The ancient Thing in the ground trembled however minutely, shuddered slightly, strove to return to his immemorial dreaming. Something was intruding, threatening to rouse him up from his dark slumbers, but sleep had become a habit which satisfied his every need---almost.517Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0rzIjMj6NJ
He clung to his loathsome dreams----of madness and mayhem, the hell of living and the horror of dying, and the pleasures of blood, blood, blood----and felt the cold embrace of the clotted earth closing him in, weighing him down, holding him here in his darkling grave. And yet the earth was familiar and no longer held any terrors for him; the darkness was like that of a shuttered room or deep vault, an impenetrable gloom entirely in keeping; the forbidding nature and location of his mausoleum not only set him apart but kept him protected. He was safe here. Damned forever, certainly----doomed for all times, yes, barring some major miracle of intervention----but safe, too, and there was much to be said for safety.
Safe from the men---mere men, most of them---who had put him here. For in his dreaming the wizened Thing had forgotten that these men were long dead. And their sons dead. And theirs, and theirs....
The old Thing in the ground had lived for five hundred years, and as long again had lain undead in his unhallowed grave. Above him, in the gloom of a glade beneath stirless, snow-laden trees, the tumbled stones and slabs of his tomb told something of his story, but only the Thing himself knew all of it. His name had been---but no, the Wamphyri have no names as such. His host's name, then, had been Thago Benedek, and in the beginning Thago had been a man. But that had been almost a thousand years ago.
The Thago part of the Thing in the ground existed still, but changed, mutated, mingled and metamorphosed along with its vampire "guest." The two were now one, inseparably fused; but in dreams that spanned a millennium, still Thago could return to his roots, go back to the immensely cruel past....
In the very beginning he had not been a Benedek but an Ungar (A.K.A Magyar), though that was of no importance now. His forefathers were farmers who came from a Hungarian princedom across the Carpathians to settle on the banks of the Dniester where it flowed down into the Black Sea. But "settling" was hardly the word for it. They had to fight Vikings (the dreaded Varyagi) on the river, where they came exploring from the Black Sea, the Khazars and vassal Magyars from the steppes, finally the fierce Pechenegi tribes in their constant expansion west and northwards. Thago had been a young man then, when at last the Pechenegi wiped out the rude settlement he called home and he alone survived. After that he'd fled north to Kiev.
Never much of a farmer, indeed, far more suited for war with his massive size---which in those days, when most men were small, made Thago the Wallach something of a giant----in Kiev he sold himself into the service of Vladimir I. The Vlad made him a small Voevod or warrior chief and gave him one hundred men. "Go join my Boyars in the south," he commanded. "Fend off and kill the Pechenegi, keep 'em from crossing the Ros, and by our new Christian God I'll give you title and banner both, Thago of Wallachia!" Thago had gone to him when he was desperate, that much was true.
In his dream, the Thing in the ground remembered how he'd answered: "Title and banner? I wish them not, milord---but give me one hundred more men and I shall slay you a thousand Pechenegi before returning to Kiev. Aye! And I'll bring you their thumbs to prove it!"
He got his hundred men; also, like it or not, his banner: a golden dragon, one forepaw raised in warning. "The dragon of the true Christ, brought to us by the Greeks," Vlad told him. "Now the dragon watches over Christian Kiev---Russia itself---and it roars from your banner with the voice of the Lord! What mark of your own will you put upon it?" On that same morning he had asked this question of half-a-dozen other fledgling defenders, five Boyars with their own followers and one band of mercenaries. All of them had taken a symbol to fly with the dragon. But Thago did not.
"I'm not a Boyar, sire," the Wallach had told him with a shrug. "That's not to say my father's house was not honorable, for it was, and built by a decent man---but in no way royal. No lord's or prince's blood flows in my veins. When I've earned myself a mark, then I'll set it over your dragon."
"I'm not sure I like you especially, Wallach." The Vlad had frowned then, uneasy with this great, grim man before him. "Your voice sounds out perhaps a trifle loud from a heart as yet untried. But..." and he, too, had given a shrug, "----very well, choose a device for yourself when you return in triumph. And Thago---bring me those thumbs or I'll likely string you up by yours!" And that day at noon, seven polyglot companies of men had set out fro Kiev, reinforcements for the besieged defensive positions on the Ros.
A year and a month later Thago returned with nearly all of his men, plus another eighty recruited from peasants hiding in the foothills and valleys of the southern Khorvaty. He made no plea for audience but strode into the Vlad's own church where he was at worship. He left his tired men outside and took in with him only one small sack that rattled, and approached Prince Vladimir Svyatoslavich at his prayers and waited for him to finish. Behind him Kiev's civilian nobles were deathly silent, waiting for their prince to see him.
