Nestor had been nai've in the ways of the Wamphyri. If his egg were a mature leech, doubtless it would have caused him to laugh. But with his own agonies so fresh in his mind, he could scarcely bear the thought of another's. And such agonies: to slump into gurgling glue, vaporize to roiling smoke and stench, and steam away to nothing, like a slug tossed into a campfire! And so he'd paused a moment to loosen and yank free the Suck's pegs, before carrying on towards the patiently waiting flyer.
Before, there'd been a crossbow bolt transfixing the V of muscle between Vasagi's neck and shoulder. Nestor knew, for he was the one who had put it there (Wran had pulled it out when he pegged Vasagi down, just for the pleasure it gave him). Now the ironwood bolt lay in the bloodied dust, and Nestor's empty crossbow swung at his hip. Automatically, he had taken up the bolt and clipped it into its housing under the crossbow's tiller. For if he was really on his way to Starside, it would be as well to take a weapon along -especially now that he knew what to expect there! The crossbow should provide some security at least. For in all Sunside there was no finer shot than Nestor. So they had used to say back in ... back in ... back where? But Nestor no longer remembered.
Then he'd found Vasagi's bloodied battle gauntlet hanging by a thong from the flyer's saddle, where Wran had' left it for him. But even then - with the deadly furnace sun so close to breaching the far horizon, and just as close to sending out its sighing, searing golden rays - still the flyer had known its would-be rider for a stranger and would not launch ...
... Until the crippled Vasagi sent a mind-call winging, to stir the beast to action: Aye, you were ever a faithful creature. When I told you to stay, you stayed. But now you belong to another - it pleases me to give you to him - for a while, at least. And now it's time to fly or die. So fly... fly!
Only then, on Vasagi's command, had the flyer extended its wings; and as alveolate bones, membrane and muscle stretched in metamorphic flux, so the creature had launched itself aloft! A moment more, and then -
- Wind whipping in Nestor's face as his mount glided out and turned in a rising thermal over Sunside! And as its arched manta wings formed vast scoops or air-traps, so the beast rose up towards the peaks, where soon the sun would strike with hammers of gold. But Nestor was no longer afraid, not of anything. For welling up from deep within his changeling's mind and body, he'd heard the first discordant notes of a strange, savage and wonderful song - Wamphyri!
And how that silent song of metamorphosis had thrilled in his contaminated blood, for at last he had known he was on his way.
To Starside!
To the last aerie!
Wamphyri! Wamphyyyyri. ..!
In Nestor's dream the past came alive with such immediacy and in such vivid detail, it was as if he lived it again. Indeed, as if it were happening even now:
With the reins trapped in his right hand, and gripping the left-hand horn of twin pommels in the other, he used his knees to cling tightly to the hump of the well-rubbed leather saddle; and flattening himself down out of the slipstream, he leaned a little forward into the force of the blast. But even lacking fear and feeling a wild exhilaration, still he hung on for dear life. The wind in his face snatched at his breath and struck cold against his clenched teeth; he found his position precarious, to say the least, and jammed his heels firmly up under the flyer's wings where they met its body, to give himself more purchase.
But at least he was airborne and Starside bound at last. And his weird mount, so heavy and unwieldy on the ground? Now it glided like some prehistoric bird, balancing itself on turbulent currents of air and steadily gaining altitude. Bravo! Ah, but while it knew how to fly, Nestor did not!
Perhaps he had known it, upon a time, but all long forgotten now. Vague memories, revenant of some elusive, shadowy past - of a flyer just like this one, all crashed and broken on Sunside, screaming in lethal sunlight as its skin cracked open to issue jets of steam, and its fluids dripping free like the juices of a pig on a spit - were all that remained. Maybe that was how he'd got himself marooned and lost his memory in the first place, by crashing his flyer on Sunside and banging his head. It was an explanation, at least. Well, and now he'd be a Lord again, and have new things to remember. Ah, but new things to learn first, like flying!
As the mountainside fell away, and the furious bluster slackened, he leaned forward between the jutting