Bloodwars

by Brian Lumley

  Turkur dreamed, but at first his dreams were obscured by some strange intervention, by a presence which watched albeit from afar. For a while he tried to distance himself from it, which had no more effect than floundering through a swamp to escape one’s own shadow; for like a mote in the eye the presence was always there, until in the end he ignored it.

  He dreamed a little of the past, something of the present, and snatches from a vague and uncertain future. The past was fact, however disappointing; the present took form as directed by past events, if not exactly as Turkur would have it; but the future .. . could yet be as he willed it, if he willed it hard enough.

  And since dreams are the clearing-houses of the conscious mind - where not only the desires but all the suppressed guilt of the waking world gains expression and the balance is adjusted accordingly - much of what he dreamed was nightmarish, so that he tossed and turned a little in his bed in the keep in the pass. And all that he dreamed was ‘observed’ by Devetaki Skullguise.

  From the past, Turkur dreamed of the telepath Siggi Dam: of how she had acted and looked after he and Alexei Yefros had downloaded her brain, the night they sent her through the Perchorsk Gate. But because he remembered other times

  before that - remembered her body, breasts, buttocks, and the oh so sweet suction of her sex - his dream was a nightmare, an expression of his guilt, which he would never have admitted during waking hours. Of course not, for Siggi had been a traitor after all. Siggi the clever, the awesomely talented, the incredibly beautiful — reduced to a vegetable, bereft of all knowledge except the most basic instincts: her recognition of being, her telepathy (which in any case lay in the structure of her brain, not in anything she’d learned), her sexual awakenings. She’d been like a child again when they were through with her, a shivering, trembling innocent. Mentally innocent, at least.

  It had been achieved with the aid of a machine, a ‘technological marvel’ … or a monstrosity, however one chose to view it. In his dream, Turkur remembered how lovely Siggi Dam had looked, lying there drugged and mainly unfeeling, but conscious where she waited for them to switch on the machine. And he remembered Yefros telling him:

  ‘It’s much like a computer -we don’t have to delete it all. We can start at the beginning, with . .. her birth?’

  And his answer: ‘No, Jet her keep it. We all need to know that, for it’s part of the will to survive. Without it she’d be nothing but a bag of plasma. She has to have something of will, so that she’ll know to run, hide, be afraid. As for her childhood, most of that can go. But her sex, her first arousal, and the way she has developed - or over-developed — she can keep those things. Siggi was good at it, and it might even keep her alive a while, in Starside . ..’

  The dream moved on but stayed focused on Siggi. Siggi: bundled stumbling through the Gate, caught by the grey hole’s seemingly gentle but nevertheless irresistible attraction, and drawn in; walking in a weird slow-motion, wonder-ingly into a hazy white distance and diminishing in size as the distance increased. Then: Siggi pausing, looking back, trying to come back, and failing! Her discovery that the Gate was a one-way ride, and of the immundane forces that allowed her to move in one direction only, forward into the

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  unknown. But then again, almost everything had been unknown to this newborn Siggi. And finally the last they’d seen of her: her tiny running figure, a shimmering blue and silver and platinum-blonde mote on the solid yet hazy-white horizon, gradually disappearing into it.

  Siggi gone. Through the Gate. Into Starside … Then, as if Turkur’s memory, his psyche, his subconscious self could bear it no longer, the dream moved on, drew closer to the present:

  Snatches from the fighting in Perchorsk … Turkur’s men against Gustav Turchin’s forces … The sheer, unholy devastation unleashed by the weapons of both sides .. . Turkur’s escape into the Gate … His first astonished impressions of Starside when he and his team emerged from the glaring portal onto the plain of boulders. Devetaki viewed all of these things, and learned something of Turkur Tzonov’s aspirations, too.

  He had failed to become a true Power in his own world -for the moment. But if he could somehow tame this world, starting first with the Szgany of Sunside, and eventually bringing the Wamphyri themselves to heel.. .!

  What? Why, the unbelievable, towering ego, the stupendous audacity of the man! (But nevertheless, Devetaki made a mental note: he would make a fine thrall, this fellow, even a lieutenant, but he must never be offered or allowed to acquire an egg! For if this Turkur Tzonov should ever become Wamphyri … what chance then for the rest of them? Nor was the virgin grandam’s introspective query entirely sarcastic.)

