by Brian Lumley
“Right,” she answered. “I think the Lord Shaithis already has one—or if not an ace, certainly a joker. He’s got Karl Vyotsky!” Then she spoke into the radio: “Unknown call-sign, this is Zek Föener. Send your message, over?”
Her radio crackled again, and a once-familiar voice, shaky, a little urgent and breathless but fairly coherent, said, “You can throw out the radio procedure, Zek. This is Karl Vyotsky. Do you have Arlek of the Travellers with you?” He sounded like he wasn’t too sure of what he was saying, as if he simply relayed the requirements of some other.
Jazz said, “Let me speak to him,” and Zek held the radio to his face. “Who wants to know, Comrade?” he asked.
And after a moment’s silence, in a tone which was suddenly pleading: “Listen, British: we’re on different sides, I know, but if you foul me up now it’s all over for me. My radio is acting up. Sometimes it receives and other times it doesn’t. Right now I have excellent elevation—you wouldn’t believe the elevation I have—but still I don’t trust this radio. So don’t waste any time with games. I can’t believe you’d let me live once just to kill me now. So if this Arlek is with you, please put him on. Tell him Shaithis of the Wamphyri wants to talk to him.”
Arlek had heard his name spoken twice, and Shaithis’s name several times. The conversation obviously concerned himself and the Wamphyri Lord. He held out a hand for the radio, said: “Give it to me.”
If Jazz had held the radio he would have thrown it down, stamped on it and wrecked it. No communications, no deal. Zek might well have had the same idea, but she wasn’t quick enough. Arlek snatched the radio from her, fumbled with it for a moment and finally, a little awkwardly, said: “I am Arlek.”
The radio crackled some more, and in a little while a new male voice said: “Arlek of the Travellers—of the tribe of Lardis Lidesci—it is Shaithis of the Wamphyri who speaks to you. How is it you have the power and not Lardis? Have you replaced him as leader of the tribe?” The voice was the darkest, most menacing Jazz had ever heard. But at the same time, while there was something inhuman about it, it was definitely the voice of a man. Deep and rumbling with controlled strength, forming each word perfectly and with unswervable authority, the owner of that voice knew that whoever he spoke to, that person was an inferior.
Arlek had quickly mastered the radio. “Lardis is away,” he said. “He may return and he may not. Even if he does, still there are Travellers with me who are dissatisfied with his leadership. The futures are not at all clear. Many things are possible.”
Shaithis got straight to the point. “My watcher has told me you have the woman who was the Lady Karen’s thought-thief, the woman Zekintha from the hell-lands. Also, you have a man from the hell-lands, who is a magician and bears strange weapons.”
“These things your watcher tells you are true,” Arlek answered, more at ease now.
“And is it also true that you desire to come to some agreement with me in respect of this man and woman?”
“That is also true. Give me your word that in future you will not raid on the so-called tribe of Lardis, and in turn I’ll hand over to you these magicians from the hell-lands.”
The radio was silent and it appeared that Shaithis was considering Arlek’s proposition. At last he said: “And their weapons?”
“Also their belongings, yes,” Arlek answered. “All except an axe, which belonged to the man. This I claim for myself. Even so, the benefits for the Wamphyri Lord Shaithis will be great. Strange weapons to aid you in your wars, devices such as this communicator, which you apparently understand well enough, and their magic to use as you will.”
Shaithis seemed swayed. “Hmm! You know that I am only one Lord and there are others of the Wamphyri? I can only speak for myself.”
“But you are greatest of the Wamphyri!” Arlek was sure of himself now. “I do not ask for your protection, merely that if the occasion should arise, then that you’d obstruct the other Lords in their raids. There are many Travellers and we are, after all, only one small tribe. You would not raid upon us, and you would ensure—if it please you—that the raids of your fellow Lords were made that much more difficult to accomplish …”
Shaithis’s voice sank deeper yet. “I recognize no ‘fellow’ Lords, Arlek. Only enemies. As for placing obstructions in their way: I do that already. I always will.”
“Then you would perhaps do it more diligently,” Arlek pressed. And he repeated: “We are a small tribe, Lord Shaithis. I make no request in respect of Travellers of any other ilk.”
