Thief of Lives

by Barb Hendee

  Leesil adjusted the faded scarf on his head and surveyed his attire in somber dismay. He felt like a dolt who'd walked home through the town market not realizing he'd sat in cattle droppings. Normally, he didn't care what anyone thought of his appearance, but this was a whole other world. They were here to play hunters of the dead—for real this time.

  Magiere was oblivious, pacing in short steps back and forth around the polished floor. After Leesil left her to find a weaponsmith, she'd gone with the pier boys to a moderate inn called the Burdock in the lower-class merchant district. The inn turned out to be owned and run by Vatz's uncle but was suitable in all other respects. When Leesil caught up with Magiere, they'd barely had time for soup before leaving to meet with Bela's council.

  "Don't worry," he said to her. "All we do is find out about the death of this councilman's daughter, get an idea where to start looking, and Chap can take us from there. Just like in Miiska."

  "I'm not worried," she answered.

  Chap whined and pushed his nose into her palm as she passed him in her pacing.

  "Stop it," she said, pushing the dog's muzzle aside. She gave Leesil a disdainful look. "I've dealt with enough village elders back when we were on the game. I know how this is played."

  Yes, Leesil thought, but we‘re not in a Stravinan village.

  These weren't superstitious peasants awed by floating powders, clanging urns, and a half-elf dusted in flour. They were in the king's city, and this wasn't a game anymore.

  He simply nodded and said nothing.

  Magiere's attire was less disheveled than his own. She wore her black breeches, a loose shirt that needed a wash, and a leather vest. Her hair was pulled back in its usual tail, and her falchion rested comfortably on her hip. She appeared relaxed—except for the constant pacing.

  Down a side hall came a short, well-tailored man at a brisk trot, his heels clicking on the floor. Leesil assumed this to be Crias Doviak, the council secretary. Two armed guards accompanied him, and their longer legs made their steps seem slower and more deliberate.

  "The council has gathered and awaits you in the main hall," Doviak said with a slightly affected lisp. His light brown hair was purposefully curled into small, uniform ringlets.

  "We're ready," Leesil answered.

  "As a formality, you must turn over all weapons to our guards." The diminutive secretary paused with an apologetic expression on his face. "Who will, of course, take proper care and return them upon your departure."

  Magiere stared at him. "Why?"

  Clearly not accustomed to confrontation, Doviak stammered for a moment.

  "I assure you, it is standard policy for security." He proffered a short bow of his head. "Though in your case, dhampir, it would simply be a courtesy on your part."

  "Oh, give them your sword," Leesil blurted out. "I doubt you'll have need of it here."

  Magiere scowled but began unbelting her scabbard.

  "And where," Doviak began in a cautious tone, "will the mistress be leaving her dog?"

  "He stays with us," Leesil said flatly.

  Doviak opened his mouth to argue and then closed it.

  Magiere surrendered her falchion to one guard, who in turn asked, "Anything else?"

  "That's all," she answered sharply.

  The guard nodded. Leesil still wore his two "everyday" stilettos inside of his shirtsleeves, but he saw no need to mention them.

  They were ushered down a wide corridor, Doviak leading the way, and the guards following behind. They turned into another wide hallway headed for huge double doors of carved dark wood. Along the passage were smaller side doors, and standing before one were an elderly man and a young woman, both wearing simple gray robes. Even in their plain attire, Leesil found them mildly curious and then outright unsettling as they stared back, looking him over as if he were some strange animal that had managed to get into the building unnoticed.

  The young woman paused from chatting with her elder companion and absorbed the sight of Leesil, then Magiere, and finally Chap. Her face was smooth and oval, and she didn't blink once as she looked over the trio, particularly Chap. She offered a mild smile in greeting and spoke directly to Leesil.

  "Majaye tudg bithva annaseach esh dille! Sheorsde a'bithva?"

  He didn't understand it, but felt an uncomfortable tickle of familiarity with the sounds. The woman was speaking Elvish to him, though something was different compared to the few words he had heard in the past from his mother.

