Destiny of the Vampire

by P. D. McClafferty

  “I am,” the elf rumbled, his chest inflating.

  “Excellent.” Max’s jaws clenched as he made a short motion to Xia, who retracted her helmet into her armor. “Then you wouldn’t have a problem in a small wrestling match.” He turned to the king. “Your Majesty, with your permission?”

  King Thurdan Torlana glanced at the big elf.

  “Surely thou jest.” The elf scoffed. “Three armed elves against one puny human, and you want me to fight… a scrawny female?”

  Max let out a long, weary sigh. “If you wish, I will withdraw my challenge. I see now that elves lack courage for even a minor scrimmage.”

  The king’s jaws tightened, and his greenish face paled.

  Behind him, Max heard Shy hiss, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Sir Filvendor,” the king growled in a no-nonsense voice, “pick three of your largest elves to thrash this human, and you will fight the human female. Make it quick, but try not to kill her. My daughter seems to hold these creatures in some regard.”

  Sir Filvendor nodded once, shot Max a contemptuous look, and selected three elves who were nearly as big as he.

  Max glanced over his shoulder. “Xia, would you be up for a little light exercise?”

  “Absolutely,” Xia answered, grinning. In the old days, Xia had been feared for her awesome prowess in hand-to-hand fighting. From what he’d seen of her in her leathers, she’d lost none of her muscle tone.

  “Be very sure. This elf looks about as big and mean as they come.”

  Xia casually removed her armor then her chameleon suit shirt, leaving her standing in her black chameleon suit pants, boots, and skin-tight black tank top that accentuated her small, firm breasts and whipcord muscles.

  Max’s eyes, and those of the team, did not fail to notice the two small punctures in her neck, which were nearly healed.

  She grinned as she handed Max her shirt. “Hold this for me, will you? I won’t be long.”

  Max handed the shirt back. “Sorry, I’m up first.” He bit his lip. “I wish I still had my staff, but the last I saw of it, it was wired up to the bottom of the car in Romania.”

  Mérilla Jalbert, the sharp-eyed former member of Canadian Joint Task Force 2, found the solution to that problem as she pointed to a display of pole-mounted flags set against the far wall. “Those metal poles look about the right size, Max.” Her voice was a soft mezzo-soprano. “Although I don’t know how you will cut it.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Mérilla.” He turned to the king. “With your permission, Your Majesty.” Without waiting for permission, he stepped to the nearest flag and pulled the three-meter metal pole from its wooden stand. Guessing at his own head height, he gripped the pole tightly, tracing a runespell with his other hand as he whispered the word for fire. It was surreal, he thought as he watched the molten metal drip between his fingers, that he felt no heat at all.

  “He’s a mage!” One of the elves whispered in alarm as the top half of the metal pole clanked to the floor, where it lay smoking. Spinning his new staff idly, Max was surprised that the solid rod of an unknown metal felt remarkably similar in his hand to the titanium quarterstaff. He sauntered back to his companions then handed Shy the staff before he shed his clothes, stopping only when he was standing in similar garb to Xia. His finger touched the small transdermal mic, the size of a quarter, that was stuck to his skin just behind his left ear.

  Arms crossed and without the hint of a smile, Xia looked him up and down. “Not bad.” He heard her whisper.

  Max gave her a wink and turned to Shy. “If you have any coin to spare, you could do worse than to bet on us.”

  The elfin woman blinked. “Are you so sure of yourselves?”

  Offering her a wry grin, Max took his staff from the elfin woman. “I’m sure about them.” He nodded to Sir Filvendor, who was slowly removing his armor piece by piece while flexing his muscles in between each move for all to see and admire. His exact opposite, Xia stood calmly, watching in silence, her arms limp at her sides. Max might have thought she was meditating, were it not for the fact that her eyes were open, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips.

