‘All of the ex-Lords were dying; ah, slowly, so slowly, but dying nevertheless. Of course they were: the blood is the life, and for centuries without number all they had had was ice . . .’
‘Some of them!’ Fess Ferenc broke in. ‘Most of them, aye. But one at least had not gone without. This was the conclusion which Volse Pinescu and I arrived at, when we examined the ice-castle stacks.’
Shaithis looked at him, then at Arkis. ‘Will one of you – or both – elaborate?’
Arkis shrugged. ‘I take it the Ferenc is talking about the matter of the breaking, and of the empty ice-thrones. For it’s a fact, as I’ve hinted, that certain of the frozen keeps and redoubts – indeed, a good many – have been broken into and their helpless, refrigerated inhabitants removed. But by whom, to where . . . for what?’
The huge, hulking, slope-skulled Ferenc broke in again, with: ‘I’ve reached certain conclusions about these things, too. Should I say on?’
And again Arkis Leperson’s shrug. ‘If you can throw some light on the mystery, by all means.’
And Shaithis said, ‘Aye, say on.’
The Ferenc nodded, and continued: ‘As you’ll have noted for yourselves, the ice-castles number between fifty and sixty, forming concentric rings about the extinct volcano which is the central cone. But is the volcano truly extinct? And if so, why is it that a little smoke still goes up from that ancient ice-crusted crater? Also, we have seen – myself far too clearly – how there is at least one monstrous warrior creature guarding the cone’s access tunnels. Ah, but what or who else does it guard?’
When his pause threatened to go on for ever, finally it was Shaithis’s turn to shrug. ‘Pray continue,’ he said. ‘We’re in the very palm of your hand, Fess, entirely fascinated.’
‘Indeed?’ The Ferenc was somewhat flattered. One by one, he very deliberately, very loudly cracked the bony knuckles of his taloned hands. ‘Fascinated, eh? Well, and rightly so. And so you see, Shaithis, you’re not the only thinker who survived The Dweller’s wrath, eh?’
Shaithis hummed in his convoluted nose, perhaps a little indecisively, and swung his head this way and that. Finally he said: ‘I’ll give credit where credit’s due – when I can see the whole picture.’
‘Very well,’ said the Ferenc. ‘So here’s what I’ve seen and what I reckon: me and that foul festerer Volse Pinescu, we explored the innermost ice-aeries and discovered each and every one looted! Following which -and especially now that Volse is no more, sucked dry by the Thing in the lava-run – I find it easy to piece together a fairly accurate picture of what’s been happening here.
The way I see it, some ancient Wamphyri Lord or Lady is master or mistress of the slumbering volcano. In ages past and whenever outcast vampires have happened this way, he or she has fought them off from taking possession of the volcano’s “comforts” … it would seem to have some residual warmth at least. Then, as the vampires lying in siege have succumbed to the cold and put themselves into hibernation, so the crafty master of the volcano has emerged from time to time to pillage their ice-chambers and live off their deep-frozen flesh. In effect, the ice-castles are his larder!’
‘Hah!’ Arkis slapped his great thigh. ‘It all comes clear.’
The Ferenc nodded his swollen, grotesquely proportioned head. ‘You agree with my conclusions, then?’
‘How can it be otherwise?’ said Arkis. ‘What say you, Shaithis?’
Shaithis looked at him curiously. ‘I say you blow like a pennant in the wind: now this way, now that. First you wished to kill the Ferenc, and now you agree with his every word. Is your mind so easily changed, then?’
The leper’s son scowled at him. ‘I know truth when I hear it,’ he said. ‘Also, I can see the sense in sound scheming. The Ferenc’s reckoning about the state of things sounds right enough to me, and your plea that we run together for our mutual safety seems similarly wise. So what’s giving you grief, Shaithis? I thought you wanted us to be friends?’