Dhampir

by Barb Hendee

  Edwan arrived back at the tunnels under the warehouse in a state of agitation. He had listened to every word that passed between the hunter and the stranger who was staying in the cellar rooms of The Velvet Rose. Although he did not fully understand what had taken place, Edwan did comprehend that this hunter was more dangerous than Rashed would acknowledge and that the stranger knew many things about the undead. Also, this stranger was urging the hunter to hunt. Edwan thought back to the night Magiere visited the death place of the blacksmith’s sister. The stranger had appeared and talked to her. He called her a dhampir. How had he put it . . . ? “Someone gifted to kill the dead.” The hunter had not been interested in Teesha or Rashed before that night. Bits of thoughts and connections passed through Edwan’s scattered mind. He willed himself to think.

  What if this stranger was somehow guiding the hunter’s movements? She seemed so proud, yet she sought his guidance.

  Edwan knew he must tell Teesha. She would understand what all the words meant—at least the words he could remember. She would know what to do.

  He planned on flitting straight to her coffin when he sensed a presence and hesitated . . . no, he sensed more than one presence. Moving on instinct, he floated down a tunnel and came upon the sight of the hunter, her half-elf, the blacksmith, and the dog. They carried torches and weapons and were making their way straight toward the caves where Teesha and Rashed and Ratboy slept. Edwan felt shock and then chastised himself. Of course, they would be here. Did the stranger not tell her to hunt and to use her dog?

  Some time ago, Edwan had begged Teesha to move her coffin away from Rashed’s, so that he might have a brief span of privacy with her as she retired or when she arose. And she had agreed. Now, he hurried to her. With a bright flash, he appeared visibly in the center of her private underground chamber, frustrated that he lacked the ability to open the lid of her coffin.

  “My dear,” he said aloud. “You must wake up.”

  Edwan tried to push his consciousness back to when he’d been alive and could have at least tried to protect her. What would he have done? His thoughts had so long been trapped between the mortal and spirit world, he found it difficult to focus on anything more than the specific details of the moment at hand, let alone a time long gone.

  “Teesha.” He attempted using his thoughts this time, allowing his noncorporeal form to pass through the smooth lid of her coffin so that he could see her sleeping face. “Wake up.”

  Her eyes remained closed like a sweet child lost in sleep. Dusk was just beginning. She would awaken soon on her own, but he needed her to rise now.

  Edwan drew back out of the chamber into the stone and packed-earth tunnels that Rashed had paid twelve men to dig before the warehouse was built. The job took nearly a year. The men were hired from out of town, and no one ever knew what became of them after they finished their task. The ghost tried desperately to remember any words floating about at that past time. Some areas needed wooden supports—he recalled those words—and the warrior designed a way for one of those places to cave in if intruders passed. Where was that place?

  Rapid movement being one of the few gifts left to him, he concentrated upon his presence and vanished.

  Leesil kept his equipment bag slung over one shoulder. He held a short torch out in front of him, but wanted his other hand completely free. Chap walked directly behind him, then Magiere, and Brenden brought up the rear, carrying the other torch. He warned both of them not to touch anything, even the walls, unless he told them it was safe.

  It had been a long time since he had a reason to locate a sleeping target, and usually the job called for climbing up, not down. Keeping his attention on the task at hand, he moved slowly, examining the floor, walls, and ceiling carefully before stepping forward. He ignored Brenden’s continued comments about the need for haste.

  He also avoided speaking to or looking at Magiere, which wasn’t difficult at this point. Their torches provided the only light source so far down and, after all, he was quite busy.

  Chap growled softly, and his eyes grew brighter and even more transparent than usual.

  “We’re close,” Magiere said. “I think.”

  None of them knew anything about Chap’s abilities, but Leesil thought her comment made sense. He cast a glance over his shoulder at her and, in the scant light, something else caught his attention. With all the crawling about, her amulets had fallen out from inside her shirt and hung in plain sight about her neck. The topaz stone was glowing.

  “Look,” he said, pointing.

  She glanced down and touched it in mild wonder. “It’s not any warmer, just glowing.”

  Chap whined.

  “Has it ever glowed before?” Leesil asked.

  “When I fought that villager at the Vudrask River and . . .” She trailed off, and their eyes locked.

  “Maybe you better leave it out,” he said.

  “We need to hurry,” Brenden said in clear frustration.

  The tunnel was small—barely large enough to stand in—and crudely dug. Leesil could see nothing except the walls, his feet, and a small distance ahead.

  “How did they dig this tunnel under the warehouse?” Magiere asked.

  “It’s been a while, but I remember the construction seemed to take a long time,” Brenden answered. “Perhaps the tunnel was created first and the warehouse built on top of it?”

  That sounded plausible. Leesil saw overhead boards coming up.

  “There are wooden supports here,” he said. “Be careful passing through.”

  A small glint low to the floor caught his attention. He stopped, holding up a hand for the others to do the same, and crouched down for a closer look. A small wire ran across the tunnel a hand’s breadth above the floor.

  “Trip wire,” he said. “If you look, you’ll see it. Step carefully.”

  Such things were more of a nuisance to Leesil than an actual danger. His sharp gaze missed nothing, and he’d found his old ways coming back to him naturally, even after many years of trying to forget them. He turned to make sure Chap didn’t trip the wire, when a glowing light appeared before him.

  Colors solidified in the space of a heartbeat.

