Dhampir

Chapter Four

Just within sight of the coastline road, Ratboy traveled swiftly, slipping through the trees and constantly smelling the air for any hint of his prey, even though he knew she was still hours away. Just what did a charlatan vampire hunter smell like? Taste like? In an endless existence, anything new, any new experience was a rare and savory thing.

As night slipped away and the first streaks of dawn appeared over the ocean, he grew concerned, but not about where he'd sleep that day. Sea caves were easy enough to find, and in desperation he could always burrow under the forest mulch beneath the canvas tarp roped to his back. But what if she passed him while he slept? Indeed, she would pass him. He'd hoped to come across her camp while she slept, but the scent of few travelers drifted to him and none with the fragrance of a woman. What should he do?

He realized he may have underestimated normal human speed. So how far away was she? And when she awoke, how far could she travel in a day? He frowned, knowing the need for cover was becoming imminent. The road next to the tree line lay empty in both directions.

Ratboy crossed through the trees to the shoreline and looked around for a deep-looking cave or pocket in the cliff wall. Dropping over the side of the cliff, he scaled downward like a spider and disappeared into an ancient hole, crawling back and away from the light with no fear of darkness or whatever might already be living inside. He laid the pouch of coffin earth on the cave floor and curled around it on his side in the scant space. Then he pulled the loosened canvas over himself against any stray lance of sunlight that might somehow find him.

Logic told him that although he'd only traveled for half the night, she would not be able to cover the distance to Miiska left to her in one day. He'd sleep and then back track. One way or another, he'd intercept her and then bring her head back to Rashed as a taunting gift. Every time anyone in Miiska disappeared, Rashed blamed him. In truth, sometimes he was to blame, but not always, and certainly not for the tavern owner. Some grizzly old drunk offered little temptation to a killer like himself.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he lost his train of thought.

By late afternoon that day, Leesil's narrow feet hurt, and his partial excitement about seeing their tavern began to wane. Even the beauty of the coastline and the sea running out to the horizon no longer filled him with awe. Such frantic hurrying seemed unnecessary. The tavern would certainly still be there no matter when they arrived. Magiere never pushed them like this when they were on the game. No, the three of them had simply traveled at a comfortable pace until reaching their intended target. He was getting sick of her constant nagging: "Leesil, hurry. Leesil, not far now. If we keep going, we'll make it tonight."

Even Chap looked tired of his cart ride and whined softly, eyes tragic with boredom, but Magiere wouldn't allow the dog to walk yet. The old donkey looked near death. What was Magiere thinking? This sudden desire to be an honest businesswoman had changed her in unpleasant ways. Close to exhaustion-or at the moment what he decided would count enough for exhaustion-Leesil noticed the sun's bottom edge meet the ocean horizon.

"Enough's enough," he announced loudly.

When Magiere, walking ahead of the donkey and cart, showed no sign of hearing him, Leesil stumbled theatrically to the roadside and dropped on the grass.

"Come here, Chap," he called. "Time for a break."

The elegant, gray-blue head of his dog jerked upward in hope, ears poised, eyes intently fastened on his master.

"You heard me. Come on," Leesil repeated loudly.

Magiere heard Leesil's shout this time and turned her head just in time to see Chap bounding out of the cart and back down the road to where Leesil sat. Her normally stoic jaw dropped slightly as she stopped in the road. The donkey and cart moved on without pausing.

"What in… not again," she stammered, then caught sight of the escaping cart. She grabbed the escaping beast's halter and pulled it to a stop. "You elven half-wit," she called back to Leesil, dragging donkey and cart back to where he sat. "What are you doing?"

"Resting?" he said, as if asking for confirmation. He looked down at his legs stretched out comfortably on the ground, then nodded his head firmly. "Yes, most assuredly. Resting."

Instead of lying down, Chap sniffed around the rough sea grass, stretching his limbs, then bounded off into the brush nearby. Leesil took his wineskin and slipped its carrying strap off his shoulder. He popped its stopper, then tilted it up and over his open mouth for a long, satisfying drink. The dark D'areeling wine always tasted slightly of winter chestnuts. It comforted him in ways he couldn't describe, and that was likely all the comfort he'd get, unless Magiere stopped driving all of them with her stubbornness. But two could play that game.

Magiere stood dumbfounded, glaring at him, covered in road dust and in need of a wash.

