Lord of the Black Tower: A Mega-Omnibus (5-book epic fantasy box set)

by Jack Conner

  Lightning rippled through black clouds. Thunder shook the heavens.

  “The clouds!” he shouted. “We must use the clouds!”

  He angled his glarum up into an overhanging cloud, shouting for Salthrick to follow. The thunderhead obscured his sight, but he flew on. Lunir cawed in fear but did not disobey. Baleron urged him to be quiet. It was said that Worms possessed tremendous hearing.

  A blast of cloud-to-cloud lightning rippled nearby and the thunderhead lit up somewhere to his right, a brilliant electric blue that seared his eyes. Accompanying thunder crashed, startling him, almost seeming to possess physical force. It deafened him for a moment.

  He glanced at Salthrick, whose shape through the black wisps he could only just make out behind him and to the left. He couldn’t see the captain’s eyes.

  He urged Lunir on faster. The wind clawed at him, tried to drag him off, tried to hurl him to the depths below. Grimly, he hung on.

  They shot out from the cloud.

  Exposed. He dove into another bank of inky darkness, glittering with electric ribbons of fire. Thunder rocked him. He could feel but not see the presence of the Leviathan snaking its way through the storm behind him. Fear shook him. To come so close only to be captured or killed now—

  He had to escape—had to—and not just for himself. He needed to return within a month, an army at his heels, to break open Gulrothrog and rescue Rolenya before Ungier passed on his own corruption to her.

  Cold rain spattered him. His teeth rattled. Lunir felt very small and frail beneath him, brittle with his light bird-bones, while all around them the storm stretched vast and mighty and crushing. Constantly it knocked the glarum and the prince upwards and sideways, and smashed them down. Nausea rose in Baleron. He tasted bile and blood from where he’d bitten his tongue. He could taste freedom, too, just ahead, if only—

  The Great Worm spat fire. Baleron heard the roar of flame, but it was too far back to hit him.

  He spurred Lunir on. They leapt from stormcloud to stormcloud. More than once he thought lightning would be the end of them. The clouds rolled like warships over the snow-capped peaks, the Black Wall of Oslog, and as soon as he could he left the cover of the sky for the harbor of firm rock below. They were now past the edge of the Oksil Gap.

  He led Salthrick around one peak and made for another, seeking cover behind mountains. If the Leviathan sought him with flame, he would have real shelter now, not vapor.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he squinted into the heavens. Nothing.

  No, there!

  A winged and bloated serpent, ul Mrungona slipped from concealment within a cloud and dove towards the mountains.

  Baleron cursed. They’d been seen.

  The dragon shot a bright column of flame. It neared them. Baleron felt its heat on his back. Sweating suddenly in the cold wind and rain, he spurred Lunir on even faster.

  “Fly, you stupid bird!” he shouted madly. “Fly!” He gave the bird his heels.

  The heat warmed his back, toasted his hair.

  Lunir flew faster. The plume of fire faded behind, taking its heat with it. Baleron sighed with relief.

  Too soon. Another blast. Hastily he dodged behind a wall of rock and shot for the next mountain, growing larger ahead. It filled his vision.

  Almost there ...

  Almost ...

  The Worm breathed out a long column of fire. Gritting his teeth, Baleron swept behind the mountain. The dragon’s fire melted rock and burned foliage behind him. The heat nearly blistered his hindquarters. The dragon roared like thunder, and Baleron’s eardrums nearly burst. Lunir cawed in fear. Salthrick was close behind.

  Skirting a woody slope, Baleron spied something up ahead. A cave. Thank the Omkar.

  He circled a mountain peak, shaking the Worm from their tail for a moment, and guided Lunir to the ground. The glarum spiraled to reduce his speed, then set down. Salthrick followed.

  “I don’t see the Worm,” Salthrick said. Sweat rolled down his forehead.

  Gasping, they led their mounts into the darkness of the cavern. It was narrow but deep and winding, and dry, though the wind and cold had chilled Baleron so much that he simply felt numb—numb and frightened and exhilarated. Rainwater dripped from his hair and ran down his face and into his beard, and he loved it. His heart raced.

  They huddled together in the cave, listening to the thunder and the patter of the rain.

  Ul Mrungona roared. Its massive scaly bulk slid by them, right by the cave opening, almost so that Baleron felt he could reach out and touch its shining-wet scales, then continued on.

  “Do you think it saw—?” Baleron started.

  “COME OUT!” the dragon roared. “COME OUT FROM HIDING, LITTLE ONES! COME OUT AND DIE WITH HONOR!”

  Then it was gone, its words lost to the wind.

