Realms of Valor

ONE LAST DRINK

First Lieutenant Rhynn Oriandis sat astride her white mount, guarding the main entrance gate to the town of Mistledale As always, tonight the gate stood cheerfully open. The stone wall that encircled the two dozen or so buildings was breachable if a trespasser was determined, but sleepy Mistledale would hardly be worth the effort There was only one major street, which wound haphazardly through the town.

It was the middle of Marpenoth. The wind that ruffled Rhynn's indigo hair had the bite of the winter to come. The breeze chilled the moon elf's white cheeks as well, but she was warm enough in her black leather armor and cloak She felt the horse beneath her shiver. Moonmaid had no such protection, and as Rhynn was on a stationary patrol tonight the elderly mare didn't even have movement to warm her. Apologetically, Rhynn murmured comforting nonsense noises to the animal that had been her friend for the past fifteen years, then stroked the white neck with a gloved hand. Moonmaid whickered softly, craning her neck to glance back at her rider. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight, sparkling with what seemed like, to Rhynn at least, rueful humor.

"Don't look at me that way," the elf reprimanded in a teasing voice. "I don't like it out here either."

Moonmaid snorted as if in derision. Rhynn laughed, then grew somber as the mare, wearied by even that much effort, drooped her head almost to the cobblestones. Why did horses have to age so much faster than elves?

Rhynn had been one of the esteemed Riders of Mistledale for several decades. The bond these expertly trained soldiers shared with their white mounts was close; each Rider raised the horse from a foal, and no one else was permitted to ride the beast, save in emergencies, for the rest of the horse's life. When the animal was too old for further service, the beast received a final, bittersweet gift from its master. Tomorrow or next week-at any rate far too soon for Rhynn-it would be time for her to put an end to her mare's life, to kill with kindness and spare the beast the pains of old age. Then there would be a new foal, milky white, to train and love and eventually slay. Rhynn had been paired with many mounts in her time as a Rider. But that did not make the final ritual any easier.

Without warning, Moonmaid started violently, yanking on the bit and prancing. "Whoa, girl. Calm down," Rhynn soothed, her gentle hands comforting the mare somewhat. Moonmaid still trembled, and Rhynn glanced about to see what had so spooked the animal.

From a short distance away, a familiar figure gazed at her. "I'm sorry, Rhynn," came a honey-sweet, soft voice. "I didn't mean to startle Moonmaid."

"Don't worry, Jander. She's getting old and easy to surprise. And you have a knack for sneaking up on people." The latter was full of mock accusation, but Rhynn smiled warmly at Jander Sunstar, revealing her true feelings for her friend.

The gold elf was tall as the People went, and his bronze skin was complemented by shoulder-length, wheat-gold hair. He wore a cape carelessly fastened about his throat. It billowed open in the icy breeze, offering little protection from the chill night. His face was a white oval in the moonlight, but Rhynn could still distinguish his sweet smile. He seemed more than usually pleased to see her.

"I thought for certain you were going to be at the bardic competition tonight," Jander said.

Rhynn shrugged, making her leather armor creak. "So did I," she confessed. "But this one," she added, patting Moonmaid, "took a tumble a couple of days ago and isn't fit for anything other than a stationary patrol. Besides, Captain Theorn's volunteered for this duty for the past five years so that I could enjoy the music. It's time someone else took a turn."

Jander glanced around, his smile turning wry. "Oh, yes," he agreed mockingly, surveying the peaceful little cottages and farmsteads that comprised Mistledale. "One must protect the innocent in so criminal an environment."

Rhynn, however, didn't laugh. "Normally this patrol is nothing more than a gesture, but this year.. " Her voice grew hard, and she unconsciously sat up straighter in the saddle. "You're a warrior by trade, Jander, so I suppose I can tell you. We found bodies this afternoon-two farmers and their child, hardly more than an infant. Their throats had been ripped out"

Jander's expression was difficult to read in the moonlight, and he turned his face away quickly. "Knifed?"

"No. It looked like they'd been savaged."

"Perhaps a wolf?"

Rhynn frowned, and her voice sharpened. "You're an elf. You ought to know better than that. Wolves are generally shy creatures, hunting to feed and protect their young. They don't even attack the livestock around here unless the winter is unusually harsh. It's not winter, not yet, and that girl wasn't slain for her flesh."

Jander laid a gentle hand on her arm. "That must have been a terrible thing to discover. I'm so sorry."

Rhynn shook her head slowly. "We deal with drunken brawls, lost children, and stray sheep around here, Jander, not murderers. I'm just not used to it, that's all."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Jander cleared his throat. "Changing the subject a bit, I am glad I ran into you. I… I won't be seeing you after tonight. I'm leaving Mistledale."

Rhynn's beautiful face fell. "Oh, Jander, why?" Her eyes brightened with sudden hope. "Are you going back to Ever-meet?"

Before she had met Jander, Rhynn had known of Ever-meet, the land of the fair forests, the realm of magic, the true, paradisiacal home of all elves. It lay far to the west, a secluded island where only the People were welcomed. The evil dark elves-known as the drow-and elves of mixed blood were not permitted to tread those blessed shores. When Rhynn had learned that her friend had been born there, she was a little in awe of him. Jander had intimated that he was unable to return to the island for some reason. Now she hoped that, somehow, whatever ban that had been imposed upon him had been lifted.

But apparently such was not the case. Jander shook his head sadly. "No, not there. I would have liked to have had one last drink with you, First Lieutenant Rhynn Oriandis. I must content myself with a farewell here." His hand gripped her arm tightly. "I thank you for your friendship. I will never forget you. Sweet water and light laughter."

