Come Twilight (49 page)

“It will not take long. My shears and razor are in the pack with our weapons. I can get them out now,” said Rotiger as he pulled the leather case from the stack of chests and sacks and packs. “I know where they are,” he announced as he unbuckled the good Padovan leather and took out a small case. “Here. Sit on that chest and I’ll have this done quickly.”

“You have combs as well, or must we borrow from the horses?” Ragoczy Germainus asked, half in jest. “I know; I know. You always have combs and a Greek brush with your shears.”

“True enough,” said Rotiger as he pulled out the ivory comb and set to work, pleased to have this work to do. He went about the task quickly and expertly, combing and shearing with the fluidity of long practice.

“When I was newly come to this life,” Ragoczy Germainus remarked when Rotiger was half-done with cutting his hair, “I used to try to see myself. There were few mirrors then, and most of them were polished metal, although still water was always preferred. It infuriated me that I could not see myself: that was a long time ago.”

“But you miss having a reflection,” said Rotiger, knowing it was so, although Ragoczy Germainus rarely spoke of it; that he did now told Rotiger that his master was uneasy.

“Of course. But it is one of the many things I have become accustomed to, over time.” He held still while Rotiger began to trim his beard—already short and sharply defined—cutting it close before using the razor to neaten the line of it.

“There,” said Rotiger, standing back. “That should do for another three months at least.” He began to put away his tools.

“Should I not return the favor?” Ragoczy Germainus asked.

“Perhaps, in a week or two,” said Rotiger. “I can tend to my beard myself.”

“Because you can see yourself,” Ragoczy Germainus said. “From time to time I envy you that.”

This admission gave Rotiger pause, for in his seven centuries with Ragoczy Germainus, he had been told this only twice before—once on the road to Baghdad and once in the mountains of northern Greece; on both occasions it had signaled trouble. “Why?” he managed to say with a modicum of composure. “My face has not changed since you restored me from death.”

“But you can see that it has not changed,” said Ragoczy Germainus, and then he reached for his short sword, responding to a crackle in the bushes.

“What is it?” Rotiger asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I cannot make it out yet,” said Ragoczy Germainus in an under-voice; he spoke in Byzantine Greek.

“What do you think it is?” Rotiger said in the same tongue as he tried to squint to see beyond the shine of firelight.

“I have a fair notion; I sense no pulse.” He was concentrating now, focused on what moved under the trees beyond the firelight.

“Chimenae, do you think?” Rotiger carefully put his case down and reached for his dagger.

“It is possible, but I doubt it.” He pulled one of the long, sharpened branches from the pack. “Still, I want to be ready.”

Rotiger nodded, poised to fight off any attack.

“Keep an eye on the animals. I think they may try to circle behind us. The mules and horses are a very tempting target.”

“How many do you think there are?” Rotiger was alarmed at the implications of what Ragoczy Germainus said.

“Half a dozen, perhaps more,” was the tranquil answer. “Yes; a few are moving toward the far end of the glade. Drive the animals into the water. That will afford them some protection.”

“Will you be able to manage alone?” Rotiger asked, preparing to obey.

“I would hope so,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “Make a torch and take it with you. The fire will be more helpful than swords and daggers.”

Rotiger seized one of the sharpened branches Ragoczy Germainus proffered him, thrust the blunt end into the fire, held it there while it caught, then hurried off toward their animals. He had almost reached the nearest mule when a strangely dressed man wielding a small axe burst out of the trees, yelling and waving his arms in an effort to panic the animals; had the five not been hobbled the attack might have worked, but as it was, the horses, unable to flee, or to rear, began to kick instead, neighing in distress. A moment later, the mules did the same.

The man with the axe was caught on the hip and tossed half-way across the clearing where he found himself looking up at Ragoczy Germainus, who stood over him with his sword at the ready.

“Well, well,” he said cordially, although the point of his sword did not move. “Blaga. Still using an axe.” He saw shock in Blaga’s face, and went on, “Why should you be astonished to see me?
You
are still alive: why should I not be?” He carefully stepped so that his hand was on the supine man’s wrist, just above his weapon. “It would be reckless to try to attack me,” he went on without any loss of good-will. “I am your equal in strength and I have my sword.”