  They waited. The dragon made several more passes but eventually moved on, or at least Baleron no longer saw or heard it. Could it be hiding, lurking out there, waiting for them? Thunder crashed and lightning smote the mountainside. Rain lashed them, flying on the wind. Still the Worm did not return. Baleron began to feel hope.

  “We made it!” Salthrick said.

  The mountain shook. Dust rained down from the cavern roof.

  “The Leviathan,” Baleron said, despair coming over him. “He’s back.”

  “COME OUT, LITTLE GRUBLINGS!”

  “Get away from the opening,” Baleron said. He led Salthrick and the glarums deep into the tunnel where he hoped the Worm’s fires couldn’t find them.

  The mountain could.

  The walls shook harder. The ceiling still trembled. A large stone crashed to the floor and exploded, spraying shards everywhere. A chip cut Baleron’s cheek. The glarums squawked in fear, flapping their wings and dancing about. Wet black feathers filled the air.

  “He’ll bring the mountain down on us!” Salthrick cried.

  “Bastard!” Baleron marched around a bend and toward the cave opening, but he didn’t get too close. “Begone, hellspawn!” There was no use hiding now. Disappointment and anger filled him, gave him the courage of desperation.

  The mountain shook harder. A falling stone nearly split his skull, but he leapt aside.

  “COME OUT!” roared the Worm. “COME OUT AND DIE IN THE OPEN AIR—OR DIE CRUSHED UNDER THE MOUNTAIN!”

  Baleron strode forward recklessly. Raising his voice, he said, “Wait! I’m Prince Baleron of Havensrike. My father would give you much for my return—all the treasure you want. Mounds and mounds of it.”

  The shaking stopped. Wind sighed through the orifice, and the whip of rain rose and fell with a crack. A silence stretched.

  At last came the words, “I AM NOT ... IMMUNE ... TO BRIBERY.”

  Baleron could not resist turning back to Salthrick with a grin. The captain returned it. Wheeling back to the cave opening, Baleron said, “What would you ask for our release?”

  There was a pause, then: “WHY DON’T YOU COME OUT HERE WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, AND WE SHALL DISCUSS IT.”

  Baleron took a step forward. Then stopped. He shuddered and backed away. “We’ll talk here, like this, if it’s all the same to you.”

  The Worm laughed. Instantly, the mountain shook once more. “DIE!” the dragon roared in his great, deep, strangely accented voice. “DIE LIKE BUGS, IF THAT’S YOUR WISH!”

  Stones rained down. Baleron threw himself against the curved wall. A crack split the floor. Lunir and the other bird screeched loudly. Salthrick cursed. Then all Baleron could hear was the screeching of the glarums and the roar of breaking stone and, above it all, the deep, quaking laugh of the Worm. The tunnel filled with dust, and Baleron coughed wretchedly. Finally the shaking slowed, then stopped.

  “ARE YOU STILL THERE, GRUBLINGS?”

  Baleron said nothing, just strained for breath. Dust stung his eyes. From where he crouched, he could see the opening of the tunnel, and it grew dark as some huge shape blocked it. Dimly, from the light that poured in through the crack, he
could see one huge amber eye. He ducked behind a large stone, hunkering down. Perhaps the Worm would think them dead. He looked back to see Salthrick further down the tunnel, likewise hiding behind a stone.

  Another scaly laugh. “I CAN SMELL YOU, GRUBLINGS, AND YOU SMELL ALIVE.” The dragon sounded wearied.

  Baleron took a chance. “I meant it, that I could reward you handsomely, if you let us live.”

  “BAH! I WANT NOT FOR GOLD AND JEWELS. UNGIER MY BROTHER PAYS ME WELL FOR GUARDING HIS KEEP.” A pause. All that could be heard was the hissing of wind and rain. “JUST WHO ARE YOU, GRUBLINGS? I DON’T MEAN TITLES. NEVER BEFORE HAVE I BEEN SENT TO DESTROY TWO MORTALS.”

  “Why should I tell you? You’re just going to kill us.”

  “TRUE, BUT YOUR LIFE WILL LAST AS LONG AS YOUR ANSWER—THOUGH DO NOT TRY MY PATIENCE WITH A LONG TALE.”

  From behind his rock, Baleron said, “I slew Ungier’s son. Asguilar.”

  “THE FIRSTBORN?”

  “The very same.”

  There was another pause, shorter this time. Then a bark of thunder that may have been laughter. “I SHOULD REWARD YOU THEN, NOT KILL YOU.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “HMPH. STILL, LONG HAVE I HATED THAT ONE.”

  “Why?”

  “HE COVETED MY HOARD.”

  “So it’s true, then. I’d always heard Worms covet treasure they can never use.”

