The Source by Brian Lumley

‘Father,’ Harry Jnr continued, ‘I told you there were reasons why I couldn’t come back. Reasons why I must stand and defend my place. But all of you have told me how you hate and would destroy the Wamphyri. All the Wamphyri! So how can I ask you to fight for me?’

‘Harry – ‘ his father began, only to be cut short.

This is how the wolf repaid me,’ said The Dweller. And he took off his golden mask.

Beneath it was the face of a young Harry Keogh; Harry knew now beyond any doubt that he gazed upon his own true son. But the eyes in his face were scarlet in the twilight!

A long, low sigh went up from the crowd. For long moments they stood and stared, began to mutter, to talk in breathless whispers. Finally the crowd began to break up, drift away in small groups. In a little while only Harry Snr, Jazz and Zek remained. And The Dweller thought: they’re here because without me they have nowhere to go.

‘I’ll take you out of here now,’ he said.

‘Like hell you will!’ his father growled. ‘Come the hell down from there and explain. You might be The Dweller but you’re also my flesh. You, a vampire? What kind of vampire that so many people have loved you? I don’t believe it!’

Harry Jnr came down. ‘Believe it or not,’ he said. ‘It’s the truth. Oh, I’m different, all right. My mind and will are too strong for it. I have mastery over it, I have it tamed. It takes me on now and then, but I’m always ready and I always win. Or have so far, anyway. So the vampire works for me, and not the other way around. I get its strength, its powers, its tenacity. It gets a host, and that’s all. But there are disadvantages, too. For one, I have to stay here on Starside, or close to Starside. The sunlight -real sunlight – would hurt me. But the main reason I stay here is because this has become my place. My place, my territory. No other shall have it!’

He looked at them with his scarlet eyes, smiled mirthlessly. ‘So there you have it. And now, if you’re ready . . .?’

‘Not me,’ Harry shook his head. ‘I’m staying, until this is over, anyway. I didn’t look for you for eight years just to leave you now.’

Harry Jnr looked at Jazz and Zek. Jazz said: ‘You already have our answer.’

Trogs came shuffling out of the twilight. Their spokesman said: ‘We were Lesk’s creatures, and we didn’t like it. We liked working for you. Without you we have nothing. We stay and fight.’

Harry Jnr’s face showed his despair. The trogs may be fast learners, but they weren’t much good with his weapons. Then lanterns came bobbing, together with a familiar jingling, from the direction of the Traveller dwellings.

Jazz and Zek tried to count heads; pointless, there were as many as before. Maybe eighty of them. Not a man, woman or child had run out.

‘So,’ said Harry Snr, looking at them all where they regrouped themselves, ‘it looks like we stand and fight!’

His son could only throw up his hands in amazement. And gladness, Harry thought . . .

An hour later at The Dweller’s armoury, Jazz Simmons had finished handing out German-made pump-action shotguns and shells to the Travellers. The armoury was well-stocked and there were weapons for everyone. There were half-a-dozen flame-throwers, too, and Travellers who had been trained in their use. Harry Jnr was there to point out that the shells for the shotguns were probably the most expensive ammunition ever made; their shot was pure silver. Though most of the equipment had been stolen (Harry Jnr made no bones about it; he believed the manufacturers were well able to stand the loss), he’d been obliged to order and buy these shells. Jazz, ever practical, had asked how they’d been paid for. With Traveller gold, he’d been told, of which this world had an abundance. The Travellers considered it pretty, and of course it was very malleable; on the other hand it was much too heavy to carry around in large amounts, and far too soft for serious metalworking. It made nice baubles, which was about as much as could be said for it!

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