Finally the Vlad and his Greek monks turned to Thago. The sight they saw was bloodcurdling. Thago had soil on him from the fields and forests; dirt was ingrained in him; he bore a freshly healed scar high on his right cheek to the middle of his jaw, which made a pale strip of scar tissue that cut almost to the bone. Also, he had gone away as a peasant and returned something else entirely. Haughty as a hawk, with his nose slightly hooked under bushy eyebrows that very nearly came together in the middle, he gazed out of yellow, unblinking eyes. He wore mustaches and a scraggy, twisting black beard; also the armor of some Pechenegi chief, chased in gold and silver, and an earring set with a gemstone in the lobe of his left ear. He had shaved his head with the exception of black forelocks that hung one to each side, in the manner of certain nobles; and in all his mien, there was no sign that he knew he stood in a holy place or even considered his whereabouts.
"I know you now," the Vlad hissed, "Thago the Wallach. Don't you fear the true God? Don't you tremble before the cross of Christ? I was praying for our deliverance, and you..."
"And I've brought it to you." Thago's voice deep and doleful. He tipped out his sack onto the flags. The prince's retinue and the nobles of Kiev where they stood back from him who ruled over them gasped and gaped. Bones clattered white in a heap at the Vlad's feet.
"What?" he choked. "What?"
"Thumbs," said Thago. "I had the flesh boiled off them, lest their stink offend. The Pechenegi are driven back, trapped between the Dniester, the Bug and the sea. Your Boyar army hems them in. Hopefully they can deal with them without me and mine. For I have heard that the Polovtsy are rising like the wind in the east. Also, in Turkey-land, armies wax for war!"
"You have heard? You have heard? And are you some mighty Voevod, then? Do you set yourself up as the ears of Vladimir? And what do you mean, 'you and yours?" The two hundred men you marched with are mine!"
At that Thago took a deep breath. He paced forward---then paused. Then he bowed low, if inelegantly, and said, "Of course they're yours, O Prince. Also the fourscore refugees I've gathered together and made into warriors. All are yours. As for being your ears: if I have heard falsely, then strike me deaf. But my work is finished in the south and I thought you had more need of me here. Soldiers are few in Kiev this day, and her borders are wide...."
The Vlad's eyes remained veiled. "The Pechenegi are at bay, you say---and do you give yourself credit for this?"
"In all modesty. This and more."
"And you've brought my men back without you, without casualty?"
"A handful are fallen." Thago shrugged. "But I found eighty to replace them."
"Show me."
They went to the great doors, out onto the wide steps of the church. There in the square, Thago's men waited in silence, some upon horses but most afoot, all armed to the teeth and looking very fierce. They were the same sorry bunch the Wallach had taken away with him, but no longer sorry. His standard flew from three tall flagstaffs: the golden dragon, and upon its back a black bat with eyes of carnelian.
The Vlad nodded. "Your mark," he commented, perhaps sourly. "A bat."
"Aye, the black bat of the Wallachs," said Thago.
One of the monks spoke up. "But atop the dragon?"
Thago grinned at him wolfishly. "You would have the dragon pissing on my bat, would you?"
The monks took the prince aside while Thago stood waiting. He could not hear what was said, but he'd imagined it often enough in times since:
"These men are utterly loyal to him! See how proud they stand beneath his banner?" the senior monk would have whispered in that sly Greek way. "It could be a nuisance."
And Vlad: "Does it trouble you? I have five times their number right here in my city."
The Greek: "But these men have been tried in battle; they are warriors all!"
Vlad: "Do you suggest that I should fear him? I've Varyagi blood in me and I fear no man!"
Greek: "Of course you don't. But----he sets himself above his station, this one. Can we not find him a task---him and a handful of his men---and keep the rest of them back here to bolster the city's defenses? This way, in his absence, their loyalty will surely swing more rightly to you."
And Vladimir Svyatoslavich's eyes narrowing yet more. Then---his nod of approval: "I have the very thing. Yes, and I believe you're right----best to be rid of him. These Wallachs are a tricky lot. Far too insular...." And out loud to the Voevod: "Thago, I'm honoring you tonight at the palace. You and five of your best. Then you can tell me all about your victories. But there'll be ladies there, so see you're washed and leave your armor in your lodgings and tents."
With a stiff little bow Thago backed away, went down the steps to his mount, led his men away. At his command, as they left the square, they rattled their weapons and gave a single, sharp, ringing shout: "Prince Vladimir!" Then they were gone into the autumn morning, gone into Kiev, called the City at the Edge of the Woods.....
Despite the disturbance, the unknown intrusion, the Thing in the ground continued to dream. Night would soon descend, and Thago was sensitive to night as a rooster is to the dawn, but now for he dreamed.
That night at the palace----a huge place with stone chimneys in every room, and wood fires blazing, sprinkled with aromatic resins----Thago had worn clean but common clothes under a rich red robe taken from some high-ranking Pechenegi. His flesh was washed and perfumed, tanned like leather, and his forelocks were freshly greased. He was an imposing sight. His officers, too, were spruce. Though they obviously stood in awe of him, still he spoke to them with some familiarity; but he was courteous to the ladies, attentive to the Vlad.
It was possible (or so Thago had reckoned later) that the prince found himself in two minds: the Wallach would seem to have proved himself a warrior, a Voevod indeed. By rights he should be made a Boyar, given lands of his own. A man will fight even harder if he fights to defend that which belongs to him. But there was that somber something about Thago that the Vlad found disturbing. So maybe his Greek advisors were right.
