pause before the stone altar, to lieon it, head bent back, throat bared.... Mercifully Cliff regainedenough control to close his eyes.
He opened them at a gasp from Vilma; saw the vampire raise the flaccidbody of Les Starke and hurl it far from him, to crash to the stonesteps, to roll and thud and tumble, down and down, sickeningly, to lieawkwardly twisted on the floor before his companions!
And another began to climb the long stone steps....
All through the interminable night Cliff and Vilma crouched on theledge, staring through the barred window. A hundred times they wouldhave fled to escape the maddening scene, but they could not move.Senses reeled before the awful monotony of the ceaseless climbing,their eyes smarted with fixed staring, their tongues and throats wereparched to desert dryness; yet only after hours of endless watching,only after the last victim had climbed the steps, did the edge ofterror dull, and a modicum of control return to their bodies.
Stiffly Cliff looked over his shoulder. A faint tinge of gray rimmedthe sea on the eastern horizon.
"Almost daylight," he whispered hoarsely.
Vilma nodded, her gaze still held by that chamber of horror. Clifffollowed the direction of her eyes; and saw Corio standing like agreat bat in his hooded cape close to the far wall. He raised hisfour-piped horn to his lips. And the instrument's fourth note creptthrough the room.
* * * * *
It was a doleful sound, a cry like the cry Death itself might possess;yet oddly--and horribly--it was soothing, promising the peace ofendless sleep. And touched by its power, the columns of undeadstiffened, thinned to wraiths, flowed as water flows down the stonesteps, vanished!
The dead-alive--those five vampires in crimson cowls--looked upwarduneasily. The shadows under the roof were graying with the light ofdawn. Cliff could sense their thought. Before sunrise they must be intheir tombs under the castle, to sleep until another night. With oneaccord they strode down the stairs, past Corio who had prostratedhimself, and entered a black opening in the wall. With their departurethe altar fire dimmed to a sullen ember.
Corio arose. He was alone in the chamber save for that dead, brokenbody lying in a twisted heap at the foot of the stairs, and thoseother half-alive wretches stretched out before the altar. Now, Clifftold himself, was the time for him to get in there at Corio; now wasthe time to rescue his friends--but he continued to crouch, unmoving.
Again Corio blew on his silver horn, and a faint cry leaped fromVilma's tensed lips. The luring note that had drawn her, Cliff thoughthazily; then he thought of nothing save the sound, the sound thatpromised him all he could desire. Earth and its dominion, his for thetaking--if he answered that call!... Then even the sound eluded hissenses, and he heard only the promise.... He must answer, must claimwhat was rightfully his!
But those half-dead creatures--sight of their stirring steadied hisstaggering sanity. Here and there heads lifted and bloodless husks ofbodies tried to rise. In the pallid light they seemed like corpses,freed from newly opened graves. Some could only reach their knees;others rose to uncertain limbs. And all moved down the stairway towardCorio, answering his summons; followed as he made his slow way towardthe opening in the wall, still blowing the single note--the note thatpromised Earth and all it held....
Cliff glanced toward Vilma--and she was not there. He looked down, sawher far below, dropping from crack to crevice with amazing speed anddaring, hastening toward--Corio!
The thought jarred any lingering taint of allurement from Cliff'smind. He must stop her. He swung around, ignoring the crampedstiffness of his legs, and started down the steep wall. Down, down,recklessly, with Corio's horn-note only a faintly heard sound fadingbehind him.
Now he saw Vilma reach the rocks below and dash around the corner ofthe castle, and he cursed, redoubling his speed. Down--down--andsuddenly the ancient rock crumbled underfoot. For an instant he hungfrom straining fingertips--then dropped.
A smashing impact--a stone that slid beneath him--and his head crashedagainst the castle wall. Through a fiery mist of pain he picturedVilma in the grasp of Corio. The mist thickened--grew black--engulfedhim.
_4. In Corio's Hands_
Cliff awoke with the sun glaring down on his face. He opened his eyes,and stabbing lances of light pierced his eyeballs. Momentarilyblinded, he pressed his hands across his face and struggled erect.There was a sick feeling in his stomach, and the back of his headthrobbed incessantly. He touched the aching area, and winced. A lumplike an egg thrust out his scalp; it was sticky with blood. He stoodthere, weaving from side to side, trying to recall something....
