Arkis seemed uncertain, ‘Eh? What’s this for a plan? We take meat with us and visit a handful of shrivelled, prehistoric, ice-doomed Lords? Also the sacked, empty tombs of other ancients, whose fate we can only guess at?’
‘On our way to the central cone, aye,’ said Shaithis.
‘And then?’ said the Ferenc.
‘Perhaps to destroy him who dwells within,’ Shaithis answered, ‘and gain his secrets, his beasts and possessions; and who can say, possibly even discover some means of egress from these hideously boring and barren Icelands?’
The Ferenc nodded his grotesque head. This all sounds good to me. Very well, then let’s be at it.’ He commenced to cut strips of frozen flesh from the curve of the flyer’s rib cage, cramming his pockets with them.
However grudgingly, Arkis followed suit. ‘Meat is meat, I know,’ he grumbled. ‘But the frozen flesh of flyers? Huh! The blood was the life!’
And Shaithis snapped his fingers and said: ‘Ah, yes! I knew there was something else. Now tell me, Diredeath: what of your twin thralls, the brothers Largazi? Did they follow you here out of the west? From the fumarole coast, the bubbling geysers and lakes of sulphur? Did they survive? Or perhaps they perished en route?’
‘Perished, aye.’ The other nodded agreeably and smiled a fond, knowing smile, his boar’s tusks glinting dully. ‘But not en route. Perished when they got here, and when I found them exhausted and shivering in the hollow core of the westernmost ice-castle. Ah, how they begged my forgiveness then. And do you know, I forgave them? Indeed I did. “Goram!” I cried, “Belart! My faithful thralls! My trusted lieutenants! Returned at last to the bosom of your mentor!” Oh, how they hugged me! And I in my turn fell upon their necks – and tore them open!’
Shaithis sighed, perhaps a little glumly. ‘You fuelled yourself on both of them? At once? With never a thought for tomorrow?’
Arkis shrugged and finished stuffing his pockets with meat. ‘I had been cold and hungry for more than two auroral periods,’ he said. ‘And the blood of the Largazis was hot and strong. Perhaps I should have exercised a little restraint, kept one of them in reserve . . . and then again perhaps not. For it was about then that Fess and Volse arrived. So at least I spared myself the frustration of having one of my thralls stolen away from me. As for their corpses: I stored them in the heart of a glacier. Alas, they went the same way as my warrior! Something sneaked them away while I was out exploring.’
Shaithis allowed his narrow-eyed glance to fall upon the Ferenc, who at once shook his head. ‘Not me.’ He denied the unspoken charge. ‘Neither me nor Volse. We knew nothing of Arkis’s glaciated thralls. If we had, well, perhaps the story would have been different.’ He clambered out from the lee of the ravaged flyer and stood gigantically in starlight and aurora sheen. ‘Well, and are we all set?’
Shaithis and Arkis joined him; all three, they turned their faces in the direction of the central cone. Directly between the monstrous trio and the ex-volcano, an ice-castle had taken (how many?) centuries to crystallize about its core of volcanic rock-splash. It would make as good a starting place as any. Shaithis, taking in the bleak scene, and after glancing a moment into the scarlet eyes of each of his ‘companions’, finally agreed, ‘All set. So let’s go and see what the rest of these aeon-frozen exiles look like, shall we?’
And united – for the moment united, at least – the vampires set out to cross the snowfields and scintillant ice-jumbles, and the weird terraces and shimmering battlements of their target ice-castle loomed larger as gradually they narrowed the distance between. And forming a frowning centrepiece to the glittering, concentrically circling aeries, every now and then the duller, darker shape of the ‘extinct’ volcano would appear to puff a little smoke into the radiant, ever-changing sky.
Or perhaps this was just an illusion? Well, possibly. But Shaithis thought not . . .
Soon Shaithis discovered that one ice-castle was much the same as the next. This one, for example, might well be the stark, shivery, tinkling cold stack of Kehrl Lugoz; might be; except, of course, it was not the undead Kehrl who waited out the ages in the densely protective sheath of the core but some other Lord. Also, and whoever he had been in life, his waiting had long since come to an end and he was now entirely dead. An ice-mummy – frozen, starved, desiccated to a condition way beyond life – the olden vampire was one with all past things, leaving only his shell to represent him as part of the present.