The sound was coming from the Tower.
The Tower trembled. Arcs of green lighting shot up and down the Tower, leaping from statue to statue. One of the flying buttresses tottered, and then fell, crumbling as it plummeted to the earth. It struck the Plain with a tremendous roar, the ground shuddering. Arran saw thousands of black dots littering the Plain at the Tower’s base.
Debris from the Tower.
“The Tower’s falling?” said Arran. Kaemarz had hinted that the Tower was falling. He had said that some passages within had collapsed. Was it even safe to enter?
Arran shook off his fear. “Find Alastarius on Earth.” He sheathed his weapons and kept walking.
The dim light grew even dimmer as night approached. Arran began looking around for a campsite, and spotted a ring of eroded boulders that might serve.
He settled against one of the boulders, drew his Sacred Blade, laid it across his lap, and wrapped his hand around the hilt. Everyone he had spoken with claimed ghouls haunted the Plain at night. With luck, the sword’s power would awaken him if any creatures approached. But he was still on the edge of the Plain. Perhaps the creatures hunted closer to the Tower.
Arran fell asleep.
###
Thunder crashed against Arran’s ears.
His jumped to his feet, his Sacred Blade coming to a guard position. The ground trembled beneath his boots. His eyes darted back and forth, but he saw only the Crimson Plain, gray and bleak as ever.
Another rumble rang out, and Arran turned just as another buttress slid free from the Tower. It struck the earth with a tremendous crash, shattering into thousands of black boulders. Green lighting shot up and down the Tower’s structure. For a moment the entire Tower trembled, and Arran wondered if it would collapse.
The green lighting sparked once more and vanished, and trembled stopped. The Tower became still and silent once more, filling the horizon with its dark shadow. Arran slid his Sacred Blade back into its scabbard. He thought for a moment, shrugged, and emptied one of his guns. He reloaded it with one of the ammunition cartridges he had dipped in Siduri’s blood into the weapon.
He doubted regular bullets would harm whatever beasts haunted the Plain, or the Tower itself.
And if the Tower was indeed in danger of falling, then perhaps those beasts would be driven onto the Plain…
Arran resumed his journey. The Tower drew closer and closer, until it seemed to swallow the sky in its mass. A huge ornate archway became visible at the Tower’s base. Arran thought he could reach it before nightfall, and the prospect filled him with relief. He did not want to get caught outside the Tower after dark.
Soon enormous chunks of broken black marble blocked Arran’s path, and he picked his way around them. The nine-eyed head of a shattered gargoyle sat atop the stone torso of a six-breasted demon. Broken boulders of black marble stretched as far as Arran could see. Suppose the Tower collapsed on top of him?
The day grew darker as the Tower drew closer, and Arran broke into a light jog. The Tower dominated the sky, and its gateway stood not a half mile from him. Arran increased his pace. He would make it before dark…
An agonized wail rose into the night.
Arran whirled, yanking his Sacred Blade from its scabbard. He saw nothing but the dark shapes of broken stone from the Tower. He turned and kept jogging, keeping a ready grip on his sword’s hilt.
Another wail rang over the Plain. Arran caught a glimpse of a misshapen shadow darting behind a piece of shattered buttress. Four more ghastly shapes loped besides it. Arran sprinted for the Tower, and wore wails tore into the gloom. Arran cursed and ran, his boots tearing at the ground. He heard movement behind him, claws scraping against stone.
He had not come this far only to perish within sight of the Tower!
The gateway into the Tower yawned before him, twin statues of hideous winged creatures standing on either side. Arran raced up the steps, his boots slapping against the black granite. He shot a glance over his shoulder and saw sea of misshapen forms chasing him. Arran dashed through the gateway and entered the Tower. A vast, vaulted corridor of dark stone stretched into the distance, lit by a pale emerald glow.
Arran could run no further. He drew his pistol with his free hand, spun, and waited for the ghouls of the Plain to charge him.
Chapter 22 - The Caretaker of the Dead
Between the Worlds
Arran tightened his grip on his weapons, gritted his teeth, and waited for the ghouls.
Nothing came.
