The stout man ground his pistol into Lithon’s temple. The boy’s eyes widened with fury. “Don’t even think about it, Miss Wester. I’ll kill him.”
“Hurt him and I’ll tear you to pieces,” said Arran.
The stout man smirked, his glasses flashing beneath the lights. “No doubt. But your precious King will be just as dead. You need him, don’t you? You can’t kill Marugon without him. The mad fool was always so afraid of that. Lower those guns by the time I count to three, or I’ll shoot. One, two…”
“Do it!” said Ally. Mary and Conmager lowered their weapons. Conmager glared daggers at the stout man, his jaw working.
“You will regret this, Thomas Wycliffe, more than any of your other crimes,” spat Conmager.
Wycliffe smirked. “Oh, so, you’ve heard of me? How wonderful that terrorists such as you find time to watch TV. Isn’t America great?” The gun in Arran’s hand was empty. He could not draw another one before Wycliffe killed Lithon.
“What do you want, Wycliffe?” said Ally.
“I want you to leave,” said Wycliffe. “Marugon’s your enemy, not me.”
“Is that so?” said Ally. “You killed our parents. And God only knows how many other people you’ve killed.”
Wycliffe sneered. “Is that what this is about? Revenge? Bah! Marugon killed your parents, not me.” He smiled. “Perhaps we can negotiate, Miss Wester. You want Marugon dead. I want him out of my affairs. Perhaps I can tell you where he is…in exchange for a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Drop your weapons, all of them,” said Wycliffe.
“He’s stalling,” said Arran. “He has nothing.”
Wycliffe laughed. “I have Lithon! And I have Miss Wester covered!” He jerked his chin at the far wall.
An old man in dark suit leaned against a crate, a gun clutched in both hands. Sweat streamed down the old man’s face, his eyes wide and terrified. “I say the word and President Jones will kill her. And I’ll kill the boy. How will you fight Marugon then? Shoot him? I hardly think so.”
Arran looked at the trembling old man. Was this another of Wycliffe’s slaves, a man dominated with the Voice? Their eyes met, and Arran felt a touch of pity for the old wretch.
Someone tugged at his boot Allard lay sprawled at Arran’s feet, but still held his pistol clutched in his hand.
Something like a plan formed in Arran’s mind.
He looked at the Jones and tapped his stomach.
Jones hesitated, and then made a slight nod. Arran hoped he understood.
“Last chance, Miss Wester!” called Wycliffe, smirking. “Lay down your weapons, or else the boy dies…”
Arran stepped forward and leveled his empty pistol at Wycliffe. “No, you die, you miserable…”
“Jones!” shrieked Wycliffe.
The old man fired, and the bullet slammed into Arran’s stomach and flattened against the Kevlar. He groaned and collapsed atop Allard.
His hand clamped around Allard’s pistol.
“Do you want another one to die?” said Wycliffe. “Your guns are down. I could have Jones kill you all. I could kill Lithon before you react. Do you want to lose everything? I’ll…”
Arran rose to one knee, his stomach aching, and fired. His bullet slammed through Wycliffe’s right shoulder. Wycliffe screamed, his back arching in pain, his body jerking. His pistol dropped away from Lithon’s temple, and Lithon spun and punched Wycliffe in the stomach. The stout man slammed against the crates, snarling, his pistol coming up. Arran fired again, his shot smashing into Wycliffe’s other shoulder. Wycliffe howled, and his pistol clattered against the ground.
“Jones!” screamed Wycliffe. “Kill…”
Ally raised her hand, white light flaring around her, and Wycliffe shrieked. Ally made a fist, and Wycliffe floated into the air, his legs thrashing.
“Where is Marugon?” said Ally.
“He…he went into the Tower,” sobbed Wycliffe. “He took the bomb with him.”
Ally hissed in alarm. “How long ago? Speak!”
Wycliffe’s head rolled back and forth. “Just after the gate blew up. He ran through the door. I…I don’t know where he went after that. Let me go, please, please let me go…”
“We must go,” said Ally.