  It was a new feeling for Devetaki, even a new emotion: to stand in awe of another’s grandiose ambitions and be aware that he could probably achieve them. Or rather, to know that he had been capable of achieving them …

  Plainly she must have him. Maybe even both of them, Tzonov and Yefros together. And she had reasons galore:

  One: they must not be allowed to reach Sunside with these alien weapons and their superior knowledge of war-

  fare. Why, the Szgany worked metals and could probably duplicate these death-dealing devices, these ‘guns’! With Tzonov leading an army of resurgent Szgany (if the men of this western Sunside had ever been under the heel of the Wamphyri in the first place, which wasn’t as yet proven), then the renegade Wratha would be the very least of Vormu-lac’s problems.

  Two: quite apart from their military skills and the definite threat of their technology, these men were from another world and had full, fantastic knowledge of it. And there was a white-glaring gateway into that world down there where the foothills met the boulder plains! Moreover, and based on what Devetaki had read in Tzonov’s subconscious mind, the many and diverse inhabitants of that world were generally weak and had little or no belief … in vampires! Even better, as yet only a select handful of them knew about this world, Sunside/Starside. Obviously there was a lot more to be learned, for instance: how could a place like that have bred men like Tzonov? But that was for the future. For Devetaki’s future!

  Three: these alien soldiers were newcomers here. If they should fall into Wratha’s hands, their military knowledge and technology would go with them. Even Vormulac and his army out of Turgosheim would have no great advantage then - if he had one now!

  Four: only deprive these men of their leader - and possibly Yefros, too - and they’d be like chickens without heads: running around and squawking a great deal, but without getting anywhere. That would make them easy prey; literally prey, for there was an army to be fed. Or, if Tzonov’s men should prove too valuable for use in the provisioning, then they (and their weapons, of course) could always be recruited. And what chance for Wratha then?

  Oh, the reasons why Devetaki should at least attempt to kidnap these two talents were many and obvious; not so obvious how to go about it. But the virgin grandam was a woman no less than Wratha, and her mind moved in equally

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  devious circles. She was well aware of the weaknesses of men, and how to use them to her advantage. This Siggi Dam, for instance. Tzonov thought she must be dead by now, and he was probably right. But he couldn’t know for sure. Perhaps Devetaki could convince him otherwise.

  She issued orders to her men, mounted her flyer and, keeping well clear of the keep, flew down into the pass. And winging silently through the night, she thought:

  The weaknesses of men, aye - especially strong men, when they think they are safe and secure in their strength. But she was thinking of one such weakness in particular: their curiosity …

  Turkuuur!

  At first it was only a whisper in his dreaming mind, but one that grew louder and gained definition apace with its insistence. Turkuuur . .. Turkuuur!

  Again he saw pictures of Siggi, planted in his dreams (or released from the wellspring of his memory) by Devetaki Skullguise. Siggi in the swirling tatters
of what had once been her night-attire, in which she’d been dressed when she went through the Perchorsk Gate; but just as beautiful as ever, and as innocent of knowledge. Or perhaps not. Presumably she had learned something of this world, or she could never have survived.

  Turkuuur! … And suddenly her telepathic voice firmed up. Turkur - you’re in danger!

  ‘What? Danger?’ He mumbled in his sleep and fidgeted awkwardly in his sleeping-bag by the hearth of a great fireplace, in which embers were still glowing red. Deep in his subconscious mind, however, he knew that he was safe; there were sentries in the keep’s courtyard and watchers in its turrets. But human watchers now, not Things left over from some nightmare past.

  Turkur, I’m in the pass. I saw you arrive and remembered you. And I remember Alexei .. . But I can’t come to you; those men, soldiers, they frighten me. I don’t want them to

  see me. I can’t come to you because the men frighten me, and so does Alexei. But I know you. We trusted each other once. You need me now, Turkur. I know about this place … its daaangers.