Sweat dripped down his face.
The ghastly wails still rose from the Plain, but softer, more distant. Arran walked to the edge of the stairs. The Crimson Plain lay cloaked in darkness, and he could just make out the misshapen forms vanishing into the gloom, their wails fading away.
He returned his sword and his gun to his belt. Why had the ghouls not pursued him into the Tower? In this stone hall, they could have surrounded and overwhelmed him. He turned and gazed into the green-lit corridor. “They’re afraid of the Tower,” he muttered.
He couldn’t blame them.
Arran started forward. His eyes wandered over the walls and vaulted ceiling. Bas-reliefs marked the stone, showing strange scenes of other lands and other worlds.
Though in some places the bas-reliefs had been destroyed by cracks running through the walls.
The hall opened into a vast cylindrical chamber. A statue of a nude woman, thirty feet high, stood in the center. Eleven other passageways, each as large as the one behind him, led away from the chamber. Countless balconies with intricate balustrades ringed the walls, and twelve corridors led away from each of them.
The balconies faded from sight far, far above. Did each of those passageways lead to a different world? Arran scanned the floor, recalling Kaemarz’s directions to his mind. “The seventh passage, clockwise.” He spotted a dark smudge of the floor and hurried over. Lord Marugon’s sigil, a clawed hand clutching a flaming eye, had been burned onto the floor.
Arran peered down the passageway. It was built of red granite, with more bas-reliefs marking the walls, along with writing in a strange language. It stretched away as far as the eye could follow.
No mortal could have built this place, and all of Arran’s instincts screamed for him to leave the Tower.
He drew his Sacred Blade partway from its scabbard and looked at the blood marking the steel. “Find Alastarius on Earth.” He had no other choice. There was nothing left for him in the High Kingdoms. He could not go back.
And even if he did go back, the ghouls of the Plain would likely catch him.
He rammed his sword back into the scabbard and started forward. “Find Alastarius on Earth, but gods, Siduri, I hope you’re right.”
###
A gaping hole yawned in the red granite wall.
Arran stared at it, fingering the hilt of his Sacred Blade. The hole stretched a good fifteen feet across, chunks of rubble strewn across the floor below.
And through it he could see…he could see…
Nothing.
Utter blackness and nothing more lay beyond the hole.
Arran couldn’t understand it. There should be something behind the wall, anything other than that awful nothingness. Arran only hoped Kaemarz’s directions hadn’t become outdated, that the passages to Earth hadn’t collapsed.
He could wander this maze for ten thousand years and never find another path to Earth.
A large piece of wall had fallen some distance from the hole. Arran sat on it, dropped his pack between his knees, and pulled out a piece of dried meat. He may as well eat and drink and refresh his strength before he continued. He would sleep after he had gotten far away from that hole…
Arran frowned. Something was wrong. He sat for a long moment before it came to him.
He wasn’t hungry.
He had spent the day and most the night walking, first across the Plain and then through the corridors of the Tower. He should be famished, but he was not. Nor was h
e thirsty. Arran dropped the jerky into his pack. How long had it been since he had entered the Tower? An hour? A day? A month? He could not have said. Perhaps time did not work as it should within the Tower.
But if he did not need to eat while traversing the Tower, then he would have more supplies when he reached Earth.
Arran stood, and his boot struck a loose piece of stone. It spun away, flew over the edge of the hole, and vanished into the blackness. He swore, drew his weapons, and felt ridiculous.
Did he expect a monster to come crawling out of the hole?
Yet he kept his sword and his gun leveled at darkness.
Arran shook his head and turned away.
A cold breeze touched his neck. It was coming from the hole.
“Dark holes in the wall. The Tower is crumbling,” said Arran. Hadn’t Kaemarz said something like that? The breeze got colder, and Arran decided he didn’t want to know what lay within that darkness. He turned and ran, bas-reliefs and statues of leering goblins flashing past him, and did not stop running until he had put the hole far behind him.
###
The vaulted corridor of red granite ended, opening into a domed chamber strange gray stone. A fountain stood beneath the dome, its bubbling waters clear and clean. Bones of all sorts, human, animal, and unrecognizable, lay strewn around the fountain.
