The Complete Dilvish, The Damned

by Roger Zelazny

  "I would that you could kill him and remain with me."

  "Vampire," he said.

  "I would that you were my lord," she said. "I would be good to you. I am sorry that he was awakened… I do not want you to die. Oh, kill him for me! Remain here and love me! You could have slain him, had he not awakened… I am not like those in the stories who want your blood. It is good, so good, your blood! And warm! I taste… Oh, kill him! Love me!"

  The door collapsed, and through the half light Dilvish saw a form round the corner.

  Two yellow eyes flickered high above a spade beard, and all the rest of the face was darkness. Morin was as tall as Dilvish and enormously broad of shoulder. He bore a short axe in his right hand.

  Dilvish hurled the wine decanter and threw a chair at him.

  The decanter missed, and the axe shattered the chair.

  Dilvish drew the blade of Selar and guarded himself.

  Morin rushed forward and screamed as the point of the invisible blade entered his shoulder.

  "What sorcery?" he cried, taking the axe into his left hand.

  "I apologize, good sir," said Dilvish, "for abusing custom within your halls. I did not know the lady was wed."

  Morin snarled and swung the axe. Dilvish backed away and slashed at his left arm.

  "My blood you may not have," he stated. "But I repeat my apology."

  "Fool!" cried Morin.

  Dilvish parried another axe stroke. In the east, the sky began to lighten. Merytha was crying softly.

  Morin crashed into him and locked his arm to his side. Dilvish seized his wrist and they wrestled.

  Morin dropped his axe and struck Dilvish in the face. He fell backward, striking his head on the wall.

  As the other lunged toward him, Dilvish raised the point of his blade.

  Morin uttered a shriek and collapsed, clutching his stomach.

  Dilvish wrenched free his blade and stared down at the man, panting.

  "You know not what you have done," said Morin.

  Merytha rushed toward him where he lay, and he pushed her away.

  "Keep her from me!" he said. "Let her not have my blood!"

  "What mean you?" said Dilvish.

  "I knew not what she was when I wedded her," said Morin, "and when I learned, I loved her still. It was not in me to harm her. My servants left me and my castle fell into disrepair, but I could not do what should have been done. Instead I have been her jailer. I forgive you, Elfboot, for she has deceived you. I was drugged… You look to be a strong man, you've proven you are… I hope you are strong enough to do it."

  Dilvish turned his head away from the sight and looked at Merytha, where she stood with her back against the bedpost.

  "You lied to me," he said. "Vampire!"

  "You've done it," she said. "You slew him! My jailer is dead!"

  "Yes."

  "Will you stay with me now?"

  "No," said Dilvish.

  "You must," she said. "I want you."

  "That," said Dilvish. "I do believe."

  "No, not that way. No, I want you to be my lord. All my life I have wanted one with your strength and your strange eyes," she said, "'in earthly flesh and blood.' Have I not been good to you?"

  "I killed this man because of you. I would that I had not."

  She shielded her eyes.

  "Please stay!" she said. "My life would be empty if you did not… I must retire soon, to a dark, quiet place. Please!" She began to draw heavy breaths. "Please say that you will be here when I awaken tomorrow night."

  Dilvish shook his head, slowly.

  The room grew lighter.

  Her pale eyes widened beneath her sheltering hand.

  "You," she said, "you do not mean to harm me, do you?"

  Again he shook his head.

  "I have done enough harm this night. I must go, Merytha. There is but one cure for your condition and I cannot administer it. Good-bye."

  "Do not go," she said. "I will sing to you. I will prepare fine meals. I will love you. I only want a little taste, sometimes, when…"

  "Vampire," he said.

  He heard her footsteps behind him on the stair.

  A gray day was dawning about him when he entered the courtyard and placed his hand upon Black's neck.

  He heard her gasping as he mounted.

  "Do not go…" she said. "I love you."

  The sun rose as he moved toward the opened gate.