Without another word, he turned and strode off toward the Black Boar Inn, his cloak billowing about him. Rhynn opened her mouth to call after him, then closed it. Jander was obviously distressed about leaving, and she had no desire to embarrass him by prolonging the farewell. She herself was grieved to hear of his departure. She would miss the gold elf, with his wonderful tales, gentle humor, and sweet smile. Rhynn sighed, shifted in the saddle, and resumed her patrol.

The time passed with little to break the monotony. Many dalesmen passed through the gates, calling out greetings. Rhynn stopped those she didn't recognize, searched them, and politely confiscated all weapons. No one protested; they knew their arms would be returned to them when they left the little village.

An hour or so after Jander's visit, Rhynn caught sight of a familiar figure clad in black leather armor walking toward her. Again, Moonmaid started, stepping about nervously, and again Rhynn gently calmed the mare. "There, there, girl," she said softly, her attention focused on the approaching man.

"Lieutenant Rhynn, I relieve you of your duty. From this moment, your orders are to enjoy yourself at the bardic competition." Captain Theorn planted his big hands on his hips and grinned up at her, teeth gleaming whitely in the dim light.

"But, Theorn … why? And where's your mount?" His smile faltered. "Either Moonmaid's lameness is catching, or else they need to replace some cobbles on the streets. Snow Lady sprained a leg." As Rhynn opened her mouth to voice further concern, Theorn added reassuringly, "She'll be fine in the morning. I thought since this was a stationary patrol I'd do it on foot. Now, you go on ahead to the Black Boar."

Rhynn's delicate blue brows drew together in a puzzled frown. "Theorn, we went over all this three days ago." "Are you telling me you don't want to go?" "Certainly I want to go, but fair's fair, and-" "That's an order, Lieutenant." Theorn's booming voice, normally so jovial, had gone suddenly cold.

Rhynn whipped her hand up into a salute. "Aye, Captain," she replied in a coolly efficient tone. Theorn's words stung her, but she obeyed. Rhynn "the Fair" was nothing if not an obedient soldier.

Jander sat at the bar with an untouched ale in front of him. His thoughts went back to Rhynn's grisly discoveries. Wolves, he had suggested. The elf snorted derisively to himself. Would to all the gods he was something as clean, as simple, as a wolf. Turning his attention to the crowded room, he surveyed the merry scene before him with sad silver eyes.

The Black Boar was lit dimly enough to be cozy, but not so dark as to be threatening. Smoky oil lamps hung from the rafters, and the fire at the end of the large taproom burned cheerfully. This was the stage area, such as it was. At the moment a slender wild elf was performing there on a hammered dulcimer. Delicate fingers flew as the musician used a small wooden spoon to coax melodies from the instrument's metal strings.

A black cat also watched the performer from his perch on the mantlepiece above the fire. This was Indigo, so named because his pelt was so black as to be almost blue; he was the tavern's mascot. He had, as always, hissed angrily at Jander when the gold elf had entered; now Jander reached out and calmed the animal's mind with a mental touch.

Beaming patrons, seated at ten tables and at the bar, listened attentively and applauded with gusto as the bard finished and took his bow. It was time for a break, and the wild elf and some of the other performers took the opportunity to wet their throats before the competition resumed. Jander continued to peruse the crowd.

Few of the patrons would pose a threat. There were a couple of possible brawlers, but they were weaponless save for their eating knives. Most of the crowd consisted of local farmers and musicians. Jander regarded the old man seated to his right at the bar. Too frail to be a warrior. The man had an air of quiet assurance about him, though. He could be a wizard, the elf decided.

"Uncle Pogg!" came a shrill youthful voice as a boy burst into the inn. Some heads turned, and a few people regarded the interloper curiously.

"Trevys!" cried the heavyset barkeep, his thick brown eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown. "What in the name of-come here, lad!"

Breathlessly the shaggy-haired boy hastened to his uncle's side.

"Uncle, we found a Rider's horse, and Papa said I was to come here and tell you. He thinks we'd better get her back to her master, and-"

"Yes, yes. We can do that in the morning. Didn't your father remember that the competition was tonight?" Pogg sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. "No, Shomar wouldn't remember such things."

"But the Rider-"

"In the morning, Trevys. It's dark outside now, and I'm very, very busy."

The elderly man sitting next to Jander had watched the scene with amusement. Now he broke in. "Your uncle is right, Trevys. Here's something to take your mind off your troubles." He waved the slim, soft fingers of his right hand, and three glowing balls appeared over the boy's head. Trevys gasped, reaching hesitantly for the radiant orbs.

“Toss them up gently, and they'll float like snowflakes," the mage said, smiling. Enchanted by the lovely magical conjurations, Trevys obediently wandered into an unoccupied corner, bouncing the balls in front of him.

"Ah, to be so young and so easily amused," sighed Jander. The mage turned toward him, and the gold elf gazed deeply into the old man's pale blue eyes. "What is your name, good wizard?"

The man blinked, trying to tear his eyes away from Jander's intense gaze. "Pakar," he murmured at last, surrendering to the silent command the elf was issuing.

Jander took silent assessment of the man's powers. He's a strong magician, he noted to himself, but not quite strong enough to resist me. Aloud the elf said, "And I am Jander Sunstar. Should I need your skills someday, learned Pakar, I hope I may be able to call upon them."

Pakar stared, captivated. "Certainly."

The gold elf smiled. "Aluise, another drink for my friend," he told the barmaid as she approached the bar to refill several mugs. The girl wasn't beautiful, but she had a full, shapely figure and impish, laughing eyes. A pert, tilted-up nose added to the impression of mischief. She winked amiably at Jander as he placed the coins on the bar and turned his attention back toward the stage.

