by Jack Conner
This time her wisdom met no resistance.
* * *
When Junger and Jagoda realized that they had lost their quarry, they took their fury out on the Grife. At first, the worm had confounded them, for they had assumed it to be another of Ruegger’s tricks, but when they came to understand that it was in fact an animal, they proceeded to tear it apart. When they were done with it, they resurrected it and brought it into their rapidly growing undead army. It would help to replace the cost of losing the zombies the albino and the odd flock had dispatched. Once the worm was under their control, they moved back through the corridors, noting the several cave-ins along the way.
“Jean-Pierre must have done this,” Jagoda said.
“We should’ve been more observant.”
“Next time we will.”
They did not have to ask how the albino had gotten down here; they didn’t know, and conjecture would not serve them at the moment.
When they reached the chamber of the green lake, they found neither the werewolf nor the vampires.
Jagoda smiled. “I don’t suppose they’d be stupid enough to return to their own room ... ”
“I doubt it. Besides, we’ve got other things to do.”
“Indeed.”
They traveled back to the resurrected Grife, climbed inside it, and ordered it to take them home. The massive worm didn’t argue, and soon they were rolling down one corridor after another, the Grife following their psychic directions.
Before long, they came across a large crack in the stone wall, and at the commands of the Balaklava, the crack opened once again to reveal a tunnel that led back into the Sabo. Adjusting the shape of its body to fit into the rift, the Grife entered the tunnel and carried them home.
Once back in the Sabo’s welcoming maze, the Balaklava closed the tunnel behind them, reducing it to a crack again, then left the Grife so that it could acclimate itself to its new environs while they in turn made their leisurely way to one of the vast chambers of the labyrinth, where chains and cages hung from the distant ceiling.
A Collage towered innocently off to the side while a group of mud-sharks circled a dying creature on the floor.
At the sight of the new creature, Junger and Jagoda smiled widely. They’d sent their undead parasites to find, kill, and fetch the physical manifestation of the Sabo, and in the Balaklava’s absence the parasites had accomplished it.
“Look at that,” marveled Junger, studying the Sabo with interest.
“Beautiful,” echoed the other.
Before them, the Sabo struggled valiantly against the parasites that had turned against it, but its struggles were in vain; it was dying. Resembling a black globe ten feet in diameter, with countless long black, root-like tendrils sprouting from its body, the Sabo was a creature of the earth, living quietly in the mud and stone of the mountain … which is where the legion of mud-sharks had found it, and attacked it. Like a dog that has felled a squirrel, the parasites had brought back their prize to be rewarded by their masters.
“Finish it,” Junger instructed them, thinking this a fitting prize.
The zombies tore at the writhing black mass. Within minutes, the creature lay still, unmoving and dead.
“This certainly makes up for losing Ruegger and Danielle,” observed Jagoda, stepping forward to begin the process of resurrecting the Sabo.
“But we will have them, too, eventually. The Sabo is ours, as is the Labyrinth. From here, we will become kings.”
“We will be the kings,” answered his brother, and looked up at the towering mass of the Collage. “And we’ll have fun getting there, too.”
* * *
“So it wasn’t us you were trying to herd,” Danielle finished. “It was the Grife.”
Jean-Pierre nodded. “I kept having to lure it on, then I would double back to collapse the tunnel behind it so that it had no choice but to follow me. I lost it once, when I got to the zombies, but once I’d dealt with them ...”
“How did you know where the Balaklava were going to ambush us?” Ruegger asked.
“When I was coming down a chute, after another unsuccessful attempt at finding Sophe or Kharker, I heard them down there, Junger and Jagoda, talking about you. I listened, and when they went back up to your room I set out after the Grife. When I had it coming, I heard Junger and Jagoda going back to station their zombies. I guess this was after they’d met with you the first time. When they were gone, I went to work on the zombies, then backtracked until I found the Grife again.”
“You went through a lot of trouble,” Danielle said.
Jean-Pierre’s expression was grim. “They raped my daughter and the mother of my child, Sophia. And they planned to do things to my blood-brother that I’d rather not mention.”
“Your what?”
Ruegger smiled. “Jean-Pierre and I are blood-brothers now.”
She lifted her eyebrows.
“Don’t think my actions heroic, Danielle,” said the albino. “I acted out of hatred, nothing else.”
Ruegger clamped him on the shoulder. “You did right.”
Unexpectedly, this made Jean-Pierre smile. “Thanks. Anyway, it’s a shame you didn’t get anything from your interrogation of Junger. All of it was for nothing.”
Ruegger remembered the look on Junger’s face when he’d been put to the question and wondered if that were true. Still, Ruegger said nothing about it. He needed to work some things out first.
Jean-Pierre scanned the empty room they’d found refuge in. “Where do we go from here? You said your own room was no good, and the Castle Guard would certainly recognize me ...”
“They might not arrest you, though.”
“Doubtful. Roche Sarnova knows I was held prisoner by the Libertarians. He probably thinks I still am. If I was seen around, don’t you think he’d be suspicious?”
“I don’t think he’d doubt the truth when you told it to him.”
Danielle laughed softly, and the two men turned to look at her.
