The Christian & Brina Collection

by Judith Post

  "We're not stupid," Jarman countered. "How many other serfdoms would welcome us? But it's of no matter. If we want to stay in the shadows, no one would know we were there."

  Christian gave a curt nod. "So they've all been taken in the forest."

  "Did they go together or apart?" Brom might enjoy provoking Jarman, but his concern was beginning to show.

  "Separately. You fought beside us, saw us die in battle. We turn to dust. If something happened to them, there'd be no body. So the question is, were they captured and dragged away or killed and there's no trace?"

  Brom stalked to a tankard for ale. He sank back onto his chair at the table and sipped it, deep in thought, before asking, "Why would someone want to capture a vampire? I know the warlord took your friend and forced her to turn his troops, thinking he'd be invincible, but would another mortal try that trick? It's risky, at best."

  "It seems improbable," Jarman said. "My guess is they're gone, killed."

  "But what's the point?" Christian poured two more ales—one for him and one for Jarman. He motioned for the vampire to settle at the table with them. "The forest you live in is part of my lands. No one has any business there except those to whom I've granted permission. That means they're angering me and chancing discovery by your pack. Why take those risks? Surely, it's not easy for a mortal to kill your men."

  "Not our band. We're all several centuries old except for Brina's father. We can smell a drop of blood miles away. We can hear a heart beat before we see a mortal. To kill three of us at night, when we're active, a hunter would have to be very skilled and very sure of himself."

  Brom's black brows drew together in a scowl. "Why would a mortal hunt you in the dark during your hours? Most wait until daylight and seek you out where you sleep."

  Both men looked to Christian, as though he had the answer. Christian shrugged. "I'd rule out mortals. I'd concentrate on those who work best after sundown."

  "Witches and warlocks?" Jarman asked.

  Brom shook his head. "Not from our serfdom or any neighboring ones. They meet in your forest for solstice, count you as friends."

  "There are others." Christian glanced out the open doors that led to the courtyard. He'd intended to keep his villagers safe when he had a second wall built around his fortress, eight feet tall and thick enough to protect their huts and gardens. But stone walls only served to keep out ordinary predators. When he realized that, he'd asked the witches to cast protection wards around his lands. Those, too, they'd warned him, were spread so thin, they only kept out the simplest of magics. What walked beyond his walls? What was strong enough to hunt vampires?

  Brom's dark gaze bore into him. "What kind of others?"

  "There are shifters."

  Jarman's shoulders stiffened. "Werewolves, our natural enemies. They hunt in packs. They lie in wait downwind, so that we can't scent them."

  "How many have you lost?" Christian asked.

  "Two men, one fair lady."

  "Not Aldith?" Brom asked so quickly, both men looked at him in surprise. He grimaced. "I know she's taken, that she's with Forwin. I don't lust after her, but I saw her fight. She killed the warlord. I respect her."

  With a quick nod, Jarman said, "No, not her. One of us you never met."

  "When did you lose the last one? Is there a pattern? Does one disappear every night or is there a space between them?" Christian was ready to act. He had little patience with sitting around when there was a problem to solve, but unlike Lord Lucan, he liked to have a plan of some sort that was well thought out.

  "Someone's disappeared every other night," Jarman said. "Everyone came back safe at sunrise this morning. That means tonight…."

  "You'll be hunted," Brom finished.

  The three men looked at each other. Christian took a deep breath. "We have too little to go on, with little hope of learning more. I say we go into the forest together and keep your people in their hiding spots, out of sight. If someone or something's looking for prey, they'll find us."

  Jarman's posture relaxed slightly. "I was hoping you'd say that."

  "No." Brom's voice was firm. "I'll go. I'll take men with me. We'll work with Jarman. You're our lord. I won't risk your life…."

  Christian rose to his feet. "You don't have magic. Neither do your men. We don't know what we're facing. I'm going. It will increase our odds of success."

  "But, sire…."

  "Do you really think that if the hunter is strong enough to kill vampires, it will stop there? Do you think our lands will stay safe?"

