Bloodwars

by Brian Lumley

  His marvellously detailed clay model of Turgosheim, complete with all its spires and manses, including Vormulac Taintspore’s melancholy Vormspire - and Devetaki’s Masquemanse, of course. And striding to the workbench where the model reposed, Maglore issued a curse through teeth like a tight-meshed man-trap, to snarl:

  ‘A plague on your house, Devetaki! And more than a plague - a fist!’ With which the Seer-Lord brought his clenched hand smashing down, so that Masquemanse was stripped from the rim of the gorge and crushed down into the meticulously moulded clay of its bottoms. The clay had desiccated somewhat; the turrets and towers fell apart; the bulk of the flattened manse did not compress but flew in chunks. If this were the real Turgosheim, it could only be that a meteorite had struck home with shattering force to strew bits of Masquemanse across half the gorge.

  Maglore felt something of the sympathetic ‘magic’ of his act (though in fact his trembling sprang more from his rage), and rushed from his room of meditation and through the corridors of the vast promontory turret which was Rune-manse, until he could gaze from a window on all the star-silvered bight of the gorge. He gazed at Masquemanse, of course, intact despite the destruction of its simulacrum … which served to promote a further bout of cursing and fist-shaking.

  Eventually, exhausted by his emotions and determined upon a far more substantial revenge, Maglore called for his man Karpath, only just returned to Runemanse from certain ‘duties’ in the shadowy bed of the gorge. By the time his

  lieutenant reported, the Seer-Lord had regained control of himself, though he still raged inside.

  ‘Yes, Lord?’ The hulking Karpath stood before him.

  ‘How goes the work?’ Maglore wasted no time.

  ‘As you ordered, Lord, we work from the bottoms up. Lorn Halfstruck’s Trollmanse fell at once. The dwarf had left only one lieutenant in charge, who we discovered spent from a surfeit of Lom’s women. His plasma was not Wamphyri; it churns now in a vat, along with most of what we found of Lord Halfstruck’s thralls. Pregnant women were dealt with, to insure that nothing of Lorn survives, and also to fuel your own creatures. Wherefore it only remains for you to imprint the stuff in the Trollmanse vats, and eventually you’ll have warriors to send out far and wide across Turgosheim’s bottoms.’

  ‘Good! And the lesser hovels? Mordslump, Zackstack, Wensknoll and the rest? I hope that, in all of your rendering down, you’ve not forgotten to do a little recruiting?’

  Karpath shook his great head. ‘We have forgotten nothing, Lord. You’ll discover all the recruits you need herded together in the base of Madmanse, the best of the stuff out of the lesser houses. With their Lords flown, they were as easily gathered up as fatherless children. Only descend, take what you will and give back of yourself … your thralls shall teem!’

  Maglore allowed himself a mirthless chuckle. ‘It seems I could easily exhaust myself, imprinting all of this good stuff into the faith — into my faith, that is! Why, I must be sure not to give more than I take, lest I swoon from my depletion! Very well, then let the work continue. Except -‘

  ‘Yes, Lord?’

  Maglore took him to the window. ‘Look there!’

  Karpath followed the line of the other’s pointing finger. ‘Masquemanse?’

  The same. See to that next, and then return to your work down below.’

  ‘You want to invade Devetaki’s place, and …’

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  ‘… I want to destroy Devetaki’s place!’ Maglore grabbed him by the shoulder, his long nails digging in. ‘I want to sack it utterly, break off its balconies, knock out its windows into the gorge, topple its chimneys and leave promontory Masquemanse a veritable ruin, uninhabited and uninhabitable! And all of her thralls and creatures reduced to monsters shambling in the bottoms and guarding the passes! And her entire house a burned-out shell where the dust gathers in drifts and the winds mourn, but only the winds! For I most certainly shall not. Indeed and from now on I’ll not hear her name mentioned, neither hers nor Vormulac Unsleep’s!’

