“He believed he had borne witness to the return of a great evil, and he felt compelled to take action against its rise. He said that he had foreseen the world being swallowed by darkness, and that the end of all we know would be accompanied by the return of the ancient conqueror, Bellimar the Unholy. Further, he claimed that the kindly old man that had wormed his way into our family’s trust was no less than the bloodthirsty tyrant himself. He was ridiculed for his statements, and his fervor to warn others was dismissed as the ravings of a madman. My father would not be swayed from his convictions, however. In the end, he was cast out of the academy and branded a lunatic. He left the city, taking me with him, and we withdrew from all we had known.”
Thalya stared at the old man across the cave. “My young life became a living hell, demon. My father was convinced that I must be prepared for war, for whatever cataclysm was to come. If he were to fail in his mission to find and destroy you, I was to carry out this all-important task. He impressed upon me the consequences our world would suffer if we failed in this. We were always on the move, never remaining anywhere long enough to put down roots, always seeking signs of your passage. We learned the use of weapons, and the bow in particular. Picture it, deviclass="underline" we trained endlessly, a little girl and a man who should have remained a scholar, so that we would have the skill to slay the monster when our chance came. Years passed as we continued this nomadic existence, and I became far more acquainted with the harsher ways of this world than I would wish on anyone.
“My father grew frustrated, despairing, for he had long lost the trail. He withered under the long years of fear, obsession and self-imposed isolation. His health finally failed such that we could no longer travel freely, and we were forced to settle into a village near Velnium that boasted all the charm of a cesspool. I had begun to think it was over, that despite my unflagging faith in him he was after all just a deluded old man obsessed with nothing more than feverish visions and vaporous fears.
“Then word came to us of the corruption of the land’s magic to the north, of a desolate wasteland spreading to engulf the lush plains at the foot of the Hoarfang mountain range, of dark and twisted creatures spilling from the forest at night to prey on the countryside. My father was convinced this was the inception of the dark vision he had feared for so long, and he was certain that the Vampire King was at the black heart of it all.”
The huntress paused, her gaze locked to Bellimar’s with an expectant air, as if awaiting a confession. The old man sat as still as a marble statue, offering nothing in return.
“My father was too frail to continue his quest, demon,” she said. “He sickened and died in that miserable village. Grief-stricken and alone, I came north. I owed him that much more at least. I was skeptical that I would find anything to support his predictions, but much to my amazement I discovered that you had indeed been lurking about Keldrin’s Landing for some time, and I had only just missed your departure. And here I find you, run to ground at last, having aged not a day in twenty years.”
Thalya rose slowly to her feet, her recurve bow in one hand and the black arrow in the other.
“Bellimar,” she intoned. “I hold you responsible for the death of my father. You poisoned his soul back in Hyaxus, though it may have taken twenty years to claim him. You took my life from me as well on that same night. And I accuse you now of all that he foresaw, of being at the root of the upheaval which threatens to destroy our world.”
The other men stared at the vampire, their expressions ranging from calculating to stricken as they waited for his response. Bellimar, for his part, did not permit his gaze to waver from the huntress.
“I accept your accusations on all points but the last one,” Bellimar said in a solemn tone. “I now hold myself responsible for the downfall and demise of Drothis, even as you do. I conceal my nature in part because exposing it never leads to anything but fear and suffering in others. Whatever remains of my soul is blighted by your father’s death, though I suspect it can be blackened no further. I deny, however, being the cause of the spreading corruption. I am tempted to admit to involvement, if only to honor your father and give you the closure you seek, but I cannot do this. I have enough sins for which I must atone without laying false claim to others.”
Thalya eyed him, her face a frozen mask as she rolled the arrow back and forth between her fingertips.
“No one can fault you if you choose to fire that arrow,” Bellimar said. “But it appears to be your last, and understand that I am not prepared to perish in that fashion.”
The huntress said nothing. The glow from the bed of coals glinted from the curved blades of the arrowhead as it spun in her hand. Amric rose to his feet in a swift, lithe motion and stepped between them.
“Enough!” he commanded. “We have heard from both of you. Now, if you wish to slay each other, depart the cave first so that the rest of us can get some sleep.”
“I’ll not be sharing a camp with this devil,” Thalya growled.
“You cannot survive out there,” Syth objected.
Bellimar flowed to his feet like a long, slender shadow cast against the stone wall. “She will not have to,” he said. “I am long overdue to feed, and this is an opportune time to find game, away from both the corruption of the forest and the sweaty confines of the city. If you will step aside and let me pass, dear girl, I will depart. If Amric wishes to send me away for good when I return in the morning, I will accept his judgment.”
Amric turned to face him, but the old man shook his head. “Do not fear for me, warrior,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. “The night has ever been my element. I will be safe enough in its embrace.”
Thalya guided her mare down the sloping floor to where the cave widened enough to permit the vampire’s passage at greater than arm’s length away. Her emerald eyes followed him warily until he glided from the cave and disappeared into the yawning darkness beyond. Ignoring the other men, Thalya left Shien with the other horses at the back of the cavern and stalked back to the entrance, where she slid to a seat against the rock wall with bow in hand and black arrow nocked. Only then did she address them, without a backward glance, as she stared out into the night.
“The first watch is mine.”
Thalya awoke with a start as a chill breeze played across her cheek, and her hand tightened convulsively on her bow. Her frantic eyes raked the darkness beyond the mouth of the cave, and then darted to the deeper blackness of the cave’s interior. Outside, nothing moved except the lazy, star-stroked grasses on the hillside, waving in the capricious wind. Inside, nothing stirred either, and her straining ears picked out the soft, rhythmic breathing of the men sleeping against the larger humming backdrop of the night. Her fingertips brushed the fletching of the arrow, still resting at the string of her bow, and the cool press of the stone at her back brought her comfort.
Her momentary waking panic gave way to relief, which then evaporated before the advancing heat of her anger. What a fool she was to have dozed off, she chided herself savagely. The night was swarming with dangers, her vile nemesis foremost among them, and here she was napping like a babe in arms, as if she could afford to be without a care. That she was worn down from her days and nights of constant, solitary vigilance in the midst of a hostile countryside was little excuse; her foe could exercise the cold, calculating patience of the immortal killing machine that he was, and so she simply could not make such mistakes.