by Brian Lumley
You are their incubator, Turkur! Even though you cannot feel them, they are in you even now. So save your screams for later when you really will feel them, and all too keenly!
Following which he was alone with the dark and the numbness and the madness, and Siggi’s laughter slowly fading. But not really alone, for an alien multitude was right there with him . ..
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Devetaki Quells the Lords -Nathan: Further Visitations
In the camps of Devetaki’s generals on the north-facing slopes of the barrier mountains, there was trouble … certainly there would be trouble if Zindevar Cronesap, Ursula Torspawn and the virgin grandam herself were not there to face it down. For the mood among the lesser Lords was one of insurgency, and Devetaki scarcely required her superior mentalism to sense it. Which was why she now addressed a meeting of all her generals, within the natural amphitheatre formed by an extinct volcanic cone close to her own headquarters.
The principal troublemaker was Lord Grigor Hakson, called the Lech, who, in answer to Devetaki’s ostensibly innocent air of surprised inquiry in the face of this undeserved hostility, was first to voice his concern. But there was little or nothing of lechery in Grigor now — only a righteous fury.
‘We had an army!’ His voice rang out from the central area of the cone, where he stood ringed about by restless, scowling contemporaries. ‘We flew out of Turgosheim under the banners of a mighty army! Where is it now? And where are our successes, by way of trade for these considerable losses? If Vormulac Unsleep were here, he would answer for these several failures. But Vormulac is not here, nor is he anywhere! No, he is simply another casualty of his own poor planning and utterly ineffectual command. You, Devetaki, were his right-hand man, or woman - indeed, his adviser. And you, madame, chose to take upon your shoulders the glory and responsibility of leadership. Well, so be
it; now perhaps you’d care to explain our ingloriously diminishing rank and file, and the apparent lack of leadership!’
Up on the rim of the cone, Devetaki and the other Ladies formed a matriarchal trio whose elevation in rank seemed emphasized by the terrain; they stood high above lesser personages. Devetaki had been wearing her frowning mask, a bad enough sign in itself. But now, before answering the Lech’s rabble-rousing queries, she removed her mask and scanned the assembly with a coldly horrific visage. This unmasking of her flensed face was a sure sign of her vast displeasure, so that she was not required to raise her voice as she answered:
‘So, Grigor. We have a bloodwar, and the first time you’re blooded you squeal! Well, I suppose it was only to be expected. When a man gives up so much of his time and energy to wenching, he cannot have a great deal left to devote to fighting. Indeed, I have it on good authority that at the time of the attack you were astride some Traveller whore stolen out of Sunside. Is it not so?’
Grigor looked astonished. He opened and closed his mouth, then drew himself up to his full height. ‘We were told to make camp for the coming day.’ (His voice was strident now.) ‘Naturally, I took this to mean that the activities of the night were finished! Now tell me: since when is it unlawful to use a woman out of Sunside? And anyway, what has that to do with our army’s failure to make inroads on Wratha the Risen in her aerie or the weird, dangerous inhabitants of the lands south of these mountains?’
Devetaki sighed before repeating him: ‘So, you took it to mean …’ And here she paused. ‘But did you not also take it to mean that you should post a watch? Also, just how many of these weird and dangerous Szgany attackers set upon you in your camp? A hundred, fifty … a dozen? Just what sort of a mighty horde was it that caused such devastation in the camp of Grigor the Lech?’
Grigor fumed. They had the advantage of surprise and superior weaponry! And they had taken up an inaccessible strategic position from which to launch their attack.’
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‘Inaccessible?’ She contrived to look puzzled. ‘But what of your flyers, warriors, lieutenants, thralls? Are you saying that you could not bring a single one of your men or creatures to bear against these vile, murderous attackers? Or is it that you were simply unprepared? Or perhaps your men and beasts were all … well, should we say otherwise engaged, as you yourself, Grigor?’ And for a second time: ‘Inaccessible? What, like Wratha in her soaring aerie, do you mean? But out in the open, on the lava slopes? Again I ask, just how many of these dangerous, incredibly vicious Travellers were there? Er, three is the number which I have heard bruited - but of course I know that this must be a joke! What, three common men out of Sunside, Szgany, against the might of Grigor Hakson?’
