This story was written just for fun and is not an attempt to make money or infringe on any copyrights or trademarks. Only the original ideas contained within the works on this nonprofit web site are the property of their authors, and please do not copy these stories to any other website or archive or print without permission of the author.

by Angela Field.

In the darkness of gathering evening, the man dressed in simple black lowered the prayer book he had been reading from to watch his companion hammering the last wooden cross into the final mound. Here on the edge of Dark Fell, seven men - if you wished to call them men - had been entombed and now the nobleman was seeing to it that they stayed entombed, staked to the cold earth with his earnest desire that they should stay forever bound within it.

A rustling of dry leaves stirring in the chill of the wind make the man look up and shiver, drawing his cloak further around his body. The moon gazed down on them watchfully, the bones of her face stark and bare with the gathering frost of winter.  

“There, Sir Percy, all done,” panted the hammerer, stepping back to look round at his companion.

“Thank you, George.” Sir Percy nodded and stepped forward, touching the rough wood of the cross. An observer might well have wondered why each cross had been driven through the centre of each mound rather than at the head, but the nobleman and his servant knew only too well why. Caressing the leather bound prayer book he cradled against his chest, Sir Percy sighed.

“Do you think it’s enough, sir?” George asked.

“In these times, who knows?” Sir Percy responded wearily. As the moon slipped from beneath the scudding clouds and cast her pale light across the hills, his face was revealed with all its lines of time engraved upon. He was a man turned suddenly old, who had seen too much and lost too much to the bodies now lying in the chill earth beneath them. “Once I did not believe such evil things as these monsters could exist, but then I also believed in the power of kings. I did not think they would ever execute one. My poor, poor Charles...”

“Hush, sir,” George looked around him warily. “There are those that listen even now...”

Sir Percy smiled faintly. “I am long past caring, my friend,” he said quietly. “Perhaps it was for the best in the end. Charles became a martyr instead of their puppet...”

“And we are free,” George said with solemn relief.

“Are we?” the nobleman murmured sadly. “Even now they bicker and argue over who will do what, who will lead and who will follow. Tell me what has changed if you can.”

“They say that every man will have his own land...”

“Taken from the nobles and the nobles cast down. Leveller talk....”

“You know what they were like, sir. You know the nobles were rich and greedy. You know the King was weak and foolish and let them buy his favours....” The servant paused as Sir Percy gave him a chilly look. “I'm sorry, sir. I do not include you...”

Percy raised a hand to silence him and turned to walk away, picking his way over the rough earth. George grabbed up his horn lantern and followed him hastily, not wishing to be left behind.  “No, let it be. I too am sorry. You spoke only the truth. He could not see the greed and corruption and debauchery that surrounded him and that was his downfall. He was a foolish man who could not admit when he had lost. Perhaps if he had...” He paused, shaking his head. “Perhaps changes nothing. If he had lived, he would have extended his protection once more to these monsters and let them live. Instead, they were hanged and we are safe to walk the world at night again. I only hope a hanging was enough to prevent them....returning.”

George cast an uneasy glance at the mounds behind them. The small hill was ringed round by a narrow stream and a veritable wall of dark trees. Shadowed by crackling leaves that hissed in the frosted wind, the makeshift graveyard had a menacing air to it. It was not a place he would have coming to willingly even in daylight on his own, but for Sir Percy he would have crossed red hot coals barefoot. “The crosses will keep them down though, won’t they?” he said anxiously.

“The crosses? I hope so. That and faith if there is any faith left....”

George shuddered, pulling his good coat further around him. He feared what lay in the dark earth’s embrace as any sensible man surely would. He feared the evil of creatures that had the souls of devils and the faces of artistic perfection. If they had souls at all...

                                                            * * *

Dick Turpin paused in the doorway of the crowded inn, tugging absently at the laces of his long black cloak as he searched for a familiar face. An exasperated frown settled over his features as he spotted a glossy blond head amongst the more usual browns and blacks and he stalked towards his apprentice. As he pushed his way through the crowd, his frown turned into a scowl as he spotted the focus of Swiftnick’s attention.

Totally oblivious to the arrival of his mentor, Swiftnick’s bright blue eyes were fixed in fascination on the display of feminine curves on the opposite side of the inn. Turpin had denied him the chance to see the forbidden fruits of Madame Desiree and her Birds of Paradise the last time they had visited the area on the basis that he was far too young for such a display. But this time Turpin had gone off to sell their latest windfall and Swiftnick wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity, both of seeing the show and of putting one over on his partner.

Dick’s finger prodding him sharply in the shoulder to announce his arrival made Swiftnick look round and up in irritation. His frown turned into a quick flash of alarm followed by a widening of his eyes as an ingenuous expression of innocence settled over his face. “Uh, hello, Dick. I didn’t expect you back yet.”

“Obviously,” Turpin observed sarcastically as he turned a chair around and settled down astride it. “I might have known you’d be off as soon as my back was turned.”

“Uh, well, I uh stopped in for a quick one on my way home....” Swiftnick mumbled lamely, doing his very best to keep his eyes away from the makeshift stage. It was difficult; he was sure a veil had wafted to the floor...

“And how many quick ones have you had?” Dick asked dryly, putting a firm hand over the mouth of Swiftnick’s tankard as he raised it and pushing it back to the table. He could tell from Swiftnick’s flushed face and slightly unfocused eyes that he was probably pushing his limits of staying sober.

“Um....I er....Well, I couldn’t leave once the show started...”

“And why not?”

“Would’ve been rude....” Swiftnick leaned back as Turpin leaned closer.

Turpin snorted as he glanced towards the stage. “They wouldn’t have noticed,” he commented, raising an eyebrow at the amount of female skin on view. He could see why Swiftnick had wanted to stay and watch. They were all comely wenches and there were more curves on view than a lad of Swiftnick’s age could hope to see until he was a fair bit older. At least, not if Dick had his way. Turpin was well aware of the troubles a good looking lad like his accomplice could get himself into. If he’d still been a simple innkeeper’s lad, it wouldn't have mattered so much but a highwayman couldn’t afford to take the risk.

“I wasn’t doing any harm,” Swiftnick muttered sulkily. “Someone might have noticed if I had left and been suspicious...”

Dick sighed heavily, knowing he had a point. At least Madame Desiree seemed to be running a fairly respectable, if provocative, troupe of young ladies compared to some Turpin had seen.  “All right,” he muttered.

“What?” Swiftnick gave him a bewildered look.

“We can stay and watch the end of the performance. But no more drinking for you!” Dick grabbed Swiftnick’s tankard and helped himself to the contents.

“But....!” Swiftnick began an indignant protest, then paused as he realised what Dick was saying. “Stay?” he said cautiously.

“Aye. But you mind you don’t let your guard down.” Dick said, giving him a warning look. The sparkling grin Swiftnick gave him in response however told Dick that his warning had missed its target. If anyone was going to have to look out for trouble it would be Turpin as usual. Swiftnick turned eagerly back to watch the stage as Dick pushed to his feet and went to get himself another drink.

The innkeeper presiding over the barrels at the back was a dour sort, hardly the kind of cheerful man who made his patrons welcome. Still, Dick supposed there was only so many sob stories a man could listen to before he grew jaded. Dick ordered himself an ale once he had ascertained that there was no brandy to be had and turned back to survey the inn. Swiftnick was once more engrossed, cheering along with everyone else as the display changed from mermaids to wood nymphs with a quick bit of manoeuvring behind the screen at the back.

“Doomed,” muttered the man leaning on the counter beside Dick. “We’re all doomed.”

Turpin glanced at him in puzzlement, then looked at the innkeeper. “Is he talking to me?” he wondered. The last thing he needed was some nutter rabbiting on at him about sin and debauchery when he wanted nothing more than a quiet drink and a bit of good humoured lechery.

“To anyone who listens,” the innkeeper grunted. “Give over, Maurice,” he urged and then ostentatiously moved away.

“Doomed,” repeated the odd little man again, peering up at Turpin from blood shot eyes.

“Yes, well....” Dick said weakly and attempted to follow the innkeeper’s example and sidle away along the counter. The little man sidled after him.

“Doomed,” he repeated in a beer soaked breath. “They’re coming...”

“Who are?” Dick asked warily, wondering if this was some kind of oblique warning about dragoons.

“Them....” the man said grimly.

“Ah....” Dick nodded wisely. The man continued to stare at him, making Dick uncomfortable. “Hadn’t you better go then?” he suggested desperately.

“No point,” answered the man gloomily. “They’ll be here soon. Nowhere to run.”

“Ah...” said Turpin again.  “Hear voices a lot, do you?”

A weird little smile tugged at the man’s mouth at Turpin’s effort to humour him. “Only when people talk to me,” he said dryly. “I'm not mad....”

“Ah....” Dick murmured, wondering if he should slug him with the tankard, grab Swiftnick and make a run for it before the man got violent.

“Vampires,” the man went on quietly, watching Turpin like a cat at a mousehole. “You know, you can feel it too. You can feel them coming....”

Turpin blinked, the quick sarcastic reply that had leaped to his lips never voiced for no adequate reason that he could explain, except for that crawling sensation between his shoulder blades...

“Up on Dark Fell. That’s where Sir Percy Pickering put ‘em. But people get greedy for land. They dug ‘em up and now they’re coming back....” The man blinked as whatever lucidity had visited him faded again, leaving his bloodshot eyes once more vacant. “We’re all doomed,” he mumbled as he wandered away. “Doomed....”

 “You don’t want to listen to him, sir,” the innkeeper observed sourly as Turpin stared uneasily after the man. “Pickled as a herring he is. Never known him to dry out.”

“What was he saying about Dark Fell?” Dick asked slowly.

“Oh, some land that used to belong the last lord has been sold off and put to the plough. Disturbed him it did. A right one for all the old tales he is.”

“What tale would that be then?” Dick had no idea why he felt it was so important for him to know. There certainly couldn’t be anything valuable involved, but still the man’s warning had niggled at him on an instinctive level. He knew the name of Sir Percy....

The innkeeper studied him thoughtfully. “Care for another drink, sir?” he suggested.

Dick sighed, but dug out the coins and gloomily eyed the half empty tankard the innkeeper pulled for him.

“According to the story, they executed seven men who were followers of King Charles. The one what got his head chopped off,” the innkeeper told him. “Seems like these men were his advisors, but after he lost his head, they took to the road and to robbing and killing. When they got caught, turned out they’d been doing the same thing in the King’s name. Sir Percy wanted them executed as traitors, but the thought was that’d stir up more trouble what with the talk of the Martyr King and all so they hung ‘em up there on the edge of Dark Fell instead. Sir Percy had ‘em buried up there too. They say he went a bit weird after that, refused to let anyone go up there. Some said his heir was one of the Riders. That’s what they called them, the Riders. Story said they were part of the Wild Ride and they'd come back if their rest was ever disturbed...”

Turpin stared into his ale uneasily. He knew the tale and now he found himself wondering if Sir Percy had known more than he said. Execution as a traitor would have meant a beheading and one sure way to prevent a vampire coming back to life was to cut off its head....

“And the land that’s been put to the plough, that’s where they were buried?”

 “Aye. Another drink, sir?” the innkeeper asked.

Turpin gave him a dirty look. “Why don’t you finish filling this one first?” he suggested darkly, giving him a dangerous look.

The innkeeper opened his mouth to protest, saw the expression in Turpin’s eyes and meekly decided to obey.

Turpin took the tankard and headed back to Swiftnick. It was ridiculous of course.  The type of drunken ghost story always told in a pub. There were no such things as vampires.

So why did the back of his neck keep crawling with the urge to check behind him?

                                                                        * * *

An hour later, Dick made his way towards his accomplice with a combination of irritation and affectionate exasperation. Swiftnick’s youth and apparent innocence had an uncanny ability to attract predators no matter where he was. This evening was no exception. Turpin had been diverted by a particularly buxom nymph for all of five minutes and when he turned back, Swiftnick had his eyes firmly glued to the heaving bosom of his new red haired companion. The fact that he was doing no more than looking and considerably less flirting that Dick himself had been doing held no water with the highwayman and he bore down on his apprentice with eyes full of righteous wrath.

“Come out of there immediately, you!” he bellowed as he grabbed Swiftnick by one ear and heaved him away from his tentative examination of the redhead’s bosom.

“Leave him alone!” the redhead protested plaintively. “He wasn't doing any harm.”

Dick glared at her. “He’s too young,” he argued.

The redhead however grinned. “I likes ‘em young,” she reported. “Full of stamina, enthusiasm and eager to learn....”

Swiftnick blushed furiously and so to Dick’s interest did the redhead. He doubted if she was all that much older than his apprentice and eased up a fraction. “Even so,” he said gruffly. “He’s still too young and he hasn’t got any money.”

“So?” she retorted waspishly but she flounced out her chair under Turpin’s cool chestnut brown stare and stalked off to be quickly claimed by someone else.

“You’re mean, you are!” Swiftnick complained in a low mumble.

Dick gave him a sharp look and then groaned. “I thought I told you to lay off the drink.”

“I did,” Swiftnick assured him earnestly. His limpid gaze ruined by the quirk of a grin dancing around his mouth and the hint of mischief in the cerulean depths of his eyes.

“Come on you,” Turpin growled, yanking him out of his chair and hustling him towards the doors. “Time we got off home.”

“Couldn’t we stay for the second performance?”

“No. Do you think you can stay on your horse?”

“S’easy!”

“Aye, right,” Dick muttered, taking a firm grip on his young friend’s arm as Swiftnick started to swerve towards the redhead. She looked up with a giggle as they passed and blew Swiftnick a kiss.

“She wants me,” Swiftnick sighed wistfully.

“She wants your purse more like,” Turpin retorted cynically then scowled at the discovery of the red eyed man blocking his way. “Excuse us....”

“You don’t want to go out there,” the man warned. “They’re coming....”

“Aye, you said,” Dick brushed past him, more interested in getting Swiftnick on his horse and home before the drink got the better of him and he ended up carrying him.

The man followed him as he shoved open the door and hauled a tottering Swiftnick out onto the porch. “They can’t enter here,” he told Dick. “I've closed it to them. The spirits of the undead cannot enter here.”

“What’s he talking about?” Swiftnick asked, peering fuzzily around Turpin at the man.

“Nothing. He’s drunk,” Dick answered irritably, giving Swiftnick a push out into the yard. “Go get the horses.”

Swiftnick shrugged and wandered off, almost tripping over his own feet and giggling as he narrowly avoided a spill into the horse trough.

“Spare me,” Dick groaned and turned a dark look on the drunk. “If you’re so sure they’re coming, you should get back inside.”

The man bobbed his head and clung to the porch post. “Aye,” he agreed, still watching Turpin intently. “But you’re the one they’ll be looking for.”

“Me? Why me?” Turpin protested indignantly.

The man shook his head. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can feel it. It’s like you’re....marked.”

Turpin’s lips twitched into a thin, cruel line as he looked out into the darkness. “Am I now,” he said sourly. “Well, if they think to come after me and mine, they’d better think again. I know how to deal with their bloody sort.”

“Exactly,” observed the drunk, patting Dick’s arm reassuringly.

Turpin scowled at him and stepped out into the yard, stalking through the soft evening darkness towards the stables. The fragrance of roses wafted past him as he walked and he stopped, sniffing at the delicious scent with a frown as he scanned the shadows. The yard was empty and yet the back of his neck prickled with the touch of unseen eyes.

“Swiftnick!” he barked aloud as he stepped out, lengthening his stride to reach the precarious safety of the stables.

“Coming,” Swiftnick chirped as Turpin stepped inside. “Almost ready!”

“Oh? And how far do you think you’ll get riding backwards?” Dick demanded sarcastically.

“Backwards?” Swiftnick gave him a blank look as Turpin tugged him back and pointed at Toby. The big bay gazed back with a patiently  long suffering look.

“You’re putting his saddle on back to front, dimwit!”

“Oh. I wondered why I couldn’t get the girth done up.”

“Give me strength!” Dick exclaimed as he heaved the saddle off the horse.

“I’ll saddle Black Bess then, shall I?” Swiftnick suggested helpfully.

“No. She’ll bite you,” Dick retorted as he righted the saddle and gave Toby a consoling pat before fastening the girth. The condition Swiftnick was in he didn't trust him to do it properly. “Take him outside and wait in the yard. Do not mount up. You’ll probably fall off! Got that?”

“I'm not an idiot,” Swiftnick pouted.

“No, only blond. Go on, scat!” Shooing him towards the door, Dick turned to his own mount and hurriedly tacked up the black mare. That strange feeling of being watched was increasing and it made his fingers clumsy. Black Bess fidgeted, unused to him fumbling. Dick soothed her hastily and led her towards the door, uneasy about leaving Swiftnick alone outside. As he led the mare out into the cool darkness, he was startled to hear voices.

“The ale’s good and the entertainment’s wonderful,” Swiftnick was saying brightly. “Madam Des, Desi, er the Birds of paradise....”

“Indeed,” the voice that answered was soft and cultured. It made Dick think of honey with its richness and it made his hackles rise. Towing Black Bess out into the yard, he looked round warily to see who Swiftnick had found to talk to. His partner was over by the mounting block. His first thought was that the figure with him was too young to possess such a sensuous voice.

Swiftnick’s companion was a young man scarcely older than he was, but dressed with refined elegance. The starkness of his white shirt with its full flowing sleeves and lace stood out in sharp contrast to the elegantly cut deep red coat and black breeches and boots. His hair was a dark waterfall of night, cascading in artless ripples of curls in an old fashioned style that framed his delicate features in a cloud of darkness. Where flickers of light from the inn window caught him, his hair shimmered with strands of darkest blue, while his eyes remained pools of shadow.  

