But that which was inhuman in him thought: On the other hand, and as he gets older, this honesty and outspoken spontaneity could become a problem. And so, in a year or two — when he has translated all of the remaining histories — it might be in my interest to favour him and replace those brittling bones of his with far more flexible stuff. For with his agile brain, why… Karz Biteri would make me a crafty flyer!
All this in a moment's thought, while out loud he said: 'Giorge Nanosi, called Fatesayer for obvious reasons? I know him, aye. So — what struck you as strange?'
'First,' Karz continued, 'Giorge examined the tithelings and separated out those which he considered inferior. These were taken away for processing. The… the requirements of Turgosheim; the provisioning; the needs of the manses and spires.'
'Yes, yes,' Maglore waved a hand, dismissing a concept which to Karz was sheerest horror.
Then,' the Historian went on, 'the Fatesayer lined up the rest and began drawing out the sigils from his leather bag, to which I was witness, as is the custom. First in line stood that young man whom Wratha had… noticed. Giorge had put him there. And lo, the first bone shard he drew from the bag bore Wratha's sigiclass="underline" a kneeling man with bowed head!'
'Yes, yes,' Maglore growled again. 'I know her blazon well enough.' And then, if not explosively with a deal more animation: 'Corruption, Karz! What? Why, it might have been named after her! Not Wratha the Risen but Wratha the Sunken — into the quag of her own corruption! And you know it, and the Lady knows you know. Wherefore, in future, avoid her at all cost. For I value you.'
'I avoid all of them, Lord,' said Karz, before he could still his tongue.
But Maglore only nodded, and said: 'Corruption, aye. But should I be surprised? No, for all of us — the Wamphyri entire — are corrupt! We are not our own masters but governed by our creatures, even as we govern our thralls. Except where we are merely corrupt, Wratha is corrupt!'
Karz said nothing but merely waited, and Maglore finally went on, 'Did I ever tell you her story?'
Karz nodded. 'Yes, Master. To the point where she killed Radu Cragsthrall.'
Then let me finish it,' the other sank back in his chair and steepled his hands. 'For it's as well that men know this witch and her ways, as long as they steer clear from knowing her too well…'
'Wratha lived with Karl a year in Cragspire. But she was not Mistress of Cragspire, only of Karl… which we may suppose she found irksome. It may also be supposed that eventually she would get his egg, but eventually can be a long time.
'Now, Cragspire was one of the tallest spires; at sunup the rays of the sun, striking between the high mountain peaks, turned all its upper ramparts to fatal gold. For which reason Karl shielded the windows of his chambers with heavy curtains of good black bat fur. His several small warriors within the aerie, and the sun without, were all the protection he needed in those hours when the Wamphyri prefer their beds.
'Came that season when the sun is hottest and the coarser produce of Sunside — nuts, fruits, grains and wines — never more plentiful, when Wratha made her move. She exhausted Karl with her sex upon his bed (no small feat in itself!), and made him drunk with good wines. Then, when he was sound asleep, she bound him to the bed with chains. It has even been said that she sprayed the forbidden kneblasch oil about the room, more deadly to him than to her, for she was but a vampire while he was Wamphyri! Mind you, I can't swear to the last, but as for the rest: it is exactly as Wratha boasted of it to the other Ladies after the deed was done.
'She decked the walls with bronze — shields out of the olden times, when the Szgany had used to fight back, removed from the halls of Cragspire and burnished to mirrors — and all directed upon Karl in his stupor. And then… then she threw wide the curtains!
'In a moment, Karl woke up screaming. But he was exhausted, drunk. He lolled upon his bed, chained down, and his cries were like the gonging of great cracked bells as his skin peeled back and his blood boiled! The sun's rays were concentrated in his eyes, which blackened to craters in his head! His hair became smoke, while his limbs and various parts cracked open to issue jets of steam and stench! And through all of this Wratha laughing like a madwoman in a shaded part of the room, dancing from one foot to the other in her excitement, and hauling on a rope which she had fixed to his bed, dragging Karl more surely into the focus of the sunlight.
'Karl's body shrank and shrivelled; he was finished; his leech deserted him, came wriggling from his trunk as finally he burst open at the belly. Seeing all of this, Wratha closed the curtains and rushed to Karl's bed, and took his cindered head with the same silver sword which she'd used to slay Radu Cragsthrall!
Then she turned to his vampire, which was also fatally burned and dying. In its final throes, the creature produced its egg — and at last Wratha had what she wanted! Of her own free will she opened herself to the thing, which entered her without pause and hid itself away in her flesh. It was done, and Wratha was or was about to become Wamphyri!
'Karl's warriors had been hauling on their chains from the moment of his first scream. Now one of them burst free and came hurrying to discover and destroy his master's tormentor. Wratha, consumed by that ecstasy of agony which ever attends the transfusion of an egg, nevertheless stood tall and showed herself to the creature. For her time in Cragspire had been well occupied, and she'd made herself known to all of these children of Karl's vats. However dully, they had grown used to Wratha and responsive to her vampire techniques and aura; and so she'd exercised her will over them, practising for this very day.
'Now the time had come when these preparations must be put to the ultimate test. Wratha faced the warrior down, shouted at it with voice and will both… and the monster at once backed off! Then, knowing that she had won, Wratha ordered the warrior to a new post right there in a corner of Karl's bedroom; except that the room was now hers, no less than the warrior itself was Wratha's. For her will was abroad in all the corridors of Cragspire (soon to be Wrathspire), and Karl's other creatures were likewise quickly quelled.
'Beasts are beasts, however, and men are men, of which there were several sleeping in the spire. But Wratha's sigil — an unseemly device, to my mind — shows all too well what she thinks of men! She called for Karl's lieutenants one by one, showed herself and her handiwork to them, demanded their allegiance, their obedience. Some were common thralls, while others were undead vampires who had perhaps aspired to Karl's seat; whichever, none made objection. Let one so much as frown or make wry face, Wratha's attendant warrior would rumble and vent furious gases. And so now she was risen in every respect, Wratha of Wrathspire, and ready to announce that fact.
'Come sundown, she sent out a lieutenant and flyer with messages of invitation to certain other Wamphyri Ladies, such as Zindevar Cronesap and Ursula Torspawn, informing them of a gathering in Wrathspire. Vastly intrigued, they all attended of course; but Wratha's special guest was Devetaki Skullguise, the so-called "virgin grandam" of Masquemanse, whom she much admired. Devetaki, when she was a thrall, had vied with a vampire girl for her master's egg. She won the ensuing fight but lost the right half of her pretty face, flensed from the cheekbone. Since when and to this very day, she wears gold-filigreed half-masks of lead: a smiling mask if her mood is good, and one which frowns when it is sour. In this way the two halves, both living and leaden, always concur. But being Devetaki, usually she wears the frowning mask. Ah, but when she is most angry, then she wears no mask at all…