Avador Book 2, Night Shadows (17 page)

So excited he thought he would burst, he dragged her over to a darkened shop entrance, away from the street lamp. He threw her down on the street, her head banging on the cobblestones, and pushed his tunic up. Thrashing in his hold, she tried to fight him, kicking him in the shins, but he held her fast. He thrust himself inside her, disappointed but not surprised that she wasn't a virgin. These homeless girls often had to trade their favors for any food or clothing they could get. He gloried in her struggles as he plunged himself inside her again and again, finding his release all too soon.

His hand still over her mouth, he fumed at the night's events–Fianna's snub of his advances and his fear that Gaderian Wade had warned her away from him for good. Damn the bastard! In furious reprisal, Stilo bit into the girl's throat and sucked, then kept on drinking until he knew there was little blood left, even while she struggled in his arms. Satiated, he dropped her lifeless body on the cobblestones and glanced every which way, making sure no one else walked the streets.

Seeing no one, he strode on, headed for his apartment, Fianna tormenting his mind the whole way. As difficult as the prospect was, he decided to stay away from the tavern and thus avoid the beautiful scryer. He would wait until the next moonphase before seeing her again, after he had revived himself at Magh Eamhainn. Even as he made the resolution, he wondered if he could keep it. She was a fire in his blood, a burning need in his gut.

At any rate, he had gained gratification this night, both sexual and corporeal. Not a bad night, after all.

* * *

Outside the deserted
village of Magh Eamhainn, Moreen trotted her horse to a stop and slid off the beast, then tied the reins to an oak branch. Forested hills surrounded her in all directions, the night air cool but clear, with moonlight pooling the ground. Tired and discouraged, she questioned her sanity in coming to this abandoned hamlet, for what would she find here that had eluded her in the other cities and villages she had visited? What secrets about the bandregas could this lonely place possibly reveal? She had heard tales about this isolated place, stories she discounted, about Magh Eamhainn being haunted, the mortals fearing to live here.

Still, she was performing this mission not for herself but for Gaderian and indeed, all the undead. Surely, if she could bring good news back with her, it would help in Gaderian's recovery. She worried about his sickness more than she wanted to admit, but hoped and prayed he'd be better when she returned to Moytura, especially if she had reliable news to give him about the bandregas. And if Fianna would only return his affection, she silently admitted, recognizing that his devotion and love for the mortal woman ran deep and unswerving. She sighed with regret, for the love she and Gaderian had once known, a love he now felt for another woman. But thinking of the past would not help her deal with the present, of the mystery she had to solve.

Her gaze covered the empty frame houses that squatted on their small plots of land, the huts decrepit with broken windows and hanging shutters that banged in the wind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a family of foxes that raced across the rutted lane and disappeared into the woods that bordered the hamlet. She glimpsed a well close by, where the forest ended and the village began. Overgrown weeds and tall grasses tossed in the wind, a wind that swept dirt along the road, getting in her eyes, making her cough. She asked herself again why she had come to this Goddessforsaken place. Obviously, no one lived here, yet she had vowed to cover as many villages as possible. 

The answer was the same, no matter where she went. "Bandregas! No such creatures in Avador. They left the country years ago, gone to Fomoria or Partholonia." More often than not, she got this additional refrain, "It's the vampires that are killing the mortals."

Now here she was, in this empty village of Magh Eamhainn, apparently deserted a long time ago. Well, she might as well leave and–

"They come here, you know."

Moreen swiveled around, scolding herself for getting caught unaware.

A lone man approached, a hermit by the looks of him, with a scraggly beard, long, stringy hair, and tattered clothes. Up close to her now, she saw he had an eye missing and one arm that ended at the elbow. He smelled of sweat and stale urine.

Quickly, she recovered, retreating a couple steps. "Who comes here?"

He gave her an odd look, as if to say part of her brain was missing. "Why, the bandregas, of course."

Her pulse raced. "How do you know about the bandregas?"