That he was aware of Dick and had been before he emerged from the stables, Turpin had no doubt. There was not even a flicker of surprise in his expression even though Swiftnick had jumped a foot at his sudden appearance out of the shadows.

“Evening,” Dick said with grim politeness. “On your horse, lad, time we were away.”

“Going so soon?” murmured the young man, laying his hand on Swiftnick’s arm. “Surely you will invite me in for a drink?”

Swiftnick gave the pale fingers resting on his arm an odd look. “Do you know, you’ve got really cold hands?” he observed, frowning faintly.

The young man removed his hand hastily. “My apologies. I am frequently told that.” He smiled on Swiftnick, a smile of surprisingly sad sweetness. “It has been a long time since I spoke to someone of my own age...”

The frown faded from Swiftnick’s face and he smiled back.

“Nick...” Dick urged sharply then wished he hadn’t at the quick look of interest that crossed the young man’s face. He had a feeling he had made a mistake in naming Swiftnick at that moment. “Come on, we have to go.”

Swiftnick responded instinctively to the urgent note in his voice by stepping onto the mounting block and swinging himself onto Toby’s back.

“Nick,” the young man murmured, resting one hand lightly on Swiftnick’s booted ankle. “Do you ride this way often? Perhaps we will meet again.”

Not if I have my way, Dick thought. The stranger made his skin crawl even if he seemed to fascinate his accomplice. “We’re only passing through,” he said curtly.

The young man gave him an annoyed look, an edge of anger in the way his head turned sharp as a hawk’s towards him. “A pity,” he murmured. “Are you sure you will not drink with me? I invite you both....”

Swiftnick blinked down at him, starting to frown as some instinct for self preservation finally crept in around the edges of his drink fuddled senses. Something didn't seem quite right to him. He looked to Turpin for help, registering his mentor’s chilly expression uneasily. Something had made Turpin furious.

“We have to go now,” Turpin said firmly. 

“May I ask where?” the young man asked, an odd insistence in his voice.

“Over the hills and far away,” Dick responded ambiguously. Casually, he lifted back his coat, letting the hilt of his sword slide into view. “We’re not the sort of people you’d want to deal with, young sir.”

The young man tilted his head to one side as he gazed up at Turpin and delicately lifted his hand away from its perch on Swiftnick’s ankle. “Oddly enough, people used to say the same of me,” he said with a low rippling chuckle that mixed the brush of silk with the rough crush of velvet. Dick had heard people who practised that kind of laugh, but coming from this young man it seemed totally natural.

“Robyn....” the voice rolled out of the shadows, dark and powerful as a rising wave.

The young man looked round, a faint pout crossing his face as he studied the two men who stepped out of the darkness. Both were tall, broad shouldered men, wearing feathered hats pulled low and wrapped in long cloaks that concealed much of their appearance if not their build. They moved with liquid grace, flowing across the cobbles towards Robyn and the two highwaymen.

 Dick felt a chill run through him. Men weren’t supposed to move that way. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a long ride,” he snapped at Robyn and slapped his hand down on Toby’s rump. The bay flung up his head, startled to be so treated and broke into a brisk trot while Swiftnick was still struggling to take up the slack in his reins. Slamming his heels into Black Bess who disapproved with an indignant snort, Dick rode after him, keeping the mare on the bay’s heels to hustle him along. He looked back only once as they rode out of the yard to see the two strangers join Robyn. The shadows seemed to draw in around them and they seemed to almost fade from sight as Dick watched.

“That was rude,” Swiftnick muttered. “He was only being friendly.”

“Too friendly,” Dick retorted. “I know his sort.”

“What sort would that be then?” Swiftnick retorted acidly.  

“Trouble, that’s what.”

“Hah!”

“Hah?” Dick looked at his apprentice in astonishment.

“He only wanted someone to talk to. He was looking for someone...”

“And those two bruisers with him were-?” Dick mocked.

“His servants obviously.”

“Servants. Obviously,” Dick said sarcastically, then made a hasty grab for Toby’s reins as Swiftnick pulled him up. “Now what are you doing?”

“I'm going back to apologise.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because I, because....” Swiftnick paused, frowning hard in bewilderment. “I feel I should?” he said slowly.

Dick shivered and tightened his grip on the bay’s reins. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he too could feel a strange tugging sensation. An urge to go back to the inn.... “Swiftnick, my lad, do you trust me?” he asked carefully.

“Course I do, Dick.” Swiftnick assured him, nodding earnestly.

“Then the very worst thing you could do is go back there. It’ll be a trap.”

“A trap?” Swiftnick gave him a fuzzy blink. “You think he’s a thieftaker? He didn't look like a thieftaker....”

“They never do,” Dick muttered. “But the other two did, didn’t they?”

“I suppose....” Swiftnick said slowly.

“Then believe me when I say they were up to no good. You feel up to a gallop?”

“You want to race?” Swiftnick asked innocently.

“Something like that,” Dick answered dryly, glancing uneasily over his shoulder into the darkness. It was rare that he felt nervous about being out at night, but tonight he could feel something in the shadows creeping stealthily towards them. He let go of Toby’s reins.

“Weren’t we going over to the old road tonight?” Swiftnick yawned.

“Not after you sidetracked to the inn,” Dick retorted, nudging Black Bess into a walk and glad to see that Swiftnick followed obediently.

“You said there might be rich pickings.”

“It’s too late.”

“Not that late.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“Am not!” Swiftnick pouted indignantly and yawned again.

“It’s too risky. I think there are....” Dick paused, reluctant to say the word lying bitter on his tongue. Swiftnick would either laugh at the idea of vampires or be terrified. Or quite possibly both...

“What?” Swiftnick blinked at him.

“Dragoons,” Dick decided. “I have a feeling there are dragoons about.”

“Oh....” Swiftnick looked around him with wide eyes. “Is that why I feel like I'm being watched?”

No, that’d be the vampires, Dick was tempted to say, but he held his tongue. Quite when he had started to believe the drunk he didn’t know, but believe him he did. “Let’s go then, shall we?” he said casually, urging Black Bess to extend herself into a trot. Swiftnick urged Toby up alongside him and after a glance to make sure his apprentice was secure in the saddle, Dick gave Black Bess her head and let her launch into a gallop.

                                                            * * *

For the next few miles, Turpin followed a well established routine; gallop then walk and rest the horses then gallop again. That way they covered good ground without exhausting their mounts. Both Black Bess and Toby were fit, well fed animals. Like most highwaymen Dick knew and had taught Swiftnick that their lives depended on the quality of their horses. Originally, Turpin had thought to exchange Toby for a faster fierier mount, but his accomplice had been stubborn about keeping his horse and Dick had soon learned that the bay was an excellent highwayman’s horse. Black Bess might be faster but Toby had stamina and a loyalty to his rider that matched the mare’s devotion to Dick. Toby was inclined to either kick or bite anyone who threatened Swiftnick and, although Dick had occasionally come close to being on the receiving end, it had come in handy at times.

There had been no sign of any pursuit, but still Turpin had been sure it was there. Something had been following them across the moors that edged Dark Fell, something....hungry....

Whatever it was they seemed to have lost it though and they had been walking the horses for some time and were in sight of the cottage they were using as a hideout when Dick felt a prickling sensation running down the back of his neck like the icy touch of a draught. Whatever was out there in the darkness was once more coming closer.

“Race you, lad!” he called sharply to Swiftnick and smacked the bay on the rump again. Toby flattened his ears but jolted into a gallop, pounding down the slope into the sheltered dell where the cottage lay. Black Bess raced after him, eager to overtake and annoyed when Turpin held her back.

The ground was dry underfoot and dust puffed up, making little ghostly swirls in the moonlight around the horses’ hooves as they trotted up to the outbuilding where the horses were stables. Dick slid to the ground, grabbed his pistols and urged Swiftnick to take the mare inside with Toby. “Brush ‘em down quick, lad,” he urged.

“You put the kettle on then,” Swiftnick bargained.

“Whatever.” Dick answered absently as he planted himself across the doorway and stared out into the night. With one hand on his sword and the other holding a pistol, he waited and watched, half an ear cocked to listen to Swiftnick unsaddling the horses and giving them a brisk rub down before he fed them.

They had outdistanced whatever pursued them with that final gallop, surprised it perhaps. For now though, Dick had a feeling it was out there and holding back, watching until it was sure of its prey.

The sight of the weapons might have made it cautious, which told Dick it was no animal; not that he had ever really thought it was. Turpin’s own wariness might have alerted it that this prey was aware of it. Out in the open, there was a chance they might escape it, but once they were inside...it would think them cornered if they didn’t know how to protect themselves.

Dick smiled mirthlessly. Four walls and a roof did not necessarily a trap make...

“I thought you were going to put the kettle on?” Swiftnick complained, making Turpin jump as he emerged from the shadows of the stables. “Woo, jumpy...”

“Shut up and get inside.”

“What’s got your drawers in a twist?” Swiftnick wondered as he Dick grabbed his arm and hustled him towards the cottage. “Hey, you’re hurting me....”

Turpin ignored him and broke into a run, dragging Swiftnick with him.

He could feel it coming, feel it skimming over the ground in a headlong rush, feel its hunger....

The latch was stiff, creaking as it gave reluctantly to his fingers.....

It was close, too close.... A flash of movement in the darkness, a blur across the ground, a shadow crossing the slope....

No time....

Dick fired at the fleeting half glimpsed shape and kicked the door open, hurling Swiftnick headlong inside and spinning to slam the door shut, flinging his full weight against it.  Except for the faint gleam of moonlight, it was pitch dark in the cottage and he could hardly see a thing.

 Something crashed into the other side, slamming into it like a sledgehammer, rattling the wood as the solid door started to bend....

Suddenly frightened, Swiftnick slipped in beside Turpin, adding his own weight to holding it shut. “What’s happening?” he yelped in alarm.

“I deny you!” Dick yelled.

“Why?” Swiftnick pouted, hurt.

“Not you, Swiftnick!” Dick snapped in exasperation and lifted his voice again, “No undead spirits shall enter here! You shall not pass the threshold! Be gone!” Straining to hold the door firm, he shot a glare at his partner. “Lock the bloody thing!”

Bewildered but obedient, Swiftnick grabbed the locking beam, pulling it across as the door suddenly stopped shaking.

The latch lifted slightly, then there came a horrible ear splitting blood curdling scream full of rage and pain as a blaze of blue white fire erupted around the edges of the door that painfully dazzled their eyes.

 The door bent inwards but held firm and abruptly straightened as if it had repelled whatever dread weight sought to force its way through...

Dick stepped away from the door instinctively, aware of Swiftnick retreating beside him as the door rattled and shook violently as something sought to tear it from its hinges in fury. 

The blue white light grew brighter and brighter....

Suddenly aware that the window shutter was open, Turpin banged it shut then backed over to the bed where Swiftnick was now sitting.

The shutters at the window rattled abruptly and lit with the blue white fire....

The scream echoed again, full of frustration and evil rage then came the silence, flowing inward in a smothering wave....

“Stay here,” Dick ordered softly and headed for the other room, sensing where their hunter was headed. He slammed the window shutters tight, dropping the latch across as they started to glow. “No way in,” he called out. “You are not welcome here! You shall not pass the threshold.”

There was a snarling sound outside and the shutters rattled as something clawed at them in frustration, then recoiled as they started to burn with light....

Turpin backed away, feeling a cold sweat running down his back as he retreated into the main room.

Swiftnick was huddled on the bed, too frightened to move. Sinking onto the mattress beside him, Dick wordlessly put his arm around the trembling youth and the two of them watched the door, watching the fading glow around it once more blaze bright.

Outside in the darkness, the shrill nerve ripping scream echoed once more and then there came a crushing silence.

Holding Swiftnick tight against his side, Dick slowly became aware that he could hear him breathing as the horrible weight of dread that had dogged him since they entered the cottage lifted abruptly. Swiftnick gasped, feeling the pressure of terror ease.

“I think it’s gone....” Dick breathed.

“Dick?” Swiftnick stammered in a whisper. “W’what was that?”

Turpin hesitated, searching for a trite reassuring answer. Finding none, he shrugged and hugged his partner tighter, glad to feel his warmth and noting that Swiftnick made no move to escape his hold. “That, Swiftnick,” he said grimly. “Was a vampire....”

                                                            * * *

How long they sat on the bed together, Dick didn’t know. He was as loath to move as his young partner, but the practical cynical half of him slowly roused itself to point out that they could hardly huddle in the corner all night. Taking a deep breath, Dick lowered his arm from Swiftnick’s shoulders and stretched himself.

“Right then,” he said vaguely.

“Right then what?” Swiftnick asked, keeping his own arms folded tight around him.

“Can’t sit here like a couple of lemons,” Dick told him briskly as he stood up. “You stir the fire up and put the kettle on. I'm going to have a look round.”

“You’re not going outside?!”

Turpin opened his mouth to make a tart retort and then stopped himself. Despite the panic in the youth's voice, it was actually a sensible protest. Going outside might well be dangerous. He might feel that the vampire was gone, but that didn't mean it had. For all he knew, it might have found some way of disguising its presence. “No, I want to check the shutters.”

“Oh....” Swiftnick gazed at him wide eyed as he started towards the smaller room. “You want me to come with you?”

Dick laughed. “I’ll only be in the next room! Start the fire and see what we’ve got to eat.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Well, I am and you need something to soak up all that ale you were drinking.”

Swiftnick pouted at him but he slid a nervous look at the door. “I didn’t bring the saddlebags in.”

“Won’t hurt them to spend the night in the stables.”

“What if that....thing went after the horses?” Swiftnick argued reluctantly.

“It won’t have. They would have kicked up a fuss if it had but it’s as quiet as er...custard out there. Now, stop arguing and put the kettle on!” Turpin swung around and stamped briskly into the other room, deliberately making as much noise as possible as much for his own reassurance as Swiftnick’s. After a moment, he heard the muffled sounds of the banked fire being stirred awake and relaxed a fraction. Despite a vivid imagination, Swiftnick was a practical lad when it came down to it.

Dick checked the shutters on the one small window and searched the room carefully even though he knew there was nothing hiding in the half empty room. It would have taken someone half Swiftnick’s size to get through the window. Retrieving his spare powder flask and strolling casually back into the other room, he found Swiftnick had put the kettle on and was cutting up the last of the cheese wheel with some bacon and bread. “We won’t have any water in the morning,” he warned.

“It’ll be safe to go out when in daylight,” Dick assured him as sat down across the table from him with his powder flask to reload his fired pistol.

Swiftnick nodded slowly, concentrating on cutting the bread and layering it with bacon and cheese. Dick kept one eye on him, waiting for the dam to break and the questions to come pouring out. His accomplice had taken the idea of a vampire being outside far too calmly.

When the kettle started to shriek, Swiftnick jumped a foot, clutching the knife like he was expecting to have to stab something. Chuckling quietly, Dick got up to fill their silver tea pot.

“Easy, lad,” he said lightly. “Nothing can get in here. We’re snug as a bug in a rug.”

Swiftnick slumped down in a chair, setting the knife down and staring at his trembling fingers. “There aren’t any such things as vampires,” he said firmly. “You always say there aren’t! No ghosts, nor lichs, nor, nor.....”

Dick sighed as he replaced the teapot lid and sat down. “Slow down, Swiftnick,” he advised soothingly.

“But you said!”

“I know I did.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re teasing me again.”

Dick shook his head wistfully. “Wish I was, lad.”

“But...a vampire?”

“It followed us from the pub.”

Swiftnick blinked and absently started to put the tops on the sandwiches he had made. “No...” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Dick said firmly.  “Some idiot disturbed them.”

“Them?” Swiftnick’s blue eyes were so big Dick was surprised they didn’t fall off his face.

Turpin nodded reluctantly. “Seven of them, I think. Off the old Pickering manor. The land’s been sold off and put to the plough.” He scowled as he reached for the tea cups. “Damn it, I suppose I’ll have to go up there and look now.”

“Up there? Up where?” Swiftnick quavered.

“The graveyard....”

“The what?”

“The Riders’ graveyard up on the edge of Dark Fell.  It’s a damp dismal place but safe enough in daylight. You don’t have to come with me. You can stay at the pub.”

Pushing a sandwich across the table at him, Swiftnick shook his head, clearly torn. “Are they the Riders’ of the Wild Ride?”

“So they say.” Dick agreed comfortably, taking a bite from the sandwich before he picked up the teapot and poured two mugs full.

“I've heard of them,” Swiftnick whispered, wild eyed. “They’re supposed to be looking for men to join them...”

Dick gave him a critical look. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “They were Royalists who rode on after the King got the chop as...highwaymen of a kind I suppose you could say. They hung ‘em as such anyway. They were supposed to be tall, handsome men of compelling seductive ways. The King was seduced by them.”

“Seduced?” Swiftnick whispered, stunned. “You mean like....?”

Turpin grimaced and shrugged. It was highly likely in his opinion if some of the tales of vampires were to be believed, but Swiftnick didn't need to know that. “Say persuaded then. They were supposed to be among his advisors, all young up coming men at the palace guaranteed to attract his attention. A French man was supposed to have sired them.”

“Sired?”

“It means create them when you’re talking about vampires,” Dick explained.

Swiftnick nodded slowly. “Why? I mean, why send them to the King?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because even French vampires are loyal. Imagine what would have happened if they had managed to control the King and the Roundheads hadn’t got in their way. We’d be talking French now.”

“I wouldn’t. I don’t know any French.” Swiftnick said brightly, sipping his well sugared tea.

Turpin gave him an exasperated look. “I hope that’s the ale talking,” he retorted.  “Point is, the Roundheads weren’t ones to believe in vampires. Such things were the superstitious nonsense of the Papists.”

