by Barb Hendee
Both their motivations were becoming clear. Rashed wanted revenge and to make certain Teesha would be permanently safe from the hunter. Teesha just wanted to keep Rashed away from that hunter. But what about him? What about Ratboy? Did he matter to them at all? He had stayed with them all these years because he'd never really liked living alone, but standing there in the forest, looking at his wounded chest, he wondered if he hadn't been alone the whole time.
"Do not be one of them," a mad but familiar voice breathed in his ear.
He cast about wildly, but saw no one. He knew the voice. Unbidden, images of Parko danced in the darkness, and he longed for the freedom to hunt and kill and feed as the need drove him.
The white face and feral laugh of his old companion followed when he started moving again. And where was Parko's body now? At the bottom of a river because some hunter put it there-the same one who now hunted him.
He heard the sound of a hammer pounding on wood and moved up quietly behind a tree. The mild inlet river gushed softly as it flowed past, and Rashed stood not far away with his own shirt off, attempting to repair the hole in the boat's hull.
Rashed's white skin was the only unnatural element of his appearance. The heavy bones of his bare shoulders and the practiced swing of his mallet seemed completely human, completely mortal. Other tools and boards lay on the ground, waiting to be used.
"Is he a true Noble Dead?" Parko's dead voice whispered in Ratboy's ear.
"No." Ratboy shook his head. He stepped back, realizing the futility of Rashed's actions, the pointless danger of remaining to fight this hunter, the regret of leaving Teesha behind.
There was no indecision, no real turmoil inside him anymore. He wasn't going back. The forest called him. He could kill along the way, steal clothes from his victims, and be true to his own nature.
One last pang of longing passed through him as he thought again of Teesha. Then he disappeared into the trees… heading north.
Even though the hole in the ship's hull was small, Hashed was beginning to realize he'd never be able to mend it himself without proper supplies-and even then it would take several nights to make her seaworthy. He'd ripped some boards from the deck and attempted to use them for hull repairs. At first the work pleased him, as it gave him something constructive to do and reminded him that he indeed controlled his own fate. Now he decided a different course of escape might be in order. If they could travel by road at night to the next town along the coastline, he could buy them passage on a ship.
He frowned. That would take money. He had counted on being able to delay concern over finances.
His thoughts turned to Teesha.
Her method of hunting did not give him cause to worry, but he still glanced backward occasionally, wishing she would appear.
Often given to admiring aesthetics, he could not help noticing the beauty and variety of forest life growing on and around the boat. Vines of purple and white, bell-shaped flowers hung down from the bow and the stern, connecting to heavy fir trees and wild lilac bushes. Even in the moonlight, glowing blankets of light green moss covered many tree trunks and roots like soft carpets. The thought of fleeing such a place only fueled his anger toward the hunter who had desecrated his current existence.
"You could have been a carpenter," said a sweet voice behind him.
He turned to see Teesha inspecting his work, which he hardly thought worthy of praise. With her dark curls falling like a blanket around her petite face and shoulders, the glorious colors of nature faded in his estimation. Nothing compared to her.
"Is the blacksmith dead?" he asked flatly, not mentioning his relief at her return.
"Yes…"
Something was wrong. He lowered his mallet and walked to her.
"What is it? Did the half-elf escape Ratboy?"
Teesha raised her chin to look him full in the face.
"I think Ratboy has left us. I felt his separation."
Rashed didn't understand, but he knew Teesha's mental abilities surpassed his own. "What do you mean?"
She reached out to touch his arm. Earlier, he'd removed his torn tunic to work with greater freedom, and the sensation of her fingers on his bare skin made him tremble.
"He is gone," she said simply. "He has followed Parko onto the Feral Path."
A sense of loss hit Rashed. It was not so much because he cared for or missed Ratboy, but more that his safe world was unraveling around him and he could not seem to rewind the skein.
But that which mattered most still stood by his side, still needed his protection. If he were capable, he would have embraced Teesha tightly and whispered comfort in her ear.