Grigor sputtered, but giving him no time to recover, Deve-taki went on, ‘As for their “inaccessible position”, I take it you mean that this overwhelming force of three wild and heavily weaponed supermen had discovered the weakness of your defensive positions — that is, assuming that you had planned to man such positions; also assuming that you’d checked to see if such positions existed in the first place and, if so, that they couldn’t possibly become available to an enemy - and that somehow, despite all of your most sensible precautions, the barbarians were nevertheless able to use them to their own advantage!’
Grigor was now genuinely furious. His face had turned a purplish grey, his chest heaved, his eyes were wide and wild, and he had difficulty speaking. ‘I had camped my men and creatures beneath the frozen lava flow to provide protection from tomorrow’s sunlight! But … do you speak of defensive positions? Now tell me, Lady: since when have the Wamphyri required to so much as consider defensive positions?’
‘Since now!’ Devetaki remained calm, but her voice had hardened. ‘Since my Lord Vormulac is no more, murdered by the very Szgany who attacked you … or if not by them, by others of the same blood! What? Are we incapable of
learning a simple lesson? And Grigor, do not pretend that you would question Vormulac in this fashion. Why, the mere suggestion would find you fed, balls first, to his favourite warrior - as well you know! Ah, but it’s easy to be brave after the fact! And Grigor, try not to splutter so; it only serves to illustrate your dismal inefficiency. For if you can’t even defend yourself verbally, quite obviously you would be easy prey to far more physical attacks — as you have been/’
‘Physical attacks?’ he blurted, the words slurring from his mouth in an almost drunken fashion. ‘Lady, I’ve had more than enough of a tongue-lashing from you! And if it’s a physical attack you’d like to see …” He came striding, thrusting through the ranks of Lords and senior lieutenants, to a place directly below Devetaki and the other two Ladies. But when it seemed he was about to climb up -
‘Hold!’ said Devetaki. While in her mind she called out: Come, my darlings.’ And her darlings came.
Devetaki’s camp was in the immediate vicinity; when she had heard the first rumbles of trouble, she’d been wise enough to call her generals here, and not go to them. While they were a fine body of Lords, still they were mainly on their own, supported by only a small handful of lieutenants. But the virgin grandam was not on her own.
There came warning grunts and a nervous throb of propul-sors, a clatter of chitin scales and a thudding on the shallow outer walls of the fretted cone. Behind Devetaki, Zindevar and Ursula, and to left and right of them, ugly snouts were pushed up into view. A pair of small warriors reared, to look down on the gathering with suspicious, swivelling eyes. Flanking them, a large body of minders, lieutenants and thralls came scrambling, ringing the cone about. There were men of Vormulac’s contingent among them, seconded now to Devetaki; also, there were her own lieutenants, several of Wamus’s and Ursula Torspawn’s men, even a handful of Zindevar’s ferocious women.
And Devetaki knew that if she wanted to she could do
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away with a majority of these Lords right here, right now, and never be concerned with them again. And she would have . .. except she needed them to fight the bloodwar.
She loo
ked down on them:
Lord Eran Painscar, with the ribs and flesh of his left side laid open, displaying his pulsing organs encased in bags of metamorphic skin. Lord Eran had kept this hideous wound or trophy to remind him of the even greater pain of his enemy - whom he had killed by cutting out his spine entire.
Hesta the Hermaphrodite, whose liquid features alternated between a demure, eye-fluttering pout and a bestial snarl, and whose hands were slim and manicured at the ends of arms like a bear!
Lord Tangiru the Grunt, who swore that he’d never told a lie in his life. Well, and it was true; one does not say much of anything without a tongue.
Lorn Halfstruck the dwarf, whose arms were long to compensate for his shortness of leg. He had hands like clubs of knotty ironwood, and a great passion for striking detractors in their most delicate parts. Three times when he had considered himself insulted, Lorn had reached out and castrated the offenders with his bare hands.