“It hurts,” babbled Wycliffe, “it hurts, it hurts, it hurts…” Urine dribbled down his leg and spattered against the floor.
“Should I kill him?” said Arran.
“No,” gasped Wycliffe, “no, oh God, please don’t, please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything…”
“No,” said Ally, voice cold. “I should kill you, for what you’ve done. But I won’t. I do not have it in me.” She smiled. “Instead, I’ll help you.”
She drew herself up, the white light flaring brighter as Wycliffe's screams grew louder. Ally took a deep breath, shouted a word, and thrust out her arms. Wycliffe flew across the room and smashed against the floor. The white light faded, and Ally sighed and lowered her arms.
Wycliffe crawled to his knees. “Wuh…” His voice sounded thick and slurred. His eyes opened, and they had become white and sightless. “Wuh…I…I… can’t see. I can’t see!” He began to crawl around like a dying animal. “I…can’t… see! I can’t…”
Arran watched him. “What did you do to him?”
“I did nothing more than drive the black magic from his mind and spirit,” said Ally. “I exorcised him, if you will.” She shrugged. “The exorcism may have damaged his mind.” Wycliffe crawled across the floor, sightless and babbling. Ally turned to face Jones.
“Don’t kill me,” the old man whispered, throwing the gun on the floor. “Please don’t kill me.”
Ally squinted at him. “William Jones, I presume?” Jones nodded. “You were his slave, I think. Choose well how you will use your freedom.”
The old man sank to his knees and began to sob.
“Lithon! Are you okay?”
Lithon hurried over, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, I think so. It bruised a bit.”
Arran reached down and helped Allard up. Allard spat blood from his bruised lips. “Ah…sorry.”
Allard grinned. “I’m just glad you didn’t kill me.”
Ally winced and put a hand over her stomach.
“Ally. Are you injured?” said Arran, looking at the bullet holes in her coat. The sight of her in pain distressed him more than he could say.
“I can go on,” said Ally. “We must stop Marugon. Hurry.” She ran across the warehouse floor, moving with a slight limp. They climbed up the stairs, the metal grill clanking. “Arran. Do you remember the way to the Chamber of the Great Seal?” Ally stared at the door, eyebrows creased in a small frown.
Arran nodded. “I do. Though it was filled with great perils. What it is like now, I do not wish to imagine.”
“Nor I.” Ally lifted her hand, still staring at the door. “Something’s amiss, though I can’t say what. I’ll go first.” She stepped through the door and into the Tower.
The the air grwe cold, and a shadow fell over the door.
It began to grind shut with terrifying speed.
Ally spun, light flaring around her fingers. The door stopped, still open halfway. Ally thrust out a hand, and the door trembled with a deep grinding sound, its runes flashing with wild green light.
“What is it?” said Arran.
“The door!” gasped Ally, raising her hands, “Marugon put a spell over the door, it’s going to shut, I can’t keep it open! Get through! Now!”
“Move!” Arran grabbed Lithon by the shoulder and propelled him through the door, Conmager, Mary, and Allard a half-step behind him. He leaped into the Tower’s gallery, white light flashing over his vision. He turned, reaching out for Conmager…
Ally groaned, and the door slammed shut with a crash. She flew backwards and slid across the gleaming stone floor.
###
The door crashed shut, blocking Ally and Arran and Lithon from sight.
“Ally!
” shrieked Mary, running forward. The door’s runes flickered and went dark. Conmager lifted his cane and focused his magical senses on the door.
“Open it!” said Mary. “Conmager, open it. We can’t leave them in there alone.”
Conmager sighed and lowered his cane. “I cannot.”
Mary growled. “What the hell do you mean you can’t?”
“A spell of the black magic has been laid over the door. Marugon’s work, I think. The spell sealed the door when someone stepped through it and into the Tower. It’s a wonder Ally kept the door open as long as she did.”
“Can’t you break the spell?” said Mary.
Conmager shook his head. “Mary. I’m sorry. I have not the power.” A curious sense of peace settled over Conmager. He had guarded Ally and Lithon for so long. Now they were beyond his reach. And, in truth, they no longer needed him to guard them. Ally possessed many times Conmager’s power, and Lithon would grow to become a wise king.
