Realms of Valor a-1

by Douglas Niles

  The vampiress's howl of outrage suddenly changed to a choked whimper. Blood flowed around the wood. Rhynn kept her hold, shoving ever deeper, grimacing only a little as Marys's blood dripped into her eye, stinging horribly. The Rider blinked it away. At last Marys ceased to struggle, and her weight pressed heavily down upon the slender elf woman.

  Jander heaved the corpse aside. "Are you all right?" the vampire demanded.

  Taking a shaky breath, Rhynn nodded and let Jander help her to her feet. Frajen stumbled over to them, covered with blood and breathing heavily.

  "Jander," gasped the morninglord, "Pogg says there's a way out the back, through the cellar. May we go?"

  "Of course. But you'd best hurry." Jander glanced up at the ceiling, toward the room where Cassiar was having his sport. "I'll get the third. See them to safety. The boy should go first. Be careful, Frajen."

  Frajen smiled ever so slightly. "The blessing of Lathander be upon you, Jander Sunstar," he said softly, then turned to help Pogg and young Trevys with the trap door in the kitchen.

  "I must go too," said Rhynn brusquely. She was every inch the professional soldier now, and her face was hard and implacable. "I'm a Rider, and the villagers need me."

  Jander smiled, but his silver eyes were sorrowful. "Of course, Rhynn. Hurry."

  She nodded once, her blue eyes revealing no trace of softer emotions, and ran lithely to join Frajen.

  The gold elf strode to the door, stooping to pick up one of the coat pegs, then heaved the oaken door open with a swift movement.

  Instantly Theorn turned to him, indignant fury in his voice. "No one enters-"

  "No one leaves," Jander finished smoothly, driving the makeshift stake home through the thick leather armor. "I'm not leaving."

  Theorn made a small choking sound. Then, his chest heaving, he managed to bellow a single name. "Cassiar!"

  His dying cry mingled with a sonorous chiming, and Jander realized that someone was ringing Mistledale's warning bell. The other Riders would be alerted. Jander only hoped there was enough time to complete the bloody task he had set for himself before they arrived. The elf whirled as Theorn's body fell against the door frame with a heavy thump.

  A movement by the bar caught Jander's eye. He jumped, teeth bared, hissing. "It's me," came Frajen's reassuring voice as he climbed out of the trap door and closed it after himself. "Rhynn's taking care of the locals. I'm staying. You might need some help."

  "No!" Jander cried. "You don't know what he is. You don't know what he'll-"

  "What in the Nine Hells is going on!" shrieked a shrill, nervous voice. Elf and priest looked up to see a very angry Cassiar hastening down the stairs. He had removed his vest, and his open shirt fluttered as he ran. His copper hair was tousled. Except for the blood that had splashed on his bared chest, Cassiar looked more like an interrupted libertine than a vampire. "Who called for me? Jander, what's- Bane's black heart! Where is everyone?"

  "They're gone, Cassiar," Jander said, suddenly laughing. "You'll not torture them, or anyone else, ever again. You die tonight, you bastard. And these-" he held up his golden hands "-are the instruments of your death."

  Cassiar frowned. "Jander, stop it. You were wrong to let them go, and you'll be pun-What have you done to them?" he cried, catching sight of the bodies of the vampiresses.

  Jander continued to grin savagely, exposing his fangs. Raw excitement was coursing through him, fueled by his anger and his driving hunger. "They are at peace."

  Cassiar, full of wrath, turned upon the elven vampire. "On your knees!"

  It was a ritual they had performed often before. Each time Jander had tried to thwart Cassiar, urge him to mercy or pity or outright defied him, the vampire lord would command the gold elf's obedience. And Jander, weeping tears of blood at his impotence, could not help but comply. He would kneel and bare his throat. Cassiar would then drink of his blood until he was satisfied his wayward slave had been sufficiently punished. For a vampire to be drained by another was excruciatingly painful, and Jander would be pathetically weak for several days.

  Jander winced as he felt the force of Cassiar's will, but stood firm. Gritting his teeth, he growled, "You were a spoiled, arrogant little aristocrat when you breathed, and you're a spoiled, arrogant little aristocrat now. I'll obey you no longer."

  Cassiar's face was flushed with fury. His elegant brows drew together over commanding, irresistible brown eyes. "Kneel!"