  Leesil was face-to-face with a beheaded man standing close enough to touch him. The dead man’s partially severed head lay at an angle on one shoulder with the stump of his open, bleeding throat exposed. His torso turned sharply, swinging his head in toward Leesil’s face as the lips curled into a snarl.

  Leesil lurched away from the terrifying sight. But he remembered the trip wire.

  His first step was high enough to clear the wire, but his footing slipped as it came down. His trailing foot’s heel snagged the wire as he stumbled backward. He instinctively covered his head with his arms.

  Two boards pulled loose from above, one of them striking him flatsided as it fell. The roof above him exploded as roots and churning earth gained a life of their own. He tried to see if Magiere was far enough back to escape being buried, but he didn’t have time. The pattering dirt and stone falling on him suddenly became a great weight. He was slammed downward, striking the ground with crushing force.

  Magiere saw Leesil turn in her direction, then stumble backward down the tunnel, an expression of horror on his face, as if he’d seen something terrible. Almost instantly an avalanche of wood, rock, and sandy soil poured from the tunnel ceiling.

  “Leesil!” she screamed, thrusting a hand out to grab him, but Brenden snatched her waist from behind to pull her back.

  “No, don’t!” he shouted. “It’s too late.”

  A cloud of dust enveloped them both, momentarily blinding Magiere.

  As rapidly as it had started, the cave-in stopped. Heavy dust still rolled around them in the air, but Magiere could see Chap’s tail and haunches and hear him whining. She wiped grime from her eyes with the back of her hand and saw the dog was already digging frantically.

  “Get the dog back and take my torch,” Brenden ordered.

 
; There was not enough room in the small tunnel for two people to take action. Brenden was potentially the strongest. Magiere grabbed Chap’s haunches and pulled hard and fast.

  “Get back, Chap!“

  Chap snarled at her viciously, either from her roughness or being stopped in his own desperate labor. Holding the dog, she took the torch from Brenden, who pushed past and began jerking and throwing boards to either side as best he could.

  And then, Magiere could do nothing but stand and watch.

  She hated having no control. At times, she had cursed the responsibilities that she often placed upon herself. But standing in the tunnel, watching Brenden wildly dig for Leesil, she realized that helpless spectators were worse off than those taking action. Spectators had time to think.

  What if Leesil died? What good would fighting for a home and a business be if she had no one to share plans and daily events with? Leesil was the only person with whom she’d ever been able to spend immeasurable amounts of time. What did that say about her? What if he died?

  She fought the urge to drop the torch, push Brenden aside and start digging herself. Instead, she held Chap back, not sure if the quiver she felt was in her own body or the vibration of the growling whine coming from the dog. With her other hand, she tried to hold the torch out to the side, giving Brenden light and allowing her to see what was happening.

  The tunnel was not completely closed. Debris and earth only blocked it about halfway up. The problem was that Brenden had nowhere to throw the debris he removed. His red-tinged face glistened with exertion, but he never slowed his pace.

  “Can you see him?” Magiere asked.

  “No, I’m not . . . wait, a foot!“

  “Pull! Pull him out.”

  She stepped back quickly, dragging Chap with her. Brenden pulled hard, almost backing into her, and a small cloud of dust rose up around them. The dust and her own fear made it seem as if Brenden had created the half-elf from nothing and pulled him into existence.

  Now it was her turn. Pressing her back to the wall, she slipped around Brenden and handed him the torch so that she could kneel beside Leesil, putting her ear to his chest, then his mouth.

  “He’s not breathing.”

  Lying there, Leesil looked thinner than ever. His whole body was a single color of earth except where blood from a cut or scrape on face or hand darkened the grime clinging to him. Once, she’d seen her Aunt Bieja save a child, who had fallen into the well, by blowing air into the child’s mouth.

  Turning her head away from the dust, Magiere took in a deep breath. She pinched Leesil’s narrow nose closed with two fingers, sealed his mouth with her own, and breathed out. His chest rose once and then fell still again.

  “What are you doing?” Brenden shouted, grabbing her shoulder.

  She swung back and struck his arm off of her and repeated her act again. And again. Desperation would not allow her to stop. The fifth time she made his chest rise, he coughed back into her mouth.

  Magiere pulled quickly away, watching his face. “Leesil?”

  He lay there motionless. Then he coughed again, dust rising out of his mouth, followed by an audible gasp as he sucked in air. She slumped over him, and relief washed through her.

  “Here,” Brenden said, and held out a water skin he pulled from his belt. “Try to wash out his throat, and then we’ll see if any bones are broken.”

  Before Magiere could take the water skin, Leesil reached out and grabbed it himself. He took a mouthful, rolled to his side, and spit the water out. Then he tried to sit up.

  “I’m all right,” he said hoarsely. He blinked at the dirt still in his eyes. “Where’s the ghost? Is it gone?”

  “What ghost?” Magiere asked. Then she ordered him, “Be still.” Using her fingers, she quickly probed his hands, arms, and legs. “I don’t think he’s injured.”

  “I’m fine,” Leesil rambled on. “Where’s the damn ghost! I thought he was real . . . but he couldn’t be . . . head was cut off.”

  Magiere looked back at Brenden. “We have to turn back. He’s hallucinating.”

  “No!” Leesil snapped. “I’m not hallucinating. Oh, forget that. It’s too late. If we quit now, they’ll know we’ve been here. How safe will we be at home tonight? How safe will Rose and Caleb be? We have to finish this.”

  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 dor mant state. Rashed never admitted it to anyone, even Teesha, but he always struggled not to collapse i
mmediately 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.