He shifted position, putting his weight on one foot. "Why, I seen 'em, naturally." He snickered. "Rest of the village left, a long time ago. Somethin' about the well water." He pointed, and she followed the direction of his finger. "You see that well over there? Years ago, one of the bandregas–the leader, I reckon–put somethin' in the water that made the people sicken and die–"

"But not you? You never drank from the well?"

"Nah, never did. I live in a cave," he said, nodding toward the hills that rose in the distance. "Never did drink from the well or mix with the villagers. They wouldn't have nothin' to do with me on account of my missing eye and bad arm. But sometimes I'd stand in the wood and watch these people–them that lived here before the bandregas. Within a few days, jist about all of them got sick and died. But some of them sur–sur–"

"Survived?"

"Yeah, survived. Don't know why. Mebbe they was stronger than the others, or didn't drink as much water as the others. Who knows? Anyways, them that didn't die packed up all their things and left for other villages and never came back, everyone sayin' the place is cursed."

"The bandregas. . ." she prompted.

"Well, that's what I'm tellin' you if you'll jist listen. Whatever is in the water that killed the people is like a magic elix–elix–"

"Elixir?"

"Yeah, that's it. The bandregas come here once every moonphase to drink from the well. They come at night, takin' lonely back roads, I reckon, one at a time.  I seen 'em sometimes, not all the time, mind you. But I been livin' in the cave for years and sometimes I come here at night, sometimes during the day, jist to see what I can filch from the houses. Those bandregas always come at night, lots of them lookin' like the demons they are, others lookin' weak, kinda bedraggled. They line up at the well–hundreds of 'em!–and drink from a dipper there. Within a little while–no more'n an hour, 'cause that's how long it takes for all of 'em to drink, they look handsome, the best lookin' people you ever saw."

"Men and women?" Moreen asked.

"Sure, both. Children, too."

Moreen nodded, scarcely able to hide her exhilaration. Just wait 'til she told Gaderian this news. She couldn't get back to Moytura fast enough.

"Oh, and one more thing–"

"Yes?"

The hermit turned and spat. "Last time they come, their leader–I think his name is Kane–handed out rings to the men and women, like the rings was somethin' special, magic or somethin'."

She digested this information, wondering at its significance. What magical function did the rings serve?

"Sir, you–"

"Dyfed's the name, ma'am."

"Dyfed, I can't thank you enough for all you've told me." She rummaged in her pocket for a gold piece. "Please take this, use it for–"

"Nah." He waved his hand. "I ain't got no use fer a gold piece. Where would I spend it? I'm happy livin' alone in my cave." He squinted his one eye at her. "But tell me, how come all these questions about the bandregas?"

"Well . . .a friend and I suspect they are doing evil things to the people of this country, killing them, mainly in the capital. We must thwart them, ensure that they kill no more." And kill them, she vowed, but would not say. "So they come here every moonphase? When, do you know? Beginning, middle, end?"

He shrugged. "How should I know? Time means nothin' to me. I only knows they come here every moonphase.  I count the days between the visits."

She was getting closer to solving the puzzle, the question of when. "How many days has it been since they last came?" She held her breath.

He scratched his crotch. "Lemme think. Musta been more'n twenty."

More than twenty! Not much time left.  She placed her hand on his shoulder, wishing she could give him something to express her gratitude, at the same time anxious to return to Moytura. "Dyfed, you have helped me so much, more than I can ever say. If there is anything I can do for you–"

"Nah, ain't nothin' I want, 'cept my other eye and the rest of my arm. And I reckon you can't give 'em to me."

"Believe me, I would if I could. I thank you, Dyfed, from the bottom of my heart. Goodnight to you, and may the Goddess watch over you."

After Dyfed plodded away, she untied the mare's reins and led the horse toward the well. There, she saw it was well-constructed, lined with brick, a dipper and bucket resting on the ground beside it. It stood about four feet from the ground and maybe the same distance across. She stood in silent contemplation and stared down into the well, her keen night vision enabling her to see the water, as clear as if it were daylight. She sniffed, trying to catch a smell, but found the water odorless.

