“Arran Belphon.”
Arran turned.
The caretaker stood over a sarcophagus, his gray-robed form shimmering and misty. Arran looked down at the tomb. Ally’s carven effigy stared up at him, twisted and tormented. A growing sense of urgency gnawed at him.
Something was wrong.
He looked around the Chamber of the Dead. Walls of black mist flowed through the chamber, sparking with dark light. Arran had visited the Chamber before, and he had seen no walls of black mist.
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered, hands dropping to his weapons.
A wave of dizziness came over him. The Chamber of the Dead fragmented into a thousand pieces, the black mist rushing to engulf him…
Arran awoke.
He sat at the kitchen table, a half-finished glass of water glinting in the moonlight near his hand. Mary lay on the floor by the stove, a spilled box of rice besides her. Arran frowned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Hadn’t he just sat down? He had given Lithon a lesson in sword work, and Ally had been taking a nap before dinner. Lithon had gone upstairs to practice some more…
…and Arran remembered nothing after that.
He looked at the clock on the stove and cursed in astonishment. It was two-thirty in the morning, and it had only been six o’clock when he had sat down. Arran shook his head again, trying to clear some of the fog. Had he fallen asleep for eight hours? Why hadn’t anyone awakened him? And why was Mary lying on the floor?
Something was indeed wrong. He drew a gun, went to one knee, and shook Mary’s shoulder. “Mary. Wake up.”
Mary groaned and rolled away. “Leave me alone.”
Arran snatched the glass of water from the table and dumped it over her face. “Wake up, damn it.”
Mary spluttered and sat up, glaring daggers at him. “Arran! What the hell are you doing? It…it…” Confusion came over her face. “What am I doing on the floor?” Her eyes got big. “Why do you have a gun?”
“Something’s wrong,” said Arran. “Look at the clock.”
Mary gaped. “Two-thirty? But I just started supper!”
“Get up,” said Arran, helping to her feet. “We have to find the others.” Mary nodded and retrieved her pistol from one of the kitchen cabinets.
They hurried through the dining room, into the living room, and froze. Conmager lay sprawled on the floor, his cane beneath him. Arran knelt and shook him. Conmager jerked awake and lunged for his gun.
“Something’s happened,” said Arran.
“What?” Conmager’s lined face creased in confusion. “Why am I on the floor?”
“I’ve noticed.” Conmager groped for his cane, his bad leg jerking, and Arran helped him up.
“But…” Conmager glanced at the clock over the TV and swore. “Merciful gods! It’s two in the morning. It’s…it was six o’clock.”
“We must have all fallen asleep at once,” said Arran.
“But how?” said Mary.
Conmager went rigid. “There’s a spell of the black magic, one that can be used to send people into deep sleep.”
“You mean…” said Mary.
“They’ve found us,” said Arran. “Where are Ally and Lithon?”
“I’ll check upstairs,” said Conmager. “Arran, go find Allard. If he fell asleep outside…he might have frozen to death by now.”
Arran nodded and hurried outside. The moonlight glistened against the crusted snow as he ran to the barn. Allard lay in the doorway, his Uzi besides him. He had fallen within range of the space heater. Arran knelt and shook him.
“Huh?” said Allard. “I’m up, I’m up…” His voice trailed off. “I’m outside. Why am I outside?”
“You fell asleep on watch,” said Arran.
Allard blanched. “Oh, God. I did, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I…”
“Shut up and get up,” said Arran. “We all fell asleep. Conmager thinks it was a spell of the black magic.” A growing fear spread through him. “We have to hurry.”
Arran ran back to the house, Allard staggering behind him. He hurried through the living room, up the stairs to the second floor, and froze.
“Oh my God,” said Allard, lurching to a stop behind Arran.
Lithon lay on the floor, a pool of dried blood around his head. Mary and Conmager knelt over him, rummaging through a first aid kit.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” said Arran, a horrible certainty settling over him.
Conmager shook his head. “No. He has a nasty gash on his jaw, and a bump on his head, but he’s alive. He’ll live, though he’ll have headaches for a week.”
“What the hell happened?” said Allard, gaping at Lithon. “Did he fall and…”
Mary glared at him. “Look at the window.”