  "I'm sorry," Leesil replied. "I don't speak…"

  "Oh." She appeared embarrassed and confused at the same time. "I apologize… I did not realize."

  Leesil looked away, avoiding the situation altogether, then noticed Chap's attention fixed upon the woman. His tail was wagging. At that, Leesil couldn't help looking back as well.

  The woman gazed at the hound with eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Then, as if the moment never happened, Chap turned and loped to catch up. The huge doors opened, and Doviak ushered all three of them into the adjoining chamber.

  Leesil found himself standing between Magiere and Chap in a cavernous room buzzing with hushed activity. Guards stood at all four corners, and attendants unobtrusively poured tea, took cloaks, and refilled inkwells on the immense table. Life-size portraits of unsmiling, conservatively dressed, middle-aged men hung at intervals on all four walls between cobalt curtains trimmed in white. And the table…

  He couldn't imagine a mahogany tree large enough to provide that solid, singular piece of wood. Its oblong surface stretched over half the room's length, from door to the far wall, in all its refined glory. At least thirty men of various ages sat around it in high-backed mahogany chairs and stared at the new arrivals.

  Magiere didn't appear impressed by the scene before them. She stepped up to the table's rear end, following Doviak, and the little man stopped to announce them.

  "Mistress Magiere and…" Doviak paused, looking uncomfortably at Chap and Leesil. "And party."

  At the table's far end, in the position of central authority, one man stood up. He was unusually tall, with broad shoulders and steel-gray hair, and everything he wore from collar to cuffs was impeccable. Again, Leesil wished he'd at least taken time to wash his shirt.

  "I am Alexi Lanjov, chairman of the council for Bela," the man said. He hesitated, looking her over with uncertainty. "You are Magiere? The hunter from Miiska?"

  Leesil sensed that Lanjov was usually skilled at guarding his thoughts, but there was no hiding the shock in his eyes. Magiere was clearly not what he expected.

  Magiere looked straight at Lanjov without notice of anyone or anything else in the room.

  "Yes, I'm the hunter you requested."

  Several council members whispered to each other in low tones. An old man dressed entirely in black pointed at Chap.

  "Animals are not allowed in the council chamber. They are not even allowed in the building."

  Leesil put his hand on Chap's back and felt the dog tense, as if Chap knew he'd become the object of attention. Magiere's gaze shifted to the old man, resting upon him for the span of a breath. Without comment, she returned her attention to Lanjov.

  "Your offer has been accepted," she said. "All we need now are the details. Your letter said a girl was killed on her own doorstep. We need the location and a piece of her clothing, and we will start from there."

  Lanjov's face grew pale, and he breathed in audibly. The whispers grew into muttering until a strong voice with a vaguely familiar accent rose above them.

  "And what, exactly, are you planning to start?"

  Leesil followed the voice to an unusual man with shoulder-length black-brown hair, a close-trimmed beard, and pockmarked ginger-colored skin. He wore a silk robe of dark amber and exuded visible arrogance.

  Lanjov raised one hand in the air. "Lord Au'shiyn… we addressed your concerns before, and the matter was settled."

  Au'shiyn. Leesil repeated the name in his mind. It wasn't Stravinan or Belaskian. He wonder
ed if the man was from the deep parts of Droevinka, but the accent didn't match and his name didn't sound of that country or language. Then Leesil recognized where he'd heard such an accent before.

  Au'shiyn spoke like Rashed, the warrior undead Magiere had fought in Miiska. And Rashed had been Suman in his living days. What was a man from the Suman Empire doing on the Bela city council?

  "It was not adequately settled," Au'shiyn answered coldly, and he turned on Magiere again. "What exactly do you believe you are to hunt?"

  For the first time since entering the council chambers, Magiere's expression grew uncertain.

  "Your council sent for me," she said directly to Lanjov. "The letter was very clear."

  "Yes, yes," answered a young man with reddish-blond hair sitting at Lanjov's side. He appeared earnest but distressed at the dissension. "Please understand, our offer is genuine. It is Councilman's Lanjov's daughter who was murdered at his own home. This is difficult for him to discuss."