  Such was his vehemence that Karapth was taken aback. ‘It shall be done, of course, Lord Maglore .. . but as you’re surely aware, Devetaki — I mean, she — left a strong body of men and monsters guarding the place. And Masquemanse is heavily fortified. Moreover -‘

  ‘- Her wells are in the bottoms.’ Maglore waved his protests aside. ‘Poison them! Kill off her siphoneers. Then, when her people are sick, attack from the rim of the gorge. Take up my young hungry warriors on to the rim even as I wean them from their vats, and break through the roof of Masquemanse into its heart. By then our flyers, recruited from the other spires and manses, will be too many to count. We shall strike Masquemense full in the face, driving in through every landing-bay and window! So the night shall be spent, and all resistance crumbling away as our aerial assault on the face of the manse continues. Then, as our men penetrate deeper and press on up through the manse’s levels, finally we’ll withdraw our forces on the rim. The last of the bitch’s thralls shall think to escape by that route, up on to the roof - only to discover that the sun has risen, barring their way with golden fire!’

  They’ll melt,’ said Karpath, shuddering.

  Too true,’ said Maglore with a curt nod. They’ll melt, aye - and all of the Lady’s dreams of empire with them! So be it.’

  And so it would be, but a long night to go before then …

  Vormulac’s army was sprawled all down the ancient lava river; where the rock formed folds like frozen falls, behind the petrified spume and ages-stilled columnar gush, shallow caves and weathered-out pockets gave shelter and cold comfort to men and beasts alike. The various contingents kept to themselves; men hurried here and there, pursuing the orders of their Lords or Ladies; an orderly stream of flyers continued to launch — or land, whichever was the case — on their way to, or returning from, the banquet of blood on Sunside.

  The belly-pouches of returning flyers invariably disgorged corpses, which were dragged away to makeshift warrior pens. The flyers had been fed on Sunside greenstuff and honey laid-up for Wratha and commandeered by Vormulac, and Zindevar’s forces, more sparingly, on unappetizing lights and giblets: human flesh, naturally. Thus all creatures - manlike or otherwise, man-shaped or monstrous - had been or were in the process of being fuelled, as best possible in the circumstances. And apart from the loss of Lord Shornskull’s reconnaissance party, all seemed to be going reasonably well.

  Silent for a while, the warrior-Lord and the virgin grandam walked together and approached the latter’s contingent, where Devetaki had made camp in the lee of a small, crumbling secondary cone. There, she called for one of her lieutenants to attend her, and as he approached and bowed, said to him: The Lady Zindevar prepares to launch . ..’ (and in an aside to Vormulac, ‘One has to admire her scrupulously fair attitude: only observe the way she leads her own warriors to supper first!’) Then back to her man: ‘Go with the Lady and guide her with all speed to the injured creature which we spied on the plain of boulders. And when she’s safely there, return at once.’

  ‘Yes, Lady.’ Her man nodded, and went to mount a flyer.

  ‘What’s this, co-operation and concern?’ Vormulac raised an inquiring eyebrow. ‘What, for Zindevar Cronesap?’

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  ‘In her current rage she might overshoot and fly across the rim of the world!’ Devetaki answered sourly. ‘Not that I would care a bit, but your warriors — and mine — would go hungry.’

  Vormulac grinned in his fashion, but said, ‘Oh, well, Zindevar has her uses. Did I tell you, her familiar bats returned — most of them?’

  ‘Not all of them?’ Devetaki looked away for a moment, and called loudly after her lieutenant: ‘Be sure and take a beast-minder with you, and our warriors also. Ensure that a chain is established, so that all of Lord Unsleep’s creatures follow on in turn . ..’

  Now Vormulac saw the point of Devetaki’s shouting. ‘Which were the tasks I gave to Zindevar, r
ight?’

  ‘But you are so sweet on her.’ Devetaki looked up at him. ‘You ignore that she ignores your orders!’ It was true, Zindevar’s fury had overridden common sense. Some two hundred yards down the lava slope she was just this moment airborne; her own warriors were spurting aloft in her wake, but not a one of the other contingents’ fighting beasts. Thus, she ignored Lord Vormulac’s orders, apparently, or had forgotten them in the grip of her fury.

  Vormulac sighed. ‘Very well — but you must let me handle affairs such as this in my own way. Yes, your suggestion with regard to the freakish and aberrant, including a certain Lady, is a good one, but I am in command here. Only let it be noticed that you have more than your share of influence . .. they’ll all be jealous - even the men - no less than Zindevar!’

  Devetaki put on her smiling mask, but a moment later was businesslike again. ‘What of her bats?’

  Vormulac shrugged. ‘It appears that some went missing.’

