They had left behind a scene of carnage. Predatory mountain crows were already circling above the broken bodies, even as they piled their own dead onto the one remaining cart.
Iovan, left arm tied up in a blood-soaked scarf, was still directing operations. By now his voice was hoarse and cracked as he gave his orders. He said nothing to Gavril, but he cast him a suspicious, sidelong glance.
They met up with Raisa at the gates into Anisieli. Her forehead was bound in a makeshift, bloodstained bandage, but she still managed to smile as she came toward them, flinging an arm around each of their shoulders.
"My brave boys," she said, hugging them. She was crying, but she didn't seem to care. Pavel kissed her on each cheek, then full on the mouth.
Gavril breathed in the delicious scent emanating from her body.
Blood. Fresh, warm, innocent blood.
Dizzy with hunger, he pulled away.
The river ran through the center of Anisieli, cold and fresh from the gorge. The tavern owner had set tables out on the cobbled riverside and lit lanterns to welcome them. The mayor of Anisieli appeared and made a long-winded but heartfelt speech, thanking them for defeating the Tielen invaders and offering free food and lodgings for the night.
A doctor was found to attend to the wounded. Tavern girls came out with bottles of the rich, red local wine and baskets of fresh-baked cornbread. There would be lamb stewed with green plums and tarragon, to follow, they promised.
Gavril was not hungry. The smell of the lamb stew wafting from the tavern kitchen only made his stomach gripe. He sat at the mayor's table opposite Pavel and Raisa, wondering how long he could stay in their company before the inevitable aftereffects of using his powers set in.
The rich wine soon loosened the tongues of the rebels and the noisy recounting of the afternoon's ambush made Gavril's head ache.
"One moment the Tielens had us surrounded-mortar fire everywhere, and clouds of that evil smoke they use to confuse the enemy." Raisa was describing the battle, with wild and vivid hand gestures. The wine had brought color back to her pale cheeks. "And then the sky went dark-and their mortar battery exploded. Boom! My ears are still ringing. When we went to check-and God, that was a gruesome sight-there was little left. They'd blown themselves up."
"Not quite accurate," Pavel said. "It was Gavril's work."
Gavril set down his wine and stared hard at Pavel.
Don't betray my secret if you value your life, Velemir.
"Your work, Gavril? But how?" Raisa asked.
"It's not the first time I've done this," he said as obscurely as he could. "It was just a case of igniting their explosives."
"Rusta says he saw something in the sky. Dark, winged, flying down from the mountains."
"Rusta must have suffered a bad blow to the head," Gavril said with a dry smile.
"He's not been so well since he was caught in the blast. Says he breathed in some of the smoke after the explosion. But then, we all did."
They had all breathed in the smoke from his virulent burst of Drakhaon's Fire, and none of them were protected. If they were not to fall sick and die, he must act to save them.
He stared down at the crimson wine in his mug. Stallion's Blood, they called it in these parts, fermented from a robust dark grape grown on the southern slopes beyond the gorge. The taste was strong enough to mask what he was about to add to it.
He left the table and went around the side of the tavern, carrying his mug with him. There, beside a stinking privy, he gritted his teeth and made a quick slash in his wrist, letting the daemon-purple blood sizzle, drop by drop, into his wine.
"What are you doing?" the Drakhaoul hissed. the Drakhaoul hissed. "You have barely enough blood to sustain you. You can't afford to lose anymore." "You have barely enough blood to sustain you. You can't afford to lose anymore."
"This," Gavril said, wincing as he pressed his sleeve cuff to the raw edges of the cut, "is necessary."
It was dark now, and from somewhere high in the wooded slopes of the gorge beyond, he heard the distant call of an owl floating down on the warm night air. As he had hoped, the tavern girls were refilling the wine jugs from a big oak barrel near the kitchen. It was just a matter of slipping some of the wine from his blood-tainted mug into each jug.