Zek tried to snatch the radio from him but he turned his back on her. Two of his men grabbed her arms, held her still. “Black-hearted, treacherous—!” She was lost for words.
“Very well,” said Shaithis. “Now tell me, how will you give the two to me?”
“I shall bind them securely,” Arlek answered, “and leave them here in this place. We are some little way beyond the keep in the pass.”
“Their weapons will be left close to hand?”
“Yes,” Arlek squared back his shoulders, flared his nostrils. Even in his treachery his dark eyes were bright. It was all going according to plan. The Wamphyri were a curse; but with the curse lifted, even partly lifted … it would not be long before Lardis Lidesci would be usurped.
“Then do it now, Arlek of the Travellers. Bind them, leave them there, and begone! Shaithis comes! Let me not find you there upon my arrival. The pass is in any case mine … after dark.”
They lay there alone, in darkness, with only the sound of their own breathing. To the south Arlek and his band moved off; it appeared that Wolf had gone with them. As the sounds of their hurried departure echoed back, Jazz said: “I still think that beast of yours didn’t make much of a guard dog.”
“Be quiet,” she said. And that was all. She lay very still. Jazz turned his head, stared north up the pass. Only the cold gleam of starlight that way. He strained his ears. Nothing, as yet.
“Why be quiet?” he finally whispered.
“I was trying to get through to Wolf,” she answered. “He would have attacked them at any time—and been killed for it. I held him back. He’s been a good friend and companion to me, and it wasn’t the time. Now is the time!”
“For what?”
“You’ve seen his teeth—they’re sharp as chisels! I’ve called to him. If he heard me, and if he’s not too involved with the other wolves, he’ll return. We’re bound with leather, but given a little time …”
Jazz rolled over to face her. “Well, at least we should have plenty of that. I saw the Wamphyri castles on the stacks. They were miles away. And then there’s the length of the pass, too.”
She shook her head. “Jazz, even now it’s almost too late.” As she spoke, Wolf came loping, tongue lolling. Behind him the southern gap of the pass was lit with a fast-fading golden haze.
“Too late?” Jazz repeated her. “You mean because the sun’s down?”
“That wasn’t my meaning,” she answered. “And anyway, it isn’t down. A mile south of here, the pass rises briefly to a shallow crest, then dips sharply and turns a little toward the east. From there it’s a steep, steady slope down to Sunside. The sun’s just over our horizon, that’s all. On Sunside there are still many hours of light left. But—Shaithis will be here very soon.”
“He has transport?” Jazz was puzzled, half flippant
“Yes, he has,” Zek answered … “Jazz, I can’t turn face-down. There’s a large rock sticking in me. But if you can manage it, then I’ll tell Wolf to chew on your bindings.”
“You’re crediting old Lupus here with a deal of intelligence,” Jazz was sceptical.
“A mind-picture is worth a thousand words,” she said.
“Oh!” Jazz said. He struggled to turn face-down, but—
“Before you do,” she said, breathlessly, “will you kiss me?” She wormed herself fractionally closer.
“What?” he stopped struggling.
“Only if you want to, of course,
” she said. “But … you might never get another chance.”
He craned forward, kissed her as best he could. Out of air, finally they broke apart. “Are you reading my thoughts?” he said.
“No.”
“Good! But now I know what you taste like, the sooner Wolf gets to work on these bindings the better.” He rolled over onto his face. Trussed like a chicken, his legs were bent at the knees, feet uppermost. His wrists were tied behind his back,and tied again, to his feet. Wolf at once began tugging at Jazz’s leather bindings. “No, dammit!” Jazz spat out dirt. “Don’t pull, chew!” And in a little while Wolf was doing just that.
Jazz could see his packs, gun, Zek’s too, lying only paces away. The weapons had a metallic sheen in the dark. “I notice Arlek took my compo,” he said.
“Compo?”
“The hard-tack. The food.”
She was silent.
“I mean, he did tell Shaithis he’d leave everything except my hatchet.”
Quietly she said: “But he knew Shaithis would have no use for the food.”
Jazz tried to turn his face her way. “Oh? But he eats, doesn’t—” And he paused. He could see her eyes, unblinking in the dark shadow of her face. “The Lord Shaithis of the Wamphyri,” he grunted. “Of course. He’s a vampire, right?”
