by Brian Lumley
‘But if this secretly incensed or maddened Melana would be with her husband in Starside, why not make it a family affair? What of her daughter, Nadia? Would she be safe on her own with the Szgany Vadastra, or better off in Starside with her mother and father? Being comely, it was unlikely she’d be fodder; why, given time she might even become a Lady! Could it be any worse to be undead with the Wamphyri than to live under the constant threat of being stolen away or eaten by the Wamphyri? And what of an informer? Might not he, or she — as a supplicant in the fullest, truest meaning of the word — gain favour in the red-litten lamps of their eyes? I suspect it was a mixture of all of these imponderables that motivated the maddened or scheming Melana to do what she did next.
‘The time of the tithe was at hand, and Dinu Vadastra had calculated correctly that Malinari would come with his lieutenant tithesmen out of Starside. It had been some time since The Mind himself had deigned to venture forth from Malstack across the barrier mountains into the velvet of Sunside’s night.
‘The skies were clear and the moon tumbling on high; all the familiar constellations were twinkling in the smoke of our signal fires, while low over the barrier mountains the star of ill-omen — the Northstar, which lights the aeries of the Wamphyri — bathed the peaks with its silvery-blue ice-chip gleaming. A fine night, aye, for some…
‘… As it might have been for me had it not been for my now barely-remembered love of Nadia Zetra. Still, I cannot blame her, for I am sure that Nadia knew nothing of her mother’s plan. If she had… it’s more than likely we would have fled from our fate, becoming loners; or we might have journeyed west and joined up with some band of true Travellers in their constant evasion of the Wamphyri; or perhaps we would have been happy simply to be free a while, together she and I, and let the future take care of itself. Oh, a great many possibilities, if Nadia had known.
‘As for my father: if he had so much as suspected… then Melana’s life were forfeit long before the first of Malinari’s flyers touched down on Vadastra soil. But of course none of us knew, except Melana herself.
‘And so to the preparations.
‘All was in order. As the dusk settled in, Dinu had called for the tributes (in fact the ransom, for the life of the clan Vadastra) to be displayed on trestle tables to one side of the clearing, where he had tallied them as was his wont. Six barrels of oil, six of white wine and six of red; six of good plum brandy (and all of it ^oo^ plum brandy, mind, because Malinari was coming) and six more of wild honey. A pair of young bull shads, freshly butchered, fifteen brace of pigeon, and five of wild boar; and a very special prize indeed: a live, caged wolf of the wild, a bitch at that, and pregnant to boot! The Wamphyri are especially fond of wolf cubs basted in their mother’s milk, and of heart-of-wolf and wolf meat generally, which they swear by as an aphrodisiac and positive aid to their longevity. As if they needed such!
‘And meanwhile Dinu’s specially chosen squad of bully boys was out and about, to ensure that certain other tributes — of the human variety — were not fled. For while the tithe-markers were already drawn, the unfortunate parties had not been named for fear that they would make off into the night. Thus, as the time drew nigh, the wailing of mothers and daughters, the curses of men and the sobbing of their sons could be heard in and around the camp, as one by one the various listed “names” were informed of their misfortune by Dinu’s tithe-takers.
‘Some were already known, of course: the troublemakers in their cages, and outsiders who had wandered inadvertently onto Vadastra territory. But the three males, three females, and six infants of the clan itself, their naming was left to last, for the reasons stated. Then they were gathered in by Dinu’s bully boys, chained and gagged before they could voice any great complaint or cause commotion, and tethered to await the coming of the tithesmen and their vampire master, Lord Nephran Malinari. As for the babies: they were wrapped in bundles on the trestle tables, along with the other wines, victuals, and sweetmeats.
‘Myself: I was with Nadia, “safe” in my father’s caravan. From peepholes in the withe walls, silently and scarce breathing, we watched and waited as instructed. For my father liked to keep his prized ones (I still find the idea of “loved ones” hard to envisage) well out of sight of the Wamphyri, so as not to arouse their interest. Likewise Nadia’s mother, Melana Zetra; Dinu had advised her to remain out of sight, hidden in her caravan, lest being comely she attract unwanted attention.