“The Riders are Papists?”

“If they’re vampires, then they’re not anything,” Dick pointed out.

Swiftnick shrugged. “S’all nonsense anyway,” he decided. “S’only a story to frighten people off manor land.... Pickled Pickering used to threaten to birch anyone he caught poaching up there....”

“Swiftnick, there was a vampire outside,” Turpin warned sharply.

Swiftnick cast an involuntary glance at the door and then lifted his chin stubbornly. “It’s s’only a story....”

“Do you want to go out there and look at what it did to the door?”

Swiftnick flinched, then set his jaw and nodded, pushing unsteadily to his feet. “All righty, I’ll do it!”

“No!” The genuine alarm in Dick’s voice as his mentor lunged around the table and grabbed his arm stopped Swiftnick in his tracks.

“N’no?” he echoed uncertainly, peering up at Turpin with a surge of fright.

“You are not to go outside after dark. Got that?” Dick growled, giving him a shake to add emphasis to his point.

“What? Never?”

“Not until I say otherwise and certainly not tonight,” Turpin qualified. “Now sit down and finish your sandwich. Then go to bed.”

“But....” Swiftnick sank slowly into his chair, watching the older man uncertainly.

Dick sat down again and rested his head in his hands. “Look, whether you believe in the Seven Riders or not, we were chased by something unnatural tonight. It would have killed the pair of us if it caught us.” He lifted his head to give his young partner a serious look. “This is Dark Fell we’re talking about, remember? Strange things happen around here.”

Swiftnick swallowed and reached for his tea. “Seriously?” he asked nervously. “You mean it was a real vampire?”

“Yes. At least as real as they get...”

“But you didn't see it.”

“I didn’t have to. I could feel it. I've encountered the bastards before. I’ll bet that’s what that drunk felt back at the pub.” Dick hesitated, giving Swiftnick an uncomfortable look as he realised his experience might be endangering the youth. “I’ve killed one...Maybe the others can sense that somehow. Maybe they know that I know they’re real.”

“How?”

“How should I know?”

Swiftnick shook his head. “No. How’d you kill it? When? I don’t remember that.”

“That’s probably because it was in Gibraltar and you weren’t there! It stalked and attacked me and Glenrae one night. During the fight we broke a barrel over it and it fell on one of the staves. Poof....”

“Poof?”

“Dust and ash everywhere. You know you’ve killed it when you get that. Otherwise they’re likely to get up again, at least that’s what Glenrae says. And I am not going to ask how he knows. The Scots are a strange lot at times.”

Swiftnick slid a slow look at the fireplace and the gathering of ash in the hearth.

Dick chuckled. “Relax, lad. They can’t do it on purpose. We washed the one in Gibraltar down the gutter.” His grin faded and he shuddered, recalling the all pervading fear he had felt knowing that something unnatural was pursuing them through the darkness that night. It was the same feeling he had had tonight; a knowing...

“So, w’what are we going to do?”

“Well, first thing, we’re going to go to the pub. If one followed us, you can be sure it’ll tell the others. It’s not safe here.”

“You said they can’t get in!” Swiftnick protested in alarm.

“But they know where we are and I won't stay here to be caught like a rat in a trap. Then I'm going up to have a look round the manor.”

“I'm going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You might need me.”

“I might need to make a fast get away too,” Dick retorted, suppressing a groan as Swiftnick gave him a stubborn look. “I’ll be fine, Swiftnick! And a lot safer if I don’t have to worry about you!”

                                                            * * *

An hour later, Dick sat up and shoved one hand irritably through his dark hair. He couldn’t sleep and from the way Swiftnick lifted his head to look at him, neither could his apprentice.  Rolling off the bed they were sharing by silent mutual consent, Dick padded over to the hearth and pulled out the stone concealing the hiding place behind it. Fishing about for a minute, he pulled out a leather pouch and sorted through the contents until he found what he wanted. Stuffing pouch and stone back into place, he came back to the bed and dangled what he had retrieved over Swiftnick’s head. The heavy gold cross glittered in the light of the candle they had left burning, the inset rubies sparkling powerfully as it turned on its chain. Nodding in satisfaction, Dick looped the chain over the rough frame of the bed head, using it to bind the cross securely in place before he once more flopped down on the too thin mattress beside his accomplice.

“Night, Swiftnick,” he said briskly, noting the relieved expression on the youth’s face.

“Night, Dick.” Swiftnick responded in a small voice.

Turpin grunted and rolled over on to his side, putting his back to him and giving his pillow a quick pounding before he settled down again and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he lay still, feigning sleep in the vague hopes of tricking it into becoming real, but after a while, he heard the low rustle of Swiftnick’s movement and was about to look round to find out what he was up to, when he felt the youth move gingerly up against his back and his breath brush his neck. Swiftnick settled down with a faint sigh, nestling down in the security of Turpin’s shadow.

Despite himself, Dick smiled into the darkness and lay quiet, making no move to embarrass him into moving away again. Swiftnick was less than half his age; young enough to need comfort, too old to ask for it out loud. Besides, it made Dick feel better knowing the lad was there....

                                                            * * *

Dick was the first to unlock the door and ease outside into the cool air of a bright morning. Swiftnick was awake, sort of, and complaining that something seemed to have slept in his mouth.

“Too much ale, my lad,” Dick called cheerfully over his shoulder, ignoring the fact that it was a condition he had found himself in many a time. “And you’d be worse off if I hadn’t slowed you down....” Turpin stopped, staring at the door in shock. It looked as if it had been clawed by some giant animal; great long gouges had been ripped through the soft weather worn wood.

“Bloody hell....” Swiftnick moaned as he tottered out of the cottage, but it was the sight of blazing sunshine rather than savaged door that made him groan. He held one hand up over his eyes and retreated with a pained whimper.

“Ah! No, you don’t.” Turpin caught his arm and towed him back out. “Go check on the horses.”

Swiftnick gave him a pitiful look, “Must I?”

“You want me to shout?” Dick asked with callous mischief. He had experienced Swiftnick’s jovial good humour during a hangover and had every intention of returning the favour.

Swiftnick flinched and moved off towards the stables, practically tiptoeing. Dick moved to stand deliberately in front of the door so he wouldn't see the claw marks.

“You want to stick your head in the trough!” he bellowed helpfully after him. “Wake you up a bit!”

“Sadist,” Swiftnick moaned as he reached the stable and stopped, clinging to the wall for support.

“Bit of fatty bacon for breakfast, that’s what you need.”

Swiftnick’s stomach heaved in response and he started to shuffle round to the door, then paused. “Dick?”

“What?”

“What if your vampire’s in there?”

“Doing what? Napping?”

“Maybe. It’s awful dark  in there. You swore when you fell over that old lantern when we got here. You didn't see it, you said...”

“Sod it,” muttered Dick. “Stay there....”

Swiftnick had no intention of moving; hangover or no. He watched patiently as Turpin disappeared into the cottage, then emerged with a sword in one hand, a pistol in his belt and a thin stake from their firewood. “You look like a pirate,” Swiftnick commented as Dick stalked up to him.

“Better safe than sorry. And it’s not my vampire! Here, hang on to this....” Dick shoved the pistol into his hand and then briskly flung open the stable door, letting the sunshine cascade inside like a golden waterfall. Swiftnick crept after him as he stalked inside and started to poke and prod about in the shadows with his sword. The horses watched them curiously, munching on the remains of last night’s supper.

“What if it’s in here?”

“Then shoot it.”

Swiftnick frowned. “You said you have to stake it to kill it.”

“I’ll do that once it’s down and grovelling about,” Dick retorted. “No need to play fair with these bastards.” He stopped, looking about him with a frown. “It’s not here anyway.” He held out his hand for the pistol, but Swiftnick held on to it, giving him a meaningful look. After a second, Dick shrugged. “See to the horses then. I'm going to see if there’s anything left for breakfast....”

                                                            * * *

It was strange, Turpin reflected as he studied the decrepit remains of Pickering Place, no matter how many times he said no, Swiftnick always seemed to get his own way in the end. The youth was sitting astride Toby in the shade of the trees behind him, watching the old house with even more suspicion than Dick himself.  They’d gone to the pub, taken a room and then Dick had set off to the mansion on his own. Swiftnick had caught up with him within about fifteen minutes, looking disgustingly bright eyed considering the state he had been in when he got up and all set to argue for accompanying Turpin. Dick had given up the argument the second he hove into view. He knew perfectly well by now that Swiftnick was quite capable of following him all the way to the mansion and back. At least this way, he could keep an eye on him.

“It looks quiet.....” Swiftnick observed, patting Toby as the bay peacefully scrunched at the grass.

“Place is deserted and falling down according to the innkeeper. The land’s worth more than the house,” Dick answered.

“Make a good hiding place for us then,” Swiftnick suggested.

“Make a better one for vampires,” he responded sourly.

“Oh....” Swiftnick hauled Toby’s head up to urge him up alongside Black Bess. “We’re not going to go in there, are we?”

“Well, I thought we’d wait until after dark and then go have a prowl round. See what we can disturb...” Dick replied, feeling a twitch of satisfaction at the look on horror on Swiftnick’s face. “Of course, we’re not, you idiot! What do you take me for?”

Swiftnick glared at him and didn't answer.

“We’re going to go and look and see what got ploughed up,” Turpin told him.

“Then what?”

“Back to the pub for dinner. Innkeeper said it was baked lamb....”

“Yes, but, if there are vampires, what are we going to do then?”

“Hope they don’t come after us,” Dick answered.

“But if they do?”

“Kill them,” Turpin said with flat savagery.

“What if they don’t come after us?”

“Be sensible of them if they don’t. I don’t hold with letting them walk around.”

“Dick....”

“What the bloody hell do you want me to say? That I’ll hunt them down and kill every last one? Good way to get myself killed, that is. Or is that what you want?”

“No, Dick!”

“I should hope not!”

“I only thought....”

“You never think!” Dick snapped savagely.

“Sorry, Mr Turpin,” Swiftnick said in a small voice.

Turpin glared at him, feeling like several kinds of heel. “Sod it,” he said gruffly and put a hand on Swiftnick’s shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. “Swiftnick, I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. Right now, I want to get as far away from here as possible. But if I am marked, I can’t do that. I can’t run if they’re going to chase me.” He paused, rubbing Swiftnick’s shoulder gently before he let go. “That’s why it’d be better if you’re not with me. Trouble is, I'm not sure if it was me or you they were after last night. Either way, they’ve got our scent and we know too much about stopping them.”

“I'm not scared!”

“I am....” Turpin said softly and shocked his accomplice into silence. “Come on, let’s go have a look round. Maybe I can think of something before it gets dark....”

                                                            * * *

Much had changed on the small hill where the Seven Riders had been buried. The trees had survived, although some had fallen from time and rough handling by the powerful winds that swept over the fells. The stream that had once gurgled around the site had dried up, buried when part of the hillside had collapsed under the effects of torrential rain. The seven mounds were little more than scars on the earth, torn up by rough ploughing. The remains of the crosses that had secured the bodies beneath the surface had been stacked under the trees, presumably to be used as kindling.  

Dick toed a fallen length of wood and frowned, lifting his head to look over the hillside. They had left the horses tied to the bushes by the stream where they were making the most of the fresh grass.

“I don’t know what you want this stuff for,” Swiftnick complained, having been set the task of gathering as many bits of the crosses as he could stuff in a saddlebag. “We’ve got plenty of firewood.”

“We’re not going back to the cottage,” Dick reminded him.

“But we won’t need it at the pub....”

“I don’t want it for firewood, Swiftnick, I want it for weapons.”

“Weapons?” Swiftnick gazed at him blankly.

“Think about it....” Dick urged.

“I don’t....Oh.....Stakes?”

“Aye. Sir Percy probably had the crosses blessed. Presumably that’ll make it better than plain wood.”

“But you don’t know?”

“I've never read a guide on vampire slaying.”

Swiftnick shrugged, examining a particularly sharp bit of wood. The crackle of a twig breaking made him jump in panic and drop his armload of wood to grab for the pistol in his belt. Doing his best to stop his hand shaking, he took aim at the dark garbed figure leading a horse that appeared among the trees and clutched the stake tighter in his free hand.

“My goodness,” observed the stranger as he hesitated among the shadows. “I didn't mean to startle you, my boy!”

“Put the gun down, Nick,” Turpin sighed heavily. “You can’t shoot a priest. It isn’t polite....”

“Are you sure he’s a priest?” Swiftnick hissed back at him.

“Aye, I know him. He’s the local Rector.”

“Oh....” Somewhat sheepishly, Swiftnick lowered the pistol and shoved it behind his back.

“Gathering firewood?” asked the Rector as he led his horse out into the sunshine. A small, round dapper man with a fringe of greying hair, he eyed the wood scattered around Swiftnick’s feet and looked faintly disapproving. Swiftnick shuffled his feet among the bits of crosses and did his best to look innocent.

“Something like that,” Dick said mildly. “How are you, Rector?”

“Very well, thank you, Richard. I don’t believe I have seen you in church recently.”

Dick valiantly ignored the wide eyed look of astonishment Swiftnick gave him. “I've been er busy. Moving around, you know. I don't have a lot of time to be in church....”

“No,” said the Rector dryly. “You’ll have to stop by some time. I'm sure you wish to be forgiven your sins.”

Dick grinned at him. “Not until I’ve finished committing them,” he answered cheerfully.

“Tsk,” said the Rector, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he said it. “And who’s this young rascal?”

“This is Nick,” Dick said simply.

Wiping his hand on his breeches, Swiftnick hastily stuck it out to be shaken in a surprisingly firm grip.  “It isn’t for firewood. It’s for-,” he blurted and broke off with a yelp as Turpin stepped firmly on his foot.

“Ah. Souvenirs of the Royalists perhaps?”

Dick gave the Rector a sharp look, alerted by the tracery of sarcasm in the older man’s voice. “Not quite. Do you know what happened to the remains?”

The Rector gazed back at him steadily. “What remains?” he responded coolly.

“Ah....”

“Did you know one of them perhaps?”

“Hardly. Long before my time. You know that.”

“Hmmh.” The Rector absently drummed his fingers against his other hand, studying the disturbed earth of the hillside. “You know, it isn’t uncommon for there to be nothing left of the bodies after so long. Little care was taken when disposing of the hanged.”

“Still isn’t,” Dick said sourly.

The Rector gave him a level look and inclined his head. “Still believe there’s plenty of time to mend your ways, do you, Richard?”

Turpin shrugged. “If I'm to be forgiven, it might as well be for a sheep as a lamb.”

“Speaking of lambs?” The Rector gave Swiftnick a thoughtful look.

“Don’t ask,” Dick sighed. “No bodies?”

The Rector shook his head. “I objected to the new owner ploughing it over. It’s hardly good land for planting a crop after all. The owner said I was being superstitious. They’d been hung, he said, and he saw no reason to let them lie in peace. But he agreed to having the land blessed and anything that was found moved. Then he foolishly sent two men up here to plough the site first.”

“Foolishly?” Dick said quietly.

“They meant to stay up here for the night. The following day when a lad came up to bring them their dinners, there was no sign of them and the ground was torn up as you see.” The Rector paused, eyeing Swiftnick uncertainly before he continued, “He went back for help and a search party found their bodies in the woods....It looked as if they had fled from something that caught them and....drained them of blood.” He shook his head sadly. “I warned them not to remove the crosses, but they’d pulled them all up so they could plough I presume....”

Swiftnick flashed a nervous look around him and sidled closer to Turpin’s side.

“They'd probably have stayed put even if they had been disturbed if someone hadn’t pulled out the crosses....” Dick commented. “But you couldn’t do more than warn them.”

“Perhaps not,” sighed the Rector. “But still....”

“What did you do with the men who were killed?” Dick asked carefully.

“What do you think we did?” the Rector retorted acidly.

Turpin hesitated. He might have known the Rector a long time, but he could hardly come straight out and tell him he was dealing with vampires.

“Richard, I am not a fool,” the Rector said abruptly. “Ignoring what’s right under your nose because it doesn’t fit in with normality is a very stupid attitude to take, especially when you live on the edge of Dark Fell. There are people who still remember the tales of the Riders and what they did. What happened here that night....scared people. The men who were killed were...taken care of. I am sure they are at peace and will not....rise.”

Dick blinked and gazed at the older man respectfully. “I always knew you were a dark horse,” he grinned.

“I wasn't always as you see me now,” responded the Rector amiably. “I think you would indeed be surprised by my past. But I am surprised to see you here collecting....souvenirs.”

“Stakes,” Dick said simply.

“Ah. Then you think they have...returned.”

“One of them chased me and Nick last night. We were lucky to get away.”

“You killed it?”

“Didn’t get the chance. But next time...”

“You think there will be a next time?”

Dick shivered unconsciously and folded his arms. “I killed one of their kind once, mostly by accident. I think they know that but don't ask me how. A drunk at the pub last night said I was marked.”

“That would be Maurice,” sighed the Rector. “He spends a lot of time drunk but he’s a knowing one. He warned you?”

“If you can call it that....” Dick glanced at Swiftnick who had grown bored and started collecting stakes again. “Why doesn’t he do something?”

“Because he’s been drunk as long as I've known him. He probably won't even remember speaking to you.”

“Typical,” Turpin grunted in exasperation. “Why’s it always left to some poor bastard –excuse my French – like me to deal with?”

The Rector smiled at him. “Because you’re good at it, Richard. Underneath it all you are a good man.  I have great hopes for you yet. Your soul is no more than tarnished.”

“It isn’t my soul I'm worried about,” Dick muttered, eyeing Swiftnick. Swiftnick gazed back suspiciously. “I don’t suppose you could take a young waif and stray under your wing for a while, could you?”