“Jazz,” she said, “hope springs eternal, but—maybe I should tell you something of how it could be. I mean, if we’re taken.”
“I think maybe you should,” he said.
Something small, black, chittering, flitted close by, came closer in dips and swoops, then darted off again. Then another, and more, until the air seemed full of them. Jazz had frozen into stone, stopped breathing, but Zek said: “Bats—but just bats. Ordinary bats. Not Wamphyri familiars. The Wamphyri use the real things for that. The big ones. Desmodus, the vampire.”
A thong parted behind Jazz’s back, and very quickly another. Jazz flexed his wrists and felt a little give in his bindings. Wolf carried on chewing. “You were going to tell me about Shaithis’s transport,” Jazz reminded Zek.
“No,” she said. “I wasn’t.” Her tone of voice told him not to ask any more. But in any case he didn’t need to. As the last thong parted and his straining wrists flew apart, he straightened his aching legs, rolled over onto his back and looked up. His eyes were drawn to an ominous stirring overhead. Level with the high walls of the pass, a black blot—several of them—shut out the stars as they began to descend.
“What the hell—?” Jazz whispered.
“They’re here!” Zek breathed. “Quickly, Jazz! Oh, be quick!”
Wolf loped anxiously to and fro, whining, while Jazz got his cramped fingers to work on the thongs binding his feet. At last they were free. He turned to Zek, rolled her unceremoniously face-down across his knees, went frantically to work on her knots. As each one came undone, he kept glancing up at the heights a little north of their position.
The descending blots were falling like flat stones dropped in still water, sliding from side to side, settling like autumn leaves on a deathly still early September morning. Three of them, their true outlines were now distinguishable: huge, diamond-shaped, where opposing points of the diamonds merged into heads and tails. They side-slipped this way and that, settling silently down toward the bed of the pass.
Zek’s hands were almost free; Jazz left them and turned his attention to her feet. It was his thought to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder and run. But he faced the truth: his legs were still badly cramped and the darkness was now almost complete. He’d only be able to stumble at best, with Wolf bringing up a pitifully inadequate rear guard.
Three dull thumps in close succession announced the fact that the flying things had settled to earth. Jazz’s fingers were fully alive now, deft where they hastened to free Zek’s feet. She was panting, plainly terrified. “It’s OK,” he kept whispering. “Just one more knot to go.” Down the pass, maybe a hundred metres away, three anomalous shapes lay humped against a horizon of stars, with spatulate heads swaying at the ends of long necks. The last knot came loose; and as Zek came struggling to her feet, staggering a little, so Wolf’s tail went down between his legs. He gave a whining, coughing little bark and began to back off toward the south.
Jazz’s arm was round Zek’s waist, supporting her. He said: “Move your arms, stamp your feet and get the blood pumping.” She didn’t answer but stared with saucer eyes beyond him, in the direction of the grounded flying creatures. He sensed more than felt the shudder going through her, moving from her head, down through all her body. An entirely involuntary thing, almost like a dog shaking off water. Except Jazz suspected that this was something which wouldn’t shake off. And he turned to follow her gaze.
Three figures stood not ten paces away!
They were in silhouette, but that hardly detracted from their awesome aura of presence. It radiated from them in almost tangible waves, a force warning of their near-invulnerability. They had all the advantages: they could see in the dark, were strong beyond the wildest dreams of most Earthly muscle-men, and they were armed. And not only with physical weapons, but also with the powers of the Wamphyri. Jazz didn’t yet know about the latter, but Zek did.
“Try to avoid looking at their eyes,” she hissed her warning.
The three were, or had been men, so much was plain. But they were big men, and even silhouetted against a backdrop of stars and black, nodding sky-beasts, Jazz could see what sort of men. In his mind a recurring picture of a man like these, dying in an inferno of heat and flame, screamed his fury and his defiance even now: “Wamphyri!”
The one in the middle would be Shaithis; Jazz reckoned there’d be close to eighty inches of him, standing almost a full head taller than the two who flanked him. He stood straight, cloaked, with his hair falling onto his shoulders. The proportions of his head were wrong; as he looked with quick, curious glances from side to side and showed his face in profile, Jazz saw the length of his skull and jaws, his convoluted snout, the alert mobility of his conchlike ears. It was a composite face: human-bat-wolf.
