Mikhail matched steps with Turan as he followed Herta through the winding streets.
"She doesn't look like she knows where she's going," he observed.
"Probably not. I'll keep an eye on her." Turan glanced at his watch. "Someone will have to watch the law clerk."
Mikhail grimaced and pointed his chin in Herta's direction. "Does she know?"
"I'm not sure. I think so. Most of it, anyway."
Mikhail nodded in understanding. Not everyone accepted the People readily. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
Turan shook his head. "I'll do it."
"But..."
"I said I'll do it," Turan snapped.
Mikhail regarded him warily. "Sure. Whatever you say, Turan."
"You just keep an eye on that clerk, Mikhail. I don't trust him. I'll handle die Reizengebleiterin."
Mikhail shrugged. "You know where to find me," he said and turned off down a side street.
Turan dismissed his ally from his thoughts and concentrated on what to say to Herta. It wasn't hard to spot the Canadian's progress through the streets. Those who didn't know of her muttered phrases like 'common American', while those who did, made the sign against the Evil Eye and shushed the nonbelievers.
Once out of the village, Turan dared lengthen his stride to try to catch up with her. She had a head start, and in the hills and woods surrounding the village, it would be too easy for her to come to grief. Some of the paths were dangerous.
About 500 meters ahead, Herta disappeared around a curve in the road. Turan cursed, realizing what was ahead and began to run. He had to stop her before she...
He was too late. He rounded the bend to see Herta draw a small gate closed behind her. He slowed to a walk. Herta, head bent, wandered down the path between the headstones of a small cemetery. It was maybe thirty meters square, with headstones worn into oblivion by time and the elements. From a distance, the place looked well cared for. It was only when up close that an observant person would notice that, instead of grass that needed to be maintained, ancient generations had planted chamomile that didn't need tending. Ivy had been allowed to creep up the sides of the small mausoleum tucked into one corner of the lot. The village elders wouldn't allow the place to go entirely untended, though. The wrought iron fencing that surrounded the lot was straight and recently painted. But no flowers were laid on the graves as in other cemeteries. No crosses, either, adorned the graves as in other cemeteries. This was the final resting place of those this world deemed non-Christian, but not Evil. He knew of some those buried there.
Turan didn't think Herta had noticed her surroundings. She wandered aimlessly, sometimes touching a stone lightly as she passed the grave. He knew she was aware of him, but she didn't look in his direction. Worried, he watched as she sat down in the shade of an old oak tree in the center of the graveyard. He knew she was crying by the way her shoulders heaved, but she didn't make any noise that he could hear. He could only feel her pain, her confusion, her fear.
He took a step forward as if to go to her, to comfort her, but he stopped. The Bargain had been made and, on his honour, he must keep to it. He sighed. There had to be a way... Yes! There was!
At first, Herta ignored the feeling of being watched. That he would follow her was a given. That he would protect her was -- She blinked. Protect her? Now where had that idea come from? She lay down on her back, her hands tucked behind her head. It would be nice to be protected once in a while, she thought. At what cost, though, a mental voice asked?
She brought one knee up and pondered the question. What did she know of vampires? Her great-grandfather's letter had used a different word for them, but the meaning was the same. Bram Stoker's novel, she dismissed as a half a tale made from whole cloth. So what was left? There were tales of 'drinkers of blood'. Some were the actions of lunatics and some were... Herta couldn't remember the exact cause, but there was a valid medical explanation and attendant legendary cures. Not that drinking the blood of a virgin would cure any kind of disease. And there was the issue of photosensitivity, too. Vampires supposedly didn't venture out during the day.
She watched a cloud drift lazily through the branches of the oak, and let her mind drift with it. 'I wonder if I can float, too,' she thought. The familiarity of that question reminded her of something. She smiled. "Okay, so I'm not in a blind panic any more. I'll give him points for that. However..." Silently, she repeated the words of awakening. "One... two... coming up, you're coming up. Three... Coming further up. Four... The count is four. If this is your regular sleep time, you will ignore all awakening instructions. Five. The count is five. If this is not your regular sleep time, you will awaken, refreshed and alert as if you'd had a brief nap."
She rolled over, unsure of how much time had passed, but certain that Turan wasn't far away. She lay on her stomach, her chin propped in her hands. About 20 paces away, Turan stood on the other side of the fence. He looked stunned.
