The woman cried out, and her form shimmered, becoming nearly transparent, then reshaped itself into the likeness of a deep-chested gray wolf. She leaped onto the still-thrashing body of the mage and stopped his screaming with her sharp teeth. A pool of liquid crimson welled beneath the dying man's body, and the wolf-thing lapped thirstily, tail wagging slowly back and forth.
Jander was about to call the dark-haired woman's attention to the priest when he noticed that the young bard had resumed his seat. His right hand crept up to gingerly pat his breast, to reassure himself that the holy symbol of Lathander was safely hidden. Coward, thought Jander at first, then revised his opinion when he saw the determination in the bard's blue eyes. Not cowardice-wisdom. The priest was waiting until he had a better chance.
Jander allowed himself a thin smile. He should have expected no less from a priest of Lathander Morninglord.
In the time it had taken her colleague to slay the wizard, the other woman had already dispatched two of the biggest men in the Black Boar. As she sucked at the blood that pumped from the severed head of one of them, Jander realized that the room had fallen silent. Shock and terror had momentarily paralyzed the horrified crowd. That didn't last long, though.
One young man panicked and bolted for the door. The youth with the blood-spattered shirt caught him with unnatural ease, snapping the man's neck effortlessly. The body fell to the floor with a thud.
"Oh, you don't want to leave just yet." The newcomer smiled. "The party's just beginning."
At that moment, Theorn appeared in the doorway. Cries of relief rippled through the crowd, and Jander felt Rhynn twitch with a sudden spurt of hope. Swiftly, the gold elf clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent her crying out to her ally. The big captain of the Riders strode up to the stranger, who was watching the slaughter with amusement, and bowed. "What next, my lord Cassiar?"
"Can you smell them?" was the youth's response. Theorn swallowed hard, nodding eagerly. "A sweet, sweet scent," Cassiar continued. He reached up a hand and patted Theorn's bearded cheek in an oddly affectionate, yet utterly patronizing gesture. "Smile for me. There's a good fellow."
The captain's lips drew back in a horrible grin. Theorn's incisors had lengthened to almost three times their natural length. Whimpers and cries arose from members of the crowd, who cringed back. Jander felt a wave of pity. These were farmers and musicians, not wandering sorcerers or sell-swords. He, Cassiar, Erith, and Marys were like wolves in a rabbit hutch.
"You must be famished," Cassiar continued. Again Theorn nodded. "Well, for your very first meal as one of us, you may take your pick." He waved a thin, pale hand expansively, brown eyes twinkling with malicious humor. Theorn's undead gaze, blazing now with an unnatural fire, settled on Rhynn.
Fear leaped in Jander's unbeating heart. "No, Cassiar. She's mine."
The master vampire pouted. "But Theorn wants her, and he's been very helpful."
"And I haven't? You and I have been together for over a century now. I've scouted out every town for you, found the best time and place for feeding, and covered your tracks when the slaughter was over." He paused, holding Cassiar's gaze. "Have I ever asked for a particular victim before?"
The petulant frown deepened. "No," Cassiar admitted.
"Give me this one, then."
Brown eyes narrowing, Cassiar asked, "Why her? Why now?"
Hoping he sounded convincing, Jander replied, "Because she's my kind. An elf." He brushed his chin across her dark hair. Rhynn cringed, fear rolling off her in a rank scent that the vampire could smell. "I find her attractive."
Cassiar continued to stare speculatively for a moment, then nodded once, curtly. "Very well. Enjoy her. In the meantime," Cassiar announced, raising his voice, "I understand there was a bardic competition taking place. By all means, let us continue with the festivities."
But the people were too terrified to comply. Members of the formerly happy gathering now stared stupidly, silently, while the blood of their dead soaked into the floorboards of the Black Boar. Cassiar frowned, annoyed at their lack of obedience, and gestured to Theorn.
The Rider tangled his gloved hands in the long, flowing hair of the unfortunate woman nearest him-one of Fogg's barmaids-and yanked her head back. Jander felt Rhynn twist in his arms, but he kept his hold on her. With a guttural moan, Theorn bit clumsily at the exposed white throat, his teeth ripping, not piercing. Blood exploded, covering his face and the dying woman's chest and bodice. Theorn gulped hungrily, and Erith, the vampiress who had retained her human form, applauded.
