Necroscope II Wamphyri(Vampyri) - By Brian Lumley Page 0,66

Fear of what? When he had ridden out to battle, he'd known each day might be his last. That had not deterred him. So black was his hatred of the invaders, of all enemies, that it simply engulfed fear and put it down. No creature, or man, or threat of any device of men had ever unmanned him since... oh, before he could remember: since he was a child, if ever he'd been one. But Faethor Ferenczy was something other than all of these. Torture could only maim and must kill in the end, and there's no pain after death, but what the Ferenczy threatened seemed an eternity of hell. Mere moments ago it had been a strange fantasy, the dreams of a madman, but now. .

Unable to tear his eyes away, Thibor groaned and grew pale at the sight of that which followed.

'A cutting, aye,' Faethor's voice was low, trembling with dark passions, 'to be nurtured in flesh already tainted and falling into decay. The lowest form of Wamphyri existence, it will come to nothing so long as it has no living host. But it will live, devour, grow strong - and hide! When there is nothing left of Arvos it will hide in the earth and wait. Like the vine, waiting for a tree. The cut-off leg of a starfish, which does not die but waits to grow a new body - except this thing I make waits to inhabit one! Mindless, unthinking, it will be a thing of the most primitive instincts. But it can nevertheless outlast the ages. Until some unwary man finds it, and it finds him...'

His incredible, bloody, throbbing forefinger touched Arvos' flesh... and leprous white rootlets sprang forth, slid like worms in earth into the gypsy's chest! Small flaps of fretted skin were laid back; the pseudopod developed tiny glistening teeth of its own; it began to gnaw its way inside. Thibor would have looked away but he could not. Faethor's 'finger' broke off with a soft tearing sound and quickly burrowed its way out of sight within the corpse.

Faethor held up his hand. The severed member was shrinking back into him, pseudoflesh melting into his flesh. The cancerous colours went out of it; it assumed a more normal shape; the old fingernail fell to the floor, and right in front of Thibor's eyes a new, pink shell began to form.

'Well then, my hero son who came here to kill me,' Faethor slowly stood up and held out his hand toward Thibor's bloodless face. 'And could you have killed this?'

Thibor drew back his face, head and body, tried to cringe into the very stone to avoid that pointing finger. But Faethor only laughed. 'What? You think that I would... ? But no, no, not you, my son. Oh, I could, be sure! And forever you'd be in thrall to me. But that is the second state of the Wamphyri and unworthy of you.

No, for I hold you in the highest esteem. Why, you shall have my very egg!'

Thibor tried to find words but his throat lacked moisture, was dry as a desert. Faethor laughed again and drew back that threatening hand of his. He turned away and stepped to where the squat Wallach lay humped on the stone flags, gurglingly breathing, face down in a dusty corner. 'He is in that second state,' Thibor's tormentor explained. 'I took from him and gave him something back. Flesh of my flesh is in him now, healing him, changing him. His tears and broken bones will mend and he will live - for as long as I will it. But he will always be slave to me, to do my bidding, obey my every command. You see, he is vampire, but without vampire mind. The mind comes only from the egg and he is not grown from seed but is merely... a cutting. When he wakes, which will be soon, then you will understand.'

'Understand?' Thibor found his voice, however cracked. 'But how can I understand? Why should I want to understand? You are a monster, I understand that! Arvos is dead, and yet you... you did that to him! Why? Nothing can live in him now but maggots.'

Faethor shook his head. 'No, his flesh is like fertile soil - or the fertile sea. Think of the starfish.'

'You will grow another... another you? Inside him?' Thibor was very nearly gibbering now.

'It will consume him,' Faethor answered. 'But another me - no. I have mind. It will not