Foreword

This story is my first (and possibly only) sizeable work of fiction to be published. The background is to be found in chapter 418, book 19, Epic 3 of the Adventurers series by Tom Miller. When Tom announced in chapter 619 on 6-March-2000 that he would not be following up the fate of this minor supporting character, I thought I might have a go myself. The following tale is published with his permission. 


The Tale of Arlanni

Hagor the innkeeper only picked at his beard when he was worried. He picked it now as he studied the delicate cursive script on the transparently thin parchment. His chin was decidedly less luxuriant, such was his consternation at the unexpected missive. It was not the message itself, which was brief to the point of rudeness. "Care for the girl", it read, "the seal, your fee". A few minutes ago, the wax seal had discharged a finely cut gemstone as Hagor had broken it. He was no jeweller, but he was used to adventuring types paying for their stay with gems. He guessed this one was worth at least as much as the inn. Another tuft of hair rolled between his fingertips as he looked across at the dishevelled wench who lay curled up by the dying hearth. If she was indeed the subject, then whoever wrote the letter must have a rare prescience - it must have been written some time before she arrived, or the ink would still be wet, and the seal still soft. 

A polite, tiny cough in front of Hagor snapped his concentration. The beard-tuft drifted to the counter top and rolled off to join its fellows on the worn boards. "A copper for Oliver?" said the urchin expectantly. The boy had delivered the letter over five minutes ago, and deserved at least a copper piece for the trouble. "Who gave it you?" growled the man. "I, er , just found it" he replied hesitantly, not expecting to be believed.  Hagor scowled, but somehow, that was the answer he wanted. This was a strange business, smelling of wizards and magic. One does not pry into the affairs of wizards. Hagor's huge hand swept a copper from the counter and hurled it at the urchin's face with such force that it could have put out an eye. The boy caught it easily - as he always did - and grinned back widely. "Now hoppit, young Sarmy" roared Hagor, as the boy took flight through the kitchen and out into the night.

The innkeeper turned again to observe the girl. She was wrapped in what might have been a sturdy travelling cloak once, though now it was little more than a large rag. A black leather sleeved jerkin showed underneath, and worn boots held together by knotted twine. An empty satchel wrapped round some kindling served as a pillow. With no money for a room the girl had begged for a few minutes by the fire to warm herself and promptly fallen asleep. With an unsteady hand he picked up the letter which had been enwrapped within the one addressed to "innkeeper". It was engraved with one word in the same tiny archaic hand as the other. It was an unusual girl's name. It read - "arlanni"

Someone was calling. Insistent, distant, over and over again. She spun round, trying to locate the voice, and saw only the dark grey stone of the castle, and her companions, all around her, lying broken and still. Fearing the terrible elven sorcerer would appear at any moment to fix her with his single ghastly eye, and devour her screaming soul. Fearing the wild pale woman that tore poor Arkayn to pieces with bare hands, would seize and shred her too. But the voice was not their voice. It was human, compassionate, concerned, even a bit nervous. Then suddenly she was awake, and  staring with frightened eyes at the kindly innkeeper who had allowed her respite from her race through the cold night. They stared at each other in silence for a long minute. The innkeeper swallowed several times during this, and she tugged the edges of the cloak in a futile attempt to hide within it. 

"How did you know my name?" whispered the thief eventually. "So it is true" said Hagor slowly. "What is true?" she asked. "You have a friend of great power" he replied, handing her the little fold of fine parchment. "He has paid me well for your keep." Hagor paused, as his mind adjusted to more familiar territory. "Would you like some ale while I prepare a room? Perhaps a bite to eat?" Arlanni nodded. She was utterly dumbstruck by this turn of events.  She had no friends now. The corpses of the other eight members of the Company of Nine lay in the sorcerer's castle in Helgate. The same sorcerer who had restored her life, for no reason, as casually as he had struck down her companions. She had left his money with the church of Pelor, fearing he would control her through it. Or was there a reason after all? If so, how did he know where she would run to. It was more than she could comprehend.