"We don't have time to rest. I've practically dragged you since midday as it is."

"I'm tired. Chap's tired. Even that ridiculous donkey looks ready to keel over." Leesil shrugged, unimpressed by her apparent dilemma. "You're outvoted."

"Do you want to be traveling after sundown?" she asked.

He took another drink, then noted he, too, was in need of good bath. "Certainly not."

"Then get up."

"Have you looked at the horizon lately?" He yawned and lay back in the grass, marveling at the tan-colored, sandy earth and salt sea smell in the air. "We'd best make camp and find your tavern in the morning."

Magiere sighed, and her expression grew almost sad and frustrated at the same time. Leesil felt a sudden desire to comfort her, until the ache in his feet reminded him what a pain in other regions she was being. Tomorrow would be-should be-soon enough, even for her. Let her stew over it if she liked, but he was not moving another step down the road until morning.

He watched Magiere's gaze turn toward the ocean, noting the clean lines of her profile against the brilliant orange of the skyline. She glared out at the horizon as if willing the far edge of water to deny the sinking sun access and hold it there. Her head slowly dropped, just enough for her hair to curtain her face from view. Leesil heard, just barely, the soft sigh that came from her lips. He gave an exaggerated sigh of his own.

"It's better this way. You don't want to wake the caretakers up in the middle of the night." He paused, waiting for acknowledgment or rebuke, but Magiere remained silent. "What if the place looks bleak and depressing in the dark? No, we'll arrive like true shop-folk at midday or so and assess the place in broad daylight."

She looked back at him for a moment, then nodded. "I just wanted to… something pulls me like a puppet."

"Don't talk like a poet. It's annoying," he retorted.

She fell silent, and once again they took up their familiar routine of setting up camp. Chap continued to sniff at and dig in the sand, thrilled to be released from his rolling prison.

Leesil occasionally glanced over at the sun. Perhaps they had been in the gray, damp world of Stravina too long. There was a definite difference between wet and damp. Wet was thin salt spray blowing inland from a fresh sea, with an offshore breeze to gently dry you off. Damp was shivering in blankets that brought no warmth in some mountainside hut and watching the walls mold.

"Will we see this every night in Miiska?" he asked.

"See what?"

"The sunset… light spreading across the horizon, fire and water."

For a moment, her forehead wrinkled as if he spoke a foreign language, then his question registered. She, too, turned toward the sea. "I expect."

He snorted. "I stand corrected. You are no poet."

"Find some firewood, you lazy half-blood."

They made camp on the far side of the road that divided them from the shoreline. In reality, it was quite a distance down to the water, but the enormity of the ocean created an illusion of closeness. The last hint of daylight dropped below the horizon, and thick, wind-worn trees provided cover from the evening breeze. Leesil was digging through burlap bags in the cart for leftover apples and jerky when Chap stopped sniffing playfully about and froze into a stance of attention. He growled at the forest in a tone that Leesil had never heard before.

"What's wrong, boy?"

The dog's stance was rigid, still and watchful, as if he were a wolf eyeing prey from a distance. His silver-blue eyes seemed to lose color and turned clear gray. His lips rose slightly over his teeth.

"Magiere," Leesil said quietly.

But his partner was already staring at the dog, and then at the forest in equal intervals.

"This is like what he did that night," she whispered, "back in Stravina near the river."

They'd spent a number of nights in Stravina near a river, but Leesil knew which night she meant. He pulled his hands out of the cart and put them up his opposing sleeves until he grabbed both hilts of the stilettos sheathed on his forearms.

"Where's your sword?" he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the trees.

"In my hand."

Ratboy's eyes flicked open, and the black, damp walls of his tiny cave disoriented him for a moment. Then he remembered his mission. The hunter. Time to backtrack.

As he emerged into the cool night air, he rejoiced in the feeling of freedom the open land offered. This was a good night. Yet part of him already missed Teesha and the odd comfort she created in their warehouse. "Home" she called it, though he couldn't remember why any of their kind needed to make a home. It was her idea, with Rashed to back her up. Still, no matter how much he liked the open, he'd grown accustomed to the world they'd built in Miiska. Best find the hunter quickly so he could take his time killing, draining her, and then return home before dawn.

