Hemlock (The Manhunters Book 2)

by Jesse Teller

  “Too late for what?” Dreark said.

  “Too late to save her life.”

  Rayph entered the bar at the fall of dusk and saw it nearly empty. He made his way to the counter and waved down the barkeep. “You again,” he said, looking into Rayph’s Dimeias disguise. “She commanded if you return, you were to be sent in immediately."

  Rayph’s flesh crawled, and he knew he was being followed. He looked behind him, seeing nothing. He nodded to the man behind the counter. The man ushered him to the stairs that led to her room. The entity trailing Rayph lost track of him, and he decided it must be a vampire.

  If a vampire had discovered his Dimeias disguise, it could mean a number of things. He ran the options through his head, not liking them at all. They either were hunting down powerful mages within the city, or they had made his disguise and knew they had him.

  Rayph touched his fetish and pulled the group close. “Dissonance, I am headed into a pit of darkness. Be ready to join me if things get too intense.”

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “I am going to see an old friend. But I might have been discovered in this disguise. Be ready to go.”

  “I will be.”

  “Rayph, are you going after Aaron?” Drelis asked.

  “I am.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Me and Dissonance will be enough,” Rayph said.

  “I’m not asking,” Drelis stated.

  Rayph felt a little more secure, but the weight of the situation still pressed on him. He climbed the stairs until he reached Jetula’s waiting room and found the door open. A slight smell of exotic smoke issued through the gauzy, billowing curtains. As soon as he reached the room, he heard her beguiling voice.

  “Come, Dimeias, I can sense you out there. Please come in so I can look at you.”

  A portal ripped open, and Drelis stepped through. She shook her right hand, and a flaming whip tail dropped from it to hiss and pop on the ground. Rayph’s escort froze, and Rayph patted the man on the back.

  “You may go,” he said. “You might not want to be here when we walk through that door.”

  The man blubbered as Drelis stepped before the poor servant to snarl in his face.

  “Your mistress is dead,” she said. “Run from this place and take nothing with you. Do this not, and you will die screaming.”

  “Drelis,” Rayph began. But beyond the door, he heard Jetula chuckle. “I might be able to talk to her,” he said.

  “She is a vampire, Rayph.”

  “We don’t know that. I didn’t get a good enough look at her. We can—”

  Drelis shook a finger in his face, and she clicked her tongue menacingly. “No, Ivoryfist, we did not come here to save your once lover. We came here to rip the life out of her. If you can’t get right with that, then walk away. Send me in there with Dissonance and be done with it. Aaron the Marked is vital to the mountain, vital to the Redfist, and vital to this world. Screw your will to this march, or don’t make it.”

  Rayph pulled back and nodded.

  “Rayph Ivoryfist, my darling, come here, Love. Introduce me to your friend,” Jetula said from within the room.

  She knew him, knew the man behind the disguise. There was no way but through blood now. Rayph calmed his nerves and stepped forward. With cautious hands, he reached to push himself through the gauzy curtains until the snap of a whip and the flaming lash seared them away like a blazing spider web. The tiny embers rained around him, and Rayph cursed under his breath.

  Rayph heard men marching up the stairs behind him. He spoke a word, dropping his Ironwood sword in his hand.

  Purple shaded lamps cast everything in hazy colored light. Rayph looked in the corner, where Aaron was still chained to the tub, and he took a long, steadying breath.

  The room stunk of old blood, the floors stained with it. Bones and bits of tendon lay scattered around the once opulent room. Rayph looked at his one-time lover, and his heart soured.

  She lay naked on her couch, her bottom jaw and fur-covered breasts coated in blood, sticky and matted. Her claws tapped out a restless beat on her thigh as she stared at Rayph. Jetula took a long, slow draw off her hooka and parted her lips for a rolling puff of smoke. She smiled a hungry smile and lifted an eyebrow.

  Drelis turned her eye to Aaron, flicking her whip at her side. Rayph heard the carpet sizzling and popping. He held a hand out to his right, pressing Drelis back.

