mundane mankind; the very chemistry of his body, no longer a human or entirely natural chemistry, had the power to bring about changes in natural things. He felt it burgeoning within him; he had desired something and now would wil it. He would breathe a mist, and cause the forest itself to reciprocate!
And with the metamorphic assistance of his leech, he did exactly that. The pores of his body opened and seemed to steam; the mist poured off him as if he were dry ice; his heavy breath issued from his lips as an expanding evil essence that bilowed out from him and appeared to cal lesser mists out of the woods and up from the very earth itself. And on the outer rim of the Zirescu encampment, Radu flowed within his mist to reach up and tap lightly on the wicker door of Giorga's caravan.
'Eh? Who?' (Radu would know that bass, grumbly, rumbling voice anywhere; the Old Zirescu was still alive.) 'What is it? Can't a man catch up on a little sleep around here?' There came the sound of movement from within, a smal barred window opened inwards, and a puffy, bearded, squinting and red-eyed face appeared behind the bars. Radu stood at the foot of the caravan's steps and kept his face averted. His vampire mist obscured him a little where it sweled, roled, and sent up wispy tendrils, serving to hide his actual identity, but the sparse and ragged clothing of a mountains loner gave him away as a stranger. And:
'Eh?' Giorga mumbled again, but sharper now. 'What, a wanderer, come at night to try the hospitality of the Zirescus? So why bother me? There are men at the campfire, I'm sure. Go sing for your supper there.' Giorga was probably drunk; certainly his brandy breath was strong in Radu's nostrils. But before the old man could close his window:
'I haven't come to take anything but to give something,' Radu told him, disguising his voice as best possible - which wasn't in fact difficult, except now he must also disguise it from a growl! And continuing: 'Giorga Zirescu, I bring a warning. But I can't talk out here - ' And he glanced quickly this way and that, as if worried that he might be overheard. ' - So let me in, and I'll tell you of the doom that hangs over you and yours even now!'
'A warning?' the other gasped. 'A doom? Whatever can you mean?' And more harshly, commandingly: 'Speak up, man, and perhaps I'll hear you out!'
Radu straightened up but kept his face averted. 'I'm not one of yours,
Giorga, that you can speak to me like an underling. I'm a loner, yes, a wanderer ... ah, but the places I've wandered, and the things I've heard! They say that Giorga Zirescu grows old and fat and sodden, and his sons no better than young shads in the rut, and the Zirescu women all slatterns who would open their legs to dogs rather than take the pigs his men have become!'
'What!' Giorga's eyes bulged at the window. 'Who says these things? Who dares issue these lies? I have no truck with neighbours, so who's to know that... that I ...'
And Radu looked at him sideways, just a glance, but a look that said it all. 'Yes, go on. Who's to know, that you ... "
The other calmed down a little, snarled, 'I've no time for gossip. Sticks and stones may hurt me, but catcalling ...'
'Sticks and stones, aye,' Radu repeated him. 'And crossbow bolts -and men who lust after your land, because they believe you're not fit to hold it?' And when that sank in:
'Eh?!' Again Giorga's gasp. 'Is that it? Land thieves? But this is my land, as it was my father's before me! So someone's after me for my territory, is that it? A land feud? But no one has the right! Tell me more.'
'I would, gladly,' Radu answered with a shrug, beginning to turn away. 'Except it would seem that the one they call the Old Zirescu is much too proud to talk face to face with a loner and wanderer. It seems he's too high and mighty! And should I stand out here in this damp and clinging mist, without even a sip of your good plum brandy to warm my throat? No, I reckon not. So now you'll just have to guess where they'll strike ... and how many ... and when. Well, and good luck to you ...'
Turning