Arlanni felt a firm hand grasp her arm and seat her unresistingly at a worn trestle. She did not notice a small mug of ale appear beside her, or the flicker of the flames from the kindling which was shaken out of her rolled pack into the embers.  She clutched the parchment tightly in one fist, not daring to look at it, as she chewed mechanically at the doorstep of bread placed in the other. Her mind had simply shut down with the cumulative shock of the last few days, and would remain so until she woke the following morning. Hagor picked at his beard again as he watched the two kettle girls haul  the limp form up to a hastily made bed. "No good will come of this", he muttered to himself.

Arlanni slept soundly, completely exhausted from her travel as she was, and did not rise until late morning. Remembering with a start the sudden change in her fortunes she scrabbled for the note which she hoped would answer the host of questions in her mind. After several minutes of rising panic, a crumpled folded sheet eventually turned up amongst the bedsheets, where it had been dropped from a manic grip relaxed by sleep.  

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Arlanni picked at the edges of the fold with unsteady fingers. It opened with a resisting scrape as the creased edges were flattened. The message was rather more verbose than the innkeeper's, although Arlanni did not know this. There were only two lines to it, in letters that wasted no space upon the parchment. It read "stay if you seek employment." Then on a new line "curiosity is not becoming. " Finally a small but unmistakable outline of a keyhole with a lockpick alongside it. A strange mixture of elation and fear flowed through her veins. There was no doubt that a powerful and probably wealthy man needed her professional skills, and for fairly obvious reasons wished to remain anonymous. Things were definitely looking up.

Once this fact had been digested, Arlanni took a closer look at the room her new employer had provided. It might be the best room in the inn, she decided, more likely if the inn had a poor run of fortune. The mattress was well stuffed, the sheets were clean, the room was well lit from windows behind the curtain. As she pulled back the curtain, she gasped at the window itself, or rather the bolts securing the frames. Recently fitted, they were quite massive, and would resist a determined assault. Feeling quite apprehensive now, she decided to ask the innkeeper about both this feature, and the terms upon which he would keep her.

Hagor was busy preparing his other guests for departure when she saw him. It turned out that he had little more idea about her benefactor than she did. He did not elaborate on the nature of the payment, but insisted she need not worry about it, though stroking the bare patches around his chin with his fingers as he spoke this. Earlier the gem had fetched 100 gold griffons at the moneychanger's, so it must have been worth at least double that. She must be a truly special lady, he thought.  

"What about the window bolts?" asked Arlanni suddenly. Hagor looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly caught the thread. "You're new to Hardby, lass. Some folks are believing the rumours about night creatures. You'll find most houses are well locked at night these-a-days. But don't you trouble yourself, they're a superstitious bunch round here. Anyways, there's plenty of good folks about who will gladly give chase if such things were real". "What sort of things?" she asked anxiously, knowing that most of her work would be at night. "I don't rightly know" he replied, lifting a tangled knot out from under his chin by the roots. Arlanni winced at his unsavoury habit,  making Hagor embarrassingly aware of it and hastily flicking the evidence to the floor. "I never saw anything meself, like" he continued, holding both his hands firmly on the trestle, lest they wandered back to their former haunt. "But a few people have vanished over the past year and, like, rumours have grown in the telling". Arlanni decided that a few jugs of ale might loosen other tongues around the town, so decided not to press the innkeeper further. Besides, he was her only source of food, shelter, and anything else she needed for the foreseeable future, so she best not upset him.

The next four weeks passed uneventfully for Arlanni, and Hagor seemed very relaxed about things too. He had clearly found some money from somewhere because the inn was soon crawling with carpenters, tilers, limners and other trades. All manner of things which had seemed a deliberate part of the olde-worlde atmosphere were repaired or replaced. The inn was the only one of any size in the town, and catered especially for merchants and adventurers travelling the high road to Helgate. Arlanni's room was indeed the best room in the house, and remained pretty much as she had first seen it. Hagor had decided that 'care' covered food and board only,  not unlimited spending money. The food was well cooked and plentiful, and she soon found herself putting on weight. This meant that apart from a few utilitarian robes donated by the kettle girls, she had to make do and mend her original adventuring garb, while she still fitted it.

