Sister of the Dead Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  * * *

  PART VAMPIRE. PART HUMAN. PERFECT HUNTER.

  The Noble Dead saga continues as Magiere and Leesil,

  the slayers of the undead from Dhampir and Thief of Lives,

  embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of their mysterious

  origins—and those responsible for orchestrating the

  events that brought them together....

  Magiere is a dhampir—half human, half vampire—sired for the purpose of slaying the undead. Outside the village of Chemestuk, where she was born and raised, stands her father's keep. Within its walls, she hopes to discover the secrets of her past and figure out why a vampire would wish to breed a creature capable of slaughtering his own kind....

  But there are those who don't want Magiere to learn the truth— and when her half-elf partner, Leesil, makes a startling discovery in the keep, he can understand why. Before Leesil can reveal the truth to Magiere, they must vanquish a creature of unimaginable and unlimited power who has damned a small village of people with a horrifying curse....

  PRAISE FOR DHAMPIR AND THIEF OF LIVES

  "Fabulous entertainment wrought with mystery, adventure, and sharp-toothed wit. "

  —Mark Anthony, Author of Beyond the Pale

  "Action-packed. "—Midwest Book Review

  * * *

  Praise for the Hendees' Novels of the Noble Dead

  Thief of Lives

  "Readers will turn the pages of this satisfying medieval thriller with gusto. "

  —Booklist

  "Fans of Anita Blake will enjoy this novel. The characters are cleverly drawn so that the several supernatural species that play key roles in the plot seem natural and real.... Supernatural fantasy readers will enjoy this action-packed strong tale be cause vampires, sorcerers, dhampirs, elves, fey-canines, and other ilk seem real. "

  —Midwest Book Review

  "Thief of Lives takes the whole vampire slayer mythos and moves into an entirely new setting. The world the Hendees create is... a mixture of pre-Victorian with a small slice of eastern Europe flavor.... Magiere and Leesil are a really captivating pair.... [The Hendees] handle the ideas and conventions inherent in vampires really well. While, thanks to the clever setting and characters, they make it feel like a very different twist on the subject. "

  —SF Site

  "A great fantasy adventure, an intriguing mystery, and a chilling gothic tale, weaving a complicated but ever-alluring literary fabric. If anything, this one was even better than [Dhampir], which is no small feat. "

  —Sequential Tart

  Dhampir

  "Dhampir maintains a high level of excitement through interesting characters, both heroes and villains, colliding in well-written action scenes. Instead of overloading us with their world-building and the maps and glossaries typical of so much fantasy, the Hendees provide well-rounded characters that go a lot further than maps in making a lively fantasy world. "

  —The Denver Post

  "Take Anita Blake, vampire hunter, and drop her into a standard fantasy world and you might end up with something like this exciting first novel.... A well conceived imagined world, some nasty villains, and a very engaging hero move this one into the winner's column. "

  —Chronicle

  "This Buffy-like story in a medieval setting won't disappoint vampire aficionados. "

  —Booklist

  "Barb and J. C. Hendee have written a refreshingly innovative horror novel... The plot is meaty and juicy with unexpected turns so that readers are anticipating the next surprise. "

  —Midwest Book Review

  "With its complex heroes, refreshingly multifaceted villains, and carefully choreographed fight scenes, this novel opened a broad new world. Well done. "

  —Mindy L. Klasky

  'This Buffy-in-medieval-Transylvania novel is fast moving and fun. "

  —Kliatt

  "An altogether compelling and moving work... these are characters and a world worthy of exploration. "

  —Brian Hodge, Hellnotes

  "A rollicking good romp, it's Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust meets Anita Blake meets The Vampire Lestat in a realm reminiscent of Dungeons and Dragons... The Hendees have taken the best of vampire pop-culture and given it new un-life. "

  —Sequential Tart

  * * *

  Don't miss the exciting beginning of Magiere, Leesil, and Chap's adventures in

  Dhampir

  Thief of Lives

  * * *

  A ROC BOOK

  * * *

  Pronunciation Guide

  All non-English languages are presented with a shared set of English letters, characters, and marks for a common standard in pronunciation. There are no silent letters; all letters are pronounced. All vowels are generally in the English "short" manner, though exceptions not noted do exist. At first, languages may appear similar in print. The table below explains the more basic rules of pronunciation, and by sound and syntax, you will note the differing flavor of individual languages.

  Grave Accent: An English standard "short" vowel, but its voiced duration is short, as well. It is little more than a way to shape the transition between surrounding letters. Example: i = i (nearly unvoiced) as in bit.

  Acute Accent: An English standard "short" vowel in most cases, but the voiced duration is elongated. Example: a = a in ban (slightly longer).

