of the hilt. The shining metal suggested that Aunt Bieja had kept it polished over the years, but there was a thick coating of dust over the box it had been stored in, which indicated the contents had not been disturbed in a long time. The blade might bring a good price at market, but Magiere's thoughts began to run a different course from that night onward. It was a late spring night when she slipped out of the village, never once looking back.
There had to be something better in the world… something better than stepping outside each day to see faces filled with hatred, or people who pretended they didn't see her. She cared neither for her unknown past, nor any kind of future with such a wretched lot. Loneliness would be bearable if she were actually alone.
The following years had been hard, moving from town to town, working at anything to stay alive, and learning the things she wanted to know—how to fight, where to hunt for food, and how to turn coin from the foolish and unwary. There was little work for a young woman on the move, and she nearly starved to death twice. But she would not go home. She would never go back home.
Her hatred of superstition never faded. She became even more aware of how superstitious the people of the land were and how common from place to place. It was easy in the end to choose the specific things to exploit. Most of all, people feared the dark and death, and more so anything connected to both. The idea for "the game" didn't just come to her suddenly. It developed in stages as she began to realize she might make a living by playing on fear, the same kind of fear which had once ostracized her.
At first, she worked alone, convincing peasants that vampires were often spirit creatures that could be trapped and destroyed. The elaborate display of floating powders, fake charms and incantations made ignorant villagers actually believe she could trap undeads in the brass urn. She even worked out the trick of the dye in the wineskin, so that she could terrify her customers with sudden bleeding wounds as she wrestled with invisible attackers. In the areas she traveled, she would set up a place in one town for messages, usually a well-patronized tavern rife with gossip, where her exploits would be passed quickly on a wave of whispers. Outside just such a place was where she'd met Leesil for the first time. He was very good at what he did. So good, she really shouldn't have caught him.
Walking away from a tavern in the evening, she felt a sudden trembling itch at the small of her back run up her spine and into her head. The whole night around her appeared to come alive as her senses heightened, and she heard rather than felt the hand digging in the cloth sack over her shoulder. When she turned and snatched the wrist, ready to deal with this thief, there was complete surprise on his face—a strange, tan face with glittering amber eyes beneath high, thin blond eyebrows.
Magiere couldn't remember exactly what they said to ease out of that tense moment. Perhaps it had been a mutual recognition of their special talents. Leesil's unusual appearance mingled with the schemes in her thoughts. She'd never actually seen an elf before, as they were not known to travel and lived far to the north. The combination of his human and elven blood created an exotic look in face and form. They spent a wine-soaked evening of conversation, during which he took off his head scarf and allowed her to see his ears. The next morning, they left town together, along with a strange wolfish dog Leesil had with him. That was four years ago.
The fire cracked again. Chap lifted his head and whined, staring into the darkness.
"Stop it," Leesil slurred, halfway through his flask by this point. "There's nothing out there." He scratched the back of the dog's neck, and Chap turned to lick at his face until he had to push the animal's muzzle away.
Magiere leaned over and looked out into the forest. Chap didn't usually fuss about nothing, but still, he was a dog. More than likely he'd just heard a squirrel or a hare.
"I don't see anything," she said, and turned back to the fire. In the red light, she remembered the dimly lit common cottage and the two unexplainable