  The banquet tables had been pulled aside, clearing a square area perhaps thirty meters on a side for the contest. The three elves, armed with swords, shields, and light bronze-colored elfin armor, stood in a knot at the far corner, watching the human with bright eyes. After walking to the center of the area, Max turned to face the king, and in the prescribed heisoku-dachi, or ready stance, he bowed formally to King Thurdan Torlana. The elves were already moving as he turned back, and he couldn’t help but think of them as barbarians as he spun his staff. It took Max several long moments of blocking and parrying at normal speeds for him to get a true idea of the elves’ abilities and swiftness. They were quite fast, he had to admit, but not when compared to his vampiric speed. Finally, the elves lined up in the proper position, and his staff made a sound of ripping cloth as it tore through the air, snapping the three swords cleanly at their hilts. Three elfin faces paled, then the staff lashed out three more times, denting three helmets.

  The fight was over, the disarmed elves lying unconscious in a bloody pile in the center of the ring. Their blood, Max noted, was as red as his, just as Shyilia’s had been. He smelled the coppery metallic tang of blood, and a sudden hunger washed through him. Swallowing that feeling, he turned back to the king, bowed, and returned to his companions as the elfin healers rushed to see to the fallen. Walking away, he wondered just what he was becoming. As he’d fought, the elves seemed to be moving in slow motion, their every thrust and block languid. It hadn’t been a fight at all—it had been a slaughter.

  The king turned slowly to Sir Filvendor, a hint of doubt in his face. “Are you sure you can handle the girl?” he asked quietly. “These humans are obviously more than they seem.”

  The knight grinned lecherously at Xia. “She might be worth a cuddle by my fire, Your Majesty, but it is hardly a fair fight.” He inhaled deeply, flexing his pectorals.

  Beside Max, Shy snorted a little laugh, and Sir Filvendor shot her an angry glare.

  Xia handed Max her shirt, gave him a little wink, and walked out into the contest area with the lithe grace of a cat. Stopping in the center of the area, she bowed to the king then turned back just as the large elf entered the ring. Sir Filvendor was naked to the waist, a long, deadly poniard in his right fist, a hideous grin on his face.

  The king was on his feet. “Sir Filvendor, disarm!”

  The knight ignored the royal command while grinning at Xia. “I do not plan to be bested by a mere human female, Majesty.” The knight spat.

  The king, his face scarlet, turned to look at Xia and seemed to deflate. “You may arm yourself if you wish. My champion broke the rules of engagement.”

  Never taking her eyes from the large elf, she called back, “Thanks, but I have this covered.”

  Sir Filvendor lunged at Xia’s stomach with the wicked dagger. She sidestepped easily, but he spun in a move that was surprising for a man of Sir Filvendor’s bulk, slashing at her face. The move was made in blazing elfin speed and would have succeeded in hurting his opponent if Xia had stayed still. She lashed out with her stiffened hand almost casually. The hard, calloused edge of her hand struck the elf’s arm beside the elbow, and Sir Filvendor stared in horror as his dagger clattered to the floor from his suddenly useless fingers. While the elf was still in shock, Xia climbed up his back like a monkey, wrapping her arms around the elf’s head and neck. Max recognized the sleeper hold, better known as the Rear Naked Choke, she was applying to the massive elf. Sir Filvendor tried to remove his assailant with his single functional arm, but he sank to his knees and finally to the floor as unconsciousness took him. Stepping free from the body, Xia picked up the dropped poniard. She tested the point with her thumb before driving it into the w
ooden floor and, with a twist of her wrist, snapping off the end of the blade. She dropped the ruined knife casually, ignoring the clatter, and reached down with the same hand to grab Sir Filvendor by his long flame-colored hair. Using this convenient handle, she dragged the limp body before the king. “Your champion, I believe.” Without another word, she released the hair, and the knight’s head hit the oak floor with the same sound as a melon being dropped. Xia smiled at the monarch and turned back toward the team, where Max was waiting with her shirt.

  As Max handed Xia her shirt, Shy looked from Xia to Max and back. “Were you two lovers?” Her tone was simultaneously curious and melancholy.

  Max saw the rest of the team wince from the inappropriate and personal question.