During this time Arlanni frequently mused on the nature of her new, mysterious benefactor.  She was being well cared for, so she had something valuable to offer in return. Her lockpicking was improving from regular practice with the various devices around the room. Apart from this though she still had no idea of what was expected of her. Perhaps he was indeed the one-eyed sorcerer. But what would such a powerful man want with a low-level thief at all? Or maybe a merchant in Hardby, desperate for revenge on a rival. And the note. Why was it written on such a small parchment, so tersely? Surely words themselves are not so precious that they must be conserved? Or ink and parchment that it must be used so sparingly. In contrast, the strange obsession with security turned out to be just a local peculiarity. Nothing had happened in Hardby for months, and the night here seemed no different to any other when she dared to practice her nocturnal talents. On the whole, Arlanni was content to keep herself to herself, wait for instructions, and enjoy her new position as a kept woman. 

It had been a tiring journey that night, taking over two hours to reach Hardby. The tiny burdens, insignificant to a man, together weighed almost a fifth of the creature's weight. Exhausted by the flight, it had waited gratefully on the rooftop of the inn, watching with mouse-like eyes and ears for the boy. It had swooped down, releasing the tube in front of its target, who caught it before it drew level with his waist. But there was still more, much more to do. The boy might have glimpsed a diamond glitter against the black night as he glanced upwards, then it was gone, seeking rest, preparing itself for the fulfilment of its mission. 

A knock on her room late that evening brought Arlanni face to face with the inn's adopted urchin, Oliver. "Message for you, miss" he announced, and stepped back smartly when she opened the door. Eye roughly in line with the keyhole, she thought. Arlanni looked down at the hand which was held in a cup shape, ready to receive a coin or two. A minute tube of parchment protruded up from between his fingers. "Just found it, miss" he volunteered. A smile crossed her lips. "Honest miss, it just fell down in front of me" he blurted, looking quite hurt. "You're a lying rat, Sarmy. But here's your due" she said, deftly taking the tube and tossing a brass bit into the air. The cupped hand flew up, closing round the disc even as is slowed in its upward arc, and sped off down the passage. But Arlanni was not watching. She had already turned back into the room, eager to discover how she might secure even greater favours from her new boss.

The letter was not surprisingly in the same style as the other. But this time it contained very clear instructions. "take jewel from neck of corpse in mortuary. be armed, unseen, tonight". Arlanni's heart jumped with anticipation. Action at last!. This jewel may be a powerful artefact, or an extremely rare and precious stone. Now I will show I am worthy of your trust, she thought. 

Then she began to prepare for the assignment. She knew the mortuary was part of a small temple, situated around the back, where bodies are kept for burial the following morning. She knew it could be approached unseen if she waited until after midnight. It was almost certainly locked, so her lockpicking would be tested. Why armed? Simple precaution, she supposed. She slipped the small dagger into its sheath and buckled the straps which would hold it there. Lockpicks, in a roll on her belt. Dark leather jerkin, hood, pants and boots would make her just about invisible to the occasional watchmen who might brave the imaginary night-creatures.  Finally she opened the heavy window bolts and slipped silently down the shaded wall and into the night.

Arlanni had no trouble in gaining the mortuary doors. It was a bright moonlit night, but with plenty of shadows to hide in, there was little risk of being spotted. The lock was a tough one, and it took several attempts to open it. Then she slipped inside. The room was about 20 feet long, with trestles round the side and end. The moonlight filtered in through slots in the walls which served as windows - too small to admit anything larger than a mouse, but plentiful enough to ventilate the room of the noisome odour of decay. As she became accustomed to the light, she could make out a shroud on one of the trestles which might conceal a corpse. 

Arlanni was not comfortable with death in any form, and felt very apprehensive as she approached the shroud. A hand protruded from beneath it, silver white in the moon beam. Suddenly she felt afraid. What if it was a trap? Perhaps the sorcerer lay beneath the shroud, black sword in hand, waiting to pounce and exact his revenge to violating his castle? She hesitated for several seconds, considering these and other absurd possibilities. Then she reached out and touched the hand, and recoiled from the shock. It was stone cold. It was dead, she realised. Really dead, of course it would be cold. She felt foolish at her own timidity.  Swiftly, boldly, she swept the shroud off the body.

She gasped in surprise, for instead of the old man she expected, ribs wasted with disease or limbs smashed by a violent death, was a beautiful young woman, unmarked and unblemished. Long black hair was wrapped into neat coils either side of the head.  She followed the line of the naked body up from the navel,  past the breasts, to the slender neck and finely featured face. Around the neck, fastened closely by a delicate chain and locket, was a small, brilliant diamond. Arlanni swallowed dryly, but the lump in her throat was quite persistent. If she were dead herself, would she look like this? What misfortune had befallen this poor woman, to cut her down thus? There was nothing else on the body, no weapon or charm, and nowhere to hide one. Arlanni slowly stroked a cold leg with a finger tip, as if it might be restored to life by her touch. The finger travelled up to the jewel, curled round it, and went to tug it free.