  The virgin grandam nodded. ‘A voracious place, apparently, where Lords and men and beasts alike - and even small familiar creatures - go out only to be eaten up, by Wratha or whatever! Yet some of us do venture forth, fulfil our duties and return; not alone with news, or bounty in the

  shape of crippled enemy warriors, but also with Jiving tribute!’

  Vormulac looked at her more closely where she led the way through a weathered, crumbling section of the secondary cone’s wall into a shallow caldera. ‘Are you saying you took recruits? Well, excellent! But why didn’t you mention it before?’

  ‘Because Zindevar was there. I trust her as far as I could throw her, and confide in her to that same extent. Yes, I found men in the great pass to Sunside, and took recruits which I now claim for my own. It is my right; for as my Lord will doubtless recall, I fuelled his starveling army on a creature of mine out over the Great Red Waste, by reason of which my forces are reduced ·- or were. Let this serve to even up the score. Behold!’

  Watched over by a senior thrall, Turkur Tzonov and Alexei Yefros lay huddled in the shadow of the wall. The latter’s eyes were closed, head lolling. Tzonov, on the other hand, was wide-awake, alert, staring all about. Giving a great start as the Lord and Lady came into view, he stood up, bowed his head and kept it low, stared at the ground under their feet.

  ‘Subservient!’ Vormulac approved.

  ‘Not a bit of it.’ Devetaki touched Tzonov under the chin, drawing up his head. ‘Clever, more like!’

  The warrior-Lord stared, and Tzonov looked up and back - eye-to-eye! Directing her thoughts closely (which was scarcely necessary, for Vormulac’s telepathy was minimal), Devetaki was into the Russian’s mind in a moment: It wouid not serve my purpose if this great Lord were to learn that you’re a mentalist. Nor would it serve yours to have those knowing eyes put out!

  Tzonov lowered his gaze at once.

  ‘Clever?’ Vormulac repeated. ‘How so?’

  ‘Just a suspicion,’ Devetaki told him. Then, changing the subject: ‘But… don’t you see anything strange?’

  ‘I see a great deal that’s strange! These men are neither

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  trogs nor Szgany. Also, in my youth on Sunside - ah, but that was a long time ago! — I once saw a dead desert nomad, and so I know that they’re not Thyre either. So what are they?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Devetaki lied, pretending ignorance. ‘But this is a strange region, which appears to be inhabited by even stranger races!’ She shrugged. Til find out all about them — eventually.’

  Vormulac looked Tzonov up and down: his penetrating grey eyes (which once again the Russian quickly and wisely averted); his silver-blond eyebrows and tanned, healthy flesh; the broad bronze dome of his head, hinting at a formidable intelligence. His sharply-hooked nose, as stern if not as long as Vormulac’s own, lending him a hawkish appearance; his small, pointed ears lying flat to his head, and the too-perfect symmetry of his face as a whole, whose left and right halves were alike as mirror images. And his build: athletic, powerfully muscled, oiled to a perfect flexibility, yet tight as a coiled spring.

  A handsome specimen, this one. If there were tribes such as this on Sunside, then they’d really be worth fighting over! And Vormulac could readily understand Devetaki’s determination to keep him. He’d make a lieutenant and a half; possibly a decent plaything, too, after he’d put on some weight, height and the cold grey cloak of undeath. As for his companion:

  Casually, the warrior-Lord put Tzonov aside, causing him to stumble a little. And, stooping, he took the unconscious Yefros by the lapels of his jacket, jerking him up off the ground and holding him aloft, legs dangling, where he could glare directly into his crumpled-seeming face. But . .. there was no comparison here. Why, the two were dissimilar as wolf and weasel! Or master and servant? And where Tzonov seemed intact, as yet entirely human, Vormulac could scarcely help but notice a pair of familiar punctures, purple gashes in the lesser man’s neck. Devetaki had converted this one at least: plainly he slept the sleep of change.

  As Yefros began to choke in Vormulac’s grip, the warrior-Lord lowered his arm, let him crumple to the earth. Tzonov was quick to catch the locator and let him down more gently. After all, they were in this together - and up to their necks in it, at that!

  Vormulac turned to Devetaki. These suits they wear: tough stuff! Not as coarse as Szgany weave, yet stronger far.’