  He heard her shriek behind him.

  He did not look back.

  THE PLACES OF AACHE

  As Dilvish the Damned traveled through the North Countries, he passed one day along a twisting road through a low pine-filled valley. His great black mount seemed tireless, but there came a time when Dilvish halted to unpack rations and make a meal. His green boots soundless upon the needles, he spread his cloak and placed his fare upon it.

  "There is someone coming."

  "Thanks."

  He loosened his blade and began to eat standing. Shortly, a large, bearded man on a roan stallion rounded a bend and slowed.

  "Ho! Traveler!" the man hailed. "May I join you?"

  "You may."

  The man halted and dismounted. As he approached, he smiled.

  "Rogis is the name," he stated. "And yours?"

  "Dilvish."

  "You've traveled far?"

  "Yes, from the southeast."

  "Do you also make a pilgrimage to the shrine?"

  "What shrine?"

  "That of the goddess Aache, up yonder hill." He gestured up the trail.

  "No, I was not even aware of its existence. What is its virtue?"

  "The goddess may absolve a man of murder."

  "Oh? And you are making pilgrimage for this reason?"

  "Yes. I have done it often."

  "Do you come from afar?"

  "No, I live just up the road. It makes life a lot easier."

  "I think I begin to get the picture."

  "Good. If you will be so kind as to pass me your purse, you will save the goddess the work involved in an extra absolution."

  "Come and take it," Dilvish said, and he smiled.

  Rogis's eyes narrowed.

  "Not many men have said that to me."

  "And I may well be the last."

  "Hmm. I'm bigger than you are."

  "I've noticed."

  "You are making things difficult. Would you be willing to show me whether you're carrying enough coin to make it worth either of our efforts?"

  "I think not."

  "How about this, then? We split your money, and neither of us takes a bloody chance?"

  "No."

  Rogis sighed.

  "Now the situation has grown awkward. Let me see, are you an archer? No. No bow. No throwing spears either. It would seem that I could ride away without being shot down."

  "To ambush me later? I'm afraid I can't permit it. It has become a matter of future self-defense."

  "Pity," Rogis said, "but I'll chance it anyway."

  He turned back toward his mount, then whirled, his blade in his hand. But Dilvish's own weapon was already drawn, and he parried it and swung a return blow. Rogis cursed, parried, and swung. This went on for six passes, and then Dilvish's blade pierced his abdomen.

  A look of surprise crossed his face and he dropped his own weapon to clutch at the one that held him. Dilvish wrenched it free and watched him fall.

  "An unlucky day for both of us," Rogis muttered.

  "More so for yourself, I'd say."

  "You'll not escape this so easily, you know—I'm favored of the goddess—"

  "She has peculiar tastes in favorites then."

  "I've served her. You'll see…" and then his eyes clouded over and he slumped, moaning.

  "Black, have you ever heard of this goddess?"

  "No," replied the metal statue of a horse, "but then there are many things in this realm of which I have heard nothing."

  "Then let us be gone from this place."

  "W
hat of Rogis?"

  "We will leave him at the crossroads as an advertisement that the world is a safer place. I'll untether his horse and let it find its own way home."

  That night, many miles farther north, Dilvish's sleep was troubled. He dreamed that the shade of Rogis came and stood beside him in his camp and knelt, smiling, to place his hands upon his throat. He awoke choking, and a ghostly light seemed to fade away at his side.

  "Black! Black! Did you see anything?"

  There was silence, then: "I was far away" came the reply from the unmoving statue, "but I see red marks upon your throat. What happened?"

  "I dreamed that Rogis was here, that he tried to throttle me." He coughed and spat.

  "It was more than a dream," he decided.

  "We'll leave this country soon."

  "The sooner the better."

  After a time he drifted off to sleep again. At some point Rogis was with him once more. This time the attack was very sudden and even more violent. Dilvish awoke swinging, but his blows fell upon empty air. Now he was certain of the light, Rogis's ghostly outline within it.

