It was perhaps the single bravest gesture Jander had ever witnessed in several centuries. For a moment he stared, dumbfounded. He recognized these men. They were the band of six killers upon whom he had attempted to feed a few weeks ago. He realized, with a dreadful shudder, that they had followed him. In all ignorance, he, Jander Sunstar, had led them to this place, had caused them to butcher the innocent priests, had given them the opportunity to defile the grove that had succored him.
They were busy beating Endris. They did not bother using weapons; they could draw out the pleasure longer if they slew Endris with bare hands and skilful blows. The men, their faces burned into Jander's brain, had not seen him. Not yet. He could do as Endris had wished him to- hide in his protective cairn, wait out the storm, and emerge whole, sane, his soul still reprieved.
But that would mean letting Endris, and all the other good men who had shown him only kindness, die senseless, brutal deaths.
Tears stung Jander's eyes as his heart broke. '
With a cry of mingled outrage and deepest grief, Jander charged the group of thieves and murderers. He transformed into a gold wolf as he left the protective circle, the quiet place, and felt the full weight of his curse resettle upon him. The red thirst raged, more powerful than he had ever known it. Strength flooded his limbs, and his rage knew satisfaction when the eyes of the nearest man fastened upon him and widened in horror.
The wolfs jaws crunched down, severing the throat. Blood flowed down Jander's chin, and he almost forgot his true purpose in the overwhelming desire to lap up the crimson fluid. By sheer strength of will, he turned away from the dead man, found another victim, and again launched himself at the man's throat.
Now it was the interlopers who screamed in fear. To terrify them further, Jander permitted himself to change back into his elven form. But no elf who breathed air looked like this; golden face covered with blood, long fangs extended, gray eyes snapping with fury.
Two were dead. The other two fled, but Jander outran them with ease. One he slew with his dagger; the other's neck was snapped with a single twist of one powerful, sharp-nailed hand.
Four were dead. That left two more, raiding and defiling and destroying inside the abbey. Jander tensed himself and prepared to run in that direction. A hoarse call from Endris brought him up sharply.
"Jander!"
The anger ebbed, to be replaced by fear. Others, knowing his true nature, had rejected him. What would Endris do? Slowly, the elven vampire turned around.
Endris had been badly beaten. Jander tasted a sudden fear that perhaps his intervention-his sacrifice-had not been in time. But the young man struggled to prop himself up on his good elbow, a bloody, broken hand reaching out for the vampire. Jander went to him. If Endris wished to spit in his face, he had the right to do so.
Endris coughed, struggled for breath. "You spoke… of evil… I did not know. Go back, Jander. You left… sanctuary for good cause… Go back in."
Hope flared suddenly in Jander's heart. Would Eldath and Silvanus indeed understand why he had rejected their greatest of gifts? Would they give him another chance? Endris's words gave him new resolve. As gently as he could, Jander slipped his arms beneath his friend's body.
"You need help," he said quietly when Endris protested. The young man, though strong and muscular, weighed next to nothing in Jander's grip, thanks to the return of his vampiric strength. Quickly, keeping his pace as rhythmic and steady as possible so as not to jar his friend, Jander ran toward the abbey. At the first few steps, Endris moaned and went limp in his arms. He was still breath ing; he had merely fainted from the pain. Jander thought to himself that this was probably for the best.
He was met halfway by a crowd of angry brethren, brandishing powerful-looking canes. One or two of them were clad in the beautiful, oakleaf-shaped armor that was traditional among priests of Silvanus. When they saw the bloodied elf and the precious burden he bore, they at first thought him another marauder. One of them charged, staff at the ready.
"No, wait!" came a voice. From the back, a tall, thin man with white hair pushed his way forward. Jander guessed this was the oakfather, Raylen. "I believe it is Endris's friend, the elf who was granted sanctuary in the grove."
"Aye, Oakfather," said Jander. He held out Endris's limp form to the nearest priests, who gathered him carefully to them. "You need fear nothing more from four of the men who attacked Oakengrove. But there are two left-"
"We have dealt with them ourselves. They have been captured and await our decree." Raylen looked at him keenly. Even in this dim light, Jander could see perfectly well. The man's face was chiseled with the passing of the years, but it was clear that his mind was still as strong as the oaks that grew in the grove.
"The other four are… your doing?" Raylen asked quietly. Jander nodded.
"I left the grove to save Endris's life, and to protect your abbey. It was-a debt. I think perhaps that I unwittingly led these evil men to you. I needed to atone for that. Endris thinks I may be readmitted to the grove, because I left it for a good cause."
Raylen's wise eyes roamed Jander from head to toe, taking in the blood and the dishevelment. The light was too dim, thank the gods, for him to see Jander's fangs. When at last he met Jander's gaze, his face was sorrowful. He shook his head slowly. Jander's heart sank.
"But… Endris would have died… how could I not have helped him?" cried Jander.
"That you chose to do so shows me why Eldath gave you sanctuary in the first place-your heart is good, however dark your deeds may have been. It was wrong of Endris to give you false hope. Few get even one opportunity such as was granted to you, my friend. No one receives such blessing twice, whatever good deed they may have done. Take comfort that you have not sacrificed your haven in vain- Endris will live. So will others, who might have died but for your actions." He raised a wrinkled hand and moved as if to give Jander absolution.
The vampire ducked back quickly. His identity as an unholy thing would be revealed the moment Raylen began speaking sacred words. Without another word, he turned and fled, racing down the green, grassy hill toward the grove. He slowed as he approached, fear rising up to choke him.
"Please," was all he said as he stepped forward.
And winced in pain as he encountered the invisible barrier that weakened him at once, the intangible but very real obstruction that prevented evil things from entering sacred space. He stared at the place that only a few minutes ago had been a goddess-granted sanctuary. His gray eyes roamed hungrily over the boulder upon which he had sat, the half-finished carving that had fallen from his hands and now lay quietly on the cool grass.
Jander half-hoped Eldath would appear, so that he could speak with her, plead his case. But she did not, and as the long moments crept past, resignation slowly replaced grief in his heart.
He could have made no other choice. He knew that he could no more sit by and watch an innocent friend be murdered than he could become a priest himself. Had he done so, the grove would have been tainted by his cowardice. He would have grown to loathe it, as he loathed himself; and one day, as surely as the seasons turn, he would have left the quiet place with more bitterness in his heart than he felt at this moment.
Deliberately, Jander turned away and began to walk. Where, he did not know. Perhaps to Waterdeep, his original destination. The gods had tried to offer respite, but fate and Jander's own remnants of goodness had foiled that attempt at peace.
The acrid scent of smoke still filled his nostrils as he forced a deliberate breath; but there were no more leaping flames. The injured would be tended, the destruction repaired. Life would go on as usual in the abbey-and at least some small part of that was due to his actions.