"I will now hear of how you dealt with the Pechenegi, Thago of Wallachia," Vladimir finally commanded, when all were feasting. Their dishes were several: Greek sausages wrapped in vine leaves; joints roasted in the Viking fashion; goulashes steaming in huge pots. Meads and wines came by the gallon. All at table stabbed and speared with their knives at smoldering meats; short bursts of conversation would erupt now and then amidst the general clatter of eating. Thago's voice, though he hardly raised it at all, had carried over all of that. And gradually the great table had grown quieter.
"The Pechenegi come in parties or tribes. They're not like a mighty army; there is little of unity; they have their own chiefs who vie with one another. The earthworks and fortifications on the Ros at the edge of the wooded steppe have stopped them because they are not united. If they came as an army they could cross river and battlements both in a day, carrying away all before them. But they merely probe around our defenses, contenting themselves with whatever they can pillage in short, sharp forays to east and west. This is how they sacked Kolomyya on the west flank. They crossed the Prut by day, crept forth in the forests, rested overnight and attacked at dawn. It is their way. Thus, they gradually encroach.
"This is how I saw the situation: because the defenses are there, our soldiers use them: we hide behind them. The earthworks act as a border. We have been content to say, 'South of these works lies the territory of the Pechenegi, and we must keep him out.' Wherefore the Pechenegi, barbarian that he is, in fact holds us in siege! I have sat on the walls of our forts and seen our foes make camp, unafraid. Smoke from his fires goes up, all untroubled, because we don't molest him upon 'his' ground.
"When I left Kiev, O Prince, you said: 'Fend off the Pechenegi, keep him from crossing the Ros.' But I said, 'Pursue the fiend and kill him!' One day I saw a camp of some two hundred; they had their women, even their children with them! They were camped across the river in the dusk. We stole up the Pechenegi fires. They had guards out but most of them were sleeping---and we slit their throats in the night without them ever knowing who killed them! Then we set about the camp----but all in silence. I had daubed my men in mud. Any man not daubed was Pechenegi. In the darkness we slew them, flitting from tent to tent. We were like great bats in the night, and it was very bloody.
"When the camp was awakened half were already dead. The rest gave chase. We led them back to the Ros; and them hounding us, eager to catch us at the river, all of them shouting and screaming their warcries! But we shouted and screamed not at all. At the river, on the Pechenegi side, my second hundred lay in waiting. They were daubed in mud. They struck not at their silent, muddy brothers but trapped the screaming pursuers. Then we rose up, turned in upon the Pechenegi, slew them to a man. And we cut off their thumbs...." He paused.
"Bravo!" said the Vlad, faintly.
"Another time," Thago went on, "we went to Kamenets which was under siege. Again I had half my men with me. The Pechenegi about the town saw us, gave chase. WE led them into a steep-sided gulley where, after we'd scrambled through, my other half rained down an avalanche upon them. I lost many thumbs that time, buried under the boulders----else I would have brought you back another sackful!"
Now there was almost total silence about the table. It was not so much the reporting of these deeds that impressed but the stony delivery, which lacked all emotion. When the Pechenegi had raided, raped and razed this man's Ungar settlement, they had turned him into an utterly pitiless killer.
"I've had reports, naturally," Svyatsolsavich broke the silence, "if somewhat vague until now and few and far between. But this is something to chew on. And so my Boyars have driven the Pechenegi back, you say? A recent turn of events? Maybe they learned something from you, did they?"
"They learned that standing guard behind high walls achieves nothing!" said Thibor. "I spoke to them and said: 'Summer is at an end. The Pechenegi far to the south are grown fat and idle from the little work they've had to do; they do not think we'll come against them. They are building permanent settlements, winter homes for themselves. Like the Khazars before them, they are putting aside the sword in favor of the plough. If we strike now they'll fall like grass beneath the scythe!' Then, all the Boyars banded together, crossed the river, struck deep into the southern steppes. We killed the Pechenegi wherever we found them.
"But by then I had heard rumors of a greater peril in the making: to the east the Polovsty are rising up! They spill over from the great steppes and deserts, expand westward---soon they'll be at our doors. When the Khazars fell they left the way open for the Pechenegi. And after the Pechenegi? Which is why I thought---why I dared to think----that maybe the Vlad would give me an army and send me east, to put down our enemies before they wax too strong...."
For long moments Prince Vladimir simply sat and stared at him from half-lidded eyes. Then he quietly said, "You've come a long way in a year and a month, Wallach----" And out loud, to his guests: "Eat, drink, talk! Honor this man. We owe him that much." But as the feasting continued he got up, indicating that Thago should walk with him. They went out into the grounds, into the cool fall evening. The wood smoke was fragrant under the trees.