  "Black, awaken," he said. "We must retrace our path, visit that shrine, lay this ghost. A man has to sleep."

  "I am ready. We will be there a little after daybreak."

  Dilvish broke camp and mounted.

  The shrine was a low, sprawling wooden building backed against the rust-streaked rock of the hill, near to its top. The morning sunlight fell upon its face, where a rudely carved double door of dark wood stood closed. Dilvish dismounted and tried it. Finding it bolted, he hammered upon it.

  After a long delay, the left side of the door opened and a small man with close-set pale eyes looked out. He wore a coarse brown robe.

  "Who are you to trouble us at this hour?" the man inquired.

  "One who has been wronged by someone who claimed a special status with your goddess. I wish to be released from whatever doom or spell is involved."

  "Oh. You are the one. You're early. Come in."

  He swung the door wide and Dilvish stepped through. The room was simply furnished with a few benches and a small altar. There was another door to the rear. A vacant sleeping pallet lay disarrayed near one wall beneath a narrow window.

  "My name is Task. Have a seat." The man gestured toward the benches.

  "I'll stand."

  The small man shrugged.

  "All right." He walked back to the pallet and began folding the blankets. "You want the curse lifted, to prevent Rogis's ghost from strangling you."

  "You do know!"

  "Of course. The goddess does not like to have her servants slaughtered."

  Dilvish noticed how, with a deft movement, Task secreted a bottle of a rare southern wine within the rolled pallet. He also noted that each time the man hid his hands within his robe another costly ring vanished from his fingers.

  "The servants' victims do not much relish being slaughtered either."

  "Tsk. Did you come here to blaspheme or to get absolved?"

  "I came here to get this damned curse lifted."

  "To do that, you must make an offering."

  "Of what must it consist?"

  "First, all of your money and any precious stones or metals you have with you."

  "The goddess is as much of a highway robber as her servants!"

  Task smiled.

  "All religions have their secular side. The goddess's following is not large in this sparsely populated area, and the donations of the faithful are not always sufficient to meet operating expenses."

  "You said 'first'—first you want all my valuables. What's second?"

  "Well, it is only fair that the life you have destroyed be replaced by yourself. A year's service on your part will be ample."

  "Doing what?"

  "Why, collecting tribute from travelers, as Rogis did."

  "I refuse," said Dilvish. "Ask something else."

  "Nothing else will do. That is your penance."

  Dilvish turned on his heel. He began to pace. He halted.

  "What's beyond that door?" he asked suddenly, gesturing to the rear of the room.

  "That is a sacred precinct, reserved for the elect—"

  Dilvish headed toward it.

  "You can't go in there!"

  He thrust the door open.

  "—especially with a sword!"

  He stepped inside. Small oil lamps burned. There was straw on the floor, a feeling of dampness and a peculiar odor that he did not recognize; otherwise, the room was empty. A large, heavy door stood slightly ajar to the rear, however, and from behind it he seemed to hear scratching sounds, retreating.

  Task was at his side as he moved to the door. He grasped at his arm but could not hold it back. Dilvish pushed it open and looked through.

  Nothing. Darkness and a sense of distance. Rock to the side. A cave.

  "That is a storage area."

  Dilvish took up an oil lamp and entered. As he proceeded, the smell grew stronger, the dampness heavier. Task followed him.

  "It is dangerous back here. There are crevasses, chasms. You might slip—"

  "Silence! Or I'll throw you down the first one I see!"

  Task dropped back several paces.

  Dilvish moved cautiously, holding the lamp high. Rounding a rocky shoulder, he beheld a myriad of sparkles. A pool, recently disturbed.

  "This is where it came," he said, "whatever it is," and he advanced upon the pool. "I am going to wait for it. Here. I've a feeling it must emerge, sooner or later. What is it?"

  "The goddess…" Task said softly. "You should really depart. I have just had a message. Your year's sentence has been remitted. Just leave the money."

