turned back toward his Bachiyr creator. The older vampire’s evil was great, indeed. He could do the entire world a service by letting the sun burn them both.
There is always a choice, even if it is not always a good choice.
Taras had made his a long time ago. He had chosen to live rather than to die, and he’d done so again earlier, when he forced his body up from the metal rod Ramah had used to impale him. But this was different. In both previous cases, his death would have accomplished nothing except to remove him from the world. But now, with Theron’s life hanging on Taras’s decision, he could finally die with dignity, and do the world a favor at the same time.
Taras made his choice.
“So be it, then. I would rather die burning in the sunlight than share my sanctuary with you. At least I will rid the world of your presence.” Taras advanced on his oldest enemy, claws once again at the ready. Now that he had a purpose, he was anxious to get started. In the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would take the sun to kill them and how much it would hurt. He’d never seen a Bachiyr burn to death before. With luck, he would get to see Theron burning, as well. That would be a wonderful last sight.
“I thought that would be your answer,” Theron said, still smiling. “But you are forgetting something.”
Taras paused, suspecting a trick. “What?”
“Her,” Theron pointed to the woman on the ground. “I saw you protect her. I’ve been following you for a while now. She is not dead. Not yet. Would you let her die in the street like a dog?”
Taras looked over at the woman. She lay in the street amidst a growing pool of blood, both hers and the legionaries’. Her right arm was outstretched, reaching for her dagger, which lay a foot beyond her reach. She looked dead, but her heart still beat a faint rhythm in her chest. The heartbeat was weak, but it was there. Even so, she would not be alive for much longer. The brigands had seen to it she would die a slow, painful death, but there was nothing he could do to help her.
“She is dead no matter what I do,” Taras replied. “Stop wasting what time we have left and let’s get on with it.” He sprang forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Before Theron had even raised a hand to defend himself, Taras had his claws pressed into his throat. They drew a thin line of blood from the flesh, but Theron seemed not to notice. He didn’t even move.
“She doesn’t have to die,” Theron said.
“What?”
“She doesn’t. I can save her.”
“What are you playing at?” Taras kept the tip of his claw at Theron’s throat, just in case it was a trick.
“Do you remember how I healed you in Jerusalem,” Theron asked. “After that fool Gordian had you stretched on the rack?”
Taras did remember. He had felt so strong and so indebted to Theron, whom he knew then as Ephraim, that he had raided his dead friend’s gold and paid half of Jerusalem to vote for Jesus’ execution over Barabbas. It was not something he remembered fondly. “You should have let me die,” he said. “Your damned healing touch has brought me nothing but regret.”
“I probably should have,” Theron agreed. “But I made you an offer, and you accepted it. Jesus’ life for your own. Living was your choice. What would her choice be?” He pointed to the woman in the street. “Do you think she would choose death? Or do you think she would rather see the sun rise tomorrow? Is your pride worth her life? And please hurry. The sun is starting to tip the lower buildings.”
Taras looked again at the woman in the street. He’d gone to a great deal of trouble to try and keep her alive. Not because she was useful or important, but because he felt he needed to help her, somehow. Because it was the right thing to do. “How do I know you will not try to kill us once we arrive at my sanctuary?”
“What if I gave you my word?”
“I would say your word is worth less than the dirt under my feet.”
“Then I have nothing else to offer you,” Theron said. “And you are wasting time.”
Taras stared at the woman, listening to the shallow sound of her breathing, and asked himself if he had the right to make that choice for her. To allow Theron to die would be a good thing, even if it meant his own death. But could he die with a clean conscience if killing Theron meant she had to die, as well? Granted, his morality had become skewed over the last three decades. Maybe Theron’s death was worth her life, but it felt wrong to leave her to such a fate.
A gleam of light across the street caught his attention. The sun had breached the rooftops and now shone brightly on the surface of a shiny coin. Dawn had arrived. He was out of time. “Very well,” he said. “I will accept your terms. But I will have your word that you will leave tomorrow night and that you will leave both of us alive and unharmed.”
“I thought my word was worth less than dirt,” Theron said.
“Do I have it or would you prefer to die?”
“I swear by The Father that I will leave your sanctum tomorrow night and will not harm either of you. May he judge me unfit to live should I break my oath. There, will that do?”
Taras nodded. “I will be watching you, Theron. If you try to harm her in any way I will kill you, regardless of what will become of her.”
“Save your threats. We should be going now.”
Already the shaft of sunlight had moved several feet deeper into the street, soon it would reach the woman and Taras would have to burn himself to save her. He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether saving Theron was the right course of action, then he scooped the woman up in his arms and ran toward his shelter.
Theron ran alongside him, a satisfied smile on his face. “I knew you couldn’t do it, Roman. That is the difference between you and the rest of the Bachiyr. I would have been in my sanctuary long before you could have forced me into a deal.”
Taras did not reply. He had no interest in entering this debate with Theron. Instead he concentrated on getting to his hiding place. The going was difficult, as he had to dodge several spots where the sun shone on his path, but fortunately it wasn’t far.
“Do you even know her name?” Theron pressed.
Taras ignored him.
“I thought not,” Theron said, shaking his head. “You would risk everything, even death, for someone you don’t even know.”
“And you would kill a complete stranger for no reason at all,” Taras countered.
“As should you. You are Bachiyr, after all. Whether you are willing to admit it to yourself or not. I saw what you did to that legionary. There was nothing left of him but pulp and blood. What’s more you enjoyed it, to judge by the look on your face.”
“Spare me your cackling. I-”
“Do you deny that you enjoyed it? Tell me true, and I will leave you be.”
Taras opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. Theron was right, he had enjoyed killing the legionary. He didn’t know if it was because of his nature or because the bastard deserved it, but he could not deny the elation he felt when the Roman’s blood sprayed him in the face. “I am not you,” was all he said.
“The truest thing you have said all night!” Theron replied, laughing. “You are starting to remind me of Ephraim. Near the end of his life, he turned into a fool, too.”
Taras grunted, unwilling to dignify the remark with words.
Soon they arrived at the door to the building that hid the smuggler’s tunnel. So far it seemed unscathed from the ballistae attacks and the invading Iceni, but that would change soon enough. The sounds of men screaming and dying grew closer by the second, it seemed. It would not take long for the barbarians to reach this place. When they did, they would probably loot the building and then set it alight, which seemed to be their preference.
He set the woman down and allowed the nail of his right index finger to grow, then he stabbed it into his left wrist, waiting for the blood to pool. Once the blood formed a tiny puddle on his wrist, he dipped his finger into it and brought it to the door, tracing a rune he had learned in Greece. The door opened into the street, and he picked the woman up and ran inside.
Theron came along behind, his eyes on the door. “The Locking Psalm,” he said. “You have not been idle these twenty seven years.”
Taras walked to the back of the room and lay the woman down. Then he sifted through the dust on the floor
