Dhampir Part 3

Magiere felt the ground jerked from under her feet as she was knocked backward. Her head and back slammed against a tree trunk, and she tumbled dizzily to the side, landing hard on the ground. Her heart pounded one beat as she waited for the weight of her opponent to land upon her, but it didn't come. Magiere looked up, trying to will her vision to clear.

The white man stood over her. His wide eyes stared down at the shallow wound running across his chest as if the thought of the blade harming him had never entered his thoughts until that moment. Sickly humor vanished as his face twisted into a mask of anger.

"Not possible..." he murmured.

There was no more hope for not killing the man. Magiere tightened her grip and tried to lift the falchion to protect herself. Before she could finish, the man jerked from his stupor and fell upon her. One bony hand grabbed her throat, pinning her neck to the ground. She tried to swing the falchion at his head, but he caught her wrist and smashed it down as well.

"You cannot do this to me," he snarled at her. "Not possible!"

Magiere's vision blurred again as his hand squeezed tighter around her throat.

"You cannot hurt Parko." It was a denial more than anything else.

She could feel the dizziness growing from lack of air. With the spinning of the forest came the sensation of cold seeping into her flesh. The fingers around her throat seemed to squeeze the heat from her body.

Magiere struck out with her free hand, at the oval haze of the man's head. Her fist stopped on impact, and the blow sent a jarring shock through her arm that made her shoulder ache. His head barely moved. She wrapped her hand across the blurred face and pushed as hard as she could.

His flesh felt as unyielding as the bone across which it was stretched, and a cold sensation seeped into her again through her hand.

Terror rose in Magiere as the white face faded completely from view and she knew she was not far from unconsciousness. The cold burrowed deeper until she felt it in her chest, until even her fear wavered and was smothered in the sensation. The chill seeped in from her throat as well, and the wrist of her pinned sword arm.

A twinge inside her answered the growing cold.

It didn't come from the life fading from her body, but instead wormed out of some hidden place inside her, moving through her restlessly. It stirred a rising fever that slipped from bone to muscle to nerve, leaving tingling heat behind wherever it pa.s.sed. Finally settling in her stomach, heat turned into a knot of growing ache even the cold couldn't blot out, then spread up her throat. A hollow opened inside of her, waiting to be filled.

It made her... hungry.

Magiere felt starved. A desire built on mounting rage sought a way to end the hunger. Crus.h.i.+ng the life from her attacker would end that hunger.

She pushed against the man's head. This time, it gave just a little.

Hunger spread out from her stomach, worming its way through her limbs until it seared away fatigue and fear, consuming the chill from the man's touch. She tried to lift her weapon arm and felt her wrist slowly leave the ground against the pressure of the white man's grip. In her darkness, she heard a frenzied hiss escape her a.s.sailant's lips as he released her throat to pull at her grip on his face. Magiere gasped in air, filling her lungs.

"No... no... no!" he screeched. "You are no match for Parko."

Straining against his grip, she could neither swing the blade, nor force her other hand back to his head. His body began to jerk forward, accompanied by a strange snapping sound. As her vision began to return, she made out the blurred oval of his head surging toward her face-click- then back and in again-crack-straining against her own pus.h.i.+ng force. The sound was an animal's jaws snapping closed.

She realized what he was doing. With their grips meshed, he was desperately trying the only thing left to break the deadlock. He was trying to bite her.

Magiere arched her back, pus.h.i.+ng her face up and away out of reach, then shoved hard with both arms. A vicious snarl came from her left, and her body was suddenly dragged along the ground for half a foot. The white man let out a wail of anger as his grip on her wrists faltered, and Magiere lost her concentration in trying to understand what had just happened.

She caught sight of Chap flying in from her left, striking the man and rebounding away. The man's body jerked hard to the right, and again Magiere felt herself dragged across the ground with him. The snarling blur came again, and Chap struck the white man in the side. Both dog and man tumbled off Magiere and across the ground into the darker night shadows of the trees, their snarls and growls indistinguishable one from the other.

Magiere hurried to get off the ground and between the two of them, worried that Chap was no match for this opponent. She stumbled, catching herself against the limbless trunk of a tree. The strange hunger gnawing in her belly was still there, but had grown weaker. Lightheaded and dizzy, she found her footing unsteady as she stepped toward the scuffle, trying to distinguish man from dog.