A little way from the palace, the prince paused. "Thago, we'll have to see about this idea of yours---this eastward invasion, for that's what it would be----for I'm not sure we're ready for that. It's been tried before, you know." He nodded bitterly. "The Grand Prince himself attempted it. First he tackled the Khazars----Svyatoslav ground them down and the Byzantines swept up their pieces----and then he had a go at Bulgaria and Macedonia. And while he was at it the nomads laid siege to Kiev itself! And did he pay for his zeal? Aye, however many sagas are written about him. Nomads sank him in the river rapids and made his skull into a drinking cup! He was hasty, you see? Oh, he got rid of the Khazars, all right, but only to let in the damned Pechenegi! And shall I be hasty too?"
The Wallach stood silent for a moment in the dusk, "You'll send me back to the southern steppe, then?"
"Maybe. And maybe not. I might stand you down from the fighting entirely, make you a Boyar, give you land and men to tend it for you. There's a lot of good land here, Thago."
Thago shook his head. "Then I'd rather return to Wallachia. I'm no farmer, O Prince. I tried that and the Pechenegi came and made a warrior out of me. Since then----all my dreams have been red ones. Dreams of blood. The blood of my enemies, the enemies of this land."
"And what of my enemies?"
"They are the same. Only show them to me."
"Very well," said the Vlad. "I shall show you one of them. Do you know the mountains to the west, which divide us from the Hungarians?"
"My fathers were Ungars," said Thago. "As for the mountains: I was born under them. Not in the west but in the south, in the land of the Wallachs, beyond the bend in the mountains."
The prince nodded. "So you have some experience of mountains and their treachery. Good. But on my side of those peaks, beyond Galich, in that area called the Khorvaty after a certain people, there lives a Boyar who is---not my friend. I claim him as one who owes allegiance to me, but when I called in all my little princelings and Boyars he came not. When I invite him to Kiev he answers not. When I express a desire to meet with him he ignores me. If he is not my friend then he can only be my enemy. He is a dog that comes not to heel. A wild dog, and his home is a mountain fastness. Until now I've had neither the time, the inclination, nor the power to winkle him out, but..."
"What?" Thago was astonished, his gasp cutting the Vlad short. "I'm sorry, my Prince, but you----no power?"
Vladimir Svyatoslavich shook his head. "You do not understand," he said. "Of course I have power. Kiev has power. But all so extended as to be nearly expended! Would you have me recall an army to deal with one unruly princeling? And in doing so let the Pechenegi come up again? Should I form up an army from farmers and officials and peasants, all unskilled in battle? And if I did, what then? An army could not bring this Benedek out of his castle if he did not wish to leave it. Even an army could not destroy him, so strong are his defense! What? They are the mountain passes themselves, the gorges, the avalanches! With a handful of fierce, faithful retainers, he could hold back any army I raise almost indefinitely. Oh, had I but two thousand men to spare, then I might possibly starve him with a siege, but at what price? ON the other hand, what an army cannot achieve might just be possible---for one brave and clever loyal man...."
"Are you saying you want this Benedek taken from his castle and brought to you in Kiev?"
"Too late for that, Thago. He has show how he 'respects' me. How then should I respect him? No, I want him dead! His lands then fall to me, his castle on the heights, his household and serfs. And his death will be an example to others who might think to stand apart."
"Then you don't want his thumbs but his head!" Thago's chuckle was throaty, without humor.
"I want his head, his heart, and his standard. And I want to burn all three on a bonfire right here in Kiev!"
"His standard? He has a symbol then, this Benedek? Might I enquire the nature of this blazon?"
"By all means," said the prince, his gray eyes suddenly thoughtful. He lowered his voice, cast about in the dusk for a moment, as if to be doubly sure that nobody heard. "HIs mark is the horned head of his master, Satan, with a forked tongue that drips gouts of blood....."
Blood!
Gouts of blood soaking into the black earth.
The sun had touched the horizon and was burning read there like---like a great gout of blood. Soon the earth would swallow it up. The old Thing in the ground trembled again; its husk of leather and bone slowly cracked open like a dessicated sponge to receive the earth's tribute, the blood that soaked through leaf-mould and roots and black, centuried soil down to where the thousand-year-old Thago-creature lay in his shallow grave.
Subconsciously Thago sensed the seeping blood and knew, in the way all dreamers "know," that it was only part of the dream. It would be a different matter when the sun had set and the seepage actually touched him, but for now he ignored it, returned to the time at the turn of the 10th century when he'd been merely human and had gone up into the Khorvaty on a mission of murder....
They had traveled as trappers, Thago and his seven, as Wallachians who followed the Carpathian curve on a trek designed to get them deep into the northern forests by the onset of winter. In fact they had simply come from Kiev through Kolomyya and so to the mountains, but they'd taken all the paraphernalia of the trapper with them, to substantiate their story. It had taken them three weeks of steady riding to reach the place in the very lee of the sheer mountains, (a "village," consisting of a handful of stone houses built into the hillside, half-a-dozen semi-permanent cabins, and a smattering of gypsy tents of cured skins with the fur inside) which the current incumbents called MouphoYor Jáz Józ Benedek, a mouthful they invariably shortened to Benedek, a name derived from the Late Latin name Benedictus which meant "blessed." The gypsies spoke of it in lowered tones and with a great deal of respect.
