WINDDREAMER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "He's at the top!" Holm shouted, pointing up the cliff. "If he hadn't gotten up there first and thrown lines down to the others, there wouldn't be a damned soul on that mountain!"

  Paegan lifted the glass and sighted the solitary figure, who seemed to be waiting for the others to catch up. A guideline hung down from him to the next climber. "He's a good climber," Paegan yelled. "We'd all still be sitting in Ivor Keep's dungeon if he weren't."

  "If he hadn't gotten up there so fast, they'd have all drowned!" Holm pointed to the reef where they had landed, now entirely under water. "He got that line going and they're doing fair up the cliff."

  * * * *

  The gale-force wind pushing against the ship seemed nothing compared to the slap of the oncoming water that plastered the men to the rock face. The watery fingers that clawed and dragged at their clothing threatened to pluck them from the mountain and fling them crashing into the surf far below. It numbed their bleeding fingers and brought shivers of teeth-chattering cold to their lips.

  High above the others, Conar watched as first Brelan, then Roget climbed closer to his position at the edge of the promontory. He had lashed himself securely to a large rock behind him, but the hemp bit painfully into his midsection, causing him to grunt from the pain. Having scaled to the top with little difficulty, he gave silent thanks to Ching-Ching, the man who had made him climb time after time, day after day, cliff after cliff. In those days he hadn't known why it was so vitally important that he become an expert climber. Then, he had questioned the training; now, he was glad he had passed the monkey-man's tests of endurance.

  "Little bird doing exceedingly well," an amused voice whispered in his ear.

  "Little bird knew he'd better." Conar chuckled.

  He looked past Grice, who seemed to be having more difficulty than the others, then glanced at the low-flying clouds. He blinked against the painful stab of the rain in his eyes before returning his attention to Grice.

  "Watch yourself, Wynth," he mumbled, his heart lurching every time Grice's foot slipped. He looked past Grice for Storm and Chase. He couldn't see them for the rock ledges, but he caught sight of Tyne, spider-walking his way along one deep crevice.

  Conar located Liza, being lifted on a swinging chair secured to four strong ropes. He smiled, sensing his lover's nervous anger, yet his stomach rolled every time the chair moved. Making sure he had a firm grip on the pulley line, he tugged the chair upward inch by inch. With his right foot wedged into a crack in the rock, he used all his strength to heave the dead weight of his lady's body up the mountain.

  "Thank you, Grice," he mumbled, recalling all the weights he had lifted through the years.

  Still, Liza had another twenty feet to go before she reached the relative safety of Conar's position on the mountain. Her hair, blown free of the braid she had wrapped around her head, billowed in the sharp wind, obscuring her pale cheeks and lips. Conar felt her fear. Every now and again he would mentally send a word of encouragement to her before turning his attention to the other climbers.

  "Nice day for a climb, eh, Saur?" he quipped when Brelan gained the top.

  "Get stuffed!" Brelan grumbled, shaking from the cold wetness and his intense fear of heights. He swung his right leg onto the promontory and rolled away from the edge. Gasping for breath, he stared at the leaden sky, teeth chattering.

  Grice followed, rolling into Brelan as he came over the top. The two men looked at one another and grinned.

  Wynth climbed to his feet first, reaching down a hand to his old friend. "Up and at 'em, Saur! We don't have all day!"

  "Your baby brother is a determined man!" Conar shouted, now seeing Chand struggling to get his foot in a crevice, a look of defiance on his face.

  Grice looked down the cliff and nodded. "Hurry it up, Chandling!"

  "Go to hell, Griceland!" came the faint shout.

  "Been there!"

  Conar chuckled. Everything and everyone would be all right. Somehow he knew that to be true.

  "Let's get that little lady up here!" Brelan shouted, moving to help Conar work the pulley. He got a grip on the hemp, than stepped back so Grice, the stronger of the two, could also grasp the rope.

  In one movement, the chair surged upward another five feet, then again, bringing Liza only about ten feet from the top.

  Soon, Storm, Chase, and Tyne gained the apex. They helped the other men lift Liza all the way onto the promontory. Untying his lady from the chair, Conar assured himself she was none the worse for the trip. He quickly kissed Liza, then told Brelan to take her into a cave he had found earlier. Knowing his brother would see to her comfort, he temporarily put his lady from his mind and once more turned his attention to the last climbers.