The Rector followed Dick’s gaze, his smile widening. “I could and would. But do you think he would stay? I suspect he would scramble out of my nest as soon as my back was turned.”

Turpin hesitated and then sighed heavily. “True,” he admitted ruefully. “How’d you know?”

“I know you. If that lad wasn't devoted to you, you wouldn't be worried about him. If you haven’t given him cause to be loyal, he wouldn't be with you. Simple mathematics.” The Rector sobered, eyeing him solemnly. “You are going after these evil creatures?”

“More likely they’ll come after us.”

“If you would not consider it out of turn then, I would bless you both. It would make me feel better and it might help....”

Dick gazed at him silently for a moment then graciously inclined is head. “Can’t hurt. Nick, come here,” he called quietly. “The Rector wants to bless us....”

                                                            * * *

“But I don’t want to go up to the room,” Swiftnick protested. It was getting dark outside and Dick was getting uneasy as the shadows crept up on the walls of the King’s Head pub. They had ridden back part of the way with the Rector, leaving him at the door of the church before coming on to the coaching inn. “I want to eat dinner down here.”

“It’ll be safer upstairs,” Dick told him.

“Then come with me.”

“I want to see what I can find out,” Turpin argued in exasperation.

“We could come down afterwards.”

“People talk while they eat, Swiftnick. Drink and food make people chatty.”

“Then I’ll stay down here with you.”

“Look, upstairs you can lock the door and deny entry to...you know. Like I told you.” Turpin wasn’t going to mention vampires out loud. Either everyone would panic or someone would insult him and he’d have to start a fight in response.

“Can’t we do that down here?”

Dick sighed heavily. “I already did,” he pointed out. “Five minutes later that twerp over there in the funny hat was inviting everyone in for a drink to celebrate winning a prize for his pig.”

“Even so....” Swiftnick argued.

“There’s no need for you to stay up.....”

“I get scared on my own,” Swiftnick blurted, interrupting. “I’d feel safer down here with you. Please?”

Turpin blinked at that, eyeing Swiftnick’s anxious expression dubiously. He had become something of an expert in reading how genuine Swiftnick’s pouts and wide eyed innocence act were and this one had the look of the real thing. Swiftnick was scared...

Interesting, Dick thought, comparing Swiftnick’s reaction to his own sensations of unease. He feels it too. His accomplice been happy enough during the afternoon but now that darkness was coming and they were inside, he was starting to react the same way as Turpin himself.  Nowhere to run....

“All right,” Dick gave in. “But no drinking this time.”

“No, Dick,” Swiftnick agreed. “But can I have a berry pie?”

Despite himself, Dick grinned indulgently. “Aye, you can have pie....”

Five minutes later, the baked lamb and roasted vegetables that Dick had bespoke earlier in the day was delivered to their table by the innkeeper. While he was setting out the dishes and Swiftnick was sampling the wine with a grimace, Dick decided to ask a casual question. “Have you heard what happened at the Bull last night?”

“No. What?” the innkeeper asked helpfully.

“Er, no, I was wondering if you’d heard about anything happening at the Bull,” Turpin said, hiding his exasperation.

“Ah, no, can’t say as I have,” the innkeeper admitted as he wiped his hands down his apron. “Bit of a rough place that. Not a coaching inn like the King’s Head.”

“They had Madam Desi...er and her Birds....” Swiftnick put in, brightening up at the prospect of hot food. He had been eyeing the tureen containing the mashed potatoes with glee and had already acquired the butter dish to go with it.

The innkeeper gave him a look of loathing. “Such entertainments are not for such genteel establishments as this,” he said loftily. “I shall fetch the pie and the ...ale for you, Mr Turner.”

Swiftnick frowned after his retreating broad back. “Stuck up would be toff,” he observed.

“Hush....” Dick retorted, helping himself to the minted peas. “He can be as stuck up as he wants with food like this. Don't eat all the mash.”

Swiftnick let him take the tureen. “What’s genteel mean?”

“Would be posh,” Dick answered, sampling the baked lamb with a sigh of pleasure and reaching across to take Swiftnick’s glass of wine away from him. “I thought I told you not to drink? Stick to the ale,” he advised him.

“It tasted funny anyway.”

“That’s because it’s not very good wine,” Dick explained. “Pass that butter over...”

                                                            * * *

Some time later, feeling well fed and relaxed, Dick sipped his wine and chatted with the locals. As a coaching inn, the pub tended to have sudden rushes of guests and at times when there were no coaches, filled with the regulars. There had been a coach in late that afternoon that was staying over for the night. Its passengers were being viewed with interest by the regulars who regarded them in the form of entertainment especially laid on for them. Dick was pretty sure Swiftnick would have preferred the Birds of Paradise. 

Under normal circumstances, Dick would have been investigating the possibilities of robbery as a couple of the passengers looked like plump pigeons indeed. Tonight, he merely watched and waited and made polite conversation. Swiftnick had made friends with a couple of local lads and was off in a corner, vampires forgotten as they discussed a mill that had taken place recently. Dick hoped his own prowess would not be called into question. He still remembered the bruises from the last time Swiftnick had let his tongue run away with his common sense.

The opening of the pub door drew his attention, wondering at the cool breeze that entered the warmth of the tap room. The two men who appeared viewed the pub with interest. Both of them were dressed in labourers’ clothes and were tall and well built. Otherwise there was nothing very noticeable about them and Dick felt a distinct lack of interest. It was almost boring watching them. They entered casually, moving gracefully towards the counter. Not recognising them, Dick turned his attention back to the man he was talking to.

“Aye, I heard about that,” the man, who happened to be the baker, was saying. “They found both of ‘em out in the woods. Not a drop of blood in them and not a stitch of clothing on either of them.”

“No clothes?” Dick looked at him with sharp interest. That was a new one on him.

The baker shrugged. “So they said. Highwaymen most like.”

“Footpads,” Dick corrected loftily. “But even footpads wouldn't take their blood.”

“Aye, I've been wondering about that myself,” the baker muttered. “Rumours probably got it wrong.”

“Oh?” Dick raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of wine.

“Hmmh, probably slit their throats. That’d do it.”

“Maybe it was something else....” Turpin suggested carefully, curious to see what theory the man might come up with.

“Such as what?”

“Well, we’re very close to Dark Fell here....”

“You mean those old tales of werewolves and magic? Hah! You don’t believe in such rubbish, do you? I took you for a sensible man, Mr Turner.”

Turpin smiled faintly. “I like old tales,” he said casually. “You could say I collect them. Take the one about the Seven Riders.”

“Them! Stuff and nonsense!” the baker was more than half way to being drunk and it was showing in his rising vehemence. “Tales to frighten little boys...”

“I heard they dug up their gravesite.”

The baker paused, his mouth half open on a protest. “Their gravesite?” he said slowly and Dick watched the uncertainty pour into his eyes. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Over at the Bull. Someone brought up Pickering Place and put the land to the plough.”

The baker spat a rude word and slammed the tankard he was holding back down on the table. “That’d be Lord Sutton!”

“Lord Sutton?”

“Aye, man’s a bloody fool. Doesn’t listen to anyone. Buys up land all over the place but spends all his time up in London. Took a fancy to Pickering Place. The manor’s been empty for as long as anyone can remember. Bad things happened up there....”

Dick smiled vaguely and let the baker waffle on. What he was telling him was interesting but not very helpful. Absently he put up one hand to scratch the back of his neck and, wondering why he had the feeling he was being watched, turned to look around him. The two labourers who had come had withdrawn into a quiet dark corner and were observing the drinkers with silent interest. They didn't appear to be making any attempt at conversation or to finish their drinks.

Dick frowned, aware that he didn't want to look at them for two long. His gaze seemed to slip off them, like water over ice...

The noise was starting to drop off as the pub started to empty, the customers drifting away one by one as the urge to be elsewhere took them. A sense of unease was creeping into the atmosphere and Dick frowned, striving to identify the familiar feeling. It was like watching a herd of deer in a forest becoming aware that there was a predator near by.

Or a highwayman knowing there was a dragoon at hand....

Turpin pushed to his feet, murmuring an excuse to the baker that the man only half attended too. Leaning his wine on the table, Dick started towards Swiftnick. Swiftnick was watching him, forgetting his companions who were looking around them with an air of vague confusion. When Dick beckoned, he slipped out from behind the table and hurried to meet him.

“What is it? What’s going on?” he hissed nervously.

“You feel it too?” Turpin wasn't sure whether he was pleased by that or not.

Swiftnick’s eyes were wide with disquiet. “I think so. Something’s happening,”

“Aye,” Dick looked around him warily. Over in the corner, one of the labourer’s had gone and he frowned, wondering why that seemed like it should be important. “Did you see where he went?” he asked quietly.

“Who?” Swiftnick frowned back at him, puzzled.

“Never mind. I think we’d better be going.”

“But we’re staying here,” Swiftnick pointed out.

“We were. I've changed my mind. We can come back for our stuff later....”

“But it’s dark out,” Swiftnick protested in alarm. “You said it wasn't safe to go out after dark.”

“It isn’t safe to stay in here either,” Dick retorted as he took a firm grip on his apprentice’s arm and towed him towards the door.

The labourer was there, standing in front of it stolidly. As he stood there he seemed to grow taller and more powerful, exuding an air of menace. People were starting to sidle away from and he watched them with a kind of tolerant condescension, silently inspecting each one that slipped past him and fled out into the night.

“Dick?” Swiftnick whispered apprehensively. 

“Why don't we take the back way out?” Dick murmured casually, starting to back up. He hadn’t managed to survive as a highwayman without early on learning to take elementary safety precautions. Like knowing where the nearest emergency exit was. He had found out where the back door was as soon as they arrived, along with various other potential escape routes.

“You think there’s going to be a fight?” the slurred voice of the baker asked as he tottered over to Turpin.

“I think there’s going to be trouble of some kind. And now would be a good time to get out of here....”

The baker nodded drunkenly. “Aye, aye, dragoons’ll be here before you know it. Back way out....” He gestured over his shoulder and swung around, wobbling towards the counter.

The second labourer was suddenly simply there.... He stood with folded arms, staring down at the belligerent baker who swore at him. A slow evil smile started to spread over his face as the baker’s venom started to falter...

“Sod it,” Dick hissed, looking round for another way out. The stairs up to the next floor was the only one that presented itself and as he started towards it, he looked round warily to make sure they weren’t drawing attention.

As he did so, the labourer by the front door suddenly pounced, lunging forward like a striking snake to seize on a plump well dressed woman. The woman’s terrified scream rang out as the labourer bent her backwards, his lips peeling back from his teeth to show long sabre sharp fangs. Her scream cut off as he plunged those fangs into her bare white throat...

Swiftnick wrenched out of Dick’s grip on his arm, darting towards them with some vague hope of helping her. Turpin grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him back, shoving him violently towards the stairs. “Run, you fool!” he ordered.

“We have to help her!” Swiftnick protested. “There’s only two of them!”

“It’s too bloody late!” Turpin snapped back, but still he hesitated, hearing a choked off cry from behind him. The second vampire had pounced on the baker and had pinned him across the counter with a malicious expression of enjoyment on his face as he let the man struggle.

 The innkeeper was staring in horror, backing away towards the kitchen and the back way out .He didn't get very far as a black velvet clad arm shot out of the shadows and seized him by the neck, yanking him down to where a dark head could bend over his throat.

Knowing there was nothing he could do, Dick shoved Swiftnick ahead of him, propelling him towards the stairs. By now people were panicking, running in all directions like mice seeking to escape from a playful cat.

The vampire by the door had dropped the woman and wiped one wrist across its mouth as he looked around him, apparently considering dessert.

Swiftnick gasped, balking as Dick was shoved into his back. Two more vampires had appeared on the stairs, gliding gracefully downwards with cloaks rippling like wings around them. One of them was Robyn and he had spotted Swiftnick. Lifting a slender hand he beckoned to the youth.

Dick felt Swiftnick twitch a step forward and he grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around to face him. “Don’t....” he began desperately.

Someone cannoned into them, sending Dick flying and separating him from Swiftnick as the youth was knocked to the floor. “Swiftnick!” Outraged, Turpin fought his way back towards his apprentice, fists and feet flying as he forced his way through the crowd that threatened to carry him away.

Someone screamed, a nerve scraping shriek of terror. Dick elbowed someone in the ribs and lunged through the gap that appeared....

He saw Swiftnick scrabbling to his knees and looking round him dazedly then he focused on Turpin. Panic rushed into his face. “Dick! Behind....!” He broke off, lifting his head to stare at the slender figure that seemed to materialise beside him. Robyn smiled at him, cocking his head to one side like the bird of his namesake, then he swooped, one hand tucking under the youth's chin, lifting his head to expose his throat for one quick bite....

“No!” Turpin screamed in rage, flinging himself forwards. Hands caught him, yanked him back and down until his head cracked against the floor and he saw stars, saw the implacable chill beauty of the black velvet clad vampire lean over him.

He groped frantically for a weapon as he was held down, pinned by the vampire’s impossible strength, felt his will to resist sapped by the weight of the vampire crushing his spirit....

Pain sharp as a knife cut, a fierce probing hurt for a split second then his throat went numb as ice and a sensation of blissful calm washed over him, sweeping away his senses as the vampire rolled his mind over and under to drown in the darkness....

                                                            * * *

In his mind images spilled over him as he tumbled helplessly through his own memories, washed away by the hopes and cares and fears of his life.

Rage burned hot as the Spaniard leaned over him before the sword on the end of his rifle speared through the bastard’s chest....

The screams of the men and the crackle of gunfire, the stench of the gun smoke. The never ending noise of battle over the sun drenched lands, the roar of cannons shuddering his very bones....

Rain and cold, a land as bleak as his spirit. The farmstead, the desolate run down buildings and the empty place inside his soul....

The hurt of all he had lost...

No! That was his private pain, a place where no intruder was allowed. He fought back, struggling against the inexorable current that dragged him under with its dark and fearful power...

The shocked look on the Duke’s face as he looked up at him over the pistol, stunned to be asked to surrender his money and valuables by a rag tag half starved highwayman....

The expression on Tom King’s face as Clary shot him in the back and the bullet tore through his chest....

Sir John Bloody Glutton, destroyer of hearth and home....

The lure of destruction, dark and bloody and vicious, an animal’s wrath to turn on the hunter. Rage; swollen festering rage.

A hunger sharp as any physical one, the need to hurt and kill...

Vengeance was within his grasp, the power to destroy, the longing to take back whatever he wanted and to make them all suffer was offered like bait by the mind that stalked his thoughts, rifled his memories and fingered his emotions.....

Glenrae’s good humour and sudden grin.

 Swiftnick’s bright smile and trust, more precious than gold....

“You don't get me that way! Sod the bloody lot of you!” Dick snarled out loud as his eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright on the cold dirty floor of the pub. His head reeled, sending him crashing back down with little black wings fluttering through his senses. “Sod it...” he repeated more softly, as his memory attempted to reassert the natural order of things.

The coaching inn....

The vampires....

His questing fingers found the sore wound in his throat, felt the sticky blood staring to dry on his skin.

Robyn bending over Swiftnick...

“Swiftnick!” Dick focused on the cobwebbed ceiling above him and he shoved his arms under him, pushing himself up on his elbows. He grimaced at the gory sight of his shirt; his attacker had not been a neat diner. With his arms to support him, he was able to force down the flutter of fear and take stock of surroundings.

The pub was almost empty now. By the front door the woman lay where the vampire had dropped her, her head bent back at a strange angle. Near the counter, the baker and the innkeeper lay in broken sprawls, their skin blue as if with cold....

There was no sign of the vampires....

And, more importantly, no Swiftnick either...

Fighting the urge to leap to his feet in a panic stricken rage, Dick gathered himself and eased slowly upright. He was still dizzy and he had to move slowly, afraid of passing out.

A low whimper made him freeze and look around him warily, searching for vampires and seeking the source of the sound. Had someone else survived the depredations of the vampires?

“Ssssh now, don’t fret,” the voice was low and soothing, a purr of velvet. “There’s no need for that, my little one. We’ll take care of you now....”

Dick turned, staring towards the open door of the kitchen. The voice belonged to a vampire, it was the same one that had rubbed through his mind, seeking to erase his self control and make him eager to accept the lures cast to him.

“Leave me alone....”

Turpin stiffened as he recognised Swiftnick’s voice, sounding small and young and very, very afraid and with good cause. With a focus for his thoughts, Dick felt the rising fear that had been threatening to swamp him receding. Using the counter for support, he reached down to his boot top, feeling for the weapon the speed of the attack on him hadn’t let him reach. The stake slid into his hand and he smiled wolfishly, starting to circle around the counter...

“You don’t have to worry,” the vampire continued gently. “You’ll enjoy joining us.”

“No....” Swiftnick squeaked.

“It’s there in your mind, little one. You’re a highwayman. You are the companion of the Dark One. Already you are much as we. Softly now, be easy. I won't hurt you. There must be a little time until Robyn gives you the second mark. Who would have thought? Sweet little Robyn the first of us to Sire. But I shall be next. The Dark One will be mine....”

Close to the door, Dick held his breath, peering around the edge. Swiftnick was sitting on a straight backed chair, his arms bent behind him in a way that suggested that his hands were tied. The black velvet clad vampire was standing over him, caressing his blond curls with a slender fingered hand. He seemed fascinated with the colour, admiring each curl as it spilled like gold over his pale flesh. Swiftnick kept pulling his head away, but the vampire kept tugging him back. There was blood on the young highwayman’s throat; Dick could see the bruised purple marks of the puncture wounds.

