Come Twilight (33 page)

“And for me?” Chimenae asked, looking past her son.

“Canthis is providing the two-legged goat tonight,” said one of the older of her group. “The village has chosen him—he will be waiting at midnight. We will bring him here. For you.”

“Very good; he should last a fair while,” Chimenae approved. “We will leave more game at Canthis’ gates for a time, to show our gratitude.”

“Better be certain that the other villages do not expect such favor,” warned another. “Some of the villagers are not complying with our wishes as they used to do. They say we have taken too much.”

“They have brought their cups of blood,” said Aulutiz. “Time to fear them when they no longer leave offerings.”

Chimenae laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. “True enough. But better still, let us remind them now that if they do as we ask, they will benefit from our hunting. If they refuse the little we require, then they will pay the price.”

Several of the clan around her laughed at her words; one man shifted uneasily, as if trying to summon up the courage to speak.

“The last two-legged goat was left as you ordered, in the circle where he was offered,” said one of the females, a tall, angular young woman with a slight cast in one eye.

“You made certain he was fully dead?” Chimenae asked.

“Beyond all doubt,” said the young woman.

“We took him to the shrine down the mountain,” said Aulutiz quickly, all but stepping in front of the young woman.

“That was not a shrine,” San-Ragoz said, his voice not loud but penetrating. “You left a man dead on a midden.”

Aulutiz swung around to stare at San-Ragoz. “Do you say I lie?”

“I say you left a drained and staked corpse on the midden at Mont Calcius: you may have done something else with another dead man.” San-Ragoz ducked his head. “I saw the body, or I would not doubt you.”

“That was another,” said Aulutiz, shrugging to show his indifference. “We came upon earlier, when we were hunting with Achona and Tamosh.”

The angular young woman shook her head. “Aulutiz, you are a greedy one.”

“Not greedy,” Aulutiz countered. “I know it is good to hunt. You had other game to pursue; I went with Ennati and Cossadin and Wembo. We found better game than you.”

Achona pointed her finger at him. “You know we must leave game for the villages or they will not put out the cups filled with blood to honor our pact.”

“Well said, Achona,” Chimenae approved. “And a good warning for all of you.” She gave her son a reproachful stare. “How could you, of all of our blood, forget yourself so?”

“I did not forget myself,” Aulutiz protested, his voice rising with emotion. “We were hungry. You do not let us have enough.”

Chimenae spoke more severely. “You do not mean that you defied me, do you?”

The others were held in fascination as mother and son wrangled; San-Ragoz shook his head slowly, reading the situation with a practiced eye.

“I did not defy you. I hunted twice in a night, with two different bands, to feed this clan.” He tugged at his ill-assorted clothing. “You have done the same yourself, many times.”

She shook her head. “Not since our numbers grew beyond fifteen. It was different then, my son. Things have changed.” She went and stroked his cheek. “You have been an impulsive boy for all your days.”

Aulutiz tried to pull back, but without success. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” He was staring at the ground.

“Not purposefully, no; you would not,” she agreed, her tone caressing. “But you still failed to obey me.”

There was a subdued, general gasp. The man with something to say stared down at his feet, looking abashed.

“You never told me that I could not do this. You never did.” Aulutiz seemed absurdly young as he stood before his mother, his youthful mien and breaking voice making it easy to forget that he had been a vampire for more than eighty years, and that he had been part of the clan since its founding. “I have a right to feed twice in a night if I have the chance.”

“No!” She slapped him hard, twice, and then fixed her hands in his shoulders. “You do
not
receive favors beyond the rest of the tribe! You do not
give
preference. That is for me to do.”

“Until I am leader?” he asked, suddenly very cool. “As it was in Mont Calcius?”

She released him, her temper controlled as quickly as it had flashed. “That was different,” she said coolly, ignoring all but Aulutiz. “You and I held that place for as long as we could. We should be there still. It was yours by right.”

“So you say,” Aulutiz said, his sullenness returning.

“Well, and do you say you would rather have stayed, nothing more than a woodsman, until you died?” She looked up as if the others had just this instant arrived. “You must all pardon me. I have not received you well.”