  Xia’s fingers never stopped buttoning. “Yes, we were, a long time ago,” she said in a low voice, her sapphire gaze sliding to Max.

  He returned the stare without comment but felt his heart pounding. The heat that rose to his cheeks answered her unspoken question as well as any words.

  “We need to have a long talk about this, Maximilian, when this operation is over.” Her voice had a tight, breathless quality.

  Max swallowed. “That was my intention even before you ever brought it up.”

  Her smile was predatory. “Good. I’ll remind you.”

  The room they were shown to after the contest was nothing more than an unused barracks, with roughly finished stone walls and twenty crude bunks lined along one side, foot lockers along the other and a row of scarred wooden tables and equally battered chairs running down the middle. The room smelled faintly of mildew, as if it had been unopened for some time. To Max’s eye, the total lack of dust spoke of a quick magical housekeeping. Narrow windows in deep embrasures looked out four stories above the ground.

  Since it was set up as a barracks, Max made bunking arrangements with the three men at one end of the room and the two women at the other. After removing her armor, Shyilia had disappeared at the end of the contest. Max hadn’t seen her again, and given her father’s feelings about humans and vampires, he didn’t expect to any time soon. After waiting for three hours with no food, water, or directions to the washrooms, Max stood.

  “Fuck this,” he growled, looking at the shoddy room. “I know a nice inn in the town of Peapend called the Sleeping Cat. The food there is good, the beds clean, and the mead sweet and strong.”

  Casey chuckled. “They take VISA?”

  Max smiled, holding out a handful of silver denarii coins. “This is what they use in this world. I have enough for us all.”

  “To be subtracted from our pay, no doubt?”

  “Not at all, Casey. The money in the bank is yours upon completion or death. The full agreed-upon sum.”

  “Cool. Let’s go.” Casey grinned. “I could really use a drink. It has been a very weird day.”

  “Yeah.” Max looked around the room. “I don’t think we should leave the armor here or take it with us to Peapend. We’ll leave it hidden with the tug.” Rummaging through his pockets, he finally came up with a single piece of paper and a scrap of pencil. The note he left on the table simply read: Peapend—The Sleeping Cat.

  By midmorning, the five travelers, dressed in a motley assortment of clothes from the village secondhand shop, were sprawled in front of the fire at the inn. They were finishing the last of their breakfast when Shyilia, dressed in a flowing green gown of some metallic fabric, and two elfin guardsmen entered the front door. The handful of customers at tables stopped to stare, and even the innkeeper goggled at the newcomers from behind her counter. One of the guardsmen was a slightly bruised Sir Filvendor, his ornate sword on his hip, and a one and a half meter long broadleaf spear strapped to his pack.

  Moses set down his teacup and looked up, touching Max on the arm. “It looks like her ladyship has arrived, boss, with an escort.”

  “So it does, Moses.” Max took a large bite of buttered scone. Considering the woman as he chewed, he finally decided that even if her people had acted the philistines, he would be civil. “Sit down, Shy, and ask your friends to join us. You’ll find the food here is much better than what we were offered back at the keep. Something is always better than absolutely nothing.” He took a breath to control his anger. “Care to comment?”

  Princess Shyilia Iangwyn, jewel of the throne of Ideryn, slowly turned the color of a beet. “My father doesn’t like humans and refused to send help. The fact that you publicly humiliated the cream of the elfin soldiers didn’t help matters,” she said in a hushed voice. “The best he would do is to send Sir Filvendor and my young cousin, Seiveril Yinwynn, who is currently, as you would say, in the doghouse with the elfin nobility.”

  Max looked up at the young elf, who had the same narrow face and coloration as Shyilia. “What do your friends call you, young Seiveril Yinwynn?”

  The young elf rolled his sky-blue eyes. “Wynn.”

  “Good name,” Moses declared.

  Max grinned, waving to an empty chair. “Have a seat, Wynn. You’re welcome here, with all the rest of the misfits, castoffs, and humans.” He looked up at Shy, raising one of his eyebrows in a question as the young elf leaned his long bow against the wall and set his full quiver of arrows on the floor by his feet. “And why did you bother to track us down?”