Below the cliff, the white sandy beach stretched in both directions, but he quickly turned away and scaled upward to the cliff's top, fingers gripping the rough wall of earth and rock effortlessly. The beach might be faster traveling, but it was too open. Reaching the top edge, he swung himself up and was about to gauge his bearings when the scent of a campfire drifted to his nostrils.

His slightly tapered head swiveled, and at the same moment, he smelled a woman, a man, and a donkey. Then his nose picked up something else. A dog? Edwan had made some ridiculous comment about a dog. Ratboy hated Edwan almost more than he hated Rashed. At least Rashed offered valuable necessities-a place to sleep, a steady income, and the shielding disguise of normality. Edwan merely sponged up Teesha's time and gave nothing in return. All right, so he had located the hunter and her companions, but that was a small thing. And what could he, Ratboy, have to fear from a dog, a tamed one traveling with its masters?

Quivering elation rippled through him. Had he found his prey so easily? Could this woman be the woman? Had she literally made camp within sight of his sleeping den?

Orange flames from the fire were just visible through the trees, and he wanted to get a better look. He dropped down to his belly and cast about for some way to cross the road unseen. The road offered no possibility of cover, so he decided to simply cross it quickly. In a blink, like a shadow from flickering firelight, he was across the hard dirt path, blending into the trees and brush on the far side. He crawled closer to view the camp.

The woman was tall, wearing studded leather armor, and looked younger than Ratboy expected. She was almost lovely, with a dusty, black braid hanging down her back as she poured a flask of water into a pot near the fire. Her companion was a thin, white-blond man with elongated ears and dressed almost like a beggar, who stood digging about in the back of a small cart and then…

A silver-gray dog, nearly the height of Ratboy's hipbone, leaped to its feet and stared right at him, as if the foliage between them did not exist. Its lips curled up. The growl escaping its teeth echoed through the quiet forest to Ratboy's ears. Something in the sound brought a strange feeling into his chest. What was this feeling? He hated it, whatever it was, and it made him pull back behind the thick trunk of a tree.

Edwan had said something about a dog.

A dog was nothing. Peering out again, he saw the woman grab her sword, and he smiled.

"What's wrong with him?" Leesil asked. Chap's low snarling continued, but he stood his ground, not attempting to advance in any direction.

"I don't know," Magiere answered, for lack of anything better to say. And in truth, she didn't know, but she was beginning to suspect the hound harbored some extra sense, some ability to see what she could not. "Get the crossbow from the cart and load it."

For once on this trip, Leesil didn't argue and moved quietly and quickly to follow her instructions.

Chap's growls began rising in pitch to the same eerie sound he had made that night by the Vudrask river. Magiere moved toward the dog, reached down, and grasped the soft fur at the back of Chap's neck.

"Stay," she ordered. "You hear me? You stay."

He growled in low tones but did not move from his place. Instead, his locked gaze shifted to the left and his body turned to follow.

"It's circling the camp," Magiere whispered to Leesil.

"What?" Leesil looked about, foot in the crossbow's stirrup and both hands pulling on the bowstring to lock it in place. "What's circling the camp?"

She looked at her partner, at his narrow face and wispy hair. At least this time he wasn't drunk and had the crossbow loaded, but now she wished she'd told him more about killing the mad peasant. How strong the pale man had been, how terrifying… how she'd felt the strange hunger suddenly grow in the pit of her stomach. Afterward, the whole occurrence had seemed too unreal, and she'd passed it off as just her own mind mixing up all the trappings and tricks of playing the game too long. A bad encounter had made her slip into believing her own lies for a panicked moment.

And now she had no answer to Leesil's question.

Chap's white-and-silver muzzle rose, and she expected him to start wailing. Instead, his gaze started moving up and across, up and across, up and up.

"The trees!" she called out, crouching low behind the cart for fear of what a skulker might do from a high vantage point. She reached over the cart's side, pulling Leesil's belt until he crouched low. "It's up in the trees."

The dog's ability to follow his position was becoming more than a mere annoyance to Ratboy. There was no way to try a flanking or head-on attack, so he worked his way over and above his target through the tree limbs. He inched along carefully.

"I'm going to bring your skin home for a rug, you glimmering hound," he whispered, making himself feel better picturing the animal's bloody silver fur draped over his own shoulders. Teesha might even like the unusual, soft color.

But who to kill first? Ratboy had seen a few half-breeds in his time, and this male certainly carried some elven blood. The crossbow was little to worry about. It would hardly slow him down, even if the half-blood could shoot straight.

