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doesn't e into it。 From now on if there's any problem at all…from whatever cause or quarter…I'll just toss you off the cliff。 That way； if I'm to die； I'll know that you died first。 For let's have something clearly understood； old man。 I don't trust the Ferenczy； I don't trust his 〃dogs〃； and I trust you least of all。 There'll be no further warnings。〃 He jerked his thumb up the path。 〃Lead on； Arvos of the Szgany…and nimble about it！〃
Thibor did not think that his warning would carry much weight； even if it weighed on the gypsy； it certainly wouldn't weigh on his master in the mountain。 But neither was the Wallach a man to issue idle threats。 Arvos the Szgany belonged to the Ferenczy； no doubt of that。 And so； if more trouble was on the way from that quarter （Thibor was sure that the avalanche had been arranged） then he would see that it came to Arvos first。 And trouble was ing： it waited in the defile where the cliff was split by a deep chasm； at the back of which sat the castle of the Ferenczy。
This was the sight they saw； Thibor and his simian Wallach friend； and the now sinister gypsy Arvos； when they reached the cleft。 Back in the dim mists of time the mountains had convulsed； split apart。 Passes had been formed through the ranges； of which this might have been one。 Except that in this case the opening had not gone all the way through。 The cliff whose face they'd traversed had led finally to a high crest which reared now a half mile away。 The crest was split into twin peaks…like the ears of a bat or a wolf。 And there； straddling the defile where it narrowed to a fissure…clinging to both opposing faces and meeting centrally in a massive arch of masonry…there sat the manse of the Ferenczy。 As before； two windows were lighted； like eyes under the sharp black ears； and the fissure below seemed to form a gaping mouth。
〃No wonder he runs wolves； this one！〃 Thibor's squat panion grunted。 His words acted like an invocation。
They came down the cliff…hugging track from the castle； and not just four off them。 A flood of them； a wall of grey fur studded with yellow jewel eyes。 And they came at the lope； full of purpose。
〃A pack！〃 cried Thibor's friend。
〃Too many to fight off；〃 the Voevod shouted back。 Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arvos start forward； towards the oning wolves。 He reached out a leg； tripped the old gypsy。
〃Grab him！〃 Thibor manded； drawing his sword。
The squat Wallach lifted Arvos as easily as he would lift the dead； dry branch of a tree； swung him out over the abyss and held him there。 Arvos howled his terror。 The wolves； scant paces away； came to an uneasy halt。 Their leaders threw up pointed muzzles； howled mourn…fully。 It was for all the world as if they waited upon some mand。 But from whom？
Arvos stopped his yelling； turned his head and gazed wide…eyed at the distant castle。 His gullet bobbed spastically with his gulping。
The man who held him glanced from the wolves to Thibor。 〃What now？ Do I drop him？〃
The huge Wallach shook his head。 〃Only if they attack；〃 he answered。
〃You think the Ferenczy controls them； then？ But。。。 is it possible？〃
〃It seems our quarry has powers；〃 said Thibor。 〃Look at the gypsy's face。〃
Arvos'gaze had bee fixed。 Thibor had seen that look before； when the old man used the frying…pan mirror down in the village： as if a film of milk had been painted on each eyeball。
Then the Gypsy spoke： 〃Master？〃 Arvos' mouth scarce moved。 His words were the merest breath； vying with the mountain breeze at first but rapidly growing louder。 〃Master？ But Master； I have always been your faithful…〃 He paused suddenly； as if cut short； and his filmed eyes bulged。 〃No； master； no。r His voice was now a shriek； he clawed at the hands and brawny arms that alone sustained him against gravity； shifted his once more clear gaze to the ledge and the wolves where they gathered themselves。
Thibor had almost felt the surge of power emanating from the distant castle； had almost tasted the rejection which had surely doomed the Szgany to his death。 The Ferenczy was finished with him； so why delay it？
The leading pair of wolves； massive beasts； crept for…ward in unison； muscles bunching。
〃Drop him！〃 Thibor rasped。 Utterly pitiless； he urged； 〃Let him die…and then fight for your own life！ The ledge is narrow…side by side we've a chance。〃
His panion tried to shake the old man loose but couldn't。 The gypsy clung like thorns to his arms； fought desperately to swing his legs back onto the ledge。 But already it was too late for both men。 Heedless of their own lives； the pair of great grey wolves sprang as one creature； as if triggered。 Not at Thibor…not even looking at him…but directly at his squat rade where he tried to break Arvos' grip。 They struck together； dead weight against a lurching double…silhouette； and bore the apish Wallach； Arvos； and themselves out over the rim and down into darkness。
It was beyond Thibor。 He gave it only a moment's thought。 The pack leaders had sacrificed themselves in answer to a call he had not heard…or had he？ But in any case； they'd died willingly for a cause he could not possibly prehend。 He still lived； however； and he wouldn't sell his life cheaply。
〃All of you； then！〃 he howled at the pack； almost in its own tongue。 〃e on； who'll be first to taste my steel？〃 And for long moments not a beast of them moved。
Then…Then they did move； but not forward。 Instead they turned； slunk away； paused and looked back over lean shoulders。
〃Cowards！〃 Thibor raged。 He took a pace towards them； they slunk further away； looked back。 And the Wallach's jaw dropped。 He knew…suddenly knew…that they weren't here to harm him； only to ensure that he came on alone！
For the first time he began to understand something of the true power of the mysterious Boyar； knew why the Vlad wanted him dead。 And now； too； he wished he hadn't scoffed so much at the warnings of his court informant。 Of course； he could always go back to the village and bring up the rest of his men…couldn't he？ Behind him； pale tongues lolling； a crush of furry bodies crowded the track cut from the face of the cliff。
