The Last Aerie (63 page)

But of all the Wamphyri in the last aerie, Nestor was the only one who actually
knew
the location of their principal refuge. It had come to him in Wratha’s bed, as she had tried to convince him to raid on Settlement. A fleeting vision out of the past, from his forgotten childhood and youth: of a great hollow boulder, almost a small mountain in its own right, in the Sunside foothills. And its name was Sanctuary Rock!

A fleeting vision, aye, but one which Nestor had wanted to retain, which he’d assigned to his currently
perfect
memory before closing his thoughts on it, to keep it safe in his secret mind. This was the essence of the secrecy which Wratha had sensed in him: not thoughts of Misha, but of Sanctuary Rock in the foothills—that honeycombed boulder, that maze of caves, burrows, pitfalls and gantlets—where it backed up massively into the roots of the barrier mountains. The future refuge of his Great Enemy when at last he returned. But only let Wratha discover it first … and all dreams of vengeance were flown right out the window—

Even as Wratha herself was now flown!

Nestor gave a start, stared, then glared south-west. It was Wratha, aye …
and
her entire entourage—Wrath-spire’s not inconsiderable army—even now on their way to Sunside! But without him? Without Canker? What was she up to?

Wratha, her six lieutenants, twice as many apprentices, and four warriors, two of them only recently waxed, all spurting or pulsing south under throbbing gas-bladders and vibrating manta wings; and all attired for battle. Even from here, Nestor could clearly see the sheen of starlight on blue-green armoured scales and part-sheathed claws; the bright gleam of gauntlets and polished black leather jerkins.

And he knew, of course, where she was going. But he didn’t know why. He could only suppose it was to bring down Lardis and destroy the Szgany Lidesci: Wratha’s stubborn pride, aye. Since Nestor had seen fit to deny her his aid at this time, she’d do the job herself and put
him
to shame!

But if by chance she were successful and struck devastating blows against Lardis and Settlement, and perhaps went on to find Sanctuary Rock …?

What of Misha then? Much more importantly, what of Nestor’s olden enemy, his Great Enemy, his treacherous brother? Would he
ever
return, if the Szgany Lidesci were no more?

From somewhere came the wail of a child: Glina’s adopted brat, which Nestor had brought out of Sunside.

Glina:
hah!
Canker had been right: it had been a mistake to bring her into Suckscar. Fair and considerate in her managing of the rosters, she had grown too strong. All of the women liked her, and since she controlled them and their duties, Nestor’s lieutenants and thralls liked her, too! She could match them up and cater for their affairs to order, or for favours. He had given her too much power.

And that child, that entirely human toddler in Suck-scar: what of him? For all that he was sweet meat—fair game, and pure and innocent as only a child can be—the bloodlusting vampires of the manse handled him as if he were of their master’s flesh, Nestor’s own son, his bloodson! Was that Glina’s idea—that one day this brat would get her master’s egg and become a Lord in his own right?

Well if that was what she thought, she could think again. Suckscar was only the beginning; and after that, all of Wrathstack, soon to be Lichspire. Then Sunside in its entirety, and all of Starside, too, including the blackened, exploded stumps of the fallen aeries, those that were still habitable. And—and then what? Turgosheim in the east? Why not?

But—with Wratha at his side?

Well, she’d be at his side to start with, anyway …

But there was only one real destiny for the necromancer Lord Nestor Lichloathe of the Wamphyri: unopposed Emperor of a sprawling Vampire Dynasty, not only here in the west but across the Great Red Waste, too, and further still, in whatever lands might be discovered! Except … his revenge on his Great Enemy must come first. But not if Wratha ruined it by destroying the Szgany Lidesci.

He must stop her!

Nestor turned from the window in haste, and saw the dog-Lord watching him from the doorway. And: “No need to stop her,” Canker barked, having read Nestor’s last thought right out of his head; which was not difficult, for it had been a forceful projection. “Not unless you’d save her from disaster. Myself, I think it were better Wratha learns her lesson here and now: that together we’re strong, and divided we fall.” He loped to Nestor’s side, looked out of the window, saw what Nestor had seen.

