“Are you sure? They want to negotiate a contract. I mean, Icki’s never been very good at them—“ Spike cut her off.

“It’s a minor contract for a simple material, so Icki will do fine. I, however, am the only one that can make this dye, so I need to get started on it. Isn’t there something you need to be doing, Habek?” The anxious weaver got on his nerves sometimes.

“Well, I suppose I could…” Habek’s words faded as Spike entered his dyeshop.

“Go get Icki. Now.” Habek practically flew down the hall.

Spike stared at his dyeshop in horror. It had been utterly destroyed. The workbenches were smashed to bits. Dye and raw materials had been smeared on every surface. Whoever had done this had also managed to shatter the huge vats that sat next to the fireplace. It was a total loss.

“What’s so important you had Habek pull me out of negot…” Icki’s voice faded as he stopped in the doorway, confronted by the ruins of the dyeshop. Habek came up between the two, peering into the room.

“Oh.” Spike looked over at Habek, whose mouth hung open in shock.

“Who did this?” Icki managed to get out.

Spike just shook his head. “No idea.” It had been a thorough job, and a malicious one. The room wasn’t just tossed or ransacked; it had been purposely attacked. He should know—he’d done plenty of that in his long life. Finally, Spike pulled the two others out of the room and shut the doors.

“Get someone in there to shovel it out. Throw away everything. Burn what will burn.” Leaving Habek and Icki to organizing the cleaning, Spike retreated to his office.

Who indeed? Spike sat heavily on a bench near the window, thinking about the carnage. He had no enemies—did he? He hadn’t been in the hold very long, and had interacted little with anyone outside the guild and the Mirh clan. No one had acted angry or resentful towards him…

Well, almost no one. Spike thought of Gaihi, but quickly dismissed the idea. Other than that one incident in the dyeshop, the Aiskian elder hadn’t come near the guild, and Spike had never encountered him outside it.

Spike hadn’t run across anything in the guild records that suggested an old rivalry or disagreement that would foment such an attack, either. From his limited experience, he knew that the vast majority of conflicts between dalhari were settled peacefully, and officially. Retribution and vengeance were rare. He’d have to have a serious talk with Habek and Icki. Perhaps they could shed some light on this event.

•••

Winter settled in to Brahgcka with no further commotion at the guild. Spike had commissioned new furnishings for the dyeshop and had set about righting the stores. In order to keep up with demand, he had to move several workers from the looms to the shop, but they’d be back at weaving before too long. Spike could count on them to do grunt work—grinding and chopping mostly. Still, it helped a great deal, and he was almost caught up.

Icki and Habek had proved to be little help. They could think of no dalhari with a grudge against the guild, and were certain that Spike had made no enemies in the hold. He was unwilling to tell them about his suspicions of Gaihi, vague though they were, since that would necessitate him telling about Del—which was something he was completely unwilling to do.

Still, the attack had unsettled him. He found himself looking over his shoulder, jumping at shadows, and generally acting paranoid. He’d grown accustomed to safety among the dalhari, but that feeling had been taken from him. Although he’d trained quite a bit, and could generally hold his own against the stronger species due to many years’ skill, he knew that he was truly no match for a determined attacker—especially if that person was intent on hurting him. It was one thing to fight in the free-for-all that was a bonding. It was entirely another to face an assassin.

He kept these thoughts to himself, though. There was no reason to worry the other weavers, and Habek and Icki seemed to have recovered nicely. Of course, it wasn’t their workrooms that had been destroyed. Icki wouldn’t have been so quick to smile again if it had been his precious looms.

The fact that it was winter didn’t help at all. Spike had been forced to revise his opinion of Brahgcka winters. They weren’t cold, or long, or even harsh. They were hellish. The wind never stopped blowing and was always full of tiny ice crystals. The ice made everything slippery and stung his face. He feared his lungs would scar from the painful shards that he inhaled with every breath. More than once he had camped out at the guild, curled up in his cloak next to a fire. Braving the winds to get home was more than he could stand. Icki laughed at him for doing that, but Spike didn’t care. It was better than freezing to death.

