by Barb Hendee
Her heart pounded as Darmouth stared at her. He did not say "yes," but he did not refuse either. Instead, he raised his eyes to the cluster of soldiers.
"Omasta! Come with me. You're to meet the hunter at the gatehouse by noon." He looked down at the ribbon about her throat. "We will finish the beast that did this to you."
Hedí smiled sweetly with a shy nod. "Thank you. That is a great comfort. Then I may be safely returned to the Bronze Bell."
Again he did not answer, and turned to stride out of the hall. Hedí wondered who this hunter was, this "dhampir" Viscount Andraso had mentioned.
Omasta dropped his bread on the table and followed his lord. Darmouth stopped in the arched doorway and looked back at Hedí. Omasta had to sidestep out of his way.
"I don't like your hair this morning," Darmouth said. "Don't wear it that way again."
Hedí lowered her eyes in obeisance, and Darmouth left without further comment. Under the table, she crushed the fabric of her gown's skirt in her hand.
Perhaps she should shave her head and see how he liked it. She'd hated Darmouth more than any other person—except for the one who had murdered her father in his sleep. All eyes in the room were upon her now, and her appetite faded.
She stood up and walked out into the main entryway, wondering what to do with herself. Directly across the way was the council hall, where she had sat at dinner two nights before next to the true monster in this land. She had no intention of visiting there.
To either side of the staircase were corridors leading left and right behind the halls. As far as she could see, there were no other passages, and no stairs leading downward. She stepped around the central stairs and into the left corridor that headed north. It stretched a good way, then turned right. She followed it, stopping short of the corner to peek around the turn. At the end of another long passage, two soldiers stood guarding a door. She retreated and retraced her steps to the entryway.
The right-hand corridor heading south produced the same result— two guards standing before an identical door. Perhaps one or both doorways led beneath the keep. She was eager to search the keep's interior to expand Byrd's maps.
Darmouth had forbidden her to wander into the depths below, but there were still the upper levels. If anyone stopped her, she could always give the pretense that she had lost her way while returning to her room.
Hedí climbed the central stairs. She passed two servants along the way but no soldiers. As she reached the second-floor landing, movement caught her eye. Julia stepped from a room near the corridor's end with a tray of empty dishes.
Was someone else a "guest" of the keep?
Hedí counted the doors to the one Julia exited and then circled around to the next flight of stairs upward. She waited out of sight, and then peeked cautiously back around the stone railing into the corridor. Julia descended toward the main floor.
When Hedí was certain the maid was on her way, she doubled back. As she approached the door, she heard soft and high singing. It sounded like a little girl, but Hedí could not imagine why a child would be here in the keep. To the best of her knowledge, Darmouth had no family or relatives, especially not a daughter or niece.
She knocked lightly at the door. "Hello?"
The singing stopped, and an instant later the door opened. A small face looked up at Hedí.
The girl was no more than ten, and was small-boned and slender. She wore a simple cream-colored dress, and her thick, chocolate-black hair was tied in a white ribbon that made her dusky complexion look even darker. Deep brown eyes looked up at Hedí. There was something vaguely familiar about the girl's appearance.
Hedí smiled. "Hello, I'm a guest here, but there is not much to do. Would you care for some company?"
The girl looked quite surprised and smiled. "In my room? You want to come in?"
"Of course… unless you would prefer a walk instead?"
The girl shook her head, little face scrunched in a stubborn frown. "I'm not supposed to go out without Julia and Devid."
"Who is Devid?"
She rolled her eyes with a sharp sigh. "He has a sword. He protects me from bad things."
Hedí wondered why the little girl needed a bodyguard inside the keep. This was the first child she had ever seen here. The girl shoved the door wide with her small hands.
"Do you want to see my dolls?"
"Yes, I would like that very much."
Hedí stepped into a pleasant little room quite out of place in the stronghold of a tyrant.
