61 A.D. (Bachiyr, Book 2) (28 page)

Theron, for his part, had not moved an inch. He hadn’t even drawn the blade at his hip or grown his claws. No matter. Taras would kill him regardless of whether he was armed or not. Honor had no place between them.

“Finally,” Taras said. He took a step toward the oddly calm Bachiyr. The time had come to avenge Mary’s death, and Abraham’s, and every person Taras had killed in the last twenty-seven years because of what Theron had made of him. “It is past time I killed you, Theron, and Ramah is not here to cover your escape this time.”

“Put those away,” Theron replied. “I will not fight you, Taras. Neither of us has the time for it.” He nodded toward the east. Taras didn’t need to ask what he meant. He could already feel warmth on the back of his neck as the sun rose over the horizon. Once it gained enough sky, the shadows of the city would no longer be able to protect him. Theron was right, neither of them had time.

“In any case,” Theron continued, “if I wanted to kill you I’d have done it while your back was turned.”

True enough,
Taras realized. He looked again at the rising light behind him, wondering if he might be able to strike fast and kill Theron before the sun rose. Probably not, he decided, unless he was willing to die this morning, as well. He glared at Theron, then put his claws away. Revenge would have to wait.

“What do you want?” Taras asked. “And be quick about it.”

Theron took a step forward, a crooked grin on his face. “I want to know where you will spend the day.”

Taras snorted. Of course he did. “I think not.”

“You misunderstand me,” Theron replied. “I seek shelter from the sun, the same as you. I did not have enough time to make my own before we were captured by Ramah, but you have been here for years, at least according to Baella. You must have a nice, safe place to wait out the day.”

Taras nodded. “Indeed I do. But I’ll not share it with you.”

Theron’s confident smile grew. “Oh, I think you will. You’ll have to. I will not allow you to leave this street until you agree to share your sanctuary.”

 
“You might find that harder than you think,” Taras replied. “I am not the same Bachiyr that I was in Jerusalem. You will not kill me easily, I assure you.”

“I don’t need to kill you,” Theron replied. “The sun will be up in a few moments. I only need to keep you busy until then.”

Taras swore under his breath. Theron spoke the truth, of course. The sun would kill him soon enough if he didn’t get off the street. “But then you would die, too.”

“So I would. But without your sanctuary I will die anyway, so it really doesn’t matter. This way, I at least get to take you with me.”

Damn. Taras looked over his shoulder at the bright tip of the sun, which had just crested the hills to the east. The light stung his eyes, but soon it would do much more than that. A few minutes after it rose fully into the sky, Taras would be nothing more than a pile of ashes in a city full of them. But at least Theron would die, too. Taras turned back toward his Bachiyr creator.
 
The older vampire’s evil was great, indeed. He could do the entire world a service by letting the sun burn them both.

There is always a choice, even if it is not always a good choice.

Taras had made his a long time ago. He had chosen to live rather than to die, and he’d done so again earlier, when he forced his body up from the metal rod Ramah had used to impale him. But this was different. In both previous cases, his death would have accomplished nothing except to remove him from the world. But now, with Theron’s life hanging on
Taras’s
decision, he could finally die with dignity, and do the world a favor at the same time.

Taras made his choice.

“So be it, then. I would rather die burning in the sunlight than share my sanctuary with you. At least I will rid the world of your presence.” Taras advanced on his oldest enemy, claws once again at the ready. Now that he had a purpose, he was anxious to get started. In the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would take the sun to kill them and how much it would hurt. He’d never seen a Bachiyr burn to death before. With luck, he would get to see Theron burning, as well. That would be a wonderful last sight.

“I thought that would be your answer,” Theron said, still smiling. “But you are forgetting something.”

Taras paused, suspecting a trick. “What?”

“Her,” Theron pointed to the woman on the ground. “I saw you protect her. I’ve been following you for a while now. She is not dead. Not yet. Would you let her die in the street like a dog?”

Taras looked over at the woman. She lay in the street amidst a growing pool of blood, both hers and the legionaries’. Her right arm was outstretched, reaching for her dagger, which lay a foot beyond her reach. She looked dead, but her heart still beat a faint rhythm in her chest. The heartbeat was weak, but it was there. Even so, she would not be alive for much longer. The brigands had seen to it she would die a slow, painful death, but there was nothing he could do to help her.

“She is dead no matter what I do,” Taras replied. “Stop wasting what time we have left and let’s get on with it.” He sprang forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Before Theron had even raised a hand to defend himself, Taras had his claws pressed into his throat. They drew a thin line of blood from the flesh, but Theron seemed not to notice. He didn’t even move.

“She doesn’t have to die,” Theron said.

“What?”

“She doesn’t. I can save her.”

“What are you playing at?” Taras kept the tip of his claw at Theron’s throat, just in case it was a trick.

“Do you remember how I healed you in Jerusalem,” Theron asked. “After that fool Gordian had you stretched on the rack?”

Taras did remember. He had felt so strong and so indebted to Theron, whom he knew then as Ephraim, that he had raided his dead friend’s gold and paid half of Jerusalem to vote for Jesus’ execution over Barabbas. It was not something he remembered fondly. “You should have let me die,” he said. “Your damned healing touch has brought me nothing but regret.”

“I probably should have,” Theron agreed. “But I made you an offer, and you accepted it. Jesus’ life for your own. Living was your choice. What would her choice be?” He pointed to the woman in the street. “Do you think she would choose death? Or do you think she would rather see the sun rise tomorrow? Is your pride worth her life? And please hurry. The sun is starting to tip the lower buildings.”