Jander licked dry lips. He could smell the hot scent, and it pierced him painfully, reminding him that he hadn't feasted in a long time.
"Unless I get some music very soon," Cassiar warned, "everyone here will end up like her." He strode to the front of the room. The patrons moved back, frightened, clearing a place for him to sit. He did so. "You," Cassiar said to a half-elf who clutched her flute like a staff. "I think I'd like to hear you."
Trembling, the woman rose and made her way to the front. The priest made way for her. Jander opened his mouth to warn Cassiar about the young man's profession, but something made him hold his tongue. An idea, so daring it would have made him catch his breath had he still breathed, was beginning to form in the gold elf's brain.
The flutist's slim fingers shook badly, and her breathing was too shallow for performing. The sweet notes of the flute were fragile, hesitant, and Jander knew with a sick certainty what would happen next.
Cassiar frowned. "No! Boo! That won't do at all!" He leaped up to seize the hapless woman. A quick bite opened her wrist, and the vampire sucked at the spurting blood. Laughing, he turned his crimson mouth to Erith. "A fine red, with a delicate bouquet but a full, robust flavor!" Cassiar let the woman drop, not draining her, content with his sampling. Whimpering and clutching her ragged arm, she scuttled away.
Rhynn began to twitch again, but her movements were different this time. Speaking in Elvish, Jander hissed in her pointed ear, "Don't get sick. He'll notice you and make me rip your throat out. I don't want to do it, but I must obey him. If you'll be quiet, I'll take my hand away. Can I trust you?"
She nodded, and Jander, hoping desperately that she would keep her word, removed his hand. Rhynn gasped and shuddered, gulping in air. The elven vampire longed to hold her, to soothe her, but he knew she didn't desire such gestures from him now.
When Rhynn regained her composure, she hissed, "You're a traitor to your kind, Jander, and I hate you for it!"
Despite himself, Jander flinched from the insult. "No more than I hate myself," he whispered back softly, still speaking in his native tongue.
She glanced up at him, and he could see emotions warring on her delicate, lovely face. The priest was performing now. His voice was astoundingly steady, and his fingers caressed the strings of his instrument with assurance despite the fact that Death was a yard away, staring him in the face. Cassiar was pleased and made no move to interrupt the song.
"That bard's a priest," Jander whispered to Rhynn.
"Then why didn't he-"
"He's not a fool. He's biding his time."
"Are you going to kill him?"
Jander's look was angry now. "I am not what you think me to be, Rhynn the Fair. Wait until all the facts are in before you pass judgment upon me!" He paused, aware that his voice had risen slightly, and brought it back to a soft murmur. "I had not wanted you to be here, but perhaps it is best this way. I have an idea that could save at least some of the villagers."
"Why should I trust you?"
Why, indeed? He released his hold on her. "Go for your weapon if you wish. Or else trust me."
He half expected her to draw her sword. One hand moved toward the weapon, but at the last instant Rhynn clenched her fingers into a fist. Then, with a deliberate effort, she brought her hand down to her side. Jander permitted himself a slight smile.
The bard finished his song, and Cassiar applauded. When the rest of the room stayed silent, h
e craned his neck to look back at the silent crowd. Merciless brown eyes took in the scene: Pogg and Trevys huddled behind the bar; four corpses sprawled on the floor; the half-elf clutching her mangled hand and looking paler by the moment; the sated, smug vampiresses; the overturned tables; the slack-jawed men and women at the seven remaining tables, staring in terror.
"Come now," Cassiar chided. "Wasn't he wonderful? Don't you think you should clap for him?" The vampire threw back his head and laughed as the terrified crowd burst into frenzied applause. The bard bowed politely and returned to his seat.
Jander watched, knowing the next step of this grisly dance. Cassiar rose and began to peruse the crowd until he found a woman who struck his fancy. Jander's heart sank as he saw that it was Aluise.
"Well, aren't you the pretty thing," Cassiar said. He reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I like your eyes," he stated, heading toward the stairs. Aluise began to whimper, then suddenly shrieked and tried to pull free. The vampire lord paused halfway up the stairs, turned, and leveled his gaze at her. Aluise stared back. Her sobs turned to sniffles, then ceased. Cassiar glanced around, his eyes finding Theorn. He pointed a finger at the Rider.
