Meyer glanced at his minicompad and then at her and nodded. “It certainly seems that way.”
Toni turned back to Stein and Greyson. “—And if Avery doesn’t free them, then and only then will we try Henry’s lash-up as a last resort—as a final solution.”
“History shows that so-called ‘final solutions’ are executed by megalomaniacs,” Greyson said through gritted teeth.
Toni sighed then said to Meyer. “Drew, recheck your figures, and if they still show this to be feasible, you and your crew modify the cephaloruptor in accordance with Henry’s plans. —And, Henry, go ahead and get the alpha team set up, but—listen to me!—do nothing without my final approval.”
In that moment the doors banged open and two medtechs wheeled in a Phoenix Therapeutics cephaloruptor, the symbol on its side showing a golden firebird rising from scarlet flames.
Greyson started to protest, but Alya Ramanni took him by the arm and softly said, “Come with me, John. Now is not the time. The Black Foxes may yet win, Lord Vishnu willing” She led the philosopher to a seat and sat down beside him. Together they watched the holovid, the muscles in Greyson’s jaw clenching.
In the holo, the enthralled Black Foxes were escorted into an ornate throne room, and in convoy they woodenly marched toward a high dais on which sat a woman in black plate armor. Surely this could be none other than Atraxia the DemonQueen.
47
Atraxia
(Itheria)
With a chaotic whiteness churning ahead and jeering bonelike skelga capering about, white-armored drakka in full plate marched the Black Foxes up the path and toward the ebony castle. The black sun sank beyond the hellish horizon and a demonic twilight drew across the chaotic land, the ring-filled sky above shading toward a sickly, pustulant green. And low in the eastern sky, dark ruddy stars began to appear in the oncoming verdigris night. Yet the Foxes seemed to note none of this as they woodenly tramped along the twisting path snaking up the flanks of the black mountain and toward the soaring towers and turrets and domes of the lofty palace above.
At last they reached the castle, and beringed by barbed lances and jagged-edged swords, the Foxes were marched across a black stone courtyard just as a flaming violet moonlike orb scored across the viridian sky beyond the purple rings, a cluster of burning moonlets trailing in its lavender wake. And farther beyond, the aethyr was afflicted with corpulent stars—maroon and deep orange and vivid dark blue—and a pale grey wedge rolled into sight on the rings in the vault above.
But little of this did the Black Foxes see, for in that moment they tramped into the onyx palace and beyond the sight of the alien sky. As they crossed the threshold to enter the castle proper, colors about them returned to normal: the drakka armor and hideous visors and jutting metal horns became ebony, and their stone-bladed weapons obsidian; the bony skelga, pitch-black; and the churning, chaotic demon in the lead, a boiling inky cloud. Fox weapons gleamed silver, Ky’s blade sable, and their leathers took on the mottled hues of grey. Hair and skin returned to normal, as did eyes and teeth and all else. But by no sign or gesture did the Foxes acknowledge the change.
Unresisting, they were marched through gilded hallways, the ivory floors smooth and polished, with elaborate scrollwork enscribed in the stone. They trod through ornate archways and along arcades hung with resplendent tapestries, though the patterns depicted seemed nothing more than geometric chaos. But at last the enthralled Black Foxes were escorted into a spacious, high-vaulted chamber, with fluted pillars along the walls reaching up to the ceiling and portals to either side opening into rooms seemingly set for dining or counsel or other businesses of state. Yet the Foxes turned neither left nor right but instead were convoyed straight ahead and toward the distant end where stood a lofty dais holding a wide golden throne on which sat a female—Atraxia the DemonQueen.
Exotic and beautiful and slender she was, and dressed in black plate armor, though at the moment she was wearing neither gauntlets nor helm. Her skin was alabaster with a tinge of pink. She had straight black hair cropped at the shoulder, the pointed tips of her ears showing through. Her pale oval face was feminine, with high cheekbones and a delicate chin, and exquisite pale cinnabar lips. With dark eyebrows and long dark lashes, her eyes were tilted and completely white and held no cornea whatsoever. Leaning against the throne stood a sword, long and slightly curved—a hand-and-a-half shamsheer.