The white man spun toward her, but he was still out of her reach. Chap lunged at the man's leg, and the man swung his hand back at the animal. The dog was too quick, and a squeal of pain stabbed Magiere's ears as Chap bit down on the man's wrist.

In that moment, sound and feeling and sight flickered from Magiere's mind. Dog and man seemed far away, too great a distance for her to reach. Her throat still felt half constricted and her breath came hard.

The squeal of pain had barely ended when she gripped the falchion with both hands and slashed out sideways, throwing her whole body behind the blow. She aimed high but blindly, unsure of her target but knowing the man would likely rise up to pull his arm out of Chap's jaws. The swing overbalanced her and forest shadows blurred together, spinning.

Magiere's head thumped off the soft mulch of the forest floor when she fell. All the hunger washed out of her in a sudden flood. Trying in panic to find which way was up, she rolled before the man could descend again to finish her. But he didn't come.

She gave up and lay still, unable yet to sit up, let alone stand. As the spinning night settled into a heavy pain inside her skull, she heard the sounds around her. There was the gurgle of the river moving across its rocky bed, and the light chatter of tree branches in the breeze. She heard the rasp of her own desperate breathing, and the crackle of fallen pine needles and leaves beneath her as she s.h.i.+fted her body, trying again to get up.

And that was all. All the tiny sounds, the night sounds, slipped from her attention and between them was only silence. When the shadows above her started to focus again, changing from muted blurs into branches and stars in the sky just above the treetops, she rolled heavily to her side.

Two glistening eyes stared at her.

Breath caught in her throat until she made out the shape of the stained muzzle and canine ears. Chap looked at her expectantly.

On the ground at his feet lay a tumbled form of white flesh and tattered clothes. Chap looked down at it, and his jowls wrinkled with a low growl that ended in a whine of discomfort. He hung his head, panting.

Magiere crawled across the ground on all fours. Her body felt as though she had run a league without pause. As she drew near the man's body, she lifted the falchion, barely keeping it up in the air, ready to strike. There was no movement from the man.

"Chap, get back," she said, her voice cracked and dry.

She reached out to poke the man with her blade, but still there was no movement. When she crept closer, it became obvious why he hadn't moved.

Where his head should have been was only the stump of his neck. She slumped back, her sword dropping heavily to the ground.

So many villages had come and gone that she couldn't remember them all. But each time there had always seemed to be a rational reason for the villagers' deaths. This village was no different. The man's cold skin and white complexion were obvious signs of illness, and it would not be the first time that was the real reason why mothers and fathers, spouses and siblings gathered by their dead to pray for lost spirits. Illness often brought madness, as it had done in this man. And she had killed him.

The burning hunger was gone. The madman's cold in her flesh was gone. Remembering those alien sensations made her skin quiver and stomach lurch, but there was no time to puzzle over it. She'd killed one of the villagers, and that was as bad as things could get. She slumped, head dropping in exhausted despair, when a small, pale light caught her attention.

To her bewilderment, she looked down and saw her topaz amulet. She thought she'd remembered tucking it away, but there it dangled loose on top of her studded leather vestment. It glowed so softly, it might have gone unnoticed had she not been looking directly at it. She watched until it faded and then wondered if the odd light were merely an illusion-another result of fatigue and lack of air.

She looked at the dog sitting nearby, watching her expectantly. She had to push the words past her constricted throat.

"Come here, Chap."

Chap trotted across the short distance and sat in front of her. It was an effort to lift her hands to inspect him. The dog didn't seem to have any serious injuries, just a few small gashes on his shoulders and sides. The blood matting his throat came from a shallow cut of no serious concern. Relief washed through her. He'd be stiff and sore tomorrow, but she'd expected worse after such a fight.

Rubbing at her neck, it felt as if the bruises were already developing. Chap made a sudden lunge at her, and his tongue shot out to slap wetly across her chin and cheek.

"Stop it," she snapped. "You can save that for your drunken master."

Chap darted away and paced back and forth near the fallen body. He let out a short, low bark, then darted through the trees toward the river.

Magiere couldn't understand what had set him off again, but looking toward the water did bring her back to the immediate problem. The skyline was growing light. Dawn was approaching. Something had to be done with the body.

