The Last Aerie (57 page)

Then perhaps she had
wanted
him!

“Inexperienced, aye,” she said, stepping out from behind a teetering boulder. “That you are. While I have all the experience of a hundred years. So don’t feel too badly about it, my handsome Lord Nestor. For I tell you this: if I had tormented the others in the same way, why, they would have fallen into my arms in a day and a night!”

“Why are you here?” He felt stupid and naive even asking it. She was here to taunt him, of course. Because she knew now that she had him. Or … was she here to claim her prize?

“Neither one.” She shook her head. “The prize is yours, Nestor. To claim at sunup in Wrathspire, when I go to my bed. Or in Suckscar, if that’s how you will have it. Nor do I wish to “have” you, but that we shall have each other. Perhaps you would have come to me before, or me to you, except you brought a mistress out of Sunside. And are you satisfied? Has she been enough? Ah, I doubt it! For a little while, maybe, but you are Wamphyri now, Nestor. And yet you are a strange one, too, for there are things in your past which cling even now, and you still remember the true art.”

“The true art?” He even
felt
like a child in front of her.

“Of love. For the Wamphyri feel only lust.”

“Including yourself?”

“You can only have what I have to give.” She moved closer.

And like a fool he stepped back a pace and said, “But you offered it before, and then refused.”

“Think back,” she said. “I made no offer. Since when is a kiss a licence to rape? You would have taken me by force, which no man ever did. For all that I wanted you, that was something I couldn’t allow.”

He frowned. “But if you don’t know this ‘true art’, as you call it—if you can’t experience Szgany love as they know it now, and as I seem to remember it—what difference will our being together make? You have asked: am I, Nestor, satisfied? But I ask:
can
I be satisfied? Is it any longer possible? For as you’ve pointed out, I am Wamphyri.”

“Why don’t we find out?” And she took another flowing pace towards him. But this time he stood still.

She was clad in leather splashed with blood, but wore no gauntlet. Suddenly he thought again about her being here, and wondered:
Is she alone?
While out loud, again he asked her: “Just why
did
you come here?”

“I am alone, yes,” she answered. “We had a good raid for once and recruited seven thralls, and as many again will trek for Starside before the sun is risen. But flying back to Wrathspire I saw you here and sensed your thoughts; easy, because I am used to them. And because I felt your pain, anger and frustration, I knew it was time. So I ordered my people on and came to you.

“For while I’ve waited, I have also watched you, Nestor. In some ways you found the metamorphosis from man to Wamphyri easy, while in others it was difficult. But if you think your trials have been hard, then what of mine? I have known frustration, too, and my manse has suffered as a result. All needs putting to rights, and I must see to it. I have heard the odd whisper circulating about the quality of my water, and other …
conditions
in my manse, which have caused certain Lords to chuckle behind my back. And I, too, shall whisper and chuckle, when I call for him whose duty it was to see to my siphoneers. And as for those who keep watch over my war-beasts, waxing in their vats …
they
have waxed enough. Time that they waned a little. Moreover, there have been affairs in Wrathspire which I never sanctioned.

“Oh, a good many of my manse’s ‘affairs’ require resolution, but not before my own needs are served. For such as they are, they allow me no peace of mind …”

Her eyes gazed into his a moment, searchingly, before she repeated: “My needs, aye. And … yours?”

He closed with her, reached for her … and she placed a hand upon his chest, holding him back. But seeing the angry thought which instantly flashed across his mind: “Ah, no, my handsome young Lord,” she smiled. “I’ve learned my lesson and will not torment you again. For the last time cost me too much time. But don’t be impatient and try to remember: I am the Lady Wratha. This is neither the time nor the place for love … or for lust.”

“When, then? And where?” His throat was so tight it very nearly choked him, so that his words came out a husky gasp.

“We are neighbours,” she answered, her own voice falling to a whisper, a promise. “Only climb to Wrath-spire in the hour before sunup. Neither man nor creature shall bar the way.”

“I… want you,” he said, and yet again felt foolish.

“Then come to me,” she told him. And as she walked away, pausing only once to look back and smile, Nestor found himself trembling like a young boy.

Following which, from time to time until the next sunup, he would tremble a great deal and feel that accustomed tingle in his palm. But he would also know that Wratha had not put it there. She had no need to.

Not any longer …

When Canker Canison returned out of Sunside, Nestor went down into Mangemanse to ask him about Wratha. Previously, he’d heard a good many things about her but now wanted it in more detail or from a source which was trustworthy. The dog-Lord told him her story, what he knew of it, but paused before finishing and said:

“Ah! You would go to her! A liaison! I have seen through your inquiry! What, but you are fortunate! You have so much to learn, and Wratha has so very much to teach you. Now tell me: when will you see her?”

“Between you and me?”

“Of course!” the other barked. “Do you think I’d betray you? I am excited, that’s all, and in spirit I’ll be with you. Ah, but if only I could be with you in bed! That Wratha …”

Nestor rubbed his chin to keep from grinning, for the delight which Canker showed for him was both genuine and infectious. “In the hour before sunup,” he said. “Then I climb to Wrathspire.”

Canker’s long bottom jaw fell open, and his mood changed in a moment. “The hour before sunup?”

Nestor nodded. “Something amiss?”

“No, no …” The other shook his head, looked worried, then changed his mind and nodded. “Yes, yes! Something could be very much amiss. It’s all in the nature of Wratha’s ascension …”

“Well, say on.”

“She murdered Karl the Crag …” Again a pause.

“… Must I drag it out of you?”

“Now listen to me,” Canker growled low in his throat. “In Wrathspire at sunup, the sun shines through several windows. Or it would if they weren’t kept heavily draped.”

“So?”

