Del saw Spike’s unease and quietly motioned him closer. The human would feel more secure if he was in close proximity to her, who was in little danger from the local population. She studied the farmlands as they passed. It appeared that the mild drought conditions that had affected the western lands were more severe here.

The guards were their usual annoying selves, but proved no problem. Unlike his first trip through a f’lh holding, Spike stayed glued to Del’s side as they made their way to an inn.

“There were maith in the marketplace,” Spike said, setting his pack on the floor. He was getting better at identifying the many species Del had described. “And more t’kth-vaali and gupwurs than I thought there would be.”

Del grimaced. She’d noticed that, too. “I don’t know about the other two, but the maith are probably more of the rovers like the ones we ran into in the forest.” She watched Spike pale. “I’d like to say otherwise, but I’m not even comfortable here.”

“Why not?” Spike asked, becoming increasingly concerned.

“It’s more of what I didn’t see. There used to be a few dalhari families in the holding; we passed by what used to be their shop. They’ve been there for several human generations.” She looked out the window, studying the milling crowd. “But they’re gone, and a t’kth-vaali merchant is there now.”

“What’s the significance? Couldn’t they have moved?”

Del looked back at him. “I doubt it; they liked it here and were successful and popular bakers. It could mean nothing, but it could also mean that the area around the holding has become less friendly. There have never been many humans here, but there are fewer now than the last time I was here.”

The dalhari sat down on the bed, extracting the pouch of pigment she’d used on Spike’s face more than a week ago.

“That stuff. Don’t need it—the mark hasn’t faded one bit, has it?” Spike said, rubbing his cheek.

“It hasn’t. Not at all.” Dalhari pigments were strong stuff. She loosened the laces on the pouch and picked up her water bottle. Spike watched as she traced a design he knew to be identical to his on her left cheek and neck.

“Why? I thought that was for special occasions,” He asked when she finished.

The dalhari replaced the pigment in her pack. “Normally, it is. It can serve as protection and warning as well. I’m hoping it does both.” For both of us.

•••

They talked little until the next morning, when Del prepared her wares for negotiations. “Where are they this time?” Spike asked, helping her bundle up the weaponry.

“Same place—warrior’s guild.” Del was short this morning, obviously tense. They walked quickly to the guild hall, avoiding large crowds of maith and t’kth-vaali on the way, mostly for Spike’s sake. He simply didn’t like them, and Del couldn’t blame him.

The negotiations were similar to the previous ones in that Del won the bid, and handily. Unlike the guild at the previous holding, this one was solemn, almost tomb-like. There were no laughing, drinking and carousing warriors, and the lead negotiator was rude and arrogant. Still, the deal was made, written, and exchanged.

“I’m glad that’s over with.” Del said tiredly as they left the guild. She was officially finished with the trading cycle, all her contacts made, all bids won. They could return home, with an extended winter delay.

“Yeah. Now what?” Spike asked, eyeing the crowds nervously.

“We get out of here. Immediately.” Her fears had been confirmed in the guild hall; no humans, dalhari, or orth remained in the holding, only f’lh, t’kth-vaali, gupwurs and maith. That meant only bad things for her and the human.

“I guess that means no lunch,” Spike commented, keeping up with Del’s furious pace.

“Unless you’ve developed a taste for kinsmeat.” Spike shuddered in revulsion. He wondered why the idea of eating human flesh bothered him now, when until a short while ago he thrived on human blood. Must be part of being human again. It didn’t really matter why, it still disgusted him.

Spike shook his head. “I’m all for leaving. This place is off, if you ask me.”

“I know.”

They gathered their belongings and quickly exited the holding, continuing directly east. The well-tended fields quickly gave way to dense forest and the number of fellow travelers dropped off, and soon their trek was as it had been before reaching the holding. It was only then that Spike felt comfortable speaking again.

“So,” He started.

“We’ll stop for food in a couple of hours.”

“What about supplies?” They didn’t have enough for two weeks, he knew that much.

Del glanced at him. “We pass through several villages on our way. Besides, we won’t need as much now.”

Spike looked over in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because we won’t be stopping as much, or as long,” Del said coldly. “Not until we’re on orth land.”

Spike took that in silently. He agreed with the logic. Now, if only he could keep up with the pace. Del wasn’t walking as quickly now, so he could keep up without overexerting himself. The land was also smoothing out some, with a slight decline. Without too many hills to climb, he might be able to do it.

•••

The first three days and nights passed tensely but without incident. The pair began each day a few hours before sunrise and didn’t stop until well after sunset, eating meals cold and stopping infrequently. They stopped in one village, stocking up on food, before exiting quickly and practically running away. Despite the fact that the region was traditionally f’lh, there were more maith in the village than there were the furry orange fighters.

The afternoon of the fourth day brought an end to their luck. Spike was following along behind and to the left of Del when a rough, low growl stopped them cold. Del spun around. Behind and to their sides was a band of maith, seven in all. Bad odds. She thought, reaching back to cover the hilts of her swords.

Spike saw the motion and copied it. His initial fear was gone; in its place was the cold, smoth icy calm that accompanied battle. Spike was quite familiar with it; he felt it every time he’d fought as a vampire. It was reassuring to know that some things remained constant in this strange world.

Del spoke evenly at the leader of the group. “Is there a problem, Traksha?” She used a title well above what the leader could ever hope to attain.

The maith snorted in amusement. “A problem, batwing? Not really. You have no use for a human. We would like his flesh. That’s all.”

Del hissed at the derogatory term, as well as at the offer. “He is marked, a part of my house. You would take him?”

The maith did not reply; they simply attacked. Both Del and Spike drew their swords. Spike began to move so that they were back to back, but soon saw that the maneuver would have to be altered slightly. Del’s style of fighting precluded such close quarters unless absolutely necessary. Instead, he placed himself close enough that none of their opponents could get between them.

Del slashed at the maith leader, easily deflecting his heavy broadsword. No skill. The leader had superior strength and reach, but was no match for agility and ability. Del used her wings to flip over the maith, slicing through his neck as she landed behind him. She spun around, capturing the maith’s lieutenant. The maith couldn’t prevent swinging into Del’s blade as the dalhari’s other arm brought it’s sword up through her side, stilling as it sliced deeply into her heart. The maith let out a shriek, then fell to the ground. Del pulled out her blades, hating the sucking noise they made. She then spun quickly to the left as two more of the vicious attackers approached her.

Spike thrust and parried with surprising skill, quickly remembering what his sire had taught him many years ago. The Slayer and her minions liked to believe he was just a glorified street fighter, but Spike had paid attention in class and knew quite a bit about combat. He simply preferred his own methods when he had that luxury. He didn’t now, so he used what he’d been taught instead. One maith quickly fell under his swords as the human found and subsequently used the one real advantage he had; maith were top heavy. Most of their muscle mass was located in their massive chests and deadly arms. Keeping them off balance was the only way Spike could gain an opening. The brutal fighters were relentless, but relied too heavily on their strength. Like I used to.

Del pulled her swords from the fourth maith, who wasn’t dead yet, but soon would be. She turned around in time to see Spike end the last one’s life by swiftly removing its head. He spun around, relaxing when he saw that Del was generally unhurt, other than the minor bruises, cuts and scrapes that mirrored his own.