Duskfall (11 page)

“That’s the problem,” Knot muttered. Those with ventus blood were faster and stronger than any normal human, or tiellan for that matter. Vampires supposedly didn’t take well to sunlight, but he couldn’t be sure that was true. The day looked to be cloudy, the sun peeking through only on occasion. The girl kept her hood drawn over her face, hiding her in shadow. Knot made note of that. Until he found a weakness, he didn’t stand much of a chance against her—even with his own mysterious skills.

“At least tell me something about you,” Knot said after a pause. “You owe me that much.”

“Maybe. What do you want to know?”

“Your eyes glow at night. Right now they’re brighter than normal. But in daylight they’re dark. Why?”

Astrid shrugged. “I don’t know. They change with the light. The brighter it is, the less light they give. Far as the ‘why’ is concerned, I couldn’t tell you. Even immortals don’t know everything.”

“And…
you’re
an immortal?” The idea that this little girl walking beside him could live forever seemed ridiculous.

“I won’t die on my own, that’s for sure. But if someone tried hard enough…”

“Or you killed yourself,” Knot added, half hoping she’d take it as a challenge.

Astrid shook her head. “No. Any harm I do to myself is… negated.”

Knot wondered what she meant by that. But, sensing she was being more open than she had been since she joined him, he pressed onward.

“How old are you?”

Astrid touched his hand again, and threw her other arm across her forehead. Her voice dripped melodrama. “That’s why our relationship would never work. People would think it’s because you’re older than me, but we would know the truth. I’m two hundred years your senior; our love is doomed, Knot.”

Knot frowned.

“Seriously, who shat in your gruel?” Astrid muttered. “I don’t really know how old I am,” she said. “I remember the formation of the Parliament and the King Who Gave Up His Crown, and the end of the Thousand Years War. But before that things are difficult to piece together. Nameless faces, meaningless locations. Just shadows, really.”

I know the feeling.
Knot did the calculations in his head. “More than two hundred years my senior is about right.” If what she said was true, the girl had seen at least two hundred and fifty summers, probably more.

The road curved in the distance, with snowy hills rising up to either side. They had entered the beginnings of a sparse pine forest, the first major vegetation they’d encountered since leaving Cineste. He appreciated the difference in scenery. Traveling grew mighty dull. Same terrain, same routine, same food day after day could drive a man mad.

Knot tried to make his next question seem a logical progression of the conversation, but he knew his voice sounded strained. “You said someone
else
could kill you. How does that work?”

Astrid giggled; the childlike quality of the sound irked Knot. She truly seemed a little girl. “A bit too early in our relationship to be talking about that, don’t you think, love? We haven’t even told our parents.” She patted his arm. “Maybe one day, Knot. But that’s not something I’ll tell just any man off the street. Not something I’ll tell you right now.”

“Thought you said we had a connection.”

The girl grinned, her eyes widening, and she laughed.

Knot almost felt himself smile. The girl had an infectious humor, even if it was too much at times.
Most
times.

But the talk of courtship only made Knot think of Winter, and Knot couldn’t handle that. Not yet.

“As long as we’re getting to know each other,” Astrid said after a moment, “what did you do before being a… what was it you said you were? A fisherman?”

Knot clenched his jaw. Maybe there was nothing for it, now. Hiding the fact that he didn’t know anything certainly wasn’t doing him any favors. So he told her, about his memories—or the lack thereof. Bits and pieces and shades of things. How his body remembered, but his mind did not.

“Is that why you could take on an acumen and a telenic at the same time? Because of what your body remembers?”

Knot shrugged. “Guess so.”

“You’re a nomad,” Astrid said. “Like me. Some pair we make, eh? The vampire and the nomad. Can’t remember who we are. Won’t tell each other anything. Don’t trust one another. Some pair, indeed.”

They walked in silence for a while. After a few minutes Knot turned to check for signs of pursuit. Then he saw them.

He kept walking.

“We’re being followed,” he said quietly.

The girl nodded. “Four of them. Bandits.”

“How long have you known?”

She shrugged. “They watched from the trees for a while, then started following us when we came to the thicker part of the forest.”

