Trembling, the woman rose and made her way to the front. The priest made way for her. Jander opened his mouth to warn Cassiar about the young man's profession, but something made him hold his tongue. An idea, so daring it would have made him catch his breath had he still breathed, was beginning to form in the gold elf's brain.
The flutist's slim fingers shook badly, and her breathing was too shallow for performing. The sweet notes of the flute were fragile, hesitant, and Jander knew with a sick certainty what would happen next.
Cassiar frowned. "No! Boo! That won't do at all!" He leaped up to seize the hapless woman. A quick bite opened her wrist, and the vampire sucked at the spurting blood. Laughing, he turned his crimson mouth to Erith. "A fine red, with a delicate bouquet but a full, robust flavor!" Cassiar let the woman drop, not draining her, content with his sampling. Whimpering and clutching her ragged arm, she scuttled away.
Rhynn began to twitch again, but her movements were different this time. Speaking in Elvish, Jander hissed in her pointed ear, "Don't get sick. He'll notice you and make me rip your throat out. I don't want to do it, but I must obey him. If you'll be quiet, I'll take my hand away. Can I trust you?"
She nodded, and Jander, hoping desperately that she would keep her word, removed his hand. Rhynn gasped and shuddered, gulping in air. The elven vampire longed to hold her, to soothe her, but he knew she didn't desire such gestures from him now.
When Rhynn regained her composure, she hissed, "You're a traitor to your kind, Jander, and I hate you for it!"
Despite himself, Jander flinched from the insult. "No more than I hate myself," he whispered back softly, still speaking in his native tongue.
She glanced up at him, and he could see emotions warring on her delicate, lovely face. The priest was performing now. His voice was astoundingly steady, and his fingers caressed the strings of his instrument with assurance despite the fact that Death was a yard away, staring him in the face. Cassiar was pleased and made no move to interrupt the song.
"That bard's a priest," Jander whispered to Rhynn.
"Then why didn't he-"
"He's not a fool. He's biding his time."
"Are you going to kill him?"
Jander's look was angry now. "I am not what you think me to be, Rhynn the Fair. Wait until all the facts are in before you pass judgment upon me!" He paused, aware that his voice had risen slightly, and brought it back to a soft murmur. "I had not wanted you to be here, but perhaps it is best this way. I have an idea that could save at least some of the villagers."
"Why should I trust you?"
Why, indeed? He released his hold on her. "Go for your weapon if you wish. Or else trust me."
He half expected her to draw her sword. One hand moved toward the weapon, but at the last instant Rhynn clenched her fingers into a fist. Then, with a deliberate effort, she brought her hand down to her side. Jander permitted himself a slight smile.
The bard finished his song, and Cassiar applauded. When the rest of the room stayed silent, he craned his neck to look back at the silent crowd. Merciless brown eyes took in the scene: Pogg and Trevys huddled behind the bar; four corpses sprawled on the floor; the half-elf clutching her mangled hand and looking paler by the moment; the sated, smug vampiresses; the overturned tables; the slack-jawed men and women at the seven remaining tables, staring in terror.
"Come now," Cassiar chided. "Wasn't he wonderful? Don't you think you should clap for him?" The vampire threw back his head and laughed as the terrified crowd burst into frenzied applause. The bard bowed politely and returned to his seat.
Jander watched, knowing the next step of this grisly dance. Cassiar rose and began to peruse the crowd until he found a woman who struck his fancy. Jander's heart sank as he saw that it was Aluise.
"Well, aren't you the pretty thing," Cassiar said. He reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I like your eyes," he stated, heading toward the stairs. Aluise began to whimper, then suddenly shrieked and tried to pull free. The vampire lord paused halfway up the stairs, turned, and leveled his gaze at her. Aluise stared back. Her sobs turned to sniffles, then ceased. Cassiar glanced around, his eyes finding Theorn. He pointed a finger at the Rider.
"You've fed and won't be hungry for a while. You can guard the door." He grimaced a bit at the Rider's blood-matted beard. "You are a messy eater, aren't you? Well, put your helm on and no one'll notice. You're one of the militia. Remember that, and you'll be able to allay suspicions if anyone should come." He caught and held the new vampire's gaze. "No one enters. No one leaves."
"No one enters. No one leaves," Theorn repeated dutifully.
Cassiar turned to Erith and Marys. "Keep an eye on Jander, my dears. His heart's a little too soft for the sort of sport we enjoy."
"Aye, master," said Erith obediently, smiling a little. The wolf, Marys, whuffed. Cassiar continued up the stairs. Jander watched him go, hatred twisting his face.
Rhynn's voice interrupted his dark thoughts. "You won't get away with this. If any of the Riders notice that no one's on guard duty-"
"Theorn will send them off on some fruitless search," Jander interrupted harshly. "Your Riders won't know you're here until they stumble across your body tomorrow."
She flinched at the brutality in his voice, but Jander didn't soften his words. She had to see the true horror of the thing and join him if he was to accomplish what he wanted tonight.
"He'll take Aluise-in every way possible-and when he's done he'll throw her away. It won't be that long. Then he'll come down and everyone will be systematically killed and the place set aflame. We'll flee like the gods-cursed night things we are, and wait until the talk dies down. And then we'll go to another town, and we'll do it again. And again."
"Stop it."
"Only if you help me stop it."
"Excuse me," came a tentative voice. Jander glanced toward the speaker, startled to see that it was the young priest. He's braver-or stupider-than I thought, Jander noted to himself.
"May we tend to our wounded?" the priest asked.
Jander's face flooded with compassion. "By all means, care for your injured," he said, raising his voice slightly. Erith overheard him and lifted a ruby lip in a snarl.
"Cassiar's right. You are soft, elf," she hissed.
Jander growled. His eyes locked with hers, and she retreated a few steps, glancing over at her compatriot for support. Marys shrugged her massive wolf shoulders, unconcerned. Erith frowned, but ceased to protest. She kept her eyes on Jander, however, and snapped acidly, "Have it your way. Do your bit of good and busy yourself with the cattle. Cassiar will be down soon enough, and don't think I won't tell him."
Jander ignored her. "And clean up the floor," he told the priest "The scent-" He broke off and turned away.
Confused, Rhynn queried, "Don't vampires like the smell?"
"Gods, Rider, are you blind?" he cried in Elvish. "I haven't tasted human blood since we met! Starve yourself for a month, then have someone lock you in a bakery. Perhaps you'll have some faint idea of what it's like! I haven't had so much as a rat in almost a week." The anger faded, and he made a halfhearted joke. "Pogg runs far too clean an inn."
"You do not feed," said the priest in perfect Elvish. Both Rhynn and Jander turned to stare at him. Few humans in Mistledale spoke Elvish. "You let us care for the wounded and even seem distressed by what is happening. You are not like the others. Why?"
Jander answered with a smile, also speaking in Elvish. "Of course a morninglord would know my tongue. Now you answer me, why have you not attacked us, priest?"