She mounted the horse and headed for Moytura, ecstatic with her news but too well aware

that she and Gaderian–all the undead—were running out of time.

Chapter Fifteen

Clad in her cotton nightgown, her long hair hanging loose, Fianna knelt to draw her blanket back, then sank onto her pallet. Business being slow this night, she had gone to bed early. She pulled the blanket up and stretched her legs out while countless anxieties raced through her head. Anxieties, yes, Gaderian! He haunted her, taunted her, a thousand tormenting memories. Out in the dining room, an occasional bark of laughter broke the night's silence, but for the most part, quiet had settled over the tavern. Anyway, she was used to the noise by now and had always been a sound sleeper.

She wondered if she had fooled Stilo with her pretense of love. A clever man was Stilo, not easily deceived. So what if she hadn't fooled him, what could he do? She didn't want to find out. Just stay out of his way.

And, ah, Gaderian.  He had to get better, and soon!  She'd learned that vampires were immortal, once she realized that the undead really did exist. Only a stake through the heart killed them, and even that often failed if it did not reach the center of the heart, in which case burning completed the gruesome task. If Gaderian recovered from his illness–and oh, how she prayed he would–she could never wish that fate on him. But if he killed humans? She shook her head vigorously, too confused to think clearly.

In the pitch blackness of night, she turned over on her side, trying to find a comfortable position. Face it, she loved him, no use denying it. She loved him for his goodness, for his consideration of her, for always being there to help her. She pictured his slow smile, heard his deep voice, felt his fingers on her skin. But her love for him would lead her nowhere. Gaderian was holed up in the farthest reaches of a cavern, in a location she could never find.  Why had she treated him so shabbily on her last visit, when Moreen had come for her?  If she traveled to the cave, could she find him on her own? Not likely; she might get lost and never find her way out.

Her eyes closed, and visions filled her head, of Gaderian and their time together in the meadow so long ago, their caresses, kisses. Ah, to live that time over again, to see him once more . . .

A tap on the door jerked her from her daydreaming. She pushed herself upright, wondering if she had only imagined the sound. A second tap brought her to her feet, and she padded to the door, shivering in the nighttime chill.

She brushed her long flow of hair back. "Who is it?" she asked in a loud whisper.

"Moreen. Please let me in. I have to talk to you."

Gaderian! Something had happened to him.

Pressing her hand to her thudding heart, Fianna opened the door, stunned beyond words to see the vampiress again, here in the tavern, in the darkest hour of night. No, not surprising to see her now, since the undead lived by night and shunned the light of day.

Moreen stepped inside, as lovely as ever with her silvery hair, her regal figure and curvaceous curves, her face shrouded in darkness. She smiled. "Give me credit for a little courtesy. I didn't want to shock you by sliding through your door, something I can do."

Ah, yes, vampires had powers that mortals couldn't conceive, but how was Moreen's presence related to Gaderian? Or was it? "How did you know which room is mine?"

"Not difficult. I caught your lilac scent. But we are wasting time. Gaderian wants to see you again. It would make him very happy. Please throw a dress on and come with me. I have two horses waiting at the stable, the same ones we used last time."

"Gaderian," Fianna murmured, afraid to ask. "How is he?" Her heart skipped a beat. She held her breath.

"Very sick. The bandrega caught him at his most vulnerable, when he was hungry and fatigued after a long ride. Please, enough talk, let's go."

"Yes!" Fianna's heart raced as she wrenched her dresser drawer open and grabbed a woolen dress, then slipped it over her nightgown. She threw a woolen cloak around her shoulders and tied it at the throat. Not knowing how long she would be with Gaderian, she drew a honey cake and an apple from her drawer, wrapped in a linen cloth that she had saved from lunch, and tied the ends together. Seizing the key on top of her dresser, she dropped it in her pocket and motioned for Moreen to go ahead. She closed and locked the door behind her, pocketing the key as always. In the dining room, the few patrons left gave her a surprised look upon seeing her departure now, coupled with admiring glances for the vampiress.