There were maybe a hundred men there, some thirty women and as many children. Half of the men were trappers passing through, or prospective settlers uprooted by Pechenegi raids, on their way to find homes further north. Many of the latter group had their families with them. The remainder were either peasant inhabitants of Joz Benedek, or gypsies come here to winter it out. They'd been coming since time immemorial, apparently, for "the old devil" who was Boyar here was good to them and turned no one away. Indeed, in times of hardship he'd even been known to supply his wandering occasional tenants with food from his own larder and wine from his cellars.
Thago, asking about food and drink for himself and the others, was shown a house of timbers set in a stand of pines. It was an inn of sorts, with tiny rooms up in the rafters which could only be reached by rope ladders; the ladders were drawn up when the boarder wished to sleep. Down below there were wooden tables and stools, and at one end of the large room a bar stocked with small kegs of plum brandy and buckets of sweet ale. One wall was built half of stone, where burned a fire in the base of a huge chimney. On the fire was an iron pot of goulash giving out a heavy paprika reek. Onions dangled in bunches from nails in the wall close to the fire; likewise huge coarse-skinned sausages; black bread stood in loaves on the tables, baked in a stone over to one side of the fire.
A man, his wife and one scruffy son ran the places; gypsies, Thago guessed, who'd chosen to settle here. They could have done better, he thought, feeling cold in the shadows of the looming rocks, the mountains whose presence could be felt even indoors. It was a gloomy place this, frowning and foreboding.
The Wallach had told his men to speak to no one, but as they put away their gear, ate and drank, spoke in muffled tones to one another, he himself shared a jug of brandy with his host. "Who are you?" that gnarled old man asked him.
"Do you ask what I have been? Where I have been?" Thago answered. "I can tell you those things easier than I can tell you who I am."
"If you feel like talking, tell me then."
Thago smiled and sipped brandy. "I was a young boy under the Carpatii. My father was an Ungar who wandered into the borders of the southern steppe to farm----him and his brothers and kin and their families. I'll be brief: came the Pechenegi, all was uprooted, our settlement destroyed. Since then I've wandered, fought the barbarian for payment and what little I could find on his body, done what I could where and whenever. Now I'll be a trapper. I've seen the mountains, the steppe, the forests. Farming's a hard life and bloodletting makes a man bitter. But in the towns and cities there's money to be had from furs. You've roamed a bit yourself, I'll vow?"
"Here and there," the other shrugged, nodded. He was swarthy as smoke-grimed leather, wrinkled as a walnut from extremes of weather, lean as a wolf. Not young by any standards, still his hair was shiny black, his eyes too, and he seemed to have all of his teeth. But he moved his limbs carefully and his hands were very crooked. "I'd be doing it still if my bones hadn't started to seize up. We had a cart of two wheels wrapped in leather, which we'd break down and carry when the way was rough. Upon the cart we took our house and goods along with us: a big tent with rooms, and cooking pots, and tools. We were---we are---Szgany, gypsies, and become Szgany Benedek when I built this place here." He craned his neck and looked up, wide-eyed, at one interior of the house. It was a look half respectful but also half fearful. There was no window but the Wallach knew that the old man stared up at the mountain peaks.
"Szgany Benedek?" Thago repeated. "You ally yourself to the Boyar Benedek in his castle, then?"
The old gypsy lowered his eyes from the unseen heights, drew back a little, took on a suspicious look. Thago quickly poured him more of his own brandy. The other remained silent and the Wallach shrugged. "No matter, it's just that I've heard good things of him," he lied. "My father knew him, once....."
"Indeed!" the old man's eyes widened.
Thago nodded. "One cold winter, the Benedek gave him shelter in his castle. My father told me, if ever I passed this way, I should go up and remind the Boyar of that time, and thank him on behalf of my father."
The old man stared at Thago for long moments. "So, you've heard good things of our master, have you? From your father, eh? And you were born under the mountains...."
"Is something amiss?" Thago raised a dark eyebrow.
The other looked him up and down. "You're a big man," he said grudgingly, "and strong, I can tell. Also, you look fierce. A Wallach, eh, whose fathers were Ungars? Well, maybe you are, maybe you are."
"Maybe I'm what?"
"It's said," the gypsy whispered, drawing closer, "that the old Benedek's real sons always come home to roost. In the end they come here, seek him out---seek out their father! Would you climb up to see him?"
Thago put on a look of indecision. He shrugged. "If I knew the way, I might. But these cliffs and passes are dangerous."
"I know the way."
"You have been there?!" Thago tried not to seem too eager.
The old man nodded. "Oh, yes. I could take you. But would you go alone? The Benedek's not one for too many visitors."
Thago seemed to give that a little thought. "I'd want to take two of my friends, at least. In cast the way gets rough."
"Huh?! If these old bones can make it, surely yours can! Just two of them?"
"I'll need their help in the steep places."
Thago's host pursed his lips. "It would cost you a little something, I fear. My time and...."