  Rayph surveyed the walls of the room, a dozen wild and hunger-crazed vampires staring with drooling mouths at the two of them. Rayph felt the waiting room behind him filling with cold bodies intent on feasting.

  “You have new friends,” Rayph said.

  The Marked

  Aaron watched them come in, and his heart kicked up in rhythm. He looked from Jetula to Rayph Ivoryfist, and the need for blood rose to his mind. He felt the chains heavy on his wrist and stood.

  Jetula snarled at him.

  “Get on your knees!” she spat.

  “Tonight is our night,” Aaron said with a grin. The scar along his cheek seared as he smiled, and he shook his arms at his side and laughed.

  “Jetula, give us Aaron,” Rayph said.

  Beyond the couch, in the window behind it, a small trim form stood outside on the ledge. Aaron grinned and jumped up and down.

  “Our night, our night, bitch,” Aaron said.

  Rayph was talking, but Aaron could only see Mort outside the window and feel his dire need for steel in his hand.

  Rayph turned to Aaron and his lips moved ever so slightly. Aaron heard the air around his ear spit out a word. “Be ready.”

  “Twenty!” Aaron shouted over the voices speaking.

  Rayph, the witch who had come with him, and the raksa looked at him.

  “I’m going to rip you into twenty raw and bleeding pieces. Then while your vampire power keeps you alive, I am going to set you on fire,” Aaron said. “Just like I said I would. Just as I promised.”

  Jetula snarled and jumped to her feet. The witch with the flaming whip snapped it in Aaron’s direction, striking the chains that bound him. They exploded in a searing detonation, and he felt the freedom within him, pregnant in the air around him, coursing through his heart that pounded for one purpose, calling out for one thing.

  His heart craved blood, and Aaron charged.

  The room broke out into sudden mayhem. Rayph and his witch fought a room full of vampires, and Aaron rushed forward as the window shattered.

  Jetula stopped in her rage to cast an eye behind her as Mort flipped into the room and tossed a dagger into the air between Aaron and Jetula.

  He jumped, his hand whipping out fast as lightning to catch the dagger as he flew through the air at her.

  Jetula reached out faster than fast, and with one extended claw, caught him by the neck. Mort rushed past them, into the hell bursting out behind him. Jetula smiled a strained smile.

  “Little and weak, how you killed my bull is beyond me. I will—”

  Aaron gripped her wrist with one hand and pulled up. He could breathe barely, and he grinned at her. “Hold on,” he said.

  “I was speaking, dog.”

  “I’ll let you get back to it. Just let me,” Aaron stabbed out fast and hard at her elbow, slicing straight through the bone. The arm folded, and she screamed in pain as she dropped him.

  “Go on,” Aaron said.

  She pulled back, cradling her arm to her chest.

  “Go on. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I had to do just that one thing.” He flipped the dagger in his hand and grinned. “What were you going to say?”

  She spat out words onto the air that must have been the beginning of a spell. With a quick underhand throw, he tossed his dagger blade into the point of her chin.

  She staggered back, coughing, and gripped the blade as he slowly walked toward her. She pulled the blade free as she backed away and dropped it to the ground. She fought to make her mouth work, to form any words at all
. He kept walking. He bent slowly and picked up his dagger.

  “Done talking, then?” He looked at her frantic eyes and noticed wavering heat mirages around him. The whip had caught the room to flame. He smiled at Jetula. “There is that fire I promised.”

  She looked at the door, but Rayph, the witch, and the blue-hooded woman from the other night slashed down vampires between her and the exit.

  “No escape, bitch,” Aaron said casually. “Just the window behind me, the dagger in my hand, and the promises I mean to keep.”

  He rushed forward, slicing her knee in half and spinning the blade. The leg came off below the knee, and she howled a gurgling cry of agony.

  “Two,” Aaron said. “Let’s go for three.”

  She clawed at him, but he stepped back. His dagger flashed, and he severed her arm at the wrist. Her hand plopped on the ground as she howled again.

  “That’s three pieces.”

  The walls burned when he leapt at her. She dropped and thrashed, and he straddled her, looking down at her naked panic.

  “Gonna have to hurry now.” Aaron wove a tapestry of pain and humiliation Jetula of the Leopard justly deserved.