She had known about them this whole time, and hadn’t thought it necessary to tell him. Knot would have to talk to her about that. For now, he looked around casually at the tall, dark-green trees surrounding them.

“You can handle yourself, in the daytime?” he asked her.

“Better than you,” she said. “But I’m
always
better in the dark.”

If she was as good as she said, there probably wasn’t much danger. Unless there were more than he had already counted. And they had bows.

“You might have to handle this one yourself, though,” Astrid said.

Knot gaped at her. It didn’t seem like a jest.

“Why would I handle it myself,” he asked, “when I have a perfectly good vampire?”

“That’s exactly why,” she said. “Vampires? Not common. If word spreads of a man traveling with a child vampire, I don’t think we’ll find much hospitality.”

“I’d rather be alive and not welcome than dead and… dead.”

“Such eloquence. I’ll do what I can, nomad. Just don’t cry to me when people are burning your dismembered carcass.”

Knot paused. Perhaps she was right. Just a bit.

“I’ll take the lead,” he said. “Same as before. You’re my daughter, and we’re traveling to… ah… to…”

“Brynne. Canta rising, you
do
have memory problems.”

“Whatever, darlin’. We’re traveling to Brynne. My cousin set up a job for me there. Cineste was growing too difficult.”

“Because of all the yucky elves,” she said, making a face.

Knot’s glare hardened, but he didn’t say anything. It would work with their story. “So,” he said, “any suggestions on how to confront them?”

“It’s too late for us to decide,” Astrid said, as three men stepped out of the trees onto the road ahead of them.

Knot cursed. That made seven, now. “Not sure you’ll have the option of sitting this one out,” he muttered.

“I can be subtle when I want to be, Father dear.”

Knot looked ahead at the three men. The man in the middle was huge, a head taller than Knot. The man on the right was probably just as heavy, but shorter. It was the man on the left, a few fingers shorter than Knot, with a scarred, pockmarked face, who might be a problem. The man’s eyes, a deep brown, were cold. Knot had seen this type before. This one wasn’t in the thieving business for money. He was in it for blood.

“Hello there,” bellowed the tall man in the middle. “We’re just humble thieves, looking for coin. What’ve you got?”

Knot remained silent.

“No one has a sense of deviousness anymore,” Astrid muttered. “I miss the days when you bantered with the people about to rob you.”

“Don’t have much,” Knot said. “Few coppers, a silver or two is all. Ain’t worth your time, sirs.”

“Coin is coin,” the tall man said, “and it’s always worth our time. But we welcome weapons, too, and clothing, and nice wool cloaks… like that one you got on there.” He nodded towards Knot.

“Heh.” The fat man on the right. “This one deserves to be robbed. What kind o’ man wears the warm cloak hisself and leaves his daughter in nothing but a ragged one?”

“Unless it ain’t his daughter,” the tall man said. “Perhaps he’s in the trading business, as it were. What d’you think, lads?”

Knot stepped forward. While the thought of Astrid being traded to anyone was enough to make him laugh, Knot thought of her as she appeared to the men. A little girl, not yet ten summers. Like the girl in his dream.

“She
is
my daughter,” he said coldly. “And I’d appreciate a kinder tone. She don’t like mean folk.”

The fat man hooted. “Got ourselves a cheeky one here, boys!”

“Look, friend,” the tall man said, “just give us the coin, and your cloak. Any weapons you may have. Then you and your
daughter
,” he said with a sneer, “can be on your merry way.”

Knot shook his head. He gripped the blackbark staff firmly.

“If it persuades you any, there’s four more of us behind you.”

Knot glanced over his shoulder, where the four other men stood. “Men” wasn’t accurate; one boy hardly seemed older than Astrid.

Knot held his breath. One carried a bow. Stupid of them to bring their bowman out in the open.

“Aye,” the tall man continued. “We really don’t want trouble.” He grinned, his teeth surprisingly straight, albeit a dirty yellow color. “Just your coin.”

“Knot,” Astrid whispered behind him, “now’s the time…”

Knot had already thrown his knife into the fat man’s throat.

The tall man roared, brandishing a large club that seemed hardly more sophisticated than a heavy tree branch. But the tall man would have to wait. Knot turned quickly, moving to the man with the bow.

