Prologue

The road was winding in front of her, long and monotonous. She had a quick look behind her, on the sleeping man hidden from the last sunbeams.
"Slan!" she called softly.
Only the soft whisper of his coat as he slightly moved told her he had heard her.
"It's almost night," she continued.
He grunted.
"How are you feeling?" he asked then.
"I'm alright. A bit tired, that's all."
"We should stop during the night so that you would get real rest, not being shaken in this pitiful cart."
"You know we can't," she answered, not taking her eyes from the road.
"You don't think they are still after you, do you?" he said casually, seating next to her on the driver's seat as the last sunbeam died on the horizon.
"We can't take a chance," she replied, determined.
"They don't know you are with me."
She shrugged.
"They can guess. You did rescue me from them, after all."
"Seriously, why did you come with me?" he asked, not for the first time.
"It looked like a good idea to me on the moment. You didn't look like someone who would beat the living daylights out of me like they were doing. And well, with you, I can be of some use," she answered, climbing in the back of the cart, hiding her face from his keen eyes.
She lay on the floor of the cart and drew the blanket on herself. Slan, reins in hand, slightly turned the head to look at her. It seemed she was already asleep, her young face relaxed, and once again he wondered how she could trust him. They had met maybe two weeks ago and the first time she had seen him, he had his long silver scimitar in hand and was killing the man who had more or less brought her up. True, he was trying to feed on her when Slan interrupted him, but it couldn't explain it all, it couldn't explain why she had run away with him so willingly. She knew he couldn't stand sunlight, she knew he wasn't that much better than the man he had saved her from, yet she slept trustingly in the cart he was driving and she had done so from the very first night.
But on the other hand he trusted her too, sleeping under her guard when the sun was high in the sky, having to depend on her for his safety instead of spending half of the night to find a shelter for the day as he was doing before. This new arrangement had advantages, true, but still something was bothering him: he hated to rely on somebody, but he reasoned that she probably hated it as much as he did.

She woke up one hour before dawn and came sitting next to him.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
She shook the head.
"No," she lied, trying to hide she was wrapping her arms around herself.
He picked up the blanket from behind without even turning the head and held it out to her.
"Take this."
"No!" she protested. "You are going to need it soon."
"Stop fighting me," he said patiently, "I know you are freezing each morning."
"You are the Hunter, you are the most important," she persisted.
"I will be needing you soon. I know this land," he mused, looking around, his face calm as usual.
"Troubles?" she asked, trying to match his usual silent mood.
He had a very slight smile and agreed wordlessly. He looked around again, more carefully, seeming to recognise the road.
"We are stopping here," he said suddenly, driving the cart off the road.
She looked at him, surprised.
"Why so?"
"No need to arrive too soon."
Somehow she understood she wouldn't receive any explanation so she didn't insist. She jumped down the cart and walked around, trying to discover what could have caused this sudden stop.
"Don't go too far," he warned her.
She nodded and continued her little exploration. Slan had disappeared in the cart as the night was clearing and stars were slowly fading. Finding nothing, she came back to the cart and came in.
"Why are you not a daywalker?" she asked, sitting next to him, her arms around her knees.
"Because," he grunted.
"All dhampyrs are daywalkers," she insisted.
"Depends the part of strigoļ blood in your veins," he answered, trying to find a better position to sleep.
"I don't understand," she said, frowning.
He straightened up on one elbow.
"My mother was a dhampyr herself, so I don't have enough human blood to counterbalance the strigoļ blood."
She came closer to him and gently forced him to settle his head on her knees.
"So you are not exactly a half-breed, are you?"
"I'm three quarters strigoļ, one quarter human. Is it what you wanted to know? Are you scared now?"
"No. Am I supposed to be?"
"You should," he grumbled.
"So the more strigoļ blood you have, the more weaknesses you have?"
"I have only one of theirs: I'm a nightwalker. Why is it so important to you?"
She shrugged and didn't answer.
"Sleep," she said instead.
As if her words held certain power, he closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

As soon as the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, Slan took place again on the driver's seat. He didn't ask what she had done during the day; all he knew was that when he woke up, his head was still on her knees. The cart progressed slowly on the road, meeting nobody; everything seemed abandoned or maybe was it just empty, as if people were afraid of the dark. She was looking around her, trying to understand the reason for such a fear. The surroundings were quiet and the landscape looked beautiful under the pale moonlight. She wanted to ask Slan why he was so cautious, why everything was empty, but during the two weeks she had spent with him, she had learnt better than ask too many questions. Slan liked silence.
Suddenly, she started: before them, three threatening figures had appeared from nowhere, surrounded by a sort of mist.
"Who are you, travellers? What is your business in this land?" asked the first of them.
She remained quiet. Slan had driven here, he had his reasons, which she ignored totally.
"We are just passing through," he replied calmly.
"Nobody ever comes here by accident or 'passing through'. Whoever comes here is led here because we want him to come or because he was called as a Hunter. Are you a Hunter?"
"I have to eat sometimes."
"Not that kind!"
"Why are you travelling by night?" asked the second one of the newcomers, suspicious.
"Air is cooler," shrugged Slan.
"But your young friend is cold."
Slan didn't even look at her.
"It's our problem."
"You are not very talkative, stranger! It is not a really good habit when coming to these lands! Here, you better be very talkative."
"Can we go or do you intend to keep us here for the rest of the night?"
"You can go," said the first one reluctantly, "but be careful: we are going to keep an eye on you!"
Slan didn't answer and watched them disappearing in the dark. Then, as silence was surrounding them again, he softly said:
"I hope you liked the welcome of the faithful dogs."
"Dogs?" she repeated blankly.
"They are but the pawns of the lord. They don't even have the Sight!"
"Which lord? What sight?"
"The lord, Baron Cainan Domine, direct descendant of Cain, first strigoļ in the history and, occasionally, companion of Azrael, Angel of Death."

Text © Azrael 2002.
Set Gothiquesque, from Moyra/Mystic PC 1998.