Arran frowned. Despite his lack of thirst, the water looked tempting. But Kaemarz had warned him of a poisoned fountain in the Tower’s depths. And he had seen a poisoned spring, years ago, in Carlisan’s Ruin Hills. The bones of dead animals had lain in a ring around the waters.
Arran scooped up a skull, an ugly thing with five eyeholes and two rows of teeth. He flung the skull into the fountain. There was a sizzle, and steam rose from the sparkling waters as the skull started to dissolve.
“I think I’ll abstain,” said Arran.
He walked past the fountain. Three doorways stood in the wall behind the fountain, each leading in a different direction. Marugon’s sigil had been burned into the floor before the leftmost, but Kaemarz had warned him against that passage. Arran took a few steps forward and peered down the passageway.
The corridor ended in utter blackness about fifty feet away. The walls, floors, and ceiling all terminated in jagged edges. Beyond them lay utter blackness. A faint icy breeze rose from the darkness. Arran swallowed and stepped back into the domed chamber.
Little wonder Kaemarz had warned him against it, and told him to take the rightmost passage.
Arran strode to the rightmost passage. It opened into a vast corridor with a ribbed ceiling, many times larger than even the greatest temple ever raised in Carlisan. Pillars arched from the ceiling and touched the floor, each as thick as a great tree. Intricate scenes, grim bas-reliefs, ornate sculptures and strange writings covered every inch of the columns and ceilings. He started down the massive corridor, feeling like a gnat trespassing in the hall of a giant. Doubt chewed at him with every step. How had Sir Liam ever found his way through this maze? Following Marugon’s sigil would have led him to the void. But that had been years ago. Perhaps the corridor had been intact when Sir Liam had reached the Tower.
Or Sir Liam might not have even reached the Tower. The ghouls of the Plain might have taken him. Arran closed his eyes and shoved aside his doubts. He could not brood like this. He kept going.
###
Arran glanced at one of the titanic bas-reliefs on the wall. One scene showed squid-like beasts strangling screaming men and women in their tentacles. Another scene showed…Arran shuddered and looked away.
The silence weighed on him. Arran had spent months in solitude, but never in such unending, tomblike silence. Sometimes he talked to himself to break the quiet, but his voice seemed small and feeble in such a large space. More and more his worried thoughts turned to Sir Liam and Lithon. Had they reached Earth? Or did they wander the Tower still? Or had something claimed the old man and the child?
That had been almost ten years ago. Lithon would be thirteen, maybe even fourteen, now. Assuming he had survived the perils of the Tower…
He heard a distant murmuring.
Arran shook his head. “Gods. I’m hearing voices. I am going mad.” He took three more steps and then froze.
He was sure those voices were not in his head.
Dark specks moved far in the distance, drawing closer. The murmuring resolved into the click of boots and the grumbling of voices. Arran dashed for the wall, flattened himself against a pillar, pulled his cloak tight, and waited.
The voices became clearer. Arran inched forward and dared to glance around the pillar. A troop of at least a hundred black-uniformed soldiers marched through the corridor, herding several hundred donkeys. Guns, boxes of ammunition, grenades, and other weaponry burdened the donkeys.
“Move it, you dogs!” called a gunman at the head of the caravan. He wore the uniform and ornate cloak of a captain. “Quit straggling! You had more energy in your step when Lord Marugon was with us.”
“Aye, that we did!” answered a scowling young man. He brandished his Kalashnikov. “But his Lordship’s not here, is he? He stayed on that other world.”
Arran whispered a curse. Marugon had gone to Earth? Why?
Had he discovered Sir Liam and Lithon?
“Let’s set a slower pace,” said another soldier.
“Why?” sneered the captain. “It’s not as if you’ll get tired, not in this ungodly place.”
“It’s not natural, I tell you,” said yet another gunman. “It’s not right, that a man should go for days without needing to eat or empty his bowls. Not right, I tell you.”
The captain laughed. “Aye, that it is, but at least your stink isn’t quite so foul.” A chorus of raucous laughs rang out. “Very well. A slower pace. But no straggling! Any man straggles, I’ll give him forty stripes across his back.”