  Brom rose too, but instead of starting for the door, he walked toward the stairs. "We're not going until you consult Lady Enid. She reads the signs. She can tell us if this is the right time to confront our new enemy."

  Jarman nodded agreement. "Lady Enid was right when we battled the warlord. Her opinion's worth seeking."

  Christian followed Brom to the stone steps that led to his mother's room in the tower. He'd placed her there as a safety precaution. He'd installed iron doors that lowered and locked at the top of the stairs. The windows to her room were long and narrow, so that no one could enter.

  When they reached the top step, a guard cranked the gears to raise the bars. Chains clanked. Brina's room was in the tower now too, one floor above his mother's. The two women he loved. He'd risk everything to keep them safe.

  They knocked on his mother's door and she invited them in. They found her sitting at a small table, reading her cards. She showed no surprise to see them, probably expected them. "You've come about the trouble."

  Christian ran a hand through his mahogany-colored hair. His mother never ceased to amaze him. "Someone might die tonight if we don't confront whatever's hunting in the forest. Do the planets favor us?"

  She gave a serene smile. "No planets favor you, but none oppose you either. It's as good a time as any. But you should know, this battle is only the first. Even if you win tonight, the planets insist more trouble is coming."

  Christian motioned to her Tarot. "And your cards?"

  "Think your question and choose one."

  Will we live? The question came before Christian could form a proper one. When he reached for a card and turned it, his mother smiled.

  "You have a favorable response. Take care, but know that things aren't as they seem at the moment. Use caution, even in victory."

  Christian bent to kiss his mother's forehead. Before they left the fortress, he went to the basement kitchens to find Cook. "Brom and I are leaving tonight to help Jarman and his vampires. Would you keep a close eye on my mother and the fortress? Would you let the other witches know that there's danger in the forest, and everyone should be cautious?"

  Cook gave a quick nod before pinching her lips together.

  Christian knew that look. He'd seen it many times when he was growing up and Cook wasn't happy with him. "What is it?" he asked.

  "The mists in my kitchen have been forming strange shapes. You need to be cautious."

  Christian grinned. He'd pestered this woman mercilessly as a child, and she'd grudgingly endured it. She'd raised Brina—thought of her almost as a daughter. If he got himself killed, he wasn't sure which would bother her more—that he'd been stupid enough to die, or that he'd left Brina at the altar.

  She shook a wooden spoon at him. "Don't try to charm me with your smile," she warned. "You were always a rascal, but Brina loves you for some reason. No one will be happy if you aren't whole and fit for your upcoming wedding."

  "Including me." He'd wanted to hug, to hold Brina—his honey-blond, blue-eyed enchantress—the moment he saw her. He gave Cook's cheek a quick peck. "You've always had a fondness for me, even when you scold. I'll try to stay in one piece."

  She raised her apron and shooed him away, just as she'd done when he was a small boy, stealing treats when he wasn't supposed to.

  He stationed guards at each door when they left the Keep. Jarman flew ahead to warn his fellow vampires to stay put for the night, and Christian and Brom push
ed their horses to make better time on their way to the forest. Jarman was waiting for them when they reached its edge.

  Jarman glanced at the waning moon. He handed them each a torch, unlit. "There won't be much light under the trees. I can see in the dark, but you'll only see outlines. Don't use your flint now, but if we're attacked, you'll need these."

  Christian and Brom followed him into the deep shadows of the wood.

  The grass and leaves were green, so their footsteps were barely audible. Insects chirped. The tang of fertile earth tickled their noses. The going was slow. Christian and Brom had to strain to see their way. They'd walked a fair distance when they reached a clearing. Jarman sniffed, smelling for a predator.

  "Humans," he whispered, pointing to the opposite tree line. "Two of them."

  Christian narrowed his eyes, squinting to see better. Pale moonlight illuminated the small meadow. He scanned the circle of trees. He saw nothing, but dropped to his hands and knees. He began crawling, low to the ground, through the tall grasses. Jarman followed his example, and Brom was about to do the same when a whoosh of wings swooped downward at them. Large wings. Bigger than a vampire's.