"I understand....." the Wallach stopped him.
The gypsy scratched his ear. "What do you know of the old Benedek? What have you heard of him?"
Thago saw a chance for knowledge. Getting information out of people such as him was like pulling the teeth of a bear! "I've heard he has a great company of men garrisoned with him, and that his castle is an impenetrable fortress. Because of this he swears no loyalty, pays no taxes on his lands, for none may collect it."
"Haw!" The old gypsy laughed out loud, thumped the bar, poured more brandy. "A company of men? Retainers? Serfs? He has none! A woman, maybe two, maybe, but no men. Only the wolves guard those passes. As for his castle: it hugs the cliff. One way in---for mere men---and the same way out. Unless some unwary fool leans too far from a window...."
As he paused his eyes became suspicious again. "Did your father tell you that the Benedek had men?"
Thago's father had told him nothing, of course. Nor had the Vlad, for that matter. What little he knew was superstitious twaddle he'd had from a man at court, a fool who didn't much like the prince and who in turn was little cared for. Thago had no time for ghosts: he knew how many men he'd killed, and not a man of them had come back to haunt him.
He decided to take a chance. He'd already learned much of what he wanted to know. "My father said only that the way was steep, and that when he was there, many men were camped in and about the castle."
The old man stared at him, slowly nodded. "It could be, it could be. We Szgany have often wintered with him." He came to a decision. "Very well, I shall take you up---if he will see you." He laughed at Thago's raised eyebrows, led him out of the house into the quiet of the afternoon. On their way the gypsy took a huge bronze frying pan from its peg.
A weak sun was poised, preparing itself for setting over the gray peaks. The mountains brought an early twilight here, where already the birds were singing their evening songs. "We are in time," the old man nodded. "And now we must hope that we are seen."
He pointed steeply upwards at the looming mountains, to where a high, jagged ebony crest etched itself against the gray of the ultimate peaks. "You see there, where the darkness is deepest?"
Thago nodded.
"That's the castle. Now watch." He polished the bottom of the pan on his sleeve, then turned it back towards the sun. Catching the weak rays, he threw them back into the mountains and traced a line of gold up the crags. Fainter and fainter the disk of light flickered with distance, jumping from scree to flat rock face, from fangs to fir clump, from trees back to crumbling shale as it climbed ever higher. And finally it seemed to Thago that the ray was answered; for when at last the gypsy held the pan stiffly in his gnarled hands, suddenly that dark, angular outcrop he'd pointed out seemed to burst into golden flames! The lance of light was so sudden, so blinding, that the Wallach threw up his hands before his eyes and peered through the bars of his fingers.
"Is that him?" he gasped. "Is it the Boyar himself who answers you?"
"The old Benedek?" The gypsy laughed uproariously. Carefully he propped the pan on a flat rock, and still the beam of light glanced down from on high. "No, not him. The sun is no friend of his. Nor any mirror, for that matter!" He laughed again, and then explained, "It's a mirror, burnished bright, one of several which sit above the rear wall of the keep where it meets the cliff. Now, if our signal is seen, someone will cover the mirror----which merely shoots back our beam----and the light will be snuffed out. Not gradually, as by the sun's slow descent, but all at once---like that!"
Like a snuffed-out candle, the beam blinked out, leaving Thago almost staggering in what seemed a preternatural gloom. He steadied himself. "So, it would seem you've established contact," he said. "Plainly the Boyar has seen that you have something to convey, but how will he know what it is?"
"He will know," said the gypsy. He grasped Thago's arm, stared up into the high passes. A glaze came suddenly over the old man's eyes and he swayed. Thago held him up. And:
"There, now he knows," the old man whispered. The film went from his wide eyes.
"What?" Thago was puzzled; he felt troubled. The Szgany were queer folk with little-understood powers. "What do you mean when you say...."
"And now he will answer 'yes'----or 'no,'" the gypsy interrupted him. Even as he finished speaking there came a single, searing beam of light from the high castle, which in the next moment died away.
"Ah!" the old gypsy sighed. "And his answer is 'yes,' he will see you."
"When?" Thago accepted the oddness of it while, at the same time, fighting down the eagerness of his voice.
"Now. We set off at once. The mountains are dangerous at night, but he'll have it no other way. Are you still game?"
"I'll die before I disappoint him, now that he's invited me," said Thago.
"Very well. But cloak yourself well, Wallach. The cold is hellish up there." The old man fixed him with a brief, bright, penetrating stare. "Aye, it gets cold as death...."
Thago chose a pair of burly Wallachs to accompany him. Most of his men were out of his old homeland, but he'd personally stood at the side of these two during his war with the Pechenegi, and he knew they were ferocious fighters. He wanted real men at his back when he went up against this Benedek. And it could well be that he'd need them. Xylon, the old gypsy, had said the Boyar had no retainers; who, then, had answered the mirror signal? No, Thago couldn't see a rich man living up there all alone with a mere woman or two, fetching and carrying for himself. Old Xylon lied.