The jewel was firmly attached by the chain through the little locket. Her mind focused now as a professional with a clear objective. The locket would need to be picked, or the chain broken. She was only asked for the jewel, but confidence in her own lockpicking skills made the locket the obvious target. Ignoring the body now, Arlanni leant down closely over the locket to begin the delicate job of picking it. So intent was she that she did not notice the silvery hands moving slowly up towards her throat until they locked around it.


Arlanni tried to draw breath to scream, but the hands were already constricting her windpipe too closely. The only sound was the clatter as lockpicks fell on the wood and stone around them. She scrabbled wildly at the cold hands to prise them away, as the corpse sat up and drew its face close to that the terrified thief. "Arlanni, meet your employer" it said slowly and quietly. Arlanni was frozen with fear, and ceased trying to pull the hands away, or even unfasten the dagger from the straps around its sheath. "Be silent or I will terminate our contract" it added. The hands unfastened themselves from her neck, and she collapsed on the floor by the trestle, trying to get her breath back, but otherwise not moving.

The corpse swung its slim legs over the side and slipped down onto the floor. It knelt down by the gasping thief, lifted her easily under her armpits and sat her on the trestle. Arlanni was still very shocked, but the fact that she was still alive did much to reassure her that this creature was probably not what it appeared to be. She kept her eyes down, staring at the part of the trestle between her legs, not daring to look up. "Let me introduce myself", said the creature. A hand was placed under her chin and slowly but powerfully raised, forcing her bowed head upright.  She half-closed her eyes as her unwilling gaze moved  up the creatures body, trying to avoid looking at the thighs, hips, navel and chest in turn . "My name is Victoria" it said, as her eyes locked onto its own. Arlanni realised with a shock that the hand was now warm, living, soft.  "It is I you must thank for your comfortable stay here".

"What do you want with me?", whispered the thief. "All in time", said Victoria. "First, clothe me." Arlanni blinked uncomprehendingly for several seconds. "I did not bring any" she said eventually. Victoria stepped back and glanced quickly down and up Arlanni's seated body, finally staring back at her eyes. "You don't mean .. Oh" said the thief, getting the drift. Nervously, Arlanni started to unfasten the jerkin.

This was entirely to Victoria's plan. She needed human form for the next part of the mission, and humans usually wore clothes. Unfortunately, she had not yet mastered the skill of  morphing her possessions to bat form. The thief garb would be ideal from a number of angles. She looked hungrily at the plump arms and round belly as they emerged from the jerkin. The thief looked up as she handed the jerkin to Victoria and caught her eyes. "You have a pretty body", said Victoria, slipping an arm into the sleeve. Arlanni looked down, embarrassed that she was being appraised. "Boots next", Victoria commanded, fastening the jerkin. 

Arlanni bent down to the laces and unfastened the leather strips. The twine which had held them when she arrived had been discarded long ago. "Why is she mocking me", thought the thief. "I am not pretty, I am fat, because you have kept me waiting around so long." Then as if to confirm this, the pants clung obstinately to her hips as she wiggled the waistband over them. As she lifted her bare foot out of the last leg, she realised the woman was still looking at her intently. She quickly shoved the dark pants on the trestle and  snatched up the shroud from the floor to conceal her shame.

"A man might find you attractive", said Victoria in a hard, level voice. She watched with amusement as the thief raised one corner of the shroud to her shoulder, and fumbled  awkwardly with another, to hide more of herself from further remarks. She smoothed the garments she now wore. The jerkin was a little short, and the pants would be rather loose, though neither fact would be important.  Victoria fastened the boot laces in silence, and snapped the end off one to bind back her long hair with. She then reached under the trestle for a lock pick which had been dropped in the earlier struggle. The thief sat cowering inside the shroud, knees drawn up to her chin, holding the fabric tightly round her.