The present performer was well worth his attention. His voice was sweet and pure, and the intricately carved harp cradled against his shoulder marked him as a bard of consequence. One, thought Jander, who had obviously traveled a long way. The bright yellow tunic, echoing the pale blond of his hair, and the rose hue of his breeches clearly marked the young man as an outsider. Folk in Mistledale dressed more soberly, especially at this time of year.

Jander's eyes narrowed. The singer wore something draped around his neck on a leather thong. It hung down into his tunic, out of sight, but the garment's top buttons were undone. The bard reached for a lower note on the harp, moving forward slightly to pluck the strings, and an object fastened on the end of the leather thong swung into view. Jander saw the object for only an instant before it disappeared back into the folds of the singer's clothing, but that was long enough.

It was a wooden disc, with no decorations marring its simple beauty, painted a rosy shade of pink. Jander knew the symbol well. That would explain the singer's clothes, too, hues of yellow and rose-

A painful, ironic joy rose in Jander's heart. The bard was a priest of Lathander Morninglord, the god that Jander had once followed. He wished desperately that the young priest had chosen someplace, anyplace, else to pass the evening. His presence at the inn would definitely cause a problem.

"For once I managed to sneak up on you," came Rhynn's teasing voice. Jander whipped around, startled, as she slipped into the empty seat on his left. Still clad in her black leather armor, sword at her side, she presented an odd picture as she laughed brightly at the gold elf's obvious surprise.

"Rhynn! What are you doing here? You're guarding the gate tonight!"

"Well, that's a wonderful way to greet a friend," she snapped, genuinely hurt. "I thought you'd be-"

"You can't stay here."

Rhynn crossed her arms over her chest. "Damned if I'll take orders from a civilian! This is a public house, and the only one who can order me out of here is Pogg. Besides, you owe me a drink, remember?"

"Will ye be takin' him up on the offer, Lieutenant?" Aluise queried, ever ready to pick up on a cue.

"Aye, Aluise, I'll have a glass of wine," the Rider decided, then added archly, "It's so nice to linger over a good wine, don't you agree?"

"Oh, aye. And what'll ye be drinkin', Master Jander?"

"Nothing, thank you," the gold elf replied. Aluise nodded and, armed with refilled mugs, turned to deliver them to their proper destinations.

Rhynn frowned, and Jander's heart began to sink. Did she suspect?

"That's right. You never do drink with me, do you? Something's going on," she said slowly, her indigo eyes searching Jander's face. "You're sorry to say good-bye when I'm on patrol, but when Theorn relieves me of duty and I show up here, you don't want to see me. What's happening, Jander? I'm not a fool."

He had to get her out of here, and swiftly, too. "Rhynn, please, trust me when I say leave here right now."

"One last drink, and I'll be on my way," Rhynn agreed. She smiled impishly. "I'll have it out of you by the time I'm done."

" 'Scuse me," came a small voice at her elbow. Rhynn glanced down to see Trevys peering up at her. The three glowing balls trailed languidly behind him in the air. "My Uncle Pogg said you was a Rider." Rhynn nodded. "We found a white horse. Papa says it's a Rider's mount. Might you be able to take her to her owner?"

"You must be mistaken," Rhynn replied. "All the Riders would have been notified if one of ours had gone missing."

The boy looked distressed. "Please, miss. She's pure white, with a black leather saddle on, and-"

"A black leather saddle? Take me to her," said Khynn, rising at once.

As she passed Jander, the gold elf hissed in her ear. "Please, just take the boy and go!"

Rhynn spun around, an angry retort on her lips, but Jander was gone. Thoroughly baffled, she grasped Trevys's small hand firmly and wound her way through the press of people.

She had almost reached the door when, abruptly, it banged open. Indigo yowled, his fur standing up, and dove for the shadows. Reacting instinctively, Rhynn pushed Trevys behind her and reached for the sword buckled on her hip. Trevys needed no further urging and fled like a young hare for the bar and Uncle Pogg.

From behind, a hand closed on Rhynn's upper arm with a cold, steely grip. "Stay quiet and pray they don't notice you." She didn't need to see the man holding her to know it was Jander. He pulled her backward toward a shadowy corner of the taproom.

A young man entered. He was a beautiful youth, with a full, thick head of copper-colored hair and a high, pale brow. Sensuous lips curved in a grin that housed a world of malice. The cut of his clothing bespoke wealth, although his shirt and breeches had seen better days and appeared rather antiquated in style.

Following him were two young women, a blond and a brunette, both human. They were as beautiful as he was handsome, but, as with the youth, an air of malevolence hung about them like a poisonous perfume. The two entered without the stranger's flamboyance and purposefully moved toward the back of the room. Keeping his eyes fixed on the crowd, which had grown silent and tense, the stranger shrugged out of his cloak, tossing the garment carelessly toward one of the wooden pegs in the wall. It caught, held, and swung slowly like a hanged man for a few seconds.

There were rust-colored patches on the fine linen shirt, and a few spots that were still freshly scarlet with newer blood. Again the Rider reached reflexively for her blade, and again, the gold elf prevented the movement with a painful pressure.

Gasps arose. Jander heard the grating sounds of benches being hastily kicked back and the frustrated yelps of those who, too late, remembered they had handed their weapons over to the Riders upon entering Mistledale. The elf glanced toward the bard and the mage.

The cleric of Lathander, fear and determination mingled on his face, had placed his harp down and was slowly starting to his feet. Pakar had flung his cloak aside and now rose to defend himself against one of the brutally beautiful women.