He stood, leaning against the tavern doorframe, watching the girls take the healing wine to the rebels, watching until all had refilled their glasses and drunk.
Suddenly it seemed as if the air around him was sucked dry. A wave of intolerable heat rippled through his whole body. Gasping, he buckled, grasping at the wall for support. Glitters of light flashed before his eyes, tiny darts of amethyst and sapphire that pierced his aching head like needles.
"Drakhaoul," he whispered. "What's . . . happening to me?"
"Our . . . synthesis . . . is failing. . . ."
"Failing?" Another wave of heat surged through his body, leaving his head pounding, his stomach seized with burning cramps.
One of the tavern girls came out, carrying a big pot of lamb stew. The greasy smell of the meat made him feel even more ill.
"Are you all right, sir?"
He heard her set down the pot and come closer, one tentative step at a time. And through the surging nausea, he caught a new, enticing scent-fresh and sweet-that, as she knelt beside him, he knew issued from her.
"You look really poorly." He felt cool fingers brush his cheek. "You're burning hot! Shall I send for a doctor?"
"Water . . ." Though even as he said the word, he knew it was not water that he needed.
"I'll go get some."
"No. Wait." He reached out and caught hold of her hand. "Stay with me."
"B-but-"
He raised his head to look at her. Through the swirls of smoke that hazed his vision, he saw a black-haired young girl with skin the ripe brown sheen of hazelnuts. "You're very pretty. What's your name?"
"My name's Gulvardi." A blush darkened her cheeks. "I'm new here at the tavern." Even her warm breath smelled deliciously sweet.
A sudden flurry of lascivious images whirled through his mind. Desire burned through his whole body, enflamed his brain. He wanted her.
"Then take her."
"No," Gavril whispered.
"You fought the Tielens today, didn't you? That was so brave." Her eyes, dark as sloes, gazed at him, brimming with admiration.
Gavril doubled up again, clutching his arms about himself, trying to hold the pain in. And then the pain and the desire merged. He would lure her away from watching eyes, to some dark and lonely place where no one would hear her cries for help.
"Maybe-a breath of fresh air-will restore me." He tried to straighten up. Who was speaking now, Gavril or the Drakhaoul? He no longer knew. He had lost control. "Help me, Gulvardi."
"Here. Take my arm."
He leaned against her as she guided him down the steps toward the sound of the rushing river. Every hesitant step they took away from the tavern led him closer to the achievement of his desire.
Ahead loomed the dark trunks of pines on the gorge edge. There would be hollows between the gnarled roots, soft with dry pine needles.
"Do you feel better out here?" Gulvardi said.
"A little."
The desire was almost unbearable, the cramping hunger a torment-the last desperate need of a man dying of famine. But he must not make his move. Not yet, not until he was sure they were well out of sight of the tavern.
The rising moon, a slender paring, touched the rushing river water far below with flickers of silver.
"Look," she said. "The moonlight's so beautiful."
"But not as beautiful as you." Gavril heard the trite words issue from his mouth as he reached for her, crushing her to him. "Kiss me, Gulvardi."
His lips touched hers.
"No." She resisted a little, twisting away. "Someone will see-"
He could feel the softness of her nut-brown breasts beneath the blouse-poor-quality linen that ripped open so easily beneath his questing fingers.
He pulled her closer, forcing his mouth against hers. He heard her give a little cry-and tasted blood on her lips.
The taste-warm, salt-sweet-sent him into a frenzy. He nuzzled his face against her throat, her breasts, licking, biting, sucking . . .
"No!" Gulvardi fought him, squirming and kicking, all sharp knees and elbows. She was screaming at him now, but all he could hear was the pulsing of the warm blood in her veins. All he knew was his own need to take in as much of that red, salty sweetness as he could to soothe the burning agony inside. Gulvardi fought him, squirming and kicking, all sharp knees and elbows. She was screaming at him now, but all he could hear was the pulsing of the warm blood in her veins. All he knew was his own need to take in as much of that red, salty sweetness as he could to soothe the burning agony inside.