"Tell me about the Watch". Arlanni was relieved to be back on to familiar subjects again. "There is a guardhouse to the north.", she answered confidently, having taken the time to study this vital aspect of her work. "Three watchmen are on duty each night, and they take turns to walk through the main streets. They usually carry a crossbow and a cudgel. They are quite predictable and easily avoided." "By a thief", she almost added, but decided such opinions of her trade would not be welcome. "Good. Repack your tools," commanded Victoria, "and wait here till I return". 

Arlanni was very confused as she watched the strange woman leave the mortuary, dressed as a thief, but moving  very clumsily.  No thief would expect to get very far like that. She wanted to get away from all this, and fast. It was getting too complicated, too quickly.  She occupied her mind packing the lockpicks in the tool roll. All apart from the one the woman took. What use would a Grimtooth double-zero be to her? 

The thief decided at that point she was going to run, anywhere, as long as it was away from Hardby.  She stood up to race to the door, leaving the shroud where she had crouched. As the shroud fell away, and the cold air raised goosebumps on her skin, she realised a problem. Her white skin, and blonde hair, would shine like a beacon in the moonlight. The shroud, also white, offered no advantage. All her training, at evasion and concealment, relied on appropriate clothing. And the clever woman had taken it all. The woman, who knew who she was, and where she was going before she had even arrived. Whose enchantments could let her enter a locked building and play dead. Who was at least twice her strength. Who was totally in command. Arlanni then knew she was trapped in this contract, and slowly picked up the shroud, to pull about her cold shoulders and wait.

Victoria, meanwhile, knew that this was the most difficult and dangerous part of the mission for her. She knew where the money in Hardby lived, and headed indirectly for the most impressive house, which happened to belong to the moneychanger. She noted her route, which lay off the main streets, because she would need to retrace it. Arriving at the front door, she squatted in front of it, in full view of the street. The moonlight cast her shadow clearly on the door. She then took the lockpick and began idly poking at the magnificent lock which adorned it. The outer calm hid a deep anxiety. This was going to hurt. 

Old Snaresbutt was not the bravest of the bunch, but he felt that heroism was not a key skill for a watchman at the moment. The dreaded night creatures had not been seen for months, in fact they had never been seen by anyone who could tell of it. What he meant was there were no more unexplained disappearances. Though few townsfolk made the distinction. To him, it was necessary to patrol the streets of Hardby with an unflinching resolve to keep young troublemakers like Oliver Sarmy out of mischief. He took great pride in his achievement. He had given that lad a good whipping in his first week with the watch, and had never seen him or his cronies on the streets again.

Snaresbutt strolled with practised tread along the narrow wagon track which served as a pavement for the guild quarter. The bright moonlight was a blessing to him, giving a clear view of the great houses who paid his wages. A movement in the near distance had caught his eye. He stopped abruptly, raising the crossbow almost in a reflex action. By the gods! There was someone at the door of Tiberius's stronghold! Too big to be young Sarmy. The watchman had plenty of time to take aim; he knew that Tiberius would award him a griffon piece bonus for a clean kill.

Another pair of eyes watched the drama unfolding from a nearby rooftop. The black-clad female figure was behaving very strangely, he thought. She had managed to get away from the inn without trace, but had been easier to follow than a wounded pig when she approached the door. And now, she was a sitting target which no competent watchman could possibly miss. The time between the twunk of the bow and the thump of the quarrel was but a blink of an eye. The figure recoiled a span from the momentum of the heavy quarrel as it disappeared into the jerkin, then slumped further forward against the door. The eyes followed the slim rod which fell from its twitching fingers. He observed the watchman approaching, then pause as the figure hauled itself upright and  tugged at the straps of the dagger sheath. He saw the watchman reach for his whistle, and heard the shrill sound echo off the walls, which would bring the other watchmen running. Time to go, thought Oliver. He did not want another close encounter with Snaresbutt's cudgel. 

Victoria winced as the bolt tore into her thorax. The impact had taken her breath away, and left her rather giddy. It was a killing shot, she thought. The pain was over now, she could go and claim her reward, her right, that she had planned for all those weeks ago. All she needed was a head start. The crossbowman was approaching, he needs to realise she was still a threat. The dagger would be sufficient, if thrown to miss. Before she could unstrap it, the whistle cut through the air, piercingly loud at  such short range. This was a serious complication, one which she had not anticipated. Victoria cursed the thief for not mentioning the whistles, but realised that they are not obvious unless they had been used. An answering whistle told her that time was getting short. She turned and hurled the dagger at the man, who had taken a step backwards as he tried to reload the bow, and it whirled past his ear. The watchman, already unsettled by the fact that his opponent was still alive, turned and ran.

