Dhampir

Two villagers who'd been carefully peering over its contents stepped back quickly. She laid down her pole and from out of her pack pulled a large brass container, its shape somewhere between a bowl and an urn, with a fitted hard-leather lid. All over the lid and bowl were scratches and scribbles of unintelligible symbols.

"I need this to catch the vampire's spirit in. Many undeads are spirit creatures."

Everyone watched in rapt interest, and when she knew she had their complete attention, she changed the subject. It was time to talk about price.

"I know your village is suffering, Zupan, but the costs of my materials are high."

Petre was ready and motioned her to a back room. "My family went door to door last week for donations. We are not rich, but all have helped by giving something."

He opened the door, and she glanced inside at goods piled upon a canvas quilt spread over the dirt floor. There were two full slabs of smoke-cured pork, four blocks of white cheese, about twenty eggs, three wolf pelts, and two small silver symbols-perhaps for some deity who had not answered their prayers. All in all, it was a very typical first offer.

"I'm sorry," Magiere said. "You don't understand. Food is welcome, but the quilt is of no use to me, and the rest won't cover my costs. I often work and gain no profit, but I can't work at a loss. Without enough coin, I at least need goods I can sell to cover what I spend to make ready for battle. Most of my materials are rare and costly to acquire and prepare."

Petre Evanko turned white, genuinely shocked, and apparently had thought the offer quite generous. "This is all we have. I sent my family out begging. You cannot let us die. Or are we now to bargain for our lives?"

"And what good would it do the next village if I left here unable to prepare for their defense?" she returned.

This exchange was customary for Magiere, though Zupan Petre appeared to be more intelligent than other village leaders she'd dealt with in the past. She kept her expression sympathetic but firm. Villagers almost always had some little treasure hidden away where tax collectors couldn't find it. It might be a family heirloom, possibly a small gem or some silver taken off a dead mercenary, but it was here.

"You've come all this way, and you'll do nothing?" The flesh beneath his eyes was turning gray.

Anna reached out and touched her husband's shirt. "Give her the seed money, Petre." Her voice was quiet but quivering with fear.

"No," he answered sharply.

Anna turned to the others, who so far had watched in silence. "What good is seed if we are all dead before spring?"

Petre breathed in sharply. "How long will we live with nothing to eat next year? How long will we live in the lord's dungeons when we cannot pay the tax?"

Magiere stayed out of this predictable bickering. They would go back and forth, for and against, until their fears began to win over. Then would follow the hope that if they could just overcome this terror, something would come later to see them through the next year. She knew these peasants too well. They were all the same.

A short flurry of arguments ensued, but Magiere busied herself inspecting the contents of her pack and ignored the discussion, as if the outcome were obvious. Those in favor of keeping the seed coins and taking a chance with the vampire were soon squelched.