He could snap the dog's neck quickly enough, landing on it first, but that would give the other two time to set themselves for a fight. No, first priorities were best put first-disable the hunter, then kill the dog and the half-blood. That way he could play with the hunter as long he wanted.

From his position on a sturdy branch, he focused on the hunter and leaped.

There was no warning. Leesil caught a glimpse in the dark, the blur of a faceless form passing overhead and down.

A wiry, brown-headed figure dressed like a beggar slammed into Magiere, knocking her to the ground. Leesil expected the attacker to tumble to the ground himself but, to Leesil's surprise, the man did not fall, but landed firmly on his feet. And on impact, his fist was already in mid-swing downward.

"Magiere!" Leesil shouted. He barely finished spinning around to aim the crossbow when a loud crack sounded as the attacker's fist struck Magiere hard across the cheekbone.

Magiere's head bounced against the earth in recoil. Leesil fired.

The quarrel struck low through the beggar's back, point protruding from his abdomen, but he responded with only a quick shudder and turned toward Leesil.

A cry, high pitched enough to be human, burst from Chap's throat as he launched himself into the beggar. Both figures rolled across the camp and over the fire in a mass of rapidly moving teeth and fur that scattered half the burning wood and kicked sparks up around them.

Magiere lay on the ground unmoving, as Leesil leaped out the back of the cart. By the sound of the blow, he knew she was likely to be unconscious. For a moment he was caught between stopping to check on her and following his dog to help finish off the intruder. Between a crossbow quarrel and Chap's ferocity, the foolish intruder had only moments to live anyway. Still, he couldn't afford to be caught with his back turned. He pulled another quarrel from the crossbow's undercarriage, readying to reload as he started around the scattered fire, then skidded to a stop before he'd gotten halfway.

Dog and intruder had separated. The wiry little man-or perhaps teenage boy-dropped low as Chap charged again. The dog was in mid-air when the intruder lunged forward from his crouch, one hand swinging up with hooked fingers to snag Chap's belly fur. Chap lost his trajectory.

Perhaps it was the dark or scattered ash floating in the air, or the flickering half-light of the nearly snuffed fire playing mock images upon the fight in the scrub grass. But Leesil could swear the little man somehow reversed direction while Chap was still in the air. Whether he had landed in a blink to turn back, or never actually left the ground, Leesil couldn't be sure.

The filthy beggar's feet kicked upward into the dog's side, adding force to momentum. Chap snarled as he arched across the clearing, head over tail, and yelped in pain as he grazed the base of a tree and tumbled across the sandy ground. He was instantly on his feet again.

Leesil pulled the bowstring, trying to reload the crossbow, and nearly losing his grip when startled by a shout from behind him.

"Chap, no!"

Leesil turned his head just enough to see, but still keep the beggar boy in his view. Magiere was up, falchion in hand, though somewhat unsteady on her feet.

"Get back, Chap!" she shouted again.

Chap trembled and snarled, but kept his distance. Every muscle under his fire-singed fur tensed in protest, as if her order was not only unfair but incorrect.

No one moved.

The young intruder held up his hand and stared at the canine teeth marks on it.

"I'm bleeding," the boy said in puzzled astonishment. "It burns."

His dull brown eyes grew wide and uncertain. He was shaken for some reason, seeming to not have expected pain or injury. He looked no more than sixteen years of age and was built as if he'd spent half that time in near starvation. Calm appeared to settle upon him, but there was still apprehension in his stance as he shifted his weight lightly from foot to foot, perhaps caught between fight and flight. He grabbed the quarrel protruding from his abdomen, and pulled it out with a quick jerk and only the slightest flinch.

Taking in all of this at once made Leesil momentarily forget about reloading the crossbow. This strange youth should be dead, or near enough to it, and Magiere should be lying unconscious on the ground. But his partner stood beside him, gripping her falchion, knees slightly bent in a half-crouch, expression tense and purposeful. And the intruder who stood well out of reach across the fire was considerably less worse for wear than he should be.

"What's your name?" Magiere whispered though the darkness.

"Does it matter?" the boy asked.

Leesil could see that neither of them even noticed his presence anymore.

"Yes," Magiere answered.

"Ratboy."

Magiere nodded in answer. "Come and kill me, Ratboy."