‘And in the fifth hour after sundown they came. ‘The skies had been clear, as told, and only a warm breeze, like the breath of the dreaming forest, to tease the flames of the campfires and stir the branches of the trees about the central clearing. But the Wamphyri have their own weird ways with nature; they work their will on air, earth, and water as acid works on metals, etching them to their design.
‘We had seen it all before: the mist gathering on the high peaks and rolling down like some vaporous avalanche, all milky-white in the moonlight. The sudden flurry of cold air down from the barrier mountains, beating on the flames of our fires as if to smother them, and lashing the gentler winds of the forest to frenzied flight. And suddenly, from behind the peaks, the first stain of dark clouds writhing blindly out of the north,
feeling their way like snaky fingers and obscuring the glittering Northstar as they came.
‘And in those clouds, riding on high, swooping and fluttering like withered leaves caught in a flurry — yet, unlike leaves, directed and with purpose — the scaly flyer mounts of the Wamphyri!
‘And oh, the moaning and gibbering of those plague winds, as the creatures that rode them — and the Ones who rode them — came on, gliding, descending, trapping the air in the scoops of their webby membrane wings, and settling to the foothills over Vadastra territory… except, as by now you have surely reasoned, these lands were Vadastra in name only.
‘For in fact they belonged to Lord Nephran Malinari of the Wamphyri. And Malinari had come to collect his tithe…’
CHAPTER NINETEEN Malinari
In the gloom of the wrecked sump, in the dark of Jake’s dream — which was in fact much more than a dream, indeed a metaphysical connection through Harry Keogh to an ex-lieutenant of the Wamphyri — Korath Mindsthrall continued his story:
‘There were vampires and vampires. In Starside’s great aeries of the Wamphyri as were, I saw some who were hideous beyond description, too monstrous to look upon even through a thrall’s eyes.
‘In general they would keep to their manlike outlines, but would shape their various parts to their own design. Their ears were often carved and fretted into fanciful sculptures; convolute nostrils might be pierced and hung with rings of gold; arms lengthened to extend their reach in battle, and teeth permanently enlarged until speech itself was difficult. Lords frequently kept battle-scars as trophies; a flayed cheek might be made to heal so that the white of the bone showed through; a gouged eye could be grown elsewhere than on the face.
‘In those days there was a young Lord called Lesk the Glut because of his appetites. Stolen as a child out of Sunside, he grew to a youth, became a lieutenant, eventually slew his master for his leech. But Lesk was a madman, and the stolen leech only enhanced his madness. When his murdered master’s familiar
warrior hesitated to answer to Lesk’s command, he actually did battle with the thing… and killed it! He won the fight but lost an eye, which he grew again upon his shoulder.
‘Organs such as these were rudimentary. Some Lords deliberately affected an extra eye at the nape of the neck… sufficient to give warning of an attack from the rear. And these eyes would be lidless, so that they could never close in sleep.
‘I mention these things so as to illustrate the hideousness of which I have spoken. But in fact those Lords — and occasionally Ladies — who affected such alterations or mutilations were usually the weakest of their kind; they only made themselves to look ugly so as to present more fearsome facades in battle, and so perhaps to avoid battle entirely.
‘Take for example Volse Pinescu, called Lord Wen, which was surely the greatest possible misnomer. What, just one wen, when in all likelihood Volse was the ugliest of all the Lords of the Wamphyri? For it was Lord Wen’s habit to foster hairy blemishes, running sores, and festoons of boils all over his face and form in order that his aspect would be that much more terrifying! Do you see? No clean man or thing would strike him for fear of the drench which must surely ensue!
‘Even amongst the highest-ranking vampire Lords, there were several such as Lesk and Volse. But then again, there were also those who had no need for such deceptions and affectations. And Nephran Malinari was one of them.
‘For he was vain and he was handsome… ah, but this, too, was a fa£ade in its way. For The Mind was a monster underneath, even as monstrous as his mind, if you’ll forgive this puny play on words. But at least in his appearance Lord Malinari was less the beast and more the beautiful human being; more truly, well, “lordly”, as it were. But for something so very terrible to be so beautiful, surely that were the ultimate deception?
