Mounting ever higher, he was pleased by the diminution of the odors. He reflected that this could simply be the result of a numbing of his olfactory abilities after the steady bombardment they had endured. This fact, whatever its cause, seemed to give his body time to consider other matters; and of course his mind followed. In addition to being filthy, sore and tired, he now realized that he was hungry and thirsty as well.

Struggling with his memory as he would with a warehouse door, he entered and sought. He retraced his previous journeys from Glyve, recalling every detail that he could. But, seeking as he walked, no correspondences came, no familiar landmarks.

When he skirted a small stand of metallic trees, he realized that he had never come this way before.

There will be no clean water for miles, he thought, unless Fortune nods and I come upon a rainpool. But it rains so seldom in this place... It is a land of filth, not cleanliness. If I tried a small magic for rain, something would note it and seek me. I would be easy prey as I now stand without shadows. Then I would either live in a vile way or be slain and be returned to the Dung Pits. I'll walk till death is near, then try for rain.

Later, his eyes caught sight of an unnatural object in the distance. He approached it warily and saw that it was twice his height and a double armspan in width. It was of stone and its facing surface was smooth. He read there the carved, large-lettered message which in the common darkside tongue said: WELCOME SLAVE.

Beneath it was the Great Seal of Drekkheim.

Jack felt a great sense of relief, for it was known to a few-those few who had escaped the Baron's service and with whom Jack had discussed the subject-that such markers were placed in the most lightly patrolled areas of the realm. The hope was that a returnee would then undertake a lengthy detour, entering some area where the chances of capture would be better.

Jack moved past it and would have spat, but his mouth was too dry.

As he moved forward his strength continued to leave him, and it took him longer to regain his balance each time he slipped. He knew that he had missed what ordinarily would have been several sleep-periods. Yet he saw no place that appeared safe enough for sleeping.

It grew more and more difficult for him to keep his eyes open. At one point, as he stumbled and fell, he was certain that he had just awakened from sleep-walking a great distance, unaware of the area through which he had passed. The present terrain was more rugged than that which he had last remembered noting. This gave him a glimmer of hope which, in turn, provided sufficient resolve for him to rise once more.

Shortly thereafter, he saw the place that would have to be his haven, for he could go no farther.

It was a place of tumbled, leaning stones, near to the foot of a sharp slope of rock which led on to even higher ground. He scouted the area, crawling as best he could, seeking signs of life.

Detecting nothing, he entered. He moved as far within the stony maze as he could go, found a reasonably level spot, collapsed there and slept.

He had no way of telling how much later it was when it occurred; but something within the deep pool that is sleep came to him and told him. Drowner-like, he struggled toward the distant surface.

He felt the kiss upon his throat and the alb of her long hair that lay on his shoulders.

For a moment he rested there, trying to muster his remaining strength. He seized her hair with his left hand, as his right arm moved about her body. Forcing her away from him, he rolled to his left, knowing from his waking instant what must be done. With just a fraction of his old speed, his head dropped forward.

When he had finished, he wiped his mouth, stood and stared down at the limp form.

"Poor vampire," he said. "There was not much blood in you which is why you wanted mine so desperately, yet were so weak in its taking. But I, too, was desperate in my hunger. We do what we must."

Wearing the black skirts, cloak and tight-fitting boots he had appropriated, Jack moved onto higher ground now, occasionally crossing fields of black grasses that wrapped about his ankles and attempted to stop him. Familiar with these, he kicked his way through before they could fasten too tightly. He had no desire to become fertilizer.

Finally, he located a rainpool. He observed it for hours, from many vantages, for it would be an ideal spot to snare a returnee. Having come to the conclusion that it was unguarded, he approached it, studied it, then fell to the ground and drank for a long while. He rested, drank again, rested again, and drank once more, regretting that he lacked the means to carry some of it away with him.

Still regretting, he stripped and washed the filth from his body.

Later, he passed flowers that had the appearance of rooted snakes-or perhaps they were indeed rooted snakes. They hissed and threw themselves flat in their attempts to reach him.

He slept twice more before he located another rainpool. This one was guarded, however, and it took all the stealth and cunning of a thief to obtain a drink. Since he also obtained the dozing guard's sword, and since the man then had no further use for it. Jack supplied himself with the bread, cheese, wine and change of clothing which were available there.

The rations were sufficient for one meal. This, in addition to the fact that there was no mount in the vicinity, led him to the conclusion that there was a guard post in the neighborhood and that relief might be arriving at any time. He drank the wine and refilled the flask with water, damning the smallness of the container.

Then, as there were no nearby crevasses or caves wherein he might secrete the remains, he departed quickly, leaving what remained there.

He ate slowly as he moved, his stomach at first protesting this strange invasion of privacy. He finished half the food in this fashion and saved the rest. Occasionally, he would see a small animal. He took to carrying several stones in his hands, with the hope of bringing one down. But they all proved too fast, or he too slow. He did however, gain a good piece of Hint when renewing his supply of stones for the seventh time.

Later, he hid himself when he heard the sound of hoofbeats, but no one passed near. He knew that he was deep into Drekkheim now and he wondered toward which of its boundaries he was headed. He shuddered when he considered that at one point it abutted the westernmost boundary of that nameless realm which held High Dudgeon, place of power and keep of the Lord of Bats.

Toward the bright stars, from the dark ground, he hurled another petition, for whatever it was worth.

Climbing, circling, sometimes running, his hatred grew more rapidly than the hunger within him.

Smage, Quazer, Benoni, Blite the executioner and the Lord of Bats...

One by one he would seek them and have his revenge upon them, beginning with the lesser and building his power as he went, until the encounter with the one who even now might be too near for safe dreaming.

Nor did he dream well.

He dreamed that he was back in the Dung Pits. This time, however, he was chained, so that like Morningstar-who sits forever at the Gates of Dawn-he must remain in that place forever.

He awakened drenched with perspiration, despite the slight chill in the air. It seemed as if the noxious odors of that place had come to him briefly and in their fullest intensity once again.

It was not until considerably later that he was able to finish his rations.

But the hatred sustained him; it nourished him. It quenched his thirst or caused him to forget it. It gave him the strength to walk another league whenever his body bade him to lie down.