In the event that there was just a handful of men up in the mountains with their master----But it was no good speculating, Thago would have to wait and see what were the odds were. If there were many men, however, then he would say that he came as an envoy of Vladimir, to invite the Boyard to the palace in Kiev. It would be in connection with the war against the Pechenegi. Either way, his course was now set: he had a mountain to climb, and at the top a man to slay, if conditions permitted it.
In those days Thago had been in a way naïve; it had not once crossed his mind that the Vlad had sent him on a suicide mission, from which he was not expected to return to Kiev.
As for the climb: at the first the going had been easy, and this despite the fact that the trail was unmarked. The track (there was no real trail, merely a route which the old gypsy knew by heart) climbed a saddle between foothills to the base of an unscalable cliff, then followed a rising apron of sliding scree to a wide crevice or chimney in the cliff, which elevated steeply through a fissure on to a false plateau beneath a second line of even steeper hills. These hills were wild and wooded, their trees massive and ancient, but by now Thago had seen that indeed there was a path of sorts. It was as if some giant had taken a scythe and cut a straight line through the trees; their wood had doubtless provided much of the village's timber, and perhaps some of it had been hauled up into the mountains for use in the construction of the castle. That might possibly have been hundreds of years ago, and yet no new trees had grown up to bar the way. Or if they had, then someone had uprooted them to keep the path clear.
Whichever, the climb along the track through the rising woods was fairly easy going, and as twilight became nightfall a full moon rose to lend the way its silver light. Saving their breath for the climbing, the three men and their guide spoke not at all and Thago was able to turn his mind to what little he'd heard of the Boyar Benedek from his foppish court contact.
"The Greeks fear him more than Vladimir does," that loose-tongue had informed. "In Greek-land they've long sought all such out and put them down. They call such as the Benedek 'vrykolax,' which is the same as the Bulgarian 'obour' or 'mouphour'---or 'wampir'!"
"I've heard of the wampir," Thago had answered. "They have the same myth, and the same name for it, in my old country. A peasant superstition. And I'll tell you something: the men I've killed rot in their graves, if indeed they have graves. They certainly don't bloat there! Or if they do it's from rotten gases, not the blood of the living!"
"Nevertheless this Benedek is said to be just such a creature," Thago's informant had insisted. "I've heard the Greek priests talking: saying how there's no room in any Christian land for such as he. In Greek-land they put stakes through their hearts and cut off their heads. Or better still, they break them up entirely and burn all the pieces. They believe that even a little part of a wampir can grow whole again in the body of an unwary man. The thing is like a leech, but on the inside! Hence the saying that a wampir has two hearts and two souls---and that the creature may not die until both facets are destroyed!"
Thago had smiled, humorlessly, scornfully. He'd thanked the man, saying, "Well, wizard, witch or whatever, he's lived long enough. Vladimir the Prince wants this Benedek dead, and I've been given the job."
"Lived long enough!" the other had repeated, throwing up his hands. "Aye, and you don't know how true that is. Why, there's been a Benedek up in those mountains as long as men can remember. And the legends have it that it's the same Benedek! Now you tell me, Wallach, what kind of man is it who watches years pass like hours, eh?"
Thago had laughed at that, too; but now, thinking back on it----several things connect, it seemed.
The "Moupho" in the name of the village, for instance----which sounded a lot like "mouphour," or wampir. "Village of the old Benedek Vampire?" And what was it Xylon the Szgany had said? "The sun's no friend of his. Nor any mirror, for that matter!" Weren't vampires creatures of the night; afraid of mirrors because they showed no reflection, or maybe a reflection more nearly the reality? Then the Wallach gave a snort of derision at his own imaginings. It was this old place, that was all, working on his imagination. These centuried woods and ageless mountains....
At which point his party came out of the trees and on to the crest of domed hills where the soil was thin as a whisper and only the lichens grew; beyond which, in a shallow depression, a jumbled plain of stony rubble and brittle scree reached maybe half a mile to the inky shadows of dark cliffs. To the north it reached up high, that black boundary, forming horns; and to these horns in the moonlight, old Xylon now pointed a crooked finger.
"There!" He chuckled as at some joke. "There broods the house of the old Benedek."
Thago looked---and sure enough he saw distant windows lit like eyes in the darkness under the horns. And it was for all the world as though some monstrous bat squatted there in the heights, or maybe the lord of all great wolves.
"Like devil's eyes in a stone face," growled one of Thago's Wallachs, a man all chest and arms, with short stumpy legs.
"And not the only eyes watching us!" whispered the other, a thin, hunched man who always went with his head aggressively forward.
"What's that you say?" Thago was at once alert, casting about in the darkness. Then he saw the feral, triangular eyes, like blobs of gold, seeming to hand suspended in the darkness at the woods' edge. Five pairs of eyes: wolves' eyes, surely?
"Ho!" Thago shouted. He unsheathed his sword, stepped forward. "Begone, you devils of the woods! We've nothing for you to eat!"
The eyes blinked sporadically in pairs, drew back, scattered. Four lean, gray shapes loped off, flowing under the moon like liquid, lost in the jumble of boulders on the plain of scree. But the fifth pair of eyes stayed, seemed to gain height, floated forward out of the darkness with no hesitation.