‘Back to that night:
‘Seven great flyers had landed on the rim of a broad ledge, a false plateau in the foothills overlooking Vadastra territory.
Malinari’s mist (for you may be sure it was of his manufacture) rolled down to flank him and his, then spread out and descended to the forest. It was met by a lesser mist that sprang from the soil and woodlands themselves, so ringing in our rude homes and their central clearing. And all about us a sea of white-lapping mist; and in the clearing itself a ground mist — but unlike any natural mist, sentient and sick-feeling — writhing and twining about the cabins and long-immobilized caravans where the latter were all propped on their empty axles. Malinari’s thoughts were in the mist; they felt things out, searching for treachery. But there was none. Or at least, not towards Malinari.
‘The wind had fled south and the night was still again. As the mist slowly dispersed, the flyers launched from their foothills ledge and came gliding on stretchy membranous wings.
‘Now, the flying mounts of the Wamphyri are monstrous creatures, though not so much for any kind of malevolent activity on their part as for their appearance and nature. For while at first glance they seem like giant long-necked and long-tailed bats, on closer inspection… plainly they are made from men.’ Their wings have enormous span, with the alveolate, once-human skeletons of arms, legs, and grotesquely extended fingers and toes all visible through the sheathing, grey-gleaming membrane of their envelopes. The creatures have massive hearts, to fuel the muscles that power their great wings; other than that they are little more than airfoils of flexible cartilage and hollow bone in sheaths of light, lean meat. In short, they are mainly wings with very little of mind. Built to fly and obey — with their tiny, walnut brains linked invisibly, mentally, to their riders — they do nothing but what their masters will. Oh, they have bits in their mouths and reins for guidance, but only for emphasis when mental commands go lacking a ready response.
‘So, now you understand me when I speak of “flyers, descending towards our clearing on their stretchy membrane wings.” As for their riders:
‘These soon became visible. Three of the seven — those in the
middle of the V-formation — were at ease, arrogant, haughty in their ornate leather saddles; the others were young lieutenants, eager, forwards-leaning, and feral-eyed. It was probably the first time they had been allowed to venture forth with Malinari’s tithesmen. But the figure to which every eye was drawn was that in the dead centre of the aerial tableau. To him, and to his mount.
‘That central flyer was by far the largest, strongest, and most elaborately fashioned; a handful of good men — perhaps as many as six or seven — had gone into its construction in Malinari’s vats of metamorphosis in Malstack, in Starside. Gliding down towards the clearing, the huge but human eyes in its half-human head at the end of that long, snaky neck, swung this way and that, seeking an acceptable landing place; while black and seemingly vacant saucer eyes in its belly lidded themselves in preparation, so as not to suffer damage in the landing.
‘Ah, but when I speak of eyes, do not let me forget those of the rider where they glowed like small scarlet lamps in his face. Of course they did, for this was Lord Nephran Malinari — Malinari the Mind himself.
‘His flyer’s wings formed themselves into air-scoops; its tail — the elongated, knuckled spine of a man — swung this way and that, keeping balance; coiled tentacles like springs extended down from belly cavities, their sensitive tips tracing the contours of the ground. Then, with a sighing of air and a folding of wings, the thing set down light as a feather. And flanking it, six lesser beasts likewise touched down, their lieutenant riders out of their saddles and striding to their master’s side all in a few liquid moments. While for those same moments Malinari sat there as if in contemplation, reins loosely clasped, one elbow on the pommel of his saddle, and chin in hand.
‘Then, stirring himself up, he swung lithely down from his mount, sighed and said, “Well, and here we are…” Simply that, the merest murmur of a sound; yet powered by Malinari’s mentalism, every man, woman, and child in the entire Vadastra settlement heard it.’ And to every mind he touched — despite that his voice was brandy-deep and honey-sweet — a certain fetor clinging. For with all his powers of deception, even Malinari could not hide the underlying stench of blood.
