Necroscope 9: The Lost Years (56 page)

Radu’s expeditionary forces were ready; he was on the point of sending them westward through the high passes when he heard a rumour - but
such
a rumour that it at once rooted in his imagination and grew there until he couldn’t ignore it. Then, sending the lacobani contingent north, he took his own party with him down into the steppe, to Bacau where this whisper had its origin. And now the truth was learned: how the Emperor Justinian had commissioned a fleet under the general Belisarius, to strike at the Vandals even across the Mediterranean, in north Africa and other parts … and take back the Western Empire.

The Vandals! and Radu’s old vow still unfulfiled! And a
Ferenczy
among the treacherous scum at that! Old Gaeseric may have gone the way of al - or most -flesh, but at least one Ferenczy remained. And even after al this time any surviving member of the Ferenczy dynasty was far and away Radu’s direst enemy, spawn of those olden destroyers

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of his dearest love in another world, another time. And all of it like yesterday to Radu.

His blood was up at once; he saw al kinds of possibilities: join with the Byzantines as a mercenary under Belisarius, distinguish himself in the field of battle, eventually return to these desolate heights, but as Voevod of al Dacia - and al with the Emperor’s approval! And then see to the Drakuls, with an entire legion, perhaps, to back him up.

Grand schemes, except … no, it could never be. For his plans were made and his mind set. And in the west the Drakuls were waiting even now. Also, who could say how the Byzantines would come out of this new venture? What if they should lose? Indeed, it would be to Radu’s advantage if that were the case (especially if he was not with them), for he would rather protect his mountain territories against some future invasion by Vandals than the reborn, restructured might of Rome!

And so, torn two ways, Radu returned to Wolfscrag in the heights. Or to what had been Wolfscrag. But now …

It might easily be a different place. Radu scarcely recognized it. But he did recognize his error, or something of it. His dreams of warfare in these mountains: not against invaders out of the east but the Drakuls; not against a horde of nomad warriors but a swarm of vampires! Under the grey cloud ceiling of early winter, there had been no sun to fear; they had flown by day, attacked by night. And, but for the fact that he’d gone down into the plain, Radu would have been part of it. But from the sheer
scale
of the devastation he knew that even he could never have survived it.

The gantlets were undermined, toppled inwards. In several places the ceilings - even the sides of the crag, of the mountain peak itself -had falen in, where black smoke roiled and the occasional tongue of flame stil belched up from the fires within. Fifty years’ work gone up in smoke. The scene was very nearly volcanic; certainly it burned in Radu’s heart.

The Drakuls! Evidence of them and theirs was everywhere, but they had not had it all their own way. A half-dozen common thralls stood gaunt as sentinels in the early morning light, like mind-blasted, yellow-eyed totems on the slopes of ruined Wolfscrag; but a handful of grim, grimy, surviving lieutenants tumbled mangled vampire bodies down into the fiery vents, the while inhaling gustily on the reek of their burning.

Ah, Radu’s dream was real as life, as death, as undeath! So that he sniffed, too - with his
mind,
for his great wolfs nostrils were plugged with
resin - and for a moment he could even smell the roasting meat…

… Until he smelted something else!

Smelled - heard - sensed - something else!

A presence! An intelligence!

And this time he simply could
not
be mistaken. Footsteps, running. A mouth, gasping. A heart, pounding.

Radu’s heart pounded, too, but just once: a single great throb in his breast, finaly bringing him awake …

Bonnie Jean came to the place of her Master. She came panting, with pictures of the vat-creature’s slit of an alien eye still burning on the eye of her own mind. And she came pondering the question of her own presence here. It was hardly the first time she’d so pondered, and it wouldn’t be the last. But did it constitute uncertainty, making her unworthy? Surely not. Surely it was part of the ritual: not only to perpetuate Him but her own faith in Him. For after al she was
of Rim,
however many times removed.