  Christian flattened himself to the earth. A huge shape darted over them and a cry sounded on the far side of the meadow. Christian lifted his head.

  The two men had stepped into the moonlight. No weapons. No armor. They looked like peasants. What they were doing in the forest at night, Christian had no idea. But a monstrous snout dipped toward them, a mouth rimmed in needle-sharp teeth opened, and blood-red, leathery lips clamped one of them in a single snap. The man's scream ripped the silence. He struggled for a moment before he went limp. The dragon flipped him into the air and took a large chomp, halving his body and swallowing the lower half. Then the beast landed, slamming its tail to snap small saplings. It found the upper body and ate that next.

  The second man stood, transfixed by fear. If he ran now, the dragon would easily catch him. He was doomed, either way. Christian jumped to his feet and raced forward, waving his arms.

  "This is my land!" he yelled. "My people. Leave here."

  The dragon's long neck turned, and a scaled, narrow face studied him. Yellow, unblinking eyes scanned him from head to toe. Dragons understood language. They had old magic. It cocked its head to one side, then noticed Jarman and Brom clamoring to their feet behind him. Its thin lips curved into a serpent smile. A feast instead of a snack. Christian could tell by its expression that it had dismissed him as a threat. The beast opened its mouth and blasted him with heat.

  The flames engulfed him. But he'd called on his own halo of fire, and it held the dragon's in check. When the last wisps of smoke dissolved, Christian put his hands on his hips and said, "I asked you nicely. I'll only repeat myself once. Leave here."

  This time, the crimson dragon blinked in surprise. It inhaled slowly, sniffing his scent, trying to determine what he was.

  Christian gave a grim smile. "Surely there's easier prey elsewhere. These lands are mine. If you hunt here, we hunt you."

  Its expression turned thoughtful. It considered him, licked its lips when it looked at Brom and Jarman, then spread its wings and flew away.

  The man on the far edge of the woods sank to his knees in relief. The three of them ran to him. The man trembled so much, Brom put out a hand to steady him. He glanced up to thank him, saw Jarman--his pale, marble complexion and protruding fangs—and fainted.

  Christian couldn't fault him. The man just watched his friend get devoured by a dragon, he'd been saved unexpectedly, and then stared face to face with a vampire. He'd had a bad night.

  Jarman lifted the mortal with ease and carried him to the vampires' camp. This time, Christian and Brom lit their torches to follow him. Christian watched Jarman with wonder. His strength was so effortless, he barely noticed the man's weight. When they reached the clump of ancient oaks the pack called home, Jarman gently laid him on the ground.

  He met Christian's gaze. "I felt you watching me. We are strong, but we won't survive a dragon. It's stronger."

  "A dragon?" Aldith dropped to the ground beside Jarman. Forwin followed her, and soon the rest of the pack joined them. "Is that what's killing our people?"

  Jarman told them about their battle in the meadow.

  Aldith raised pale eyebrows to Christian. "So, you saved us…again."

  "It's too soon to tell. I saved this man from becoming a dragon's meal. But that doesn't mean the beast will stop hunting here. I surprised him. He wasn't sure how to deal with me, but dragons are wise and clever. If he ponders tonight's events and decides it's safe to return, he will."

  The man on the ground stirred and moaned. They all bent over him. When he opened his eyes and saw that he was surrounded by vampires, they nearly lost him again, but Jarman quickly said, "We're friends. Allies of your lord."

  The man lay still for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts and his courage. Then he turned his head to see Christian. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he gasped, "I seek sanctuary."

  "Sanctuary from what?" Christian frowned, uneasy. Where had the man come from? The forest separated his serfdom from Lucan's. Why would the man flee his own lands?

  "Lord Lucan is dead. Killed by the dragons. So are his subjects. Ranulf and I slipped out of the stables before anyone saw us, climbed the wall, and hid in the forest until the slaughter was over."

  Icy shards chilled Christian's blood. "Another slaughter?" How could Lucan be so unlucky? First, the vampire warlord. Now dragons?