He was not. Instead, he turned halfway toward the boat and said, "So there are only two of us now?"
"And Edwan."
Yes, Edwan. Why did he always forget the ghost? "Of course," he said.
Teesha hesitated. "We still have one another. Perhaps we should see Ratboy's decision as a sign. Perhaps we, too, should forget everything here and slip away."
For a brief moment, Rashed wavered. Teesha was safe. She was with him. Perhaps they could just leave this place and disappear into the night. But then an image of the hunter flashed in his thoughts, as well as the memories of himself pulling Teesha through collapsing tunnels while his home burned over his head.
"No, that hunter dies. Then we leave. I'll kill her myself tomorrow night. You will stay here. I won't be long. I can't take the chance that she'll follow us." He gestured toward the boat. "This is not repairable with the tools and supplies I have, but I promise we'll leave here soon. I have an errand to take care of tonight. We'll need money for traveling."
She dropped her gaze and her usual facade of casual charm.
"All right," she said quietly, "but I want you to know that I'm afraid, and very little in this world frightens me."
The urge-and the inability-to comfort her became physically painful. "I won't let anything hurt you."
"That isn't what I'm afraid of."
Rashed waited outside The Velvet Rose until a tall, richly dressed patron exited the inn. Stepping from the shadows of a side alley, Rashed punched the man in the face hard enough to drop him. He stole the man's purse and then his cloak. Rashed quickly donned the cloak, making sure its hood completely hid his face. Even at this late hour, The Velvet Rose could sometimes teem with life and he did not want to be recognized.
Upon entering The Velvet Rose, he only saw three people: a maid, another patron preparing to depart, and Loni, the elf who functioned as a polite proprietor and guard. His mental abilities could handle all three. Casting out with this mind, Rashed projected a suggestion that they should ignore him, that he belonged here. Teesha was better at this, but Rashed knew how to use his abilities when necessary.
Once past the foyer and the front desk, he walked up the stairs and knocked on Ellinwood's door. There was no answer but he could sense the constable's presence inside.
He reached down and turned the knob. It wasn't locked. At his previous visit, the constable had made him welcome, so he was able to walk right in.
Upon entering, he saw Ellinwood's enormous form half lying in a damask-covered chair. The flesh around his partially open eyes was puffy and tinged with a pinkish-red hue. Drool ran down one corner of his mouth and dribbled into a wet pool on the neck of his green tunic. On the table next to him sat an empty, long-stemmed crystal glass, an urn, and a bottle of amber liquid. Rashed walked over and looked in the um. He knew of yellow opiate. In his soldiering days in the Suman empire, he'd seen enough of it in the back-alley bars and dens where the desperate gathered to sate their needs. He'd long suspected Ellinwood spent his profits on some addiction, but he'd never cared enough to seek an answer.
Disgust filled Rashed. Why should anyone mourn for these mortals when they so frequently chose to destroy themselves? And Suman opiate was dangerous. It consumed those enslaved to it. The constable would soon do anything to acquire more.
"Wake up," Rashed ordered.<
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Ellinwood's eyes fluttered several times before opening completely. He was dazed and incoherent at first. Then his expression cleared. As the sight of Rashed registered, confusion was replaced by shock.
"Ras…?" he managed to say.
He tried to sit up, but the soft muscles of his massive body would not cooperate. Without his hat, his brown hair was visible, sticking to his skull in lank, unwashed strings.
"Yes, I'm here," Rashed said quietly. "You are not dreaming. I need money."
Gaining more control over his body, Ellinwood now sat straight.
"You came here for money? How did you escape the warehouse? That hunter's partner burned it to the ground."
"We lost everything," Rashed said, ignoring his question. "I need to take Teesha away from here. I believe you can spare a bit of wealth, considering what we have been paying you."
He could almost see the thoughts in Ellinwood's mind passing across the man's swollen face. Anxiety was followed by alarm, and then by cunning, and finally, the constable smiled.