If they survived the next few hours.
But Conmager had done what he could.
“We have to help them,” said Mary, kicking at the door. “We can’t just leave them in there, alone, to fight Marugon…”
“Mary,” said Conmager, “we have no other choice. That spell will not wear off for at least a day, and I have not the power to remove it. The other doors to the Tower are sealed. The only one we can reach in time is in Cicero, and it would take me hours to open it. By then, it will be too late for our help to make any difference, one way or another.”
“But,” said Mary, “but we have to help them!”
“We have,” said Conmager. “As much as we are able.” He blinked. “It was my task to guard them, I think, until they were ready. And now they are ready. Do you really think we could aid Ally in a battle against Marugon? We would prove more of a hindrance, I fear. No, the issue is beyond our reach. We have done what we can. Now it us up to Ally and Lithon and Sir Arran. It is in their hands, one way or another.”
Mary spat a curse, but fell silent. Allard looked around, rubbed his bleeding jaw, and coughed.
“So, um…then,” he said. “What do we do now?”
Conmager smiled. “You don’t know? We stand in the stronghold of our enemies, surrounded by tons of bombs, and you don’t know what to do next?”
Mary gaped at him. Allard looked over the endless stacks of crates, swore, and looked back at Conmager. “You’re nuts, Regent. You’re absolutely goddamn nuts.”
Conmager smiled. “I know.”
###
Wycliffe crawled along the cold ground, gasping in pain. Every movement sent bolts of agony tearing through his ruined shoulders. He had fouled himself, his trousers slapping hot and mushy against his leg.
His mind felt like ashes and ruin, broken beyond repair. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t reach the black magic through the ruin of his thoughts. He sobbed, crawling along, trying to find his way out. He had to get help. That one thought played through his mind, over and over again.
He pawed for his smartphone, arms throbbing. His fingers felt like wedges of putty. The phone fumbled and slid in his hand. Not that it mattered, since he couldn’t see the touchscreen or anything else. He shrieked in frustration and flung the phone away.
A footstep tapped against the ground.
Wycliffe flipped onto his back, trying to crawl away. Lances of pain stabbed through his arms. “Wuh?” he said, lips flapping. His face and tongue felt like quivering jelly. He couldn’t shape words. “Who?” he managed.
“Thomas,” said a soft voice.
That voice tugged memories deep in his crushed mind. “William?” he croaked. “William. Help me, please help me…”
The gunshot rang like thunder, and something slammed into Wycliffe’s chest. He wailed as more shots stabbed into him with quick succession. The last plunged into his head, slamming it against the concrete floor, and the darkness before his sightless eyes deepened.
###
William Jones, President Elect of the United States of America, dropped the smoking gun and watched Wycliffe’s brains ooze across the floor.
Jones stared at his tormentor’s corpse for a long time. Something deep inside him snapped, and he began to laugh. He laughed for a long time, hysterics racking his body.
He kicked the gun aside, stepped into the sunlight, and ran as fast as he could.
###
A tremendous explosion ripped apart warehouse 13A a moment later. The roof disintegrated in a towering pillar of flame, and cinder blocks and twisted steel girders rained in all directions. The ground shook as a tower of inky black smoke rose high into the winter sky.
When the police and the firefighters arrived, they could not make sense of the explosion, nor the strange obsidian bones, nor of the hundreds of naked, cold, and very confused people, young and old, men and women alike, wandering the compound.
Nor did they notice three dark figures slip out of the compound, climb into a van, and drive away.
Chapter 13 - The Caretaker's Charge
Between the Worlds
“Ally!”
Ally groaned and managed to sit up. Green light gleamed against the floor and distant ceiling of the Tower's gallery. Her body ached from the backlash of Marugon’s spell. She heard boots pounding against the marble floor as Arran and Lithon ran to her side. They took her arms and helped her to her feet.
“You’re injured,” said Arran.
Ally shook her head. “No, no.” She brushed them away. “I’m fine. At least as well as I can be, under the circumstances.”