Devetaki looked down on all of these Lords and twenty or so more, but not nearly as many as before. In Turgosheim there had been some thirty-six Lords; now they were down to - what? Twenty-eight? Of course, Maglore was not here, and Black Boris was in the trog caverns in the east. But there had also been a good many real, however contrived, fatalities. Wamus, for example, Laughing Zack Shornskull, Vormulac himself: gone the way of all, or most, flesh. And others lost crossing the Great Red Waste, and several more from internal feuding or other causes. Most recently, Lord Zun of Zunspire (called Zun the Lips, despite that he had none): swept to oblivion with most of his men and creatures in a great avalanche whose dust had not yet settled, which was rumoured to be the work of these same guerilla Travel-
lers. Aye, it all added up - to a very satisfying situation, in Devetaki’s eyes. Well, with certain reservations. A shame she had a bloodwar on her hands, that was all. Else now she might achieve her life’s ambition, all in one fell swoop.
And in those dangerous moments while Devetaki gazed down on the restless Lords, there was a sombre silence broken only by the hot snort of one of her warriors .. .
.. . Until, putting on her scowling mask, finally the virgin grandam ordered her creatures down from the wall. But stay close to hand, she sent, for I may yet need you! Unlikely now, but as well to let these cowed Lords know what was what. Well, she’d done that, all right. Like chastised children, they were surly but silent; they knew their place in the scheme of things now. It seemed a good time to make her peace with them, starting with Grigor Hakson.
‘Very well,’ she said, staring straight down at him. ‘We know where we stand, and you believe that I’ve made a fool of you. But you are wrong, for I am in total agreement with you! Ah, surprise on your face, Grigor! But why? For the only mistake you made was to blame me - and that out of frustration, I know. I was Vormulac’s adviser? Indeed I was! But think - how many losses had we suffered if I had not been? Even the best adviser may only guide a fool.’
And before he could speak: ‘As for the rest of it, you’re right. Mistakes have been made. But didn’t you ask it yourself: since when do the Wamphyri require defensive positions? It’s in our attitude, Grigor, don’t you see? For while in Turgosheim we were the masters - Wamphyri, whose word was law - here we are only enemies! And not only to Wratha but to Sunsiders who have learned to fight back! Oh, she had tamed a few of them — hah! A precious few - and made them her supplicants; which we were unlucky enough to discover from the onset…
‘Unlucky?’ (A lesser Lord’s puzzled query.) ‘How so?’
Devetaki lifted her crimson gaze from Grigor to sweep it over all the assembled Lords, and answered: ‘Because from that time forward we knew it would be easy - and we were
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wrong! For while a supplicant is easy meat here, as in Turgosheim, the rest of these western Szgany are fierce fighters all. If we had come up against the fighters first, then we’d have been on guard — as we will be from this time forward. But now let me tell you how else it will be from this time forward. Tomorrow night .. . we go against Wrathstack!’
And from the Lords: ‘What, the last aerie?’ And: ‘Wrath-stack? That impregnable place?’ Until someone called out: ‘As Laughing Zack Shornskull went against it, d’you mean? Oh? And where’s Zack now, eh?’
Devetaki gave a shrug. ‘The choice is yours: to sit here and starve, or to go against Wrathstack. Now listen: the supplicants are gone, used up, and only the fighters remain. Also, we’re no longer a surprise; they’re ready for us. Now, at the moment, we’re well-fed and our fighting beasts are fuelled. We are fit for war. And provided we keep a watch during the coming day - on Wrathstack, to hold it in siege, and on our own flanks, to keep them safe — tomorrow night will be our first and best opportunity to take the last aerie and make it ours. So, how do we go about it?’ And before they could answer:
‘Let me tell you,’ Devetaki continued. ‘But first … do not speak to me of Laughing Zack Shornskull. He was a madman! What, one Lord against an entire aerie? He deserved to die! A shame he took so many good men and creatures with him, that’s all. But tomorrow night … I, Devetaki Skullguise personally guarantee that tomorrow night will be different. I guarantee it! For then you’ll not only be fighting for your lives, for revenge, and for glory -but for profit! For territory! For the last aerie itself!’