"You don't think I would keep any of my silver here?" His gaze shifted unconsciously to the top of the wardrobe and then quickly back to Rashed. "Some light-fingered maid might steal it."
Rashed did not have time for games, and disgust for this greedy man was turning to hatred. He changed tactics and focused psychically.
"You are in danger," he said. "I've come to take you to safety. Gather your money. Gather what you need and follow me."
Ellinwood's already weak mind, further dulled with opiate and whiskey, was easy to overcome. He suddenly believed himself to be in danger from an outside source and that Rashed was his protector.
"Yes, yes," he said, fumbling in panic to get to his feet. "I won't be long."
"We'll go to the docks," Rashed said. "You will be safe there."
"Safe," Ellinwood repeated.
He hurried to the wardrobe, unlocked the top drawer, and pulled out several heavy pouches that jingled in his hands.
"Give me the coins for safekeeping," Rashed said. "I will guard them for you."
The constable handed him the pouches. Rashed tied them to his belt and pulled the cloak around himself again.
They walked down the stairs together, and this time, Rashed simply hid beneath his hood as they passed Loni. The constable lived there. No one would question him leaving with a companion. The two of them traveled quickly through the quiet town to the shore, and Rashed moved out to stand on the wooden planks at the end of a dock.
"Here," he said. "You will be safe here."
Ellinwood joined him. His weight caused the boards to creak.
"Safe," he said again, smiling.
Rashed could not believe how easy the man's mind was to control. It took little effort at all, and controlling the perceptions of another while feeding suggested thoughts was normally a great effort for him. He reached out with both hands and grasped Ellinwood's fleshy face. Then he jerked hard to the left, snapping the constable's neck. His victim felt no pain, but was simply rendered lifeless.
Rather than attempting to hold the heavy body up, he allowed it to fall backward off the long dock. No one would hear it hit the water. It might wash out to sea, and it might wash up on the shore. If someone discovered it, they would see red-pouched eyes and later find the yellow powder in his room. Either way, by the time he was found, Rashed planned to be long gone.
The thought of Teesha alone at the boat made him anxious, and he left the docks quickly, fingering the pouches on his belt, not giving Ellinwood's place of death a backward glance.
Chapter Eighteen
Magiere knelt upon the floor and bandaged Leesil's ribs las best she could, while the half-elf sat numbly on the side of his bed. According to Caleb, Miiska had possessed a competent healer until the previous winter. The healer's wife suffered from a breathing illness, and he'd taken her south to a drier climate. Caleb said the few others in town who claimed to be healers were probably less skilled than Magiere herself at dealing with cracked bones, and the last knowledgeable herbalist was Brenden's mother, who died years ago.
Although alarmed that Leesil was injured again so soon, Magiere felt a guilty sense of purpose for the task of tending him. It gave her an activity to focus on. Leesil had not spoken a word since hearing of Brenden's death and stared at the wall of his bedroom while she used torn sheets to wrap his broken ribs. His jaw was now several shades of purple and yellow. Some of Welstiel's salve remained, and she carefully applied it to his face.
Chap paced about the room. Twice, he came over and shoved his wet nose into Leesil's dangling hand, who did not respond.
"You'll heal," Magiere said finally.
"Will I?" he answered.
"Yes, you will."
He was quiet for a while and then drew air in through his mouth, wincing slightly.
"I thought they were gone, Magiere. I swear to all the gods that I thought them dead."
"I know. We all did. It isn't your fault."
Magiere remembered how in the beginning she'd been desperate to avoid becoming embroiled in all of this. How foolish. There was no way to avoid it. There never had been. And now these undead creatures would not rest until she and any near her were dead and buried in a local graveyard.
"I won't pretend to understand how you feel, but the worst is yet to come," she said, and her voice failed her for a moment. "I need you. Are you up to making a defense plan with me?"