The clan responded a number of ways, some of them disclaiming any awkwardness, some with apparent disinterest, a few with avidity; the man who wanted to speak shook his head in frustration. Finally Achona spoke for them all: “You made us, we are all in your debt.”

San-Ragoz felt disconcerted; he had no desire to witness any of this. For this, he agreed with Chimenae—he was an outsider and had no place in any dispute.

Finally the man trying to impart some news gestured clumsily. “You should know—all of you should know—that there are soldiers of the Caliph on the roads.”

This information was welcomed gladly; as dismal as the message was, it was preferable to this dissension. The clan swarmed around the man who had spoken, eager to hear something that would end the confrontation.

“Why should they be here? Are they coming to subdue the villages of the region?” Chimenae asked the questions sharply.

“They say they are chasing a run-away slave, but that cannot be possible; there are too many of them and they are armed well,” said the man with a knowing hitch of his shoulders. “There must be some other reason.”

“What number are they?” Chimenae came up to the man.

“I saw them camped,” he said, unable to conceal a smug smile now that he had finally made his revelation. “Last night. There were sixteen in the company I counted. That included sentries and slaves to tend to them and their horses.” He looked around him, as if aware for the first time that he commanded so much attention. “They carry lances, and they wear silk,” he added.

“And what more?” Chimenae pursued. “How many horses?”

“Twenty, that I saw,” the man answered.

Chimenae’s expression grew eager and sly. “Do you know where they are tonight?”

“Five thousand paces below Canthis,” said the man. “I followed them this evening, as soon as I woke. They do not move as fast as we do.”

“Then we must have the two-legged goat from Canthis quickly,” said Chimenae at her most decisive. “And we must take some of the horses from the soldiers. But not quite yet; not tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the night after.” She glanced toward San-Ragoz. “If you can catch a horse, you may have it to carry you out of this region. We will not take it for our food.”

“More Holy Blood?” San-Ragoz managed a sardonic smile.

“Yes,” said Chimenae, turning around to face him. “Would you—of all men—say that blood is not holy?” She expected no answer, so did not wait for one; she faced her clan once again. “Fetch the two-legged goat, and see that you leave more game for Canthis tonight.” She went up to Aulutiz. “I need you, my son, to go to with Edic to the Moors’ camp. I want them watched at all times. Do nothing that will rouse them: that will be for tomorrow night. Tonight we watch and plan. You will be my eyes for me.”

Somewhat appeased by this show of faith, Aulutiz nodded to Edic. “We will do it.”

Edic, satisfied with himself, gave Aulutiz a sign of agreement. “I will show you where they are.”

“Very good,” Chimenae approved. “Then let it be now. The night is ours.” She lifted her arms. “Bring me the two-legged goat, then show our gratitude to the villagers of Canthis.” With strong gestures that San-Ragoz suspected were ritualized, Chimenae sent her tribe pelting away down the mountain into the night and the forest. When they were gone, she faced San-Ragoz. “You do not wish to go with them?”

“No,” he said calmly. “I do not.” He remained where he was, his thoughts still vexed by what he had seen.

“They will be back before midnight,” she said, a speculative light in her eyes.

“With your two-legged goat,” San-Ragoz said with distaste.

“You do not approve?” She was almost teasing him, as intensely aware of him as he was of her.

“You know I do not,” he said. He saw a mocking satisfaction flicker in her eyes, then fade as quickly as it had come.

“Then are you intending to admonish me for what I am doing?” She achieved an edgy grin.

“Why should I bother, when you have no inclination to listen?” There was sadness under his banter; he waited for her to go on.

“You believe what we are doing is going to be harmful to us,” she said. “Because it was harmful to you at some time in the past. You suppose your misfortune will be our misfortune as well.”

The recollection of the oubliette two millennia ago, and the monthly victims, returned full force. “Yes.” He gazed at her impassively. “But what is the point of trying to convince you? You have no intention of changing, or of listening to me, have you.”