He smiled once and leaped.

Leesil dropped and rolled. He heard the thump of feet landing right behind him and glanced back in time to see Magiere spin on the ground, coming up behind her attacker with the falchion already in motion. The boy twisted to dodge, but the blade still cut a shallow slash across his back, and he screamed out.

The voice was impossibly loud and high. Leesil flinched.

Ratboy started to fall, but caught himself on the cart with both hands. He propelled himself around to face Magiere. She rushed him before he fully regained his balance and kicked him in the upper chest. Ratboy's body arched over backward, feet leaving the ground, and Magiere's blade came rushing down at him while he was still in the air.

Leesil couldn't imagine the strength of an ordinary kick whipping someone's torso over in the rapid manner he saw. And Magiere was maneuvering faster than he'd ever seen her move before. But Ratboy's speed increased to match hers.

The blade cut deep into the ground where Ratboy should have landed. Instead, he now stood to the right of the fire, hissing and groping with one hand at his back where Magiere's falchion had cut into him.

"It burns," he screeched, astonished and angry. "Where did you get that sword?"

Magiere didn't answer. Leesil pulled himself up from the ground and glanced at his partner.

Her eyes were wide, locked on Ratboy. Her lips glistened wet as her mouth salivated uncontrollably. Leesil wasn't sure she could have spoken if she wanted to.

Magiere's breath was long, deep, and fast, and the smooth features of her face twisted, brow furrowing with lines of open hatred. Her skin glistened with a sweat she hadn't worked enough to build up.

Chap circled in beside her. A low tremble ran through his body that showed in the quiver of his pulled-back jowls. In his savage state, the resemblance between dog and woman was impossible to ignore. As Magiere's lips parted, her mouth looked like the snarl of the canine beside her. Her eyes refused to blink and began to water until small tears ran down her cheeks.

Leesil could not turn his attention fully back to Ratboy. He held his position to keep Magiere in his field of view as well. This was not the woman he'd traveled with for years.

Dog, boy, and woman all stood motionless, tense and poised. All watched for the first sign of movement. Leesil couldn't stand it all any longer and cocked the crossbow.

Ratboy feigned another charge, then darted away at the last second, absorbing the sight of Magiere and Chap, she armed with her sword and the dog with his claws and fangs. Ratboy's back and arms were bleeding badly now and the fear was plain on his face.

"Hunter," he whispered and then bolted for the tree line.

Leesil raised the crossbow and aimed at the fleeing figure, not believing it would do much good. Somehow Magiere's sword and Chap's teeth had been more damaging than a quarrel through the body at close range. Before he could fire, Ratboy was gone in the dark. Leesil stepped quickly around the campfire to put its waning light at his back, but there was no sign of the fleeing figure. Chap started to trot in the direction of the trees, but Leesil called the dog's attention with a snap of his fingers and shook his head. Chap whined and sat down with his attention still fixed out into the dark.

"Leesil?"

The sound of her voice was weak, barely a whisper. Leesil turned about, almost as on guard as when facing the vicious beggar boy.

Magiere breathed heavily now, as if exertion and injury had suddenly caught up with her all at once. Her features smoothed as wrinkles of rage faded, and her eyes cast about in confusion.

"Leesil?" she said again, as if she couldn't see him. Then she sank to her knees, the falchion's blade thumping against the ground.

Leesil hesitated. A small fear knotted in his chest. One unknown danger had fled the camp only to leave him with another he'd unwittingly kept company with for years. He'd seen a boy move with impossible speed and strength and his own dog savagely rebound unscathed from vicious attacks. He'd seen his only companion of years get up from a blow that might have downed most anyone, then slowly twist into something… someone he recognized only in the barest manner.

Magiere slumped over, head halfway to the ground. She'd dropped the sword entirely. Her weapon hand bent backward against the ground, unable to turn over to properly brace her weight.

Leesil had never touched her, except during their mock battles for money. The thought of stepping nearer to her now made his insides tense. Instinctively, he lifted the crossbow, holding it tight and pointed at Magiere.

How many times had she been the last one to sleep as he drank himself into slumber? How long had he wandered from theft to gambling table before he'd tried to lift her coin purse by mistake? How many people had he known in his ambling life willing to let him share their dream, even if it wasn't one he particularly wanted? And he'd never before seen her need anyone.