A man stepped from the shadows, as tall as, if not taller than, Thago himself.
Xylon the gypsy staggered, seemed about to faint. The moon showed his face a ghastly, silvery-gray. The stranger reached out a hand and gripped his shoulder, stared deep into his eyes. Slowly the old man straightened up and the trembling went out of him.
In the manner of the warrior born, Thago had placed himself within striking distance. His sword was still in his hand, but the stranger was only one man. Thago's men---astonished at first, perhaps even a little afraid----were on the point of drawing their own weapons but he stopped them with a word, sheathed his sword. If anything, this was a simple show of defiance, a gesture which in one move showed his strength and possible his contempt. Clearly it showed his fearlessness. "Who are you?" he said. "You who come like a wolf in the night."
The newcomer was slender, almost fragile-seeming. He was dressed all in black, with a heavy black cape draped about his shoulders and falling to below his knees. There could be weapons concealed under the cape, but he kept his hands in sight, resting them on his thighs. He now ignored old Xylon, looked at the three Wallachs. His dark eyes merely fell upon Thago's henchmen and moved on, but they rested on Thago himself for long moments before he answered: "I am from the house of the Benedek. My master sent me out to see what manner of men would visit him this night." He smiled a thin smile. His voice had a soothing effect on the Voevod; strangely, his unblinking eyes also, which now reflected the moonlight. Thago found himself wishing there were more natural light. There was that about the features of this one which repulsed him. He felt that he gazed upon a misshapen skull, and wondered that this didn't disturb him more. But he was held as if by some mysterious attraction, like a moth to the devouring flame. Yes, attracted and repulsed at one and the same time.
As that idea dawned---that he was falling under some strange malaise or enticement----he drew himself more upright, forced himself to speak. "You may tell your master I'm a Wallach. Also that I come to speak of important things, of summonses and responsibilities."
The caped man drew closer and the moon shone fully in his face. It was a man's face after all and not a skull, but there was that which was wolfish about it, an almost freakish longness of jaws and ears. "My master thought it might be so," he said, a certain hard edge creeping into his voice. "But no matter---what will be will be, and you are but a mere messenger. Before you pass this point, however, which is a boundary, my master must be sure that you come of your own free will."
Thago had regained his self-control. "No one dragged me up here," he snorted.
"But you were sent....?"
"A strong man may only be 'sent' where he wishes to go," the Wallach answered.
"What of your men?"
"We're with Thago," said the hunched one. "Where he ventures, we venture---willingly!"
"Even to see one who sends out wolves to do his bidding," Thago's second companion, the apish one, added.
"Wolves?" The stranger frowned and cocked his head on one side quizzically. He glanced sharply all about, then smiled his amusement. "My master's dogs, you mean?"
"Dogs?" Thago was sure he'd seen wolves. Now, however, the idea seemed ludicrous.
"Aye, dogs. They came out to walk with me, for it's a fine night. But they're not used to strangers. See, they've run off home."
Thago nodded, and eventually he said: "So, you've come to meet us halfway, then. To walk with us and show us the way."
"Not I," the other shook his head. "Xylon could do that well enough. I came only to greet you and to count your members----also to ensure that your presence here was not forced. Which is to say, that you came of your own free mind and will."
"I say again," Thibor growled, "who could force me?"
"There are pressures and there are pressures," the other shrugged. "But I see you are your own man."
"You mentioned our numbers."
The caped stranger raised his eyebrows. They peaked like gables. "For your accommodation," he answered. "What else?" And before Thago could reply: "Now I must go on ahead---to make preparation."
"I'd hate to crowd your master's house," said Thago quickly. "Bad enough to be an unexpected guest, but worse far if others are obliged to vacate their rightful positons to make room for me."
"Oh, there's room enough," the other answered. "And you were not entirely unexpected. As for putting others out: my master's house is a castle, but it shelters fewer human souls that you have here." It was as if he'd read Thago's mind and answered the question he'd found there.
Now he inclined his head towards the old Szgany. "Be warned, however, that the path along the cliff is loose and the way a little bit perilous. Be on your guard for rock falls!" And once more to Thago he said, "Until later, then."
They watched him turn and make off after his master's "dogs" across the narrow, jumbled, boulder-strewn plain.
When he'd gone into the shadows, Thago grabbed Xylon by the neck. "No retainers?" he hissed into the old gypsy's face. "No servants? What, and are you a simple liar or a very great liar? The Benedek could harbor an army up there!"517Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYM49ax9Vy9
Xylon tried to snatch himself back and found the Wallach's grip like iron on his throat. "A---a manservant or two," he choked. "How was---was I to know? It's been many a year----" Thago released him, thrust him away.517Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlXiDEkTFQp
"Old man," he warned, "If you'd see another day, just be sure you guide us carefully along this perilous cliff path."517Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBe0D7PAClO
And so they had crossed the stony depression to the cliff, and started up the narrow way carved in its sheer face......517Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBKlaCIklbk
