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I understand； said Giresci； soberly。 But Harry； don't you think you should speak to someone with even more authority？ I believe it can be arranged。
〃What？〃 Harry was taken aback。 〃Someone with more authority than you？ Is there such a person？〃
Ahhh！ said a new voice； a powerful voice。 It was black as the night itself and deep as the roots of hell； and it seemed to e from everywhere and nowhere at the same time。 Oh； yesss； Haarrry； there is…or was…just such a one。 And I am he。 No one knows as much about the Wamphyri as I do； for no one has or ever will live so long。 So very long； indeed； that when I died I was ready for it。 Oh； I fought against it； be sure； but in the end it was for the best。 Now I have peace。 And I have Ladislau Giresci to thank for giving me that final； merciful release。 Since he obviously holds you in the greatest esteem…as do all the dead； apparently…then so must I。 So e to me； Harry Keogh； and let a real expert answer your questions。
It was an offer Harry couldn't refuse。 He knew who it must be at once； of course； and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself。 It was； after all； the obvious answer。
〃I'm ing； Faethor；〃 he said。 〃Just give me a moment and I'll be right there。 。
Chapter Eleven
To this day； on the outskirts of Ploiesti； towards Bucharest； there stand gutted ruins； reminders of the mundane horrors of war。 The burned…out shells lie like half…buried stony corpses in open countryside； strangely gorgeous in the summer when the old bomb craters are full of flowers and brambles and wildlife； and ivy climbs shattered walls to turn them green。 But it takes the winter and the snow to make the devastation visible； to bring into monochrome perspective the gaunt reality of the region。 The Romanians have never rebuilt in or near these ruins。
This was where Faethor Ferenczy had finally met his death at the hands of Ladislau Giresci during a Second World War bombing raid on Bucharest and Ploiesti。 Pinned to the floor of his study by a splintered ceiling beam when his home was hit； he had feared the encroaching flames because alive； vampires burn very slowly。 Giresci； working for the Civil Defence； had seen the house bombed； entered the blazing ruin and tried to free Faethor…to no avail。 It was hopeless。
The vampire had known that he was finished。 With a superhuman effort of will he had manded 。Giresci to make a quick end of it。 The old way was still the only way。 Since Faethor was already staked； Giresci need only behead him。 The flames would do the rest； and the ancient monster would burn along with his house。
The things he experienced in that house of horror stayed with Giresci for the rest of his life。 They were what had made him an authority on vampirism。 Now Ladislau Giresci was dead along with Faethor； but still the vampire stood in his debt。 Which was why he would give Harry Keogh whatever assistance he could； at least； that was part of the reason。 The rest of it was that Keogh was up against Thibor the Wallach。
It wasn't yet winter when Harry Keogh homed in on Faethor's incorporeal thoughts and emerged from the M？bius continuum into the creeper… and bramble…grown ruin which had been the vampire's final refuge on earth。 Indeed； the summer was barely turning to autumn； the trees still green； but the chill Harry felt might have suggested winter to the bones of any ordinary man。 Harry was least of all ordinary。 He knew it was a chill of the spirit； a wintry blast blowing on the soul。 A psychic chill； which is only felt in the presence of a supernatural Power。 Faethor Ferenczy had been such； and Harry recognised that fact。 But just as surely Faethor； too； knew when he was face to face with a Power。
The dead speak well of you； Harry； the vampire opened； his mental voice sepulchral。 indeed； they love you！ That is hard for one who was never loved to understand。 You are not one of them； and yet they love you。 Perhaps it is because you too； like them； are without body。 The voice took on a grimly humorous note。 Why！ it might even be said that you are。。。 undead？
〃If there's one thing I've learned about vampires；〃 Harry answered evenly； 〃it's that they love riddles and word games。 But I'm not here to play。 Still； I'll answer your questions。 Why do the dead love me？ Because I bring them hope。 Because I intend no harm but only good。 Because through me they are something more than memories。〃
In other words； because you are 〃pure〃？ The vampire's words dripped with sarcasm。
〃I was never pure；〃 said Harry； 〃but I understand your meaning and I suppose you're near enough right。 Which might also explain why they'll have nothing to do with you。 There's no life in you； only death。 You were dead even in life。 You were death！ And death walked with you wherever you walked。 Don't pare my condition with undeath…I'm more alive now than you ever were。 When I arrived here and before you spoke； I noticed something。 Do you know what it was？
The silence。
〃Exactly。 No cock crowing。 No birdsong。 Even the droning of bees is absent here。 The brambles are lush and green but they bear no fruit。 Nothing； no one will e near you； not even now。 The things of Nature sense your presence。 They can't speak to you like I can； but they know you're here。 And they shun you。 Because you were evil。 Because even dead； you're still evil。 So don't sneer at my 〃pureness〃； Faethor。 I shall never be alone。〃
And after a moment's silence； Faethor said thoughtfully； For one who seeks my help； you don't much hide your feelings。
〃We are poles apart；〃 Harry told him； 〃but we do have a mutual enemy。〃
Thibor？ Why then have you spent time with him？
〃Thibor is the source of the trouble；〃 Harry answered。 〃He is； or was； your enemy； and what he left behind is my enemy。 I hoped to learn things from him and was partially successful。 Now he'll tell me no more。 You offered help； and here I am to accept your offer。 But we don't have to pretend friendship。〃
Guileless； Faethor said。 That is why they love you。 But you are right： Thibor was and is my enemy。 However much I've punished him； 1 can never punish him enough。 So ask what you will of me； and I'll answer all。
