Barb Hendee - Sister of the Dead

Magiere looked back for her companions. Wynn followed last with the tethered pack mule, Chap trotting along beside her mount. Leesil's charcoal-gray scarf, now spotted with drizzle, sat askew on his head, exposing a tangle of white-blond hair and one slightly pointed ear.

"Of all the idiotic ways to cross land," he grumbled. "My backside will never be the same."

"We're close," Magiere half whispered, "but we'll stop for the night."

He quieted in surprise and looked up at a patch of gray sky between the treetops. Magiere knew it was unusual to halt this early, and Leesil studied her, all traces of irritation gone.

"There's still a bit of light left," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes…" she started. "Only… I've stayed away from this place for so long."

He reached out and grasped her wrist, slender hand warm against her skin.

"It's a little late to ask, with a long road behind us," he said. "But are you sure you want this? We can turn back, head north through Stravina and into the Warlands."

The urge to follow him away from this place made Magiere tense at the suggestion. The desire to flee her past as she'd done years ago-this time with Leesil beside her- was so strong. But there were questions to answer.

What am I?… Why am I here?

Why was I made… by an undead to hunt its own kind?

Wynn pulled her pony to a stop behind them and slumped in the saddle. Magiere still regretted allowing the sage to accompany them. The damp chill was taking its toll on Wynn, though she never complained.

"We'll stop," Magiere said, pulling her wrist from Leesil's comforting grip. "Wynn, pick a spot and rest. Leesil will start the fire while I tend the ponies."

Wynn lifted her head, brown braid darkened by the misty air. "I will be fine… once I prepare some tea."

They busied themselves with their tasks. Chap followed Wynn about as she as unpacked bedrolls and filled the tin teapot. Leesil took out an oilcloth sack of dry kindling and sparked a small fire that sputtered and smoked from the damp wood he fed it. He scrounged small twigs to dry by the flames so he could replenish his kindling. Magiere tethered the ponies to a stout spruce near a patch of grass and brought them oats and water. The road they'd traveled was little more than a mud path, and the going hadn't been smooth.

"A king should pay more attention to the kingdom's roads," Leesil muttered, pulling biscuits and apples from a burlap sack.

"Droevinka has no king," Wynn said.

Leesil handed her an apple. "What?"

"There is no hereditary monarchy, only a grand prince."

Leesil snorted. "What's the difference? A king by any other title… is most often still a tyrant-or at best, oblivious."

Magiere knew the distinction in her homeland well enough, though she'd never cared to comprehend rulers and their ways. It would have changed little in her early life.

"I've read some of the Belaskian histories," Wynn said, sitting and gathering a blanket around her legs. "There is a considerable difference. Droevinka is divided among houses, each one headed by its own prince in a bloodline claimed to be noble. Most are descended from the peoples who migrated here or invaded this territory in the far past. Many of the houses are named for their original people, and they all serve the grand prince. A new grand prince is chosen every nine years by the gathered nobles. For over a hundred years, no one has claimed the title of king."

"A few have tried," Magiere said, too preoccupied to feel bitter. "Their constant plots and schemes leave little attention for anything more than each house keeping a throttlehold on its province. Villagers pay taxes and pray their lords don't become ambitious. Better to scrape out a living as a serf than to die and rot as a conscripted soldier in their prince's bid for a king's crown."

Chap whined, and Wynn reached into her pack for the large hide parchment with its elvish symbols.

"So who rules the land we're on now?" Leesil asked.

"The Antes," Magiere answered.

"They hold most of the land closest to the river," Wynn added. "One of the oldest houses. Magiere would know more."

Leesil raised a blond eyebrow at Magiere.

"They would be your heartless tyrants," she whispered. "That's all you need know."

Leesil frowned as he checked his kindling drying beside the fire.

Wynn turned to Chap. "Ag' us a' wiajhis tu oijhchenis?"

After so many nights, Magiere knew this one phrase, though there wasn't really a need for Elvish to ask the dog what he wanted to eat. He'd eat most anything dangled in front of his nose, and the choices were limited anyway. Chap scooted close to the sage and reached out a paw to touch a few symbols on the talking hide.

"Dried fish," Wynn interpreted, following the thumps of the dog's paw. "A skinned apple. Leesil, I need a knife."

Leesil's frown deepened. He rolled his shoulders as if the shirt beneath his wool cloak itched. Magiere tried to ignore his reaction.

Such exchanges with Chap still bothered Leesil. In all honesty, now that the dog's nature was partially revealed, Magiere had begun to appreciate how well Wynn communicated with Chap. Rather than begging or carrying on in his usual dramatics, Chap pawed at Wynn until she brought out the hide. Yet beyond this simple chatter, he revealed little more concerning his nature as a majay-hi or his reasons for meddling in Leesil's life to bring him into Magiere's company years ago. He ignored the talking hide whenever Wynn raised such issues. Chap's longstanding deception still grated on Leesil's nerves, and troubled Magiere. Sooner or later, Chap would have to answer for this.

Leesil pursed his lips, handed over his knife, and then

pulled out some smoke-dried fish. Wynn went to work peel

ing an apple."

Staring into the fire, Magiere's hand settled absently on her falchion's hilt, middle fingertip tracing the small glyph in its pommel. The blade injured a Noble Dead like no other weapon. This, her studded hauberk, and two amulets had been left to her by a father she'd never known upon the death of a mother she'd never met. During the battle in Bela, she'd given Leesil the topaz amulet that glowed yellow when an undead was near. She no longer needed it; her dhampir senses were enough to warn her, and the amulet might well warn Leesil of danger if she couldn't.

The other trinket remained a mystery, in part, but she wore it in plain view- A small half-oval tin backing held a chip of bone with mysterious fine writing carved into its surface. It had been used only once, and she'd been unaware of that until too late. Welstiel had told Leesil that a dhampir could absorb life from blood only if the bone touched her skin while she fed. Leesil had recklessly done just that, feeding her from his own wrist when she'd been wounded during their first hunt for Miiska's undead. She touched the amulet now and wondered how dependable Welstiel's words might be. The bone amulet felt warm, perhaps from the fire, and she scooted back to sit against a tree trunk.

All traces of daylight disappeared, and darkness closed around the camp. Leesil picked up a wool blanket and came to settle beside her. As he covered both their legs, Magiere reached around him and pulled him close until he leaned into her arms. His warmth against her burrowed deeper than the heat of the flames, smothering her chill. Leesil leaned his head back on her shoulder, watching Wynn feed Chap slices of a peeled apple.

"She's spoiling him," he whispered.

Magiere almost smiled. Tomorrow, they reached Chemestuk, her… home? No, not anymore. Her home was far away, at the Sea Lion tavern in the port town of Miiska, where she lived a peaceful life with Leesil. How long would it be until she was truly home again?