He rushed over, dropping the crossbow as he caught her before she collapsed fully to the earth. Magiere crumpled and her weight was more than Leesil could hold in his half-crouch. He fell backward on the seat of his breeches, and Magiere's shoulders and head toppled back against his chest, nearly knocking him flat.

"I've got you," he said, pushing himself up as he steadied her, one arm around her shoulders. "It's all right."

He knew it was a lie. There was something very wrong with Magiere-about Magiere-and he was certainly not all right. Nothing was all right anymore. Now what was he to do? Would she come completely out of this-whatever it had been-by morning?

The heat of fear and fight was draining out of him, and the night air felt suddenly chill. He felt Magiere shudder, then go limp as she leaned against him.

As he sat there, trying to pull an old woolen blanket out of a pack and across her shuddering body, he thought he noticed a soft glow on her chest just below her neck. When he finished with the blanket, he looked again, but found nothing but the dangling amulets she wore half tucked into the top of her leather vestment.

Ratboy didn't remember his journey back to Miiska. He only remembered growing pain and weakness, and wild bewilderment. Too injured to think or even rationalize, he felt the energy of his existence slowly dripping down his back and from his arm, weakening him. He'd been able to focus his will and remaining energy to closing the quarrel wound, but not his other injuries. The sword wound and teeth marks refused to close.

He'd been injured before, yet had never had a wound leech his strength like this, and lack of understanding only fueled his fear. Stumbling, he fell against the timber wall of a building, not even aware of what part of town he had entered. If he lost the last of his strength before reaching shelter, the sun would rise upon him.

In this early time before the day, the town lay silent. Rows of small weatherworn houses stretched out on both sides of him. He needed to get under cover before dawn, and he needed strength and life. He needed to feed.

A light feminine humming caught his attention, and the sensation of nearby warmth, flesh, and then blood filled his nostrils. Hunger and longing pulled him from his stupor, and he scrambled on all fours to the nearest corner of a house. There was also the smell of horse dung and metal, as well as coal and wood ash. It took a moment for him to piece together what his eyes saw. There was a woodpile to his right, and to the left around the corner were stable doors. In the rafters of the overhang hung horseshoes waiting for fitting.

Ratboy's eyes widened as recognition came upon him. He was outside Miiska's only blacksmith's shop. Following the humming voice, he crawled to the woodpile with a fence behind it. He was as careful as possible while climbing the stacked wood to peer over the fence.

A girl of about fifteen years knelt by the family wood stack on the opposite side of the fence, her silky, mouse-brown hair tousled as if she'd risen from bed only moments ago. She wore only a white cotton night shift that Ratboy would have found enticing at any other time. Now all he needed was life, blood to strengthen him until he could find some way to close the wounds caused by the hunter and the dog.

The girl hummed gently again and then said, "Misty, come out of there. You're the one scratching at my window to be let in. Stop playing games and come in the house."

A soft meow answered her and a young tabby popped its head from out of the woodpile on the girl's side of the fence. Ratboy saw her make a mock frown at the cat, trying hard to seem angry.

He did not weave into her thoughts with his voice, lulling her into forgetfulness so he could take what he needed and then disguise the teeth marks. Instead, he lunged.

The cat hissed and retreated into its hiding place.

Ratboy was over the fence and on the girl before she saw him at all. With one hand, he snatched her hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck, and with the other he held her body up against his. His open jaws snapped across her throat and bit down, tearing through the skin. Any cry she might have made was cut off as he crushed her windpipe. There was no time for her to struggle. Her hands merely shook, unable to act.

The first few seconds of warmth and life did not register, but soon his mind began to clear.

Red liquid covered his face and hands and shirt, but he didn't care. The only thing on his mind was the pain in his back and wrists fading to a dull soreness as he dropped the dead carcass on the ground, leaving her there.

Cold never bothered the undead, but the luxury of warmth inside after feeding was a pleasure he never grew tired of, no matter how many times he felt it. It burned through him now, filling him up. It was more pleasure than he could ever remember, even when he'd been alive. And it washed away the hunger, killed the burning of his wounds, and he no longer felt his strength seeping from his body.

Sated and euphoric, he nearly lost track of the time, until a less pleasant tingle ran down the back side of his body across his skin.

There was a glow above the skyline to the east away from the ocean. Sunrise was coming.

