by Brian Lumley
“The deed itself—the taking of Karen and her properties—that was to come before her vampire reached full maturity and took ascendancy. Patently it was a slow developer, but the Lords knew from their history and legends that Ladies were hard to get rid of once they achieved full flower. The ‘female of the species,’ so to speak. So … she would be invited to join with the Wamphyri Lords in their attack upon The Dweller. Her forces would be used as cannon-fodder; when the battle was over, and without pause, her depleted units would be crushed in their turn, wiped out, and Karen herself taken.
“If she refused to join in the attack on The Dweller, that would be seen as a rebuke, an insult; it would warrant a full-scale, subsequent attack on her stack. But it was hoped she would join in, for if her aerie could be taken intact, undamaged—simply walked into—so much the better.
“All of this I got in bits and pieces from the minds of Shaithis, Volse, Menor Maimbite and one or two others. I dared not stay with any mind too long, in case they should become aware of me. But Karen had been quite right: in protecting themselves against her probing, they had left themselves wide open to me. I can tell you now, Jazz, that there are many hells. And if one of them is that place we were told about as children, where if we’re not careful we go for our sins, then be sure that the others are the minds of Wampyri Lords! There’s little enough to distinguish between them …
“Anyway, finally the meeting was over and Shaithis stood and made a closing speech. As best I can remember it went like this:
“‘Lords, and Lady:
“‘With one exception—the exception of one vote, that of our … charming hostess, who will, she assures us, give the matter her most earnest consideration—we are all agreed on a punitive expedition against The Dweller. The hour of that effort against our great and mutual enemy is still to be set, but until it is decided, all are to stand forewarned and prepared. We all have valid reasons to wish to be rid of him. Apart from the fact that he has set up house in our territory—I take it we are agreed that the mountains are ours?—very well; apart from that fact, and that he gives succor to Travellers, who are our traditional prey, some of us have more personal grievances.
“‘Some hundred sundowns past, Lesk sent one of his men to parley with The Dweller. Only to parley, mind you, as we have heard from the lips of Lesk himself, most lucid of Lords. The man did not return. Angered (quite rightly) Lesk sent a warrior to test The Dweller’s mettle. The Dweller contrived to trap rays of the recently sunken sun in mirrors, with which he burned Lesk’s warrior to a crisp! Lesk, whose reasoning occasionally differs from that of, er, less sensitive minds, sent a second warrior—but not directly against The Dweller. For Lesk had determined that The Dweller was a hell-lander, sent here to spy on us and provoke us, perhaps preparing the way for large-scale invasion. The idea became obsessive—that is, he was convinced of its logic—especially so considering that immediately after Lesk’s initial attacks upon The Dweller, the Gate to the hell-lands was seen to rise up into the very mouth of its crater! Surely as preamble to the feared attack? And so he sent the second warrior directly into the hell-lands, through the gate, to let any would-be invaders see for themselves something of the might of the Wamphyri. Needless to say, the second warrior did not return. But then, no one ever has …
“‘Volse Pinescu, having heard of Lesk’s losses, determined a more subtle approach: he activated and armed a hundred trogs to send against The Dweller’s garden. They were to sack, burn, rape any women to the death and murder any men. They were raw, these trogs, with nothing of the Wamphyri in them; which is to say that while they did not much care for the sun, still its rays would not harm them. The Dweller’s vile mirrors would not avail him here! But … they, too, failed to return. Apparently they were suborned: The Dweller found caves in which to house them, placed them under his protection!
“‘Grigis of Grigis, being the son of the much-fabled Grigis the Gouge, thought to enrich his struggling stack with The Dweller’s wealth—perhaps even to steal his entire garden, which commands a lofty view, as we are all aware. Or maybe Grigis thought to do something more than this; for if he could gain some understanding of The Dweller’s magic and his cursed machines, then his own currently—er, middling station?—his circumstances, let us say, would be that much more improved and enhanced. Indeed, with The Dweller’s weapons at his command, the Lord Grigis might even lord it over all of us! But of course, we can be certain that this was not his intention. Alas, he lost three fine warriors, one hundred and fifty trogs and Travellers, two lieutenants. His stack is now inadequate to his needs. Let us be honest at least with ourselves: if not for the menace posed by The Dweller, one of us by now might well have found the resources to diminish Grigis’s lot further yet …
“‘My own interest is easy to explain: it is interest pure and simple. Curiosity! I desire to know who this Dweller is. Wamphyri?—a new breed born of the swamps, perhaps? If so, how came he by his knowledge of weapons, machines, foul magic? What does he there, in his garden? And why are we scorned and so rudely ignored?
