The Source by Brian Lumley

‘A woman, an incredibly beautiful woman; or she would have been, if not for her scarlet eyes. Who or whatever these people were, she was one of them; indeed she was the mistress of this group, their Lady. And before too long I’d know what they called themselves -Wamphyri!

‘She came forward, around the group standing there, and approached me where I crouched by the crater wall, with the half-sphere of the Gate at my back. Close-up she was even more beautiful; her body had the sinuous motion of a Gypsy dancer, and yet seemed so unaffected as to be innocent! Her face, heart-shaped, with a lock of that fiery hair coiled on her brow, could have been angelic – but her red eyes made it the face of a demon. Her mouth was full, curved in a perfect bow; the colour of her lips, like blood, was accentuated by her pale, slightly hollow cheeks. Only her nose marred looks which were otherwise entirely other-worldly: it was a fraction tilted, stubby, with nostrils just a little too round and dark. And perhaps her ears, half-hidden in her hair, which showed whorls like pale, exotic conches. But golden rings dangled from their lobes, and all in all, and for all her weirdness and contrasting colours, still there was the look of the Gypsy about her. I could hear the jingle of her movements, even when there was none to hear . . .

‘”Hell-lander,” she said, in a tongue I wouldn’t have known without my talent to rely on. Languages are easy when you’re a telepath. But what I couldn’t recognize in her spoken words, I read in her mind – and she knew it at once! Her pale hand, crimson-nailed, flickered toward me, pointed, accused: “Thought-stealer!”

‘Then she narrowed those blood-hued eyes of hers, and when next she spoke her tone was thoughtful. “A woman, from the hell-lands. I have heard of men, wizards, coming through the portal, but never a woman. Perhaps it is an omen. I could make good use of a thought-stealer.” She nodded, came to a sudden decision. “Give yourself up to me, and all your secrets, and I’ll protect you,” she said. “Refuse me, and … go your own way, without my protection.” But behind her as she spoke I could see the leers and the lusting stamped clearly on the faces of her henchmen. I thought quickly – for my life! If I didn’t go with her, wherever, then where could I go? Was there anywhere to go? Or … if I didn’t go with her, then where would I be taken?

‘”I’m Zekintha,” I told her. “And I accept your protection.”‘

‘”Then you may call me the Lady Karen,” she tossed her head, setting her hair ablaze where it bounced. “Now stand aside a little way. We’ve business here.” And to her aides: “Bring the dog Corlis forward!”

‘Karen’s men shoved their prisoner to the fore; even chained, he might have turned on them, but their silver-tipped weapons pressed him close. They took off his chains, and as the last of these was being removed –

‘It was the moment he’d been waiting for!

‘Knotting that last length of chain about one great fist, Corlis whirled, flailed, sent his warders dancing back. Before they could gather their thoughts he’d released the heavy chain, sent it crashing into them. In another moment he laughed – a mad, reckless laugh – and leaped for the Lady Karen to snatch her up. “If I’m to be a victim of the portal, Karen, then so are you!” he cried.

‘So, in the same way you brought Karl Vyotsky here, Jazz, Corlis had determined to take the Lady Karen out of here.

‘Now, clutching Karen to him, Corlis had almost reached the shallow crater wall. Her men were after him like hounds, but he had the advantage. It seemed that my one hope in this strange world was about to be removed from it. But Corlis hadn’t reckoned with me. As he dodged Karen’s retainers and the mouths of magmass holes, so he came close to where I crouched. Karen was kicking and biting him, but it made little difference. She was Wamphyri, but she was a woman, too. Finally, with the Lady tucked under one arm, Corlis saw his chance and bounded straight for natural steps of stone where they climbed the crater wall. He was now within three or four short paces of the Gate. But as he lumbered past me, so I reached out my leg, and braced it… it was as simple as that.

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