Taras looked again at the woman in the street. He’d gone to a great deal of trouble to try and keep her alive. Not because she was useful or important, but because he felt he needed to help her, somehow. Because it was the right thing to do. “How do I know you will not try to kill us once we arrive at my sanctuary?”

“What if I gave you my word?”

“I would say your word is worth less than the dirt under my feet.”

“Then I have nothing else to offer you,” Theron said. “And you are wasting time.”

Taras stared at the woman, listening to the shallow sound of her breathing, and asked himself if he had the right to make that choice for her. To allow Theron to die would be a good thing, even if it meant his own death. But could he die with a clean conscience if killing Theron meant she had to die, as well? Granted, his morality had become skewed over the last three decades. Maybe Theron’s death
was
worth her life, but it felt wrong to leave her to such a fate.

A gleam of light across the street caught his attention. The sun had breached the rooftops and now shone brightly on the surface of a shiny coin. Dawn had arrived. He was out of time. “Very well,” he said. “I will accept your terms. But I will have your word that you will leave tomorrow night and that you will leave both of us alive and unharmed.”

“I thought my word was worth less than dirt,” Theron said.

“Do I have it or would you prefer to die?”

“I swear by The Father that I will leave your sanctum tomorrow night and will not harm either of you. May he judge me unfit to live should I break my oath. There, will that do?”

Taras nodded. “I will be watching you, Theron. If you try to harm her in any way I will kill you, regardless of what will become of her.”

“Save your threats. We should be going now.”

Already the shaft of sunlight had moved several feet deeper into the street, soon it would reach the woman and Taras would have to burn himself to save her. He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether saving Theron was the right course of action, then he scooped the woman up in his arms and ran toward his shelter.

Theron ran alongside him, a satisfied smile on his face. “I knew you couldn’t do it, Roman. That is the difference between you and the rest of the Bachiyr. I would have been in my sanctuary long before you could have forced me into a deal.”

Taras did not reply. He had no interest in entering this debate with Theron. Instead he concentrated on getting to his hiding place. The going was difficult, as he had to dodge several spots where the sun shone on his path, but fortunately it wasn’t far.

“Do you even know her name?” Theron pressed.

Taras ignored him.

“I thought not,” Theron said, shaking his head. “You would risk everything, even death, for someone you don’t even know.”

“And you would kill a complete stranger for no reason at all,” Taras countered.

“As should you. You are Bachiyr, after all. Whether you are willing to admit it to yourself or not. I saw what you did to that legionary. There was nothing left of him but pulp and blood. What’s more you enjoyed it, to judge by the look on your face.”

“Spare me your cackling. I—”

“Do you deny that you enjoyed it? Tell me true, and I will leave you be.”

Taras opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. Theron was right, he
had
enjoyed killing the legionary. He didn’t know if it was because of his nature or because the bastard deserved it, but he could not deny the elation he felt when the Roman’s blood sprayed him in the face. “I am not you,” was all he said.

“The truest thing you have said all night!” Theron replied, laughing. “You are starting to remind me of Ephraim. Near the end of his life, he turned into a fool, too.”

Taras grunted, unwilling to dignify the remark with words.

Soon they arrived at the door to the building that hid the smuggler’s tunnel. So far it seemed unscathed from the ballistae attacks and the invading Iceni, but that would change soon enough. The sounds of men screaming and dying grew closer by the second, it seemed. It would not take long for the barbarians to reach this place. When they did, they would probably loot the building and then set it alight, which seemed to be their preference.

He set the woman down and allowed the nail of his right index finger to grow, then he stabbed it into his left wrist, waiting for the blood to pool. Once the blood formed a tiny puddle on his wrist, he dipped his finger into it and brought it to the door, tracing a rune he had learned in Greece. The door opened into the street, and he picked the woman up and ran inside.

Theron came along behind, his eyes on the door. “The Locking Psalm,” he said. “You have not been idle these twenty seven years.”

Taras walked to the back of the room and lay the woman down. Then he sifted through the dust on the floor until he found an edge. He strained for a moment, but soon lifted up a slab of stone several paces wide and over a foot thick, revealing the tunnel entrance. He propped up the stone with a thick metal rod he kept nearby for just that purpose, then grabbed the woman and carried her into the shadows. Theron followed, removing the rod and letting the stone close back upon the entrance. The tunnel plunged into blackness.

Taras could see fine, however, and he knew that Theron could, as well. He stepped aside, indicating that the older vampire should pass.

“Don’t trust me at your back, Roman?” Theron asked.

“No,” Taras replied bluntly.

“Very well.” Theron stepped around Taras and took the lead, following the walls of rough-hewn stone deeper into the earth.

“So you have saved this woman—who is an Iceni princess, by the way,” Theron said. “Now what? You will still be Bachiyr. Her blood will still sing to you. And when she wakes up she will either try to kill you or run from you. Either way, you are not likely to receive anything in the way of thanks.”

“Her thanks are not needed.”

“She will not bring Mary back to you,” Theron said, looking over his shoulder and nodding at the swatch of blue cloth on
Taras’s
belt. “No matter how many you save,” he continued, “it will never bring her back.”

Taras stopped, the muscles on his arms tightening to the point of pain. His vision swam in a red haze as he stared at the back of the creature who had murdered his Mary all those years ago. The urge to drop the woman in his arms to the floor and drive his claws into Theron’s back was so strong he actually started to let go of the Iceni princess.