  The Death of Aaron the Marked

  “He is torturing her!” Dissonance yelled over the sounds of screaming and fire. She grabbed Rayph and turned him around as the doorway collapsed into flames and snapping boards. “He is torturing her, Rayph. We have to stop him.”

  “End it!” Rayph spat out over the sounds of vampires dying. Dissonance rushed toward Aaron, then a short trim woman flipped into her way, dropping into a crouch. The girl wore black robes, and her face had been painted to the image of a skull.

  Dissonance pointed at Aaron. “He is torturing her. I cannot stand for it. Make him finish her off or I will,” she said.

  A vampire slammed into Rayph’s back, and he spun, slicing with his Ironwood sword. The bruise-colored beast nearly exploded blood. His body so suffused with it, he seemed more to pop than to die. Rayph turned back to Dissonance staring at the girl in black. Rayph looked again and saw the vestments of the Pale. The women were speaking in a tongue he did not understand. Dissonance nodded and turned away.

  “Stop him!” Rayph said.

  “I cannot,” Dissonance said. “He is protected and loved by The Pale. He is one of her favorite killers. We cannot get involved.”

  Rayph’s stomach soured as a large flap of fur-coated skin flew through the air and dropped, wet and tangled at his feet. He saw an eyehole and realized Aaron was skinning her face.

  Vampires rushed for the windows, and Rayph jumped in the way. Drelis stood guard over Aaron, while Dissonance fought her way to Rayph.

  “Too much fire, too much heat. This place will not stand. This entire bar is coming down around us. We have to go,” she said.

  Aaron the Marked stood, laughing down at his work. He wiped blood-slick hair from his face and grinned. He looked nothing more than a child, a happy boy at fresh and righteous play. He seemed to have just been following a butterfly or caterpillar. The only mar that rotted the image was the black scar that smirked across his cheek.

  The window was collapsing. They had no way out. Rayph called up a portal to Ironfall and shoved Dissonance toward it. He whistled for the others and Drelis, the priestess of The Pale, and Aaron the Marked flipped through it.

  The night air brought a chill to Rayph’s skin, and he shivered at its suddenness. Aaron laughed and threw his hands in the air. He wrapped arms around the priestess, and she held him close. Rayph could see love on her face. He wondered at the relationship more than a little.

  Dissonance stepped close to Rayph and whispered. “You brought them to Ironfall. Was that wise?”

  “Can’t lose him. I have to help him, not to mention Drelis would never have left him on the streets being hunted by the night. No, he is safest here. We can guard him until we can send him to his people. We will find a house and let him live in peace and settle himself, let him get some rest before we send him off.”

  “Hey, trimerian, I need a sword,” Aaron snapped.

  “You are quite safe in this refuge, Aaron. There will be no need for you to have a weapon,” Rayph said.

  Aaron stepped close to him, the wind whipping between them. Rayph realized, just then, there was nothing between this man and him. No chains or distance to be spanned. Aaron could just reach out and touch Rayph at any moment. Rayph took a step back.

  “Sword. And boots. I need a clean shirt and a meal. Then I’ll be gone and you won’t have to deal with me again. But I will have those things. In that order,” Aaron said.

  Sword and boots, a clean shirt and Dreark’s Stalwart. Rayph walked in with Aaron and Mort. He walked in with Dissonance and Drelis, and the room went quiet.

  Dreark stared. He joined Rayph.

  “You brought a warrior unknown by my people into our Stalwart?”

  Drelis stepped between Rayph and Dreark, putting a gentle hand on the great man’s chest. “I will vouch for him, Dreark. I will take responsibility for any wrongdoing he might commit.”

  Aaron shoved her away and grinned up at Dreark.

  “Don’t want to do wrong,” Aaron said. “I want a meal, and maybe a drink, then I want to be gone from this place. I want nothing to do with your bar, want nothing to do with your group. Your men don’t concern me, and your opinion of me matters even less. So what do you want? What do I have to do to get a decent meal out of you?”

  “We will send a meal to you. You can wait for it in the house across the street.”

