Necroscope II Wamphyri(Vampyri) - By Brian Lumley Page 0,18

are, perhaps you are.'

'Perhaps I am what?'

'It's said,' the gypsy whispered, drawing closer, 'that the old Ferengi's true sons always come home to roost. In the end they come here, seek him out - seek out their father! Would you climb up to see him?'

Thibor put on a look of indecision. He shrugged. 'I might, if I knew the way. But these cliffs and passes are treacherous.'

'I know the way.'

'You've been there?' Thibor tried not to seem too eager.

The old man nodded. 'Oh, yes, and I could take you. But would you go alone? The Ferengi's not one for too many visitors.'

Thibor appeared to give it some little thought. 'I'd want to take two of my friends, at least. In case the way gets rough.'

'Huh! If these old bones can make it, surely yours can! Just two of them?'

'For assistance in the steep places.'

Thibor's host pursed his lips. 'It would cost you a little something. My time and...'

That's understood,' the Wallach stopped him.

The gypsy scratched his ear. 'What do you know of the old Ferengi? What have you heard of him?'

Thibor saw a chance for knowledge. Getting information out of people such as these was like drawing the teeth of a bear! 'I've heard he has a great company of men garrisoned with him, and that his castle is a fastness impenetrable. Because of this he swears no fealty, pays no taxes on his lands, for none may collect it.'

'Hah! The old gypsy laughed out loud, thumped the bar, poured more brandy. 'A company of men? Retainers?

Serfs? He has none! A woman or two, perhaps, but no men. Only the wolves guard those passes. As for his castle: it hugs the cliff. One way in - for mere men - and the same way out. Unless some unwary fool leans too far from a window...'

As he paused his eyes because suspicious again. 'And did your father tell you that the Ferengi had men?'

Thibor's father had told him nothing, of course. Nor had the Vlad, for that matter. What little he knew was superstitious twaddle he'd had from a fellow at court, a foolish man who didn't much care for the prince and who in turn was little cared for. Thibor had no time for ghosts: he knew how many men he'd killed, and not a man of them had come back to haunt him.

He decided to take a chance. He'd already learned much of what he wanted to know. 'My father said only that the way was steep, and that when he was there, many men were camped in and about the castle.'

The old man stared at him, slowly nodded. 'It could be, it could be. The Szgany have often wintered with him.' He came to a decision. 'Very well, I will take you up - if he will see you.' He laughed at Thibor's raised eyebrows, led him out of the house into the quiet of the afternoon. On their way the gypsy took a huge bronze frying pan from its peg.

A weak sun was poised, preparing itself for setting over the grey peaks. The mountains brought an early twilight here, where already the birds were singing their evening songs. 'We are in time,' the old man nodded. 'And now we must hope that we are seen.'

He pointed steeply upwards at the looming mountains, to where a high, jagged black crest etched itself against the grey of the ultimate peaks. 'You see there, where the darkness is deepest?'

Thibor nodded.

That's the castle. Now watch.' He polished the bottom of the pan on his sleeve, then turned it towards the sun. Catching the weak rays, he threw them back into the mountains and traced a line of gold up the crags. Fainter and fainter the disc of light flickered with distance, jumping from scree to flat rock face, from fangs to fir clump, from trees back to crumbling shale as it climbed ever higher. And finally it seemed to Thibor that the ray was answered; for when at last the gypsy held the pan stiffly in his gnarled hands, suddenly that dark, angular outcrop he'd pointed out seemed to burst into golden fire! The lance of light was so sudden, so blinding, that the Wallach threw up his hands before his eyes and peered through the bars of his fingers.

'Is that him?' he gasped. 'Is it the Boyar himself who answers?'

'The old Ferengi?' The gypsy laughed uproariously. Carefully he propped up the pan on a flat rock, and still the beam