Canker had been escorted here by Zahar, which was scarcely necessary; everyone in Suckscar, and Mange-manse, too, was aware of Nestor’s and Canker’s friendship. It was simply a custom (or precaution?) of the aerie: that any and all visitors should be escorted, even when they were expected.

Nestor caught Zahar’s eye. “Go, alert your colleagues. We ride out within the hour. But prepare my flyer at once, for I might go on ahead.”

And after Zahar had gone, Nestor turned to Canker: “Disaster? For Wratha? What do you mean?”

“I scry on future times,” the dog-Lord answered. “A dodgy business at best! But sometimes when I dream, I can’t help the things I see. Wratha isn’t going to have an easy time of it on Sunside. She goes against the Lidescis, am I correct? I thought so. And they’re waiting for her, be sure. That’s why I came to see you. To warn you against accompanying her.”

“You saw me in your dream?” Nestor knew that the other’s scrying was true. In many small ways, he’d had the proof of it often enough.

“Neither you nor myself,” Canker answered. “But I came up anyway, in order to be sure.”

“Will she be hurt?”

“Only her pride. But she’ll suffer losses, aye. How would you have stopped her, anyway?”

“I would first try to reach her mind, from an outside balcony, maybe. And if that failed fly after her, to catch her in the heights over Settlement …” And realizing his error: “Or if not there, wherever she makes pause to breathe her mist.” He quickly covered up.

“No.” Canker shook his head, sending his red hair flying. “No “wherever”. Settlement will do fine. But tell me this: are you also a viewer of times, and since when? Did you also read the future in a dream, and see the troubles waiting for Wratha at the end of her flight? Why would you want to stop her? For our sake because she’s an ally; for your own sake, because you are into her and would miss it if she were slain; or was it … for some other reason? Ah, but you never have raided on Settlement, have you?”

The dog-Lord wasn’t smiling. He was missing something here and knew it. But what? Something important? He reached out an instinctive mental probe to brush up against Nestor’s mind.

“Would you steal my thoughts?” the necromancer snapped.

Canker backed off, shrugged, whined a little. “Habit, Nestor. Forgive me.”

“I don’t want any harm to come to her,” Nestor said
. Well, not yet. Not until she’s united the stack. For if there really is a threat from the east,
we may well need the Lady Wratha and her dubious qualities. Certainly we’ll need her men-at-arms and warriors! But after that … there are other women in the world.
At which he finally recognized the truth: that his lust was all but burned out of him and he did not “love” the Lady after all. A full-fledged Lord of the Wamphyri, he didn’t love or need anyone. Especially a liar like Wratha. For the fact of it was that she was a great liar, in her body if not her tongue. Nestor had mistaken experience for truth, had been willing to believe that what she gave him was new and true. But it wasn’t: it was old and false, even as old and false as Wratha herself. A hag was lurking there under the sweet girl-flesh. He knew it for certain now. He always had known it, from their first encounter on the roof. How could she expect love?

Why, Wratha had sucked men to death—with both mouths!

And as for sex, Nestor was right on that point, too: there were plenty of other women in the world …

And one especially, in
Sunside? Hiding in some hole in the ground, with the Lidescis?

But all of this unspoken and locked in his secret mind, so that Canker couldn’t hear it.

“Too late now, in any case,” the dog-thing barked. “She’s well away. Something has angered her and she’ll take it out on the Lidescis if she can. Well, and good luck to her. For she’ll need it, be sure. I saw thunder and lightning, Nestor—explosions red, green and orange! Aye, and I heard the death-screams of men, flyers and warriors alike—vampire screams, which are different from those of common men. For while a man’s screams don’t last too long, those of a vampire go on and on and on …”

Nestor was calmer now, thoughtful. “And yet you say she’ll suffer no harm?”

“Not personally, no. Losses among her lads and creatures, certainly.”

“Then let it be. You’re probably right: a lesson learned. After this, perhaps she’ll leave the Szgany Lidesci alone.”

“What is it with you and them?”

“Something … old.” Nestor looked away.

“An old scar, still itching?”

“Yes.”

“Say no more. You are my brother. I understand.” And Canker put an arm round the other’s shoulder.