  Lanjov nodded but looked no less troubled.

  One word the younger man at Lanjov's side had used now stuck in Leesil's thoughts: murdered.

  He'd read the letter sent to Miiska's council mentioning a girl killed, but he'd never heard the term "murder" in connection to vampires. "Killed" or "slaughtered," or a number of more disturbing terms. This young man's tone was different.

  Lord Au'shiyn picked up on the word as well. "Indeed, the poor girl was murdered, so I would like to know why our own city guard has not tracked down her killer."

  "Because the killer isn't natural!" the young man burst out. "It is an undead that feeds on blood. For that, we need a dhampir. The city guard has tried and failed."

  Au'shiyn burst out laughing. "Yes, a dhampir." With amusement, he appraised Magiere. "One of your parents is of these predatory corpses—a vampire? Which one? Mother or father?"

  Magiere's expression turned cold. Leesil eyed the four guards around the room and was particularly glad she'd been disarmed before entering. Even the doubtful men around Au'shiyn had the good taste to look embarrassed.

  "Really," the man next to him murmured. "Is that necessary?"

  "Enough!" Councilman Lanjov ordered. "The dhampir has come to help us. She deserves our thanks and cooperation"—he nodded to Magiere, briefly lowering his eyes— "and common courtesy as well. Suitable rooms have been reserved for you at one of Bela's finest inns. I'll have guards escort you immediately. Come to my office in the morning, and I can give you the few details that I have."

  Magiere stepped back, taking in the entire scene. Leesil knew her well enough to realize this moment was crucial. She'd either tell them to burn the offer and where they could stuff the ashes, or she'd put forth the effort to gain control of the situation.

  Chap whined and put his nose in her palm. She looked down at him, and Leesil watched them lock into a long gaze. Magiere gave Chap a rueful smile and stroked his head. She turned her dark, determined eyes back upon the council and walked slowly around the long, oval table.

  "One of your members lost a child in a way that frightened the lot of you enough to send for me. If she died with her throat torn open, then you either have an inhuman predator or a sick madman on your hands. I'll assume your guards can handle a madman, so it's obvious why I'm here." At that, her gaze passed over Au'shiyn but didn't pause. "If it's an undead, then you need me—and them." She pointed at Leesil and Chap. "The only reason we're here is because you offered us enough money to save Miiska from ruin. The offer has been made and accepted. Now, all you need to do is answer our requests and stay out of our way."

  When Magiere finally stopped at Lanjov's side, even Au'shiyn remained silent. Leesil suppressed a grin. None of these men were accustomed to such blunt words.

  "We've our own rooms," she informed Lanjov. "It won't do to have guards parade us into some upscale inn. We don't need that kind of attention."

  Lanjov's shock at having lost control increased. "The arrangements are already made."

  "Then get your money back," she said. "And tomorrow morning is too late. The trail is already cold as is. We'll visit your home tonight."

  "My home?"

  Lanjov faltered. Clearly, he never considered the idea, but then he nodded as he realized the oversight. Mystery still surrounded Magiere, and he probably thought she had some supernatural method for tracking.

  "This evening," Magiere said firmly. "We'll need the location. We don't want an escort."

  The chairman sat down and resumed his calm but dominating demeanor.

  "Of course," he said. "My aide will provide directions."

  At that, Magiere turned on her heel and headed for the doors, past the openmouthed Doviak, with Leesil and Chap stepping in beside her. She stopped briefly before the guard at the door.

  "My sword," she said.

  The man handed it to her, and she continued, not even pausing until they were outside on the council hall's terrace. Only then did she close her eyes, lean on the stone rail, and let out a deep breath.

  "Just like village leaders." She didn't sound confident in the comparison. "No matter how angry, on the inside, they're frightened. They want someone else to fight their battle."

  "Do you think it really is an undead?" Leesil asked.

  "I don't know. You know as much as I do about that. But for Miiska's sake, we'd better hope so."

  "Sad thought," he added, and then straightened in dramatic determination. "Well, you dealt with the wolves once today, so wait here. I'll get directions to Lanjov's house."