Besides, Spike didn’t really socialize with many dalhari in Brahgcka. It wasn’t that they were unfriendly, but he just wanted to be alone most of the time. He missed Fain and Vaishi, as well as the elders and his home guild. Angel was here, but the ifnan, good riding companion that he was, left something to be desired in the way of conversation.

The only high point of winter would be a seasonal festival the hold had each year. As the guildmaster, Spike was expected to attend and participate heavily; since most of the activities would be held indoors, he didn’t mind too much. Besides, most of his involvement would be in talking to the elders and reading from celebrations. When the elders had found out he followed dalhari traditions, they jumped at the opportunity to have someone new read—even if his learning was of another house. Apparently, there weren’t many in Brahgcka who liked to read the long, slow winter songs. It was a good thing indeed that Spike loved them.

•••

“Isn’t this wonderful, Spike?” Habek asked, obviously deep in her cups. True to Aiskian tradition, the hosts of the festival were free with the poel. As a consequence, most of the festival goers were snockered, if not completely under the table. Spike held off on the drinking, preferring to be able to remember the evening’s activities.

One of the elders approached him with a heavy text and beckoned him to read. Having been expecting this all night, Spike just smiled and took the book, positioning himself on the high table that sat in front of the fire. It was more than a meter in height, so that everyone could see and hear him. With the roaring fire to his back, he presented a memorable sight. The room quickly quieted as he opened the book. Glancing to the elder, he asked for a request. The elder simply smiled and silently indicated for him to do as he pleased.

The book was a collection of winter celebrations, from several houses’ traditions. Spike flipped through quickly, finding a Disiaron selection before very long. The dalhari present may have preferred an Aiskian celebration, but Spike was far more familiar with the other.

It became apparent almost immediately that the crowd didn’t mind his selection at all. The dalhari stared at him intently, listening to every word. When he’d first seen that behavior, it had unnerved him—even though he hadn’t been the recipient of the stares. It became clear, however, that it was simply a dalhari thing—they bore holes into whoever was speaking during things like these. It was certainly flattering, however.

Spike’s resonant baritone rang throughout the hall as he recounted a tale of the passing of autumn into winter. Leaves turned, grass died, and rivers froze over as a veil of sleep covered an isolated valley in the mountains.

When Spike was finished, he was greeted by absolute silence. It was the highest honor he could have received. Dalhari didn’t really clap or shout to show approval; if something was mediocre or bad they rustled their wings disapprovingly. If something impressed them, however, they made no sound whatsoever. The longer the silence, the better the performance. For Spike, the festival hall was quiet for almost five minutes.

Icki clapped him on the shoulder as he rejoined his friends. Crying off another round of poel, he found his cloak and made for the exit. It was late, and he was tired. Bundled tightly against the cold and still elated from the performance, Spike didn’t pay very close attention to his surroundings for the first time in months. Because of that, he didn’t notice that he had a companion until the other was almost upon him.

“What—“ A closed fist struck Spike’s jaw hard. Caught off-guard, he fell back into the wall behind him.

He quickly recovered, pushing off the wall to face his attacker. The dalhari was hooded, so Spike couldn’t determine an identity. He wasted no time in taking a defensive stance, even as the dalhari moved forward to strike again.

Despite his readiness, the blow he received sent him to the ground. Rolling swiftly, he hit the cobblestone street with a soft thud and jumped back up. Instead of straightening completely, he remained crouched down. The dalhari jumped up to deliver a kick to his head, but Spike fell to his knees and shot his hands up. Grasping the dalhari’s extended leg, he twisted it sharply. The dalhari opened its wings for balance, giving Spike some idea about its identity.

The pale lavender color was distinctive. “Gaihi,” Spike murmured. The dalhari’s head shot around, and he pulled the hood of his cloak back. Gaihi didn’t stop his assault, however, sending a volley of punches towards Spike’s midsection.

Spike managed to dodge many of them, backing up across the street. This was not looking good. Gaihi had a mad look in his eyes, and was not backing down at all. Spike decided that maybe running away would be a good idea.

As it turned out, it wasn’t such a good idea at all. As soon as his back was turned, Gaihi launched into the air. Spike fell flat on his face upon contact, just barely managing to cushion his face in his hands. Gaihi immediately began to pummel him, screaming at the same time.

