"And what is it you do intend on doing?" Ryson asked in a low cold voice. "Kill me with an arrow? Best of luck."
"That first one wasn't aimed to kill ya," Evan sneered back. "I need to have a word with ya first. That's why I aimed for your knee. I didn't think you knew I was on ya, but I should have figured that from a delver." He said the last word with absolute disgust; as if there was nothing worse he could call someone.
"I was on to you long before I built this fire," Ryson scoffed, hoping to demean the tracker, for he understood the hate in Evan Chase's words and in his eyes. "Even with a shag to distract me, I sensed you. None of your kind can hide from a true delver." He said it proudly and watched with satisfaction as Chase's eyes burned.
"My kind? You watch your mouth."
"Let's get on with this," Ryson demanded with his own look of disdain. His expression made it clear he found the encounter tiresome, annoying. "You can try firing arrows at me all night, that's if I let you, but you still won't hit me. You know it and I know it."
"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't." With long practiced precision and swiftness, the tracker pulled the bow sting fully back and let the second arrow fly. It passed harmlessly into the darkness beyond the range of the firelight. Ryson was a full stride away by the time it passed where he had been standing. The quickest movements of even the fastest humans appeared as slow motion to the delver.
Ryson grunted his disapproval at the pointless attempt. "Let's hope you know for sure now. I can move faster than you can think. That's obvious."
Anger erupted in the face of the tracker. His cheeks turned crimson, noticeable even in the yellow and orange light of the fire. He tossed his bow to the ground and pulled a long hunting knife from a sheath of animal skin at his waist. The blade, nearly as long as Ryson's forearm, sparkled with sharpness. Chase gripped the brown wooden handle with furious tension.
Ryson laughed a hearty laugh. He kept his eyes on the tracker, but they glistened in enjoyment of the spectacle. "Now you're just being ridiculous. If I can dodge your arrows, don't you think I can dodge your pathetic attempts at trying to stab me?"
The tracker grimaced but said nothing.
Ryson allowed his own laughter to subside. He took a deep breath, allowed his mirth to drift back to serious concentration. His muscles tensed ever so slightly, as if preparing to spring upon his foe. Controlled determination filled his form. He glared at the tracker with intensity previously unmatched. Even the tracker with all his hate and prejudice retreated slightly from the scowl.
"I'm not going to waste much more time with you. You said you wanted a word with me." Ryson's words tumbled from his mouth in a bitter snarl. "This is your chance. What is it you want?"
Chase sized up the delver's defiant stand. He decided to press for the scraps of information he desired. "I want to know where ya've been and what you're up to."
"Why?" Ryson mouthed the one word question as his eyes drove nails into the tracker's own face.
"It's a job," Chase replied with a noncommittal shrug.
Being a delver and accepting commissions from others to explore lands and complete tasks, Ryson understood the tracker's simple answer. "Who hired you?" he demanded with authority.
"Consprite," the tracker answered without hesitation.
"Why?" Ryson repeated.
"I don't know, didn't ask. Don't care," Chase said with finality, making it clear he wouldn't say anything more of it.
Ryson shook his head with as much disbelief as disgust. "So you just want me to tell you what I've been up to? That's absurd. You're a tracker. You've been following me; you should now where I've been."
Chase grunted a satisfied snort. He found great delight in explaining things to the delver, as if it made him better, smarter than Ryson. "Not exactly. I started only a day ago. I found both of your trails in the trees of Dark Spruce. The older one went off to follow the trail of the tremor. The other was going to lead me to the desert. I'm not a real lover of the forest so I took the fresher one, especially since it would get me out of these cursed trees. Found your trail in the sand pretty easily, but ya know what? Soon as I got started into the Lacobian, I saw you and a lot of others coming back to me. I got out of sight and waited for you to pass. I figured as long as I had you in my sights, I might as well not lose ya."
"So you decided to follow directly and forget the trail," Ryson acknowledged. "I still don't see what you need to know."