“It is the pattern I don’t like, for it was the same upon a time in Cragspire in Turgosheim, where Karl the Crag was master. And he would be to this day, if not for Wratha.”

“How did she murder him?” Nestor tried to be patient.

“It’s hearsay, of course.”

“Will you tell me, or won’t you?” The necromancer’s patience was all used up.

“She got him drunk!” Canker barked. “She exhausted him with her sex, bound him to a bed and opened the curtains! She let the sun shine directly in upon him. She decked the walls with bronze shields burnished to mirror brightness, all concentrating the sunlight on Karl in his stupor, while she stood safe in the shadows. It didn’t take too long. Karl fried and his leech deserted him. But in the brilliant light it, too, was finished. And as Karl’s parasite blackened and smoked, so Wratha closed the curtains. The leech issued its egg—one last chance for continuity, a final throw at reproduction—and Wratha made it welcome! She had been a vampire thrall, Karl’s mistress, and now was Mistress of Crag-spire, soon to be Wrathspire. So she ascended …”

“A pattern, you said.” Nestor was thoughtful. “But if she planned any such fate for me, what would she gain from it? That time in Turgosheim it was her ascension. But here she is risen! Also, forewarned is forearmed. She’ll not get me drunk so very easily, believe it! And I’ll make sure to stay well away from any south-facing windows.”

Canker was astonished. “Still you’ll go? Despite what I’ve told you?”

Nestor looked at him, looked away, shrugged. And finally: “I’ve been Wamphyri for something less than two years now,” he said. “But before that I was Szgany, and of the Lidesci clan at that. They are a hot-blooded people, as you know, and my parasite has turned up the heat tenfold. Will I go, you ask …? Now tell me, my friend, would you?”

Nostrils gaping suspiciously, Canker sniffed the air. His great furry wolf’s ears, with their dangling lobes fretted into a sickle-moon sigil, twitched this way and that as if intent on distant sounds or thoughts. Finally he fell to all fours, threw back his head and howled. And his ribbed throat throbbed as its eerie ululations echoed through all of Mangemanse. But as they died away…

A trickle of saliva dribbled from the corner of the dog-Lord’s panting, soft leathery mouth. And looking up at Nestor, he whined and said, “Lord Lichloathe, my lad—but how could I possibly resist it?”

VI

Nestor and Wratha: Their

Joining

When Nestor got back up into Suckscar, he found Zahar waiting for him with a surprise. Wratha had sent him down a present of three Szgany males from the night’s raid. There was a youth, a grown man and a greypate. For all his pride, Nestor was hardly the one to refuse them; not now that the get out of Sunside had grown so small. He did note, however, that they were all males, which Wratha must surely prefer to keep. But on the other hand and in the current circumstances, he could see why she wouldn’t want to send him women fresh out of Sunside …

As for sending him any token of her esteem at all—especially one of precious flesh and blood—that was completely unheard of, and Zahar was at a loss to understand it. “Is the Lady in your debt, Lord?” he finally found courage to inquire. And indeed, in respect of Wratha’s spying on Nestor—her interference with his dreams, and what all—perhaps she could be said to be in his debt at that. Whether or no, he looked Zahar square in the eye and answered:

“She could be, eventually …” And on afterthought, “Let’s just say that she and I have business together.” But the truth of it was that he fancied he might end up in her debt—if he had gauged the situation correctly. Canker had told him how much she could teach him; again Nestor must put his pride aside and allow himself to be taught; if he could match her even part of the way … there might yet be revelations on both sides. His vampire women in Suckscar had already shown him more than most men learn in a lifetime.

But then of course there was the dog-Lord’s warning too, which, if he was right, might well prove lethally dangerous. And in that case this “gift” was simply a clever garnish hiding the poison on the meat underneath. But being offered food and actually eating it are two different things entirely. Nestor must simply wait and see how hungry he would get.

And meanwhile:

Using his virulent bite, taking sustenance from his new thralls and at the same time imparting to them, Nestor indoctrinated both of the younger men into his household; they were his now. He sent the youngest to attend Grig; he was to care for the wounded lieutenant and, when he was fully recovered, become his apprentice. There would be plenty of work for the more mature man: tunnels to be dug, quarters enlarged and pens to be cleaned; he would go onto Suckscar’s work roster.

As for the greypate: Nestor didn’t even give him a second thought. He was for Suckscar’s provisioning. Meat for the communal dining tables of the common thralls, and crushed bone for flyer- and warrior-meal, both were hard to come by and getting harder. Sooner or later there must be a reckoning, a reassessment. There had to be easier ways to collect the fruits of Sunside than by raiding; perhaps he would speak to Wratha about it … later. For if she could afford to send him thralls out of her own get, it must be that she was doing better than him. So it was possible he’d have “business” with her after all…

The administration of Suckscar claimed Nestor’s attention well into Starside’s long night. Before he knew it there were only a few hours left to sunup. Instructing Zahar to wake him when the peaks of the barrier mountains turned from ash-grey to a leaden glimmer, he went to his bed. But three hours before the dawn, when Zahar was still about his duties, he came awake of his own accord.

For once he had not dreamed, but he had tossed and turned and sweated a cold, vampire sweat. It was his leech; his parasite knew his emotions and sensed the danger in them; it caused him to see all sorts of perils in the course which he’d set for himself. But as the time drew closer Nestor saw only one thing, and he drove all niggling doubts from his mind. For what he had said to Canker was undeniably true: Wratha
was
risen; she occupied the grandest manse in the entire stack; she had little or nothing to gain from seducing him only to murder him. Wherefore it must be that she fancied him. As simple as that. And for his own part, Nestor could scarcely imagine anything more delicious than to go with her to her bed. Whether or not the excitement would last remained to be seen, but as in each and every “love” affair, the excitement itself was enough for now.