“Like sunshine,” the vampire murmured. “I can barely remember sunshine, but I know why Robyn chose you....”

“Go away,” Swiftnick begged. “I don’t want to be one of you....”

“Hush now, you have no choice....”

Dick eased forward, soft footed as a spider he edged towards the vampire’s half turned back. Something alerted him at the last moment and he ducked, diving instinctively for the floor as something rushed at him from behind. Startled by his sudden move, the vampire tripped over the highwayman, crashing onto the stone flags against the fireplace. He came up and around with terrifying speed, his face contorted with fury as bared his fangs at Dick.

Turpin scrambled up, keeping a firm grip on the stake as he looked round. There was a wild eyed look on Swiftnick’s face as he stared at him, stunned to see his partner

The black clad vampire was glaring at him with narrow eyes, his expression caught somewhere between indignation and annoyance. Like Robyn, he was fine featured and beautiful as a statue. His eyes were a rich blue that glittered like sapphires and his hair the deep auburn colour of fallen leaves.

“Hold!” he issued a curt command, stopping the second vampire from lunging at Turpin. “Now, how did you get free of.....Oh, never mind....You’re obviously stronger than I thought.”

Catching his breath, Dick held still, waiting to see what would happen. Vampires didn't necessarily think fast. The mental processes of some seemed slower. The one clad in the labourer’s clothes was glaring at the black clad one in fury. He must have been standing behind the door, assuming a near total invisibility with his stillness. Because he was a vampire, Dick hadn’t even been able to hear him breathing; if it had been a man he would have sensed he was there...

The black clad vampire had focused on Dick and Turpin could feel the pressure of his mind bearing down on his own thoughts. Dark and velvety, as seductive as a kiss, a caress....

“Come to me, my Dark One...” The vampire whispered and Dick moved forward, walking like a puppet into it’s outstretched arms. .

“Dick! No!” Swiftnick wailed, flinging himself against the chair.

“Too right!” agreed Turpin and lunged, driving the stake upwards into the vampire’s chest with a stabbing motion.

The black clad vampire screamed in pain, then lashed out, batting Dick away from him like a man swats a moth. Turpin crashed into the table with a curse, still gripping the stake tight and twisting around to face the vampire.

The vampire was panting, clutching at its wounded ribs. “You nearly killed me!” he protested indignantly.

“That was the general idea,” Dick agreed, straightening up.

“Behind you!” Swiftnick yelled and Dick whirled, hearing the scuff of movement as the second vampire launched itself across the table and crashed into the highwayman. Turpin was born over backwards by the weight of the vampire and felt the rush of cold terror as it slammed him to the stone flags. But instinct was faster than thought and without thinking he angled the stake between their bodies as the vampire crashed into him. The wood pierced through flesh and bone, stabbing deep and true into the vampire’s chest.

For a split second, the vampire crouched over him, eyes glittering with triumph it started to go for his throat, then it paused as an expression of surprise crossed its face and it exploded into an ignominious cloud of ash.

Spluttering furiously and doing his best not to breathe in, Dick rolled away and lurched to his feet, clinging to the stake. He sucked in a desperate breath, knowing he had been lucky the first time as he heard the rush of movement.

The black clad vampire lunged towards him, his eyes burning with loathing...

And tripped over Swiftnick’s desperately out stretched foot...

The vampire hit the floor and rolled, springing back to its feet in one fluid move and bursting past Dick through the door and out into the pub before the startled highwayman could do more than swing at it.

Turpin staggered to the door after it in time to see it fling open the front door and flee into the darkness of the night...

Wheezing, Dick leaned dizzily against the door jamb and hung his head. “I'm a highwayman; I shouldn’t be doing this sort of thing....”

“Dick?” Swiftnick prompted cautiously.

“Oh aye, Swiftnick. Knew there was something else...” Reminded of his responsibilities, Dick sheathed the stake back in his boot and attempted to stride rather than wobble back to his apprentice.

“You’re alive!” Swiftnick exclaimed.

“And kicking,” Dick agreed as he found a knife amongst the kitchen cutlery and quickly cut the youth free. Swiftnick staggered to his feet and flung his arms around his mentor, hugging him tight as he burrowed in against his chest.

“I thought they'd killed you!” he blurted as Turpin pried him off.

“Well, they didn’t,” Dick tilted his apprentice’s head to one side to examine the bite then tugged open his shirt collar. “Where’s the cross?”

“What?”

“The cross I told you to wear?”

“I left it upstairs...” Swiftnick admitted reluctantly.

“You did what?! I told you.... Oh never mind! I don't know why I bother at times!”

“I'm sorry...” Swiftnick said in a small voice. “I could go and fetch it now...”

“We don't have time,” Dick exclaimed in exasperation. “Think you can ride? We have to get away from here. That bloody vampire’s gone to go fetch its mates.”

Swiftnick frowned. “What about....?”

“There’s no one alive here.”

“We should check...”

“There isn’t time. Someone will go for the dragoons and Darcy will have men up here before you know it.” Dick caught him by the arm and towed him towards the back door.

“Then why don’t we-?”

Turpin gave him an exasperated little shake. “Why did they leave us alive, hmmh? Why did they bring you back here?”

Swiftnick swallowed. “I don’t know. They brought me in here when I woke up. He said something about Robyn giving me a second mark. And he said he was going to mark you....”

“Swiftnick,” Dick caught him by the shoulders and met his confused gaze with his own steady dark eyes. “We’re alive because they want us to join them.”

“But I don't want to be a vampire,” Swiftnick protested miserably.

“Good. But they aren’t planning on giving us a choice. That’s why we have to get out of here,” Turpin reached for the latch of the door and hesitated; it didn't feel like there was anything waiting outside for them, but then he had missed the vampire behind the door. 

“Can’t we deny them entry?”

“I don’t...know,” Dick admitted reluctantly. “They’ve been in here once, they’ve killed here...And I don’t think we can risk the chance of them calling us out to them.”

“They can do that?”

Recalling the dark pressure on his mind, Dick nodded grimly. He suspected that was why Swiftnick had been separated from him. The vampires had wanted to make sure their young prey hadn’t escaped. “All too easily. They can play with your memories, lad. You remember that. Don’t let them take them away from you. Right now, all we can do is find somewhere safe.”

“But there isn’t anywhere.”

“Yes, there is. There’s the church and the Rector. You know the way?”

“Yes, why?”

Dick shrugged. “We might get separated,” he said casually. “Do you know where the others are?”

“They were gone when I woke up. I got the impression they'd gone....hunting.”

Turpin nodded slowly, suspecting that he wasn't thinking as fast as usual. He had lost a lot of blood to the vampire that had attacked him and the fight hadn’t helped him much.  Swiftnick looked far too pale and was swaying slightly, a glazed look in his eyes. “Come on then and stay alert!”

Taking a deep breath, Dick flung the door open and stalked out into the stable yard. Nothing jumped on him and he lengthened his stride, hurrying towards the stables. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he pushed the door open and found the body lying in the gangway. He couched instinctively to feel for a pulse, but the groom’s skin was cold and clammy and he knew he wasn't going to find one.

“Get the horses,” he ordered his partner as Swiftnick stared at the body in horror.

“How can you be so, so....”

“Callous?” Turpin suggested. “It comes with the territory, lad. It’s called learning to survive. Act, don’t react. You can fret over it later. Now, get your prancer. We don't want to be next on the menu.”

Swiftnick gave him a dirty look then went to fetch his horse.

Turpin followed him, keeping his face expressionless. It was the only way he knew how to cope, to lock away his feelings and examine them later when he had the time and the luxury for it. Agonising over the victims wasn’t going to help him and Swiftnick survive.

“What if it was me?” Swiftnick demanded as he towed a reluctant Toby out of his stall.

“What?” Dick gave him a blank look.

“What if that was me?” Swiftnick gestured towards the body and Dick froze, unwilling to even contemplate the idea.

“It isn’t,” he retorted.

“Would you even give a damn?”

Turpin stared at him, startled by the youth's harsh tone. “I’d go bloody berserk,” he said simply however. “Why?”

Swiftnick blinked in confusion. “But....” He looked at the body again.

“I don’t know him and I don’t have time to worry about it. I can’t help him, now can I? I'm much more interested in keeping us alive.”  Dick pushed past him to get Black Bess.

“Sorry. I thought...” Swiftnick mumbled, rubbing the nose Toby pushed at him.

“That I was turning into a vampire? Hah!” Moving quickly and efficiently, Dick saddled and bridled his horse and led her out to join her stable mate. Swiftnick was tugging a last buckle secure and very deliberately not looking at the body. Toby was shuffling his hooves nervously, nostrils flaring wide as he scented blood. “Right then. You know where we’re headed?”

“Yes, Dick.” Following Turpin’s lead, Swiftnick led his bay outside and quickly mounted up.

“Got your stake?”

“Yes, but....”

“No buts. If you’re attacked by a vampire, use it. They’re not alive.”

“How do I tell the difference?”

Dick gave him an incredulous look, hoping Swiftnick was being deliberately obtuse. “If it even looks at your throat funny, it’s a vampire. And especially if it’s that Robyn.”

“He didn’t seem so....bad.”

“Bit you, didn’t he? Wants to turn you into a vampire, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but....”

“That makes him bad! Now come on! I don't have time to for philosophical discussions.” Slamming his heels into Black Bess’s side, Dick urged the mare out of the stable yard, glancing back to make sure Swiftnick was following before he gave her head and let her gallop as she clearly longed to do.

                                                            * * *

It was windy up on the moors with a brisk cool wind that whipped the horses manes as they galloped up over the gorse speckled long grass. The moon was up, a fat silver blue coin against the star lit blackness. On another night, Dick would have enjoyed the ride, wondered at the clarity of the night sky that made the stars shimmer and sparkle like a million fireflies. He always enjoyed the feel of the wind, revelled in the feel of it sweeping through his hair and brushing his skin with a lover’s caress...

The wind and the sky always reminded him of freedom no matter where he was....

On another moon silvered night, there had been a slender witch of a girl and he had danced nude among the standing stones with her in his arms and the wind on his bare skin....

“Bloody vampires!” Dick swore, shouting into the wind as Black Bess tore over the heather. He would not have them messing with his memories like this. They were his and his alone....

“Dick! Look!” Swiftnick pointed behind them and Turpin looked back, feeling his skin shiver as he saw the fleeting shadowy shapes far behind them but coming up fast.

“They’ve got horses,” he noted grimly, not approving of the way the vampires were pushing their mounts to catch up with the fleeing highwaymen.

“I thought you said horses were scared of them.”

“They are, but that won't stop them. If they can roll a man’s mind, they won't have a problem with a horse’s.”

Swiftnick didn't understand what Dick meant, but he shook his head and concentrated on riding. It wouldn't do to take a fall now. “How far to the church?”

“Two, three miles,” Dick answered. Maybe if he sent Swiftnick on ahead he could delay them. Unfortunately there were at least four of them, chances were they'd simply split up and pick them off.

Turpin leaned closer to his mare’s neck and took another look behind them.

The vampires were closer than ever....

There had to be a way to slow them down otherwise they were going to catch them up long before they could reach the church....

Unless they took a chance on a detour....

“Swiftnick! Come on, lad. Fast as you can. Push him....”

Swiftnick cast a worried glance at the older man. Toby was strong, but he wasn't as fast as Black Bess. But the bay could smell the vampires coming up behind him and when his rider asked, he put on a burst of speed that took them ahead of the mare. Black Bess flattened her ears indignantly and tore after him, making a race of it as Toby in turn responded to her challenge.

“Left, left!” Dick was yelling and waving frantically. “Down the gulley....”

Swiftnick shot him a baffled glance but obeyed, hoping Turpin was taking them off the path for a good reason. Toby hurtled through the brush and slithered, skittering down the dry slope and then making a hop at the bottom before breaking back into a gallop. It was rough going in the gulley and the twisting and turning path soon had the horses slowing, but Dick knew exactly what he was doing now.

“Follow me!” he yelled at his young partner as they hurtled around a twist in the gulley. Ahead of them Swiftnick saw the pale silver gleam of a moorland stream gurgling out of the rocks and pouring across the gulley to vanish into the ground somewhere to their left.

Turpin didn't hesitate, putting his mare at the stream at the gallop. Swiftnick thought he had gone mad; he had been warned enough times about taking a jump in the dark. But Black Bess sailed over the stream easily enough and, not to be out done, Toby followed her without waiting for his rider’s encouragement.

Swiftnick managed to keep his saddle at the unexpected leap and followed Turpin on up the gulley. He was getting more than a little tired by now and he was glad to snatch a breather as Turpin reined in at the top of the steep slope beyond the stream.

Behind them came a scream of rage and he flashed a look back, startled to see the vampires hauling their horses up to a halt on the far side of the stream and milling about in confusion. Dick’s burst of laughter made him look round in time to see the highwayman make a rude gesture at their infuriated pursuers. “What happened?”

“Can’t cross running water, can they?” Dick laughed then quickly sobered. “Come on, we’ve won ourselves a bit of time while they go back and round. Let’s not waste it.”

                                                            * * *

The horses were blowing hard as they crested the rise and saw the lights of the church gleaming through the darkness below them. “Someone’s up anyway,” Dick commented as he urged Black Bess to keep moving. “Not far now, girl. Hup....” He shot a look over at Swiftnick who had gone very quiet over the last mile or so. The lad was swaying in the saddle, the combination of the long ride and blood loss catching up with him. “Swiftnick!” Dick called him sharply and the youth bolted upright in his saddle, giving him a startled look.

“Sorry,” he mumbled apologetically. “I feel weird....I thought I heard someone calling me...”

Dick stared at him, feeling a chill creep through that had nothing to do with the sharpening edge of the wind. “That’d be me,” he said however. “Stay close....”

Swiftnick’s lips twisted into a pout but he followed obediently enough as the two horses cantered down the slope towards the welcoming lights of the church below them.

The building was an old one, made of neatly dressed solid stone and surrounded by a flint wall. Dick headed straight for the lych gate, ducking under the low roof to ride into the graveyard. He caught a bare glimpse of the shadowy figure that came over the wall with frightening speed and lunged up at him, then the startled highwayman was pulled from his saddle with a cry.

Riding after him, Swiftnick reined in Toby and slid to the ground, running to help as Turpin wrestled with the vampire, forcing it down into the grass. The vampire fought back in silent fury, its strength inexorably starting to tell as Dick attempted to throttle it. With a sudden surge, it flung Turpin off and he crashed to the ground, dazed and groaning in pain as he landed against solid stone.

Hissing in satisfaction, the vampire cast a look at Swiftnick with burning eyes as the youth scrabbled for a stake. “You’re next,” it snarled triumphantly then it swung back to Turpin and leaped....

“Gotcha!” Dick yelled and lunged, meeting the vampire with the solid thrust of his stake to its chest.

Unable to stop its leap, the vampire impaled itself with a squall of pained surprise. A second later it exploded into dust, making Swiftnick who was coming up behind it with a stake yelp and splutter in the ashes.

A moment later, he yelled in panic and lashed out as a hand closed on his wrist. “It’s me, you idiot!” Dick yelled in his ear and yanked, all but tugging Swiftnick off his feet as he belted across the graveyard towards the church. Toby raced past them, following Black Bess as the mare fled from the arrival of the rest of the pack.

The other vampires had arrived, sending their horses galloping through the lych gate in a blossom of darkness.

Swiftnick stumbled, tripping over the rough grass. Dick hauled him up by one arm and flung him behind him, shooting an enraged look back at the vampires. To his astonishment they had come to a halt and were milling about inside the gate, clearly confused and angry as they hissed and struck out at the very air.

“What’s going on?” Swiftnick asked anxiously. 

Dick had no idea and was too breathless to answer. He herded his partner ahead of him towards the church, taking advantage of the respite and keeping wary eye on the vampires.

With a screech one of the vampires broke from the rest and sent his horse pounding along the gravelled path, black velvet coat tails flying as he leaned along his horse’s neck.

Dick could feel his eyes boring into him as the vampire came on, feel its frustrated fury at his escape. It swept down on them, one hand extended to seize and snatch one of them off his feet.

Turpin had no idea who it was after, but he wasn't taking any chance. Grabbing Swiftnick around the waist, he flung them both off the path into the long grass. The scent of crushed meadowsweet billowed up around them as the vampire overshot with a scream of rage and had to claw his horse to a halt.

“Run! Run!” Screaming at his partner, Turpin yanked Swiftnick to his feet, flinging him ahead of him towards the church porch as Robyn broke away from the pack and hurtled down the path after them, a silent black ghost in the night....

The pounding of hooves seemed to fill the night, echoing around and around as the horse down on them as if intent on riding right over them.

Swiftnick looked back and nearly fell over his own feet and Dick with the strength born of desperation, wrapped one arm around his waist and lunged, flinging them both across the porch step to crash onto the flagstones and go rolling with a bruising thud into the solid oak of the church doors.

With a clatter of hooves, Robyn hauled up his horse on the doorstep and sat silently, staring down at them with brooding eyes and apparently able to see them in the almost total darkness of the porch. The black velvet clad vampire came up beside him, the pair of them gazing down at the highwaymen in grim silence. In the darkness the horses’ eyes shimmered pale blue.

Robyn twitched, lifting his head slightly in unease.

“Corwyn....” he said softly, warning...

“A priest,” Corwyn agreed with a nod. “Ssssah, a priest!” He swung his horses away and with a final glare Robyn turned after him, the echo of their horses’ hooves fading into the darkness.

“Dick, could you get off me? You’re heavy....” Swiftnick urged indignantly.