“Mine! She is MINE!” Spike just made out enough of what the dalhari was saying to understand why this was going on. Somehow, Gaihi had found out about Del, even though Spike’s mark was now his own. Then again, Brahgcka and La’iv were both dominated by the Aiskian house…

Spike abruptly thrust up, unseating Gaihi from his spot on his back. Rolling over, he pushed a foot into Gaihi’s stomach, kicking him back a few feet and gaining him valuable escape time. Still, the dalhari kept coming. Spike was caught again moments later as Gaihi tackled him at the knees. They rolled and wrestled on the frozen cobblestones, banging each others’ heads against the ground and leaving a lot of blood behind.

Gaihi pinned Spike to the ground again and began pounding his head into the pavement with more vigor, still screaming at him about Del. Spike twisted, trying to throw the dalhari off. He managed to free a hand, getting it caught in Gaihi’s extended wing. He pulled, making Gaihi lurch forward and entangling them further.

Spike felt himself grow weaker as Gaihi pulled, kicked and snarled viciously, trying to finish him off. A sharp pain struck through his left side and he howled in agony, flopping bonelessly onto the cobblestones.

An eternity, or at least a few seconds, later, he heard the sound of booted feet running down the road. Spike felt Gaihi push off him and lift into the air, flying away as Spike’s rescuers drew closer.

“Master Spike?” Spike heard a voice whispering in his ear, but couldn’t turn his head to acknowledge it.

“We need to get him inside, fast. He’s freezing to death.”

The last thing Spike noticed before passing out was the warmth from a cloak covering him.

•••

Spike woke to the sounds of water trickling into a bowl. He tried to open his eyes, but found that he couldn’t. He soon discovered that he couldn’t move anything at all. Only a soft whine emanated from his damaged throat.

“Calm, Spike. We’re taking care of you. The best healer in Brahgcka is here, and we’re cleaning your wounds.” The voice belonged to Habek, calmer than he’d ever heard her before.

Spike focused on the soft murmurings of Habek and the healer as they tended to him. He must not have been out long, if they were just beginning to clean his wounds. A creaking door and a muffled curse let him know that Icki had made an appearance.

The weaver joined Habek and the healer in cutting off Spike’s clothes. His body had started to swell from all the damage inflicted upon it, so the clothes had to be removed that way. More blood poured out of him as they took off each piece, and soon they resorted to cleaning and bandaging each part as it was exposed.

“Broken, several times,” the healer mumbled as they got the boot off one foot. “The toes too.” Spike groaned in pain as the healer washed the foot and smeared something on it. The wrappings helped some, putting a little pressure on the limb.

The healer continued to comment on his injuries as they worked their way up from his feet. Words such as broken, crushed, and destroyed were repeated far too many times for Spike’s comfort. It was a far cry from Fain and Vaishi’s bonding, where he had sustained little more than cuts and bruises, and a sprained ankle.

“Bitten.”

The single, whispered word caused the cessation of all movement in the room. Spike could hear the fire crackling in the distance. His still-fuzzy mind tried to wrap itself around the importance of that word.

“Bitten.”

Someone, Icki, he thought, echoed Habek’s single word. Something was pounding on Spike’s mind, something very important. He flailed around desperately in his mind, searching for even a touch of clarity.

“Bitten.”

This time it was the healer. He could just sense a finger ghosting over a particularly painful spot high on his shoulder. Actually, it wasn’t far from where Angelus had…bitten.

Oh shit.

The world, and all of Spike’s consciousness, came crashing in. He’d been bitten, not a grazing cut or nibble, but a bone-deep, crushing bite—the only kind that could inject enough venom to change a human into a dalhari.

The shock Spike felt faded rapidly, only to be replaced by immense, heavy sorrow. He’d been human again for only a few short years. Now he had lost that precious gift.

Bitten.

In his mind, Spike began to laugh a high, psychotic wailing that matched his thoughts. No matter where he was, who he was, or what he did, his life boiled down to blood, teeth, and death. It was an endless cycle of birth and death and loss and hope and hope taken away. Perhaps this time would be the last.

It wasn’t that Spike wanted to die all of a sudden. He didn’t quite know what to think about being changed. He just wasn’t sure if he’d survive it. According to all that he’d read, the changeover was brutal on the human body, and a small but significant percent of those undergoing it didn’t survive. But Spike wasn’t just changing. He was changing while gravely injured.