  Jander could not hold out. Gasping in pain, he dropped to the wooden floor. But he still held out hope. Cassiar was angry now, and when he grew angry, he was careless.

  "I have indulged you because you were a novelty," the vampire lord continued, moving to stand in front of the kneeling Jander. "But the novelty's gone."

  Against his will, Jander reached a hand toward one of the makeshift stakes. He gritted his teeth, fighting to disobey the mental command, but his slim golden fingers curled around the piece of wood. Slowly Jander's hand moved closer to his breast, the tip of the wooden stake pointed toward his heart.

  "Your hands are the instruments of your death, not mine," Cassiar gloated.

  "No!" came a choked cry. Frajen shoved the holy symbol toward Cassiar's face. "In the name of Lathander Morning-"

  Cassiar was an old vampire, far too powerful to be undone by the desperate actions of a young, inexperienced priest. He rolled his eyes and muttered, "Oh, please." With one pale hand, he reached out to pull the priest toward him. With the other he tore open Frajen's neck with a single swipe.

  Jander cried aloud. Frajen's sweet voice would never again fill a room with music. The priest had allied with him. Now he was dead for the choice. In his mind's eye, the elf again saw the look of loathing upon Rhynn's face- she who had once called him friend-and the torn body of the little girl who had fallen victim to Cassiar at the farmhouse outside of town. He remembered Aluise's girlish laugh, choked now by her own blood. He saw the frightened, helpless townsfolk and musicians. And he had doomed them, and dozens like them, by aiding Cassiar on his rampages.

  Cassiar had relaxed his will for an instant, his attention diverted from the gold elf to Frajen. Jander had a second or two where his will was his own, but he did not squander that precious blink of time in fighting.

  Instead, he called for help; he summoned Indigo. From the shadows leaped the black cat, a silent shadow himself, launching his lithe frame with deadly intent toward Cassiar. Claws reached for the vampire lord's brown eyes and raked.

  Cassiar shrieked as blood spewed from his damaged eyes. He groped frantically for the cat. Indigo continued to scratch and claw until Cassiar's own nails pierced the creature's sides. With a last frantic meow, the cat spasmed and died.

  Blinded, Cassiar could no longer focus his compelling gaze upon Jander, and his power over his minion was suddenly diminished. Jander sprang for his master. The two vampires crashed into a table, sending goblets flying. Despite his blindness, Cassiar recovered swiftly. As Jander's mouth yawned open and descended to the vampire lord's throat, Cassiar heaved. He rolled over, pinning the slighter elf beneath him.

  The elven vampire managed to get one arm up to protect his throat-and cried out as Cassiar's fangs sank deeply into his flesh. Teeth met in Jander's forearm, and Cassiar ripped away a chunk of meat. The elf dropped the wooden stake.

  "You ungrateful wretch," the master vampire growled through blood-stained teeth. "One day of rest and I'll heal. Then I'll get another elf-maybe that little wench you're so fond of."

  Not Rhynn. Never Rhynn. Jander would never permit another one of the People to be corrupted by Cassiar. His rage channeled the strength for one last attack, but Cassiar outweighed him. Laughing, the vampire lord opened his mouth, and his fangs drew nearer.

  Abruptly Cassiar jerked upward, snarling. He spun around, clawing blindly at his shoulder. Jander could see that someone had fired an arrow at the vampire lord, but he didn't bother to seek out his would-be savior. Instead, he grabbed a stake and shoved it into Cassiar's breast.
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  Driven by Jander's hatred and his vampiric strength, the wooden weapon all but disappeared in the sudden redness that was the vampire lord's chest. Cassiar clawed ineffectually at Jander's face, then collapsed on top of the elf. Jander scrambled free, then looked up to see who his unexpected ally might be.

  He wasn't really surprised to find a beautiful young woman wearing night-black leather armor leaning against the closed front door. Rhynn clutched her spent bow, but did not meet his eyes. She was staring over Jander's shoulder, her lip curled in a grimace of disgust. The elf followed her gaze.

  Cassiar's body was beginning to decay with astonishing speed. The two elves watched in horrified fascination. The corpse rotted, then dried, then even the bones crumbled into fine dust.

  Jander looked up at Rhynn. "The Riders?"