Turpin elbowed himself off the flagstones with a wince. He’d been collecting far too many bruises recently thanks to the vampires. “They won't have gone far,” he guessed bitterly, then flinched and looked round warily as the door behind them creaked open.

A candle glimmered, half dazzling them as a shadowy shape loomed up out of the darkness. Dick took a tighter grip on his trusty stake....

“You knocked?” said the Rector mildly.

                                                            * * *

“Five of them you say?” the Rector said curiously a short while later as he bathed Dick’s bite with water from the fount. Swiftnick had fallen asleep in the ornately carved front pew and Dick felt a flicker of concern about him. He must have lost a lot more blood than Dick had thought if he was exhausted enough to sleep so easily.

“That’s all I've seen,” Dick agreed, wincing. The water was icy cold but he wasn't entirely sure that was what made the bites sting so much. “I've killed two of them. That should leave three.”

“You can still do your sums then,” the Rector said mildly. “What about your young friend? Is he getting an education?”

“A very good education,” Dick chuckled.

“Now Richard, you know perfectly well what I mean,” the older man scolded.

“Aye, I know what you mean,” Dick lowered his voice. “He’s a bright lad and deserves better.”

“Why keep him with you then?”

“He’d hang if I didn’t,” Dick answered gloomily, hissing sharply as the water stung again. His shirt was starting feel uncomfortably wet and cold.  

The Rector sighed. “You’re wrong, you know.”

“No, I'm not. Glutton’d do for him.”

“I meant about the Riders, there’s supposed to be seven of them,” the Rector said patiently as he once more poured water over Dick’s head and neck.

“I've only seen five,” Turpin answered stubbornly, letting out a faint sigh of relief as the water failed to burn this time.

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t more. What are you going to do?”

“Run?” Dick suggested, holding still for more water that this time seemed to go right down his chest. He started to shiver as the combination of cold church and even colder water started to get to him.

The Rector patted him gently on the back, noticing his reaction. “I think that’s enough, Richard. I’d better attend to your young friend.”

Turpin nodded, mopping at his face with the cloth the older man passed him. “Let him sleep for a minute or two first,” he asked. “I need to talk to you.”

“You’re not going to run, are you?”

“Maybe I don't have enough common sense.”

“Maybe you know there’s nowhere to run to.”

Turpin sighed wearily and sat down on the steps of the altar. “How can I? They’ve marked me and Swiftnick. They’ll keep coming until I stop them.”

“Suggesting that you don't think that anyone else can?”

“That I don't think anyone else will,” Dick corrected.

“You’re safe here for now.” The Rector gestured peacefully towards the altar. “They cannot enter. If as you say, they were confused by the gate it is because this land is sacred. Long sacred.”

“They can’t enter but we can’t leave. And we can’t hide here forever.”

“Long enough to rest and plan,” the Rector answered. “To enter into a state of grace....”

“A state of grace? Me?” Dick laughed. “I thought you gave up on me long ago!”

“Never,” the Rector answered firmly, gazing at him with such affection that Turpin shifted uncomfortably.

“Don’t waste your time on me, save it for Nick....”

“Swiftnick...” the Rector corrected mildly.

Dick gave him a sharp look and sighed. “Yeah, well, you don't have to be a genius to figure that one out." He ran one hand over his damp hair, grimacing. “I need a way to fight them. A stake’s all very well for close quarters, but I’d rather not let ‘em get that close in the first place. And a stake won't necessarily kill ‘em unless you get it in the right spot the first time.”

“A sound strategy. A pistol?”

“Slows ‘em down. But unless you can blow their bloody - er sorry – head off with the first shot, you’re doomed because you won't get time to reload. Besides there’s too many of them.”

“A sword perhaps?”

Dick nodded, thinking of his own fine blade out in the dark on his mare’s saddle. He wished he’d taken the time to strap the weapon on.  At least he’d be armed now. Shaking his head, he rolled an aching shoulder and looked gloomily around the church. The candles still glowed, but they lent only an eerie air to the chill stone vaults and not the comfort he half wished for. “Fencing blade’s no good,” he admitted aloud.

“How about a sabre?”

“If wishes were kisses....!” Dick laughed ruefully.

“Tsk,” sniffed the Rector. “But as it happens, I happen to have a sabre lying around the place....”

                                                            * * *

Dick lifted the cloth wrapped bundle out of the chest from its nest among the vestments and embroidered cloths and laid it on the well scrubbed table in the small side room. He could feel a tingle of excitement and anticipation as unfolded the cloth, almost holding his breath as the Rector smiled at him complacently.

As the fabric peeled back, a beautifully polished curving blade was revealed, shining like a silver star in the candlelight amidst its leather wrappings.

“It’s a cavalry sword,” the Rector commented. “Spanish I believe.”

“It’s beautiful,” Dick murmured in awe as he lifted the weapon. The black dimpled hilt fitted into his hand comfortably, the balance of the sword so perfect it was like an extension of his arm. The pommel was formed by a cabochon of polished gold engraved with an elaborate pattern He could well believe it was a Spanish blade from the lovely sweep and rippled pattern of the blade that was engraved with the same pattern as the pommel. He had seen a few such weapons in his time and envied their owners. “Wherever did you get it from?”

“It was gifted to us by Sir Percy Pickering,” the Rector replied, smiling as Dick turned to look at him in awe. “You could say its purpose was to be here this night...”

Dick took another look at the blade, taking an experimental lunge and parry and then a sweeping cut. A candle jumped as he sliced at it and a wicked grin appeared on his face as he poked the sliced wax from the sconce with the blade tip. “Keen edge....”

“It’s been regularly polished and honed at Sir Percy’s request. He called it the Slayer apparently.” The Rector sniffed with a faint air of disparagement. “It’s been blessed from the fount despite being a heathen weapon...”

“Heathen? You mean because it’s Spanish? That won't bother me...”

“I didn't think it would somehow,” the Rector observed dryly as he watched Turpin handling the blade with obvious appreciation. “Perhaps that’s why you’re here...”

“I’m here because it was the safest place for me to be,” Dick retorted. He wasn’t going to stand for any fanciful nonsense about destiny. “And you agreed to look after Swiftnick for me.”

“You’re going after them on your own?”

“Taking Swiftnick is too risky,” Turpin answered as he started towards the door. “I can’t guard him and me. He’ll be safer here.”

“Do you think you can make him believe that?”

Dick sighed, studying his reflection in the bright gleam of the sabre.. “No,” he admitted ruefully. “But he’s learned to do what I tell him – most of the time anyway.” He smiled thoughtfully. “Maybe I should tie him up while he’s asleep?”

“I think explaining your plans and reasons to him would be better.”

“Whatever happened to giving orders?”

“You’re not in the army any more. And you were never very good at obeying orders anyway, I believe.”

Turpin snorted at that and yanked the door open, marching briskly back out into the nave. What was it with people who had known him for a long time? They all seemed to think he did things for the good of everyone else rather than his own. They seemed to forget he was a highwayman; rough, tough, hard....

“Swiftnick?” Dick paused in mid stride, peering suspiciously at the pew where he had left his apprentice asleep. Taking a step closer, he peered over the edge, wondering if he had slid to the floor or stretched out on the narrow wooden seat.  “Swiftnick?” With a rising prickle of dread, Turpin lifted his head and looked wildly around the candlelit nave. ”Swiftnick! Where are you?” he yelled.

“Richard, must you bellow so?” the Rector protested indignantly.   

Dick shot a look of exasperation at him and hurried along the aisle, peering into each seat in search of his young friend. His steps quickened as he walked and he was running as he reached the end, ducking under the vaulted stone arch into the narrow hall of the porch.

The door stood open, letting in the scent of grass and meadowsweet into the silent vaults. Beyond that doorway was the darkness...

“What is it?” the Rector questioned from behind him.

Turpin shook his head once and took a tighter grip on the sabre, stepping out into the cool night air.

Nothing moved in the huge silence that hung soft and heavy over the land.

Darkness expanded around him with a breath of breeze, rushing outwards as the world grew huge and frightening in its immensity, setting his whole body tingling with fearful anticipation.

Turpin waited, listening and watching the night...

A horse snorted near by and a clop of hooves crossing the grass made him tense. It was Black Bess who loomed up out of the night, Toby following sheepishly at her heels. Dick caught the mare’s reins in his left hand and looked around him grimly.

“Richard?” the Rector murmured anxiously.

“Swiftnick’s gone,” Dick said flatly, suppressing the swearwords that sprang to his tongue for the older man’s sake.

“Do you think he went after them on his own?” the Rector fretted in alarm.

“No. No, I think they called him out to them.” Turpin stared out into the empty, wafting darkness and ground his teeth.

“From here?” the Rector protested indignantly. “Surely not! We would have heard....”

“Not the way they do it,” Dick said bitterly and kicked savagely at the gravel, wanting to vent his frustrated fury with verbal violence followed by the more physical kind.

“I don't understand. He should have been safe here. Protected....”

“I didn't say it was your fault!” Dick turned on him angrily. “It’s mine! He was asleep! I shouldn’t have left him! I should have known that wasn't natural.”

“Now, how could you-?”

“I know Swiftnick!”

The Rector stayed calm in the face of the highwayman’s anger, knowing it wasn't directed at the older man but at himself. “It could be coincidence. Perhaps the lad went for a look round?”

“In the dark? With vampires around? After I told him not to?”

“The vampires are gone,” the Rector pointed out reasonably. “And he’s young. Perhaps he thought he could help...Or he could still be inside? We should look....”

“You look,” Dick told him, drawing Black Bess towards him. “I'm going after those bastards and I'm going to kill the bloody lot of them!”

The Rector frowned at him for his language, but said nothing aloud, realising that Dick was close to the edge of his self control.  “You don't even know where to go!” he argued.

Dick hesitated, then jerked his head in a tight nod. “I’d lay bets they’re at Pickering Place.”

“It’s too dangerous, Richard. At least wait until light....”

“You think Swiftnick can hold out that long if they have him?” Dick spat as he swung astride his horse.

The Rector hesitated.  “I know you don’t want to think about it, but they may have killed him already. We should look....”

“They don’t want to kill him, that’s what makes it worse,” Dick snapped. “They want to turn him into one of them. And me too. That’s why they’ve taken him and why I think they’re at the manor. They want me to follow them.”

“Then don't ride into their trap,” the Rector begged.

“I don't intend to if I can help it. But would you rather I left Swiftnick to their plans for him?”

“You know I don’t. But I'm worried about you.”

Turpin shrugged and patted the sabre. “Don’t be. I'm far more of a bastard than any vampire. Pray for Swiftnick.”

“I’ll pray for both of you...” the Rector answered solemnly as Dick gathered up the reins. “But wait....”

“I don’t have time.”

“You need all the weapons you can get. Let me get you some holy water.”

“I don’t....”

“If the lad’s been bitten....?”

Dick hesitated then nodded tightly. “All right, but hurry....”

With a brusque nod, the Rector turned and ran back into the building. Dick gritted his teeth, patting Black Bess soothingly and taking the time to catch up Toby’s dangling reins and tie him to the porch.

The Rector was panting as he hurried out with a leather bottle that he handed up to Turpin. “Be careful, Richard,” he urged anxiously.

Turpin grimaced, half bowed to the older man and swung Black Bess away from him. The Rector stood quietly, shivering slightly in the cool night hair as he watched the dark haired highwayman ride away. The black mare leaped the wall and galloped away into the darkness, vanishing into the eerie stillness of the night. Retreating into the safety of the porch, he listened under the sound of hoofbeats had faded into silence then he resolutely swung the oak doors shut and went to search the building for Swiftnick for his own peace of mind.

                                                            * * *

Swiftnick was feeling drowsy and groggy with confusion, as if someone had hit him too hard. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened. His memory seemed to be very foggy, disturbed like the waters of a lake with ripples that concealed the depths. He remembered Dick dragging him out of the pub and across the moors on horseback, jumping the stream....

That was when his thoughts had started to blur. He remembered the feeling that someone was calling him, urging him to wait or turn back...

There had been some kind of fight and he remembered the stab of angry fright at seeing Turpin brought down. He had a clear, sharp memory of pulling a stake from his boot top and going to help. Then there had been more fog and running and finally the chance of blessed sleep....

There had been a voice in his troubled, warm as melted chocolate, soothing and persuading and coaxing him into surrendering. A voice that promised no harm would come to him, that he could have anything he wanted....

There had been a weight on his mind, pressing down on his spirit, squashing his doubts with an overwhelming tide of temptation. Quite what the temptation had been he wasn’t sure, it had been more of a feeling, a promise of something he couldn’t quite grasp but felt was what he wanted...

They can play with your memories, Dick had said and with a flash of understanding, Swiftnick knew what had happened. The weight on his mind wasn’t natural, wasn't part of some dreadful dream but was harsh reality. “No!” he woke himself up with his own cry to find himself on horseback with strong arms folded around him. The horse was walking, crossing an overgrown lawn towards the brooding sprawl of the Pickering manor house.

“Hush, little one,” Robyn said quietly into his ear. “No need to fear. You’re mine now!”

Far from being comforted, a bolt of pure panic stabbed through him and in response the firm leash controlling on his mind tightened its grip. “No!” Swiftnick yelled again and instinctively clamped his heels into the horse’s sides, startling the animal into shying. The vampire let out a startled exclamation, hauling up on the reins. Swiftnick felt the pressure on his mind lift a fraction. Robyn couldn’t control the horse and his young captive, he realised and flung himself sideways, hurling himself out of the saddle as Robyn snatched at him in vain.

Swiftnick hit the ground with a bruising thud and was instantly on his feet and breaking into a run with his breath hammering at his ribs in fear and excitement. He headed away from the house instinctively, racing for the overgrown shrubbery and a chance to hide. Hoof beats pounded after him as he was pursued and Robyn’s thoughts ripped suddenly through his own, catching at him like a hook in a fish. But Swiftnick was wide awake now and aware of his danger. He ignored the lure, concentrating on feeding his own sense of outrage at their trickery and his determination to escape....

The horse seemed to appear out of nowhere as it swung suddenly across in front of him, startling Swiftnick so much that he didn't have time to swerve and instead slammed painfully into the animal’s side making the horse grunt at the impact. A booted foot caught him in the chest, bowling off his feet with a contemptuous flick of a kick.

“Really, Robyn, surely you can control him better than this?!” A scornful voice commented as Swiftnick rolled in the grass and clutched his ribs. Hooves trotted gently across the grass and Swiftnick could feel them vibrating through the dry ground

“At least I have mine, Your Dark One escaped you, Corwyn.”

Swiftnick gathered his feet under him, shooting a quick furtive look up at the two horses looming over him. The vampires were ignoring him for the moment.

“No, not escaped, merely delayed the moment of his crossing,” the black velvet clad vampire responded smoothly. “He can’t escape me”

Arrogant, thought Swiftnick dizzily. They were really no better than any of the lords he and Dick fleeced regularly.

“He didn’t come when you called.”

“He’s older, more experienced. This one was asleep....”

“I chose my moment well....”

Corwyn sniffed, gathering up his reins to turn his horse towards the manor house. “No doubt.” he scoffed sarcastically. “Well, pick him up. We had better not keep the Master waiting any longer.”

Robyn glared back, lifting one hand to flick back his long black curls. “Come here, little one,” he commanded, switching his attention to Swiftnick.

Swiftnick felt the hook dig into his thoughts and pull at him. He rose stiffly to his feet, standing quiet and obedient.

Corwyn looked down at him and nudged his horse away, riding at a lazy walk towards the house. Robyn looked down at Swiftnick with a gentle smile. “It’s all right,” he said kindly as he stretched out a hand to him. “Come along now....”

Swiftnick broke and ran, tearing desperately towards the shrubbery and the wall....

There was a rush and a blur of movement, something reared up in front of him and smashed him across the face and he saw blood red stars of pain. The grass and dirt came up to meet him, then he was seized in a rough grip as a hand in his hair wrenched his head back and exposed his throat...

Robyn’s voice screamed through the darkness, filled with a possessive rage. “No! Leave him! He’s mine!”

Then there was the all muffling darkness that rushed in and crushed him in its choking folds...

                                                            * * *

The next time Swiftnick roused it was to the feel of cold stone under him and a thumping pain between his eyes. The last thing he remembered was a pair of burning black eyes that glinted with a maddened red light before their owner had hit him. Then there had been Robyn shouting in rage as he was bent backwards....

“No!” Swiftnick sat up with a yip of fright, touching his throat first then looking round him wildly. He was sitting on the stone flagged floor of a candlelit, cobwebbed room that smelt of dust and mould. An archway with cleverly carved columns to his right led off into a darkness in which figures moved.  Drawing his senses together, Swiftnick had touched one hand to the floor and started to push himself to his feet when he sensed there was someone in the room with him and froze, slowly turning to look.

Behind him a magnificent old fashioned fireplace stood cold, a row of candles burning on its heavy stone lintel. Robyn stood beside it, watching him implacably with the eerie stillness that only a vampire could achieve.

“What do you want?” Swiftnick demanded of him bitterly, his temper rising at the vampire’s cavalier treatment of him.

Robyn gestured gracefully. “You,” he said simply.  “I want you to join us.”

“Well, I don't want to!” Swiftnick spat back.

“We weren’t planning on giving you a choice,” a deep voice said from behind him.

Whirling to his feet in one move, Swiftnick backed away, putting his back to one of the columns as he stared at the new arrival. He was tall, and smooth faced, his hair short and brown in crisp curls. He was dressed in a deep forest green doublet over hose and puffed breeches of a kind that Swiftnick knew were old fashioned. Silk in the ubiquitous vampire black peeked through slashes in his doublet and adorned his black shoes and hose bows. He seemed older than the others and his eyes were burning orbs of coal as he gazed curiously at the young highwayman. An ornately hilted sword hung at his hip, fastened down with a black ribbon.