The two beside him were near-naked; their bodies were pale in starlight, muscular, easy-flowing as liquid. They wore topknots with tails dangling, and on their right hands … those were silhouettes Jazz would know anywhere. The weapon-gloves of the Wamphyri! But so sure of themselves: they stood arms akimbo, almost uncaring, staring at Jazz and Zek with their red eyes almost as if they considered the antics of insects.
“Not bound!” Shaithis said in that unmistakable, rumbling voice of his. “So either Arlek is a fool or you are extremely clever. But I see your broken thongs, and so I would say that you are clever. Your magic, of course. My magic, now!”
Jazz and Zek backed off a stumbling pace or two. The three moved after them, marginally more rapid but in no great hurry, gradually closing with them. Shaithis’s lieutenants moved in the manner of men, with paces swift and sure; but their master seemed to flow forward, as if carried on the strength of his own will. His eyes were huge, crimson, seemed to burn with some weird, internal light of their own. It was hard to avoid looking into those eyes, Jazz thought. They might well be the gates of hell—but tell a moth not to investigate the candle’s flame.
Zek’s elbow struck him sharply in the ribs. “Don’t look at their eyes!” she said again. “Run, Jazz, if you can. I’m all cramped, I’ll only slow you down.”
Wolf came from nowhere, snarling his outrage—and probably his terror, too—as he loped from the shadows under the eastern cliff. He leaped at Shaithis’s lieutenant on that flank; the man turned casually toward him, struck him aside left-handed as Jazz might strike aside a small, yapping dog. Wolf backed off, whined, and the man he’d attacked showed him his gauntlet. “Come on then, little wolf,” he taunted the animal. “Come, let Gustan pat you on your sleek grey head!”
“Get back, Wolf!” Zek cried.
“Stand still!” Shaithis commanded, pointing at Jazz and Zek. “I will not chase what is mine. Come to heel n
ow or be punished. Punished severely!”
Jazz’s heel kicked metal. Blued steel. His SMG! His packs were there, too.
He fell to one knee, grabbed up the gun. The three who opposed him saw the weapon in his hand and came to a halt. They stood stock still, glaring with their red eyes. “What?” Shaithis’s voice was dangerously low. “Do you threaten your master?”
Jazz faced the three where he kneeled; he groped blindly in a pack, then another. He found what he was looking for, slapped home a magazine into its housing. Shaithis came flowing forward. “I said—”
“Threaten you?” Jazz cocked his gun. “Damn right I do!”
But the man on Shaithis’s right flank had come swiftly forward in a crouch. His sandalled foot came down on Jazz’s right wrist, pinning it to the ground. Jazz deliberately threw himself flat, tried to kick the man away; but this was no novice. Avoiding Jazz’s kicks and still pinning his arm and weapon, he came to his knees, caught Jazz’s face in a massive left hand, effortlessly bent his head back and showed him his raised gauntlet. He unclenched his fist and hooks, knives, gleaming sickles coldly reflected the starlight. Then the man smiled and raised his eyebrows in mocking query, glancing questioningly at Jazz’s hand on the pistol-grip of the SMG. The gun’s muzzle was sticking in dirt; Jazz daren’t pull the trigger.
He opened his hand and let go of the weapon, and the man who held him lifted him up from the ground by his crushed face. Jazz could do nothing; he felt that if Shaithis’s lieutenant wanted to, he could just tear the flesh right off his skull like peeling an orange.
Zek sprang at the man on Shaithis’s left, Gustan, where he now stepped forward. “Bullies!” she cried, beating at him with her fists. “Bastards! Vampires!”
Gustan swept her up in one arm, grinned at her, ran his free left hand over her body, pinching here and there. “You should let me have this one a little while, Lord Shaithis,” he grunted. “Knock some sense into her and teach her the meaning of obedience!”
Shaithis turned on him at once. “She’ll be in thrall to me, and no other. Watch your tongue, Gustan! There’s room in the pens for another war-beast, if that’s your fancy?”