"You've fed and won't be hungry for a while. You can guard the door." He grimaced a bit at the Rider's blood-matted beard. "You are a messy eater, aren't you? Well, put your helm on and no one'll notice. You're one of the militia. Remember that, and you'll be able to allay suspicions if anyone should come." He caught and held the new vampire's gaze. "No one enters. No one leaves."
"No one enters. No one leaves," Theorn repeated dutifully.
Cassiar turned to Erith and Marys. "Keep an eye on Jander, my dears. His heart's a little too soft for the sort of sport we enjoy."
"Aye, master," said Erith obediently, smiling a little. The wolf, Marys, whuffed. Cassiar continued up the stairs. Jander watched him go, hatred twisting his face.
Rhynn's voice interrupted his dark thoughts. "You won't get away with this. If any of the Riders notice that no one's on guard duty-"
"Theorn will send them off on some fruitless search," Jander interrupted harshly. "Your Riders won't know you're here until they stumble across your body tomorrow."
She flinched at the brutality in his voice, but Jander didn't soften his words. She had to see the true horror of the thing and join him if he was to accomplish what he wanted tonight.
"He'll take Aluise-in every way possible-and when he's done he'll throw her away. It won't be that long. Then he'll come down and everyone will be systematically killed and the place set aflame. We'll flee like the gods-cursed night things we are, and wait until the talk dies down. And then we'll go to another town, and we'll do it again. And again."
"Stop it."
"Only if you help me stop it."
"Excuse me," came a tentative voice. Jander glanced toward the speaker, startled to see that it was the young priest. He's braver-or stupider-than I thought, Jander noted to himself.
"May we tend to our wounded?" the priest asked.
Jander's face flooded with compassion. "By all means, care for your injured," he said, raising his voice slightly. Erith overheard him and lifted a ruby lip in a snarl.
"Cassiar's right. You are soft, elf," she hissed.
Jander growled. His eyes locked with hers, and she retreated a few steps, glancing over at her compatriot for support. Marys shrugged her massive wolf shoulders, unconcerned. Erith frowned, but ceased to protest. She kept her eyes on Jander, however, and snapped acidly, "Have it your way. Do your bit of good and busy yourself with the cattle. Cassiar will be down soon enough, and don't think I won't tell him."
Jander ignored her. "And clean up the floor," he told the priest "The scent-" He broke off and turned away.
Confused, Rhynn queried, "Don't vampires like the smell?"
"Gods, Rider, are you blind?" he cried in Elvish. "I haven't tasted human blood since we met! Starve yourself for a month, then have someone lock you in a bakery. Perhaps you'll have some faint idea of what it's like! I haven't had so much as a rat in almost a week." The anger faded, and he made a halfhearted joke. "Pogg runs far too clean an inn."
"You do not feed," said the priest in perfect Elvish. Both Rhynn and Jander turned to stare at him. Few humans in Mistledale spoke Elvish. "You let us care for the wounded and even seem distressed by what is happening. You are not like the others. Why?"
Jander answered with a smile, also speaking in Elvish. "Of course a morninglord would know my tongue. Now you answer me, why have you not attacked us, priest?"
The young man's green eyes widened. At last he said, "I did not think I was so obvious. My name is Frajen. I have been a bard longer than I have been a priest, and the odds were hardly in my favor. I was waiting, watching you. Tell me, what keeps you from doing as your friends do?"
"My name is Jander Sunstar of Evermeet. I-"
A sharp hiss interrupted him. "Don't say things that I can't understand, eh0," Erith snapped.
"Cassiar commands my movements, not my tongue. I'll speak my native language if I wish. Unless you want to force me to stop."
Erith knew the better part of valor and quieted. Jander returned his attention to Frajen, his voice gentling. "I followed your god, priest, and as long as I can remember the beauty of the morning, I will not willingly embrace evil. If you and Rhynn will trust me, we may be able to save lives here tonight."
Frajen nodded without hesitation. Slowly, Rhynn did likewise. Jander let himself relax. "Give me time to think. Frajen, be careful-keep your symbol well hidden and do not use any magic. Our kind can sense it. And tell Pogg to clean up the blood. It's becoming hard to resist."
