The old man met his iron gaze for a long moment, and then sagged back, looking suddenly aged and weary once more.
“I am no longer certain,” he said at last in a low, brooding tone. “At first it was the drive for knowledge. I sought to end this new curse, to understand how I had been changed, to unravel the riddle of what they had done to me so that I could return to my former glory. I realized the obvious from the beginning, that I had somehow been stripped of my sorcerous powers; they eluded my will even though I retained the full extent of my arcane knowledge itself.
“The more subtle aspects of my transformation soon began to settle upon me, however. I still required the blood and life force of living creatures as sustenance, and the infernal craving was with me always, but I could no longer bear to take sentient life as I had so casually done before. In fact, I felt nausea, revulsion and pain whenever I contemplated doing harm to another creature. And so I was consigned to feeding on game and lesser creatures like some depraved scavenger, and even that only in the extremes of my hunger, when necessary to sustain my very existence. Perhaps in exchange, I could once more endure the light of the sun and other things considered anathema to my kind. I felt their searing kiss on my flesh, and yet somehow I was not destroyed. I had been thrust into some half existence, and thus it has been for all these centuries, as I pay penance for my sins.”
“Are you living or dead, then?” Syth asked in a hushed voice.
“What does it mean to be living?” Bellimar replied with a shrug. “I have free will, and so by that definition-”
“No more word games,” Amric interrupted. “Answer the question or be gone from here.”
“I do not mean to equivocate, swordsman,” Bellimar said with a sad smile. “In truth, I do not know the answer. I have been altered in ways beyond my understanding, and I suspect I am either none or all of those things at this point. My aura was altered in some way every bit as fundamental as when I passed from mortal life and became a vampire. By strict definition, I am not living, dead or undead now. And since I have been each of them at one time or another, I may be in a unique position to know. No, I am in a purgatory all my own.”
He lapsed into silence, and the shadows cast by the sinking flames writhed along the deep lines of his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower yet, almost inaudible. “I now feel like my quest for this knowledge is-has always been-the final spasm of a dead man, the twitch of limbs that do not realize the spirit has already left the body. I am a hollow shell pursuing a remembered impulse, when the motivation for it is long lost. I no longer know if I seek the knowledge in order to gain release from my constraints, as I once did, or to prevent an accidental reversion to my former self. Perhaps I seek the knowledge simply to put an end to my wretched existence, once and for all.”
Thalya scowled and reached out to brush her fingertips against the black arrow. If he truly desired an end to his existence, she was more than ready to assist. As if reading her mind, Bellimar glanced toward her. The firelight performed a lurid dance in his eyes as he regarded her for an instant with an unreadable expression. Then his gaze slid away.
“Your interest in the unusual auras of others,” Amric was saying. “You hope to find in them the key to your own.”
The old man gave an approving nod. “Very good, swordsman.”
“And your extensive knowledge of them comes in part from your years feeding upon the life force of others, as the monster you were,” the warrior continued in a cold tone.
Bellimar flinched as if struck, and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Regrettably true as well,” he whispered.
“I have seen your face become flushed when you are in the presence of spilt blood,” Amric pressed. “The farm, the bloodbeasts, the Wyrgens. I mistook it for an aversion to violence, but now I realize it was the strain of controlling your hunger. And what of the night you disappeared, after the fight with the bloodbeasts in the forest?”
Bellimar looked away. “There was so much blood, everywhere. So much of your blood, and Valkarr’s, and it had been so long since I fed….” He raised his eyes, lifted his chin. “I did not trust myself around you in your weakened state. My hunger threatened to overwhelm my imposed constraints and my willpower both, and I was left with only one course.”
Amric studied him over the campfire. “Did you feed that night?”
“No, there was no suitable prey to be found nearby, and I was loath to range beyond earshot for fear of more creatures finding you while I was gone. The forest is tainted to such a degree now that few natural creatures remain within its confines, I fear. I merely kept my distance until I could regain my composure.”
The warrior rubbed at the stubble on his chin, seeming to mull this over. “And yet you returned, to later be exposed to more bloodshed within the fortress of the Wyrgens.”
Bellimar sighed. “You must understand that there are three primary factors that drive my hunger,” he said, raising his hand and beginning to tick off points on his slender fingers. “First, exposure to mortal blood or to a particularly tantalizing life force. Second, heightened emotion such as being in the frenzy of combat or other life-threatening situations. And third, intense physical exertion such as tapping into the unnatural strength I possess as a centuries-old vampire.”
His hand fell to his lap again, and he shook his head with a rueful smile. “It has been no easy thing, warrior, being in your company.”
Amric leaned back, frowning. “I confess that I do not know what to make of you, Bellimar,” he said. “It would seem that you put our lives at risk by your very presence, yet your knowledge has been invaluable and you have given no evidence of wrongdoing in our presence. I am left to wonder if you are truly friend or foe, and further, if you can be trusted to know which, yourself.”
“Perhaps the results are the same,” she snarled, causing the men around the fire to glance up toward her. “His enmity is boundless, as we know from the tales. Lesser known by history is how his purported friendship is no prize to covet either. Is that not true, foul one?”
“Ah good, we come to it at last,” Bellimar said. “How fares your father, dear girl? You were but a wisp of a child when last I saw you, in that light green cotton dress of yours.”
Thalya reeled as his words churned to the surface a flood of images from a more joyful time she had thought long and well buried. She clenched her fists until the knuckles whitened to conceal the sudden trembling. When she was certain she could speak without tremors in her voice as well, she said, “He died years ago, demon.”
The vampire studied her, his eyes searching her enraged expression. “He was a good man, Thalya. I am greatly aggrieved to hear of his death.”
“Empty words,” she said as she turned her head and spat in the dust of the cave floor. “You know nothing of grief, or loss, or guilt. To you, he was just another pawn to be used and then discarded, and his death lies at your feet just as surely as if you had slain him with your own hand.”
Bellimar gave a slow shake of his head. “I can see that my familiarity with this tale is incomplete, but I will begin it nonetheless, with the hope that the young lady will supply the ending.”
The huntress said nothing in reply, maintaining a level glare at the old man. Bellimar sighed and began speaking.
“Over twenty years ago, my wanderings brought me once more to the beautiful city of Hyaxus. I trusted that enough time had passed since my last disastrous visit there, and no one would recognize my face, unaltered by the years as it was. One can only lose oneself in the remote corners of the world for so long, after all, before the need to return to true civilization becomes unbearable. It was in that elegant city’s academy that I met Thalya’s father, a jovial fellow with an honest face by the name of Drothis. He was a devoted scholar of the arcane and a middling talent at alchemy, as well as being a recent widower with an infant daughter.”