Evan decided to take advantage of the opportunity to throw yet another insult. "Delver's ain't too smart, are they? I said I had a job. Consprite wanted me to follow your trail from beginning to end, wanted to know all about where you've been and what you've been up to. Told me I should follow the trail, but I like to do things my way. Now, I can't say what ya found when you followed the tremor and what made ya turn back to the desert. I can't even say what you found out in the desert, but I saw what you had with you. I figured the girl was with you in the forest. I saw signs of two when you first went in. But those other things, I don't even know what they were, let alone why you were leading 'em out of the desert. I figure I can get what I need to know out of you. You'll tell me where you've been and what you've been up to, won't ya?"
"And if I don't?" It was more of a taunt than a question.
Chase's face turned even brighter with the crimson hue of his emotions, of his hate for delvers. "If you don't, I'll cut you a little at a time." He held the knife threateningly toward his adversary.
Ryson held his laughter in check this time. He pressed the tracker. "That's not even a threat. I could leave you behind in an instant. I could be out of your sight so fast, you won't know in what direction I left. As for following my trail, forget it. I won't leave one. You know it and I know it."
"I also know something else," Chase responded belligerently. "I may not be able to pick up your trail, but I can pick up the trail of the girl and those things she's with. They're no delvers, they're careless. I can get what I need to know from them. I know you wouldn't like that, that's why you led that hairy mountain monster away from them. Yeah, I saw that thing shag followin' ya. I picked him up about the same time I saw you come out of the desert. I stayed clear of that thing, but I kept my eyes on what you were doin'. I saw ya set the phony trail to keep him away from your friends there. I won't follow no fake trail. I'll go right after 'em, even if it means followin' 'em in the forest. You wouldn't be at all happy about that, would ya?"
"No, I wouldn't," Ryson growled. "So you should know I won't let you."
"So how ya gonna stop me?" the tracker responded with a new gleam in his eye. "Ya gonna fight me? If you do I have my chance to cut ya. Or you can run, and I'll cut the girl." He paused to enjoy the dilemma he left the delver with, but then made it clear which option he preferred. "Now, I don't really want to go after those others. I want to hear what you got to say. I want to hear it from you. You're the one I'm supposed to follow. I want to know what you found while following the quake, what you found in the desert, what those things are that were with you and why you're bringin' 'em out of the desert." He paused again, and fixed a glance upon the sword at the delver's side. "I also want ya to hand over that nice sword of yours. It'll fetch a nice price. Reward me for dealin' with a filthy delver."
"I can't do that," Ryson said simply.
The tracker offered Ryson the only other option he allowed. "So then you want me to start after the others?"
"I can't let you do that, either." As clearly as Mappel's words over protecting the sword echoed in Ryson's mind, his acceptance over protecting Holli and the algors rang in his spirit. He would not let this man take his sword or hurt those that had previously traveled with him.
"Then, you're gonna have to stop me." The tracker's smile grew for but a second, then it disappeared completely. He turned to his left with a sharp upheaval of motion. His eyes left the delver as if Ryson had vanished. It was as if something took hold of his mind, forced all knowledge of the delver from his consciousness. Chas
e's face now turned white as both hands now gripped the handle of the long dagger, but it was no longer held out at the delver. He stammered at its new target, but no words escaped from his mouth.
She walked into the firelight as softly as a summer's breeze. Dried twigs refused to snap under her light step as she entered the campsite without making a single sound. She stood but a few paces from the tracker's left hand side and almost directly across the campsite from Ryson.
Ryson was no doubt as surprised at her emergence as the tracker. He had not sensed her presence at any point during his travels. Indeed, he was not sure he sensed her now. She gave off no scent and still made no sound, but he could not deny his own eyes or the troubled response of the tracker. The delver shaded his eyes from the fire in order to make a closer inspection.
She wore a long dark brown coat which stretched to her ankles. It swirled about her lightly, but the fabric made no noise. It was buttoned up tight to her neck. Her arms hung low in front of her, her hands clasped together at her middle. She wore no rings and no necklace. Short dirty blonde hair hung just above her shoulders. Her face mysteriously avoided the firelight. Only dark green eyes reflected any light at all, and they remained fixed on the tracker.