  Sir Filvendor’s face hardened at Max’s intentional lack of title or formalities. It was then that Max noted the small traveling bag in Shyilia’s hand.

  “I’m coming with you. Father demanded that I travel accompanied, so these two”—she glanced at the elfin guardsmen—“will travel with me. The court mage who dropped us here has already returned to… civilization.”

  At a quick glance, Max stood, flanked by Moses and Casey. “I accept your offer on one condition: you follow my directions.” He looked pointedly at Filvendor. “And not the directions of big and ugly here.”

  The knight growled, his hand sliding to the hilt of his sword.

  “The instant that sword clears the scabbard, you will die,” Max said softly.

  Filvendor paled, reading his imminent death in Maximilian’s gray eyes, and removed his hand from the sword hilt.

  Shyilia touched Filvendor’s arm, and the tensions eased fractionally. Pulling up a chair beside Max, she sat and removed a map from a hidden pocket in her gown. “I brought the latest intelligence on the movements of the supreme governor, and I brought maps.”

  “Those maps were not to leave the elfin kingdom,” Filvendor growled, looming over Shyilia, his face livid. “You should know that!”

  She patted the big elf warily, as one might pat a particularly vicious guard dog. “There, there, Almer. I take full responsibility.”

  There was a low snicker from Casey. “Almer? As in Almer Fudd?” He snickered again.

  “Hush, Casey,” Xia whispered.

  Leaning back in his chair, Max shut his eyes. It’s going to be a long trip. “Show me what you have, Shy.” He bent closer to the woman. He noted with a distant part of his mind that the closer he got to Shy, the darker the big elf’s face became. “Where did the supreme governor take all the magic users?”

  She flattened the map and pointed to a spot on the lower left side. “We’re here.” Her finger slid across the map to the far-right side. “This is the castle of the supreme governor in the Ehah Archipelago just off the shore of the Jagatika province, a thousand leagues to the west.”

  Max groaned.

  “That’s why I’m here,” she continued with a little smile. “The embassy of the elfin kingdom is on the mainland, and I’ve been there several times before. With your help, we can travel directly to the courtyard of the embassy, finalize our plan, and leave from there at night.”

  The knight held his back ramrod straight. “Princess, attacking a country with an armed force from an embassy can be considered an act of war. Y
our father definitely would not approve.”

  “There are many things I do which my father does not approve of. The humans would say…” Her glance flicked to Max, and he sighed inwardly, guessing what was coming. “Tough shit.”

  Casey barked a short laugh, and young Wynn had his hand clamped over his own mouth to prevent a similar outburst. His face was red. For a second, Max thought Filvendor was going to explode.

  Then Filvendor sneered. “These ‘humans’ have been a bad influence on you,” he got out through gritted teeth.

  Shy smoothed the map with both of her hands, never looking up. “You are quite right, Almer. These ‘humans’ have taught me to stand on my own, make my own decisions, accept responsibility for same, and speak my mind.” Smiling, she looked up. “Perhaps I carried speaking my mind a little too far.”

  Max leaned over and, speaking for her ears only, whispered, “There is still a seat reserved for you, if you wish.”

  A tension went out of her shoulders. “That sounds better all the time.”

  Leaning back, Max studied the three new additions to the company. “Lose the fancy clothes and armor. We’re on a covert operation, and covert ops are our spécialité de la maison. You have to look like the locals and blend in.”

  Filvendor looked down at his gleaming armor. “What do we do with our armor?”

  Max snorted. “Trade it for armor a mercenary would wear. You can keep the sword, but lose the scabbard with all the gold and jewels. You rattle, and you shine in the sunlight.”

  “I’ll sell the gown.” Shy said without emotion. “I have my own traveling clothes and weapons.”

  Max glanced down to her traveling bag and saw a small but exquisitely made elfin bow strapped to the side of the bag, along with a full quiver of arrows. “Do you have a good knife?”