At her side sat a black-haired man with an aquiline nose and a wide leering mouth. He was dressed in sable, and wore an ebon cloak. On the front of his doublet were emblazoned two red crescent bloodmoons—one small, one large. It was Horax.
And as the Black Foxes were marched before her and came to a halt at the foot of the dais, Atraxia laughed and held up a bronze scepter on the tip of which was now affixed the arcane red gem. “Did you come for this, my dear Black Foxes, come to steal the gift given me by my new consort?” The DemonQueen turned and smiled at Horax.
The mage smiled back then leaped to his feet and strutted across the dais. “Fools! Did you puny five think to creep unnoticed into the very heart of my queen’s dominion and like thieves in the night take from her that which I have given as my token of troth? Did you think so much of your skills, your prowess? Pah! You are as nothing when compared to her or to me.” Horax stopped pacing and raised a hand in a gesture of concession. “I must admit, though, to a mild curiosity as to two events: first, that you managed to escape White Mountain after I had reset all of the significant wards; and, second”—he pointed at Ky and Trendel—”that these two were among your band when you came through the demongate.” He laughed again then cocked his head questioningly. “What’s that? You are shocked to learn that we saw you come through? Bah, only dolts would think that the way into our world would stand neglected. Did you not know that we followed your progress all the way from the demongate to the foot of my queen’s dark fortress. Your journey was most amusing.”
Now Horax strode halfway down the steps then turned to Atraxia and appealed, “What shall we do with these fools, my queen? Behead them with your great sword? Or shall I instead see to their demise, perhaps throw them as scraps to the skelga? Or do you have in mind a sentence more fitting to the crime they sought to commit against your royal personage?”
Atraxia stood and paced to the edge of the dais and looked down on the Foxes; long moments she contemplated, then smiled a slow wicked smile. And she gestured at the blank wall to the left of the prisoners. An archway appeared and ruddy light glared forth. Without willing it, all the Black Foxes turned to look through the aperture. It opened onto a fiery chamber, lit crimson by boiling lava, where blistering magma churned up from unknown depths to seethe and roil at the very lip of a broad jagged split in the floor. At the very edge of this molten inferno stood a brass anvil, with a brass hammer and a pair of brass tongs lying atop.
Now the Foxes turned and faced Atraxia again. “You came this night to steal the jewel from my scepter, the Dark God’s gem. And since the token of the Nameless One was affixed in my scepter’s forge, it is only fitting that you pay penance in that very same forge: you will bathe in the lava pool.”
Horax laughed and strode down the remaining steps of the dais to pass among the Foxes, the drakka and skelga and the roiling black demon yielding respectfully back. He stopped before Kane, the largest of the Foxes, and sneered at the enthralled man. A bead of sweat trickled down Kane’s forehead and cheek as if he were struggling to break the spell, entirely to no avail. “Bah,” said Horax, “you are a fool.”
He stepped to Ky—”My shield”—and then to Trendel—”The unexpected sacrifice”—and lastly to Rith. He stood before the bard, fury in his face, and he hissed, “Before you go into the lava, my black beauty . . .” He turned his head aside and showed her his left ear, deeply notched by the thrown silver knife. He then took that same silver dagger from his waistband and slashed it through both of Rith’s ears. Blood flowed freely, but she neither cried out nor made a move to stanch the flow. Ho
rax laughed and wiped the blade clean on her hair and shoved the knife back into his waistband.
Then he stepped to Arik and sneered at the silver sword yet clenched in the warrior’s hand, for the drakka could not abide the touch of the metal and so had left all the captives armed. “What use your silver weapons now, my flaxen-haired buffoon? Did you think to stride among demonkind hewing left and right with a bright argent blade before which no demon could stand?” Horax reached out and drew a leering black skelga to him and clutched a handful of the creature’s hair and pulled back its head, exposing its neck. “Come, Black Fox, hew his throat with your charmed blade. What, cannot bring yourself to do it?” Horax set free the jeering skelga then tilted his own head back, baring his jugular. “Perhaps a powerful wizard is more to your liking; if so then cut this neck. A simple chop will do.” Again he laughed. “What’s that? Too . . . ah . . . frozen in awe to take a swing? Pah! Your silver weapons are of no use here; my queen has seen to that.”