The priest nodded and went to the innkeeper. Jander watched as Pogg brought in a bucket of water and three towels. He and Trevys wordlessly began to wipe at the puddles of red soaking into the floorboards while Frajen and Rhynn moved among the wounded. They recruited the rest of the patrons, more to keep the frightened people occupied than for the feeble assistance they could offer.
Jander glared at Marys and Erith, aware that they were still watching him. At first they were intent on watching the gold elf's every move, but the women were young and inexperienced, so he paid them little mind. Jander returned his attention to Frajen, and his eyes widened at what the priest was doing.
Frajen had gone to kneel beside Pogg and Trevys, ostensibly to help them clean the floor. To a casual observer, he did indeed seem to be doing that, holding onto the wooden pail with one hand and wiping at the bloody floor with a wet rag held in the other. Jander saw, however, that the morninglord's eyes were half closed and his lips moved slightly.
He was consecrating the water.
Why can I not sense the magic? Jander wondered fleetingly, then realized that creating holy water was nothing so arcane as magic, merely a holy blessing. Very clever, Frajen! he admitted silently.
The elf's gaze flickered to Erith and Marys. Erith was looking about for new amusement, and Marys, still in wolf form, lay curled up near the dead mage, though her eyes remained open and watchful. Soon, the two would notice what the priest was up to. Jander needed a distraction.
The odds would never be better-Jander had a trained soldier and a cleric on his side, and all three vampires nearby were newly undead. Cassiar would be dangerous, and deadly. Jander knew that he was not up to that confrontation, not in his present voracious and weakened state. But he had to try.
"No more," he said softly to himself. "No more. Aluise is the last."
He strode to the wall lined with wooden pegs and tore down the cloaks. The movement drew the attention of mortal and vampire alike. He felt their eyes on him, their tension, as they wondered what the strange gold-skinned vampire was going to do next. The cloak pegs were about nine inches long-just long enough for Jander's purposes. Grimly the elf splintered off several of them, glancing back over his shoulder to gauge the reactions of the vampiresses.
Marys had risen to all fours, and the hair on her neck was standing up. She b
egan to growl softly. Erith's eyes narrowed. "Beware, elf," she began menacingly.
Jander glanced surreptitiously at Frajen. Imperceptibly, the priest inclined his blond head. The elven vampire glanced over at Rhynn, and he saw her expression harden into a mask of cold comprehension.
In one swift movement, Jander tossed a stake apiece to Rhynn and Frajen, keeping a third for himself. Erith rose as swiftly, the severed head tumbling from her lap and landing with a dull thump on the floor. Jander was no longer a fellow predator. He had crossed the line, and now, he was prey.
"Do it, Trevys!" Frajen cried.
The farm boy got to his feet and hurled the bucketful of bloody, blessed water directly into Erith's face. The sacred liquid acted like acid upon the vampiress's profane flesh. Her face melted, dripping like candle wax from a flame. Erith's wail was keen and sharp, and she clawed at her horribly disfigured, smoking face. She fell to the floor, no longer a thing of horrible beauty, merely a thing of horror.
Frajen cried Lathander's name as he lunged at Erith. He stabbed the writhing undead again and again in the chest. Her hands clutched and scratched at him, scoring his cheek, but the priest didn't falter. At last, he pressed the deadly point of wood deep into the vampiress's heart.
Marys, meanwhile, had leaped in deadly silence at Rhynn. Not even Jander had fully appreciated how swiftly the beast could move, and as he watched her attack, he knew he would be unable to reach the Rider in time to shield her. Desperately he hurled the wooden dagger toward Marys's gray shape. The sharpened peg bit into the vampiress's hindquarters.
Marys arched in mid-leap, yelping from the sting of the wooden weapon, and landed heavily atop the Rider. Rhynn went down under the wolf's weight. Hot breath fanned her face, but before Marys could secure a deadly grip on the elfmaid's throat Jander was there. He twined his gold fingers into the thick ruff about the wolf's neck and yanked Marys's head back. Rhynn rallied, thrusting upward with the sharpened peg, plunging the wood deep into the wolf-thing's broad chest.
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