But no such comforting reflections came to him now. Rather, Tammith's absence filled him with foreboding.
He told himself his anxiety was absurd. Tammith was a nocturnal creature. It made sense that she'd grow restless simply lying next to him after he fell asleep.
Still, his instincts told him to find her. He pulled on his clothes, buckled on his weapons, and plucked a tuft of bloodhound fur from one of the pockets sewn into his sword belt. He swept it through an arcane pass, sang a charm, then turned in a circle.
The magic gave him a sort of painless twinge when he was facing southwest. If she was in that direction, it meant she'd left the inn. He did likewise, striding through the rows of legionnaires snoring in the common room.
Selыne had already forsaken the sky, clouds masked the stars, and the streets were all but lightless. Bareris crooned a second spell to give himself owl eyes. Yet even so, at first all he saw was a man in ragged clothing, a beggar, most likely, sprinting. Then a shadow pounced on the fellow from above, dashing him to the ground. When the dark figure lifted its head and its black tresses parted to reveal its alabaster face, Bareris saw that it was Tammith. At once she skittered back up the side of a building like a spider. The beggar peered wildly around, but failed to spot her, and, judging by appearances, he had only the vaguest idea of what was happening to him. Shaking, whimpering, he climbed to his feet and ran again. Tammith crawled above him, keeping pace.
"Stop!" Bareris shouted. "Leave him alone!"
Tammith leaped down on the beggar and grappled him from behind. He tried to tear himself free, and she dug her slim white fingers into him until the pain paralyzed him. She peered at Bareris over her captive's shoulder. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"You shouldn't hurt him," Bareris said. "He's a subject of the zulkirs, not one of Szass Tam's rebels."
"He's a Rashemi pauper, and I'm a captain in the council's legions. I can do anything I want to him, and no one will care."
He knew she was right, but it was ghastly to see her this way. "You started out as a Rashemi pauper, and you've endured mistreatment in your time."
She laughed, exposing her extended fangs. "All the more reason to make sure that from now on, I'm the snake and not the rabbit."
He gazed into her dark yet chatoyant eyes. "Please. As a kindness to me, let the poor man go."
She glared, then shoved the man away. He staggered, caught his balance, and bolted.
"Thank you." Bareris walked toward her. "If you need blood, you're welcome to more of mine." His throat tingled in anticipation.
"No. It wouldn't be safe. In fact, you shouldn't come any closer or touch me."
He kept walking. "You won't hurt me. But if you don't want to drink from me, use one of the prisoners."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. It's not that I'm thirsty. I want to hunt."
Apparently, he thought, that involved playing with her prey like a cat with a mouse, and murdering the unfortunate wretch at the end of it, but he kept the observation to himself. He didn't want to reproach her and feed the shame he sensed seething inside her. "We'll be fighting soon. Then you'll have plenty of people to kill."
"The problem is that I want to kill."
"It's not a problem for me. We acknowledged that we've both changed, but we also agreed we can still love one another."
"You believe that because you don't truly comprehend. You imagine that at bottom, I'm still the same girl you loved when we were young. The bloodthirst is like a fever that recurs from time to time, and can be managed when it does. But the vampire is my true self. Everything that reminds you of times past, everything human, is just a surface, like glaze on a pot. That's why, when Aoth was in danger, I couldn't find it in myself to care, even though he's your friend. I need to go away before I hurt you."
"No." He took her hand. She shuddered, but didn't jerk it away. "The fact that you don't want to harm me shows who you really are."
"What I really am is dead. We so-called undead feel the weight of that truth every moment of our existence, no matter how much blood we drink or how frantically we mimic the passions and ambitions of the living to convince ourselves otherwise."
"Not dead-merely changed, and after the war, we'll scour all Faerыn to find a way to change you back. For all we know, the answer is waiting for us in one of Szass Tam's grimoires. Anyway, no matter how long it takes, I'll stay with you and help you govern your urges, and you won't ever turn on me. We'll be together and we'll be happy."
She sobbed and threw her arms around him. "I'm going to be the death of you."
He stroked her hair. "I know better."
Murmuring words of power, Dmitra formed a huge griffon, its fur scarlet and its feathers a gleaming copper, out of magic and imagination. It was a compliment to the riders who would escort her aloft, and no one could deny they deserved it. The Griffon Legion had fought valiantly for ten years, as the depletion of its ranks and the lean, haggard faces of the survivors attested.
Because wizardry had grown fickle, the spell began to warp. The transparent, partially materialized griffon grew deformed, one leg and one wing shortening to stubs, a fecal stink filled the air, and Dmitra felt the sudden imbalance of forces like the throb of a toothache.
She chanted more vehemently, demanding that the cosmos bow to her will. The red griffon flowed back into the shape she intended, became opaque, and started moving. It shook out its wings and the feathers rustled.
Dmitra swung herself onto its back and it sprang into the air. Her bodyguard followed her skyward.
For a pleasant change, the heavens were mostly blue and the sun was shining. The Third Escarpment towered to the west, with the gray walls and turrets of Thralgard Keep guarding the summit and the road switchbacking its way down the crags. Some of Szass Tam's troops-living orcs and zombies, most likely, creatures that could bear daylight even if they disliked it-had begun the lengthy descent.
To the south, the force from the Keep of Sorrows stood in its battle lines. The council had arranged its infantry in what amounted to a three-sided box, with one side facing the bottom of the zigzagging road, one opposing the enemy on the plain, and the third placed to prevent the warriors from the keep from flanking them. Reserves-horsemen, mostly-waited inside the box to rush where they were needed.
Dmitra looked over at Aoth Fezim. Employing a petty charm that would enable them to talk without strain despite the space separating them, she asked, "What do you think?"
Aoth hesitated. "Well, Your Omnipotence, we can be glad of a couple things. We reached the bottom of the road and got ourselves in formation before the necromancers actually did come down, and before the troops from the Keep of Sorrows got here to claim the ground ahead of us. Also, it's still a decent field for fighting. No blue fire has washed through to carve it into ridges and chasms."
"What are you not glad about?" she asked.
"Ideally, you never want the foe coming at you from two directions at once." Aoth stroked the feathers on his griffon's neck. "Also, as the warriors from High Thay come down the road, they'll be like men on the battlements of a castle. They'll have the advantage of height, and rain arrows and magic down on us."