“What is it?” Ruegger asked.
“We need a contact with the outside world,” she said. “Someone to tell us what’s going on out there. And I know just the man.”
* * *
Harry was reading a book in Cloire’s room, awaiting her return, when he heard Ruegger’s voice in his head. He shot up, shocked. The vampire rarely used his telepathic powers. When Harry heard what Ruegger had to say, he closed his book, threw on some clothes, and left the room at once.
He moved down several floors, then walked back and forth along the corridor Ruegger had guided him to.
“Ruegger?” he called, careful to keep his voice soft.
Rapping sprang from a door a few yards to his left. He stepped toward it.
“It’s Harry.”
When the door opened, he entered to find the chamber dimly lit. “You really ought to turn on some lights,” he said, blinking.
“Just for you.”
Several candle wicks burst into flame simultaneously as hovering matching lit them, but Harry, who was used to such tricks, only blinked at the change in light. When the stars cleared, he nearly jerked back a step when he saw Jean-Pierre, ragged and pale but full of piss and vinegar, sitting on a bed to the side.
The albino nodded at him in acknowledgment but said nothing.
Harry turned to Ruegger and Danielle (neither of whom looked much better than the albino) and smiled. “I don’t know how you got here,” he said, “but I’m glad you did.”
“What do you mean?” Danielle said.
Harry frowned, almost afraid to volunteer the information that Cloire had just told him an hour ago—and told him grudgingly, at that. “Well,” he began. “I didn’t want Cloire to be hurt, or worse.”
Ruegger patted him on the shoulder. “Harry, I’m sorry I had to call you that way. It’s just that we needed to know what was going on outside … What is it, Harry?”
“I’ll tell you, but remind me to slap myself afterwards.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cloire’s brought her crew back together and has vowed to do a very stupid thing.” Trying not to swear, he told them.
“She what?” said Jean-Pierre, suddenly rising to his feet. “Has she gone mad?”
“That’s a question for later. By the way, you might drop by and see her. I think you’ll find she’s changed.”
“Apparently. But why would she risk herself, and her crew—my crew!—to do that?”
Harry needed a drink. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I think that for awhile she’d intended to abandon the death-squad. She did, actually. I suppose I bored her, and now she’s back with them, but to make things right between her and me, she pledged to do this thing. She and the others have been out scouting and laying plans all night.”
“She has no right,” Jean-Pierre said. “Do you know how many years I spent honing their skills, teaching them, and now she’d going on a suicide mission—”
“She can do it,” Harry repeated firmly, then glanced at Danielle, who was staring intently at Ruegger and chewing her bottom lip in a very nervous way. Harry sympathized with her, because this is what he had feared all along:
Ruegger was smiling.
* * *
Several miles away and at least half a mile farther up on a nearby mountain, Captain Raulf D’Aguila sat on a crate of ammunition in the Libertarians’ new underground bunker and listened to what his patrol units had to report. Which was little, other than some random scouting helicopters Roche Sarnova had deployed over the region. The birds made the Libertarians’ movements more difficult than would otherwise be the case, but they passed infrequently and so were of little consequence.
Raulf felt smug, listening. Things were going well, or reasonably so. Things would never be going very well until Maleasoel returned, if indeed she ever did. To his surprise, he found that he missed her, but he told himself that these feelings came from his groin, not his brain. Still, things were proceeding as well as could be expected, although more and more of his men were questioning why they were to assault the Castle. After all, it had been Malie who had supplied the purpose, the focus, to the mission, and without her many were losing their hearts for the battle. Raulf couldn’t blame them; in truth, he didn’t carry much enthusiasm for the fight either and only hoped that his lover and leader would return soon with good news.
The destruction that their nuclear missile had wrought on the forces of the Castle had dramatically improved morale at the time, but now, days later, morale was sinking once again at the lack of food. All the human prisoners had been killed and eaten, along with several disobedient shades.
Thus it didn’t surprise D’Aguila when one of his lieutenants ran up to him and said, “Sir, there is a situation up top that needs your attention.”
“Of what nature, Lieutenant?”
“An issue of food, sir.”
Sluggishly, D’Aguila rose to his feet, slapped the big machete that he wore on his belt for good luck and threw a machine gun over one shoulder. Accompanied by four armed guards, he followed the lieutenant to a ladder and climbed into the brisk night air above the bunker.
The scent of blood struck him like a fist across the face. He didn’t need the lieutenant to guide him in the proper direction. Swiftly but calmly, he strode through the trees, passed a small clearing and kept on the move until he and his band came upon a scene that he had dreaded for some time.
Before him, four shades lay dead or dying in the snow, their blood staining the crystalline ground in rivers of red, while another group of ten shades hovered over them, gorging. When they caught wind of their captain, the offenders leapt to their feet and stood at rigid attention. Fear and guilt etched into their blood-smeared faces. One of them bolted to the side, thinking to escape into the forest.
Before the coward had taken three steps, a missile shot out and struck him hard, embedding itself into his skull.
D’Aguila ambled over to the fallen shade, retrieved his machete, and flipped the fellow over.