Austere stone walls were softened by small tapestries of fantastical creatures, from a serpentine dragon to strange, thin-lipped people covered in downy feathers with wings to hide their bodies. There was one of a small, dark-brown cat perched on the back of a stag of silver-gray hue, though its coat was longer than that of any deer Hedí had seen. Its horns were single long curves without prongs. A four-poster bed filled most of the room, but there was space enough for a bookshelf filled with dolls and toy animals. A large trunk with stuffed pillows atop it rested at the foot of the bed.
"My name is Hedí. I am a guest of Lord Darmouth. Are you a guest here, too?"
"I'm no guest. I'm Korey," she answered, as if this should be obvious. "I live here with Papa and Mama."
Hedí looked into Korey's impish eyes and suddenly knew to whom the child belonged—Faris and Ventina, Darmouth's skulking attendants. Not only did Korey have the traits of a Móndyalítko, but hints of her parents' lean features were obvious in the girl.
"Come see Selina!" Korey said and grabbed Hedí's hand. "She's my favorite. She has yellow hair, and I always wanted yellow hair."
Hedí followed Korey to the bed. A beautiful doll with a porcelain head sat against the pillow. Korey reminded Hedí of her little sisters, always eager to show new guests their toys and dolls, like exotic treasures acquired by their father from faraway places. Hedí never told them otherwise, not spoiling their childhood fantasy that the world was a wide and inviting place awaiting them.
A fresh wave of grief passed through Hedí before she could stop it. She took a short breath, forcing back her soft smile.
"How often do you see your mother and father?" she asked.
"Often?" Korey frowned slightly. Perhaps time was still a difficult concept for her. "Devid and Julia take me to see them. Sometimes Papa takes me out to the courtyard, but Julia has to come with us."
So Darmouth never allowed the child out of sight, always under a watchful eye… even with her own parents? It sounded as if they were not even allowed in Korey's room, alone with her.
Korey was a hostage. This was no surprise to Hedí. Everyone in this land was a slave in some way, shackled by fear and the threat of death. Though it did make her wonder about Paris and Ventina. What services did they provide that Darmouth found so essential, that the bastard would lock up their daughter to ensure fealty?
Little Korey was eager for company, even that of a stranger.
"Do you have any games?" Hedí asked. "We could play."
"Games?" Korey's face brightened. "You can stay for a game? I have cards. Papa said he would teach me, but he hasn't. Do you know how to play with cards?"
"I do," Hedí assured her.
Korey's blossoming excitement made Hedí's sadness grow, but she kept it hidden from the girl. She sat on the bed's edge, smoothing the comforter, and began laying out cards facedown in a square pattern.
"The first game is called Catch the King," she whispered with a smile.
Korey giggled back. They spent the day there, Hedí careful never to let Korey realize they were both prisoners.
Magiere stood anxiously waiting with Wynn and Chap before the gatehouse archway and the long bridge to the keep. She needed to prepare herself for what came next, but that damn keep filled up her sight.
It was daunting up close, though she'd seen larger strongholds. Four square towers shot up at its corners, adding to the impression that the whole thing had risen from the water one forgotten night
to loom over the city shoreline. Suddenly her plan to play Darmouth so she could get inside seemed weak. She shouldn't be taking Chap or Wynn anywhere near this place. She braced herself for an audience with the despot, but the memory of Leesil's lost eyes and sweaty face, as he crouched with stiletto in hand, still filled Magiere's head. Especially when she looked at the keep.
She'd awoken in the night to find herself alone in bed and Leesil gone from the room. Before she could grab her shirt to go looking for him, he'd nearly fallen through the door. He tripped over his own boots on the floor, and she caught him and guided him to the bed. The stench of wine was thick on his breath. She pulled him onto the bed and covered him, holding him in silence. What could she say?
Magiere looked up at the keep towers. This land of Leesil's "first life," as he called it, haunted him with so many things she didn't know.
"Do you think someone will come soon?" Wynn asked, shivering. Frosty white breath puffed from her little lips with each word.
"Crouch down with Chap by the wall," Magiere said. "Put your coat around him and share some body heat."