  "Yes," she said. "Then we're on the hunt."

  He looked over her pale features, her hair, mouth, and her eyes staring blankly out into the courtyard, lost in thoughts he couldn't touch. At least she'd finally committed herself. He would see to it she reached the end and made it home again, no matter what else might pass between them.

  "On the hunt," Leesil agreed.

  Welstiel Massing waited in the side corner of Councilman Lanjov's office. He knew the meeting taking place would soon end, and Lanjov always returned directly to his private chamber. Finally, the door opened.

  Lanjov appeared drained and tense. Moving to his desk, he sank into the chair and pulled a velvet cord hanging against the wall.

  Doviak poked his head in the door. "Yes, sir?"

  "I wish to dismiss the hunter and have a note immediately delivered wherever she is staying."

  Doviak nodded in approval with a quick breath of relief. "I'll get a parchment and be in directly."

  Lanjov buried his face in his hands as the door closed.

  "You would be wrong to dismiss the dhampir," Welstiel said as he stepped out.

  Lanjov started slightly and turned in his chair.

  "Welstiel?" he said, regaining his composure. "How did you… ? What are you doing in here?"

  "Your aide showed me in a short while ago. I've been in the cellar archives all day doing research. I heard the dhampir had arrived and came up to wait for you."

  "I did not notice you," Lanjov answered. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. "You should have announced your presence."

  "The audience did not go well?"

  Welstiel stepped to the front of the desk, fingers laced with his hands hanging down to rest on his belt. Lanjov's attention fell briefly on the partially missing little finger. Welstiel often wore gloves to hide the slight disfigurement, but now his hands were bare.

  "A disaster," Lanjov answered. "You told me she was a professional."

  "She is," Welstiel answered. "Do not allow her appearance and manner to fool you. Only moons ago, she destroyed a trained undead warrior nearly twice her weight. She is a dhampir."

  Lanjov shook his head with uncertainty.

  Welstiel had met him for the first time a month ago at the Knight's House, an establishment for the elite of Bela. Their polite acquaintance quickly grew to casual companionship, and with the exception of Domin Tilswith, Welstiel was the only friend of Lanjov's to express open sympathy at Chesna's death. La
njov wanted justice, so he called it. Welstiel offered to help him reason through what had happened and suggested a possible solution.

  "If there is a vampire in Bela, she will find it," Welstiel continued. "I've seen firsthand how undead beasts kill. Your daughter was taken by such."

  A brisk knock on the door sounded, and Doviak walked in.

  Lanjov hesitated, and Welstiel understood his concerns. If the dhampir failed, he would be disgraced. If he sent her away now, he would look like a fool after all the pressure he had put on the council—and there would be no justice for Chesna.

  "Never mind, Doviak," Lanjov whispered. "We will stay on our current course for now."

  Doviak glanced briefly at Welstiel and frowned, his small mouth pursed. "Are you certain?" he asked Lanjov.

  "Stay strong in this," Welstiel encouraged. "And let the hunt begin."

  Lanjov took a deep long breath. "Let the hunt begin."

  Chapter 6

  The Burdock was a modest but clean inn, nestled in a merchant district on the south side of Bela. After council hall of elites, this suited Leesil. Magiere had paid for two small rooms next to each other, the arrangement similar to the Sea Lion's upstairs. Each room held a narrow bed, a window, a tiny side table, plus a candle for an extra copper penny. Chap wandered about Magiere's room and poked his nose through the open chest. As Leesil stood in the doorway, watching Magiere unload her belongings, a strange isolation crept over him.

  Indeed, they had their own rooms at the tavern, which was pure pleasure after years of sleeping on the ground. A warm, dry bed was a luxury that never wore off, but in this little inn a new change entered Leesil's awareness.

  For years on the road, they'd kept together—Magiere, Chap, and himself. On rare occasions they'd rented a room or a farmer's barn loft. They huddled in the same space to save money and maintain a sense of sanctuary in a world into which neither of them had been welcomed. At the time, he hadn't given thought to Magiere as more than a close companion and partner.