Thibor took a pace their way； they didn't move an inch； but their dog grins at once turned to snarls。 A pace in the other direction； and they crept after。 He had an escort。
〃My own free will； eh？〃 he muttered； and looked at the sword in his hand。 The sword of some warrior Varyagi…a good Viking sword…but useless if the pack should decide to attack in a body。 Or if that were decided for them。 Thibor knew it； and he suspected that they knew it； too。
He sheathed the weapon； found nerve to mand： 〃Lead on； then； my lads…but not too close or I'll have your paws for lucky charms！〃 And so they took him to the castle in the riven rock。。。
In his shallow grave； the old Thing in the ground shivered again； this time from fear。 However monstrous a man may bee in this world； when he dreams of his youth the things which frightened him then frighten him anew。 So it was with the Thibor…creature； and now his dream was carrying him to the edge of terror itself。
The sun was down； its rim forming the merest red blister on the hills； but still its rays lanced across the earth and gleamed fitfully on land where shadows visibly lengthened； quickly blotting out the sun's golden stains。 But even when the sun was fully down； burning on other lands； still Thibor might not 〃waken〃 in the sense that men waken； for he was one who might dream for many a year between bouts of that black hatred called waking。 It is not pleasant to be a Thing in the ground awake； alone； immobile； undead。
But the rich blood which soaked the earth would waken him； certainly； in that instant when it touched him。 Even now the nearness of that warm； precious liquid roused passions in him。 His nostrils gaped for its scent； his desiccated heart urged his own ancient blood faster in his veins； his vampire core moaned soundlessly in the sleep it shared with him。
Thibor's dream； however； was stronger。 It was a magnet of the mind； luring him to a conclusion he knew and dreaded of old but which he must always experience again。 And down in the cold earth in the glade of stirless trees； where the stones of his mausoleum lay broken and matted with lichens； the nightmare Thing dreamed on。。。
The way widened； grew into an avenue of tall dark pines atop a broad levelled rim of ages…impacted scree。 On Thibor's left hand； beyond the straight boles of the pines； smooth black rocks rose vertical through hundreds of feet to an indigo sky strewn with stars； on his right the trees massed； marched down the no longer sheer 〃V of the gorge and steeply up the other side。 At the bottom water gushed and gurgled； invisible beneath a night…black canopy。 The Vlad had been right： given a handful of men…or wolves…the Ferenczy could easily defend his castle against an army。 Inside the castle itself； however； things might be different。 Especially if the Boyar were indeed a man alone or nearly so。
Finally the ancient pile itself loomed。 Its stonework was massive； but pitted； rotten。 On both sides of the defile huge towers rose up eighty feet and more； square and very nearly featureless at their broad bases； higher up there were arched； fortified windows； ledges and balconies with deep embrasures； and gaping stone spouts projecting from the mouths of carved gargoyle or kraken heads。 At the top of each tower； more embrasures fronted tiled pyramid spires； but with gaping holes showing through； where repairs were badly needed； and over everything a heavy miasma of decay； a dank and clinging patina； as if the very stone issued a cold and clammy sweat。
Half…way up； the inward…facing walls sprouted flying buttresses almost as massive as the towers themselves； which met across the gorge in a single span…like a stone bridge some eighty or ninety feet from tower to tower。 Supported by the buttresses； a long single…storey hall with small square windows was constructed of timbers。 It had a peaked roof of heavy slates； hall and roof both were in the same generally poor condition as the towers。 But for the fact that two of the windows were lit with a flickering illumination； the entire pile might seem deserted； derelict。 It was not how Thibor imagined the residence of a great Boyar should look； on the other hand； if he were a superstitious man； certainly he might believe that demons lived there。
The ranks of wolves began to thin out as they drew closer to the castle's walls。 Moving forward； it was not until the Wallach stood in the very shadow of those walls that he saw the castle's simple defences： a trench fifteen feet wide and fifteen deep； excavated right down to solid rock； the bottom furnished with long pointed stakes setso close to each other that any man falling in must surelybe speared。 Then； too； he saw the door： a heavy； oak… boarded； iron…banded affair extended at its top to form adrawbridge。 And even as he looked； so the door was creakingly lowered； heavy chains rattling as the trench was bridged。
In the opening thus revealed stood a cloaked figure holding before him a flaring torch。 Behind the glare of that brand； little could be seen of features but a blur； all that Thibor could make of them was their paleness； and a vague awareness of grotesque proportions。 He had his suspicions； however； and more than suspicions…which were fully borne out on the instant that the figure spoke： 〃And so you have e…of your own free will。〃
Thibor had often been accused of being a cold man with a cold； emotionless voice。 It was something he had never denied。 But if his voice was cold； this voice might have issued from the grave itself。 And where Thibor had found the voice soothing in the first instance； now it grated on his nerves like the ache of a rotten tooth； or cold steel on a living bone。 It was old…hoary as the mountains； and possibly entrusted with as many secrets…but it was certainly not infirm。 It held the authority of all dark knowledge。
〃My own free will？〃 Thibor dared to look away from the figure； saw that he was quite alone。 The wolves had melted into the night； into the mountains。 Perhaps a single pair of yellow eyes gleamed for a moment under the trees； but that was all。 He turned back to face his host。 〃Yes； of my own free will。。。〃
Then you