  Aaron stabbed a finger at Dreark. “You’re rude.” He stepped forward and Dreark stepped back. “I’m not waiting out in the cold like some beggar.” Aaron looked around and his eye fell on the boxing ring. “That right there. Get in there with me and let me show you who I am.”

  Dreark opened his arms wide and the room laughed. Rayph only then noticed the men who served Dreark now surrounded them all.

  “That ring is sacred. I would not sour it with your blood. And I cannot be challenged by an outsider with no established honor.” Dreark laughed, and by law, he was right. Aaron had not earned a match against Dreark, but in the back of Dreark’s eye, Rayph thought he saw fear.

  “Sacred,” Aaron nodded. “It is sacred among my people, too. A boxing ring means something where I grew up. But so did cowardice.”

  Dreark growled.

  “What do you know of sacred rings? Who are these people you come from?”

  “I am Aaron the Marked of the Nation of Four, but my father’s people were from the mountains of Neather.”

  Dreark laughed a great booming laugh, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Which of the mountain’s people do you call kin? From the look of you, I would say Howler.”

  Aaron laughed and looked at Rayph. Rayph nearly cried out. Within those eyes sat a hate that knew no leash. Within those eyes waited vengeance and death.

  “My father was a Bloodblade. If you say one foul word about his nation, I will kill every man in this bar and walk home.”

  “You are a Bloodblade?” Dreark said in reverent tones. “You are of Kelven’s line?”

  “My blood traces back to the Anvil, yes. Will you fight me?”

  “My nation made the great Karkian trek. We passed through that land on our way to Ganamaia. Kelven’s clan stayed and became the Bloodblade nation. You and I are kin.”

  “Then fight me,” Aaron said with a stomp of his foot.

  “I will!” Dreark shouted.

  The tension of the room rolled away, and Rayph sighed in relief.

  Rayph watched Dreark pound on Aaron for nearly an hour. The big man sweated profusely and cursed with every hit. The boy’s hard skull had long ago shattered Dreark’s hand, but Dreark’s pride would not let him stop the fight. Aaron weathered more abuse than anyone Rayph had ever seen. He took hit after hit, rising from the mat to stand on wobbly legs before the great man again. He had stopped hitting back long ago, when he heard the report of Dreark’s fist s
hattering. Now he just waited until Dreark could go on no longer.

  “He is handling this much better than you did, the night we went to recruit Dreark,” Smear said.

  “Do not remind me of that night, please. I do not remember it fondly,” Rayph said. “The boy is a force of nature.”

  “What’s that name he keeps screaming?” Smear asked.

  Aaron screamed it again as he rose from the floor. “Red fish!” he yelled out.

  “What’s a red fish?” Smear said.

  “I think he means Redfist. It’s his king’s last name.”

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  Dreark punched Aaron one more time before screaming in pain and stepping away. He cradled his fists and shook his head. “I cannot go on,” Dreark said. “I will take the loss with honor. Your head is made of stone, boy.”

  Aaron moved over to the ropes to hold himself up. He screamed for a red fish again, and Rayph turned to Smear. “We have to get him back to his king.”

  The whole of the bar saw the lightening of the sky and walked outside. They stepped to the edge of the cliff and looked at the vampires bound to stakes driven into the ground. Six stared with terror-soaked faces at the rising of the sun.

  Rayph looked at the other stakes driven into the ground, and his mood soured. Not enough. He had not killed enough yet. He needed more numbers. Needed to bring more of these monsters to justice. How was he going to do that? There had to be hundreds now. He turned his attention back to the stakes as Sisalyyon stepped up beside him.

  “They are not coming out through the front gate or any of the side gates. The forest looks for any sign of them and cannot find them. If they are escaping, it is by sea,” Sisalyyon said.

  “Yeah, I thought of that,” he said.

  The sun rose over the mountain, and the tops of the vampires’ heads burst into flames. Aaron laughed. Rayph was sickened by the sound of it.

  “How are we going to stop that?” she asked.

  “It has to be the pirates. They have to be moving the vampires out of town and off to other locations. The pirates are spreading the disease.”