Ratboy fled along the dock side of the town toward the warehouse. There would be a lot of explaining to do. Perhaps a little lying as well.

Leesil had managed to toss stray pieces of wood into the fire and kick it together, but it did little more than sputter a few small flames for the rest of the night. He couldn't afford to drink now, so that also meant no sleep. Not that he could sleep, as this night's events had been almost as unsettling as his never-ending dreams. It was not a hardship, as he'd gone as long as three sleepless nights before fatigue caught up with him. He remembered his mother could go even longer when the need arose, and likely his own ability was inherited from her. Something to do with her elven heritage that she'd so seldom discussed.

Chap had changed quickly back into his cheerful self, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Having found a comfortable spot on the ground near his master, he'd spent the night silently grooming himself and napping for short periods, only to stir occasionally at the forest sounds only he could hear.

Sitting quietly with Magiere sleeping in his lap, Leesil passed long, tense hours in the dark before he could look at her face without imagining it transformed into what he'd seen earlier that night. He had checked her for wounds, but she was uninjured as far as he could detect. By the time he could look at her face without flinching, morning twilight was just beginning. There should have been a black-and-blue patch and conceivably split skin with dried blood on the side of her face. He now saw only a light bruise on her left cheek. Instead of relief, he felt another surge of fear and confusion. As the sun rose just high enough that he could feel its warmth on his back, Magiere's eyelids quivered and opened.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly, then added, "My jaw hurts."

"I'm not surprised," he said. Then he remembered she hadn't been hit in the jaw but on the side of her face.

Before he could ask another question, he felt her body tense. She blinked wide as she stared up at him, apparently now realizing she lay in his lap.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Good question," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I like that question. I might even ask it myself."

Magiere rolled to sit up as quickly as she could without leaning on him for support, but her scowling eyes stayed fixed upon Leesil.

"You dropped in a heap last night and started shaking," he explained. "I didn't want you to get chilled in the night from exhaustion."

"I'm not exhausted," she muttered angrily, then climbed to her feet.

Her hand went instantly to the side of her face, and she wavered slightly where she stood. Leesil retrieved his wineskin and, taking a tin cup from his pack, he filled it with red wine.

"This is all we have for the pain. Drink it. All of it."

Magiere seldom drank anything besides water or spiced tea. She grabbed the cup too roughly and slopped part of it on to the ground. She sipped it, winced, and then rubbed at her jaw. Leesil watched suspiciously.

"Do you want to tell me what happened last night?" he asked.

She shook her head. "What is there to tell?"

Leesil crossed his arms. "Well, let's see now. We were attacked without reason. I shot him, and he pulled the quarrel out as if it were a splinter. Then he acted like Chap's bite was a mortal wound. Not to mention he seemed surprised that your sword could actually hurt him. And then you…" He paused only a moment, waiting for a response, but none came. "Let's see… loss of the power of speech, kicking a man into the air and onto his back almost faster than I could see… not to mention your drooling maniacal expression. What exactly do you think-"

"I don't know!" she shouted at him.

Magiere dropped to the ground next to the cart and leaned back against its wheel. Her head drooped until Leesil could no longer see her eyes. She let out a deep, angry sigh. Then a second sigh, weak and heavy.

In the years he'd known her, many words occurred to him that would have adequately described Magiere-strong, resourceful, heartless, manipulative, careful-but never lost or vulnerable.

"I don't know what happened," she said, almost too quietly for him to hear. "If I tell you something crazy, Leesil, you mustn't laugh."

"I wait in suspense," he said, not understanding why he suddenly felt angry instead of more sympathetic. He was worried about her, but still angry. Perhaps it was the long, edgy night of sitting with no answers.

"I think we've been on the game too long." She lifted her head, but did not look at him. "What's real and what's false are becoming blurred in my head. I don't want to fight anymore… or at all or… I don't know. All of this can stop if we just make a peaceful life. We'll run an honest business, keep to ourselves, and this will all go away."

"That's it?" Leesil's frustration was quickly fueling his anger.

"That's all I know." She finally looked at him, then away, shaking her head. "I don't know what else it could be."

That was no answer, just another evasion. She'd told him nothing. Or had she? Leesil's past had erased all desire to protect anyone besides himself. He wasn't certain now if he felt protective or simply puzzled. He only knew that Magiere's demeanor was at least changing back into the cold and moderately pleasant countenance he'd come to know and depend on. Perhaps it was just the years of living in lies and playing games that had finally caught up with her. That would have to be relief enough for now. But there would be more questions when another opportunity arose.