“No.” Chimenae could not resist teasing him. “But who knows: you might change my mind.”

San-Ragoz regarded her in silence for a short while, then said, “I may be of no use to you, not now, not here.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Those of us who live long travel far.”

“So you have said, and yet, I am still alive, and I have traveled only twenty thousand paces from where I started out,” she said, her feet set apart and her arms folded.

“You are only a century old,” he reminded her with kindness.

“And that makes me a child in your eyes,” she said, baiting him.

He shook his head, unwilling to enter the contest. “You have much to learn.”

Again her temper ignited. “You, of course, are the judge of it!” She lifted her hand to strike him, then lowered it. “No. You will not best me. You will not.”

“I am not trying to,” he told her. “I am concerned for you, and for those you have made of your blood.”

“You envy our numbers, and our strength, and the land we hold,” she said, convinced she had the answer to his apprehension. “One day, we shall be an army.”

His answer was low, almost soothing. “I envy nothing.” His dark eyes met her black ones. “You will never be an army. The living will see to that.”

“Ha! They cower at our name. They cull their villages for the weak and infirm and let us rid them of their burdens. We are as useful to them as they are to us. They accept the game we bring them.” Chimenae gave a sigh of ill-usage. “You do not know how it is in these mountains. You do not—” She stopped. “What use is it to argue with you? You will not listen to anything I say.” With that, she walked a short distance away from him and stood facing the flank of the mountain. “Here we have old ways; very little changes.”

“You have been putting out cups of blood for centuries,” San-Ragoz suggested, his eyes on her.

“We did, long before the Romans came—the Christians did not like it, so we did it infrequently and in places they would not go, but we never stopped, not entirely. It will not stop now that the Moors are here, or after they are gone.” She lifted her hands above her head as if to call down the forces of the earth and sky upon her. “We have always known that blood is sacred.”

“And you are not alone in that knowledge,” San-Ragoz said, coming after her and speaking softly. “Csimenae, listen to me: you cannot continue to increase your numbers and your demands on the villagers and shepherds who live in these mountains. You may not need much to sustain you, but your numbers are too great to sustain. If those you prey upon do not revolt, your clan will.”

“You are ridiculous,” she said.

“It will come sooner than you think,” he went on, striving to reach her, and certain that if he had tasted her blood all those years ago, he would be able to. “You believe Aulutiz will remain a child because you wish him to be, and because he retains the look of youth—but you delude yourself. He will not always be content to capitulate to you, and others will take their course from him.”

“They may be rebellious from time to time, but they are loyal,” said Chimenae in a tone of voice that closed the matter. “The Moors: what do you know of them?”

He did not try to return her to the previous subject. “The Moors in general, or the soldiers particularly?”

“Either. Both.” She looked steadily at him. “Why would the Moors come into the mountains?”

“They wish to conquer the Frankish lands for their Caliph and their Prophet, as others have done before them,” said San-Ragoz.

“Do you know much about the Moors?” she asked suddenly, her face revealing more than she knew. “You could tell us about them, if you went to watch them. You could let us know what their intentions are.” She smiled and held out her hand to him. “You would be useful to us, if you would do that. We would not have to drive you out at once. Providing, of course, that you are willing to report all you learn to me. To me, Sanct’ Germain, and no one else.”

“And what will you tell your tribe?” he asked. “They heard you order me to depart. Do you reckon they will accept your change of mind simply because you have changed it?”

“I will tell them you understand the language of the Moors.” She paused. “Do you understand it?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then you will be our watcher. I do not ask you to go among them, only too listen.” She studied him. “If you will do this, you remain with us yet awhile.”

He did not like the bargain, but he made a gesture of concession. “I will listen for you.” He would have done as much for himself; to extend himself to Chimenae to this extent did not trouble him too greatly.

“My clan will understand. You are useful to us. When they bring me the goat, I will tell them.” She nodded, confirming her decision. “They will appreciate that, and once they know you will watch the soldiers . . .” Her voice faded.

San-Ragoz could see her distress, and involuntarily took a step forward. “What is it?”