  "Outside. With Theorn dead, I'm in charge." She hesitated, then continued. "I told them to wait."

  Jander was puzzled, but did not press the point. Weakly he pointed toward the one remaining makeshift stake. He'd made five stakes; five stakes for five vampires.

  "Finish it."

  Rhynn shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his pale face. "You saved lives tonight. You've earned another chance."

  He laughed harshly. "At what? What's left for me?"

  "Evermeet."

  "Don't mock me, Rhynn, not now."

  "I'm not. You're free from him, Jander. You can travel anywhere you want now," she said, speaking with increasing urgency. She moved closer to him, hesitated, then stroked his cheek. "Maybe you can find someone who can cure you."

  He smiled weakly, without humor. "Cure a vampire?"

  "You haven't looked, so you don't know. Anyway, you don't deserve to die like they did." After a pause, she said, "You're hungry, so you'll need this." Rhynn rose, went unsteadily toward the door, and returned carrying a pail half full of deep wine-red fluid.

  Jander shook his head. "I won't drink human blood."

  "It's not. It's from-" her voice caught a little "-from my mare."

  The elf's eyes widened. Now he saw her reddened eyes, the tracks of tears down her flushed cheeks. "You're a Rider and you-"

  "When a mount grows old, it's the Rider's duty to kill it.

  Moonmaid's time was here. One more day, maybe two, and I'd have had to …" She fixed Jander's silver eyes with her own. "Take it. Heal. Travel through the world and then back home to Evermeet. Fair's fair, Jander. You saved my life. Let me return the favor." She held out the pail and smiled weakly. "This time, the drink's on me."

  The elven vampire hesitated. Only an elf could have understood how precious a place Evermeet was. Rhynn had seen past the monster to the elven part of him, had slain her beloved Moonmaid to help him return to what he had been. Was there really amp; chance for one as bloodied as he? Might there truly be, somewhere in the world, a wise man or woman who knew how to cure vampirism?

  Slowly Jander sat up. Rhynn's strong arms reached to steady him as he carefully stretched out a hand for a discarded goblet.

  "What is the year?" he asked suddenly. When Rhynn frowned at the curious question, he explained with a smile, "I forget, you know. It's been so long___"

  "As we reckon the year here in the Dales, eight hundred and ninety-two," Rhynn replied gently.

  "Eight hundred and ninety-two," Jander repeated. "The year of my freedom." He nodded slightly. "One last drink." Then the cursed elf dipped the goblet into the bucket, saluted his friend, and raised the liquid to his lips.

  THE BARGAIN

  Elaine Cunningham

  The one thing Arilyn Moonblade hated above all else was being followed.

  "But how do you know someone's trailing you? " demanded Arilyn's companion, a nattily attired nobleman who picked his way delicately along the littered docks of Port Kir "If you haven't actually seen or heard anything suspicious, how can you be so sure?"

  With a frustrated sigh, Arilyn tucked a handful of her dark curls behind one pointed ear How could she explain to Danilo Thann something that, to her, was both art and instinct? She just knew. There was a silent rhythm to stalking, a rhythm known only to the best hunters and rangers- and assassins.

  "A wizard can sniff out magic," she said slowly, absently waving away an overeager merchant attempting to spray her with jasmine perfume "And I believe a paladin can often sense when evil is near."

  "Ah." Danilo's gray eyes warmed with understanding as he studied the distracted half-elf at his side. "I take it that patience, for lack of a better word, has an aura of its own."

  Arilyn smiled without humor. "Something like that."

  "Has this been going on long?"

  She shrugged. "Since Imnescar."

  "Since-" The nobleman broke off abruptly, then let out a long hiss of exasperation. "Arilyn, my dear, someone's been stalking us through two kingdoms, and you don't see fit to mention it? Never came up in conversation, is that it?"

  "This is the first time we've been alone," Arilyn said, a trifle defensively.

  Danilo glanced pointedly around the teeming marketplace. Beyond the docks the Sea of Swords gleamed silver in the waning light, the horizon touched with the last faint pink of sunset. Most of the merchants were busily folding their bright silk tents and rolling up the mats that had displayed pottery, crafts, and exotic produce. The crowds had not diminished, but evening shoppers generally had goods of a different nature in mind.