Jander narrowed his eyes and concentrated on sending the mage a mental command. If he could control him, prevent him from attacking, he might save his life. All right, Pakar, Jander thought, it's time for you to-

Jander's concentration shattered as Rhynn tried to squirm out of his grasp. He was distracted only for an instant, but it sufficed. Ignoring the unformed command from the gold elf, Pakar stuck his hands out, thumbs together. Flame erupted from his fingertips to singe his assailant, filling the inn with the scent of charred flesh. The fair-haired intruder yowled in pain, but she did not slow her attack. Delicate hands with inhumanly sharp nails ripped bloody furrows across Pakar's face and throat. The mage cried out and toppled to the floor, sending two of the chairs crashing down beside him.

The woman cried out, and her form shimmered, becoming nearly transparent, then reshaped itself into the likeness of a deep-chested gray wolf. She leaped onto the still-thrashing body of the mage and stopped his screaming with her sharp teeth. A pool of liquid crimson welled beneath the dying man's body, and the wolf-thing lapped thirstily, tail wagging slowly back and forth.

Jander was about to call the dark-haired woman's attention to the priest when he noticed that the young bard had resumed his seat. His right hand crept up to gingerly pat his breast, to reassure himself that the holy symbol of Lathander was safely hidden. Coward, thought Jander at first, then revised his opinion when he saw the determination in the bard's blue eyes. Not cowardice-wisdom. The priest was waiting until he had a better chance.

Jander allowed himself a thin smile. He should have expected no less from a priest of Lathander Morninglord.

In the time it had taken her colleague to slay the wizard, the other woman had already dispatched two of the biggest men in the Black Boar. As she sucked at the blood that pumped from the severed head of one of them, Jander realized that the room had fallen silent. Shock and terror had momentarily paralyzed the horrified crowd. That didn't last long, though.

One young man panicked and bolted for the door. The youth with the blood-spattered shirt caught him with unnatural ease, snapping the man's neck effortlessly. The body fell to the floor with a thud.

"Oh, you don't want to leave just yet." The newcomer smiled. "The party's just beginning."

At that moment, Theorn appeared in the doorway. Cries of relief rippled through the crowd, and Jander felt Rhynn twitch with a sudden spurt of hope. Swiftly, the gold elf clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent her crying out to her ally. The big captain of the Riders strode up to the stranger, who was watching the slaughter with amusement, and bowed. "What next, my lord Cassiar?"

"Can you smell them?" was the youth's response. Theorn swallowed hard, nodding eagerly. "A sweet, sweet scent," Cassiar continued. He reached up a hand and patted Theorn's bearded cheek in an oddly affectionate, yet utterly patronizing gesture. "Smile for me. There's a good fellow."

The captain's lips drew back in a horrible grin. Theorn's incisors had lengthened to almost three times their natural length. Whimpers and cries arose from members of the crowd, who cringed back. Jander felt a wave of pity. These were farmers and musicians, not wandering sorcerers or sell-swords. He, Cassiar, Erith, and Marys were like wolves in a rabbit hutch.

"You must be famished," Cassiar continued. Again Theorn nodded. "Well, for your very first meal as one of us, you may take your pick." He waved a thin, pale hand expansively, brown eyes twinkling with malicious humor. Theorn's undead gaze, blazing now with an unnatural fire, settled on Rhynn.

Fear leaped in Jander's unbeating heart. "No, Cassiar. She's mine."

The master vampire pouted. "But Theorn wants her, and he's been very helpful."

"And I haven't? You and I have been together for over a century now. I've scouted out every town for you, found the best time and place for feeding, and covered your tracks when the slaughter was over." He paused, holding Cassiar's gaze. "Have I ever asked for a particular victim before?"

The petulant frown deepened. "No," Cassiar admitted.

"Give me this one, then."

Brown eyes narrowing, Cassiar asked, "Why her? Why now?"

Hoping he sounded convincing, Jander replied, "Because she's my kind. An elf." He brushed his chin across her dark hair. Rhynn cringed, fear rolling off her in a rank scent that the vampire could smell. "I find her attractive."

Cassiar continued to stare speculatively for a moment, then nodded once, curtly. "Very well. Enjoy her. In the meantime," Cassiar announced, raising his voice, "I understand there was a bardic competition taking place. By all means, let us continue with the festivities."

But the people were too terrified to comply. Members of the formerly happy gathering now stared stupidly, silently, while the blood of their dead soaked into the floorboards of the Black Boar. Cassiar frowned, annoyed at their lack of obedience, and gestured to Theorn.

The Rider tangled his gloved hands in the long, flowing hair of the unfortunate woman nearest him-one of Fogg's barmaids-and yanked her head back. Jander felt Rhynn twist in his arms, but he kept his hold on her. With a guttural moan, Theorn bit clumsily at the exposed white throat, his teeth ripping, not piercing. Blood exploded, covering his face and the dying woman's chest and bodice. Theorn gulped hungrily, and Erith, the vampiress who had retained her human form, applauded.

Jander licked dry lips. He could smell the hot scent, and it pierced him painfully, reminding him that he hadn't feasted in a long time.

"Unless I get some music very soon," Cassiar warned, "everyone here will end up like her." He strode to the front of the room. The patrons moved back, frightened, clearing a place for him to sit. He did so. "You," Cassiar said to a half-elf who clutched her flute like a staff. "I think I'd like to hear you."

Trembling, the woman rose and made her way to the front. The priest made way for her. Jander opened his mouth to warn Cassiar about the young man's profession, but something made him hold his tongue. An idea, so daring it would have made him catch his breath had he still breathed, was beginning to form in the gold elf's brain.