The window at the end of the hall had been shattered, the frame and a portion of the wall lying in chunks across the floor. A cold wind blew through the hole.
“Ally,” said Arran. “Where is Ally?”
Conmager wrapped a bandage around Lithon’s head. “I don’t know.”
Arran shoved past them and kicked open the door to Ally’s bedroom. There was no trace of Ally, though he did see droplets of blood on the wall Arran examined the other bedrooms, ignoring the others’ glances.
He saw no sign of Ally.
“She’s not here,” he said. “And there’s blood on the wall.” His heart hammered with panic, and he forced down his fear and tried to think.
“Did you check the attic?” said Allard.
“I’ve already been up there,” said Conmager. “There’s nothing…”
Lithon groaned, his eyes opening. Conmager heaved a great sigh of relief.
“Lithon.” Arran knelt. “What happened? Where is your sister?”
Lithon stared at him with hazy eyes. “I heard the window shatter. There was a winged demon with a red crown. He hit me. I…I don’t know what happened next.” He winced and lifted a hand to his temple. “My head feels like it’s going to fall off.”
“Goth-Mar-Dan,” said Arran. “He’s here.”
Mary shook her head. “He was here. All the blood in Lithon’s hair is dry.”
Lithon’s eyes got wide. “Ally.” He tried to stand, groaned, and fell back down. “Ally. I think he took Ally.”
“What?” said Arran. “You saw him?”
Lithon nodded. “I think so. He had Ally tied up, over his shoulder. Then everything went dark.”
Arran’s fear changed to pure dread.
“Oh, God,” said Mary. “One of those winged monsters has her?”
And Ally had been in Goth-Mar-Dan’s clutches for over eight hours.
“We have to find her,” said Arran.
Conmager shook his gray head. “We must run, now.”
“What?” said Arran and Mary in unison.
“We must go,” said Conmager, “at once. I don’t know why Goth-Mar-Dan didn’t kill Lithon. Perhaps the blow only looked fatal, though I cannot see one such as Goth-Mar-Dan making that mistake. But regardless, we must go. Marugon knows where we are now. His minions may return, or he may come himself.”
“We cannot abandon Ally,” said Arran.
“It may be necessary,” said Conmager, “hard as that seems. Alastarius Prophesied that Lithon would overthrow Marugon. He said nothing about Ally.”
“His spirit said you were to train Ally,” said Arran, his voice rising in a snarl.
“Arran, it’s already been eight hours since Goth-Mar-Dan was here,” said Conmager. “And most likely Marugon, to judge from that sleep spell.” He took a deep breath, face tight with pain. “She’s probably been dead for hours.”
“Damn that,” said Arran. “We have to find her.”
“She’s my sister!” said Lithon, trying to stand and failing. “You can’t just leave her.”
“We have no choice!” said Conmager. “Lithon must live, he’s the one who will overthrow Marugon…”
“Damn Alastarius and damn his Prophecy!” said Arran.
/> “The choice is hard, but we must make it,” said Conmager, coming to his feet and shouting. “We must save Lithon.”
“I’m not…I’m not going without Ally…” croaked Lithon.
“Lithon’s going to need Ally,” said Arran. “Do you think he can face Marugon himself, without someone to wield the white magic? Who’s going to help him? You? Your wards cannot even sense the presence of Goth-Mar-Dan and Marugon!”
“He’s right!” said Mary. “We can’t just leave her.”
“She’s not here!” shouted Conmager. “Goth-Mar-Dan took her, and we cannot linger. Perhaps the chance will come to find her later. But for now…”
“No,” said Arran.
He turned, ran back into his bedroom, and threw open the closet door. He buckled a pair of holstered Glocks around his waist. Two more went into shoulder holsters, over his Kevlar vest. He slung Luthar’s Sacred Blade over his back, wrapped his old cloak around his shoulders, and stepped back into the hallway.
“Arran, this is folly,” said Conmager. “You cannot hope to find her. We need you here. We must guard King Lithon…”
Arran ignored him and dashed down the stairs. He threw open the front door and examined the ground, looking for tracks. A pair of tire treads marked the snow and gravel of the driveway. A vehicle had pulled up to the house and left again. Arran ran down the driveway, following the tracks. Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps he could still catch them.