“Why in hell should we bother?” said the scowling soldier. “It’s not as if we’ll starve. We can always catch up.”
The captain sneered and raised his hand, and the column came to a halt. “It’s for your own good. Go wandering off on your own, and you might vanish. Forever. Seen the lieutenant lately?”
“The lieutenant? He’s usually…” The gunman’s scowl turned to a puzzled frown. “No.”
“Wandered off on his own three days past,” said the captain. “Or it might’ve been three weeks, for all I know. But he said he’d catch up with us in an hour, and even in here, an hour’s usually still an hour. And we haven’t seen him since, have we?” Silence answered his proclamation. “I was talking to Lord Marugon on our way to the other world. He gave me the order not to let anyone go wandering about. He said there are monsters loose in the Tower. They stay away from large groups, but they attack men traveling on their own. Ever wonder why so many of us have to herd to the donkeys? In the old days, ten or twenty men could make the trip through this ungodly place. Now you need a hundred or two hundred if anyone is going to survive.”
The scowling gunman did not look impressed. “I didn’t see any monsters when Lord Marugon was with us.”
The captain laughed. “Fool! His Lordship was with us. You really think they’d want to cross him?” The scowling gunman looked sheepish. “Hell, for all I know, the monsters belong to him. Now, enough talk. I’ll permit a slow march, but no straggling!”
The gunmen continued their march along the corridor, boots clacking against the stone floor. Arran waited as the gunmen disappeared down the vast corridor, muttering and grumbling to themselves. When the last echoes had faded, Arran stepped from behind the pillar.
“Monsters in the Tower,” said Arran.
If any creatures hunted the Tower, they would surely come after him. But he was only one man, and the Tower of Endless Worlds was vast. Perhaps he could slip through unnoticed.
He touched the hilt of his Sacred Blade for reassurance, loosened his guns in their holsters, and kept walking.
###
An odd metallic gleam shone in the
distance.
Arran could just make out the shape of a metal doorway, far in the distance. His spirits rose and he broke into a run. Just the prospect of finally leaving this unending corridor cheered him.
The doorway stood taller than the greatest tower ever built in Carlisan. Statues of solemn robed figures stood in niches in the walls. Intricate symbols, seeming to crackle with power, had been carved into the doorway’s arch. Beyond the doorway loomed another chamber, far larger than any Arran had yet seen. He passed the doorway and stopped.
“My gods,” said Arran.
The circular chamber lay at least a mile across. The domed ceiling, large enough to hold a lake, vanished into the darkness overhead. A great seal of silvery metal lay in the center of the chamber. Thousands upon thousands of symbols had been carved in its surface, laid out in rings of concentric symbols. A tangible feeling of power rose from the metal.
“I’ve seen this place before,” muttered Arran. The Ildramyn had shown it to him in the vision. “The Chamber of the Great Seal.” Marugon had appeared in the vision. Had the Warlock already come here? No - Marugon had destroyed the Great Seal in the vision, and the chamber looked intact.
“A vision of the future,” Arran said, starting forward. “It hasn’t happened yet.”
He began to cross the chamber. The Ildramyn’s vision of the future played in his head over and over again. Marugon had used that strange box to destroy the Seal. But why? Surely the Seal’s destruction would kill the Warlock as well.
Arran stepped onto the Seal , the metal cold and slippery. A tremendous sensation of power radiated from the metal, and a vast sense of weight touched Arran’s mind. For a moment he was conscious of the Tower’s great bulk, spreading above and below and around him, pressing down on the thrumming metal of the Great Seal.
Perhaps all the weight of the Tower balanced on the Seal.
Arran remembered the vision of the strange box ripping the Seal to shreds, and something clicked in his mind with overwhelming force. “Marugon. He’s making the Tower fall.” The destruction of the Great Seal would destroy the Tower. But why would Marugon want to destroy the Tower of Endless Worlds? His guns and bombs came through the Tower. “Find Alastarius on Earth. He’d better know.”
A Knight of the Sacred Blade Page 30