Herta rose to her feet. She took a deep breath. Twice in one day, she'd needed to apologize to this man. It wasn't a pleasant thought. "Okay, I guess I was being a bit of a jerk. Thank you."
"How...?"
Herta chuckled at his expression. "I'm not sure what you were doing, but the results reminded me of a self-hypnosis tape I used to have." She shrugged. "I just used the techniques from it to wake up."
Turan gasped.
Herta tipped her head, curious now. "Just who are you, Turan Freiermann?"
"Who do you think I am," he countered.
Herta let out a breath, trying to put her impatience on a shorter leash. "As you wish," she acknowledged formally. She folded her arms and studied him. He was about six feet tall, maybe a bit less. 'Tall enough to put your head comfortably on his shoulder', a small voice mused. She ignored the voice. This wasn't the time. She had felt the corded steel of his muscles as they walked, months ago now, it seemed. She doubted that those muscles had come from working out in a gym. Her ex-husband had done that. No, Turan's muscles were... different. She didn't doubt that he took great pleasure in working for a living. Whatever it was that he did for a living. Outdoor work, to judge from his weather-bronzed skin.
He reminded her, too, of a fox; a long, narrow face, sharp, straight nose and slightly slanted brown eyes. She didn't watch them for too long. He seemed to know her every thought while telling nothing himself. It was an intoxicating challenge she didn't have time for now. While his dark, curling hair, slightly longer than fashion dictated, didn't quite match the fox analogy, it did appear to have the same texture. She wondered if it would feel the same. She clamped down on that line of thought. Hard.
What else did she know of him? He was courteous, charming and patient. And honourable. How she knew that last, she wasn't sure, but she believed it to be the truth. Altogether, he was a most disarming and dangerous package.
Turan shifted uncomfortably under Herta's scrutiny. He could sense her emotions, had felt her fear and confusion earlier. Right now, he could only detect curiosity. It confused him. How could a mere human turn off their emotions so completely? And a female, no less.
He tried to provoke a response from her. His gaze travelled from her dark brown hair pulled back and held with a clip, down her long neck and over small breasts to a neat waist and decidedly female hips. Her legs were long and well-muscled. She was no stranger to walking, that much he'd discovered. He drew his eyes back to her face. Her eyes changed colour, he noticed, reflecting her emotions. Right now, they were dark brown - doe's eyes. Earlier, when she'd been angry with him, they'd lightened to a rich sherry colour. He wondered what other shade they would become in other circumstances. He shook off that thought and asked, "Well, have you reached a conclusion?"
His voice was a silken caress that Herta had trouble ignoring. He sensed that and it pleased him. But she wasn't going to give an inch. He smiled.
Her expression was icy. "That you may not be human has occurred to me," she said after a long moment. "But I can't say as I'd consider you Evil. Who are you?"
Turan sighed. This was not going as planned. "How much do you know of my people?" he hedged.
Herta turned away. "Go play games with someone else, Turan. I'm not interested."
"All right. All right," he gave in. "You win. But can we have this conversation somewhere else?"
She turned back, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
Turan waved a hand at their surroundings. "It - This - is painful."
She looked around, noticing her surroundings for the first time. "Holy ground," she guessed. "Or cold iron?"
He looked startled. She did know. She understood! He nodded.
They met at the gate and, without touching her, he guided her back toward the village. "Thank you for trusting me," he said softly.
Herta looked up, startled. "Trusting? Oh. That." She shrugged. It had just occurred to her that, if Turan was a vampire, she had just left the only place of safety for quite a distance. "I don't believe you're a vampire, if that's what you mean," she said matter-of-factly.
It was her turn to be on the receiving end of a measured look. "You don't believe in diu Seelocran?"
That was the word that Hans Theiner had used in his letter. She took it to mean 'vampire', 'soul eater'. She shook her head. "Two things about you go against vampiric traditions as I've heard them."
He waited, not quite holding his breath. She hadn't answered his question. Not really.
"One, cold iron. Both just now and earlier, at the church, you avoided the iron railing. That's a fey thing, not vampire."
"And the other thing?"
Herta stopped, with Turan halting a few paces beyond her. He turned back, curious.