“So you say,” Blaga responded in fury as another man came hurtling out of the forest, holding two short swords, and running straight at Ragoczy Germainus.

Quickly Ragoczy Germainus stepped back, but only to kick Blaga’s axe away as he turned to face the second vampire; he saw by the copper-colored hair it was Ennati, and that Rotiger had come up behind him and set his clothes afire with his torch.

Ennati screamed and flung himself backward, rolling to put out the flames, his shrieks making the horses and mules whinny in distress, and mill at the edges of the marshy stream, churning up mud and occasionally striking out with their teeth.

Blaga reached out to grab Ragoczy Germainus’ leg, but cursed as the older man eluded him.

“That ploy is too old. I have learned to avoid it,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “If you do not wish to be hurt, stay where you are.”

“I am not afraid of you,” Blaga stated, unwilling to look at Ennati, who had finally put out the fire on his clothes and was trying to sit up.

“Then you are a fool,” said Ragoczy Germainus, looking about him. “Where are the rest of your comrades? I can sense them, as you can sense me.”

“They are waiting to attack,” said Blaga with more bravado than certainty.

“And do you think they will? You have lost the element of surprise and they will have seen that we know how to manage you.” He motioned to Blaga to sit up. “You will not be able to harm either Rotiger or me, though you may try.”

Blaga rose, his demeanor sullen and resentful. “We will kill you yet, and we will make sure you do not rise.”

“If that is your plan, it has not succeeded; I am grateful for the warning.” He glanced toward Rotiger, who was keeping a wary eye on Ennati. “What do you think, old friend?”

“I think this must be settled, and quickly.” He pointed to Ennati. “They will not all be so reckless as this one.”

“No, they will not,” agreed Ragoczy Germainus. “They are watching us still. Four or five of your tribe.” He rounded on Blaga. “Did Chimenae send you to do this?”

“She does not send us. We go where we wish to.” Blaga folded his arms and stared beyond the firelight.

“Then you have broken with her?” Ragoczy Germainus asked, thinking of what Olutiz had told him.

“No. We do not let ourselves be ruled by her as many do. We will provide our help in need, but we will not be her chattel.” He laughed. “Some of the others are still under her spell. They would have killed you at once.”

Ragoczy Germainus regarded him steadily. “Do you think so.”

Blaga retreated into silence while Rotiger brought Ennati over to the edge of the campfire.

“The animals are all right; they are frightened and restive, but they are all right,” Rotiger told Ragoczy Germainus.

“Thank all the forgotten gods for that,” said Ragoczy Germainus. He turned to face the two they had captured. “I think it is time I called upon Chimenae.”

“She says Chimena now,” Blaga corrected him smugly, as if he were certain that this would embarrass Ragoczy Germainus.

“Does she so. I will keep that in mind.” He listened to the sounds of the forest. “Your comrades are departing.”

Blaga tossed his head. “They will find you again, and you will not be ready for them.”

But Ennati was not so cocksure. “They will have to tell Chimena,” he said to Ragoczy Germainus. “We have not wholly gone from her. We have our own ways, but we are not like Olutiz is: we know our obligation.”

“Then she will be expecting me,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “We did not part well, thirty years ago.”

“No one parts well from her,” said Ennati. “She dislikes to have anyone leave her, even for the True Death.” He was pale from his ordeal, and his manner remained subdued.

“Merez was gone for a time, and when he came back, she punished him for more than a year.” Blaga looked about him in agitation. “She will be angry that we have been caught. Better we are killed than captured.”

“She will understand that I made your attack untenable,” said Ragoczy Germainus.

“No, she will not,” said Ennati, mumbling a little as if anticipating a rebuke for his remark. “She never understands failure.”

“Then she is being foolish,” said Rotiger before Ragoczy Germainus could say anything. He had gone to get two lengths of rope and now used them to tie Ennati’s and Blaga’s hands behind them, saying as he did, “If you test these bonds, you will notice they have wire through them. You may be able to break them but they will cut your wrists in the process, and even vampires suffer when they bleed.”

Ennati nodded dumbly; Blaga cursed.

“Is Chimena still at the stone house on the ridge?” Ragoczy Germainus asked, his manner conversational.