“Clayton,” Raulf whispered, wishing that the youth had not done this, had not resorted to such unlawful cannibalism. Nevertheless, without hesitation or mercy, Raulf raised his blade and brought it down, severing Clayton’s head from his body. The Captain rose and turned to face the other offenders. “If any one of you has any guts, step forward now and explain yourselves.”
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, hesitantly, a tall stick of a man with dark hair stepped forward, careful to keep his eyes trained on boots.
“What’s your name, lad?” D’Aguila demanded.
“Ratherton, sir. Major Ratherton.”
“Well, then, Major, explain your actions—and those of the others here.”
Ratherton, stifling a sob, tried to talk around the lump of fear in his throat, but had to cough before he could continue. “Well, uh, these four—” he gestured to the dying shades “—were nearly comatose, sir. They hadn’t properly fed in so long that they were almost unable to think, to move. Skin was peeling off them, sir. Skin! Their eyes were bloodshot, their hair falling out. There, goddamnit, look for yourself!”
Those were Ratherton’s last words. No longer was there a lump in his throat, but a machete.
Raulf retrieved the blade, cut off Ratherton’s head, and wiped the machete off on Ratherton’s pants. He surveyed the remaining offenders. “Now, someone with respect, please step forward and explain.”
After a long moment, a freckled red-headed youth stepped up, wiping at his eyes, and said, “Sir, my name is Lieutenant Si’ierth, Sir!”
“ Lieutenant, explain yourself.”
“Yes, Sir! We were hungry, Sir! These four were dying, Sir! We proceeded to feed from them, Sir! We, too, were dying, Sir! We needed food, Sir! We got it, Sir!”
Raulf smiled, showing his pointy teeth, and ran a hand along his bald head. He considered the situation for a moment. “Lieutenant, didn’t you think to ask me for permission first?”
“Sir, there was no time, Sir! We saw our opportunity and we took it, Sir! And if I may say so, Sir, we were stupid not to come to you first, Sir! If we had it to do over again, I’m sure we would, Sir! We are loyal, Sir! We would die for you, Sir! Sir, I throw myself on your mercy, Sir!”
“Very well, Lieutenant Si’ierth, I will let you, and you alone, live. You’ve shown courage and respect. The rest of you will die honorably, let there be no doubt. You killed other members of your family, without consulting me first, and therefore are all traitors. For that, you’ll die, but your meat and bones will strengthen the rest of your family. As for those that you’ve already begun to feed from, they’re past the point of caring now, aren’t they? They, too, will strengthen the family. If any of you wish to dispute this, run now like the cowards you are and know that I will hunt you down and kill you, every one, slowly and painfully. The rest of you, follow me back to camp, where you will die with full honors. Are there any dissenters?”
There were none.
Raulf ordered the condemned men to carry their would-be victims back to camp, while he led the way, his guards flanking him and bringing up the rear. No one else tried to escape. Raulf led them underground, where the feast would be held; while the Castle birds were up and about, little activity took place on the surface except for patrol units and scouting parties.
While he was gathering his troops for the banquet, one of his underlings rushed over to him. “There’s an urgent message for you from east camp, sir.”
He waddled over to the radio. “This is Mr. Right, go ahead.”
An ecstatic voice came from the other end. “Yes, sir, this is Echo, calling to report that an emissary from Mrs. Right—Mrs. Right—has arrived!”
“Son, are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. She’s located in the valley between Site D and Site F, and she has many troops with her. She sent out several scouts to each of our fallback bases. That’s what her man said. Now that he’s made contact with us, he’ll retur
n to her and she’ll come here. He asks if you have any further instructions before he sees her.”
“Just tell him to get her back here quickly! That is all.”
“Yes, sir.”
Smiling, he switched the radio off. Malie was back. Just the thought of it sent shivers down his spine. With her by his side, and with her soldiers complimenting his, the Castle would be won. On the other hand, she’d been gone a long time. She might be back, yes, but would her return bring good news?
That was a thought for later. For the moment his greatest concern was whether or not to delay the coming feast until her arrival. No, he thought, studying the eager and starved faces of his people and his own diminished belly.
But he would save her a piece.
* * *
In London, General Brasher’s attack was successful. The stronghold had been informed by the Castle spies that a strike was prepared against it, but thanks to Roche Sarnova’s edict forbidding anyone from offering strategic advice to General Brasher, the spies could not tell the stronghold how to defend itself. Consequently, the stronghold had tried to relocate, and it was during the evacuation that Brasher’s forces struck, killing many of the traitorous Council-members’ army, sending several into flight, and capturing five. It was a victory unparalleled in the history of the war thus far. The half of the Dark Council that had broken with the Dark Lord was still winning without question, but now Sarnova dared to hope that his forces might have a chance.
He was unprepared for the information retrieved from the captives after extensive interrogation. Apparently, Subaire, several other Council-members and a large portion of their army had left London for parts unknown. They had left behind a power structure and enough soldiers to continue the war, but for some unaccountable reason, Subaire had decided to leave London.
Why?
Certainly not because Brasher had overrun one of her strongholds; she’d left days ago, before the stronghold even knew an attack was planned against it. What did that mean?