When he roused himself from his thoughts, he noticed that his brethren weavers and the healer had resumed their work. His mouth was pulled open and his head tipped up slightly so that a warm liquid could be poured down without him choking on it. It must have been drugged, because shortly thereafter, he fell asleep.

•••

When Spike awoke he found himself covered in soft blankets. Sunlight streamed in through a green glass window, and a nearby fire threw warmth his way. He tested his neck and found that he could actually turn it a little to the right, so he looked over. Habek was resting in a chair on the other side of the fire, obviously exhausted.

“Habek.” Spike was impressed he could talk. The dalhari jumped up, running over to the bed.

“Spike! You’re awake, finally. We’ve been so worried.” She hovered nervously, tucking the covers around him. “I’ll go get the healer. He’ll need to check on you right away.”

“Habek.”

She stopped walking away and rushed back to him. “Spike? Are you ok?”

Spike tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. At least, Habek reacted like he had. “I’ve been bitten, haven’t I?”

She paled—an amazing feat for someone as pallid as her. “Um…maybe I should go get the healer.” She rushed out of the room, hands wringing.

The healer and Habek returned within minutes. The tall dalhari calmly checked Spike’s wounds before sitting down on a stool next to the head of the bed. “Spike?”

Spike nodded. Saying just the little bit he had to Habek had sapped him.

“I need to explain a great many things to you, but you are very tired right now, so I will try to give you the most important things now, and we can cover the rest later.” At Spike’s nod, he continued.

“First, you were severely beaten, and have been unconscious for five days. I’ve treated the wounds to the best of my abilities, but they will take some time to heal. In the interim, you must remain in bed. Otherwise, the breaks in your bones will not set properly and you will remain lame.” The healer gave Spike a stern look, until he nodded slowly. Five days?

“More importantly, though, is the fact that during this attack you were bitten, hard. Because of that bite, you are changing into a dalhari.” The healer looked at Spike carefully. “This changeover presents a great danger to you. Your injuries will slow the process down considerably, which will make changeover more painful.”

Great. More pain. Just what he had always wanted—to explore his masochistic leanings, as if he hadn’t spent years with Angelus, a century with Dru, and a prison sentence in Sunnyhell doing just that.

“If you haven’t figured it out, you are heavily drugged. For the moment, it is the best course of treatment. However, you will have to stop taking them soon, so that your body can heal properly and finish changeover. There is one other thing that we must discuss, but Icki should be here for that. Habek has gone to fetch him.” The healer settled back, closing his eyes while he waited.

“Spike!” Icki boomed as he ran into the room. Funny how getting the shit kicked out of you made you really popular. Spike grin/grimaced at Icki in greeting.

“Icki, we need to talk about the other thing, and quickly. He’s going to fall asleep soon.” The healer stood up, taking a more formal position next to Icki.

Icki twitched nervously before starting. “We—the guild, have been thinking while you were asleep. It’s not safe for you here in Brahgcka. Someone obviously wishes you ill.” Icki stopped for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to say.

“We’ve sent someone to La’iv to fetch help. Punqa is a fine healer, but he has never dealt with a changeover like this before. Also, we need some sort of reinforcements. I don’t suppose you know who attacked you, do you?” Icki looked at Spike pointedly.

Spike considered. He knew, but at this point, what could be done about it? It was probably better to wait until whomever was coming from La’iv got here. “When will they get here?” He rasped.

Icki frowned. “We sent Ubnaini four days ago, as soon as we decided. It will take him another day to get there. I suspect that they will leave the same day.”

A week. Perhaps he’d survive that long. Spike nodded his approval.

“Until then, though, most of the guild is here, guarding these quarters. Nothing is going to hurt you again. Not while we’re here.” Icki looked determined.

Spike tried to motion him closer. He didn’t do a very good job, but Icki picked up on what he wanted. Once the dalhari was close enough, he whispered, “Only guild. Only guild clan. No one else. Ever.”

Icki looked a bit surprised, but nodded. If Spike wanted only the Mirh clan members who were also guild around him, so be it. It was probably safer that way—those were the people Icki knew best.

“Don’t worry, Spike. We protect our own.”