‘His mentalism had its limits. Spread thin as this, it was good for seeking out enemies or Szgany in hiding, but for very little else. So that having displayed it he now dispensed with it. And the swift withdrawal of his probes felt like water clearing from one’s ears after surfacing from a dive in a deep pool. And now, too, he called for my father Dinu in a voice both rich and strong. But while the brandy depth was still there, the sweetness was all used up. For now it was time for the business.
‘The Vadastras (all except the few favoured ones, who were hidden away) were gathered as a clan on that side of the clearing farthest from the barrier mountains, so positioned that all eyes had been enabled to follow the arrival of Malinari and his tithesmen. My father, who stood central and to the fore of this gathering, came with all speed in answer to Malinari’s call and prostrated himself before his acknowledged master. And the vampire Lord stood there a little while, looking down on him, perhaps enjoying his grovelling.
‘But, ahhhh — this Malinari was handsome! He was all of an hundred and sixty years old, but looked no more than forty. His hair was black and shone like a night-hawk’s wing — as well it might, being greased with the fat of Vadastra women! Swept back from the broad dome of his head, behind pointed ears which were not as large or misshapen as the webby, conch-like ears of most Lords, and with its jet ringlets curled on his caped shoulders, while its gleaming black curtain fanned out down his back like the hair of a young girl, or the decorative head plumage of the black eagle… why, it loaned him the haughty looks of a great hunting bird — a veritable night-hawk, aye.’ And for once it was no deception; for as much as he was anything, Malinari was certainly the bird of prey.
‘And his face, its deathly pallor… the deep-sunken eyes
under arcing eyebrows… cheek-bones jutting… the high brow rising… slightly flattened nose whose convolute flanges were almost imperceptible… the lean cheeks and perfect bow of his blood-red lips. The red of blood, aye, to match the fire of his eyes. In any other man or vampire the fiery lamps of Malinari’s eyes would be less than ornamental, but they suited The Mind to perfection. Indeed, they loaned his cheeks a ruddy semblance of warmth, of life, while in fact he was the cold and cruel master of something other than life, but not yet death.
‘And tall: he would be two long paces tall, and then some. And slim as a wand, yet strong as a dozen of our best, who were only men. I knew this last for a certainty, for there never was a weak Lord of the Wamphyri. But Malinari’s strength wasn’t of the flesh alone; not only brawn, but brain; not merely muscle, but mind. He was The Mind!
&nb
sp; ‘And, “Up,” he finally commanded my father. “Up, and show me my tribute.”
‘There was no kissing of sandalled feet, nor yet of hands, as my father came erect; no touching of any sort. Such were The Mind’s powers that even a touch could prove harmful, draining a man’s knowledge or erasing part of his memory. And anyway, Dinu was Malinari’s trusted servant who would not dare hold anything back from him. This was how it had been between them for many a shameful year. Shameful, aye. For if I’ve not already said that I loathed this cringing, subservient existence, surely by now I have hinted as much?
‘Anyway:
‘My father was big, burly, bearded, and blustering. Rumour had it that he was a bastard, too, but I never heard it bruited in his presence. Puffed up with his own importance, yet somehow managing to bow and scrape, he led Malinari and his men to that side of the clearing where the trestle tables were bowed a little from the weight of the tribute. Here Dinu Vadastra had been as clever as he dared to be, so arranging the trestles that the centre spans were bound to bow a little under any extra weight!
Whether or no his ploy fooled anyone, it certainly looked good. And indeed Malinari seemed impressed.
‘Then he and my father conversed. And because Dinu’s caravan stood very close to the trestle tables, and the night being so still now (and likewise all those who were not directly involved, keeping very still), Nadia and I heard their every word.
‘“Dinu, chief of the clan Vadastra,” Malinari spoke to my father. “It appears you had word of my coming. I would even say you must have had, since you’ve responded with this oh-so-excellent tribute! What’s more, try as I might I cannot remember the time when my tithesmen brought home so handsome a bounty. What? Why, I could even be forgiven for thinking that perhaps they’ve been robbing me all this time. My own lieutenants, like ungrateful dogs, thieving from the house that shelters them:..”