Dhampir - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,101

images from his mind.

He saw her as a killer, an invader. But she knew what he was.

Monster, she thought again, raising the falchion to strike.

His name didn't matter. His head sliced from his shoulders—that mattered. She was strong, so strong… and fast. Her mouth ached, and she couldn't speak.

A shriek sounded in her ears and weight collided with her back and shoulders. Strong, thin arms wrapped around her neck as the wailing voice in her ears turned to a pain-filled scream. Smoke rose around her head, obscuring her vision.

Magiere thrashed backward with her elbow, connecting with a soft torso, and was answered with the pleasing sensation of bones snapping inside flesh. As the arms released, Magiere whirled and slammed her sword hilt at whoever had grabbed her, not even aware if the blow had connected. She only saw billowing red fabric obscured in trails of smoke, and chopped hard at it with the falchion. The blade connected, but she didn't stop to look at her target and turned her head.

Rashed's sword arced down at her. Magiere twisted on instinct, trying to move out of the way.

A crossbow quarrel suddenly sprouted from Rashed's stomach and the path of his blade changed slightly. It passed close by her shoulder and swept outward away from her.

Magiere felt the hate rise up in her like burning elation. She spun back, her sword arm coming up, blade arcing over her head to come down on her prey.

The monster reversed his swing before she'd finished turning.

She felt surprise more than pain as the tip flashed out of sight just below her jaw. Hate and strength spilled out of her at the dull sting in her throat. Wet warmth ran down her body inside her vestment.

Dropping to her knees, she released the stake and grasped her throat. The same warmth ran between her fingers from the side of her neck.

Rashed staggered back one step, pulled the smoking quarrel from his body, then moved forward again, his lips curled in a sneer.

* * *

Leesil dropped his gaze long enough to pull another quarrel from its holding place below the crossbow's stock. He couldn't afford to step between those two in their maddened state without being cut down by one or the other, so he readied for another shot. It might not kill the nobleman, but it could slow him enough for Magiere to take the advantage. Fitting it in place, he raised his eyes again as he pulled on the bow string.

Magiere knelt on the ground, hand to her neck. Her face was no longer twisted in rage; rather her brow wrinkled in confusion, eyes wide. Her fingers were already dark with blood.

"Chap!" Leesil screamed, not even looking to see if the dog was free of his opponent. "Chap, here, get him!"

The nobleman pulled the quarrel from his stomach much in the same manner Leesil had seen Ratboy do on the road to Miiska. Chap rushed by Leesil in a blur. The dog's feet struck the ground only twice before he closed enough to launch himself at the nobleman.

As Leesil turned away, he heard rather than saw Chap connect with the nobleman—snarls, the clattering of metal as a sword tumbled to the ground, followed by a half-intelligible scream of anger. He focused his attention on Ratboy.

Blackened and bleeding, the small undead battered out the last flames from his shabby clothing where Brenden's torch had struck. Brenden was already charging with the longer of his garlic-soaked stakes in both hands. The blacksmith dropped his full weight down onto his smaller opponent and drove the stake through Ratboy's chest.

Ratboy's mouth snapped open to scream, but no sound came out. The undead did not fall limp, or die. He thrashed, striking at Brenden's head and shoulders with one hand while trying to grasp the stake with the other. Even with his size, it was all Brenden could do to keep his small opponent pinned to the ground.

"You missed the heart," Leesil shouted. Then he whispered, "We're going to die… We're going to lose this… Magiere!"

Everything was falling apart around him. He could grab the falchion and try finishing Ratboy—or the nobleman with Chap's help—but he didn't see how he could get both of them quickly enough. He'd never trained to use a sword. It was not his kind of weapon. And even if he were that lucky, Magiere could die before he got to her.

Leesil reached into his bag, pulled out an oil flask, and smashed it against Ratboy's broken coffin.