Barb Hendee - Thief of Lives

She reached out with small and perfect hands to straighten up the table. "Tell me what you are seeking."

"First, can you translate an Elvish word for me?"

"I can try. What is it?"

"Anmaglahk," he answered. "Something I read recently, but I have no idea what it means."

Wynn's brows knitted. "I do not think it is a real Elvish word, Chane. Where did you see it?"

"In a history text on this continent's elves," he lied.

She appeared thoughtful for a moment. "My best guess… would be ‘thief of lives. That is the closest I can surmise."

"Thief of lives?" he repeated. "That sounds like a killer-or an assassin."

"Perhaps," she replied with a frown, likely finding his interpretation unpleasant. "But the elves do not use assassins, so the word must have been used in reference to other races." She offered him a tired smile. "Now, what did you really come to research?"

"As long as you promise not to laugh at me," he chided.

"Why would I ever laugh at you?" She blinked, not quite catching his humor.

"I want to know about a legend called the ‘dhampir, rumored to be the offspring of a vampire and a mortal. A mere superstition, but curious."

Wynn did not laugh. In fact, she stared at his hands and hair and, for a moment, Chane thought he saw fear pass across her pretty features.

"Where did you hear that word?" she asked.

Her reaction confused Chane enough that his senses began to open. Carefully casual, he spread his hands, palm up, in a carefree gesture.

"A passing fancy," he said. "I think it was in a tavern, a rumor I overheard."

She nodded, outwardly calm, but he heard the quickened beat of her heart and the slight tremble of her breath. Was she afraid… of him?

"Domin Tilswith is the expert on lore. If you will wait here, I will find him."

As she stood up, Chane felt an urge to prevent her from leaving, to find out what had suddenly frightened her. Such an action would certainly frighten her further and, strangely, that bothered him.

With a quick bow and a shaky smile, Wynn left the room.

Something was amiss. Then Chane heard the sound of quick footsteps coming toward him from the far end of the barracks. Instinct took hold, and he bolted from the study toward the front door.

Magiere paced the short path between the bunks in their barracks room and the open hallway. Every time she reentered the room, she saw Chap perched next to the table, his expression somehow sad.

She understood little of what Wynn had explained throughout the afternoon and evening, as the young sage worked to speak with the dog in their halting manner. The study's floor was now covered in chalk marks.

Fay were as old as the world itself, so legends said, and for the most part they were considered to be myth and superstition. Varied religions had their stories of how life began, but older still were the tales of the world's making.

Earth, water, air, fire, and spirit.

Mountain, wave, wind, flame, and tree.

Solid, liquid, gas, energy, and essence.

Perhaps divine by some faiths' standards, these elemental intelligences had been the Fay, whose mingling brought the world into existence.

The sages believed humans were the oldest race, and the mingling of the first humans with these Fay, when the world was young, gave birth to new beings. In turn, these beings mingled among themselves and from them, down through the ages, descended the new races. The Elvish word for these Fay-derived races was Uirishg -which meant either "Fay-blooded" or "Children of the Fay."

Amongst the trees and forests were the elves. The people of earth and mountain were the dwarves, though Magiere had never seen nor heard of any in this land. The Fay-descended races of wind, wave, and flame were not known to Wynn.

In the far-forgotten past behind all of them were the Fay, the elemental beings.

Magiere looked up at Leesil lying in the top bunk. One arm thrown over his face, he ignored both her and the hound.

"Wynn told you," she said. "He doesn't control us. It's more a touch of thoughts, an urge built upon a memory-nothing more. That we weren't aware of what was happening"-she glanced at Chap-"is why we never ignored or dismissed it."

"And how many times have we been unaware?" Leesil asked. "How many turns in our lives were made because he wormed into our thoughts?"

Chap barked twice.

"Quiet!" Leesil snapped. His arm dropped, and he rolled his head enough to look at Magiere.

"I don't know," she finally answered.

"And what else is he concealing?" he asked in a snide tone. "Why are we so privileged to have his company?"

Magiere shook her head. "I don't know," she repeated.

"Well, I should be used to living in the dark by now," he muttered.

His words made her pause, as if he spoke of something else, but there was no time for it.

"We know Chap… thinks… the murderer isn't part of the council," Magiere offered, hoping to divert Leesil's attention to more immediate matters.

In truth, she didn't care to contemplate the mystery of the dog any further. The reasons for, and the implications of, Chap's hidden nature following them all these years were too overwhelming.

"The best Wynn can make out," Magiere continued, "is that Chap was looking for scent on the parchments. If an undead signed for the purchase, there might have been a lingering trace, but he found nothing. It's probably been far too long and the scent is gone."

Chap stood up on all fours and yipped at her, tail switching.

"I told you to be quiet!" Leesil shouted at the animal.

"That means ‘yes, " Magiere said tiredly. "It's something Wynn arranged with him." She let out a deep sigh. "One for ‘yes, two for ‘no, three for ‘maybe' or ‘uncertain. "

Leesil's head flopped down on the pillow again.

"Think you can do better?" Magiere asked. "She's done the best she can, considering she's trying to talk with some… one… who can't write or speak. She says his thoughts or way of thinking-as Fay or what have you-isn't the same as ours, making it hard to communicate with him."

A cold, wet lump prodded her hand, startling her.

Chap had inched to her side, shoving his muzzle into her hand with a soft whine. His tongue whipped between her fingers.

"How much of our lives has been shaped by him?" Leesil said, and leaned on one elbow to peer down at them. "Would we even have met if he hadn't forced it that night?"

"Does it matter?" she asked. "We're here, together, for a purpose. And I have to believe we'd still be here, whether or not he had anything to do with it."

Leesil's amber eyes narrowed and sent an ache through her chest. She wanted to comfort him but was uncertain how. Then a high-pitched voice filled the room.

"What's the problem? You burn something else down already?"

In the doorway stood young Vatz in fresh oversize pants and shirt, his frazzled hair only slightly tamer than when he'd left this morning. A small relief spread through Magiere.

"Did you find your uncle?" she asked.

"Yup. Kept switching between moaning like he'd lost his mama and wanting to skin you for supper, till I told him about the money. Then he started growling about lost income while the place is being rebuilt."

Magiere sighed again.

"Had supper yet?" Vatz asked. "I ain't eaten much since last night."

"I'll find Wynn and get you something," she answered. "Stay here."

Perhaps the boy's presence and his ignorance of the evening's events would provide a safeguard between Leesil and Chap.

Magiere headed for the study, her mind filled with questions concerning the hound that refused to be dismissed. It was too much coincidence that an animal born to hunt undeads-though perhaps that was just a consequence of his true nature-should end up in the company of a dhampir, let alone a reluctant and retired assassin. When more immediate concerns were met and their task for the council completed, she hoped Leesil would gather himself enough that they could turn to finding answers.