He followed the driveway until it intersected with the road. It would be harder to track the vehicle on an asphalt surface. Nevertheless he knelt and examined the road. A few pieces of gravel lay strewn across the asphalt, leading away towards the south. It made sense. Chicago and Wycliffe’s stronghold lay to the south. Arran ran along the shoulder of the road, the snow crunching beneath his boots. Perhaps they had not gone so far yet. Perhaps he could catch them.
Guilt churned in him, putting a rancid edge on his fear. He had sworn to guard Ally from harm. And now she had fallen into the iron claws of Goth-Mar-Dan, the most terrible of the winged demons. He had to save her. Else everything would have been in vain. His torments and battles in the High Kingdoms would have been for naught.
He had not been able to save Siduri from Khan-Mar-Dan. Now Ally would suffer the same fate.
“No,” growled Arran.
Something cold brushed his nose, and flakes of snow began to fall. Arran cursed and ran faster as the wind picked up and the snow grew thicker. Snow would obliterate any tracks. Arran ran faster, ran until his heart hammered and his lungs felt as if they would burst.
He skidded to a stop.
He had reached a crossroads. Three black roads marked with yellow lines stretched away into the distance. The snow began to cover the yellow lines.
He had no idea where he was, no idea where to go.
His breath steamed in the air, his mind struggling to fight off despair.
“No,” he muttered. “No, no, no.” He had not spent all those years and miles looking for Ally only to lose her like this. What horrors would she experience at the hands of Goth-Mar-Dan? Visions flashed through his mind, each worse than before.
He stared into the dark woods, black despair swirling through his mind. Goth-Mar-Dan would kill Ally horribly. And without her, regardless of what Conmager thought, Lithon was doomed. Marugon would kill the boy. Everything would be lost, forever.
Arran turned in a slow circle, his eyes wandering unseeing over the crossroads. Was this was the Ildramyn had foreseen, when it said hardship and pain filled his path? Had the wretched oracle seen this fate? Arran dropped to his knees, his chest heaving.
This was the last despair, for he had no hope left.
He had failed Ally. He had failed Siduri. Her spirit should never have forgiven him at the ruins of Castle Bastion. And Luthar…
Arran blinked. What had Luthar said?
“Your hope and what you most love will be stolen from you by a thing of nightmare, a creature of wickedness,” Luthar had said, his spirit brought back to the mortal realm by the power in Alastarius’s cairn “You must overcome it, or all shall be lost. Arran. Call upon the sword’s magic in your last despair, for it will give you aid.”
Something too desperate for hope and too powerful for despair shot down Arran’s nerves. He groped over his shoulder and yanked out Luthar’s Sacred Blade. The metal flashed silver, even in the dark.
The blue gem set in the blade shone with a faint azure glow.
“Luthar,” whispered Arran. He pulled off his gloves and touched the gem. Despite the winter air, it felt warm beneath his fingers. “Luthar. I don’t know if you can hear me. But you were right. I have come to my last despair. Goth-Mar-Dan has taken Ally. I love her. I cannot lose her, for then all is lost.” He swallowed, staring into the gem’s glow. “I cannot save her by myself. I need your aid. Help me, Luthar. Please.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Arran felt his mind begin to crack.
Then the sword jerked in his hand. The gem’s glow brightened, casting a blue radiance over the road. Warmth shot up Arran’s arms, plunging deep into his chest.
“Take me to Ally,” said Arran. “Take me to her!”
The gem blazed, its glow swallowing up the world.
###
Stars blurred overhead.
Ally flew over a great forest, its treetops mantled with snow. Then she veered south, soaring over a vast swamp, and she glimpsed stealthy men in furs, their hands wrapped around powerful bows of horn and wood. A ridge of rocky hills came into sight, and a ruined castle sat atop one of the hills, gaping rents looming in its white walls. She shot through one of the breaches, hurtled down a ruined corridor, and came to a halt in a large paved courtyard
She turned in a slow circle and swallowed. A great heap of stones stood in the courtyard’s center, an inscription scrawled into a nearby paving stone. She recognized the shape of the crumbling towers and battlements that overlooked the courtyard. She had seen them hundreds of times in her haunted nightmares, as Goth-Mar-Dan’s clawed hand plunged toward her heart.