  "We're alone, you say? How odd," Danilo mused. "I've often been alone with beautiful women, and things were never quite so hectic and noisy. Not initially, at any rate."

  "You know what I mean," the half-elf said curtly. For many days, she'd had little opportunity to speak to Danilo in private. They'd arranged to travel with a merchant caravan en route from the northern trade city of Waterdeep to Calimport, its counterpart in the South. Merchants were the only northerners welcome in parts of Tethyr, and, swept along on the tide of commerce, Arilyn and Danilo had moved unquestioned through the southern lands. Today they were to begin their true mission.

  Arilyn and Danilo had been sent by the Harpers-the self-appointed guardians of freedom and justice in Faerun- to bring a warning to Tethyr's ruling pasha. This was not an easy task, for Pasha Balik wanted nothing to do with "meddling northern barbarians." Repeatedly he'd refused Harper messengers or missives, and attempts to gain the ear of someone in his inner circle had also proved futile. Danilo had been charged with finding or creating a back door into the pasha's court; Arilyn's task was to keep the young nobleman alive during the process. Knowing Danilo as she did, Arilyn felt that her mission was sufficiently challenging without the added aggravation of an extra shadow.

  Despite the new problems he or she presented, the half-elf had developed a certain grudging respect for her pursuer. Granted, tracking a merchant caravan along the major north-south trade road was no test of skill. Avoiding detection for so long was another matter. No other member of the company had realized they were being stalked, not even the powerful Harper mage at her side.

  Arilyn cast a sidelong glance at Danilo, who was idly whistling the melody of an off-color ballad. Few who knew the young man might guess that he was either Harper or wizard. Danilo Thann was known as a dandy, an amateur mage whose spells comically misfired, a foppish dilettante with amusing pretensions toward bardhood. His self-satisfied smirk and extravagant attire bespoke wealth, ease, and privilege. In truth, Danilo cultivated that image. Prominently displayed on the amethyst silk of his jacket was the crest of a noble merchant family of the Northlands. His billowing trousers were tucked into impractical suede boots, and the voluminous sleeves of his silk shirt were embroidered with tiny runes in gold and violet threads. The nobleman's garments were loose and flowing, cut to mask his lean, powerful build, just as the sparkle of jewels on his sword's hilt distracted the eye from its keen and well-used edge. Danilo's facade made him an effective Harper agent, but it annoyed the Nine Hells out of Arilyn.

  "It's getting late," she said abruptly. "Let's find a quiet place
to plan our next move. Some food wouldn't hurt, either."

  The nobleman's face lit up at the suggestion. "I know the very spot. Local color, and all that." He took Arilyn's arm and led her down a maze of alleys to a low wooden building that possessed all the charm of an abandoned warehouse.

  "Local color, just as promised," Danilo said with enthusiasm as he swung open the door. He removed his plumed hat and tucked it under one arm, then patted his blond hair carefully into place as he beamed down at her. "Isn't this splendid?"

  "This" was a tavern of sorts, a vast sprawling taproom that was anything but splendid. If the room were thoroughly swept and aired, it might qualify as squalid, Arilyn noted with distaste. The taproom was crowded with tables and booths, most of them filled. It was a local haunt, judging from the swarthy faces and the distinctive blue-purple robes of Tethyr's natives. The crowd comprised men of all ages and social classes. Only men, Arilyn noted, though a row of doors lining the north wall of the taproom suggested that women were not entirely absent from the establishment.

  Danilo ushered Arilyn into the room. The patrons nearest the door studied the new arrivals, their faces betraying a mixture of interest and hostility. At one table, however, three well-dressed locals eyed Arilyn with speculation and began to argue.

  "Ah, Lord Thann!" proclaimed a nasal voice. Arilyn turned to see a squat, dark-robed man waddling toward them, his pudgy hands outstretched in welcome.

  Danilo greeted the innkeeper by name, inquired after the health of his wives and children, and requested his customary table. The man ushered them to a corner table-which was already occupied-and dismissed the lesser patrons with a few curt words in the local dialect. Beaming widely, the innkeeper wiped the table with the sleeve of his robe, promised them a wine fit for Pasha Balik himself, and hurried off.

  "Is there one tavern in the world where you're a stranger?" Arilyn asked with a touch of asperity.