The flutist's slim fingers shook badly, and her breathing was too shallow for performing. The sweet notes of the flute were fragile, hesitant, and Jander knew with a sick certainty what would happen next.

Cassiar frowned. "No! Boo! That won't do at all!" He leaped up to seize the hapless woman. A quick bite opened her wrist, and the vampire sucked at the spurting blood. Laughing, he turned his crimson mouth to Erith. "A fine red, with a delicate bouquet but a full, robust flavor!" Cassiar let the woman drop, not draining her, content with his sampling. Whimpering and clutching her ragged arm, she scuttled away.

Rhynn began to twitch again, but her movements were different this time. Speaking in Elvish, Jander hissed in her pointed ear, "Don't get sick. He'll notice you and make me rip your throat out. I don't want to do it, but I must obey him. If you'll be quiet, I'll take my hand away. Can I trust you?"

She nodded, and Jander, hoping desperately that she would keep her word, removed his hand. Rhynn gasped and shuddered, gulping in air. The elven vampire longed to hold her, to soothe her, but he knew she didn't desire such gestures from him now.

When Rhynn regained her composure, she hissed, "You're a traitor to your kind, Jander, and I hate you for it!"

Despite himself, Jander flinched from the insult. "No more than I hate myself," he whispered back softly, still speaking in his native tongue.

She glanced up at him, and he could see emotions warring on her delicate, lovely face. The priest was performing now. His voice was astoundingly steady, and his fingers caressed the strings of his instrument with assurance despite the fact that Death was a yard away, staring him in the face. Cassiar was pleased and made no move to interrupt the song.

"That bard's a priest," Jander whispered to Rhynn.

"Then why didn't he-"

"He's not a fool. He's biding his time."

"Are you going to kill him?"

Jander's look was angry now. "I am not what you think me to be, Rhynn the Fair. Wait until all the facts are in before you pass judgment upon me!" He paused, aware that his voice had risen slightly, and brought it back to a soft murmur. "I had not wanted you to be here, but perhaps it is best this way. I have an idea that could save at least some of the villagers."

"Why should I trust you?"

Why, indeed? He released his hold on her. "Go for your weapon if you wish. Or else trust me."

He half expected her to draw her sword. One hand moved toward the weapon, but at the last instant Rhynn clenched her fingers into a fist. Then, with a deliberate effort, she brought her hand down to her side. Jander permitted himself a slight smile.

The bard finished his song, and Cassiar applauded. When the rest of the room stayed silent, he craned his neck to look back at the silent crowd. Merciless brown eyes took in the scene: Pogg and Trevys huddled behind the bar; four corpses sprawled on the floor; the half-elf clutching her mangled hand and looking paler by the moment; the sated, smug vampiresses; the overturned tables; the slack-jawed men and women at the seven remaining tables, staring in terror.

"Come now," Cassiar chided. "Wasn't he wonderful? Don't you think you should clap for him?" The vampire threw back his head and laughed as the terrified crowd burst into frenzied applause. The bard bowed politely and returned to his seat.

Jander watched, knowing the next step of this grisly dance. Cassiar rose and began to peruse the crowd until he found a woman who struck his fancy. Jander's heart sank as he saw that it was Aluise.

"Well, aren't you the pretty thing," Cassiar said. He reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I like your eyes," he stated, heading toward the stairs. Aluise began to whimper, then suddenly shrieked and tried to pull free. The vampire lord paused halfway up the stairs, turned, and leveled his gaze at her. Aluise stared back. Her sobs turned to sniffles, then ceased. Cassiar glanced around, his eyes finding Theorn. He pointed a finger at the Rider.

"You've fed and won't be hungry for a while. You can guard the door." He grimaced a bit at the Rider's blood-matted beard. "You are a messy eater, aren't you? Well, put your helm on and no one'll notice. You're one of the militia. Remember that, and you'll be able to allay suspicions if anyone should come." He caught and held the new vampire's gaze. "No one enters. No one leaves."

"No one enters. No one leaves," Theorn repeated dutifully.

Cassiar turned to Erith and Marys. "Keep an eye on Jander, my dears. His heart's a little too soft for the sort of sport we enjoy."

"Aye, master," said Erith obediently, smiling a little. The wolf, Marys, whuffed. Cassiar continued up the stairs. Jander watched him go, hatred twisting his face.

Rhynn's voice interrupted his dark thoughts. "You won't get away with this. If any of the Riders notice that no one's on guard duty-"

"Theorn will send them off on some fruitless search," Jander interrupted harshly. "Your Riders won't know you're here until they stumble across your body tomorrow."

She flinched at the brutality in his voice, but Jander didn't soften his words. She had to see the true horror of the thing and join him if he was to accomplish what he wanted tonight.

"He'll take Aluise-in every way possible-and when he's done he'll throw her away. It won't be that long. Then he'll come down and everyone will be systematically killed and the place set aflame. We'll flee like the gods-cursed night things we are, and wait until the talk dies down. And then we'll go to another town, and we'll do it again. And again."

"Stop it."

"Only if you help me stop it."

"Excuse me," came a tentative voice. Jander glanced toward the speaker, startled to see that it was the young priest. He's braver-or stupider-than I thought, Jander noted to himself.

"May we tend to our wounded?" the priest asked.

Jander's face flooded with compassion. "By all means, care for your injured," he said, raising his voice slightly. Erith overheard him and lifted a ruby lip in a snarl.

"Cassiar's right. You are soft, elf," she hissed.

Jander growled. His eyes locked with hers, and she retreated a few steps, glancing over at her compatriot for support. Marys shrugged her massive wolf shoulders, unconcerned. Erith frowned, but ceased to protest. She kept her eyes on Jander, however, and snapped acidly, "Have it your way. Do your bit of good and busy yourself with the cattle. Cassiar will be down soon enough, and don't think I won't tell him."