“‘This, then, is the plan:
“‘We watch The Dweller! Nothing more, simply that—for now. Covertly, in the darkness of sundown—however many sundowns are required—we watch him. How? Through the eyes of our familiar creatures. Through bats great and small. From below, in stealth, where trogs shall crouch in shadows and observe; from above, even so high as they may glide, where our flyers may relay his every move; in our very minds, with which unceasingly we will spy upon him!
“‘The extent of his garden, dwellers therein other than he himself, the locations of his mirrors, weapons, the numbers of his retainers—until we know as much of him as is required. And when we know all of these things and can concert our attack accordingly—’
“‘Then you strike?’ This last from Karen. And all eyes turning her way where she sat at the head of the long table facing the bone-throne.
“Shaithis eyed her leeringly. ‘Then we strike, Lady, surely? Unless you’ve already made up your mind not to be with us?’
“But she merely smiled at him, saying: ‘Fear not, Lord Shaithis, for I shall be there.’
“A sigh went up. All were in accord. And the Lady neatly netted. So it appeared.
“Then they took their leave; Shaithis and Lascula being first away, then Lesk, Volse, Belath, Fess, Menor and all the rest, and lastly Grigis. The reverse order in which they’d arrived, leaving their least till last. And when Karen called me out of my hiding place, to attend her by a window, the sky was acrawl with them. They circled outwards, dark clouds of ill-omen in the lesser darkness, each swooping back to his own place, returning to his personal hell.
“I turned to her. ‘Lady, you may not go with them against The Dweller!’ And I told her all I had read in their minds.
“She smiled a strange, sad, knowing smile. ‘But did you not hear me? I said I shall be there.’
“‘But—’
“‘Be still! Why, I could swear you actually care for me! Aye, and perhaps I care for you. So make ready what weapons you desire to take with you. If you need something, ask for it. Make provision of whatever I have to offer. Now I rest me. When I awake, before sunup, then I keep my promise.’
“And she did. She went with me for my safe conduct; we had a flyer each; she flew us direct over the mountains and down onto Sunside. And with the new sun rising she bade me farewell and raced her beasts home again. That was the last time I saw her. Watching her flyer out of sight, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
“Some time later Lardis and his Travellers found me, and now I’ve told you everything …”
In a little while Jazz said. “There are a couple of other things I’d intended asking you. One of them was about that warrior creature which caused all the destruction at Perchorsk. Well, you’ve answered that—it was Lesk’s creature—but there are other things. The great bat, the wolf, the thing in the tank.”
Zek shrugged. “Maybe the bat a
nd wolf got through accidentally. Blinded by the light, the bat flew into the sphere. Like us, it was guided one way through the Gate. Similarly the wolf, which was old, nearly blind. As for the thing in the tank: it was a vampire. As coincidence would have it, it numbered among its ancestors both a wolf and a bat. In its metamorphic state, it was likely to take on characteristics of both. The slug characteristics are typical of its swamp origin. Maybe it entered the gate looking for prey. I don’t know …”
Jazz blinked tired eyes, said: “Too deep for me. I begin to half understand, but then I bog down. I suppose I’m just weary. One last thing. What about the others from Perchorsk, the men who came through before you?”
“I wasn’t told about them,” she grimaced. “Khuv—the lying dog—didn’t mention them! But I did learn about them from Karen. Belath took the first of them; mutated, he’s now one of Belath’s warriors. The other was a man called Kopeler. I used to know him.”
“Ernst Kopeler, yes,” Jazz said. “An esper.”
Zek nodded. “He could read the future. When he came through the gate Shaithis’s familiar bats saw him. Shaithis took him, but before he could make use of him Kopeler shot himself dead. If I’d been able to read the future, maybe I’d have done the same.”