“She is not. She has gone to the next crag; the Moors have been logging on the slope below the stone house, and she could not risk discovery. She has found a safer place, near an ancient altar.” Blaga sounded proud of this even as he winced while Rotiger secured his hands behind him.

“And do the villagers still bring her cups of blood?” Ragoczy Germainus asked.

“They have brought the cups to old shrines, but only a few climb to her new dwelling, and then only on special days,” said Ennati.

“Do you think she will be there tomorrow night?” Ragoczy Germainus did not sound as if this made much difference to him, but he listened intently to the reply.

“I think she will be waiting for you,” said Blaga. “Merez will warn her.”

“So you said,” Ragoczy Germainus conceded, then went on more briskly. “Well, you may as well make yourselves as comfortable as you can. We will travel in the morning—”

“There will be sun,” exclaimed Blaga in shock. “You cannot—We will not live, nor will you.”

“We will carry you with the packs on the mules; you will be wrapped in heavy hides, so you will not burn.” Ragoczy Germainus nodded to Rotiger. “Take the bears’ hides from the wooden chest. Those will serve our purposes.”

“But they are gifts to the Dux of Asturica,” Rotiger reminded him.

“This will not harm them,” said Ragoczy Germainus.

Blaga looked panicked; he took an unsteady step in Ragoczy Germainus’ direction. “You cannot do this. What will become of us?”

“You will have to rely on us to keep you safe,” Ragoczy Germainus said, his voice tinged with irony.

“Keep us safe.” There was a long pause while Blaga considered this. “You must surely think we are gullible—keep us safe!”

“You have my Word that we will,” said Ragoczy Germainus in a tone that was beyond question. “Come. Find yourselves a place near the fire. There are more than vampires to be held at bay tonight.”

“If you mean wolves, they have gone farther into the mountains,” said Ennati. “So have the cats and bears.”

“Because the Moors are cutting down the forests,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “That much is obvious. But if any wolves or cats or bears remain here, they must be hungry, and they have a taste for horses and mules, as you do.”

“You have the fire for
them
?” Blaga said in disbelief.

“Certainly. They are as much under my protection as you are.” Ragoczy Germainus began to pace. “How many more of you are there since I was here?”

Ennati and Blaga exchanged glances. “Perhaps twenty,” Ennati said.

“Far too many,” said Ragoczy Germainus, shaking his head in worry. He thought back to what Olutiz had told him, and he felt cold growing in him, in spite of the fire and the summer night. “The wolves and cats are not the only ones who will feel the loss of the forest,” he said to Blaga and Ennati.

“This is nothing to us,” Blaga insisted, although Ennati looked thoughtful.

Ragoczy Germainus shook his head. “You are not thinking of what may come in time. You tell me that Chimena has had to move higher up the mountains, and yet you do not think the logging has deprived you of hunting ground and game?”

“We do not hunt game, except when there is no choice,” said Blaga arrogantly. “And the loggers are men.”

“For which we are pleased,” added Ennati, but less forcefully than Blaga had spoken. “We hunt them as they rest from their labors.”

“And some of you are apprehended and killed,” said Ragoczy Germainus for them. “You need not deny it.”

“Very well,” Blaga allowed. “Some have been killed.”

“And more recently than in the past,” Ragoczy Germainus persisted.

“Yes,” Ennati said slowly as Blaga glared at him. “That is true.”

“I feared so,” said Ragoczy Germainus as much to himself as to Ennati and Blaga.

“Why should you fear?” Blaga challenged him. “You have deserted Chimena and all that is hers.”

“I was unwelcome, and I have learned it is unwise to remain in one place too long.” He stopped his pacing and faced Rotiger, and once again spoke to him in Byzantine Greek. “What do you think, old friend? Do we plan for a trap along the way?”

“It would be prudent,” said Rotiger. “You may have much to deal with when we reach this crag they speak of.”

“You are probably right,” Ragoczy Germainus agreed. “Well, let us plan to depart shortly before dawn.”

“How will we find this place? The villagers cannot be asked without rousing suspicion, and the Moors would not aid us at all. If we must find our way without any directions, we may become completely lost, and be unable to reach Chimena’s place or the road to Usca.” He seemed unworried but there was an edge in his voice that revealed his misgiving.