Wynn did as suggested, and Chap snuggled in close to the sage. Wynn's hair was neatly braided for this meeting, but the sheepskin coat pulled on over her torn short robe still looked shabby. Her pack was worse, weather-faded and mud-stained.
Magiere didn't bother checking herself. She wore her hauberk over a wool pullover on top of her linen shirt. The worn tip of her falchion sheath poked out beneath the hem of her hooded cloak. Unlike the snobbish elites of Bela, Darmouth wouldn't care what she looked like. He was seeking a hunter and would expect results by any means. The rougher her appearance, perhaps the better.
A loud creak called Magiere's attention, and she saw the keep's heavy gates begin to open.
"Is someone coming?" Wynn asked, and stood up to look.
A trio of men strode down the center of the long stone bridge. The lead man was obviously an officer. He was armed with a shortsword sheathed at his waist and wore a hardened leather breastplate. His face was covered with a blond beard a shade darker than his hair. The two flanking men carried spears taller than themselves.
"You're the hunter?" he asked with no introduction. "The one named Magiere?"
"Yes," she replied, but the officer now stared at Wynn and Chap. "My companions… my assistants," she added.
"I was told to fetch only you," he said.
"She does not hunt without us," Wynn said before Magiere could speak. "Each creature is different. Each hunt must be planned. So we must be privy to all details."
The tall officer seemed taken back by Wynn's manner. Magiere crossed her arms and waited, confirming Wynn's words. It was odd to have the sage playing the unbendable one, let alone playing this game at all.
The officer still looked undecided.
"I need them both for a successful hunt," Magiere added. "Perhaps Lord Darmouth wasn't fully informed before he sought me out."
The officer looked Magiere over from head to toe, stopping at her face. "I'm Lieutenant Omasta. You'll follow me to the inner courtyard and wait while I explain all this to my lord. He'll decide who stays and who goes."
Magiere nodded. One step at a time was always how she got her way.
The two guards stepped aside, and Omasta led the way, with Magiere following. Wynn and Chap brought up the rear, and the guards fell in behind them.
Crossing the bridge, Magiere couldn't see the water directly below over the stone ledges to both sides. All she saw was Omasta's broad back as the man led her across the drawbridge and through the open gates. Entering the long tunnel was like being swallowed down the keep's gullet, and finally they came out in the inner courtyard.
Before leaving Byrd's, Chap had given Magiere instructions through Wynn on protocol. She was to keep her falchion sheathed at all times, and not hesitate to relinquish it if ordered to do so. He'd pawed out "follow orders" and "no threats." Magiere ground her teeth, but she intended to follow Chap's counsel.
Omasta spoke quietly with two more armed guards in the courtyard before turning to Magiere. "Wait until I return."
He crossed the courtyard to the far wall and entered through the heavy doors.
Magiere waited until he was gone, then looked about at the high walls, like four tall stone buildings between four towers, enclosing the open courtyard. It wouldn't hurt to wander here within sight and look the place over.
Before she finished three steps, the guards repositioned. They boxed in Wynn, Chap, and herself, standing to the courtyard's four sides. They stayed back far enough that Magiere was beyond a spear's reach, but it was clear that no one was getting near the inner walls.
Getting inside Darmouth's stronghold was becoming more and more futile.
Wynn shivered again, and Magiere hoped Leesil still slept in their warm bed. He was drunk for the first time since they'd left Bela, breaking his promise, but perhaps he'd have some rest without dreams to torment him. Wynn crouched next to Chap, and the dog huddled against her.
It wasn't long before Omasta returned and waved Magiere forward toward the open keep doors. She assumed that meant all of them, and pulled Wynn to her feet. The lieutenant stepped aside at their approach.
Warmth struck Magiere's face as they entered the wide entryway. Perhaps it wasn't warm so much as far less cold than outside. To either side were archways into large halls. The right one looked to be a feasting hall, and she heard a crackling fire somewhere at its far end. Omasta led them to the hall on the left.