Jander ignored her. "And clean up the floor," he told the priest "The scent-" He broke off and turned away.

Confused, Rhynn queried, "Don't vampires like the smell?"

"Gods, Rider, are you blind?" he cried in Elvish. "I haven't tasted human blood since we met! Starve yourself for a month, then have someone lock you in a bakery. Perhaps you'll have some faint idea of what it's like! I haven't had so much as a rat in almost a week." The anger faded, and he made a halfhearted joke. "Pogg runs far too clean an inn."

"You do not feed," said the priest in perfect Elvish. Both Rhynn and Jander turned to stare at him. Few humans in Mistledale spoke Elvish. "You let us care for the wounded and even seem distressed by what is happening. You are not like the others. Why?"

Jander answered with a smile, also speaking in Elvish. "Of course a morninglord would know my tongue. Now you answer me, why have you not attacked us, priest?"

The young man's green eyes widened. At last he said, "I did not think I was so obvious. My name is Frajen. I have been a bard longer than I have been a priest, and the odds were hardly in my favor. I was waiting, watching you. Tell me, what keeps you from doing as your friends do?"

"My name is Jander Sunstar of Evermeet. I-"

A sharp hiss interrupted him. "Don't say things that I can't understand, eh⁰," Erith snapped.

"Cassiar commands my movements, not my tongue. I'll speak my native language if I wish. Unless you want to force me to stop."

Erith knew the better part of valor and quieted. Jander returned his attention to Frajen, his voice gentling. "I followed your god, priest, and as long as I can remember the beauty of the morning, I will not willingly embrace evil. If you and Rhynn will trust me, we may be able to save lives here tonight."

Frajen nodded without hesitation. Slowly, Rhynn did likewise. Jander let himself relax. "Give me time to think. Frajen, be careful-keep your symbol well hidden and do not use any magic. Our kind can sense it. And tell Pogg to clean up the blood. It's becoming hard to resist."

The priest nodded and went to the innkeeper. Jander watched as Pogg brought in a bucket of water and three towels. He and Trevys wordlessly began to wipe at the puddles of red soaking into the floorboards while Frajen and Rhynn moved among the wounded. They recruited the rest of the patrons, more to keep the frightened people occupied than for the feeble assistance they could offer.

Jander glared at Marys and Erith, aware that they were still watching him. At first they were intent on watching the gold elf's every move, but the women were young and inexperienced, so he paid them little mind. Jander returned his attention to Frajen, and his eyes widened at what the priest was doing.

Frajen had gone to kneel beside Pogg and Trevys, ostensibly to help them clean the floor. To a casual observer, he did indeed seem to be doing that, holding onto the wooden pail with one hand and wiping at the bloody floor with a wet rag held in the other. Jander saw, however, that the morninglord's eyes were half closed and his lips moved slightly.

He was consecrating the water.

Why can I not sense the magic? Jander wondered fleetingly, then realized that creating holy water was nothing so arcane as magic, merely a holy blessing. Very clever, Frajen! he admitted silently.

The elf's gaze flickered to Erith and Marys. Erith was looking about for new amusement, and Marys, still in wolf form, lay curled up near the dead mage, though her eyes remained open and watchful. Soon, the two would notice what the priest was up to. Jander needed a distraction.

The odds would never be better-Jander had a trained soldier and a cleric on his side, and all three vampires nearby were newly undead. Cassiar would be dangerous, and deadly. Jander knew that he was not up to that confrontation, not in his present voracious and weakened state. But he had to try.

"No more," he said softly to himself. "No more. Aluise is the last."

He strode to the wall lined with wooden pegs and tore down the cloaks. The movement drew the attention of mortal and vampire alike. He felt their eyes on him, their tension, as they wondered what the strange gold-skinned vampire was going to do next. The cloak pegs were about nine inches long-just long enough for Jander's purposes. Grimly the elf splintered off several of them, glancing back over his shoulder to gauge the reactions of the vampiresses.

Marys had risen to all fours, and the hair on her neck was standing up. She began to growl softly. Erith's eyes narrowed. "Beware, elf," she began menacingly.

Jander glanced surreptitiously at Frajen. Imperceptibly, the priest inclined his blond head. The elven vampire glanced over at Rhynn, and he saw her expression harden into a mask of cold comprehension.

In one swift movement, Jander tossed a stake apiece to Rhynn and Frajen, keeping a third for himself. Erith rose as swiftly, the severed head tumbling from her lap and landing with a dull thump on the floor. Jander was no longer a fellow predator. He had crossed the line, and now, he was prey.

"Do it, Trevys!" Frajen cried.

The farm boy got to his feet and hurled the bucketful of bloody, blessed water directly into Erith's face. The sacred liquid acted like acid upon the vampiress's profane flesh. Her face melted, dripping like candle wax from a flame. Erith's wail was keen and sharp, and she clawed at her horribly disfigured, smoking face. She fell to the floor, no longer a thing of horrible beauty, merely a thing of horror.

Frajen cried Lathander's name as he lunged at Erith. He stabbed the writhing undead again and again in the chest. Her hands clutched and scratched at him, scoring his cheek, but the priest didn't falter. At last, he pressed the deadly point of wood deep into the vampiress's heart.

Marys, meanwhile, had leaped in deadly silence at Rhynn. Not even Jander had fully appreciated how swiftly the beast could move, and as he watched her attack, he knew he would be unable to reach the Rider in time to shield her. Desperately he hurled the wooden dagger toward Marys's gray shape. The sharpened peg bit into the vampiress's hindquarters.