Horax then laughed and strode halfway up the steps toward Atraxia, where he stopped and turned and faced the Foxes and sneeringly called out, “Do as you will, my DemonQueen, I am finished toying with these insignificant fools.”
All eyes were on the Black Foxes—those of the drakka and skelga and of the roiling chaos, as well as the eyes of Horax and of the DemonQueen. But the eyes of the Foxes themselves, they instead stared fixedly up at Atraxia as she raised her scepter to invoke its power. Hence only the Foxes saw the glowing presence begin to emerge from the throne-room wall behind the DemonQueen.
It was Lyssa!
Spectral Lyssa.
She had followed them to the demonplane, but could not manifest until night had fallen. And she had sped across the Plains of Chaos on their bewildering trail to arrive now!
She broke free of the stone and rushed forward and clamped her ethereal hands to the DemonQueen’s head and began draining life with a vengeance.
Atraxia’s eyes flew wide and she shrieked in anguish and dropped her scepter, and the heavy bronze wand went clanging down the steps of the dais, the affixed red gem glittering and flashing crimson as the scepter tumbled down the ivory stairs.
In that instant the enthrallment was broken, and with weapons hewing, the Foxes sprang into action, cutting down drakka and skelga alike.
But the great roiling chaotic demon boiled up the dais to aid the DemonQueen. Yet Kane’s silver-headed spear stabbed through the churning blackness, and the demon blasted apart with a thunderous roar, spectral fire exploding outward.
Horax darted down the steps, lunging for the scepter, but an argent tumble glittered in the air, and Rith’s silver dagger took him under the arm. He screamed in agony and jerked out the blade, vermilion blood spurting after. And he began sketching an arcane gesture at the black bard, but before he could complete his spell, a bolt of ebony darkness hammered into his chest, smashing through ribs and lungs and heart and spine and exploding out his back. And Horax was hurled hindward, crashing to the steps and tumbling down like a broken doll, dead before he struck the ivory floor. Rith cast a glance at Shadowmaster Ky and grinned—together they had avenged Arton Masterthief and Pon Barius the mage. But then the drakka were upon them, and they were driven apart in the fray.
The battle raged to and fro, skelga teeth and claws rending, drakka barbed spears and jagged-edged swords ripping, the Black Foxes taking wounds as they fought. Yet their silver weapons were deadly and though greatly outnumbered they hewed through the demonic ranks: Arik was a whirling ravager, his blade cutting into drakka and skelga, slashing deeply, blue witchfire bursting forth, and demons shrieked and spun as spectral flames consumed them. Likewise, Trendel’s axe slammed through plate and bone alike, and demonkind flared in his wake. Kane’s spear pierced foe, as did Rith’s daggers and Ky’s deadly black blade.
And up on the dais, the DemonQueen had somehow managed to turn and grasp Lyssa by the head, just as she herself was clasped. And their mouths were stretched wide in silent screams as they struggled to defeat one another, but as to who was winning or losing, it could not be told, though Lyssa’s glow was dimming rapidly.
“Kane! Kane!” shouted Rith, trying to move forward toward the dais, but being driven back by black drakka. “The scepter! Throw it into the pool!”
Shouting in rage, Kane hammered his way through demonkind and scooped up the bronze wand, and with Trendel at his back bashing with his shield and hewing his silver-bladed axe left and right to chop down the foe, Kane won to the archway and cast the scepter into the roiling magma.
The moment the device struck the lava, the DemonQueen screamed, and so too did Lyssa, her voice the wail of the wind.
The scepter sank in the fire of its birthforge, disappearing into the molten churn, and again Atraxia shrieked, and she burst into flame. Whirling and spinning she broke free of Lyssa’s grasp, blue fire consuming her as she twisted and twirled, her screams rising in rapid crescendo and of a sudden flames blasted outward leaving nothing behind but echoes, and then these too disappeared.
The surviving demons broke, fleeing silver, now that their queen and her power was gone.
And up on the dais, Lyssa collapsed, her light but a feeble glimmer.