  Dilvish laughed.

  "Do goddesses bargain?" he asked.

  Sometimes, came a voice in his mind. Leave it at that.

  A chill passed over his limbs.

  "Why do you hide yourself?" he said.

  It is not given to many mortals to look upon my kind.

  "I don't like blackmail, human or supernatural. Supposing I were to roll this boulder into your pool?"

  Abruptly, the water stirred. The face of a woman emerged and regarded him. Her eyes were green and very large, her skin extremely pale. Tight ringlets of black hair covered her head like a helmet. Her chin was pointed, and there was something unnatural to the shape of her tongue when she spoke aloud.

  "Very well, you see me," she stated. "I've a mind to show you more."

  She continued to rise—neck, shoulders, breasts, all pale—and abruptly all human semblance vanished, for below her waist were more long slender limbs than Dilvish could count.

  He cried out and his blade came into his hand. He nearly dropped the lamp.

  "I mean you no harm," came her faintly lisping voice. "Recall that it was you who sought this audience."

  "Aache—what are you?" he asked.

  "My kind is old. Let it go at that. You have caused me difficulties."

  "Your man tried to kill me."

  "I know. Obviously he chose the wrong victim. Pity. I must go hungry."

  The blade twitched in Dilvish's hand.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I eat honey."

  "Honey?"

  "A sweet liquid made by small flying insects in the far south."

  "I know what it is, but I do not understand."

  "It is my main dietary requirement. I must have it. There are no flowers, no bees this far north. I must send for it. It is expensive to bring it this distance."

  "And that is why you rob travelers?"

  "I must have the money, to buy it. My servants get it for me."

  "Why do they serve you thus?"

  "I might say devotion, but let us be honest. With some men, I can control them over a distance."

  "As you sent that phantom to me?"

  "I cannot control you directly, as I could Rogis. But I can make your slumber bad."

  Dilvish shook his head.

  "I've a feeling
that the farther I get from here, the less this power would affect me."

  "Nor are you incorrect. So go. You would never make me a good servant. Keep your money. Leave me."

  "Wait. Have you many servants?"

  "That is none of your affair."

  "No, it isn't. But I'd a thought. There is mineral wealth in this valley, you know."

  "I do not know. I do not understand what you refer to."

  "I was involved in several mining operations years ago. When I rode through your valley yesterday, I noticed signs of certain mineral deposits. I believe they are sufficiently rich in the dark metal for which metalworkers to the south would pay well. If you have sufficient servants to set up a digging and smelting operation, you may make out a lot better than you have been by robbing passersby."

  "You really think so?"

  "It should be easy enough to discover, especially if you will lend me some men."

  "Why would you do this for me?"

  "Perhaps to make this corner of the world a little safer."

  "A strange reason. Go back to the shrine. I am summoning servants now and binding them to you. See whether this thing can be done, then come back to see me—alone."

  "I will—Aache."

  Suddenly she was gone and the pool sparkled. Dilvish turned and met Task's stare. He walked by him without speaking.

  In the days that followed, ore was mined, a smelter constructed, and operations begun. Dilvish smiled as he watched the dark metal pour into its bar molds. Aache smiled when he told her of it.

  "And there is much there?" she asked.

  "A mountain of it. We can have enough for a good wagonload by next week. Then we can step up the process."

  He knelt beside the pool. Her fingers emerged, tentatively touched his hand. When he did not flinch, she reached up and stroked his cheek.

  "I could almost wish you were one of my kind," she said, and then she was gone again.

  "It has been long since this area was warm and could have had flowers and bees," Black said. "She must be very old."

  "It is impossible to tell," Dilvish answered, as they paced the hilltop and looked down into the valley to where the smoke rose. "But if honey is all it takes to make her an honest creature, it's worth this small delay."

  "She wants you to take a load south next week?"

  "Yes."

  "And after that?"