  Umlaut: An English standard "short" vowel of standard duration, but with the back of the throat open, producing a wider or deeper sound. Example: ai = a in father.

  Circumflex: An English "long" vowel of standard duration most often followed by a short i as a diphthong. Example: a = ai in rain.

  Apostrophe: ' Indicates a brief pause in voiced pronunciation, similar to a brief catch of air or voicing before continuing. Sometimes used to clarify syllabic separation in complex words.

  Hyphen: - As for English, it occurs in compound words or for the use of a specialized prefix or suffix, as well as showing correct syllabic separation when the hyphenated term is pronounced as one word.

  hk: In the Suman language (Sumanese), pronounced as represented in a "breathy" manner. In Belaskian, it is more quick and sharp. In Elvish, it is the ch in the Gaelic word loch. However, the sounds are similar, and any will do for basic reading.

  chk: Occurs mostly in Elvish and Dwarvish. At the end of word, it is pronounced as written. Similar to the ending of the word latched, where the e is unpronounced and the d becomes a k. When it appears midword, it is a syllabic separation; the ch ends the previous syllable and the kbegins the following syllable.

  * * *

  * * *

  This one is for our parents... with appreciation.

  * * *

  Prologue

  Amber light spread across the dirt floor from a fireplace embedded in the cottage's sod-and-timber wall. It barely illuminated a rough table and stools, two low beds with patchwork quilts, and other hand-me-down fixtures so old, no one remembered whose father's father or mother's mother had first acquired them. And on the tail of nightfall, a tall and black-haired woman in her twentieth year lit but one candle upon the table, for even that was a luxu
ry.

  She was straight-boned, with deep brown eyes beneath eyebrows that arched high, and strands of hair escaped her long braid. Beneath her wool coat, she wore an age-stained apron covering a blue dress. She swung a cook pot out from the fire on its iron arm so the stew wouldn't burn, then stepped to the cottage's one front window. Brushing aside burlap curtains, she cracked the shutter to peer anxiously up the village path.

  Few villagers moved among the huddled huts, carrying in firewood or heading for the common well, buckets in hand. She closed the shutter, let the curtain fall into place, and returned to the table to set out two clay bowls and wooden spoons. From the shelves she gathered a cloth-wrapped bundle and a knife, then settled upon a stool. She unwrapped a loaf of rye bread to cut away the dried end. There was nothing more to do, and she watched the fire's flames recede.

  When the knock came, she sighed in relief.

  Before she stepped to the door, a hollow voice growled from outside. "Enough pleasantries!"

  The crack of shattering wood filled the small hut as the door slammed inward. Its top leather hinge broke away, and splinters skittered across the dirt floor. She backed into the table, nearly tripping over a stool.

  Three shadowed figures stood in the opening, their features hidden by cowls and cloaks. The tallest lowered his foot as the broken door ceased shuddering.

  "That was not necessary, Father, " said the one next to him. Dressed in a charcoal cloak and hood and crafted riding boots, his gloved hand was still raised to knock again. He let it drop to his side.

  The third figure hung back as the father entered and, in three strides, grabbed the woman by the throat.

  She clutched the table for balance as he bent her backward. His thumb levered her chin sideways to face his companions as he studied her profile. Even with her head tilted, she kept her gaze upon her assailant.

  Candlelight partially exposed his face inside the hood. Nearly colorless crystalline eyes stared back at her, and his features were paler than those of her own fair-skinned people. A long aquiline nose ran down to a thin-lipped mouth. He wore steel vambraces on both forearms, and beneath his cloak was a crestless, burgundy tabard over a shirt of mail. She fumbled for better support on the table, and the base of her palm scraped something sharp.

  "This is the one?" he asked, but his question was not to her.

  The one who called him Father took a step into the hut, allowing the third figure to drift toward her.

  His long, hooded robe swirled like black oil as he glided across the cottage floor. Firelight made faint markings and strange symbols shimmer in and out of sight upon its folds. Where his face should have been was a mask of aged leather that ended above a bony jaw supporting a withered mouth. The woman saw no eye slits in his mask. He reached toward her, as if he "saw" her, but his gaunt fingers stopped shy of her cheek as she struggled to pull away.

  "Get out of my home!" she shouted. No one gave her notice.

  "Yes..., " the masked one whispered with a voice like windblown sand. "The one shown to me. The one sent into my dreams by our patron. "

  The father glanced back to his son.

  "You should be pleased, " he remarked. "She'll make you an attractive bride. "

  The woman's eyes widened. She wouldn't be the first or the last to suffer the whims of a vassal lord assigned to a fief, but nobles did not take village women as wives.

