Secrets of the Night Special Edition (16 page)

Sunlight flooded Fianna's room as she awoke the following morning. A hint of disorientation teased her mind, a disquiet she thrust aside, too well aware a remnant of Stilo's enchantment remained within her. With all her resolve, she threw off his enscorcellement as she slipped off her nightgown, and tossed his bewitchment aside on the ash heap of failed endeavors.

And Gaderian? The question lurked at the edge of her consciousness, like a sore that wouldn't go away.  She could never love nor marry a vampire, a man who killed others for sustenance.  She wondered if she had the nerve to apprize the authorities of Gaderian's vampirism. Could she do that to him, mindful that he would suffer a stake through the heart and possibly public burning? Revulsion at the prospect of his cruel death grappled with the knowledge that vampires killed mortals by sucking all the blood from their bodies. Let the vampires be captured and die, then. They deserved it.

She stared at herself in the mirror on the wall, as if seeing herself for the first time. Who was she, and what did she want from life? First thing, she wanted independence, what she had sought since leaving home and had found here in Moytura. Besides that, she wanted stability, to settle down and stay in one place. As always, memories of her mother and brother taunted her, a torment that never ceased. A sob caught in her throat, a desperate wish to leave the capital and return home, to see her mother and visit her brother in
Sligo
. Would she ever see them again? No, not while Angus Kendall remained a menace, a hateful interference in her life.

She turned away, aware she had much to do this day and little time in which to accomplish her errands before her workday began. For one thing, she intended to pick up a dress at a shop on Vernunna's Alley. Now that cooler weather had arrived, she'd need warmer clothes, and the seamstress at the dress shop had told her the frock would be ready today. One dress was all she could afford now.

If she still had time, she thought as she splashed water on her face and hands at her basin, she intended to visit Moytura's Treasury of Knowledge to check out one or two books. She enjoyed reading and indulged in that pleasurable pastime in her few spare moments. She combed her hair with her silver comb and tied the locks back with a green silk ribbon. Finished dressing, she headed for the main dining room.

As usual at this time of day, most of the tables in the dining room stood empty. Business at the Snow Leopard rarely picked up until late afternoon or early evening, when most laborers completed their day's work, the exception being special fair days and festivals, when customers crowded the tavern. Faint sunlight penetrated the stained glass windows, leaving the room in semi-darkness, but Cedric never lit the oil lamps until darkness had fallen, wanting to save on oil. After an exchange of friendly words, the waitress brought her a bowl of brose–boiled milk poured over barley mill, and flavored with honey. Fianna dipped her spoon into the brose but found it too hot. The tempting scent of cinnamon rose from her mug of steaming tea as she took a tentative sip of the spicy brew. Finding the tea too hot, too, she sat and waited a few moments for the tea and brose to cool a little. She attempted her cereal again and found it just right, neither too hot nor too cold. She finished the brose and drained her tea, noting that the room had brightened a little since she'd sat down.

Done with her breakfast, Fianna pushed her chair back and left the tavern. Outside, the sun shone brightly although remnants of last night's rain puddled on the cobblestones. Stepping over the puddles, she made her way to the shop on Vernunna's Alley, a short walk from the tavern, along the twisted streets and alleys. Centuries ago, when the city had been constructed, foreign invasions were taken into account. Thus the city was built with a pattern of convoluted streets, to discourage invaders.

Even though the shops were located in one of the seedier sections of the city, she didn't worry about going there at this hour of the morning. At night, well, that was a different story. Word was that Queen Keriam wanted to clean up this part of the city, but the landlords refused to pay the taxes necessary for the rejuvenation.

She loved this time of year when the heat of summer gave way to the cooler air of autumn, and the leaves changed from green to orange, gold, and red.

Along the narrow alley, she passed a second-hand bookstore, a candle shop, and a store that sold nothing but men's under-tunics, but there were no trees, no bushes, nothing to add beauty to the street. She noticed that most of the shops were opening now, men raising the awnings, others mopping the cobblestones in front of their shops from buckets of soapy water, as if to compensate for the stores' location in such a derelict area. Two cats snarled over a scrap of garbage, a mangy dog trotting along the avenue.

Looking ahead, she saw–a pile of rags? No! A man languished on the street a few yards away. A vagrant, no doubt, a man who'd passed out after one drink too many. Afraid her guess might be wrong, and that he was dead, she warily approached the body on the street. She wondered why the shop owners had not checked on the man but assumed they were used to seeing drunks here in this alley. She knelt beside him and sniffed but didn't catch the smell of liquor. The man lay still, so still, no rise and fall of his chest. Her heartbeat quickened, her fear intensifying. Goddess! He couldn't be dead. And look at his skin–so white, as if all the blood had been drained from his body. Gingerly, she shook his shoulders but got no response. And he was cold, so cold. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. The street tilted around her.

She waited several moments for her dizziness to pass, then rose on shaky legs. Trudging back the way she had come, she searched for one of the city's sentries to report the dead man.

After that, she would go to the magistrate's office to report Gaderian.

* * *

Leaving the
village
of
Tir Conaill
far behind, Gaderian headed back to Moytura, approaching the
Nantosuelta
River
. Oaks, pines, and hemlocks lined both riverbanks, a pleasant, piney aroma filling the air. Clouds hid the moon and stars, and a strong northerly wind sent tree branches thrashing. He reached a bridge that spanned the river, the horse's hooves clattering over the wooden boards, then onto the hard ground again. For too long, he had been away from the capital, away from Fianna. He had yet to discover the bandregas' secret, what gave them their ability to look human, their skill in practicing black magic. He knew from centuries past that a tribe of bandregas had inhabited a village close to Tir Conaill, this at a time when they had remained genuine demons, before they had developed the ability to assume human form. Other such hamlets existed in Avador, when the demons had been banished from mortal centers. Yet he had found these old villages empty of habitation, human or demons. The knowledge that Moreen was searching for the bandregas' secret gave him a glimmer of hope that between the two of them, they were bound to discover a clue. He considered enlisting the help of others among the undead, but decided against it. Too many of them talked loosely, revealing secrets, and quite possibly word would reach the bandregas that the vampires searched to discover their secrets.

Hunger gnawed at him, a burning, tormenting need. The craving weakened him, but he dared not stop. He must see Fianna again, ensure that she was safe. As a cloud slid away from the moon, he looked up at the sky and guessed the time, mindful that Fianna would soon end her work day. Surely Stilo wouldn't attempt seduction of this dear woman again. Surely he had learned his lesson.

Tempted to stop by his home on the outskirts of the city, he decided against it.  He must see Fianna again. And he must feed.

The spires of the city's temples came into view as he cantered down a rocky, woodsy hill, the city's streets and edifices laid out before him, as clear as daylight. The
Gorm
Forest
loomed to the north, a vast area of pines and hemlocks.

A recent rain slicked the city's cobblestones, the streets devoid of people. He slowed his horse to a walk as he approached one of the city's stables. The smell of horses and fresh hay floated up his nostrils as he entered the structure, most of the animals asleep while standing. After giving instructions to the stable boy, Gaderian walked on, headed for the Snow Leopard. He glanced all around him and saw no one, just frame apartment houses and a few cheap shops, their windows closed and shuttered.

His hunger intensified, his weakness slowing his steps. He had to feed–now! He needed to find someone—

A man stepped out from the shadows and grabbed him from behind. A bite on his neck, a sizzling pain like acid, sent him falling. The world spun around him.

With his last bit of strength, he looked up to see his assailant. He gasped as he saw wolf-like features and furry hands.

A bandrega!

Chapter Thirteen

"Gaderian has been asking for you." A woman stood in the doorway of Fianna's scrying room, looking worried. Her voice–so familiar! Ah, yes, the woman she'd heard talking to Gaderian. Fianna kept silent, allowing herself time to think. Why was Gaderian asking for her? And why did it hurt so much to see this other woman, his lover? She wished she could drive him from her mind, this man who haunted her dreams and teased every waking hour.

"Madam?" She strode into the room, a beautiful woman with silvery hair, a black velvet dress hugging her curvaceous body. No wonder Gaderian loved her.

Fianna forced herself to speak. "Gaderian? And who are you?"

The woman sat down across from her. "Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Moreen, and I'm a friend of Gaderian's."

More than a friend, oh, so much more. Fianna shook her head, an indefinable haziness hindering her ability to think clearly, Stilo's allurement she thought she had conquered.. A plethora of emotions fused inside her head, Gaderian's betrayal foremost. He was a vampire, a fact he had never revealed to her. But why should Gaderian's affection for this woman matter to her now? He was one of the undead, out of her life forever. If Gaderian was the enemy, why did her heart beat faster at the mere mention of his name?

Moreen leaned forward, looking increasingly worried. Her low decolletage revealed full breasts. "Gaderian is very sick. He wants so much to see you." Her nails were beautifully manicured, shining silver in the dim light, to match her hair.

"Sick?" Fianna didn't know vampires suffered illnesses. Yesterday returned in full force, the dead man on the street, her report to the city sentry. She'd headed for the magistrate's office to inform on Gaderian, but at the last moment, she couldn't go through with it, and why, she didn't know. Did she still love Gaderian, this man who had betrayed her? You can't just turn love on and off; that much she knew. She folded her hands on the table and forced herself to speak calmly. "What illness does he suffer from? And where is he?"

"Last question first. He has taken shelter in a cave–"

"A cave!" The same cavern in which she had first met him?

"I'll let him tell you why he chose a cave to take refuge in. And he can explain his illness." Moreen stood. "Come, we are wasting time. I've hired two horses at the stable, healthy mares. You must come with me. Believe me, he is quite ill. I'll let him explain everything to you. But please, we must hurry." She hesitated. "You do ride, don't you?"

"For years, since I was a child." More worried by the minute, she pushed her chair back and stood. "Give me but a few moments to tend to matters here."

Leaving Moreen, Fianna headed for her room, there to return her mirror and money box to her dresser. She grabbed a woolen shawl from a drawer and tied it across her chest, then left the room, locking the door behind her and pocketing the key. At the tavern counter, she spoke a few words with Noel, the man who took Cedric's place at night, explaining that an emergency had arisen, a very sick friend. Noel gave his reluctant permission but advised he expected her to work a full day on the morrow.

A short walk on the rain-swept cobblestones, past the other inns and taverns and an occasional shop, took Moreen and Fianna to a spacious stone stable with a few small windows. The aroma of fresh hay and horses permeated the air. Recognizing Moreen, the stable boy led the mares out, two fine-looking animals already saddled and bridled.  From the mounting block, they mounted their horses and the boy adjusted the stirrups, then they rode away under an overcast sky, past the shops and warehouses on the southern edge of the city. Thunder rumbled in the west, a thick bank of clouds blocking the moon and stars. Along the way, they passed the mansions of the wealthy, these three-story structures of stone and brick with their spacious lawns and beautiful greenery.

First trotting the mares, they increased their speed after leaving the capital, then galloped the rest of the distance. Her hair whipped behind her, the wind against her face. Fianna felt the horse's muscles bunching beneath her, its mane flying back. How good it was to be riding again, although she lamented the reason for the journey. They splashed over mud puddles as they ascended rock-strewn hills and descended into deep valleys, the horses' hooves pounding on the ground as they covered miles. Oak trees and earthberry bushes lined both sides of the dirt road; a fresh, woodsy scent filled the air. Here and there cottages nestled on small plots of land, and sometimes large farms commanded acres rich with crops ready for harvest. A owl hooted from a tree, and foxes took refuge among bushes at their approach.