As memory came, he groaned. Vilma! He had last seen her racing madlytoward Corio, lured by his damned horn. It was daylight now; the sunhad risen at least an hour ago. An hour--with Vilma gone!
Shaking his head to clear it, and gritting his teeth at the pain, hestalked along the wall. Turning the corner he strode on toward thecrooked steps. The lifeless terrain reeled dizzily, but he went onresolutely. The pain in his head was fading to a dull ache; and as hemounted the steps, strength seemed to flow back into his legs. Withevery sense taut he passed into the gloom of the castle.
A quick glance he cast about--saw the body of Starke lying where ithad fallen. No use to examine it; there was no life there. His gazeswept up the slope of the stairway to the altar at its head, lingeredon the phosphorescent eye of light still glowing there. Then heshrugged grimly and moved on to the doorway in the wall. Warily hepeered in.
As his eyes adjusted themselves to the greater darkness, he saw anarrow stairway leading downward into a shadowy corridor. Somewhere inthe tunnel's depths a faint light shone. He could see nothing more. Hemoved stealthily down the damp, dank stairs.
At the bottom he paused, listening. He could hear nothing. A hundredfeet ahead, the corridor divided in two; a burning torch was thrust inthe wall at the junction. Cliff nodded with satisfaction. Corio _must_be somewhere near by; for only a human needed light.
Silently Cliff strode along the corridor. At the fork he hesitated,then chose the right branch, for light glowed faintly along thatpassageway. The other led downward, black as the pits of hell.
A doorway appeared in the wall ahead, and he moved warily, with fistsclenched. Flickering torchlight filtered into the corridor. There wasno audible sound. Now Cliff peered into a small chamber, and gasped insudden horror, his eyes staring unwinkingly at a spectacle incrediblypitiful.
Here were the passengers of the _Ariel_, whitely naked, and lying inlittle groups on the cold stone floor, huddled together for warmth.Their faces turned toward Darrell as he stood in the doorway, butthere was no recognition in the vacuous eyes, no thought, nointelligence, and little life in the wide-mouthed stares. It seemed asthough their souls had been drained from their bodies with theirblood.
Sickened, Cliff turned away, cursing his own helplessness to aid them,cursing Leon Corio who was responsible for their plight. Black wrathgripped him as he moved on.
Again the corridor branched, and again he kept to the right. Suddenlyhe halted, ears straining. He heard the sound of a voice--the hollowvoice of Corio! It came faintly but clearly from a room at the end ofthe passageway. Cliff went forward slowly.
"And so, my dear," Corio was saying, "we entered into a pact withthe--Master, a pact sealed with blood. In exchange for our lives wethree were to bring other humans to this island for the feasting ofthe dead-alive. Every third month each of us must return with ourcargo when the moon is full; and since we come back on alternatingmonths, they have a constant supply of fresh blood. Usually some ofour captives live from full moon to full moon before they become likethose of the galley--the undead. Some of these we waken when it suitsour fancy; they are not like the Masters; they awaken only when wecall them--we three or the Masters.
"More than life they give us for what we do. Centuries ago piratesused this island for refuge. They--died--and they left their treasurein this castle. It lies in the room where the Masters lie; and wethree receive payment in gold a
nd gems. Tonight I receive my pay, andtomorrow I leave on the _Ariel_--and you go with me!"
Cliff heard Vilma answer, and even while his heart leaped with relief,he marveled at the cool scorn in her voice.
"So I go with you, do I? I'd rather climb the stairs with the rest ofyour victims than have anything to do with you--you monster! WhenCliff Darrell finds you----"
"Darrell!" Corio's voice was a frozen sneer. "He'll do nothing! I'llfind _him_--and he'll wish he could climb the stairs of blood! As foryou, you'll go with me, and like it! A drop of my blood in your veins,and you will belong to the Master, as I do. We shall attend to that;but first there is something else--more pleasant." His words fell toan indistinguishable purr.
Still moving stealthily, Cliff hastened forward. Suddenly Vilmascreamed; and he launched himself madly across the remaining distance,stood crouching at the threshold.
Vilma lay on an ancient bed, her wrists and ankles bound with leatherthongs drawn
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