There was no time to bury it, and even a hidden grave might be stumbled across before she could get far enough out of the area. She had no idea how far the villagers normally ranged from their homes and fields, foraging for firewood or whatever else the forest yielded. Without a way to carry the body off, the river was her only choice. Magiere began dragging the corpse by the feet down to the sh.o.r.e.

The s.h.i.+rt was too tattered to work with, so she quickly rolled wild gra.s.s into rough twine. She used this to tie the pants legs closed and then loaded them with rocks. All the while, she avoided looking too closely at the body. Touching its flesh made her sick inside. It was chill, as if it had been dead longer than the short time that had pa.s.sed. When finished, she turned to go back to the forest and hunt for the head. A rush of nausea swelled up in her throat at the sight before her.

There was Chap, the dead villager's head swinging from his mouth, its hair gripped in his teeth. He came up to her, dropped his burden at her feet, and sat staring at her, waiting expectantly.

She couldn't decide what revolted her more, the sight of the severed head, eyes open in the last moment of shock, or the dog's calm disposition at handling the grisly object. Nausea faded to another chill through her blood as she remembered how Chap paced by the body and then ran for the river sh.o.r.e. She stared into the dog's silver-blue eyes.

He'd known what to do even before she'd thought of it. But he was only a dog.

Magiere leaned down to take the head, her gaze not leaving Chap until she knelt by the body. There was no time to ponder this uncanny development. With no other method available, she used the long hair to tie the head onto the corpse, knotting it several times around the pants' belt. She dragged the body into the river, wading out thigh deep in the cold current, and pushed it under and out as far as she could.

It bobbed for a moment, floating down current. Then it finally sank beneath the surface. A metallic clatter from behind made her twist about in the water.

On the sh.o.r.e sat Chap. His ears p.r.i.c.ked up as he looked at her. This time at his feet lay the falchion she'd left behind in the trees.

"Stop it!" she snapped at him in frustration, slos.h.i.+ng out of the river. She grabbed up the weapon. Bending over made her head spin with dizziness again. She paused to steady herself. "Stop doing these things."

Chap let out a whining grunt, and c.o.c.ked his head as he watched her.

There was still a dark stain on the blade. With a glare at the dog, she went to the forest's edge and wiped the blade off in the gra.s.s. As she finished, someone came out of the forest clearing and stumbled across the river's rocky sh.o.r.e. Leesil.

He looked back and forth. Spotting Magiere, he rushed down the sh.o.r.eline, tripping twice, but never quite falling on his face. Chap ran up to him, circling the slender man with his tail whipping back and forth.

"I heard... and you were gone," Leesil spit out between pants of breath. "What's going on? Why are you... ?" He looked at Magiere's messed up clothes, gra.s.s and leaves caught in her hair, then down at Chap, and saw the blood-stained fur. His eyes widened. Leesil quickly inspected the dog, and when he found no life-threatening wounds, he looked back at Magiere. "What happened?" he asked more clearly.

Magiere looked away from his bloodshot eyes. The sun was somewhere just below the horizon, and the clouds were tinged with red. The day had not really begun yet, but her entire life had s.h.i.+fted course. If she were a superst.i.tious peasant, she would have called it an omen.

"I'm done, Leesil," she said. "All of it is over with."

Leesil's white-blond eyebrows furrowed together over his wide eyes, a mix of surprise, bewilderment, and anger.

"What's wrong?" he yelled. "We were going to talk about this."

Magiere's gaze drifted toward the water. The corpse had submerged, but the river might change that. She thought of the lifeless body being dragged along beneath the surface, unable to resist the power of the current.

"I'm leaving for Miiska," she said. "Are you coming?"

In the small coastal town of Miiska, a waterfront warehouse bustled with activity, even though dawn had not yet arrived. The huge main floor between the unfinished plank walls was stocked with ale casks, wheat bundles, and wool on the import side, and dried fish and a few crafted goods on the export side. Crates, barrels, and twined bundles were carried in and out, noted by clerks. Even with the doors open, the warehouse had the jumbled odor of oil-treated rope, weathered wood and metal, sweat from livestock and workers, and whatever had washed up on the sh.o.r.eline in the last day or two. A small waif of a boy in an oversize faded green s.h.i.+rt, with a mop of dun-colored hair on his head, continually swept the wooden planks under everyone's feet, trying to control the constant buildup of dust and dirt. Workers were busy preparing cargo for a barge leaving at dawn. In spite of the busy fury, few people spoke to each other.

