The Angaran Chronicles: Hamar Noir

Chapter 6

Anargrin left the elven couple and headed north. There he subtly spread the rumour of little Kelth's magical potential. The entire time the lump in his throat made it hard to breathe. He didn't want to do this. If he failed, an innocent girl and her family would die. Solen and Falin were kind, genuine people they didn't deserve to such a fate.

He was playing with their lives. He had to make sure it wouldn't kill them, even if he had to die in the process.

There were other problems, too. Despite church propaganda, most vampires weren't complete monsters, even those that went rogue could have a set of ethics. Killing young men and women was one thing; a child was another. But many threw out morality altogether, revelling in the hunt and the kill.

Anargrin wasn't sure which he hoped for.

Another conundrum was that those rumours of a magical child were also going to attract the attention of the church.

Night had fallen when he arrived back at the house and started to stalk the shadows and the rooftops. An arduous task, it made him wish Emilia was here. Back in his solo days, he had no problem with it. Yet again he wondered, why had the troll targeted Emilia? Did it know she was a werewolf?

It could've been an educated guess, that the seemingly innocent teenage girl was hiding something. Trolls were intelligent creatures, so it wasn't without the realms of reality.

Anargrin had gone against Sammil's order to 'shadow the case.' The Head-Hunter wouldn't be happy, despite Anargrin taking measures to keep his presence quiet. Anargrin wasn't afraid to break the rules. He needed to know the family and have a good idea of the layout of their house. Information is easier to obtain if he showed his sigil.

Yet, he regretted it. It would've been easier to use them if he'd kept ignorant, thought of Kelth's family as just a part of the mindless masses.

Some Hunters would have no problem with that. Some would even let the vampire kill Kelth's family then 'rescue' her and bring her to the nearest coven.

Anargrin had what was called a strong sense of empathy. It was a strength and a weakness. It allowed him to place himself in someone's metaphorical shoes, understand them and the way they thought. It allowed him to manipulate people. But it made him care.

Not just that Falin was beautiful and Anargrin always had a foolish weakness for a pretty face. He felt sorry for her, having to sell her body in the name of survival. Anargrin felt sorry for Solen who had to live with the knowledge his wife bedded by other men. He felt sorry for poor Kelth having to be brought up in such poverty.

He felt sorry for all three for they would soon be separated if they weren't killed.

Anargrin sighed.

He could only hope it wouldn't end in tragedy.

Anargrin had to wait for two days until the vampire arrived.

It was about two 2 AM when Anargrin knelt upon the same hab block he had when he'd first found the family when he saw the tall, gaunt figure stride along the street.

Anargrin's enhanced vision pierced the dark with ease. The vampire was a once-human male. A handsome man with slicked back brown hair and a pencil moustache. He was well groomed, his clothes on par with male fashion trend of the time: a poofy white shirt and tight khaki pants. The vampire's eyes were a slight red, indicating his low light vision. The vampire's pale, gaunt stretched skin was indicative of his kind. It wasn't just that which gave the man away: it was the way he walked, it was a strange, stiff gait. To Anargrin, it was as obvious as day, but the untrained eye wouldn't notice. It was disturbing, a subtle off. The vampire also walked with the hyper-confidence of a seasoned killer.

Anargrin clenched his teeth and crouched closer to the thatched roof, unsure whether he should thank his luck or curse it. The vampire hadn't even bothered to hide his aura. The vampire's brazen disregard indicated a trap. Anargrin remembered his theory that the Cult might be involved, so he might not be alone.

This train of thought was gone the second the vampire peeled off the path and began to approach the family's door.

Anargrin lunged off the roof while summoning his sword in a blaze of white light.

Then, a few centimetres off the road. Anargrin blinked.

Anargrin reappeared behind the vampire, slashing for the beheading. In the last millisecond, the vampire knelt, and Anargrin's blade flew through the air. The vampire drew a sword from beneath his coat and spun, cutting diagonally up at Anargrin's stomach. The Hunter leapt out the way and stumbled a metre more in his desperate abandon.

The vampire smiled and stood.

'Nice try, Hunter,' he said as he extended his fangs. 'But I am just too good.'

Anargrin grimaced, and they started to circle each other. The vampire's footwork was impeccable. But what made Anargrin uneasy was the vampire's long sword. It was a beautiful, ornate thing. Its hilt made of gold. There was something very familiar about it, but Anargrin couldn't understand why. It was worn but well maintained, indicating it could be older than even Anargrin. How the vampire got his hands on such a weapon, Anargrin could only guess and none of those guesses boded well.

That coupled with the vampire's superior strength and constitution...

Anargrin had underestimated his quarry.

'Did you think I would not see this for a trap?' said the vampire. 'Did you think me a fool?'

'Well,' said Anargrin. 'You are here.'

The vampire laughed. 'Indeed, I am. Then I suppose us both to be fools. But who is more the fool? The fool who stepped into a trap, knowing it to be a trap? Or the fool who set it thinking it would work despite it being so obvious? A trap that has failed.'

'It hasn't failed yet,' said Anargrin.

'It will,' said the vampire. 'Once I kill you and feed upon the sweet, sweet blood of the magical elf girl. Oh, how I look forward to it.'

The vampire lunged, faster than the mortal eye could follow. Anargrin sidestepped the thrust and countered with a cross-slash.

The vampire leaned beneath it and threw a side kick at Anargrin's skull. Anargrin tilted aside and slashed vertically upward, forcing the vampire to flow back. Anargrin followed with a diagonal slice. The vampire parried it and riposted into an upward vertical slash. Anargrin slipped aside and darted back of the vampire's stab.

Again they started to circle, and Anargrin cursed beneath his breath. He didn't know how long he could keep this up. Despite his enhancement, Anargrin was still affected by fatigue and pain, but his opponent was immune to both.

'I must say that I am impressed,' said the vampire. 'It has been a long, long time since anyone has lasted so long against my blade.'

Anargrin wasn't surprised.

'The Devanworth Cult,' said Anargrin.

The vampire's brow furrowed in bemusement.

'The what?'

Anargrin knew then; this vampire had no idea what he was talking about, that he was just one of the freakish few who enjoyed the taste of the blood of those with magical potential. A simpler explanation Anargrin hadn't considered in his foolishness.

He decided not to elaborate and with a snarl, darted at the vampire, slashing.