  Again her shrug. ‘All kinds of benefits seem likely, aye.’

  ‘I notice you’ve not yet converted this one?’ He glanced at Tzonov, who continued to avert his eyes judiciously, not alone in deference to Vormulac’s stature, but also because Devetaki watched like a hawk.

  ‘Easy to do, but impossible to reverse,’ was her response. ‘I want him free-thinking, for a little while at least. For as you’re aware, as a thrall he’ll say what I want him to say, do as I direct.’

  ‘Not always the case,’ Vormulac grunted. ‘He looks like a strong one to me. But I concede your point. You desire that he retains his individuality in order that you may better understand his mind.’

  ‘Before I make it mine, aye. To see as he, or as his kind sees may be of benefit.’ And then, because eventually she might be obliged to reveal the truth: ‘Also … I think it’s entirely possible that they’re talented, these two; there’s something of an aura about them. And while conversion to vampirism has been known to amplify certain talents, it has the effect of suppressing others. For far too long the Wamphyri have destroyed what may not be recreated. Er … but this, surely, was one of several conclusions arrived at during the course of our recent conversation, my Lord?’

  Vormulac scratched his head. ‘Was it? Why, yes, I believe it was …” He seemed satisfied. ‘Very well, I leave it in your capable hands, Devetaki. Do as you will, and discover what you can.’

  ‘But one thing I can tell you now,’ she said quickly, as he turned away.

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  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Their weapons are devastating!’

  ‘Really? And yet you returned unharmed.’

  ‘My superior mentalism! Entering their minds, I saw what was in store for me and mine. Avoiding it, I survived and took prisoners to boot.’ All of which was the truth. And leading him out of the crater, Devetaki glanced back once over her shoulder at Turkur Tzonov, her scarlet eyes telling him: Never fear, for I shall be back, my pretty. And then we’ll talk some more.

  ‘And they were in a pass leading to Sunside? But how many of them?’

  ‘Oh, a dozen more at least. And armed to the teeth.’

  ‘What, with stakes of wood, knives, spears, crossbows?’

  Devetaki shook her head. ‘Ah, no. Their weapons are astonishing! I can’t describe them. Best if you yourself were to see them in action.’

  ‘I should go up against them?’

  Oh, if only it could be arranged! And it could have been, if I’d had more time to think it out. But no, for if by chance you had survived . .. The virgi
n grandam’s mind was shielded as never before - like an ironwood kernel in its shell - as she answered, ‘Ah no, not you, my Lord! As Commander-in-Chief, you would only attend as an observer. But. .. Lord Wamus, perhaps?’

  They stood alone on the lava slopes. He looked at her and smiled, but grimly. ‘I see. You’re thinking we should send out the “freaks” into battle, to test the way ahead.’

  Devetaki’s smiling mask was well in keeping as she slowly nodded her head and gazed unflinchingly back at him. And Vormulac thought she even looked beautiful in the starlight. Or he might have, except he knew what lay beneath the gold-filigreed lead: the leering hideousness of flensed bone, the naked truth under the lie of the Lady’s mask.

  But even he did not know all of the truth, and therefore none of the lie.

  And despite that he felt a sudden warning chill, as if a cold wind had blown on his spine, Vormulac thought to himself: Well, and what does it matter that she’s disfigured? For after all, beauty is only skin deep in all of us. And picturing Zindevar and Wamus, and others who were even less lovely, he concluded: Aye, and a good deal shallower in some!

  Which only served to show the warrior-Lord’s own shallow nature: that his Wamphyri awareness was so easily confused by the virgin grandam’s treacherous ‘logic’.

  And for once in her life and undeath, the virgin grandam was glad of her disfigurement and mask both; lest the scarcely concealed, self-satisfied writhing of her mouth become obvious in the ice-blue glittering starlight…

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  VI

  Devetaki: Her Schemes Coalesce -Nathan: After the Battle at the Rock

  All of the Wamphyri were territorial; all of them were greedy, scheming and intent upon their own survival. With their metamorphism, their metaphysical powers, magnified emotions, vastly inflated egos and vampire tenacity - with all of these driving forces which were theirs by virtue of their parasite leeches — they understood that success meant power meant survival! Wherefore infinite success might well mean immortality. But even in common men power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And in the Wamphyri?