Marys arched in mid-leap, yelping from the sting of the wooden weapon, and landed heavily atop the Rider. Rhynn went down under the wolf's weight. Hot breath fanned her face, but before Marys could secure a deadly grip on the elfmaid's throat Jander was there. He twined his gold fingers into the thick ruff about the wolf's neck and yanked Marys's head back. Rhynn rallied, thrusting upward with the sharpened peg, plunging the wood deep into the wolf-thing's broad chest.

The vampiress's howl of outrage suddenly changed to a choked whimper. Blood flowed around the wood. Rhynn kept her hold, shoving ever deeper, grimacing only a little as Marys's blood dripped into her eye, stinging horribly. The Rider blinked it away. At last Marys ceased to struggle, and her weight pressed heavily down upon the slender elf woman.

Jander heaved the corpse aside. "Are you all right?" the vampire demanded.

Taking a shaky breath, Rhynn nodded and let Jander help her to her feet. Frajen stumbled over to them, covered with blood and breathing heavily.

"Jander," gasped the morninglord, "Pogg says there's a way out the back, through the cellar. May we go?"

"Of course. But you'd best hurry." Jander glanced up at the ceiling, toward the room where Cassiar was having his sport. "I'll get the third. See them to safety. The boy should go first. Be careful, Frajen."

Frajen smiled ever so slightly. "The blessing of Lathander be upon you, Jander Sunstar," he said softly, then turned to help Pogg and young Trevys with the trap door in the kitchen.

"I must go too," said Rhynn brusquely. She was every inch the professional soldier now, and her face was hard and implacable. "I'm a Rider, and the villagers need me."

Jander smiled, but his silver eyes were sorrowful. "Of course, Rhynn. Hurry."

She nodded once, her blue eyes revealing no trace of softer emotions, and ran lithely to join Frajen.

The gold elf strode to the door, stooping to pick up one of the coat pegs, then heaved the oaken door open with a swift movement.

Instantly Theorn turned to him, indignant fury in his voice. "No one enters-"

"No one leaves," Jander finished smoothly, driving the makeshift stake home through the thick leather armor. "I'm not leaving."

Theorn made a small choking sound. Then, his chest heaving, he managed to bellow a single name. "Cassiar!"

His dying cry mingled with a sonorous chiming, and Jander realized that someone was ringing Mistledale's warning bell. The other Riders would be alerted. Jander only hoped there was enough time to complete the bloody task he had set for himself before they arrived. The elf whirled as Theorn's body fell against the door frame with a heavy thump.

A movement by the bar caught Jander's eye. He jumped, teeth bared, hissing. "It's me," came Frajen's reassuring voice as he climbed out of the trap door and closed it after himself. "Rhynn's taking care of the locals. I'm staying. You might need some help."

"No!" Jander cried. "You don't know what he is. You don't know what he'll-"

"What in the Nine Hells is going on!" shrieked a shrill, nervous voice. Elf and priest looked up to see a very angry Cassiar hastening down the stairs. He had removed his vest, and his open shirt fluttered as he ran. His copper hair was tousled. Except for the blood that had splashed on his bared chest, Cassiar looked more like an interrupted libertine than a vampire. "Who called for me? Jander, what's- Bane's black heart! Where is everyone?"

"They're gone, Cassiar," Jander said, suddenly laughing. "You'll not torture them, or anyone else, ever again. You die tonight, you bastard. And these-" he held up his golden hands "-are the instruments of your death."

Cassiar frowned. "Jander, stop it. You were wrong to let them go, and you'll be pun-What have you done to them?" he cried, catching sight of the bodies of the vampiresses.

Jander continued to grin savagely, exposing his fangs. Raw excitement was coursing through him, fueled by his anger and his driving hunger. "They are at peace."

Cassiar, full of wrath, turned upon the elven vampire. "On your knees!"

It was a ritual they had performed often before. Each time Jander had tried to thwart Cassiar, urge him to mercy or pity or outright defied him, the vampire lord would command the gold elf's obedience. And Jander, weeping tears of blood at his impotence, could not help but comply. He would kneel and bare his throat. Cassiar would then drink of his blood until he was satisfied his wayward slave had been sufficiently punished. For a vampire to be drained by another was excruciatingly painful, and Jander would be pathetically weak for several days.

Jander winced as he felt the force of Cassiar's will, but stood firm. Gritting his teeth, he growled, "You were a spoiled, arrogant little aristocrat when you breathed, and you're a spoiled, arrogant little aristocrat now. I'll obey you no longer."

Cassiar's face was flushed with fury. His elegant brows drew together over commanding, irresistible brown eyes. "Kneel!"

Jander could not hold out. Gasping in pain, he dropped to the wooden floor. But he still held out hope. Cassiar was angry now, and when he grew angry, he was careless.

"I have indulged you because you were a novelty," the vampire lord continued, moving to stand in front of the kneeling Jander. "But the novelty's gone."

Against his will, Jander reached a hand toward one of the makeshift stakes. He gritted his teeth, fighting to disobey the mental command, but his slim golden fingers curled around the piece of wood. Slowly Jander's hand moved closer to his breast, the tip of the wooden stake pointed toward his heart.

"Your hands are the instruments of your death, not mine," Cassiar gloated.

"No!" came a choked cry. Frajen shoved the holy symbol toward Cassiar's face. "In the name of Lathander Morning-"

Cassiar was an old vampire, far too powerful to be undone by the desperate actions of a young, inexperienced priest. He rolled his eyes and muttered, "Oh, please." With one pale hand, he reached out to pull the priest toward him. With the other he tore open Frajen's neck with a single swipe.