And the creature in the vat? Was that o/Him, too? Bonnie Jean knew that it was, and once more was set to wondering: what
sort
of a future world would it be, when He came up to elevate mankind into His kind? What part could a
Thing
or things such as the vat-creature play in the dark and deadly future world of her Master’s forevisioning? His guardian creatures? But against what, in a world where the dog-Lord was the ultimate power?

At the western extreme of the lair she recognized her location, came to a halt, controled her breathing. It would never do to approach Him in this agitated state, showing signs of her uncertainty. But as she waxed more and more
like
Him, the more fearful she grew …

… And
that
was a thought to give pause, too! What, Bonnie Jean Mirlu, His from birth, fearful? And of Him? Ridiculous! It was this place, playing on her nerves, her mind; it was the creature in its resin vat; it was … anxiety, yes! The advent of Harry Keogh, and the watcher in Edinburgh, and recent events in general.

But most of al it was awareness of the fast-approaching time of her Master’s awakening, when He would be up again. A time of change, when her oh-so-long established way of life must
of necessity
change, to accommodate His.

For at present He was only her Master
in absentia,
and she was the ‘wee mistress.’ But… how much influence would Bonnie Jean retain when the Master was back? And if it’s true that when the cat’s away the mice wil play, how ‘playful’ the cub when the Wolf is not to house? Would her Master have given thought to such, or was it beneath Him? Could He consider such things, in His long sleep, and why did she give thought to it?
Had
she been unfaithful, if only in her mind, in her thoughts? Bonnie Jean didn’t think so; but in any case never seriously, and
never
maliciously!

But then, she would
be
Wamphyri! And they were ever prideful, territorial… and this had been
her
territory for close on two hundred years!

What!?

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She couldn’t go to Him thinking these thoughts! She hadn’t intended to think them! It was this place, her mood, the question of her own continuity, when al that should concern her was His!

How would it be when He was up? What would be alowed, and what disalowed?

Men? Oh, she’d known men over the years. But that had been entirely compatible with her faithfulness to Him. Indeed He had
required
that she know men, so that she might be experienced in al things. He wished no wilting, virginal hand-maiden sitting at His right hand in that dark, future world of His visions but an experienced woman. No naive, blushing bumpkin but a scholar in al Man’s ways, in his emotions as wel as his sciences. For the more a man (or a woman, or a changeling creature out of the myths and legends of the past) knows his enemy, the more easily he may dispose of him.

Intelligence …

Aye, intelligence, that was it! … To gather knowledge of the world around, for His sake. And surely to have intelligence was to
be
intelligent and to question things? Even such questions as Bonnie Jean had asked herself? But they were not symptomatic of treachery.

Never that.

Intelligence? … A presence? … Bonnie! Bonnie Jean!
(A grunt, almost of pain, finaly of recognition, but sounding in her mind!)

And then B.J. reeled as if struck in the forehead, as she knew that the words in her head were not hers but His.
She
was the intelligence, that presence He referred to; for her Master had sensed her here! But how long had He been listening, while she thought…
such
thoughts?

She cleared her mind; indeed her thoughts were driven out, if only by her utter confusion. And: ‘Master, I am here.’ She gasped the words out, concentrating only on Him.

Bonnie! Bonnie Jeeeeean!
(A grunt, a snarl, finaly a sigh. Then a vast and terrible sniffing, like that of a great hound -
the
Great Hound - as He tracked her essence through the shuddering vaults of her mind). And echoing there:
But I had thought… an intruuuuder!

She was in control of herself now. ‘No intruder, no.’ She shook her head, then lifted her gaze up, up, taking in the outline of his great stone sarcophagus, like an altar at the apex of a granite jumble: the source of these, His thoughts. ‘No intruder, my Master. Just me.’

(Another rumbling sigh, and His thoughts coming clearer to her as the mental connection strengthened, as His concentration centered upon her).
Ahhhh! Bonnie Jeeeean! But… did I cal you? It seems … too soon?

‘You did not cal me, my Master.’ (Bonnie Jean had caught her breath now; she was fully in command of the situation, of her words and thoughts alike). ‘But I came in a hurry, before my time. If I have disturbed you, then I am sorry, but events were such …’

Eventsss?