Jazz nodded his agreement, said, “It’s time we got on down. I’ve still got a spot of weapon-training to do. And after that … I want you very much. That’s assuming I can still manage it, of course.” He grinned—but only for a moment.
Wolf, who had been still and silent for some time, began to growl low and throatily. His ears twitched nervously, went flat to his head.
“What—?” Zek stiffened, looked startled; and for the first time Jazz noticed how quiet it had gone, and the thickness of the mist where it rolled down from the mountains. Zek clutched at him, her eyes suddenly flown wide.
“What is it?” he husked.
“Jazz,” she whispered. “Oh, Jazz!” She half-closed her eyes, put a slim hand to her forehead. “Thoughts …” she said.
“Whose thoughts?” Gooseflesh rose on his spine, his forearms.
“Theirs!”
Panicked shouts came echoing up to them; shockingly, an explosion tore the night; one of Jazz’s grenades, left with Lardis. A weird, bestial roaring commenced: a primal sound. “What the hell—?” Jazz lifted Zek down from their niche in the rock, turned from her to begin making the descent.
“No, Jazz!” she cried, then clapped a hand to her mouth. And: “Oh, be quiet!” she whispered. More explosions followed, hideous screaming, then shouting in blunt, commanding tones. Following which all was a tumult of sounds—battle sounds, and desperate!
“They were waiting for us!” Zek hissed. “Shaithis, his lieutenants, a warrior, hidden away in the deepest recesses of the rock. And there are other warriors out here!”
Something huge launched itself from a position higher than their own. It throbbed in the thin mist that curled over the treetops, a dark shape speeding down the sky, trailing appendages which tore through the higher branches of the trees almost directly overhead. It, too, began to roar.
Jazz took his SMG from behind his back, automatically loaded up. “We have to help,” he said. “No, I have to help. You stay here.”
“Don’t you understand?” she clutched at him, stopping him before he could get started. “It’s all over! You can’t help. That was a warrior, one of several. If you had a tank and crew you still couldn’t help!”
As she spoke there came a last, booming explosion and dull orange fire blazed momentarily through the screen of trees and mist. There sounded a fresh bout of screaming: human screaming, nerve-shattering, from many terrified throats. Then through a barrage of lesser shouts and yelps, Shaithis’s booming voice, reaching up through drifting cordite-stink and mist:
“Find them! Find Lardis and the hell-landers! As for the rest: destroy them all! But don’t let the warriors glut themselves. I have been hurt and now I take my vengeance. Now it is my turn to inflict pain! Now find the ones I want, and bring them to me!”
“So much for Lardis’s defences,” Jazz groaned.
“He was ambushed,” Zek sobbed. “His people didn’t stand a chance. Come on, we have to get out of here.”
Torn two ways, Jazz ground his teeth, turned his head this way and that. “Please, Jazz!” Zek dragged at him. “We have to save our own lives—if we can.”
They couldn’t go down, so they started up. But—
Before they could take more than two paces there came a hoarse panting from below, a scrabbling amidst the shrubbery. White-faced, Jazz and Zek shrank back into the shadow of the rock, stared at each other. A figure came reeling up through the trees, clawing at the base of the rock, thrusting itself from bole to bole. In Zek’s ear, Jazz whispered: “A Traveller?”
Her face strained in concentration. The panting was louder, frightened, almost a sobbing. Jazz thought: it has to be a Traveller. He let the stumbling figure come closer, reached out from cover and grabbed him. At the same time he heard Zek’s hiss of warning:
“No, Jazz! It’s—”
Karl Vyotsky!
Vyotsky, seizing his one chance to make a break for it—or perhaps simply fleeing from the horror of what was happening below.
The two men recognized each other in the same moment. Their eyes bulged. Vyotsky’s mouth flew open in a gasp of complete astonishment; he started to bring up his gun, drew breath for a mighty shout—which went unuttered. Jazz clubbed him in the throat with the butt of his SMG, tried to kick him and missed, slammed a blow to his face. Vyotsky’s head rocked on his shoulders; he went crashing backwards, off balance, probably unconscious into brambles and mist-damp shrubbery. The ground mist rolled over him as he went sliding out of sight.