Arlanni heard the whistles too, and looked up at the door, expecting the watch to burst through at any moment. Then quietly running footsteps, and the woman wearing thief's garb slipped breathlessly through the doorway. "Quick, lock the door" clipped Victoria.. The thief stepped out of the shroud, grabbed the tool roll, and ran barefoot to the door, eager to obey. The watch was as big a threat to her as to her employer, it appeared. By the time the lock clicked shut, Victoria was breathing normally again, and had started to unstrap one of the boots. "Teamwork, eh?", she said brightly as she pulled the boot off and drew up the other.  "Now we wait a while".

It was a good quarter hour before they heard the watchmen tramping around outside, grumbling about their poor fortune to be on duty tonight. The pair were mouse-quiet as a heavy hand rattled the lock, and announced it was secure. Then the crunch of boots receded, and all was still. By this time, Victoria had removed all her clothing and shoved most of the pile towards Arlanni, who had sat huddled in the shroud. "You can dress again. I have no further need of these", said Victoria. So far, things were coming together nicely for her. The quarrel had left a nasty hole which would take a day or two to heal, but it was never a real risk. Her immunity to normal weapons gave her so much more tactical flexibility.

The hunger returned to Victoria as she sat cross-legged on the trestle watching the thief stand up to pull on the pants. The smooth, rounded features carried such promise to her kind.  First though, the girl deserved an explanation. "Do you know why you were spared?" began Victoria, as the thief tightened the boot straps. "Spared from what?" asked Arlanni, suddenly feeling worried. "Come now, has a month of good living affected your memory so quickly?" she retorted.  "Why were you nursed back to health, when your fellow thieves all perished?". The thief shook her head.

"Your body is quite exquisite", continued Victoria. She really meant this, but not for the reasons that Arlanni could guess at. "It could stir the heart of any man".  Victoria could not see the thief blush at this compliment, since the moonlight washed out the colour. She did notice the thief quickly look around for the jerkin, but as Victoria was still sitting on it, reach instead for the shroud. "I think you were spared because he liked you" she said in a voice choked with jealousy. Arlanni sensed the tension, and drew the shroud quickly up to her shoulders with both hands. Victoria then hopped smartly off the trestle and strode towards the trembling girl, who was backing away towards the locked door. 

"He is MINE!", she roared, filled with an emotion which had been gnawing at her mind since Belphanior had healed and freed the thief after the raid on the castle in Helgate. "You violated our home, you sought to steal our wealth, you tried to kill us when we defended ourselves. What right have you to be LIKED by him?"

Arlanni was too shocked to speak. She felt very frightened of this angry woman and only wanted to get out of this room as soon as possible. She was leaning with her bare back against the door by now, gripping the shroud protectively over her neck with both fists, shaking her head at the woman whose face was hard with rage. She was locked in this trap by her own hands. The shroud was torn away from her by powerful arms and tossed into the centre of the room. She crossed her wrists defensively in front of her chest,  palms flat below her collar, watching and waiting fearfully for whatever punishment was due. 

Victoria stepped back to regard the terrified thief. She then reached forward and gripped Arlanni's upper arm. The girl shrank away from her firm grasp, but could only press herself harder against the cold rough wood of the door. "The innkeeper has fattened you up nicely", she said menacingly, squeezing the soft flesh twice. "Hagor? Fattened?" whispered Arlanni, through dry lips. "Oh, don't be angry with him. He knows nothing about me", said Victoria casually, the terror in the girl's eyes having mollified her fury. "Then this was all .. a trick?", said Arlanni, scarcely believing what she was hearing.  "Of course", answered the woman. "I could have killed you anytime I wanted. But you were skin and bones when you left Helgate. Now I take my profit. I am a vampire".