Weapons and shields lined its walls between braziers, and one long thick table and ten sturdy chairs filled its middle. Two tapestries covered the far end wall. One displayed an ornate coat of arms—three mountain peaks with green hills below and a golden crown like a sun in the sky above them. The other was of a mounted horseman against a black background.
Two wolfhounds paced forward along the tables right side, sniffing the air. One growled at Chap's presence. He didn't growl back but positioned himself in front of Wynn.
Magiere's attention settled on the room's three occupants.
The first was the man who'd come to Byrd's last night. Faris sat in the right-hand chair farthest away, studying her in return. Behind him stood a slender, dark-haired woman so similar in features she could be his sister or close kin.
Magiere wondered why a pair of Móndyalítko served Darmouth. These mountain wanderers didn't strike her as people who'd willingly follow a warlord.
The hall's third occupant stepped forward along the table, coming up behind the wolfhounds with his arms crossed. The odor of stale sweat filled Magiere's nostrils. He wasn't as tall as Omasta, but he had presence. It brought all attention to him as he moved.
Darmouth had been but a shadow to Magiere, a faceless specter in Leesil's past, until this moment. She remained calmly indifferent as she studied the man who'd maimed Leesil's mind and spirit… and might have murdered his parents as the price for Leesil's freedom.
Magiere let her dhampir nature rise up, until her senses opened wide, and tried to feel him out. His stench thickened sharply in her head. She felt a deep winter creep toward her with each step he took. The leather breastplate under his crossed arms was well oiled, its steel reinforcements polished to a gleam. His hair was cropped short and his face carefully shaven—not as Leesil had described him once. Lines of encroaching age marred his wide face, but his forearms were thick and powerful.
"You're the hunter?" he said, voice low and hollow.
Magiere realized this man could order her death, Chap's and Wynn's too, and forget them in the next breath. She'd never be able to lure him into talk of anything but the business at hand.
"Yes," she answered.
"You believe in these creatures? These vampires?"
"As do you… or you wouldn't have sent for me."
He stopped beyond arm's reach. "I've heard of charlatans' shows for peasants. How would you kill such a creature, if it's already dead? Magic powders? Invisible spells perhaps?"
"Take its head off," she answered bluntly. "And burn the body."
Darmouth paused, and Magiere wondered if her answer had been too simple for him. Or perhaps its directness had quelled his doubts. He looked at Chap and Wynn.
"And these two?"
"He tracks. She finds people and places for him to investigate. If you have clothing from the victim, it would help, as well as anything known about this undead."
Darmouth appeared put off by her tone and roughly shoved one wolfhound back out of his way. "It's an unnatural man drinking blood from the throats of noblewomen. Find him and be quick about it!"
Magiere didn't flinch. "So it's male?"
Darmouth's face grew darker. Magiere realized he didn't care about the details. Maybe he didn't even believe it was more than a madman. He simply wanted to hire her services and be done with it.
Omasta stepped in from the archway. "It happened in the alley behind the Bronze Bell Inn. Perhaps your dog might pick up a scent still there? Several of Baron Milea's guards got a clear look as it assaulted Lady Progae. They might tell you more."
Magiere understood. Omasta grew concerned by his lord's mood and wanted this audience finished. He'd known her name when he'd come to the gatehouse, so he was more than just some office, perhaps someone in Darmouth's confidence. He was about in his midtwenties, so too young to have been in service while Leesil's parents were here. But he might know other things, such as why anyone fleeing the city would run into the keep instead of away from it.
Then there was Lady Progae, the one Paris had mentioned not long before Leesil lost all hold upon himself.
Magiere spoke directly to Darmouth. "We should speak with Lady Progae, as she is the best witness."
"No," Darmouth snapped. "Omasta will handle any more arrangements. Start hunting, if you expect to be paid. I'll double the coin if you finish this tonight and bring me the head of this creature."
Magiere's revulsion increased. "How did you know I was in the city?"
"It's my city," he answered. "You're dismissed."
Faris rose, stepping around the table along with his slender companion. They came up behind Darmouth, one on each side.
