Aidan gained altitude swiftly, circling over the city on a warm updraft before he headed east for the high pass that lead to the far side of the mountains. Below him the road that snaked up from the city and wound through the pass was mostly empty. A single wagon toiled up the slope, tiny oxen that looked like toys straining in the traces.

Aidan didn’t bother trying for extra altitude over the pass. He was high enough to be safely clear of the ground, that was all that mattered. And that may well have saved his life when an arrow came flying out of nowhere and knocked him out of the sky. He never saw the archer, and he didn’t notice the arrow speeding toward him either, but he certainly felt it when it slammed into his chest. It struck him through the heart, not instantly fatal, but a painful, paralyzing shock that sent him tumbling from the sky.

He landed hard on the stony ground of the pass. His chest was on fire with white-hot pain. He tried to move, to pull the arrow out, but he couldn’t. The sun overhead glared down at him, pinning him in place, a relentlessly bright reminder that he was vulnerable. During daylight he couldn’t heal, and should whoever shot him come down and remove the amulet that protected him from the sun he would certainly die. Even with the amulet on, if nobody came along to pull out the arrow he would still die, unable to heal with the wooden length sticking through him.

He expected to hear footsteps, to hear the unknown person who had lured him here and shot him come to finish him off, but there was nothing, only the sound of the wind blowing through the pass. He lay for a long time, he didn't know how long but it seemed like an eternity, before at last a sound dimly penetrated his pain-clouded mind. It was a creaking sound, and it was gradually getting louder. The wagon, he thought, remembering the toiling oxen on the road below. Soon the creaking of the wagon grew louder and he could tell it was very close. He tried to open his eyes, to move, to give some sign that he was alive, but he couldn’t. The wagon stopped anyway, and he could hear voices.

“Look over there! Is he dead?”

Feet thudded to the ground by the wagon as somebody jumped out. Footsteps came closer, the light tread of somebody small. Aidan heard a gasp of surprise and then a female voice calling out, “Brandon, come here, quick!”

A second, heavier set of feet followed the first and Aidan struggled again to open his eyes. He failed again, held helplessly paralyzed by wood and sunlight.

“A dead aerian,” said deep male voice said. “Wonder who killed him and why?”

“He’s not dead,” said the first voice. “At least I don’t think so, though with him it’s hard to tell.”

“What, you know this guy?”

“His name is Aidan,” said the first voice, and Aidan would have blinked in surprise if he could have. Who was this woman, and how did she know him?

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but he is definitely dead, look.” Aidan felt a hand on his wrist as the man felt for a pulse. “See, no pulse, not breathing, an arrow right through him, he’s dead.”

“Look, I don’t want to argue with you, I just want you to help me carry him back to the wagon. We can discuss how dead he is once we’re on the move again, all right?”

“All right,” said the man dubiously. Aidan felt himself being picked up. The man grunted a bit at his weight, but Aidan was lightly built, and the other man had no trouble lifting him. The motion jarred the arrow, and Aidan let out a low, involuntary moan of pain. The man gave a jolt of surprise at the sound.

The woman’s voice said, “See, I told you, he’s still alive.”

“I believe you. But how can he be alive if he isn’t breathing?”

“I’ll explain in a moment. Let’s get him into the wagon first.”

Aidan was carried a few yards and then set down on a hard surface. He moaned again. The pain in his chest was spreading through his whole body. The wagon rocked and creaked as the other two got in again. The man’s voice encouraged the oxen forward and the wagon started moving again. Aidan felt a hesitant touch on his chest. “I think I ought to pull the arrow out,” said the woman’s voice, “but I’m not sure.” Yes, take it out. Aidan tried to say it aloud, but he couldn't.

“You’re the one that seems to know all about this dead-but-not-dead guy,” started the man. Then he stopped and said, “Wait a minute, is he some kind of undead zombie or something?”

“No, he’s a vampire. Surely you remember my telling you about the good vampire I met a few years back?” Aidan suddenly had a clue about how this woman knew who he was. She would be older now, and her voice had changed, but it could be…

“Vampires,” said the man. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be rescuing vampires, Shauna. But as I was saying, you know more about him than I do. If you want to take the arrow out, go ahead.”

Aidan’s suspicions were confirmed with the name. His rescuer was Shauna, the would-be vampire slayer that had caught him some five years ago. But before he had time to think about what that might mean, he felt a tugging at his chest. The fiery pain flared up as Shauna got a grip on the arrow and pulled. It was too much for him, and as the arrow ripped its way out he descended into dark unconsciousness.