"Gulvardi?" Someone was calling her name.
The dark smoke-haze melted away and his sight cleared. A thin taper of moonlight illumined the scene.
He was kneeling in the soft carpet of pine needles and sandy soil. In front of him crouched a bloodstained girl, half-naked, her clothes torn, her moonlit eyes wide and terrified.
"Are you-are you all right?" he asked dazedly.
She began to edge away, shuffling backward, one arm outstretched to keep him from her. "M-monster!" she whispered. "Keep away!"
She turned and began to run, stumbling through the trees.
"Wait!"
The river shimmered far below.
"Keep away from me, monster!"
"The river-be careful-"
His warning cry came too late. In her headlong dash to escape him, she tripped-and fell from sight over the edge onto the jagged rocks far below.
"Oh no. No." He leaned out over the rushing river, trying in vain to see where she had fallen, but seeing only the silvered water, fast-flowing over its stony bed.
"Let her go. She's served her purpose."
"Gulvardi!" he shouted, his voice echoing around the rocky walls of the gorge.
There was no reply. How could she have survived a fall from such a height?
And then he began to cry, tears of grief and shame for the girl he had just destroyed; useless tears for himself, damned as he was now to perdition. She had called him a monster. And she was right. From the darkest shadows of his mind, a creature had been loosed: a ravening beast whose obscene hunger would not be denied.
CHAPTER 28.
Shifting patterns of dappled light filtered through breeze-stirred leaves, moving across Gavril's face as he opened his eyes. He lay staring up at the tree branches above him, hearing the faint rustle of the wind and the distant splash of fast-flowing water.
Where am I?
He sat up and found he had been lying on a bed of dried fallen leaves, moss, and twigs; his clothes were covered in grime. From the position of the sun overhead it must be nearly midday.
The sound of rushing water told him there was a stream or river nearby. He got to his feet, brushing the woodland debris from his clothes and hair. When he moved, he found his back and legs were stiff from sleeping on roots and hard earth.
What am I doing out here?
He went toward the sound of the water, out of the dappled shade, and found himself on the banks of a mountain river. Up above him, on either side, towered the steep walls of a gorge, overhung with bushes and glossy ivies. The water rushed past, tumbling over massive boulders and eddying around smaller stones.
And as he leaned over the rushing river, he suddenly saw the image of a bloodstained girl, half-naked, her clothes torn, her moonlit eyes wide and terrified.
"Gulvardi." He remembered her name, and dear God, now he began to remember the terrible things he had done to her.
He sank to his knees, overwhelmed with self-loathing. All he could see was the terror distorting her face as she ran from him. All he could hear was her voice, screaming out to him to stop.
"I am am a monster." He covered his face with his shaking hands. "I attacked her. I-I did worse-" a monster." He covered his face with his shaking hands. "I attacked her. I-I did worse-"
"You were dying," whispered the Drakhaoul. whispered the Drakhaoul. "You took what you needed to survive." "You took what you needed to survive."
Only once before had he been driven to drink innocent blood-and then it had been willingly offered. Kiukiu's self-sacrifice had saved his life. But this time the Drakhaoul had driven him to attack a helpless stranger.
"How can I live with myself, knowing what I've done?" He looked down at his clothes, seeing now that what he had taken for earth stains was dried blood. Gulvardi's blood. "And now she's fallen to her death, and all because I hadn't the self-control to, to-"
"Her blood healed you."
Gavril heard at last what the daemon was telling him and knew it to be true. He had not felt so well in many months. His sight was clear, there was no throbbing in his skull, and no constant pain cramping his stomach. But that was little consolation for the shame and guilt that burned to the core of his soul.
"But how can I go back and pretend that nothing happened, knowing what I have done?"
"You will go back. And you will live with that knowledge. Because you must."