Jazz and Zek listened with bated breath, their hearts pounding. They heard only the hoarse, unending screams from below, a gigantic snuffling and bellowing, loud crunching sounds. And in another moment they started in again to climb.
They forced aching muscles to the limits of effort, drew level with the dome of the rock and climbed above it, ran waist deep through clinging mist and tearing undergrowth where the ground levelled out a little. Then they were climbing again, still not daring to pant too loudly, hearts and lungs straining as they forced weary legs to pump and tired arms to drag them through the foliage. But the sounds from below were gradually fading, and trees and mist both were thinning out.
“A vampire mist,” Zek gasped. “They cause it to happen. Don’t ask me how. I should have known, should have heard them in my head. But they knew about me and were shielding themselves. Wolf knew, I think. Oh!—where is he?”
She needn’t have worried; the animal hounded her heels like a faithful dog. “Save your breath,” Jazz growled. “Climb!”
“But I might have heard them, might have given a warning if I wasn’t so tired. And if—”
“If your mind hadn’t been on other things? You’re only human, Zek. Don’t blame yourself. Or if you must blame someone, blame me.” Jazz dragged her up onto a shale-covered ledge in a slippery rock-face. They had come through the tree-line to the cliffs, the feet of the very mountains themselves. Clear of the mist, they could see a fading orange glow far to the south. It was the sun, and it was down. Sundown, and nowhere was safe now. But at least in the clean light of the stars they could see where they were going.
The ledge was wide but sloped outwards a little; it ran crookedly, steeply upwards. Echoing cries still rang from far below where the mist boiled as before; fewer screams now, mainly the signal calls of monstrous searchers and the answers of their fellows. Then—
Zek gave a massive start, drew air in a plainly audible gasp of terror. “Vyotsky—he’s coming!” she said. “He’s following us—and Shaithis himself is not far behind him!”
“Keep still!” Jazz grabbed her. “Shh!”
They listened, watched. Down below at the edge of the tree-line, the mist parted and Vyotsky came into view. He looked left and right b
ut not up, started toward the base of the cliffs. Perhaps he thought they’d skirted the cliffs, and maybe they should have. But at least on the ledge no one was going to surprise them.
Jazz aimed his SMG, scowled and lowered it. “Can’t be sure of hitting him,” he whispered. “These things are for close-quarter fighting—street fighting. Also, the shot would be heard.”
Again the mists parted and the awesome cloaked figure of Shaithis flowed out of them. He looked neither left nor right but inclined his head to stare directly at the fugitives. His eyes glowed like small fires under the stars.
“There they are!” the vampire Lord shouted, pointed. “On the ledge, under the cliff. Get after them, Karl. And if you’d be my man, don’t let me down …”
As Shaithis glided forward, Vyotsky passed out of sight into the angles of the cliff face. Jazz and Zek heard shale sliding, Vyotsky’s surprised yelp and his cursing. He was on the ledge and had discovered how slippery it was.
“Move!” said Jazz. “Quick—climb! And pray this ledge goes somewhere. Anywhere!” But if Zek did pray, then her prayers weren’t answered.
Where the cliff was notched and bent back sharply on itself, the ledge narrowed to an uneven eighteen inches. In the “V” of the notch a chimney of rock had weathered free, leaning outward over dizzy heights. Behind the chimney scree had gathered, forming the floor of a cave. The stars gleamed down on the ledge, but in the deeps of the cave all was inky blackness.
Shaithis, too, was on the ledge now; his commands came echoing: “Karl, I want them alive. The woman for what she may be able to do for me, the man for what he has already done to me.”
Edging along the ledge toward the chimney and the cave behind it, Jazz asked Zek: “Why hasn’t Shaithis called up more help?”
“Probably because he’s sure he doesn’t need it,” she groaned. Even as she spoke a knob of rock crumbled underfoot where she stepped, causing her feet to slip. Her legs and lower body shot sideways, out over empty space. Jazz let his weapon swing from its sling, grabbed Zek’s flying hand. He dropped to one knee, raked the cliff with his free hand to find a hold. His fingers contacted, grasped a tough root in the instant before the girl’s weight fell on him.
