken Rose into their room several hours ago so he could speak with her. He had closed the door and not come out. Chap still lay by Beth-rae’s body, which Caleb had carefully cleaned and laid out in the kitchen in case anyone stopped by to pay respects. And Magiere had disappeared sometime during the afternoon.

  Leesil was alone and sober. He was not sure which of those conditions he disliked more.
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  He went over to a small chest Caleb had given him for storage. Since Constable Ellinwood’s examination of the murder scene—or lack of it—Leesil had taken a few private moments to remove Ratboy’s dagger from under his clothes, clean Chap’s blood from the blade, and store it away. He now pulled it from the chest, careful to grab it by the blade and not the handle. Even while cleaning it, he’d been careful not to wash the handle, for that was the one place he could be certain Ratboy had touched. He would have need of any lingering trace of presence the dusty little invader had left behind.

  And once again, uncertainty gnawed at him. Dropping to his knees, he pried up two floorboards that he’d loosened the first night they’d arrived. A long, rectangular box lay inside where he’d hidden it. Even touching the container made him shiver with revulsion, but he never once in his life considered throwing it away. He pulled out the box and opened it.

  Inside lay weapons and tools of unmatched elven craftsmanship, given to him by his mother on his seventeenth birthday. They were not what any boy would have wanted as a gift. Two stilettos as thin as darning needles rested beneath a garroting wire with narrow metal handles. Alongside them was a curved blade sharp enough to cut bone with minimal effort. Hidden inside the lid behind a folding cover was a set of thin metal picks that in his hands could unlatch any lock. Just inanimate objects, but the sight of them almost drove him down to the wine barrel and his cup.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deep, long, and hard for several moments. Drunk, he was no use to Magiere. But the close proximity of these items and his current sobriety allowed in a rush of memories he’d fought for half his life to keep at bay. Eyes still shut, he could feel the pain.

  Rich green shades and the enormous trees of his birth-place appeared. So beautiful. Magiere had never traveled north as far as Doyasag, his place of birth, and he’d never bothered describing it to her. Joining the game with her had been the start of his new life, his erasure of past deeds. He’d left it all behind the night they met.