Corwyn emerged from the shadows with a vampire dressed in the labourer’s clothes from the pub. Behind them lingered another shadow and Swiftnick caught the greenish animal gleam of its eyes and shivered.

“He’s a little young, Robyn,” the new vampire observed. “Did you think to replace yourself?”

“None of the others were suitable, Edmund,”

“Master....” corrected the older vampire and his eyes burned like ice.

After a second, Robyn bowed his head a fraction. “Master Edmund,” he said sullenly.

“Better. Remember your position, my dear. You are the youngest of us and you will obey me.”

 “And for how long will I be the youngest?” Robyn challenged, straightening up

“Until I decide otherwise. I did not give you permission to Sire, now did I?”

Swiftnick could see Robyn’s teeth grinding as he did his best to turn invisible. The longer they were distracted from him, the longer he would survive. If he could stay alive until morning, he might be able to escape... Unfortunately, Corwyn was watching him like a hawk.

“He was there and I was....ready,” Robyn shot back. “I don’t see you objecting to Corwyn Siring.”

“Corwyn failed,” Edmund responded.

“This little one will be a lure to the other,” Corwyn commented smugly. “I read it in his mind. He’ll come...”

Edmund turned his chilly gaze on him. “I did not give you permission to speak, Corwyn,” he said in an icily friendly tone. “Nor did I give you permission to Sire.”

Corwyn flinched, glanced at Robyn and lifted his head. “We have lost two of our number,” he began.

“I know you were careless,” Edmund snapped.

“We need replacements,” Robyn pointed out.

A flash of cold anger crossed Edmund’s face. “And that happened after your unwise decision to Sire these two....non entities. They’re not even nobles....”

“Does that really matter anymore?” Corwyn sneered. “The King lost. They hacked off his head and we were lucky not to meet the same end!”

You still might, Swiftnick thought, but he held his tongue, loathe to remind them of his presence. Besides, their argument fascinated him.

“That is of no importance,” Edmund said grimly. “I choose who will join us.”

“As you chose Simon?” Robyn said softly. “He was the first you Sired, wasn’t he?” He flinched slightly at the look Edmund turned on him, recoiling back against the fireplace as the older vampire started towards him. Corwyn moved, crossed the stone floor with a whisper of movement to stand beside him.

“Simon was the one who revealed our presence,” he said flatly. “He went after these two that first night. He gave us no choice but to pursue them. My Dark One knows what we are.”

“You warned them....” Edmund snarled and for the time a glimpse of fang showed against his lips.

“No! It was Simon who did that. The Dark One has killed our kind before,” Robyn argued.

Corwyn nodded. “It was in his thoughts. He knew how to keep Simon out.”

Edmund hesitated, looking towards the silently watching fourth vampire. “It could have been one of the others...”

“You know better,” the vampire said tonelessly. “He escaped that night and you don't know where he went. The Lady will not be pleased.”

“No, she won’t, will she,” Corwyn put in insolently. “First, you led us into a trap that led to our execution. When we finally are awakened, Simon woke up as little better than an animal and you failed to keep control of him. You’ve lost two of her bodyguards and we have been discovered. How do you think you will explain this?”

Edmund stared at him unblinkingly for a long moment a slow smile spreading across his too smooth features as he glided towards them. The blow when it came was shocking in its speed, slamming Corwyn backwards. Robyn’s arm shot out to support him, the gesture seeming to startle all three vampires. The fourth vampire moved closer, hovering as it watched closely.

“You forget yourself, Corwyn,” Edmund purred. “I answer to the Lady, not to you. You are not her favourite, for she chose me to lead you. Simon had not fed before we were...killed. That is what weakened him. He merely needs to feed again.”

Swiftnick caught the glance the vampire gave him and shrank back against the column, terrified. But when Edmund once more turned away, he snatched at his courage and started to inch slowly around the column, towards the darkened corridor he could see from the corner of his eye. Holding his breath, he edged hopefully towards its lure...

“We cannot afford to stay here while he hunts,” Robyn protested. “They’ll come for us as the Lady warned....”

“My, my, Robyn, afraid to linger in your ancestral home?” Edmund mocked. “I thought you’d feel comfortable here. Was your homecoming not to your taste?”

Robyn glared at him. Corwyn had moved away, disdainfully brushing off his black velvet. “Robyn is correct. It is a matter of common sense,” he commented however. “My Dark One knows tales about us. If he knows, so will others.”

The fourth vampire inclined his head. “They knew enough to keep us from the inn that first night. We had to hunt elsewhere and went hungry.”

Edmund frowned, watching the three of them warily. “It is of no importance,” he said however. “Your Dark One will come here you say, Corwyn?”

“He will come here looking for his friend,” Corwyn agreed, wary of the older vampire’s suddenly companionable tone.

“Very well then. Simon will have the young one. He will be sweetest and most flavoursome. It will restore Simon to his senses.”

“It may be better to dispose of him,” the fourth vampire commented.

“Simon obeys me,” Edmund snarled.

“If this feeding does not restore him, you must dispose of him,” the fourth vampire repeated.

“I will dispose of you if you do not guard your tongue,” Edmund warned.

The vampire folded his arms and gazed back expressionlessly. “The Lady left me with you to see that you followed her wishes. If you fail her, I will not.”

“Meaning?” Edmund snapped.

“You have lost two of her vampires and a third hovers on the brink. You deny the right of these two to Sire because you fear the increase in power it will bring them.”

“Lies!” Edmund reached for the sword at his hip.

“Kill me and the Lady will know,” the vampire said flatly.

“You are not Master here!”

“No,” the vampire agreed. “I am merely the Lady’s Hand.”

Edmund’s grip tightened until his knuckles seemed to be able to burst from his skin, then his head snapped around and he stared at Corwyn and Robyn. Both vampires looked shocked. For a moment he continued to glare at them, then he shrugged and lowered his hand from his sword. “Very well,” he said quietly. “Simon will have the boy.”

“He’s mine!!” Robyn said indignantly.

“We do not have time for you to Sire him,” Edmund said flatly. “We shall feed on him and the Dark One and leave here immediately.”

The Lady’s Hand nodded, accepting this decision even as Robyn bristled.

Corwyn’s anger glittered in his dark blue eyes. “Wonderful decision. Shall we now go and catch the boy before he gets away completely?”

“What?!” Edmund and Corwyn both turned to look at the column where Swiftnick had been standing. “Where is he?!”

“Gone obviously,” Corwyn observed sarcastically. “Another mark against you, dear Master.”

Edmund glared at him. “Simon!” he barked, turning towards the shadows where the shadowy figure lurked. After a moment, the vampire slunk into view, almost slithering across the floor. The green glaze across his eyes reflected back the lights of the candles with an odd gleam as he looked up at Edmund.

“Yessss.....?” he hissed.

Edmund touched his sleek black hair gently. “You remember the boy?”

“Yessss......tassssty....want......”

“Good. He’s run away. Find him, Simon, find him and feed....” Taking his hand, Edmund led him to the column. “He was here, Simon, find him now....”

Simon sniffed the air, leaning closer to the column and inhaling deeply then he was off, darting from the room down a dusty corridor.

“Simon will find him. He was always the best of us at hunting,” Edmund said almost happily and gave the others another hard look. “And he was always totally loyal to me....” He added and moved after him. The Lady’s Hand paced after him steadily

“Yes,” Corwyn murmured. “Because Edmund broke his spirit completely before he Sired him. Not the way to do it in my opinion.”

Robyn looked uncertainly at Corwyn. “The boy was mine...” he protested.

“Not any more. I shall regret the Dark One. He had a certain style.”

“We should fight him.”

“The Dark One?”

“No. Edmund.”

Corwyn gave the younger vampire a thoughtful look. “What an intriguing concept. Fight our Master, who was chosen by the Lady....”

“She made you his Lieutenant.”

Edmund’s voice echoed back to them, demanding that they follow. Exchanging a look with Robyn, Corwyn half smiled.

“Our Master calls,” he murmured. “Shall we see what he has in mind?”

                                                            * * *

Swiftnick crept out of the hall, holding his breath as he tiptoed into the shadows. He could feel the shadowy vampire watching him with its gleaming inhuman eyes and dreaded that it would stir itself to pursue him. Yet the others were oblivious to him, caught up in their own petty power squabble. He wasn’t sure which way he was going. The old manor house was a maze of corridors and rooms leading off each other and finding a window that hadn’t been boarded up was proving to be a great deal more difficult than he had expected. Every now and then he caught echoes of the vampires’ voices and heard them moving. They were definitely searching for him now and he found himself being driven deeper into the house. Maybe if he found the kitchen, there would be a back door.

The horrible eerie cry of a vampire on the hunt shredded the last reserve of self control and he panicked, bolting in sheer terror from the animal hunger in the inhuman scream. He knew that sound, had heard it the first night they had been pursued. In his fright, Swiftnick spun around, searching wildly for an escape route, any escape route. The vampire was too close, he could hear it running near by and at any moment he knew it would burst into the corridor where he hid and find him.

His frantic searching gaze found the servant’s door all but hidden by the shadows and dirt and he wrenched it open, whimpering at the screech of the hinges as he ducked through and slammed it shut behind him, shooting home the bolts.

Something slammed into the other side of the solid door, crashing into it with a shrill scream of fury. Swiftnick tripped over the bottom step behind him, then turned and scrambled upwards in sheer desperation. Behind him, he heard the sounds of splintering wood as the enraged vampire attacked the door.

He ran until his ribs burned in protest and he had to halt to gasp for breath. Looking around him wildly in the darkness, he realised had fled upstairs instead of down, driven by the vengeful scream of the hunter behind him and had emerged on the upper landing of the house.

“Sod it,” he gasped, taking a tottering step back towards where he thought the sweep of the stairs would be. He didn’t dare risk the servant’s stair again.

The eyes warned him there was somewhere there, glittering pale green in the shadows as the vampire oozed out of the darkness and walked towards him. The vampire known as the Lady’s Hand smiled at him and extended one hand. “Come here, little one,” he ordered and his power rolled against the youth's mind.

Swiftnick backed up, unable to run although he would have dearly loved to.

The Lady’s Hand frowned at his resistance and moved towards him. Swiftnick continued to back away, ignoring his blandishments. With a snarl of frustration the Lady’s Hand lunged at him and Swiftnick dodged, taking a frantic leap into a window embrasure. Moonlight shone through the multicoloured glass, making strange shimmering patterns on the floor. Beyond the glass the land glittered, silvered by moonlight. Swiftnick thought for a second he saw a horse, cropping grass on the over grown lawn. Then the vampire caught his full attention as its movement reminded him of its presence. “You stay away from me!” he warned desperately.

“Don’t be foolish, boy,” the Lady’s Hand growled through bared fangs. “Where do you think you can run? There’s nowhere to hide now.”

“I’ll jump.....” Swiftnick threatened.

“Nonsense. You’ll kill yourself.”

“Better than being a monster....” Swiftnick challenged, shrinking back into the embrasure.

The vampire stared at him, his eyes glowing with that unreal phosphorescent shimmer. Swiftnick felt his senses starting to swim, his resolve weaken...

The Lady’s Hand lunged and Swiftnick instinctively stepped back, kicking with one heel and hearing the sharp crack of the thin glass shatter. But the vampire was faster and seized him by one wrist, yanking him bodily away from the window and tossing him to the floor. Swiftnick crashed down on his hip and ribs, gasping at the bruising thump of the fall and doubling up into a ball.

With a hiss of satisfaction, the Lady’s Hand landed beside him and reached down, grabbing him by the throat and yanking him to his knees. “Simon!” he called then snarled in pain as the stake Swiftnick had snatched from his boot pierced him, stabbed up under the ribs and driven into his body with all the force the frightened young man could find. For a second the Lady’s Hand stared at him in outraged astonishment then he imploded into a heap of ash.

Swiftnick landed on his back, shuddering in fright and frantically brushing the thick papery ash off him. Wriggling away from the remains of the vampire, he grabbed up his stake and started to scramble to his feet then froze as he heard a skittering sound from the stairs.

Simon appeared at the head of the stairs, the mad gleam in his eyes now finding a focus on the young highwayman. A kind of crooning wail moaned out of him as he started to stalk towards Swiftnick, gliding over the floor like a settling mist.

Once more Swiftnick turned and ran, knowing there was nothing else he could do.

Simon came after him, pausing only to sniff at the pile of ashes that had been the Lady’s Hand and letting out a shriek before he raced after Swiftnick, pursing him with incredible speed.

Cornered, Swiftnick braked and spun back to face him, lifting his stake in threat.

Simon didn't even slow down but came at him in a headlong rush, a mad grin on his face as he launched himself at the youth.

Swiftnick dodged, astonishing himself by managing to trip the on coming vampire.

Simon overshot, crashing into the wall with a squall of angry pain.  He spun back around and leaped after Swiftnick as the highwayman ran, tearing back the other way towards the servant’s stair. Simon shot after him, fast as a whip and caught up as Swiftnick flung the door open and ducked through. Careless of hurt, the vampire leaped after him, narrowly avoided being spitted by Swiftnick’s desperately wielded stake and cannoned into him, his hands grabbing for his throat.

The vampire’s weight against the smaller young man sent him staggering backwards to lose his balance and the two of them tumbled down the stairs, bouncing and rattling into a tangle of arms and legs.

They landed in a tangle at the bottom, slamming into the damaged door and spilling out in the corridor beyond. Swiftnick was badly stunned and bruised by the fall and in no condition to fight, but Simon was totally oblivious of that anyway as he tightened his grip on the young highwayman and wrenched him towards his gaping fanged mouth.

Swiftnick yelled, feeling the rip of fangs tear his skin, remembered the puncturing pain of Robyn’s bite as he battered at the vampire furiously with his fists, having lost the stake in the fall.....

Swiftnick saw a blur of silver slice the air and Simon’s head came off at the neck, bouncing away to land on the floor trickling dust. The fangs flexed once, snapping shut reflexively as the eyes stared at the terrified youth, then the head like its body burst into a hail of ash.

His gasps for breaths close to being sobs, Swiftnick looked round wildly, fighting the urge to scream as a shadowy figure leant over him.

“Swiftnick?” Turpin asked cautiously. “You hurt?”

“Dick!” Swiftnick nearly shouted in relief, half choking himself with the effort to keep his voice down. “N’no, I don't think so. Nothing broken anyway....”

“Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?” Turpin’s gruff voice came out of the shadows in a whisper as he experimentally prodded the ashy remains of the vampire with the sabre. “What did I tell you about going off with strangers?”

“It wasn’t my fault...” Swiftnick whimpered, attempting to get his feet under him and finding that every bone in his body hurt.

Dick cast a worried look both ways along the corridor, then offered his apprentice his left hand to help him up. “Can you walk, lad?” he asked, gently for him.

“I don’t...know....” Swiftnick said miserably as his mentor hauled him to his feet.

“You’d better be able to because I'm not carrying you,” Turpin snorted as he steadied him, eyeing the youth critically. Sheathing the sabre, he swung the leather bottle off his shoulder, sploshed some of it over the ashes, then tugged off his bandanna. Damping it down, he pressed the cold wet cloth against his accomplice’s throat. Swiftnick yelped instinctively. “Oh, don't make so much fuss!” Dick scolded, studying Swiftnick as closely as he did the bite. “You’ll do,” he decided. “Come on, we’re getting out of here....”

Swiftnick gritted his teeth, holding himself together by sheer determination as he limped after Turpin. Dick’s matter of fact assumption that he wasn’t hurt and would do as he was told, was both infuriating and complimentary and he wasn't about to make Dick think he was weak. 

“Here, hold this,” Dick added as he shoved the wet bottle into Swiftnick’s hands. “Keep that cloth on the bite. Oh, and take this...” Turpin handed him the stake he had dropped. Seeing that the youth didn't have a free hand, he grinned and bent to tuck the weapon into Swiftnick’s boot top.

 “What is this stuff? Booze?” Swiftnick demanded as he juggled bottle and cloth.

“No. Holy water. I sprinkled some on the Slayer.”

“Who?”

“No, what. This handsome little thing....” Dick took another swing with the sabre that he had drawn again, grinning at the glint of silver. “You might want to take a swig of it yourself.  Help clear the vampires out your thoughts.”

This seemed like a very good idea to Swiftnick, so he took a quick gulp before he swung the bottle on its strap over his shoulder. It didn't taste any different to ordinary water in his opinion, but since he was parched with thirst anyway, it tasted wonderful. The cold cloth felt good on his sore neck as well, easing the throb of the bite. “How’d you get here?” he asked in a whisper, afraid of being overheard by the vampires.

“Usual way. Seemed like this was the most likely place for them to bring you.” Turpin signalled for him to keep quiet and led the way on tip toe, easing out of the corridor into the main hall and the large doors that stood open on the night air. “Our way out....” he coaxed Swiftnick encouragingly, reading the exhaustion in the younger highwayman’s face. He wished he could have given him an easier time of it, but they didn’t have the time to waste.

The door crashed shut, slammed by a powerful hand, and Edmund stepped from the shadows, drawing his blade as advanced purposefully across the stone flags. “You’re going nowhere,” he said grimly.

“Sod it...” Dick observed sourly.

“Language,” the vampire disapproved.  “I am inviting you to supper. That is hardly a reason to resort to bad language.”

Dick gestured for Swiftnick to stay behind him and squared up to the on coming vampire, lifting his sword into a defensive position. “Since we’re likely to be the main course rather than guests, I think there’s every need,” he retorted.

“You may indeed be the main course,” Edmund replied easily. “The boy’s to be dessert for Simon.”

