'Well, this time we knew better what we were doing. But we had to hold her poor raving husband down while we did it…'
Heinar shook his head in utter bewilderment. Until at last: 'A plague, aye,' he said. 'But Turgo, what are we talking about here? A creature that lives in a man — or a woman — making him or her crazy enough to live by the blood of other men?'
That's exactly what we're talking about,' said the other. 'A wampir which makes its host victim strong, lusty, devious, and very hard to kill. Old Oulio lonescu wasn't a rapist, and he certainly wasn't a murderer! And what about this girl, who came back from the grave?'
'Isn't it possible she was buried alive?'
'No,' Turgo shook his head in firm denial. 'She was dead for sure. And later — undead!'
Heinar could scarcely take it all in. 'What was that word you used? Wampir?'
Turgo nodded. 'In certain western regions, that's what men call the great bats that suck on goats. If they find a crippled goat under the moon, they'll suck him dry.'
Heinar's mouth was likewise dry. He looked nervously all about — at the tents, the carts and caravans, and not least the shadows — then licked his lips and finally nodded. 'Well, I know about such bats, of course: we Hagis call 'em 'vexies'. Catch them at our goats, we sneak up, club them, break their wings. But men with giant leeches in them?' He didn't try to hide a small shudder. 'No, I have to admit, you're the expert on this one, Turgo Zolte. So what next? How do we handle it?'
'What we don't do is act too hasty,' Turgo said. 'For we'd never live it down if this Shaitan's innocent — and a hero to boot.'
'Which he could well be,' Heinar let himself down from his branch. 'For after all, young Vidra Gogosita reckons he saved his life!'
Turgo's deep-etched frown showed his dilemma, his uncertainty. 'That's the hell of it,' he nodded. 'It's possible all this talk's for nothing — indeed I hope it is! — but can we risk it?'
'No,' Heinar gave a short, sharp shake of his head, convinced that he'd be far better safe than sorry. 'Vidra's had his head down for a while now. Perhaps we should go and have a word with him.'
They did. The widow Gogosita heard them coming, met them at the flap of her tent with a finger to her lips. 'Shhh/ The poor lad's asleep. And Heinar,' she grasped his arm, 'it's very good of you to show your concern this way. Ah, but it must have been terrible up there! Such nightmares! Vidra rambles as in a fever… he speaks of blood, and murder!'
They went in, all three, to stand quietly beside the youth where he tossed and turned. The night had turned cold, and yet the sweat stood out on Vidra's brow. He was pale as a ghost, with grey hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes.
Turgo glanced at Heinar, went to shake the lad's shoulder. His mother got between. 'What's this?' she hissed. 'But can't you see he needs his sleep? Well, whatever, it will have to keep.'
'No, Elana. It can't keep.' Heinar was familiar with her, but firm. He put her to one side, and…
… And Vidra came breathlessly, babblingly alive!
He was still asleep, but the cold sweat welled up that much faster, and the words jerked out of him in squalls, like sudden bursts of spattering rain. 'No, no… keep off… keep away!' He tugged at his blanket until it was a damp knot. 'Ah, great ghoul… but do you murder men for their clothes? No, no, for I see it's more than their clothes you're after!… Keep off! Go torment Dezmir… not me, not me.' He flopped this way and that. 'Ah, but now I know you, fiend!… Your eyes like lamps… they let you find your way in the dark! But not me, not me! Go suck on Dezmir's neck and let me be!'
And with that last he turned on his side, and his neck was visible where his mother had washed it. Turgo and Heinar looked — and saw.
'Punctures,' Turgo growled. 'Tears in the flesh. And the flesh itself inflamed, poisoned!'
Heinar nodded his grim agreement.
The widow's hand had flown to her mouth. 'What did Vidra say? About murdering men for… for their clothes? But now it comes to me. That stranger was wearing Vidra's long coat. Also Klaus Luncani's trousers! Much too short for him… they have a patched right thigh. I'd know that patch anywhere, for I put it there. His poor wife is no good… with needle and thread… at all!' Her eyes opened like great mad windows.
And so did Vidra's as he came awake, sat bolt upright and snarled his terror, then reached out his trembling arms for his mother. 'Ma! — Mama! — Ma-aaaaa!' His cry was a gasp, a hiss, not loud, but it penetrated Turgo, Heinar and the widow like a long hot iron sliding into their flesh.
And for all that it was quiet, still its echoes reached out a great deal farther than the tent of the Gogositas…
In Maria Babeni's caravan, Shaitan came awake!
What was that? A cry in the night? From which quarter?
The night seemed still, quiet, but Shaitan's vampire intelligence was not. It was unquiet. He sensed movement; men other than the watchkeepers were awake in the camp, stirring furtively.
… And they were with his thrall!
He reached out with his mind — and gasped as the scene in the tent of the widow Gogosita flooded his awareness in all its vivid, telepathic detail. Not a scene from the youth's dreams, no, but from life. Vidra was awake — and talking his head off!
No! Shaitan sent his command like a flung knife. Oh, you faithless one! Much too Idle now to change sides, Vidra Gogosita…
In the widow's tent, suddenly Vidra's terrified eyes went wide where he clasped his mother and babbled the true story to Turgo and Heinar. His words were shut off as Shaitan closed a telepathic fist on his mind; groaning, he slumped to the floor. But the others had heard enough.
'Look after him!' Heinar snapped as the frantic widow got down beside her son. And Turgo thought: Aye, look after him very, very well!
Then the two men were out of the tent, and Heinar blowing on his alert whistle. From out on the perimeter came answering cries, the strange cough of a wolf, sounds of men hurrying to investigate. The girl's caravan is on the other side of the clearing,' Heinar grunted, leading the way. They skirted the campfire, and Heinar blew again.
'He'll be alerted by now,' Turgo warned.
'Distracted, I hope!' Heinar answered.
Turgo loaded his small crossbow, knocked off the safety. 'There are only the two of us.'
'Huh! How many do we need?'
Turgo wasn't known for his patience. Baring his teeth, he snarled, 'More than just the two of us, be sure!' And he grabbed Heinar's arm to slow him down.
By then they had almost reached Maria Babeni's small caravan. Heinar shook himself free of the other's hand, growled, 'Yes, I know: he'll be strong, this creature. But poor Maria, she's just a weak girl — and me, I'm Szgany!'
'Both of us,' Turgo snapped. 'Both fools, too.'
Arriving at the small covered cart, Heinar blew one last blast on his whistle; a glimmer of lamplight shining through the wicker weave of the caravan's door went out at once; the shadows lengthened as watchmen came loping in starlight. But before they could arrive, the door was flung open!
Shaitan stood there, his face a pallid mask, alert but calm. And no disguising the scarlet fire in his eyes now. He made no attempt to do so but said, simply, 'Heinar, my ways will be strange to you at first. But only follow them, and I shall make you the most powerful leader the Szgany ever knew, until the Hagis are feared throughout the length and breadth of Sunside.'
Heinar shook his head. 'It wasn't fear made me a leader,' he answered, 'but respect. That… and justice!' And to the man beside him, in a voice which cracked like a whip to activate his trigger finger: Turgo!'
Turgo's bolt zipped from the tiller of his weapon. But in the same moment, Shaitan snarled and slammed the door in their faces. Still the heavy hardwood bolt struck through the wickerwork to find its target; most certainly, for Shaitan's cry of pain sounded from within like the howl of a stricken animal, and the flights of the bolt were sheared from its shaft as it was wrenched through the tough weave and out of sight.
Men arrived on the scene: three of them, one with his wolf to heel. 'What's going on? What's