The man, certainly younger than Winter, no more than nineteen summers, looked at Knot with wide eyes. Knot wondered whether the boy had ever seen real combat. Knot’s staff whipped across the top of the boy’s head with a crack, and he collapsed.

Knot turned, holding his ground, as the other two men in front of him advanced, the tall man in the lead. Knot twirled the staff in his hands. The blackbark whipped around him in a blur, circling from hand to hand, as easy as anything Knot had ever done.

He was showing off. Nothing wrong with that, though, sometimes showing off was the best thing you could do in a fight. The best thing in the beginning, anyway. And in this case, it was working. The men stopped, staring at his twirling staff.

“C’mon, lads,” the tall man said, “he’s just one man.”

“Watch my back,” Knot muttered to Astrid. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he shifted his weight. Then he attacked.

The staff blurred straight past the tall man’s club and connected with the bandit leader’s head with a loud crack. The man stumbled, attempting to swing at Knot, but missed completely. Before the man could recover, Knot’s staff cracked twice more against the man’s face. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed into the snow.

Knot felt the thrill of it, the rush of blood coursing through him. He’d chosen the staff because the bloodlust he’d felt whenever he’d killed was not something he wanted to cultivate. It was a lot harder to kill someone with a length of wood. But now, as the thrill rose inside of him, he wished he’d chosen a more effective weapon after all.

Someone grunted behind Knot. Knot looked over his shoulder to see Astrid dodge a grab and then smash her small fist into her attacker’s knee. The man screamed as his knee bent backwards beneath him. Astrid leapt on top of him, and the screaming stopped.

The snow crunched behind Knot, and he ducked under the swing of an axe. He lashed out with his staff but only clipped his assailant, who staggered directly into Astrid. The girl leapt into the air, twisting the man’s head around with a snap.

Knot rolled to the side to find himself face to face with the pockmarked man, rusty longsword drawn. The bandit swung, and Knot leaned to the side. The man swung again, and Knot leaned in the other direction, thrusting the butt of his staff towards the pockmarked man’s belly. The man parried, still smiling.

Before Knot realized what he was doing, or why, he stepped back, jabbing his elbow behind him and into another bandit’s nose with a
crunch
. No time to wonder how in Oblivion Knot knew the man was approaching. The bandit crumpled to the ground, and then Astrid was on him with a low growl.

Knot had killed the fat man with his dagger, and he suspected Astrid was killing every bandit she got her hands on. He hoped she hadn’t reached the boy. These people were desperate; that didn’t mean they deserved to die.

Or so part of him thought. Another part of Knot relished the flowing blood, both through his own veins and from his enemies. A part of Knot reveled in every kill and craved more.

Knot dodged another cut of the pockmarked man’s blade, spinning around and swinging his staff. It glanced off the man’s shoulder. The man attacked again, swing after swing coming down hard. Knot parried, trying to avoid the blade, but he was getting tired. He wouldn’t last much longer, and he wanted to avoid a direct blow to his staff—despite being made from blackbark wood, it wasn’t indestructible.

The pockmarked man was fast, but his footwork was off. He stepped forward when he should’ve stepped left; he stood his ground when he should have stepped back. Knot’s momentum flowed from each parry to the next, from each swing to each dodge. The bandit had training but lacked fluidity, discipline.

Knot’s staff finally jutted through the man’s attack, the blackbark rod ramming into the man’s throat. The man choked for a moment, and that was all the time Knot needed to finish. Before his opponent could recover, Knot had drawn his dagger and pierced him three times in the chest.

Knot turned. Standing before him, as if frozen in place by the cold, was the boy. Beside Knot, Astrid stood, someone groaning in the red snow beneath her. Then, the vampire advanced on the boy.

“Wait,” Knot said. Astrid stopped, turning.

Looking at the boy, Knot felt a twinge of regret that he had killed in front of this child. Knot wished he could have saved him from that. Such things didn’t belong in a head so young.

Nevertheless, there was work to be done.

“Boy,” Knot said. The boy remained still, staring. “
Boy
,” Knot said again, sharply. The boy flinched, and met Knot’s eyes for a moment. Then he looked away.

“Yessir?”

“Who was the leader here?”

The boy pointed, silently, at the pockmarked man.