This was Castle Bastion. Alastarius had been betrayed and killed here.
Ally looked down at herself. Her body was wispy and ethereal, and she could see the cracked stone of the walls through her arms. Had Goth-Mar-Dan killed her? At least she had fallen unconscious before the winged demon had begun the torture. But now what? Would she wander the world as a disembodied specter?
The cairn began to glow.
Ally turned as thick white mist swirled around her knees. Gentle white light leaked from the cairn’s stones, bathing the courtyard in a pale radiance. She felt the white magic well up, rising out of the earth like a spring.
The mist swirled, and a ghostly old man wrapped in a battered green cloak stepped forward. His dark eyes stared at Ally, his tangled white beard drifting in the currents of the breeze.
“Ally,” he said, voice deep and resonant.
“You.” Ally stepped towards him. “Alastarius. You’ve brought me here, haven’t you?”
“In part,” said the old Wizard. He adjusted his cloak, and Ally realized her own habit of wearing a green coat had come from his memories.
“Am I dead?” said Ally.
“Not yet,” said Alastarius. “But all men die, as I know all too well.”
“Where am I?” said Ally. “What is this place?”
He raised a bushy eyebrow. “You know, do you not? This is Castle Bastion, on my world. On our world.”
“I know that,” said Ally. “I mean…what’s happened to me? This isn’t the physical world, is it?”
“Very good,” said Alastarius. “We are in the spiritual world, the ethereal realm. Your physical body remains on Earth. Your spirit, however, has been summoned here, in part by my power, but mostly by your own need.”
“So I am dead, then,” said Ally. “If my spirit has left my body.”
“No,” said Alastarius. “Your spirit fled your body. The horror of Goth-Mar-Dan cau
sed your spirit to flee, and I brought it to this place.”
Ally looked away. “Then I shall die any moment, then.”
“No,” said Alastarius. “Time does not work quite the same way in this place. A second in the material realm may be a thousand years here.” He looked grave. “But that is why I have called you here. If Goth-Mar-Dan does not kill you as he killed me, then you will die in a few days. So will Arran Belphon, Lithon Scepteris, Mary Lucas, Thomas Wycliffe, Goth-Mar-Dan, Marugon himself, and everyone living on Earth and this world and ten thousand times ten thousand other worlds.”
Ally stared at the ghost. “What are you talking about?”
“Come to me,” said the Wizard’s spirit. “I have much to tell you.”
Ally stepped towards him. “And I have much I would know.”
Alastarius smiled. “Then let us converse.”
###
Azure light blazed past Arran.
For a moment he felt the sensation of walking down a tunnel, of speeding past miles and hills with a single colossal stride. His blood pounded through his veins, and he clutched the hilt of Luthar’s Sacred Blade, and the weapon vibrated in his hands.
The blue light vanished, and Luthar’s sword went still.
Arran looked around.
He was no longer at the crossroads in rural Wisconsin. He knelt on a slush-coated sidewalk on a street lined with abandoned warehouses and ruined factories. The familiar smell of car exhaust and asphalt filled his nostrils.
The sword’s magic had taken him back to Chicago.
Arran stared through the half-ruined gate to an abandoned factory. A black van had been parked besides a small doorway, and three men stood around the van, speaking in low voices. Arran crept through the gate, slinking through the shadows of ruined machines. One of the men spoke Goth-Mar-Dan’s name, and Arran felt a surge of hope.
Maybe he was not too late to save Ally.
“Thank you, Luthar,” whispered Arran. He slid his brother’s Sacred Blade back into its scabbard. “Oh, gods, thank you, Luthar.”
Arran yanked two pistols from his belt and peered around a rusted machine. One of the three men was short and bald, another tall and lean, and the third big and hulking with a shaved head. Arran’s hands tightened around his pistols as he listened to their conversation, and he realized they had helped Goth-Mar-Dan kidnap Ally.
The Destroyer of Worlds Page 9