  “YOU ARE MISINFORMED, GRUBLING. TO SLEEP ON IT, TO FONDLE IT, TO ROLL AROUND IN ITS GLITTERING MASSES—ARE THESE

  NOT WAYS OF USE? MUCH BETTER THAN BARTERING THEM, GIVING THEM AWAY FOR TRINKETS.” Baleron bowed his head. “Thank you for correcting me, O mighty Worm.” He hesitated. “Are you truly the Leviathan, he who sleeps in the mountain?”

  Thunder exploded above. “IT IS I—THROGMAR!”

  Baleron did not smile at the pride in the Worm’s voice; it was well justified. “There are many tales about you, you know. Some think you’re Grudremorq himself. Some say you’re the true spirit of the mountain.”

  “FOOLS SPEAK FOOLERY. LONG HAVE I DWELT IN OKSIL. THE FIRE GOD KEEPS ME WARM. I MUST SUFFER MY BROTHER’S TASKS, AND PRESENCE, BUT—BAH, ENOUGH! DIE!”

  The great amber eye withdrew. The mountain shook once more. Dust and rocks rained down, choking the tunnel, choking Baleron. Again he wheezed for breath. My brother, he thought. Could Throgmar and Ungier really be—?

  “Do something!” Salthrick said.

  When he could, Baleron shouted as loud as he could, “Wait! There’s something I can give you that no one else can!”

  The shaking continued, then stopped. Almost reluctantly, Throgmar’s voice came: “EH? WHAT’S THAT, IF YOU’RE STILL THERE?”

  Baleron coughed, striving for air. Dust filled the tunnel. When he was able, he said, haltingly, “I can tell—that you—don’t like—Ungier.”

  “THE WORLD WAS NOT MADE FOR MY PLEASURE, MORTAL, THOUGH IT IS NOT UNGIER HIMSELF THAT I HATE SO MUCH AS STANDING IN HIS DEBT. TO SERVE ...” Loathing filled his voice.

  So it was true, Baleron thought. Ungier and Throgmar were brothers, as difficult as that was to imagine. Spawn of the same dark sire. Had both been born to Mogra? The Dark Queen, she was said to be the mother of monsters.

  “SPEAK QUICKLY! IF IT’S GOLD AND JEWELS YOU WOULD GIVE ME, DO NOT BOTHER.”

  Baleron made his voice as confident as he could. “I can give you more than treasure, Throgmar, though I can give you that, too. Come find me in Havensrike and I will give you a mountain somewhere in my country for you to dwell in. You won’t have to serve anyone.”

  There was a silence. Then, as if to himself, the dragon muttered, “ANYONE? A MOUNTAIN ... ?”

  “You’ll be free, Throgmar.”

  “FREE ...”

  “Yes, Throgmar. Freedom! Think on it.”

  “HA! YOU TEMPT ME, LITTLE ONE. I HATE THEM ALL—ALL OF THOSE OF MY FATHER. THAT’S WHY I DWELL HERE ON THE BORDER AND NOT IN OSLOG, WHERE I WOULD BE MADE TO SERVE HIM. THAT I COULD NOT ABIDE.”

  “Gilgaroth, you mean? You hate him?”

  ”HATE?” A derisive snort. “HATE IS TOO SOFT. HE IS ... EVIL. YES, EVIL. GREAT EVIL. UNGIER’S MALICE IS BUT A PALE SHADOW. YET I WOULD SERVE HIM NOT IF THERE WAS SOMEWHERE FOR ME TO GO.”

  “There is.”

  “THE NORTH IS FORBIDDEN. TO STRAY BEYOND THE BLACK WALL, INTO THE LANDS WHERE MY MASTER’S ENEMIES LIVE ... I WOULD BE KILLED.”

  “I can make it happen, Throgmar. I can give you a new home. A mountain. A new hoard of gold and jewels. And I can ensure that no one bothers you.”

  A long silence, the longest yet. The wind hissed and moaned. Dust settled in the cave. Then, finally: “VERY WELL, PRINCE OF HAVENSRIKE. I ... I RELEASE YOU.”

  Baleron let out a long breath.

  “FLY FAST, AND I WILL TRY TO DETAIN THE RITHLAGS AND GLARUMRI THAT WILL COME FOR YOU. BUT KNOW THIS: SOMEDAY SOON I WILL CALL ON YOU IN GLORIFEL, AND YOU HAD BEST LIVE UP TO YOUR END OF THE BARGAIN OR I WILL BURN YOUR CITY TO THE GROUND.”

  Baleron swallowed. “I will.” I hope I haven’t just made a terrible mistake, he thought. To save myself I may have damned my city. For he doubted seriously that his father would agree to give the Worm what Baleron had promised.