They had been walking beside the road, on the shoulder of it. While the other side of the road was tree-lined, this side was wide open for several meters. As a firebreak, Herta thought, but it served her purpose quite well. She pointed to the darkened ground at his feet. "It's actually two things. Sunlight doesn't seem to bother you and you cast a shadow."
Turan nodded. "Anything else?"
Herta frowned, a bit miffed by Turan's nonchalance. "Nothing in your favour," she said sharply. "You have a talent for hypnosis and a charming manner. Two things that are consistent with vampire legends."
The traffic on the road beside them was sporadic. Turan noticed the car, only because it had passed them twice already since they left the cemetery, back around the bend. At the speed the car was approaching, he only had time to see a brief flash of silver before it was upon them.
Without thought, he tackled Herta, dragging them both under the arc of the sword, narrowly missing decapitation. The car came to a screeching halt, but by that time, Turan had lifted Herta to her feet and was half-carrying, half-dragging her towards the woods. If only they could reach the Gate in time.
Herta, startled and confused, hung back for a moment. The cold voice behind her changed her mind.
"Kill them both."
The three sword-wielding men behind her, she noticed in a quick glance over her shoulder, didn't appear open to reasonable discussion. She ran.
Turan, feeling Herta's capitulation, switched his hold to her hand. He led her across the fire break and into the trees. The underbrush provided both cover and an announcement of their passage. It was slower going, marginally, than the path, but Turan felt they had the advantage of knowing where they were going. Their pursuers, he hoped, could only guess.
The ground began to slope upwards, turning the slick footing of last year's leaves into a dangerous slide. They had to reach the top of the ridge before the others did.
Herta stumbled as Turan suddenly pulled her ninety degrees to their former direction. She bit back a curse as she collided with a tree, bounced off and continued on. Only Turan's grip on her hand kept her upright. She could hear, above the pounding of her heart and the panting of her breath, shouts of pursuit. She mentally pushed aside her fear, the pain in her ribs and calves and ran on.
The men, Turan noticed, had veered off. Someone knew about the path! He redoubled his efforts, silently urging Herta to keep up. He couldn't waste breath on speech, and he didn't think Herta had any left with which to answer him.
The pursued reached the crest of the ridge several meters ahead of the pursuers. He could see them at the bottom of the last slope before the top. "Down!" he gasped, and pushed Herta toward the head of a steep, rocky path, releasing her hand. He caught sight of her excited face and was surprised. She didn't hesitate to take the path.
At first, he feared her headlong dash would result in a deadly tumble, but his error was apparent. She wasn't running down the side of the ravine, she was leaping nimbly from rock to path to rock. The woman was part mountain goat!
As much as he'd have preferred to stay with Herta, he had to give her some lead time. And, he felt, he had to stay between her and the others. One part of his mind vowed to find out who they were and who sent them. Once Herta was safe, he added.
Gravel and rocks dislodged by those behind him made his own descent trickier. Herta, he hoped, would be far enough ahead to be out of the danger zone of his own trail. At each stumble and falter, he contrived to loosen a bush or a rock, hoping to catch the men above unawares and send them tumbling into the ravine below. To judge by the curses, he was at least partially successful.
The path curved sharply ahead, the path narrowing to avoid an outcropping of rock. Years of weather had made the path slippery with loose stones. With luck, he should be able to see Herta once he'd rounded the corner. Safety wasn't too far away now. The clang of steel against rock behind him spurred him on.
Rounding the bend, Turan sucked in his breath. The path was empty!
"Go, stupid!" Herta's voice urged from above him. He moved forward instinctively.
The others charged around the bend behind him, bunched together like cattle in a chute. A rustling noise made him duck. Just above the path, a large willow had taken up residence. One branch, he saw, had been pulled back and now released. It slammed into the trio with bone-breaking force.
Turan didn't wait to see the damage. As Herta slid down to join him, he grabbed her hand and they raced down together.
The path split at the bottom of the ravine. One section continued beside the small stream, leading back up to the top. Turan ignored that path and leaped easily across the stream. Herta couldn't manage the gap in one jump and he chafed at the slight delay as she made use of the stones in the stream.
Grabbing her hand again, Turan urged her up the hillside. Halfway up, he came to a panting halt between two trees. Herta opened her mouth to ask a question, but they weren't entirely safe yet. He silenced her by covering her mouth with his own.
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