Thief of Lives

Epilogue

Chap stood outside the back of the inn, staring across the field to the bordering line of trees as dusk settled in. Northern Belaski was cool in midautumn, but the tall fir and cedar trees remained full and green. He'd returned several times to listen beneath the window of one room inside, and now, finally, the voices of his companions within faded.

The hound's crystalline eyes stared steadily across the field. He tensed but didn't growl, nor did his long blue-gray fur stand up beyond the rustle caused by the evening breeze.

He felt a hollowness beyond the edge of the woods. Something waited, though he could neither see nor smell it. But it was there. An emptiness in the dark.

Chap turned for a moment to look at the window of the room Leesil and Magiere now occupied. Then he settled himself on the ground against the wall of the inn, watching across the field.

Welstiel stood deep within the trees, idly fingering the brass ring on his finger beneath his glove. Across the fallow field, he watched smoke rise from the chimney of an outlying inn.

Careful planning had not worked out quite as expected, but it appeared Magiere and Leesil might soon be following the course he had so meticulously set. The dhampir and her half-blood would not be returning home. Perhaps there was still a use for Magiere, whether she was willing or not.

His premature, failed offer might work to his benefit. Would she seek out the location of the old ones for him? He could simply follow her, and she would play her part, even if her reasons differed from those he had counted on.

Welstiel stepped back into the forest, feeling the black, scaled coils of his slumber, as if even now they circled about him in the darkness. He did not relish his next meeting with the patron in his dreams.

Something moved in the grass near his feet, and he looked down. A small animal darted away into the brush, and he caught only a glimpse of its naked tail. Likely a rat, though they seldom ranged to the woods with autumn closing in. A louder snap sounded behind him, and he turned, on guard.

A tall figure with red-brown hair stepped from behind a gnarled cedar. He wore a well-tailored cloak and a long sword. Welstiel glanced down at the path of the rat.

"I see we both have an interest in the dhampir's whereabouts," Chane remarked politely. "I've always found common interest a suitable beginning for conversation."

Welstiel despised his own kind, but perhaps there was a use for this creature in the coming days. Without response, he stepped through the trees and headed for the outward road.

Chane followed quietly behind.