  The mountain trembled a final time as Throgmar launched himself into the air. Baleron saw a great dark shape trailing a tail of smoke wing off into the night, headed toward Gulrothrog, where the vampires and glarumri would be massing for the hunt. As Baleron watched Throgmar go, his legs trembled and he wiped a shaking hand across his face.

  “We’re free,” said Salthrick, wonder in his voice.

  Baleron wheeled on him. “What do you mean we, hellspawn?”

  He smashed a fist across Salthrick’s jaw. Then again, and again. Feeling his knuckles crack and his flesh tear, he pummeled Salthrick to the ground. Shocked, the captain went down under the prince’s blows. He didn’t even have time to cry out.

  While Salthrick lay stunned, Baleron stole Asguilar’s sword from the scabbard and pressed it to Salthrick’s throat, drawing a line of blood.

  “What’s this, my friend?” Salthrick’s words were slow and angry.

  “Salthrick died years ago, and don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

  Salthrick—or at least Salthrick’s form—scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bal, but this isn’t the time for games.”

  “I’ll play no games with the likes of you. Tell me, was the dragon part of the plan?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Baleron drew a line across Salthrick’s cheek and blood welled out. The captain didn’t wipe it away, nor wince in pain.

  “Speak!” demanded Baleron.

  Salthrick threw back his head and laughed, long and loud. It was a rich and raspy rumble, full of spite and malice, most unlike the real Salthrick’s hearty chuckle. When he spoke at last, the creature lowered his head and let his eyes bore into Baleron’s. They burned like hot coals. “I,” he said, “am Rauglir, high servant of Gilgaroth. I’ve served the Great One for ten thousand years, in one form or another. I have tasted the blood of thousands of your kind, and I’ve worn the bodies of many.” He paused. “Tell me, how was I betrayed?”

  Baleron trembled in rage and loss. Until now he’d still harbored some faint hope. “Don’t mistake me for a fool,” he said. “Salthrick was taken prisoner along with all the others that night, and every other one returned a demon. How could he be any different? I let you play out your game to see where it led—here. But I don’t think Throgmar was part of it. Him we almost didn’t escape. In fact, we didn’t. But fortune favors the brave, as you say, and he was corrupt.” Baleron laughed. “Corrupt for here, anyway. He was goodly! No, you were expecting the same hunters I was: vampires and glarumri. Not the Leviathan. Not one of the Great Worms, one who had the strength of will to resist Ungier.”

  Rauglir snorted. “A vengeful father ignored his Master’s plan and invoked a mighty ally. The fool! When I tell my
lord what Ungier did ... and as for Throgmar—”

  “What part of the plan are we playing now?”

  “None. You weren’t supposed to discover me.”

  “But I was supposed to escape, and you were supposed to help me. Why? And what are we supposed to do next? And why did I have to spend three godsdamned years as a slave!”

  Rauglir shrugged. “I’m not privy to my lord’s plans for you. All I know is He had to keep you safe somewhere till the time was ripe to unleash you.”

  “Unleash me?”

  “Like a mad dog upon a helpless child.” Rauglir grinned. He studied the young prince for a moment. “Maybe I should give you a parting gift before I leave you.”

  “Another lie?”

  Rauglir smiled, and his teeth were suddenly sharp as knives. He leapt to all fours, knocking Baleron away, and in an instant he was a wolf, huge and black and ravenous, more demon than animal. His wet musky stench filled Baleron’s nose.

  “Another scar!”

  Thunder boomed. Lightning illuminated his blood-red eyes. The werewolf lunged.

  Baleron slashed with Asguilar’s blade. The beast’s blood splattered and sizzled on the cave wall. Still the werewolf came. The prince leapt aside.

  The terror spun. Snapped. Baleron dodged, breathless.

  Again the werewolf leapt. Baleron had no time to dodge. He raised the sword and speared the beast through the breast. A shock ran through his body. Hot, burning blood drenched his hands. Rauglir cried out as he sank down the blade’s length, and they fell together in a wet heap. Baleron stared into Rauglir’s eyes as their evil light dimmed. The beast’s jaws still opened and closed, and his claws still flexed. Baleron struggled out of his embrace.

  Rising, Baleron glared down at the body. Blood pooled around Rauglir’s shaggy mound, smoking, eating into the stone. He wiped the blood on his pants hastily.

  “You won’t be seeing your master again,” Baleron said, yanking the blade free with a wet meaty sound.

  “But I will.” Blood leaked from the wolf’s mouth. “And ... you ...”

  Baleron cleaved the werewolf’s head from his shoulders. Rauglir’s black spirit must have left the body then, because the corpse slowly returned to a human shape. Salthrick, the real Salthrick, lay before Baleron, beheaded and cooling. Killed by my own hand.