  Brom answered his question. "Think about it. It makes sense. We both tried to convince Lucan to offer peasants lands free of duties for six months, long enough for them to grow gardens and establish themselves, and only two days of labor due him each week for one year. Serfs would flock to his lands, once they heard."

  "Serfs belong to the land. They cannot leave it." Jarman shook his head. "Buy the land, you buy the serfs."

  Christian sighed. "You've been to the cities. You've seen the people living on the streets. No home. Nothing to barter. If they were offered a roof over their heads for only two days labor out of seven…."

  Brom nodded. "Lucan could pick and choose who to let in. But he laughed at us. Why would a lord be so generous to his people? He worried they might learn to expect it."

  Jarman snarled in disgust. "But all of his people were killed. He had no subjects."

  "Exactly." Christian raised a brow at the lone survivor of Lucan's serfdom. "Instead, he allowed stragglers to come to the empty houses, and he burdened them with duties before they could grow one season of crops. He lost all of his soldiers and could only build a small army to replace them. His wife and children died. But would he bend? No."

  "So his lands were weak," Brom said. "Vulnerable to attack."

  The man on the ground clutched Christian's leg. "Please, show mercy. Ranulf and I thought we were safe…."

  Christian gently pried himself from the man's grip. "You're welcome here. Brom will find you work and a place to stay."

  Brom hesitated, unsure. "You're forgetting, my lord."

  Christian gave an exasperated sigh. "Brom, we've practiced swords together since we were children. I am your lord, but we're also friends."

  "You're forgetting, my lord, what your mother told us before we left the Keep."

  Christian shook his head. Brom liked things done properly. "No, I remember. Things are not as they seem."

  "Which means?" Aldith was in no mood for puzzles.

  Christian shrugged. "The Tarot said that all three of us would live through this night, but even in victory, there'd be more problems."

  Aldith's gaze slid to the man they'd saved. Her fangs grew, gleaming in the torch light. "It could be him. He could be a spy, a traitor."

  "Not me, my lord!" the man cried. "The signs probably meant the woman, the mistress of the dragons."

  Everyone stopped. Everyone looked at him. Brom bristled with impatience. "The woman?"

  "Sorry, my lord. I sh
ould have explained. But everything happened so fast…."

  Brom blew a frustrated sigh. "Just get on with it, man! What woman?"

  "When the dragons attacked, they were commanded by a woman—a warrior. Ranulf and I ran. We were climbing vines to scale the wall outside the Great Room. She strode toward Lucan, with her dragon behind her, and said, 'Show me your magic.'"

  Christian shook his head. "What magic? Lucan has none."

  "When he said as much, she clicked her fingers, and her dragon snapped Lord Lucan in half."

  Jarman stared. He turned to Christian. "She wants you."

  "What?" Christian rubbed his forehead, bewildered.

  "She came for you. She's heard of your magic. You used it in Lucan's fortress to battle the vampires there."

  Brom squared his shoulders. "She won't have him. Why would she want Christian's powers when she commands dragons?"

  Jarman looked at the others, searching for an answer. "That, I don't know, but I'd swear she captured the wrong man. I doubt it pleased her to waste energy on Lucan. Tonight, Christian used his magic to rescue the rest of us. He warned the dragon that these were his lands. She's learned who he is and where to find him."

  Christian nodded at Jarman's reasoning. It made sense, but what a dragon rider would want with him, he couldn't fathom. "Damn. Warning off the dragon seemed like a good idea at the time."

  Brom smiled. "Her mistake gave us fair warning. Let her come for you. We know what we're up against. We'll form a plan. Our fortress won't crumble as easily as Lucan's."

  * * *

  News spread through Christian's lands faster than a plague. Soon, villagers propped pitchforks at the doors of their cruck huts. Not that they would do them much good. Christian had tried to better the lives of his peasants. Most of their dwellings had wooden, front doors instead of the curtains, common in many kingdoms. He'd built the outer wall, too, to keep wild animals at bay. But the houses were still wood frames, plastered with wattle and daub. And the roofs were thatched. Dragons could turn them to ashes in one sweep.