"All right," he said, throwing up his arms and letting them drop. "If you've no secrets to tell, we'll mark this one as another mad thief on the road. By midday, we'll be in Miiska."

"Yes." She half smiled. "Good enough for a new life."

"I'll make the tea," he grumbled, kneeling down to collect and fan the last embers of the fire. He looked at her and nodded. "A new life."

At the break of dawn, Rashed dragged Ratboy's bloody, struggling form into the underground drawing room and threw him up against a wall.

Teesha's eyes rose from her needlework in near alarm. "What is going on?"

"Look at him!" Rashed spit.

Half-dried blood covered Ratboy's chin and upper torso. Although Rashed thought the youngest member of their trio to be an impatient upstart, he'd never considered him a complete fool-until now.

"This witless whelp left a dead girl lying in her own yard with her throat torn open!"

Teesha stood and smoothed her blue satin dress. Her chocolate curls bounced slightly as she approached Ratboy, who was sprawled against the base of the room's back wall. She looked him over, and her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as her small face took on a disappointed expression.

"Is this true?" she asked.

"While you're staring so hard, take a look at my back," the dusty urchin answered, finding his voice. "That blackish stuff isn't human blood. It's my own." He held his wrists out. "And these scars were open wounds not long ago. You ever see one of our kind get scars before?"

"Impossible," Rashed hissed, but his brow wrinkled when he leaned over for closer inspection. Jagged white slashes resembling teeth marks covered Ratboy's forearms. "How?"

"That hunter!" Ratboy screeched back at him in frustration. "She truly is a hunter. I've seen few of our own kind move so quickly, and her sword sliced my back as if I were living flesh."

"Nonsense," Rashed said in open disgust, stepping back. "The charlatan used her earnings to buy some warded blade, that's all. You obviously rushed in with your usual naive confidence and failed. You got cut for your own recklessness and ran away like a coward. And to make matters worse, you didn't bother thinking about us, did you? Instead of coming back here to face the slow process of healing, you consumed a young girl to death not twenty houses from your own and then left her body to panic the town."

Ratboy's jaw dropped as if Rashed's accusations were too outrageous for defense. "But I have scars!"

Rashed paused only a second, then turned away in disgust.

"You sent him," Teesha said gently, eyebrows raised with her eyes half closed, as if to spread the guilt properly. Her tiny red mouth set in a position of chastisement. "He isn't experienced enough to battle a hunter, charlatan or legitimate, and you know it. And none of us were certain how real or false she was. You should have seen to this matter."

If Ratboy had made such a statement, Rashed would have shaken him like a rag doll, but Teesha's words rang true. The tall leader glared down at Ratboy again, but did not continue his assault.

"When will she reach town?" he asked.

Still petulant, Ratboy answered, "Sometime today. She's traveling with a half-elf and… that dog." He turned to Teesha. "Edwan was right about the dog. His teeth burned me. I wasn't ready! If I'd known, I could have won. I would have broken that hound's neck in the first blink."

The wax rose candles flickered around them, and Teesha patted Ratboy's shoulder. "We need to go down to the caverns and sleep. Take off those rags and let me see your back. I'll find you another shirt."

Teesha's attention washed all the anger from Ratboy's face, and he allowed himself to be led away like a puppy.

Rashed frowned at their backs. Ratboy's injuries were his own fault, scars or not, and Teesha's motherly kindness only encouraged further carelessness. That little leech of an urchin should sleep all night in his own crusted blood.

But for now, such petty thoughts were minor concerns. Rashed had built this home out of nothing. His small family had reasonable wealth and safety, the likes of which normally came to only the older of the Noble Dead after years of planning and manipulation. While he slept this day, a hunter-charlatan or no-was coming to take it all away. She must be removed quickly and quietly. Teesha was right. He should have handled this affair himself.

Rashed began snuffing out the candles, one by one. Keeping the situation away from Miiska was no longer possible. Parko, his fallen brother, must have let something slip before he perished, otherwise why would this hunter come here? There was no question she came looking for the three of them. So he would wait, perhaps a night or two, and allow this hunter to become comfortable. And then he would deal with her personally.