“Lyssa!” cried Arik, rushing toward her, but Rith grabbed him from behind and shouted, “Wait!” Arik threw off her hand and started upward again. Bleeding from the slashes through her ears and from wounds taken in battle, still Rith had the strength to kick Arik’s feet out from under him, and she leapt upon him, shouting, “You cannot go to her! As weak as she is she will have no control and will drain you entirely should you touch her.”
Arik hurled Rith off and spat, “I’d rather be dead with her than alive without.”
As the warrior got to his feet, “Arik, you cannot!” cried Rith, lying on the ivory floor, her blood staining it scarlet. “There are an untold number of demons out there, and we need you, else we’ll never win free of the demonplane.”
Arik looked down at her bitterly then up toward Lyssa, the ghostly glimmer nearly gone out; his shoulders sagged and he nodded bleakly, then slumped to the steps and wept.
Rith got to her knees and cast her arms about the warrior, and whispered, “There is yet a chance . . .”
At that moment in the roiling demonforge, an indestructible red gem floated to the top.
48
Final Solution
(Coburn Facility)
“Yes!” shouted John Greyson; the portly philosopher clenched his fist and leaped to his feet in joy as in the holo the DemonQueen vanished in a blast of flame and the surviving drakka and skelga fled. “By Socrates, they’ve won!”
His voice was lost in the raucous clamor of the control room as people cheered and clapped and Toni wept tears of relief. Yet at the gimbaled rigs, medtechs worked frantically; Alice Maxon’s core temperature had dropped to 89º F. They heated IVs using power therms and pumped the warm fluid into her veins, the medtechs now just barely holding their own against the cool electrolytes Avery was flushing through her system.
“All right, Henry,” ebulliently shouted Greyson to Stein, “get ready to extract them. Avery will release their minds any moment now. They’ve won; he’s lost.”
Toni Adkins wiped her eyes and turned to Grace Willoby. “Any change in the brainwaves?”
“No, Doctor Adkins,” came the medtech’s reply. “The console still shows only the autonomous is working.”
Toni frowned and called out to a medtech at the rigs. “Ramon! Any change in the EEGs?”
“No, Doctor Adkins. No change.”
Henry Stein looked up and raised his voice to be heard, “The AI still has their brains shut down; it’s time for my solution.”
“Not without my say-so,” called Toni. Then she keyed her comband. “Alvin?”
“Yes, Doctor Adkins?” replied Alvin Johnston down in the AIC.
“Any change in the mental patterns?”
“I don’t think so, Doctor Adkins. They seem to be the sa
me . . . still locked in Avery’s volatile memory.”
“Let me know if there’s any variation whatsoever, Alvin. Adkins out.”
Moments passed and moments more, and still there was no change in either the flat EEG tracks or the states of the glittering patterns. Finally Toni turned to Greyson. “John, what’s going on? Why hasn’t Avery released them?”
Frustration filled Greyson’s face. “I don’t know, Toni. They should be free by now, but instead he holds them captive, which means he’s broken another one of his strictures, though I can’t tell you why.”
“Because he’s a goddamned sociopath,” spat Mark Perry, “and wants to win, no matter the cost or the rules. Even now it looks as if Alice Maxon is dying, another victim of this mad machine.” Perry turned to Toni. “I think that sonofabitch Stein is right; it’s time you let him try his solution, or there won’t be anyone left alive.”
“No, no, you can’t do that,” protested Greyson, but Toni stood and, with Greyson and Perry following, she strode to where Henry Stein and Drew Meyer and Sheila Baxter and Billy Clay worked on the CR stimulator.
“Where do you stand?” she asked
Stein snorted impatiently and gestured at Sheila, the comptech sitting on the floor before an open panel.
“We’re almost ready,” said Sheila, sliding a modified circuit board in on its tracks.
“The system is jacked into the aux EEG ports on the hemihelms,” added Billy. “All we have to do is change a capacitor on one more board then plug her in and turn her on.”
“Then I’ll reactivate their brains,” said Stein.
“You can’t let him do this, Toni,” declared Greyson, his voice trembling in distress. “It’s profane, and will create six unholy monsters, six creatures without souls.”
Stein sneered. “Fool. I suppose you would rather that they die.”
Shadowtrap: A Black Foxes Adventure Page 40