He blinked in sadness. "I honestly don't know."
She got up from the floor and sat beside him on the bed.
This was a pleasant room. The mattress was stuffed with feathers, not straw, and everything smelled of Leesil, a mix of earth and spices. There was also a slight musty smell, and she knew his bedding had not been aired since Beth-rae's death. A small table and one chair were in the corner, but with the exception of a fat, white candle, the table was bare. For the most part, his room was neat and spare. Although he had the ability to go through money at an amazing rate, material objects held little interest for him.
Magiere still wore her blue dress, but the skirt was now torn and muddied. The faded cotton shirt she'd pulled off him and dropped on the floor was stained and torn beyond repair.
"We're going through a lot of clothes," she said, more to break the silence than for any other reason.
Leesil did not respond for a long while, then finally looked at her.
"I know." He nodded. "I was thinking about that earlier tonight… seems like a long time ago. Everything was different."
"The three of us aren't enough to deal with this," she urged, now that she had his attention again. "We need help from the townsfolk, as much as we can get. I don't know how to manipulate people, and you do." She paused and added in apology, "I mean that as a compliment."
He didn't even pretend to bristle or take offense. His lack of reaction was beginning to gnaw at her insides. How much spirit did he have left?
"What do you want me to do?" he asked. Magiere took a deep breath, slowly and quietly, trying not to let him see her own unease.
"Get some rest first," she answered, standing up. "I'll call for a town meeting downstairs later in the day. When it's time, I'll come for you. I need you to convince these people that we need their help. I have to face Rashed myself, but we need to lay a trap and that is going to take numbers. Once we get these creatures in the open, inside of town, they can't be allowed to get out again. Does that make sense?"
"Yes." He nodded again, and she put her hand carefully against his back and helped him lie down.
Magiere pushed white-blond hair back out of his eyes and noted again how the long scratches on his face didn't really mar his narrow features. Before their arrival in Miiska, she'd never realized just how much she liked his face. "What are you going to do now?" he asked. She attempted a half-smile. "I'm going to make you some soup, and hopefully not poison you in the process."
Something in her words or manner shook him from his passive state, and
he grabbed her hand. The strength in his grip surprised her. It almost hurt.
"I'm not a coward," he said. "You know that, don't you?"
"Of course," she said. "Don't be a fool."
"There are ships leaving dock all the time. Nobody would even notice if you and I and Chap slipped out of here. We could be halfway down the coast in a few days and start over someplace else."
The thought of flight had never occurred to her, and she did consider Leesil's words briefly. Sailing away from all this, the three of them intact and alive, was suddenly enticing. The mere thought of it brought a feeling of release that washed through her. They had enough money to start a new life and leave this horror to the people of Miiska.
But faces and names kept surfacing in her mind. Beth-rae. Brenden. Eliza.
And all the others they'd heard of. The town's main warehouse was now gone, and so many lives were now affected.
"No," she said. "We can't just leave. If we do, everything we've done here would be for nothing. Everyone who has died will have died for nothing. We have to finish this."
Leesil looked away.
"And this is our home," she went on, urging him to understand. "I've never had a home. Have you?"
Resignation cleared some of the sorrow from Leesil's expression. He let go of her hand and relaxed against his pillow.
"No, not really. You and that dog and this broken-down tavern are the most I've ever had."
Magiere started for the door. "I'm going to make soup. You rest."
Before she stepped in the hallway, he called out softly, "I want to bury Brenden."
She didn't answer.
Later that morning, Magiere made large pots of tea and opened a cask of good ale, while Caleb left to call a town meeting. He promised to speak to as many people as possible. By midday, when he returned, Caleb had learned a number of important revelations that he reported to Magiere.
First, the bodies of two sailors were found dead on the beach. One's throat was literally torn open. The other was found up shore, closer to Miiska. His wrist and throat were punctured. Although no one spoke of it, Caleb said both bodies were so pale that the cause of their deaths left little to mystery.