To the right of the dockside doors, which were wide enough for a wagon to enter, stood a tall man watching over the work with careful detachment. He gave no orders and rarely checked on anything, as if knowing all would be carried out to his satisfaction. His daunting physical height made it appear he was accustomed to looking down at others, even those not shorter than himself. Long muscular arms, inside a deep green tunic, were crossed over his chest, but his arrogant bearing suggested he hadn't built those arms by lifting crates himself. Close-cropped hair the color of blackened corn silk looked even darker around his pale features. Crystalline blue eyes, nearly transparent, watched everything at once.

"No, Jaqua," a voice said from behind. "I ordered twenty casks of wine and thirty-two of ale. You've confused the figures."

His gaze s.h.i.+fted to the back of the cavernous room. A brown-haired young woman, only two-thirds his height, scolded the head receiving clerk.

"Miss Teesha, I'm sure you-" Jaqua began.

"I know what I ordered," she said calmly. "We can't possibly sell all this wine right now. Send twelve casks back. And if the barge captain tries to charge us a s.h.i.+pping cost, tell him we can find someone else to do business with."

The tall overseer left his place by the door, moving toward the argument.

"Is there a problem?" he asked evenly.

"No, sir." The clerk, Jaqua, drew back. His face became flat without expression, but his fingernails whitened as he gripped his scribe's board tight with both hands.

Teesha smiled with tiny white teeth. She looked up without concern at her towering partner.

"No, Rashed. Just a mistake in the wine order. It'll be taken care of."

Rashed nodded, but didn't move, and Jaqua scuttled off to correct his error.

"He's confused several orders lately," Teesha said. "Perhaps he's been sampling the wine himself a little too often."

Rashed was incapable of returning her smile, but this did not seem to bother her. Few would call her beautiful, but she possessed a brightness in her doll-like face that caused men who met her to think of marriage one breath later. Rashed knew her exterior was only a sweet garment covering the truth, but still her appearance was as pleasing to him as it was to anyone-perhaps more so. Her company itself pleased him as well.

"If you don't like Jaqua," he said, "replace him."

"Oh, don't be so harsh. I don't want him replaced. I just want..." She stopped in mid-sentence, staring at him.

Rashed stared at the north wall of the warehouse, clutching his throat tightly with one hand. He felt a cold numbness rush downward through his body. Years had pa.s.sed since he'd felt pain, and its return amazed him. His thoughts clouded, fading away before they could completely form in his mind.

He stepped closer to the wall, and turned around to lean back against one of its timbers for support. The cold line across his throat ran all the way through to the back of his neck.

Teesha grabbed his arm, first gently, then her slender fingers squeezed.

"Rashed... what's wrong?"

"Teesha," he managed to whisper.

Her childlike hands grabbed his tunic firmly, steadying him. When he began to slump, he felt her arms shove him back up to his feet again. She was as strong... stronger than any man in the warehouse, though no one else knew this. She put an arm around his waist, supporting him, and hurried him out a side door away from suspicious eyes. Outside, he struggled to help her by remaining on his feet. He felt her hands touch his face, and he looked down into her worry-filled eyes.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

Sorrow washed over him in a wave, and then anger. A white face with sunken eyes and cheeks glowed in the dark of his mind's eye. Then it snuffed out and vanished. He found himself staring out over the tops of buildings to the forest and skyline in the northeast.

"Parko's dead," he said in a hissing whisper, too shocked to speak loudly, too angered to voice it clearly.

Teesha's smooth brow wrinkled in confusion. "But how do you know this?"

He shook his head slightly."Perhaps because he was once my brother."

"You've never felt such a strong connection to him, even before he left us for the Feral Path."

Rashed lowered his eyes to hers, anger taking hold above all other sensations.

"I felt it. Someone cut his head off and... something wet... running water."

She stared at him, frozen in the moment, and through her hands he could feel the shudder run through her small frame. She quickly pulled her hands from his face, as if repulsed by what he'd described, then leaned her forehead against his chest.

"No. Oh, Rashed, I'm sorry."

His eyes lifted again toward the northeastern skyline, and a chill like cold water over living flesh washed through him again. It was unsettling in a forgotten way, as it had been decades since he'd felt anything akin to cold.