‘What?’ said Grigor, frowning. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m talking about the last aerie,’ Devetaki insisted. ‘A single mighty stack whose capacity is almost as great as Turgosheim in its entirety! And if - no, when - we have conquered it, whose shall it be?’
‘Eh?’ Grigor the Lech was not alone in his amaze; a good
many jaws had fallen open. This was something new, that hadn’t yet dawned. Or it had, but mainly on Devetaki herself. A near-perfect example of how Turgosheim’s immemorial constraints had stunted natural Wamphyri instincts: that the question of spoils, of ownership, of territory had not previously arisen.
‘My proposal,’ said Devetaki, while still their horizons expanded. ‘That you Lords band yourselves, your men and beasts together into five or six invincible groups, divide the stack between you, choose your target levels - and have at it! And whosoever survives to take this or that level or levels -‘
‘- Keeps them!’ Grigor gasped.
‘Indeed!’ said Devetaki. ‘Just and well-deserved rewards for a fight well-fought and a bloodwar well-won! Just think of it: for when it’s over there’ll be vampire flesh enough to fill your bellies and your vats, and furnish your new manses richer far than anything you had in Turgosheim!’
A growled, grunted, but mainly appreciative murmur went up from almost every quarter. Except:
‘And your part, Lady?’ one voice rang out. ‘Where shall you be in this great and bloody melee? And what shall be your reward?’
‘I have already chosen my target,’ Devetaki replied. ‘The topmost levels and spire itself - for that’s where I’ll find Wratha! That is … unless you would care to face that Lady?’
But there was no answer.
‘At first,’ Devetaki continued, Til stand off, observe, command. Free of the fighting, my eyes shall see what you have missed, and my mentalism will reach out and guide all of you in your endeavours. In this respect I shall watch over my children like the very virgin grandam that you’ve named me! But then, as the fighting moves within the stack and so beyond my range and control, I shall join my troops in the loftiest of all levels, and so be in the thick of it. My reward -shall be Skullmanse! At the “head” of the stack, where else?’
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There arose an immediate babble of protest, which Deve-taki cut short at once, with, ‘See here: the great battle is not yet begun, and yet you’re arguing already! Now listen, and mark my words. When all of this is over, we shall do as Wratha tried to do: first recruit Szgany supplicants, then tame Sunside. A task that will take years! Our blood-children will fly back to Turgosheim, to care for our manses i
n our absence, and insure they do not fall into foreign hands. Our holdings will be vast, and all the resources of this brand new Sunside ours! And in those early years, why, there’ll be no time for feuding among ourselves . .. what, with all the works we’ll undertake? The hunting and taming? The tithe-routes to set up and manage; and all the lesser stumps of stacks around going wanting for masters, each one of them greater than many a so-called manse in Turgosheim? Territory galore, and all for the taking!’
Devetaki had the Lords now, and knew it. She had painted them a glorious (however false) picture, and it lured them like stink-gnats to foul-smelling snapper plants. But she knew that even now they’d be able to see at least one major loophole, and so continued:
‘Men will die, of course. Oh, yes, some of you Lords will die! But isn’t that always the way of it? Only the strongest survive. Ah, but think of the profits to those survivors: masters not only of their own manses in Turgosheim, but every one of them shall also be the victorious Lord of a level or two of that mighty stack out there on the boulder plains!’ She threw a dramatic arm and hand to the north, which a host of scarlet eyes greedily followed — until she continued:
‘So, how will you name your fine aeries, eh? Eranscar! —. Trollsump! — Gruntmanse!’ And finally, gazing on Grigor again and deliberately donning her smiling mask, ‘Lechlodge?’
But he was already hooked and wouldn’t rise to any more baiting, except to say: ‘Very well, Devetaki, and so much for the last aerie. Wamphyri against Wamphyri … we know how to fight that war! But what of these strange Sunsiders
and their even weirder weapons? I saw the three who caused me such grief, and they were like no other Szgany I’ve ever seen! Now how do we fight such as them, when they come and go like shadows?’
