“Think this one’s still alive, Velander,” panted Laron.
He flung back the handcart’s tarpaulin and heaved the unconscious thief up into the tray. It took him only moments to bind and gag his victim.
“Velander?” said Laron, dropping to his knees beside a pile of squirming shadows. “Not again! At least drag him into the cart before you start feeding. Velander! Listen to me: I can’t lift you both.”
A figure glided out of the shadows so silently that Laron did not notice until it was kneeling beside him.
“You take the body, I’ll lift Velander,” said a serene, reassuring, and very familiar voice.
“Senterri!” gasped Laron.
“Come on, lift! One, two, three!”
Velander lost her grip on the thief’s neck, looked up, bared her fangs, and snarled savagely.
“Don’t you growl at me, Velander Salvaras!” Senterri snapped, slapping Velander smartly across the face.
The vampyre’s ferocity suddenly dimmed. Laron glanced from Velander to Senterri, then back again, astonished beyond words.
“Mine,” Velander muttered sullenly.
Velander has actually backed down, he thought. Velander has not backed down since, well, Velander has never backed down.
“Help us get him into the handcart,” ordered Senterri. “Then you can climb in and finish him.”
Velander heaved the thief into the tray with one hand, then scrambled in after him. Laron hurriedly pulled the tarpaulin back over the handcart.
“I hope nobody wants to buy any fruit tonight,” said Senterri as she and Laron stood leaning against the side, both limp with relief.
“What are you doing here?” Laron demanded without looking at her.
“I told my brother I was joining a philanthropic order dedicated to improving the world.”
“But what are you doing—Oh no! You can’t mean Velander and me!”
“Actually, I can and I do. Oh, and my handmaid has taken your package to deliver to Terikel. Dolvienne is very reliable.”
“Senterri, go away. We are not nice company. Velander is more deadly than, than—Well, let’s just say I’ve seen a pack of a dozen desert wolves flee from her with their tails between their legs. Except for the one that didn’t run fast enough, that is.”
“But she needs help, she’s alone and vulnerable.”
“And I’m helping her.”
“I want to help, too.”
“Go away, I saw her first.”
“And you need someone to look to your welfare.”
“Me? Absolutely not!”
“Did you know the beard is coming away from your left cheek?”
“Is it? My thanks—Senterri! I am not letting you into this traveling carnival of blood, death, horrible people, extreme danger, and occasional low comedy. I—”
Senterri suddenly wrapped her arms around him and jammed her lips against his. Moments later, two of the city’s night watch strolled past.
“It’s raining, have ye not noticed?” laughed one.
“Go home, do that in bed,” said the other, tapping Senterri across the rump with his swagger-stick.
“Wouldn’t happen to be in love, would ye?” the first called over his shoulder as they walked on.
Then they were gone. Senterri and Laron remained beside the cart, still embracing.
“You gave up everything for a dangerous and unstable fiend who once saved your life,” said Senterri. “Why can I not give up everything for you, who gave me back my freedom and dignity?”
“Because, er …”
“Well? I have a right to be chivalrous, too. I listened to everything that Velander said about the rights of women.”
There was a heavy thud behind her.
“Velander!” Laron cried suddenly.
Velander had crawled out of the cart and fallen flat on her face in the rain-drenched street.
“Requiring help, to walking,” she announced as Senterri and Laron hauled her to her feet. “Am incapable.”
“One of those idiots must have been drunk, and she does not hold her drink at all well,” explained Laron. “Hold her up.”
“So far tonight I have seen blood, death, horrible people, and extreme danger,” said Senterri. “Is this the low comedy?”
Laron pushed against the cart, set it in motion, then steered it for the low brick wall at the end of the street. Moments later the two bodies had plunged nearly a thousand feet to the waters of the Leir River. Supporting Velander between them, Laron and Senterri set off through the rain and darkness.
“Wishing to apolop—er, apropol—Ah, sorry I snarl, at you,” Velander managed in Diomedan, with considerable effort.
“Think nothing of it,” replied Senterri.
“It’s going to be an interesting night,” said Laron.
“Are you saying it is not already interesting?” said Senterri. “Where are your rooms?”
“Fishbone Street, the Golden Crown, and it’s only one room with only one double bunk,” replied Laron.
“Bottom bunksh mine,” slurred Velander.
“Laron and I will manage nicely with the top bunk,” declared Senterri.
Laron’s complaint that he would have to spend the night on the floor died on his lips. Rain pattered into his open mouth, driven by a light but gusty wind.
“Peeling off shilly beard, firsht, tell him,” suggested Velander.
Laron’s voice finally returned. “Look, Senterri, you’re exquisite, you’re enchanting, and I cannot say I don’t fancy you, but please, think carefully,” he pleaded. “There is still time to go back to your real life.”
“Oh no, my chivalrous champion, within my hearts I ran away with you weeks ago, so now it is far too late.”
And so Verral’s smallest and strangest philanthropic order began. Laron and Senterri’s first night in each other’s arms was not really enhanced by Velander lying in the bunk below, breathing the reek of blood and alcohol into the air, belching etheric fireballs, muttering that her head hurt, and occasionally asking how they were getting along, but true love can cope with that sort of thing. The following morning they set off through the city gates and traveled deeper into the mountains with the horse and cart Senterri had kept in the palace stables ever since she had arrived. The sky was clear and a brilliant blue, while the air was intoxicatingly clean and fresh from the night’s rain. Behind them, in Gladenfalle, quite a few people were missing whom nobody really missed, and the city was a slightly happier place as a result of the month Velander had spent there.
Under some blankets in the wagon’s tray, Velander lay dead—at least until Miral rose again.
TOR BOOKS BY SEAN MC MULLEN
THE CENTURION’S EMPIRE
SOULS IN THE GREAT MACHINE
THE MIOCENE ARROW
EYES OF THE CALCULOR
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
VOYAGE OF THE SHADOWMOON
Copyright © 2002 by Sean McMullen
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Edited by Jack Dann
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Book design by Mark Abrams.
eISBN 9781429977852
First eBook Edition : June 2011
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