“Let’s see how it works out for her,” Nestor said. “What was it we had scheduled for tonight, anyway? Tithe-collecting east of the pass? Well, our lieutenants are capable lads. They can tend to that. What say you and I go spy on Wratha, eh? See what she’s up to, and what befalls her. We can observe her and her works from the foothills over …”

But this time Canker was quicker off the mark. “Over Settlement, aye,” he nodded. “Very well, I go to prepare …”

And Canker had been right.

Less than an hour and a half later, he and Nestor landed their flyers in the foothills over Settlement. And down there, it was much as the dog-Lord had said it would be.

Wratha had called up a mist to send rolling in through the battered gates and shattered stockade fence of the ruined town. Then she’d surrounded the place as best she might with her lieutenants and thralls, probably three men to a side, outside the gates, to deal with any fleeing humans. Overhead, no more than midges at this distance, the Lady herself and her six remaining men-at-arms rode their flyers and commanded the warriors.

Her two mature fighting creatures were already down inside the fortress walls, battling in the mist (though with what was hard to say, for Wratha’s mist was a good one). In the still of the night, however, with their enhanced Wamphyri senses, Nestor and Canker were not at pains to
hear
the sounds of battle: the snapping of timbers and crashing of collapsing houses; a thrumming and whistling, as of huge projectiles in flight; the awesome belching and growling of furious warriors at work. And in a little while they more than heard it.

“But where’s the thunder and lightning?” Nestor had voiced his query just a moment ago, so that it still hung in the air like some weird invocation when the answer came … from below!

And: “But there—ah,
there!
—is the thunder I promised you!” The dog-Lord whined and panted; and both of them started massively at the new sights and sounds from besieged, embattled Settlement.

A ball of fire, green at first but expanding through yellow and orange to a red glare, bloomed like a giant’s torch in the center of the town. Something writhed in the heat and the smoke as the mist was thrown back: a warrior, coiling like a crippled snake as it burned! Then the bellowing and belching was drowned out by the blast of a terrific explosion, whose echoes bounced up into the mountains to ricochet between the peaks, then down again to the dumbstruck vampire Lords where they gazed in astonishment on the scene below.

Amplified in the vacuum left by the explosion, the challenging battlecries of an uninjured warrior continued unabated, while those of its stricken twin had turned to shrieks of purest agony! Down there in the ruddy night, someone or ones must be throwing oil on the thing in its death throes; fires blazed up sporadically all around the area of the original explosion; the gigantic writhing continued, but frenziedly now.

Battle was truly joined, and no stopping it. And as the Lady’s flyers descended towards the town, black motes against the flickering illumination of various fires where they broke out upon the ground, so the sky over Settlement came bursting alive with sputtering, brilliant blue and emerald-green trails of fire, like shooting stars fired from the walls of the town.

“And
there
is my lightning!” said Canker.

A flyer was hit, became a green and yellow fireball full of black, tumbling debris! Other flyers panicked, skewing this way and that and even colliding. The amazed, outraged cries of stunned lieutenants came echoing up on the stench and turbulence of furious explosions and sulphur thermals. A faulty, shrilly whistling, madly cartwheeling projectile exploded as it struck another flyer in the root of a manta wing, causing the blazing, mewling beast to go spiraling down to a fiery doom. Its lieutenant rider went with it, burning and screaming all the way.

“She’s being blown out of the sky!” Nestor whispered, to no one in particular.

“Just as I foresaw it,” Canker nodded grimly. “We all knew that this Lardis was testing new weapons—we saw evidence of it while raiding on the borders of his territories: incredible thunderclaps and flying fires—but
this
is simply …”

“Fantastic!” Nestor finished it for him. And, a moment later: “Look. She’s finished.”

It was true. Wratha’s pride had taken another beating, but even she knew when it was time to call it a night. Her flyers were rising up through a fusillade of searing fireballs, and on the ground a part-blazing warrior seemed hard put to get aloft. Finally it succeeded, and the speed of its rumbling ascent put out the fires in its flanks. But at least one of its flotation bladders exploded as it listed into the sky. As for the other, less fortunate creature: it was nothing but a mass of shuddering, steaming meat, gouting fire, smoke and sickening stench now.

And outside the walls, rising from the woods and the lower slopes of the foothills, more flyers made hastily, erratically aloft, swerving to avoid the bolts of giant crossbows and the rockets of jubilant defenders. It was a rout!