  ‘Siggi?’ She had got through to him at last. He continued to sleep but his mind was locked-on to his dream and the false images planted there by Devetaki. In fact, the Lady was somewhat surprised to discover just how susceptible his mind was. Telepathic, demanding, threatening in his waking hours, he was used to contacting and probing the conscious minds of inferiors but lacked a defence against her subconscious superiority.

  And Devetaki was proud of her mentalism.

  In Turgosheim one time, when she’d caught the Seer-Lord Maglore creeping silently through her thoughts, Devetaki had warned him: Hands off my mind, Maglore! Drift in the shallow thoughts of others all you will and catch what sprats you can. But beware the swirJy deeps, for there dwell great and vicious fishes! And Maglore had moved on at once. For he had known her telepathic power and accepted her as his peer; while this one, this Turkur, accepted no one as his peer apparently. Therefore, he would not believe he was being manipulated; he would reason that his thoughts, even his subconscious thoughts, were wholly original to himself. And he would be curious. Ego + curiosity = weakness.

  ‘Siggi?’ Turkur mumbled again, twitching more violently yet. ‘Where? How?’

  Devetaki had developed the theme of his dream; now she was sparing in its direction, merely guiding Turkur’s stream of thought and letting him follow the trail - and hoping, of course, that he would follow it all the way. I’m in the pass. But there’s danger, Turkur. You didn’t need me before, but now you do. Don’t leave me here in the dangerous dark. For if you do, who wiJI care for you in this new world, and who will care for me? Would you have some coarse Gypsy for your companion in Sunside, or would you have me?

  It was a seductive argument. Tzonov almost started

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  awake, and Devetaki knew it was time to move on.

  The beacon of Alexei Yefros’s locator mind was impossible to miss. His talent worked against him as Devetaki located him in roughly the same vicinity, probably the same room, as Turkur Tzonov and carefully probed his subconscious thoughts. She pictured the machine which she had seen in Tzonov’s mind, and let Yefros shape his own dream from the image.

  He saw the machine and, hooked up to it, lying on a surgical trolley, Siggi as she’d been that night: clad only in her gauzy night-things, more beautiful than any woman he had ever known (or any man), and entirely accessible. Except .. . Tzonov was there and anything like that was out of the question. But her mouth, so tempting .. . the valley between her breasts … the various openings of her body.

  And Devetaki thought (if only to herself), Hah! He has the mind of a vampire Lord if not the physique! Little wonder these two were outcasts in their own world. But in my world .. . what you would have done to her, Alexei, my lads would do to you - except you would probably enjoy it!

  And in the guise of Siggi Dam, Devetaki sent into the psychic ether a message that both of these talents would hear: I’m in the pass, Turkur. But I’m afraid of your soldiers — and of Alexei Yefros!

  Both of them came starting awake together, and both with the same name on their lips: ‘Siggi!’

  Her picture was receding in their minds, but a fleeting echo was still there: Turkur, I’m in the pass towards Sun-side. I was on my way back to the Gate on the boulder plains when I saw you. But I’m afraid, Turkur, afraaaid!

  Devetaki had got her as nearly as possible right; she had been the very essence of Siggi Dam. Now that Tzonov and Yefros were awake, however, she knew her subterfuge couldn’t continue. She could no longer be Siggi but only a presence, and then only to the locator. So she became a presence, but nothing more than that, in the location that she’d already chosen.

  ‘In the pass,’ Yefros whispered, as they unzipped their bags, pulled on combat boots and stood up. ‘Definitely. I can feel her there.’

  ‘She survived!’ Tzonov could scarcely believe it. ‘Maybe the British got it wrong and this place isn’t so deadly after all. But no, I can’t see that. Perhaps she’s simply lucky.’

  ‘I heard her speaking to you.’ Yefros’s voice was sibilant in the silence of the keep. ‘Even sleeping I located her. Her telepathy . .. the machine certainly didn’t take that from her! She’s seems to be afraid of the men, and she’s afraid of me, too.’ He licked his lips, relishing the idea. It pleased Yefros that someone feared him.

  Tzonov finished dressing, glanced at the other. ‘She fears the filth that’s in your mind,’ he said. ‘No disrespect to your talent, Alexei, but your … personality? That leaves a lot to be desired. To Siggi’s way of thinking, anyway.’

  They were in a room approximately one hundred feet above the bed of the pass. The room was one of a series cut back from a natural ledge under a massive overhang and walled with masonry from the rim up to the outward curving rock face. Beyond the wall and arched window-spaces lay empty air. An archway led out on to a walled balcony looking down on the pass.

  Sharing the room with Tzonov and Yefros, and hearing their movements and something of their conversation, Bruno Krasin had also come awake. While Krasin knew of their talents, he himself was of mundane perceptions and could scarcely comprehend them. He understood the physical well enough — especially in a military context — but ESP was metaphysical and so beyond him; he tended to forget about it until he saw it in actual use.

  ‘Who survived?’ he said, coming easily to his feet. And: ‘Am I needed?’ He looked at the two espers, their faces glowing dull red in reflected firelight.

  ‘Siggi Dam survived,’ Tzonov told him, going out onto the balcony. ‘She’s hiding somewhere down there in the pass, in the direction of Sunside. We’re going to find her and bring

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  her in. Her telepathy is still powerful and she could be extremely useful - to us.’ He had almost said ‘to me’, but didn’t want to show his specific interest. Right now he wasn’t ready to admit that interest even to himself, despite that something of what she had conveyed to him lingered over. Something about a companion? Would he prefer the company of a coarse Gypsy woman to her? That was a question he could answer later, and so he put it to the back of his mind.

  Yefros and Krasin joined him on the balcony, stared down into darkness. South, the very faintest of afterglows silhouetted a narrow horizon; it was less than a smudge above the inky well of night. But Siggi’s thoughts had been powerful and she was probably close. ‘Somewhere down there,’ Yefros mused. And to Tzonov: ‘If she sees you, she’ll come to you.’

  ‘How do you know she’s -?’ Krasin started to say, frowning. He checked himself at once. A stupid question; Yefros had simply known, that was all.

  ‘Do you have her?’ Tzonov glanced at the locator.

  Yefros’s eyes were glinting bright in starlight. ‘A presence, that’s all.’

  ‘But you know it’s her, right?’ This from Krasin. Without knowing it, he had asked the one question that they hadn’t. And he followed it up
with another: ‘Is she on her own?’

  Tzonov blinked his penetrating eyes, glanced at his section commander and shrugged. ‘Siggi spoke to me, mind to mind. Alexei got something of it, too.’

  ‘A presence,’ Yefros said again. ‘Just the one, yes.’

  Tzonov gripped Krasin’s elbow. ‘Come with us, anyway.’ And to Yefros, ‘Check your weapon.’

  The locator took out a small calibre, high-powered automatic, checked the clip, replaced it in its shoulder-holster. More suited to a woman’s hand, still the pistol had stopping power. Krasin tried not to sneer as he asked: ‘Is that it?’

  Yefros answered, ‘If a single bullet will stop a man, I can’t see much sense in using ten, twenty, an entire stream

  of them. It strikes me we’ll be a long time in this vampire world. A little economy now may later be seen to make a lot of sense.’ He spoke without too much animation, but couldn’t resist raising an almost effeminate eyebrow as Krasin checked out his own short-barrelled, laser-targeting, 10.2 mm self-loading rifle.

  Krasin didn’t notice, but Tzonov chuckled and said, ‘Ah, yes, Alexei. Nasty macho weapons for a nasty macho world! But you are right about the economy bit. We must be careful how we spend our firepower.’ His own weapon was a machine-pistol, and as he spoke he moved a lever from ‘rapid’ to ‘semi-automatic’ fire. Now he must pull on the trigger for each individual shot required.

  They descended to the ground floor of the keep, quietly through rooms where the men were billeted and down dark, echoing stairwells, occasionally using external stairways under a clear-cut swath of coldly glittering stars where the towering canyon walls met the sky.

  In the courtyard they were challenged by a member of the prowler-guard who loomed out of the shadows, his weapon at the ready. Krasin congratulated him, and quietly told him: ‘We’re going out for a while. Until we’re back, make sure your weapon is on safe. You wouldn’t want an itchy, nervous trigger finger to slip and blow your superiors to hell, now would you?’ There was no humour in his remark, and a sharp metallic click in the darkness signalled the prowler-guard’s immediate compliance.