Turpin frowned. “Which one would that be?” he wondered, speaking over his shoulder to Swiftnick without taking his eyes off Edmund. 

“I think it’s the one you chopped the head off of,” Swiftnick guessed and pointed at the vampire. “He’s Master Edmund. The others are Corwyn and Robyn. There was another one called the Lady’s Hand.”

Dick tensed slightly. So did Edmund. “Was?” Turpin queried.

“I staked him,” Swiftnick answered, unable to keep a certain pride out of his voice.

Turpin grinned at that. “That’s my boy,” he said smugly and turned a smirk on Edmund.  “So, Eddie, looks like you’re not doing so good. You’re down to three and we’re winning on points.”

“Do not call me Eddie,” the vampire hissed.

“No?” Turpin grinned. “Well, Eddie, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, you let me and the lad here go and we won’t kill you.”

“Don’t provoke him!” Swiftnick yelped in alarm.

“I'm not, Swiftnick. I'm challenging him,” Dick soothed smoothly, smiling mockingly at the vampire. “I'm calling him on his courage, if he has any. I'm challenging for his right to be Master...”

It was difficult, but the vampire still managed too pale. “What?” he said in astonishment. “You dare to challenge me?”

Turpin inclined his head and swept him a mocking bow. “That’s how it’s done, isn’t it? You’ve lost four of your kind so far. Either you avenge them or the Lady has your head. And I’d say you’re going to have to make a real effort to please her having cost her, her Hand.”

Edmund’s tongue flickered over his fangs as he stared at Turpin with glittering eyes. “We shall see. Simon!”

“Too late,” Dick wagged his sword at him. “This little beauty separated his head from his neck. He won't be coming back this time....”

Edmund froze, a terrible stillness coming over him. “You killed Simon?” he said slowly.

Dick hesitated, eyeing him uneasily. “Why do I get the feeling Simon was his favourite?” he murmured to Swiftnick.

“Because he was?”

“Thanks, Swiftnick,. I feel sooo much better now that I know why I've made him mad.”

Edmund moved without warning, dancing forward with a skilled lunge that nearly took Dick’s eye out except that the highwayman parried hastily.

Swiftnick scooted out of the way, giving his partner his space as Turpin moved out onto the floor, giving himself room to manoeuvre as Edmund pursued him with coldly malicious fury.  A mesh of steel wove between them, shimmering and glittering as sword met sword with thrust and parry and riposte.

“I take it you were fond of him, Eddie,” Dick observed sourly as he blocked Edmund’s thrust and slid his sabre along the vampire’s lade to slice his sleeve open. “Perhaps you should have kept him on a tighter leash!”

Edmund’s eyes widened and he backed up, surprised to have been pinked. Turpin followed him with a sword fighter’s practised glide.

“Going somewhere?” the highwayman taunted.  “Running away from me?”

Edmund halted his retreat, his eyes smouldering in rage as he glared at Turpin. Dick glared right back at him with a coldly cocky grin, ignoring the dark wings battering at the corners of his senses.

“Uh uh, you didn't bite me, remember?” he pointed out. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

“What are you talking about?” Edmund demanded in exasperation as he once more took up a duelling stance.

 “I'm ready for you, vampire,” Dick shot at him. “You can’t roll my mind, One, because Corwyn already marked me and failed.” He dodged Edmund quick lunge and thrust, twisting sideways to narrowly avoid the vampire’s blade on the return sweep. “Nice move,” he panted, feeling a flash of weariness. “Two,” he added as the waves beat against his mind once more. “I won't let you....”

Edmund snarled and attacked, harrying the highwayman back across the hall. Dick was forced to retreat, his arm starting to ache from defending himself with the unfamiliar blade. The sabre was heavier than his normal weapon and he was already tired, from blood loss and riding and general lack of sleep. From the corner of his eye he was aware of Swiftnick dodging out of their way. The youth had drawn his stake and was holding it low against his thigh, clearly looking for some way to get behind Edmund and stab him.

Dick nodded to himself and set about drawing Edmund into turning his back on his accomplice. He saw little reason to fight fair at the best of times; even less so when it was a vampire.

Edmund came in low, then riposted and swung up and around, his blade coming in from above. Dick barely managed to meet the thrust, tangling blades with him and finding himself locked in a battle of strength as Edmund forced his back.

The vampire jerked abruptly, screeching as he hurled Dick backwards with savage strength and swung to slash back and around....

Swiftnick yelled and went down, taken by surprise as the vampire’s sword sliced across his thigh....

Edmund lifted his sword in two hands to plunge the weapon into him...

Turpin hit the floor and rolled, coming up to his feet and lunging forward, his point taking Edmund low in the back. The vampire screamed in pain and leaped, clearing Swiftnick and bounding several feet away to turn and face Turpin.

Dick came after him in a low lethal rush.... “Next time....” he hissed as he stalked the now wounded, retreating vampire.

“Surrender,” Edmund urged as he pressed one hand to his back and examined the dull ichor that wetted his hand. “You failed. You won't get a second chance...”

“I was in a hurry,” Turpin retorted. He knew he had missed his mark; the sabre was meant for slicing, slashing blows not the point first attack he had used. If he had remembered he could have cleaved Edmund in two, but all he had been thinking had been to get him away from Swiftnick.

Edmund scowled, his eyes darting this way and that as he sought an escape route.

“What’s the matter, Eddie?” Dick sneered as he moved to block his move to the right. “Scared?”

Edmund bared his fangs at him in a hiss. “I have been playing with you,” he threatened. “I don't need a sword to kill you....”

“But you do to fight a challenger,” Dick reminded him and beckoned with his free hand. “Come and take me if you think you can....”

Swiftnick yelped in fright behind him and Dick half turned to look, then dodged and blocked as Edmund swiped at him. Sidling away from him, Dick bought himself room to look behind him.

Corwyn and Robyn had finally made their move and captured Swiftnick. The young highwayman was being held secure by Robyn, his arm twisted behind his back. His right thigh was wet with blood.

“Excellent!” Edmund snarled in delight. “Corwyn, seize him!”

Corwyn half closed his eyes, studying Turpin curiously. “Hello, my Dark One,” he purred.

“Up yours!” Turpin retorted and made a rude gesture with his sabre. Corwyn grinned in amusement.

“Corwyn!” Edmund screamed. “Kill him!”

Turpin held his breath and tightened his grip on his sword, feeling the fine teeth of doubt nibbling at him. Against Edmund he had stood a chance in a fight; true he had stamina that Dick lacked, but Turpin still had more skill. But against three vampires...

 “Oh, I don’t think so,” Corwyn turned his sapphire gaze on the older vampire. “According to the Lady’s Rules, a Master vampire must fight a challenge issued against him alone. Not only that, but he’s killed some of us, it’s for you to avenge them.”

Edmund stared at him. “Robyn! Obey me! Kill him!”

Robyn looked up from fingering Swiftnick’s blond hair and looked from one vampire to the other. “Which one?” he asked mildly.

“Him, you fool!” Edmund pointed at Dick.

 “Oh no, I couldn’t do that. He belongs to Corwyn. I can’t interfere in that.”

“Bastard!” Edmund raged.

“Actually no, Sir Percy would definitely disagree with that. Or he would have....” Robyn looked wistful as he gazed around him.

“Fine then,” Edmund’s eyes narrowed in cunning and he turned back to Turpin. “Surrender or Robyn will kill the boy!”

Turpin recoiled in dismay at the threat, but not a sign of his inner turmoil showed on his face and he felt a flash of hope as Corwyn answered the Master Vampire.

“No,” Corwyn said grimly. “That would be against the Rules. My Dark One has challenged you for him.”

“And I don't want to kill him anyway. He’s mine,” Robyn added, absently petting the terrified young highwayman. Swiftnick’s glazed eyes told Dick exactly how petrified his young friend was and he felt his own resolve harden again.

Corwyn smiled faintly, gazing at Turpin. “You see, according to our Rules, a challenge between Masters cannot be interrupted or interfered with. Should you win, you will both go free and we will not bother you again. If you fail.....” he shrugged.

“You set me up...” Dick growled in bitter understanding.

“Perhaps,” smiled Corwyn, ignoring the thoughtful look Robyn gave him.

“I’ll kill you both for this,” Edmund hissed in fury.

“If you survive,” Corwyn murmured dryly. 

Turpin eyed him warily, considering this. He had a nagging feeling he was being used somehow. That he was some kind of pawn in a chess game Corwyn was playing. Very slowly, he turned to face Edmund and folded his hands behind his back, tucking the sabre out of sight.

Edmund froze, watching him intently.

Dick let himself sag as if completely exhausted. He shot a helpless little look at Corwyn, doing his best to look pressured and overwhelmed by the vampire. His slid one hand under the back of his waistcoat, curling his fingers around the stake tucked out of sight in his belt.

Corwyn stared at him unblinkingly, frowning faintly.

“I’ll make a deal,” Dick suggested, sounding hopeless. “Let me go and....”

Edmund let out a triumphant hiss and lunged, convinced he was taking Turpin off guard.

Turpin whirled, sabre whipping out to bite and snap Edmund’s lighter blade in two, then sliding past to skewer Edmund through the stomach. Edmund jarred to a halt, impaled on the blade then with a snarl, he started to pull himself forward along the length of the sabre, forcing the blade through himself as he reached for Dick’s throat

Dick smiled coldly and stabbed with the stake, driving it up under the vampire’s ribs into what passed for its heart. Edmund gaped at him, fangs cracking wide as if he meant to swallow him whole and Dick wrenched the stake further upwards, making sure it pierced its heart. “Lie down and rot, you bastard!” he growled as he punched the stake upwards one more time.

The vampire exploded, showering the floor in a grey black dust. Staring down at the mess, Dick felt a flicker of surprise that it should be so....anticlimactic an end.

“Oh, I say,” Corwyn said mockingly, applauding. “Nice thrust....”

“Are you out of your mind?” Robyn gasped then yelped and dropped Swiftnick as Dick went for the vampire, narrowly avoiding getting the sabre point through his left eye.

Catching Swiftnick, Dick backed away, dragging his apprentice with him. His boots scrunched in vampire ash, grinding it into dust.  “You come near us, you bastards, and I’ll slice you into little bloody bits....”

“On the contrary,” Corwyn purred, bowing to the highwayman as Robyn hovered uncertainly behind him.  “You won.”

Dick pointed his sabre at him. “I don’t trust either of you.”

Corwyn smiled mockingly. “Quite right too. We are after all vampires. We can’t be trusted. But rules are rules. You challenged Edmund, he lost. We retreat from the battleground leaving you the victory and return to the Lady to report his failure.”

“You used me...” Dick hissed in frustration.

“Me? Tsk. Surely not.” Corwyn responded as Robyn gave him a dubious look.

“You knew he’d turn on Edmund?” Robyn queried warily.

Corwyn shrugged slightly. “We could hardly challenge him ourselves, now could we? Whatever would the Lady say? But as the only survivors....”

“History is written by the winners,” Robyn smirked.

“You are learning, Robyn,” Corwyn said mildly and turned back to Turpin. “Now, my Dark One....”

“Don't call me that!” Dick snarled, feeling Swiftnick pull away from his side to stand on his own, even if he did have a distinct list.

Corwyn inclined his head graciously. “You are free to go or stay as you choose. Will you not join us?”

“Both of you?” Robyn put in, looking longingly at Swiftnick. Without a word, Swiftnick inched behind Dick, although what he thought Turpin could do to protect him against the two of them Dick had no idea.

“The lad hasn’t seen his share of sunrises yet,” Dick retorted. “And I have a hankering to see a few more myself.”

Robyn sighed gently. “Yes, sunrises,” he said softly. “I remember those.”

“Don't be so depressing,” Corwyn snorted.

Robyn stiffened. “You chose to cross over, I didn’t. I fell in battle and it was a choice between being a vampire and nothing....”

“Get used to it,” Corwyn snapped. “Damn it, I did. I didn’t escape execution and become a vampire so bloody Edmund could get my head chopped off instead!” Robyn blinked and Corwyn scowled, turning a glare on Turpin and Swiftnick. “Go...” he commanded then calmed himself, resuming his gentile air.  “Robyn, why don't you open the door for our guests and let them go?”

Robyn inclined his head and moved towards the door, stepping carefully around a watchful Turpin and keeping well out of reach of the sabre.

Once the door was open, Dick edged towards it. Swiftnick was limping badly and still dazed, but he was supporting most of his own weight by now. The fact he was walking at all told Dick that his leg wound was not as severe as the highwayman had feared. “I’ll be back...” Turpin warned. “If you harm anyone else....”

“We’ll be long gone,” Corwyn said quietly and Dick believed him somehow.  Corwyn was far more dangerous than Edmund had ever been simply because he was intelligent...

Beyond the door, the soft grey light of dawn was starting to creep over the hills. Motioning Swiftnick ahead of him, Dick backed after him, breathing deep of the clean fresh air. The last he saw of the vampires was the wistful expression on Robyn’s face as he looked towards the hills before he swung the door shut.

                                                            * * *

Sitting on the bank of the stream, Dick stretched blissfully in the blazing heat of the sunshine and admired the vivid blue sky overhead. He had taken his shirt off and was dabbling his toes in the stream, enjoying the peace and quiet and the chance to rest. In the shade of the trees along the bank, Swiftnick shifted drowsily, making his sore leg comfortable. The sword slash had been long but thankfully shallow. Dick had bound it up for him and then boosted him up to Black Bess’ back, riding double with him all the way back to the Rector. The Rector had patched them both up physically and spiritually with liberal mounts of holy water and blessings, then sent them on their way back into hiding. Turpin had spent since then forcibly making Swiftnick rest and smothering the wound in herbal salves. Thankfully it was healing nicely, showing no signs of any swelling or souring.

Dick had ridden up to the manor house once he was sure Swiftnick wasn't going to take with wound fever, but Pickering Place was empty and the countryside quiet. The murder victims at the pub were being put down to an attack by wild dogs and the dragoons were out looking for feral animals. The fact that they had been called to the pub by terrified locals talking of monsters seemed to hold little water with Captain Darcy who was apparently doing his best to keep the whole thing quiet. Dick couldn’t help wondering if Darcy suspected the truth; the man was far too intelligent for Turpin’s comfort and he had grown up as part of the aristocracy. He probably knew the tales about the Seven Riders better than anyone.

Still the vampires were gone and Dick didn't care where to as long as they weren’t on his patch.

Unconsciously Dick put up a hand to his throat. He could hardly feel the bite anymore and Swiftnick’s was a faint bruised mark on his skin. Whether it was the holy water he had kept on hand to daub the bites, the herbal salves or the blessings that had helped their healing, he didn’t know but either way he was very grateful.

Smiling faintly, he went back to cleaning and honing the sabre.

“You should take that back to the Rector, you know,” Swiftnick commented quietly.

“What?”

“The sabre. You should take it back.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Now I'm not. You should still....”

“I know, I know,” Dick muttered in exasperation. He knew Swiftnick was right, but he was loathe to part with the weapon and had conveniently managed to forget to return it several times now. He thought the Rector knew and would understand. “I'm only keeping it until I'm sure they’re gone....”

Swiftnick shrugged, settling his shoulders against the tree. “They’re gone.”

“Oh, ho! Sure of that, are you?”

“You are. You took the cross off the bed last night.”

Dick sighed heavily. “Would have saved us both a lot of trouble if you’d been wearing the cross at the pub like I told you to,” he muttered.

Swiftnick grimaced. “It didn't seem right, what with being in a pub and all....I said I was sorry...”

Dick shot a quick look at his crestfallen expression and sighed. “Never mind, Swiftnick. Robyn’d probably influenced you already. Corwyn probably did the same to me to get me to fight Edmund. Where I got the idea of challenging him I don’t know. Still....” He shrugged and grinned wickedly. “I won!”

Swiftnick grinned back, sharing his friend’s triumph with a certain amount of relief that Turpin had won. Otherwise....well, they certainly wouldn't be sitting here enjoying the sunshine.

“Anyway,” Stretching lazily, Dick grabbed up his shirt and pulled it back on over his head then picked up his boots. “Time we were getting back for a bite to eat. Up you get, lad....”

Swiftnick accepted his help in getting up and let Dick steady him. He was still limping, mostly because he had bruised every muscle in his body when he fell down the stairs. “We could ride over to the pub...” he suggested.

“I could, but you couldn’t. You’d seize up,” Dick teased. “Still, I might swing by later. I fancy there’s a coach begging to be stopped.”

Swiftnick pouted, leaning on Turpin’s arm as he limped up the bank. He knew Dick was starting to get restless. It wasn't in the highwayman’s nature to lay low for long.

“I’ll bring you a pie and a pint,” Dick promised, laying his arm across the youth’s shoulders. “And maybe something sparkly. I’ll be back for supper, I promise....”

Swiftnick shot him an impudent grin at that and relaxed. He knew the twitch of anxiety he felt was absurd, Dick was long past abandoning him and they both knew it, but he still felt better if Turpin was around after dark.

Turpin gave him a brisk hug and let go, steadying him over a rough patch of ground and giving him a companionable grin. “Turpin and Swiftnick, hmmh? The Great Vampire Killers,” he chuckled. “Makes a change from being highwaymen.”

“I prefer being a highwayman,” Swiftnick said firmly.

Dick smiled at him, his eyes alight with affection and good humour. “Brighten up, sunshine. They’re gone,” he said lightly and darted on ahead. “Race you back?”

“Dick!” Swiftnick yipped a protest and Turpin laughed again, returning to drape his arm across his shoulders and hug him. Together they strolled back towards the cottage in quiet friendship and secure in the knowledge that above all else, be it vampires or dragoons, they could always trust each other.

oooOooo