〃Then tell me this；〃 said Harry； eager once more。 〃After he hurled you from your castle in flames； what became of you then？〃
I shall be brief； Faethor answered； because I sense that this is only part of what you desire to know。 Cast your mind back then； if you will； one thousand years into the past。。。
Thibor the Wallach； whom I had called son…to whom I had given my name and banner； and into whose hands I had bequeathed my castle； lands and Wamphyri power had injured me sorely。 More sorely than even he suspected。 That cursed ingrate！
Thrown down from the walls of my castle in flames； I was burned and blinded。 Myriad minion bats fluttered to me as I fell； were scorched and died； but dampened the flames not at all。 I crashed through trees and shrubs； tumbled in a thousand agonies down the steep side of the gorge； was torn by trees and boulders alike before striking bottom： But my fall was broken in part by the foliage； and I fell in a shallow pool which put out the flames that threatened to melt my Wamphyri flesh。
Stunned； as close to true death as a vampire might e and remain undead； still I put out a call to my faithful gypsies down in the valley。 I know you will understand what I mean； Harry Keogh。 We share the power to speak with others at a distance。 To speak with the mind alone； as we do now。 And the Szgany came。
They took out my body from the still； salving water and cared for it。 They carried me west over the mountains into the Hungarian Kingdom。 They protected me from jars and jolts； hid me from potential enemies； kept me from the sun's searing rays。 And at last they brought me to a place of rest。 Ah！ And that was a long rest： for recuperation； for reshaping； a time of enforced retirement。
I have said Thibor had hurt me。 But how he had hurt me！ I was sorely damaged。 All bones broken： back and neck； skull and limbs。 Chest staved in； heart and lungs a mangle。 Skin flayed by fire； torn by sharp branches and boulders。 Even the vampire in me； which occupied most parts and portions； was battered； torn and scorched。 A week in the healing？ A month？ A year？ Nay； an hundred years！ A century； in which to dream my dreams of red …or night…black…revenge！
My long convalescence was spent in an inaccessible mountain retreat； but a place more a cavern than a castle； and all the while my Szgany tended me； and their sons； and their sons。 And their daughters； too。 Slowly I became whole again； the vampire in me healed itself； and then healed me； Wamphyri； I walked again； practised my arts； made myself wiser； stronger； more terrible than ever before。 I went abroad from my aerie； made plans for my life's adventure as if Thibor's treachery had been but yesterday and all my wounds no more than a stiffness of the joints。
And it was a terrible world in which I emerged； with wars everywhere and great suffering； and famines； and pestilence。 Terrible； aye； but the very stuff of life to me！ For I was Wamphyri 。
I builded me a small castle in the border with Wallachia； almost impregnable； and there set myself up as a Boyar of some means。 I led a mixed body of Szgany； Hungarians and local Wallachs； paid them well； housed and fed them； was accepted as a landowner and leader。 The Szgany； of course； would have followed me to the ends of the earth …and they did； they did！…not out of love but some strange emotion which is in the wild breast of all the Szgany。 Simply say that I was a Power； and that they associated with me。 As for my name： I became Stefan Ferrenzig； mon enough in those parts。 But that was only the first of my names。 Thirty years after my full recovery I became the 〃son〃 of Stefan； called Peter； and thirty years later Karl； then Grigor。 A man must not be seen to live too long。； and certainly not for centuries。 You understand？
As for Wallachia： I avoided crossing the border； mainly。 For there was one in Wallachia whose strength and cruelty were already renowned： a mysterious mercenary Voevod named Thibor； who manded a small army for the Wallach princelings。 And I did not wish to meet him； who should now be guarding my lands and properties in the Khorvaty！ No； I would not meet him now； not yet。 Oh； I doubted that he would recognise me； for I was changed beyond measure。 But if I saw him I might not be able to contain myself。 That could well prove fatal； for in the years of my healing he had been active and was grown strong； indeed； he was in large part the power behind the throne of Wallachia。 He had his own Szgany； but well disciplined； and he also manded the army of a prince； while I merely led an untrained rabble of gypsies and peasants。 No； my revenge could wait。 What is time to the Wamphyri； eh？
For a further sixty years I bided my time； contained my activities； was subdued； covert。 By now I had access to a worthy force of fighters for payment； fierce mercenaries； and I considered how best to use them。 I was tempted to take on Thibor and the Wallachs； but any sort of even fight was not to my liking。 I wanted the dog on his knees before me； to do with him as I desired。 I did not want a battlefield confrontation； for I had learned at first hand his wiles and his strength。 By now he possibly considered me dead； it were best I continued to let him think it； my time would still e。
But meanwhile I was restless； confined； pent up。 Here was I； lusty； strong； something of a power； and I had nowhere to channel my energies。 It was time I went further abroad in the roiling world。
Then I heard of a great Crusade by the Franks against the Moslems。 The world was two years into its thirteenth Christian century； and even now a fleet was sailing against Zara。 Originally the Crusaders had intended to attack Egypt； then the centre of Moslem power； but their armies were heirs to a long hostility towards Byzantium。 The old Doge of Venice； who provided their fleet； and who was himself an enemy of Byzantium； had diverted them first to Hungary。 Zara； only recently won by the Hungarians； was retaken and sacked by Venetians and Crusaders alike in November 1202； by which time I was on my way to that key city with a select pany of my own supporters。 The Hunga