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my own exhaustion, and I thought there was nothing of much importance to be learned from him from
the beginning I had felt no doubt as to who had put the attackers on my trail so I chose rather to
concentrate instead upon my own survival.
It was fortunate that I did so.
I experienced a well-earned satisfaction at having survived Radu's initial attack. More than that, I
congratulated myself upon having won the first skirmish, diminishing the numbers in the force that was
now arrayed against me. Still, as I surveyed my prospects for survival with fearless no, not courageous,
that is something else realism, I thought that they were not good.
I meditated quite uselessly, of course upon the fact that I might have started to recruit an army, or at
least a posse, of my own, once I knew that Radu was again above the ground. Perhaps, I thought, I
should have done.
In whatever time and place anosferatulives, the willing help of at least one intelligent and understanding
breather can be of tremendous benefit. I foresaw that I would seek such aid from someone soon if I
lived long enough. I was not without friends, in France or elsewhere. But calling for help was usually the
last alternative I considered when in trouble. Earlier I had vaguely reassured myself with the thought that I
had friends but it was my own fault now that they were none of them on hand.
Swaying with weakness, and temporarily prohibited by my injuries from changing shape, I made what
plans I could.
My appearance at this time must have been truly ghastly. Never had I less regretted my inability to use a
mirror. I had a great lump on my forehead, not to mention a torn flap of skin hanging over one eye. With
trembling hand I held the flap in place, until it began, very delicately and tentatively, to heal there.
Listening, sniffing the breeze, even though I was denied the keener senses of the wolf, I thought I
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detected certain evidence that more of my enemies, though still miles distant, were gathering, swarming,
on my trail.
Of course it would have been mad, suicidal, for me to go back to sleep in the same earth. If one band of
my enemies had found it, the others could do so also. And now the whole area around was trampled,
strewn with the debris of combat, flesh and blood, bits of wood and cloth and bone and metal.
Our struggle had been a prolonged one, and not much of the night was left. I had no choice but to retreat
at once, and in man-form never mind that I was still oozing, dripping blood, leaving a trail that would be
child's play to follow. I would have to cover as much ground as I could before the dawn, then take
whatever chance Fate offered. I tried to bind up my most heavily dripping wound, where someone's
spear had gone skewering deep into my side, but soon I abandoned the attempt as hopeless. One arm
was almost useless, and my usable hand was shaking uncontrollably.
I could certainly be thankful now, with my berserker combat frenzy ebbing, that I had not been foolish
enough to attempt a pursuit of my surviving attacker.
Similarly I had to abandon the idea of improvising some kind of sunshade to protect my head and face
when dawn, overtook me, as it seemed it inevitably must. My eyes in particular would be at risk, but
there was nothing to be done about that now.
Slowly I called up a mental map of the entire province, trying to decide which was my nearest earth,
which the least likely for the enemy to have discovered.
The mental image of the map as it took shape was scarcely reassuring. There was only one real
possibility of survival, a sanctuary in the cellar of an antique farmhouse, which unfortunately lay more than
a few miles from my present location. To reach it before dawn in my present condition would to say the
least present a considerable challenge.
Doggedly I let go my hold upon the branch and began to walk; and only as I did so, provoking in myself
gray tendencies to faint, did I begin seriously to doubt whether I would make it as far as my sanctuary.
Feeling as clumsy and vulnerable as any breather, I trudged on. I was possessed of one tiny advantage,
in that I was heading west, the dawn at my back and still perhaps two hours behind me.
Fortunately the sense of being still pursued grew no stronger, no more immediate. I knew in my bones
that I was too weak to stand and fight again, even if next time I should not be so badly outnumbered. The
slow draining of blood and vitality inexorably took its toll. A single determined breather with a wooden
club or spear could probably have finished me when I began to flee the dawn. But of course I would
make an effort, if it came to that.
Morethanonce on that terrible trek I heard a howl in the distance, the sound carrying from miles away, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