Ryson stepped to the side, moving the fire away from his path of sight to the stranger. Still, he could not obtain a good view of her face.
"Who are you?" he demanded sternly.
The woman made no acknowledgment. Her stare remained fixed upon the tracker. She stepped, or rather glided towards Evan Chase. Her hands unfolded and reached outward. They grabbed him at the shoulders. Long nails dug into the hides which made his shirt. Ryson believed he could see small stains appear at the end of each finger. She had drawn blood and it seemed to delight even amuse her. As her mouth curled with a tight smile, Ryson saw something else for the first time. Fangs. Fangs in a human mouth.
The woman opened her mouth as she held Evan in an unbreakable grip, a grip as strong as a man's over twice her size, perhaps a grip like the shag's. When her mouth opened, the light which avoided her face glistened off the two snow white fangs. She turned her head slightly and pulled the tracker's left shoulder into her bosom. His neck was within a hand's span of her mouth.
The tracker found his voice. A soul shrieking howl erupted from his lips. In the last seconds of his life, he plunged the knife into her midsection. He turned the blade back and forth, pressed it ever deeper.
The woman paid no mind. She thrust her head downward and the snow white fangs turned red in Evan Chase's blood. One single word tattooed itself in Ryson's mind.
Vampire.
It was nearly inevitable, and not at all surprising. Ryson Acumen would reach a point where he would have to question his own sanity, wonder if he could define the borders between runaway nightmares and reality. Was he now simply walking through the land, half asleep, half awake, but totally immersed in dementia? With each step of the journey, with each new encounter, logical, reasonable thought would demand an examination of this possibility. The delver had reached that point.
In the flickering firelight, the unidentified woman - the vampire - maintained her hold on the tracker, both with her hands and with her fangs. Her face remained a shadow. Her fangs also now dodged the light, for they were fully imbedded in raw flesh. Only her hair and her swaying, silent coat were truly clear to the delver's eyes. That, and of course, her victim.
Evan Chase struggled as first, desperately twisting the knife which was imbedded in the midsection of his attacker. His eyes betrayed his fear, the whites glowing hotter than the fire. Thankfully, his screech of pure terror died away, replaced by grunts and moans as he worked with frantic hysteria upon the knife's handle.
The woman ignored both his snarls and the knife. Despite the vicious grinding of the long blade, there was no sign of pain or even harm. Ryson imagined the wound in the woman's abdomen must now be cavernous, large enough for nearly every organ to simply fall out, yet he could not find even the slightest trail of blood leaking to the ground. The only sign of blood remained on the shoulder of the tracker, and just below the area where the vampire's mouth held him. A small dark stain blotted the collar of his shirt. It grew no bigger even as the sharp teeth remained in the tracker's jugular. The woman was not allowing any of the red liquid to escape her hunger.
With finality, the trackers eyes closed. His hands fell from the blade and dropped to his sides as his knees buckled. He was no longer struggling, or for that matter, sustaining his own weight. The color of life left his cheeks as surely as the blood was drained from his body. His head drooped forward, fell against the shoulder of the woman that now held him up to finish her feast.
It was not unwillingness to help the tracker that kept Ryson from moving forward, it was not fear. It was the question of his own sanity. Could this really be happening? Perhaps, it was no stranger than speaking to ghosts, running from shags, or meeting algors, but this one vision shattered the confidence in his ability to reason.
Ryson Acumen heard most of the stories involving the legends, including the stories of vampires. He was also sure he heard the word spoken when he and Lief Woodson went to explore Sanctum. He might have even said it himself. Vampires. They existed in a time when goblins and shags, like the ones he had already seen, walked the land and challenged the order of Uton. Yet even as he accepted the existence of goblins and shags into his reality, he was not sure he could accept this, not sure it was truly happening.