‘Yes,’ she nodded, climbing the crazily-angled jumble of the steps. ‘Yes, there have been … occurrences. A watcher in Edinburgh

-some kind of spy, perhaps - and a mysterious stranger. Perhaps these things mean nothing, I can’t yet say, but I thought it best that you should know.’

But just as quickly as Bonnie Jean had regained command of her senses, so Radu had come fully awake. And as she stepped up onto the platform of his sarcophagus, so she felt the intensity of his thoughts -his mental frown - right through the stone slab walls of his coffin.
A spy, in Edinburgh?
(His ‘voice’ was sharp, severe).
And a mysterious stranger? And yet you saw fit to come here?

What, and would you place me in jeopardy, Bonnie Jean?

‘Never that, my Master!’ She shrank back from his severity. ‘For am I not your guardian, set to watch over you? And I have watched most diligently. I have served you faithfully. Why, my blood is in you, as yours is in me! But now I need advice, and who else can I go to?’

(Radu’s grunt by way of reply. And after a moment’s consideration):
First tell me about this watcher, this spy. Could it be …

Them?
Do you think they seek me out?

‘I think it must be them, yes,’ she answered, and she told him what Harry Keogh had told her. It wasn’t much, but it worried him nevertheless. When she was done:

But what if you were followed on your way here? How do you know your precautions were sufficient? At least one Drakul survives; so I
believe, for I have dreamed it. Aye, and
more
than one Ferenczy! And here am I, a weak, shrivelled old thing like … why, like a fly
in amber! I am not ready to be up, Bonnie Jean. I cannot protect myself. And you … are only a girl.

At which she bridled a very little, and knew that he would sense it as surely as if they were face to face. Then, climbing onto the piled slabs towards one end of the sarcophagus, she leaned over the rim to gaze down on him; so that now they
were
face to face. But his form was indistinct, obscured by the resin where dust had setled on its crusted, wrinkled surface. She stared harder, until slowly the thing in the resin took on an awesome outline.

His eyes were closed, of course, as they had been for all of the two hundred years she’d known and served him. But behind them, as ever, Bonnie Jean saw, sensed, but couldn’t quite feel their heat. Oh, but it was there, subdued but not quenched: the nickering heat of life - or undeath - suspended to the limit. Moreover, it was as if something of the fire of those eyes had spilled out onto their sunken orbits, to turn them and his hollow cheeks ruddy against the sick-yellow pallor of his face in general.

Her Master, despite that he was not
all
man, was a veritable giant of

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a man. He must be almost seven feet tal, and in his heyday, full-fleshed, he had been more physically powerful - and more dangerous, certainly -than any intelligent creature the world had ever known. He’d had the speed and cunning of the wolf, the intelligence of man, the strength of the Wamphyri!

And will again, Bonnie Jean, and will again,
he told her. And in a moment:
Very well, I can see that I have offended you. And I
accept that you came here in all good faith, and that you have taken all necessary measures to keep me safe. And truth to tell, I have been
feeling… weak. Which has made me impatient and less than agreeable. Is that so hard to understand? I think not. The years of waiting have
been long, and what am I become but a wraith of my former self? And you are right: your blood has kept me warm, kept me alive. So, this time
you are early; perhaps it is as well, for my spark flickers low, Bonnie Jean. But you … shall rekindle it yet again.

At that last Radu’s ‘voice’ had fallen to a low, guttural, almost a lustful growl, which Bonnie Jean had answered with an involuntary shudder (of immeasurable horror … or unthinkable pleasure? She couldn’t say), for his meaning was clear enough.

That, however, will have to keep for now,
the thing in the resin quickly went on, and his voice was normal again.
Aye, for we have other things
to do, to discuss. Problems have presented themselves; but until I know their extent, I cannot know how to counter them. And there have been
other problems, which remain … unresolved? What about the girl? A whole year, Bonnie Jean. Is she still missing? Is there no news of her? If
not, we must assume the worst: that
They
took her! Wherefore, they could be that much closer to you, and to me …