Half an hour or so later, Victoria stood up feeling quite full, and very satisfied with the outcome of her plan. The net cost would be only two round trips and one of her odd gemstones.  It was good value. The girl's blood was fresh, nourishing and plentiful. She looked down at the remains of her leisurely meal, laid chest down on the trestle. It had been so refreshingly different from the usual rushed feeding. Two round holes close together in the upper back revealed the manner of the assault, and nature of the assailant. A few bruises and scratches suggested a short struggle. She had put up quite a fight, thought Victoria. Now though, drained of much of her blood, she did not even have the strength to stand.

Arlanni groaned quietly, and attempted to rise to her hands and knees. Exhausted by the effort, she collapsed back onto the boards.  She then hauled herself onto an elbow to raise her head to speak. "You won't get away with this", she gasped, "they will find me and hunt you down". The vampire stood in full view of the thief, legs apart and arms on bare hips in triumph. "You fool!", she taunted. "Do you think I have not planned for that?" Arlanni closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of the vampire's stomach swollen with her own blood. She twisted ineffectually as her limp arms were stuffed into the sleeves of the jerkin. She felt a hand thrust under her waistband lift her easily off the trestle and toss her onto the floor. She realised ironically that the waistband was now a much looser fit. She felt the hem of the jerkin being tugged downwards and then smoothed on her back. Something sharp was being prodded through the jerkin, finding its place on her skin. Then it was stabbed deeply into her body. 

The wretched thief convulsed as Victoria used her inhuman strength to push the quarrel, which she had removed from herself, through the puncture wounds from her feeding. By the grey light she saw the dark fluid pulse out from the hole, flow over the jerkin and drip from the fletching. "Excellent!", thought Victoria. She had judged the remaining blood in her victim to make a convincing puddle on the floor. She allowed herself to gloat just once more. "They will not find a vampire's victim in here. They will find a thief who crawled wounded into the mortuary and bled to death!". 

Poor Arlanni died shortly afterwards, alone and delirious on the mortuary floor. By then, a well-fed bat was well over a quarter of the way back to Helgate, clutching a tiny diamond locket and chain in its claws.

The following morning found a town in the grip of a crisis. News of the encounter by the watch had spread like wildfire, and the two versions which circulated were remarkably consistent. The wizard's woman, as she was known, had been killed attempting to break into Tiberius's stronghold by the fearless Snaresbutt. Her body was found, fittingly, in the mortuary, with a set of lockpicks as evidence of her profession. Hagor was rather sad that it had ended thus. He was not sorry that the wizard's funds were now his to invest on property development, and the inn at Hardby later sported an extra wing. 

"Can I keep it?" said Oliver to his grandfather. "Grimtooth double zero", said Tiberius approvingly, turning the slim black rod over in his hand. "Good pick, that. Dropped by the thief last night, you say?" Oliver nodded.  "What sort of lass was she, now?". Oliver considered this a bit. "She had a podgy tummy" he finally replied, with a definitive air. Tiberius scowled. "No, no, I mean was she acting like a professional thief?" he asked, exasperated. "Sometimes yes, and sometimes no", answered Oliver, with utter honesty. Tiberius lost patience with the boy then, and spoke what was on his mind.  "Well, lad, your tale takes some believing. You need at least a number 5 to do that lock of mine. This here", he said, jabbing the little pick towards his youngest apprentice for emphasis, " is only good for jewellery".

Belphanior was asleep when Victoria returned to the castle just before dawn broke. So they did not meet each other  until the following evening. He knew her true nature and had a shrewd idea of what she had been up to. It was now over a month since the failed break-in, when she had fed well on the fallen. "How was the hunting?" he asked.  He didn't need to ask whether it had been a success; her smug, flushed appearance told of a recent full meal. He was more concerned at the greater distances she needed to fly each time to reach unprotected victims. "More like farming", she replied, with a huge grin.

The End (and I really mean it).

The legal bit (based on Tom's version)

Many of the locations, non-player characters,  spells, and other terms used in these stories are the property of TSR, Inc.  However, TSR has in no way endorsed or authorised their use, and any such items contained within this story is not  representative of TSR in any fashion.  The characters of Victoria, Belphanior and Arlanni depicted in this story are copyright 1991-2000 by Thomas A. Miller.  Other characters are copyright 2000 by Jeffrey M Howell. Any resemblance to any persons  or characters either real or fictional is utterly coincidental.  Copying and/or distribution of this story is permissible under the sole condition that no money is made in the process. 

Jeff Howell
jhowell@iee.org
21 May 2000