Delusions. A new word exploded in his mind. It was the alternative he faced. Was he bending the border between dreams and reality? Was his mind calling on his memory of the legends is some bizarre and uncontrollable way. Was any of this really happening?
He was not given a chance to answer this question. His shock and uncertainty were broken by Evan Chase's collapsing body. No longer in the grasp of the woman's hands or teeth, he crumbled to the ground in a thud which sounded hollow.
The woman turned her attention first to the knife in her stomach. She pulled it out with indifference. The blade shined clean in the firelight. As she tossed it away, Ryson's eyes followed the sparkling blade in disbelief. The woman chuckled lightly and Ryson's eyes returned to her. He still could not distinguish a single feature of her face other than her sparkling green eyes.
"Should I make a glutton of myself this evening?" Her voice was cold and warm, appealing as well as repugnant at the same time. "I have walked a long time alone. It would be a shame to let you go."
Ryson bit back his fear, made every attempt to clear from his mind the doubts of his sanity. If he needed to question his reasoning, this was not the time. Still, the questions nagged at him and he remained at a loss of what to do. The woman made no immediate sign of approach, and Ryson found strength in the distance that remained between them.
"Why did you do that?" He was not sure why he asked that particular question, but he felt a need to understand the horror of what he witnessed.
"It was necessary," she responded simply. She licked her lips but made no other movement. The fire glistened only for a second against the fangs which were again hidden behind those same lips.
"You killed him," the delver emphasized.
"He will walk again."
Ryson shuttered at the thought.
The woman laughed a laugh that contained no warmth at all and it chilled Ryson to the marrow. "It is not so bad; you will see that for yourself."
"No," Ryson protested weakly.
"Are you sure?"
"I won't let you near me."
The woman stood silent for long moments. Her eyes glistened like emeralds in bright sunlight. Ryson felt a biting cold in his soul.
"You are a delver," she announced suddenly. "You do have the power to avoid me, but do you have the desire?"
Ryson's thoughts turned as grey as an early morning fog. A dull throbbing obstructed any attempt to organize them.
"What are you talking about?" he gurgled.
"You want to run don't yo
u?" the woman murmured. The coldness disappeared. Her voice was now almost enticing. "But you won't. You want to know more about me, don't you?"
Ryson managed a nod.
"I see your thoughts in your face. You think I'm a vampire, or a dream. Maybe I'm both. You no longer know what's real. I can help you with that. I can give you the answers to everything you ever wished to know."
Ryson could not lift the growing fog which swirled about his every thought. The woman seemed to inch forward, but he was not certain.
"So many things you have seen and felt." The woman continued with a soothing, knowing voice. "So many things with no answers. You want those answers, you need those answers."
Again, Ryson nodded. His tongue was as heavy and as confused as his thoughts. His ability to speak had left him.
The woman was indeed closer to him now. The fire was no longer between them. It was behind her and even her coat was now hidden to him by the shadows. Her eyes, however, remained visible even as they sparkled with the warmth of spring.
"I can end your confusion; bring to you the knowledge of what you so desire. Isn't that what you've always wanted? A delver's dream come true? And there is no emptiness in my promise. You know that. I speak the truth. Give yourself over to me and you will know more than you have ever known."
The words rang crisp and clear in Ryson's ears. He heard them, understood them. Every syllable she spoke cut through the fog, cut through the confusion. Yet both remained after the echo of her words died away. He could not order his own thoughts, or make his own decisions or judgments. Her words were so simple, so profoundly true. He could not help but accept everything she said, simply because she said them.
He stood still, captivated by the eyes which somehow stood out from the darkness. No other movement detracted his attention. She also appeared to stand motionless, even as she crept closer.
She now stood within arms reach. The bewitching words ceased to flow from her lips. All encompassing silence. The birds, the insects, all sounds of the surrounding forest and hills halted. Even the crackling of the fire died away. Was it the cloud in his head which blocked out the sound, or did even fire obey the command of the vampire?
Delver Magic Book I: Sanctum's Breach Page 28
