The Source by Brian Lumley

So thinking, Shaithis tossed Karl Vyotsky’s limp form down onto the great slab of stone which was his workbench, then went to fetch the other ingredients of his work and certain instruments with which to fuse them . . .

It was a long job; sunup came and went, and a new sundown was beginning; finally Shaithis was done. He inspected with some satisfaction the thing heaving and hissing where it waxed in its enormous trench of a vat, striding down the length of it and admiring the rapid formation of a deadly array of weapons. Then, into its groping, vestigial mind, he implanted those commands which would form its one aim, its single goal in life, and left it to fend for itself. Emerging in a very little while, the warrior would discover the pit-things and devour them, and find its way out of here. The exit might well be too small for it by then, but Shaithis could not doubt that this warrior would make it bigger.

In the interim he had tested his flyer; the beast was better than any before it, fit steed for the long journey ahead. First, however, Shaithis would gaze once more upon the face of that mother of all treachery, the beautiful face of the Lady Karen. He flew to her aerie and without

hostility began circling it, calling to her in the way of the Wamphyri until she came to a window.

‘So, Karen,’ he called, from where he rode a gusting wind, ‘then you are the last. Or maybe the first? Still, no matter, we are all undone because of you.’

‘Shaithis,’ she answered, ‘of all the great Wamphryi liars, you are the greatest. You even lie to yourself! You blame me for your troubles, or whoever else it takes your fancy to blame, when in fact you know that you alone have brought the Wamphryi to this end. And in any case, what care you for them? Nothing! You care only for the Lord Shaithis.’

‘Ah, you’re a cold, cruel creature, Karen!’ he nodded and scowled at her across an abyss of air.

‘Merely accurate,’ she answered. ‘Do you think I did not know your plans for me? The truth is that you underestimated, Shaithis. You underestimated me, The Dweller, everything. You were so bloated up with your own schemes and lust for ultimate domination that you considered yourself beyond defeat. Well, and now we see how wrong you were.’

He flew closer, all of his great fury visible in his partly-healed face; until she cautioned: “Ware, Shaithis! I have a warrior. It’s but the work of a second to launch him/

He drew back. ‘Aye, I have seen it. But do you call that a warrior? I doubt if it would have my measure, not if I was the whole man. Which I will be, one day.’

‘Are you in a position to threaten?’

He glared at her, saw that a second face had appeared at her window. ‘Ah, and you even managed to save a companion for yourself!’ he said. ‘A lieutenant lover to warm you through all the lonely time ahead, no doubt? But … I don’t recognize this one. Now tell me, who is he?’

‘I speak for myself,’ Harry Keogh answered. ‘I’m a hell-lander, Shaithis. The father of the one you call The Dweller.’

Shaithis gasped, drew back further yet. But in a little while his courage returned. From what he knew of The Dweller and his sort, if they were desperate to have him dead, then he would be dead! Perhaps they were satisfied with what they had done. Curiosity overcame all, and Shaithis flew his beast closer. Tell me one thing,’ he called out. ‘Why did you come here? To destroy the Wamphryi?’

Harry shook his head. That was the way it worked out, that’s all.’ And then he remembered a promise he’d made. ‘Maybe you should ask instead, who sent me?’

Shaithis nodded. ‘Say on!’

‘His name was Belos,’ Harry said, ‘and he told me: “Tell them Belos sent you.”‘

It meant nothing to Shaithis, who had never been much of a one for studying the legends and histories. He frowned, shrugged, turned his beast away and headed north. The winds carried back to them his final word:

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