As if Shaithis’s siphon had poisoned her and brought on some incredibly swift ageing process or corruptive catabolism, Karen’s flesh was collapsing before the vampire Lord’s eyes. Her arms became yellow-veined sticks from which her bangles clattered loosely to the floor; her scarlet eyes turned a sick, sunken yellow under matted eyelashes; her skin was suddenly corrugated as the skin of dried fruit.
‘What?’ he croaked, as her ravaged lips drew back in a travesty of a smile and showed him her leprous forked tongue, shrivelled gums and loose, decaying teeth. ‘What?’ It wasn’t a question proper, but she answered it anyway, and her voice was a morbid cackle as she reached for Shaithis’s shrinking parts and said: ‘My Lord, I’m ready for you!’
Galvanized into frenzied activity, Shaithis slapped the flat of his hand to the siphon’s mouthpiece and drove it home into her body – and a gurgling stream of stinking pus at once jetted out to splash against and adhere to his shuddering flesh! With an inarticulate cry he staggered to his feet, pointed at the dissolving, liquefying thing on the couch, and commanded: ‘Destroy it! Remove it now! The refuse pit!’ But no one seemed to be listening. Shaithis’s lieutenants and other thralls were in turmoil; The Dweller’s wolf facet was ravaging among them like a fox among chickens; and as for The Dweller’s hell-lander father . . . the vampire Lord could scarcely believe his own eyes.
The pair of hulking Wamphyri aspirants who had dragged this small, unassuming human being in here were now slumped, smouldering shreds of blasted flesh puddling the flagged floor with their ichor; and the magician (oh, yes, for this, surely, was magic!) who had cindered them was at the window, gazing out on Starside’s night skies and ruin-scarred plain with devastating eyes. For where and whenever his gaze alighted and lingered it brought fresh ruins; and all across the sky in the deepening gloom of sundown, Shaithis’s New Wamphyri hordes were exploding into fiery tatters and raining their debris down among the shattered stacks of their olden forebears.
Raging his frustration, Shaithis discovered himself robed again, with his gauntlet at his hip. Knowing what must be done – that he alone had the measure of The Dweller and his father – he fitted his deadly weapon to his hand and, in the tradition of the olden Wamphyri, rushed at them to cut them down. And why not? For they were only flesh and blood after all, just as the great white bears of the Icelands had been flesh and blood. And as the vampire Lord knew only too well, all flesh is weak. Even Wamphyri flesh, in the right circumstances.
In Shaithis’s mind the Dark Hooded Thing heard his chaotic, bloody thoughts and said, Fool! But Shaithis wasn’t listening.
He came upon the hell-lander first, and swung his gauntlet . . . which froze in mid-air, as if time itself had stopped. But then Shaithis saw that time had simply stretched itself, and that his monstrous gauntlet crept across the intervening distance in a maddening slow-motion. The Dweller’s father saw it coming and his strange sad eyes turned (but oh, so very slowly) to burn upon Shaithis’s face. And the scarlet eyes of his son, the great changeling wolf, were likewise upon Shaithis from where that slavering creature floated on the air, caught at the high point of its spring.
In the manner of the Wamphyri, the pair spoke to Shaithis in his raging, blood-drenched mind; and not only them but the Dark Hooded Thing, too, all saying the same thing: You have destroyed us all. Your ambition, your passion, your pride.
Die! Shaithis replied, as his gauntlet collided little by little with the hell-lander’s head and slowly shattered its bright core.
Aye, bright! Bright and blinding and deadly as the furnace sun itself! For there was no blood, no bone, no grey and pulpy brain in the magician’s head at all -nothing but golden fire. Like the seething, seering nuclear fire of the sun.
Indeed, it was the sun, endlessly expanding out of the small destruction of the hell-lander to encompass and destroy . . . everything!!!
Shaithis started awake, felt the ice against his flesh and thought for a moment that it was searing golden fire. He cried out, and a thousand fragile icicles shattered and came tinkling down from the ice-castle’s fantastic ceiling. In the next split second the vampire Lord saw where he was and remembered what he was doing here, and as his nightmare receded and reality closed on him, so his breathing and the pounding of his heart gradually slowed. Then-He scanned across the frozen expanse of the ice-castle and found the dark forms of Fess Ferenc and Arkis Leperson in their niches, and saw that the former had likewise come awake. And now the Ferenc’s gaze met his across the glittering ice-sheathed vault.