“What happened?” said Lithon.
Ally stared at the sealed door. Marugon’s sigil of burning eye clutched in a clawed hand stared back at her. With a shock she realized it was not a burning eye. It never had been a burning eye.
It was a burning world.
“Ally?” said Arran.
She shook her attention from the sigil. “Marugon left a trap for us. A spell to seal the door after someone stepped through.” She scowled. “No doubt he thought I would send someone else through first.”
“Can you open it?” said Arran. “We will need the aid of the others.”
She squinted at the door, seeing the web of dark power Marugon had laid over it. “No. I cannot break the spell. He anchored it to the runes upon the door, to the magic of the Tower itself. The spell will fade in time, but not soon enough to help us. No, we must go on. We can return this way later. If we survive.” She leaned up and kissed Arran on the cheek, stubble brushing against her lips. “Thank you for saving Lithon.”
Arran gave her one of his rare smiles. “Thank Conmager for his Kevlar.”
“I’m just glad I’m not dead,” said Lithon.
Ally laughed. “As am I. Arran, show us the way.”
Arran nodded and drew his Sacred Blades. “Follow me.”
###
Black holes seemed to pockmark every inch of wall and ceiling. Gaping holes stretched across the floor, with only narrow paths of stone left between them. A cold wind blew down the corridor, tugging at Arran’s cloak and clothes. He picked his way over the rubble, every muscle tense. He could almost feel the children of the void watching him through the holes. Any moment they would boil out, swarming him as they had done to Sir Liam…
“Where do those holes go?” said Lithon, kicking aside a chunk of rubble. It slipped into a hole and vanished.
“They are breaches in the spells that bind the Tower,” said Ally. “Holes into the endless void between the worlds.” She pointed. “That stone you dropped? It will float for ten million times ten million years before it even comes within sight of a world.”
Arran glanced at the nothingness behind the walls, shivered, and kept going.
“What are those pictures on the walls?” said Lithon.
“Bas-reliefs,” said Ally. “I don’t know what they show. They may be depictions of the war that bound the children of the void. Or someone else may have put them there;
the Tower is very old, and many other races have trod its halls. Some have even built cities within the Tower.”
Arran grunted. “I’ve never seen them.”
“The Tower is infinite,” said Ally. “If you did not know the way, you could wander for ten thousand years and never find them.”
“Did you hear something?” said Lithon.
Arran looked at him, then at the ruined walls. “No. Nothing.”
Ally frowned. “I thought I did.”
Lithon shrugged. “It sounded like…well, never mind. It sounded familiar, that’s all.”
“Keep listening.” Arran started forward. In places the damaged floor seemed suspended over the void, held in place by nothingness. He hoped the pitted stone would not crumble beneath his weight.
His hands tightened around the hilts of his Sacred Blades, his eyes watching the swords for any signs of light.
And his ears strained for any trace of a whisper.
It had happened that way before. He had first heard the distant voice, and then the voice started calling his name. Then he had rounded a corner, and there stood the child of the void masquerading as Siduri, beckoning him to the void…
“Wait,” said Lithon, frowning.
“We don’t have time to wait,” said Ally.
“I heard someone say my name,” said Lithon. He looked sad. “It sounded familiar, I think. Like someone I knew.”
Arran waved his sword, trying to quell his growing alarm. “It’s a deception from the children of the void. That is how it began, how they tried to trick me. First they call your name. Then they take the form of someone dead. Someone who had a hold over you. Queen Annemarie for Sir Liam, Siduri for me. After that, they try to trick you into stepping through the holes.” He shook his head. “It is deception. Do not listen.”
“Okay,” said Lithon. “But…it just sounds so familiar.”
They rounded a corner. The corridor ahead lay undamaged, its walls and ceiling gleaming in the green glow, save for one large hole in the floor. A dark-haired woman stood near the hole, her green eyes glinting. Arran froze, his Sacred Blades moving to a guard position. For a terrible moment he though the woman was Siduri. But this woman wore jeans and a T-shirt, with a paler face than Siduri’s.
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