Jander cried aloud. Frajen's sweet voice would never again fill a room with music. The priest had allied with him. Now he was dead for the choice. In his mind's eye, the elf again saw the look of loathing upon Rhynn's face- she who had once called him friend-and the torn body of the little girl who had fallen victim to Cassiar at the farmhouse outside of town. He remembered Aluise's girlish laugh, choked now by her own blood. He saw the frightened, helpless townsfolk and musicians. And he had doomed them, and dozens like them, by aiding Cassiar on his rampages.

Cassiar had relaxed his will for an instant, his attention diverted from the gold elf to Frajen. Jander had a second or two where his will was his own, but he did not squander that precious blink of time in fighting.

Instead, he called for help; he summoned Indigo. From the shadows leaped the black cat, a silent shadow himself, launching his lithe frame with deadly intent toward Cassiar. Claws reached for the vampire lord's brown eyes and raked.

Cassiar shrieked as blood spewed from his damaged eyes. He groped frantically for the cat. Indigo continued to scratch and claw until Cassiar's own nails pierced the creature's sides. With a last frantic meow, the cat spasmed and died.

Blinded, Cassiar could no longer focus his compelling gaze upon Jander, and his power over his minion was suddenly diminished. Jander sprang for his master. The two vampires crashed into a table, sending goblets flying. Despite his blindness, Cassiar recovered swiftly. As Jander's mouth yawned open and descended to the vampire lord's throat, Cassiar heaved. He rolled over, pinning the slighter elf beneath him.

The elven vampire managed to get one arm up to protect his throat-and cried out as Cassiar's fangs sank deeply into his flesh. Teeth met in Jander's forearm, and Cassiar ripped away a chunk of meat. The elf dropped the wooden stake.

"You ungrateful wretch," the master vampire growled through blood-stained teeth. "One day of rest and I'll heal. Then I'll get another elf-maybe that little wench you're so fond of."

Not Rhynn. Never Rhynn. Jander would never permit another one of the People to be corrupted by Cassiar. His rage channeled the strength for one last attack, but Cassiar outweighed him. Laughing, the vampire lord opened his mouth, and his fangs drew nearer.

Abruptly Cassiar jerked upward, snarling. He spun around, clawing blindly at his shoulder. Jander could see that someone had fired an arrow at the vampire lord, but he didn't bother to seek out his would-be savior. Instead, he grabbed a stake and shoved it into Cassiar's breast.

Driven by Jander's hatred and his vampiric strength, the wooden weapon all but disappeared in the sudden redness that was the vampire lord's chest. Cassiar clawed ineffectually at Jander's face, then collapsed on top of the elf. Jander scrambled free, then looked up to see who his unexpected ally might be.

He wasn't really surprised to find a beautiful young woman wearing night-black leather armor leaning against the closed front door. Rhynn clutched her spent bow, but did not meet his eyes. She was staring over Jander's shoulder, her lip curled in a grimace of disgust. The elf followed her gaze.

Cassiar's body was beginning to decay with astonishing speed. The two elves watched in horrified fascination. The corpse rotted, then dried, then even the bones crumbled into fine dust.

Jander looked up at Rhynn. "The Riders?"

"Outside. With Theorn dead, I'm in charge." She hesitated, then continued. "I told them to wait."

Jander was puzzled, but did not press the point. Weakly he pointed toward the one remaining makeshift stake. He'd made five stakes; five stakes for five vampires.

"Finish it."

Rhynn shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his pale face. "You saved lives tonight. You've earned another chance."

He laughed harshly. "At what? What's left for me?"

"Evermeet."

"Don't mock me, Rhynn, not now."

"I'm not. You're free from him, Jander. You can travel anywhere you want now," she said, speaking with increasing urgency. She moved closer to him, hesitated, then stroked his cheek. "Maybe you can find someone who can cure you."

He smiled weakly, without humor. "Cure a vampire?"

"You haven't looked, so you don't know. Anyway, you don't deserve to die like they did." After a pause, she said, "You're hungry, so you'll need this." Rhynn rose, went unsteadily toward the door, and returned carrying a pail half full of deep wine-red fluid.

Jander shook his head. "I won't drink human blood."

"It's not. It's from-" her voice caught a little "-from my mare."

The elf's eyes widened. Now he saw her reddened eyes, the tracks of tears down her flushed cheeks. "You're a Rider and you-"

"When a mount grows old, it's the Rider's duty to kill it.

Moonmaid's time was here. One more day, maybe two, and I'd have had to …" She fixed Jander's silver eyes with her own. "Take it. Heal. Travel through the world and then back home to Evermeet. Fair's fair, Jander. You saved my life. Let me return the favor." She held out the pail and smiled weakly. "This time, the drink's on me."

The elven vampire hesitated. Only an elf could have understood how precious a place Evermeet was. Rhynn had seen past the monster to the elven part of him, had slain her beloved Moonmaid to help him return to what he had been. Was there really amp; chance for one as bloodied as he? Might there truly be, somewhere in the world, a wise man or woman who knew how to cure vampirism?

Slowly Jander sat up. Rhynn's strong arms reached to steady him as he carefully stretched out a hand for a discarded goblet.

"What is the year?" he asked suddenly. When Rhynn frowned at the curious question, he explained with a smile, "I forget, you know. It's been so long___"

"As we reckon the year here in the Dales, eight hundred and ninety-two," Rhynn replied gently.

"Eight hundred and ninety-two," Jander repeated. "The year of my freedom." He nodded slightly. "One last drink." Then the cursed elf dipped the goblet into the bucket, saluted his friend, and raised the liquid to his lips.