  "Bride?" said the son. "I doubt, Father, that your lackey"—and the masked one hissed over his shoulder— "would bother with the customs attached to such a title. Take her and let us leave. The sooner done, the better. "

  The masked one's fingers inched forward, and she felt her captor's grip tighten to pull her up. At the touch of fingertips on her cheek, her hand closed about the knife on the table.

  The robed one recoiled to the room's far wall before she even moved. She twisted forward, thrusting low and upward. The knife blade slipped into the side slit of her captor's mail shirt and buried in his abdomen.

  His grip clenched harder about her throat. No one in the cottage moved.

  Her rage drained when she stared into the father's face and saw no hint of emotion in his eyes. He pulled her upright by the throat, not bothering to remove her hand from the knife hilt. The masked old man glided evenly toward the door and out into the night. The father pulled her along by the neck as he followed the old main.

  She staggered and regained her footing. The son turned away as she passed, and she caught no glimpse of his face. Two large horses waited outside in the village path. The son mounted the closest, a tail bay, and the father lifted her up behind him as if she were no burden at all. Shouts rose out of the dark.

  Villagers emerged from cottages and huts, but most stayed well back. A few held torches or candle lanterns that barely illuminated the path between their homes. Three young men came forward in smudged and grimed field clothes, armed with hoes and hay rakes. Two hesitated, but the third showed no fear. Even in the dark, the woman recognized his brown unwashed hair hanging loose around angular features and a square, dark-shadowed jaw.

  "Adryan, don't!" she called, as much in anger as concern for his safety.

  A villager who assaulted a noble was a corpse sooner rather than later, and no one of importance would question it. The young man barely glanced at her, his attention shifting between the masked figure and the tall, armored father.

  "Release her!" he snapped. "She's mine. "

  "You fool!" she shouted back. "Stay back. There's nothing to be done. "

  She was about to slide off the horse, but the son swung his arm back to block her.

  "You should listen to her, " the son said.

  Adryan rushed the father. The tall nobleman brushed back his cloak to expose the knife handle protruding from his abdomen. The young man faltered, and the masked old one slid forward into his way. The robed figure slapped Adryan across the cheek with one gnarled hand.

  Adryan buckled and fell backward to the ground, screaming and clutching at his face. As he writhed, the father gripped the knife hilt and withdrew the blade from his own flesh as if from a sheath. He tossed it to the ground beside Adryan, and the young man's two companions backed away.

  The masked one closed on Adryan.

  "Enough, " ordered the father. "We've no more time to waste here. Meet us at the keep. "

  The robed figure turned and nodded agreement. His arms stretched out to the sides at full length, palms up to the sky, and his breath came out in a long, audible exhale. The air in the village path began to churn.

  Sitting upon the horse, the woman watched leaves and twigs swirl on the ground in a circle about the dark robe. Flickering shapes shimmered in the turning breeze. The light of the villagers' lanterns and torches caught something taking shape in the air.

  Faces with sunken cheeks and hollowed eye sockets, flesh shrunk across phantom bones, materialized in the whirling air. Their translucent hands clutched at the dark robe on all sides, and the masked figure faded from sight as the whirlpool breeze died.

  The night's cold sank sharply into the woman's body as she stared at the empty space.

  The father mounted his horse and turned down the path into the forest. The keep was some distance beyond the trees to the top of a knoll. The son turned his horse to follow, and she heard a shout from behind in the village. Smothered in despair, she didn't hear it clearly and looked back, grabbing hold of the son's waist as the horse stepped into a trot.

  Up the path came another woman, stout and black-haired, wearing a purple dress. She was running after the horses with the fallen knife clutched in her hand.

  Gripping the horse's sides with her knees, the woman shouted, "Bieja, no!"

  Relief filled her. Her older sister had once again come home late from the market in the central village to the north. The horse lurched forward into a gallop, and she tightened her hold on the son's waist, no longer able to look back. She heard her sister call out again.

  "Magelia!"

  * * *<
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  Chapter 1

  Magiere sensed the instant of dawn, though the inn's small room was dark and shuttered. It called her from sleep. This first night with Leesil in her arms lingered in her memory, his shoulder beneath her cheek and her outstretched palm on his chest beneath the blankets. She still feared for him, but perhaps if she kept him always this close, she could keep him safe even from herself.

  A more troublesome thought wormed into her awareness. She fought it down, recalling the scent and taste and touch of Leesil in the night, until they'd settled into warm slumber. But the thought wouldn't leave, and perhaps in part it was Leesil's closeness that fed it strength.

  Magelia—and Nein'a.

  Two mothers waited. One dead, but the second still lived, or so she hoped—for Leesil's sake.