  Chand barreled his way over the top, cursing and spitting like a cat. "Sorry, no-good, worthless piece of shit!" he snarled, pounding his bleeding fist against the stone. "I hate climbing!"

  Following closely on Chand's heels, a white-faced Ja-Ma-El labored up the rock face, viciously prodded from behind by Shalu, whose anger was stamped across his fierce countenance. With his eyes nearly popping with stark terror from his head, the warlock stopped moving and clung to the hemp, plastering himself as tightly as lichen to the rock, his face pressed hard into the surface.

  "Shit!" Shalu swore from his position a few feet below.

  Looking out at the rolling sea, Conar sensed the storm growing worse. In a matter of minutes, the wind would increase, too, making it even more difficult to scale the slippery rocks. Jah-Ma-El, blocking the easiest area of the cliff to climb, subsequently delayed Shalu's ascent. The Necroman threw back his head and howled.

  Conar cursed and reached for the second rope he had carried to the top. Draped around both shoulders, the pulley system, three ropes, and a safety harness had proven more than a hindrance when he climbed. His shoulders throbbed with pain; his hands felt raw beneath his gloves; but again he silently thanked Ching-Ching for the training that had allowed him to get nine people to safety. Now, anchoring the second rope around a boulder, Conar tossed the coiled hemp to Shalu.

  Nodding with satisfaction when Shalu caught the falling rope, Conar waited to see if the others at the top had taken note of his intent. Satisfied they had, he shouted in Roget's ear. "I'm going after Jah-Ma-El!"

  Conar swung his legs over the ledge and scaled down the taut rope, more than conscious that his descent swung Jah-Ma-El away from the rock each time he pushed himself off the mountainside. In his mind he heard Jah-Ma-El's whimpers of fear and prayed the older man would hold tight.

  "Hang on, big brother," he whispered through the Veil. "I'm coming."

  Jah-Ma-El's head jerked upward, the terror in his eyes a pitiful sight. Yet Conar managed to smile at the man.

  "Fancy meeting you here!" he called. He slid the remaining distance to Jah-Ma-El. "Hang out here often, do you?"

  "I'm going to fall!" Jah-Ma-El shouted, his knuckles white.

  Conar braced himself next to his brother. "I won't let you." He hooked the safety line onto Jah-Ma-El's harness. "We're going to finish the climb, Jamie."

  Jah-Ma-El furiously shook his head, fright making his entire body tremble. "I can't do it, Coni! I can't!"

  "You can!" Conar put an arm around his brother's waist. "You're a strong man, Jah-Ma-El McGregor." He felt the man flinch. "Aye, I said McGregor! You're as good as any of Papa's sons and you damned well know it. Let go of the rope and put one hand around me. We'll move to the top together."

  "I can't, Conar. Before Alel, I can't!"

  "Aye, you can!" Conar said in a stern voice. He willed his brother to do exactly as he had said, but only Jah-Ma-El's lips, blue from the cold and quivering with his intense terror, moved.

  Shalu crab-walked up the cliff on the second rope. As he moved into position on the other side of Jah-Ma-El, he winked at Conar. He mouthed words Conar couldn't hear, but his meaning seemed clear--It's gonna take more than talk, fledgling, to get this turkey off the roost.

  Jah-Ma-El
started to look down.

  "Don't do that!" Conar bellowed. "Let go of the gods-be-damned rope!"

  The wizard looked hopelessly at Conar. "I can't..."

  Conar knew every precious moment they wasted brought the storm closer to them. He decided the only way they could get Jah-Ma-El to the top was if the man was unconscious.

  Sighing, he snaked up the dangling rope beneath him until he had the end of it. Reaching around Jah-Ma-El, he wound the hemp around his brother's lean waist, then tied it in a secure knot under the man's underarms. Looking at Shalu, he shrugged, then deftly struck Jah-Ma-El's neck with the side of his hand. With one quick chop, the man slumped forward.

  Before long, the men finished the climb. Roget and Grice hauled up the unconscious warlock and safely brought him over the edge.

  "Everyone else is in the cave!" Grice shouted. "They've got a fire going."

  Conar lifted Jah-Ma-El into his arms, while the others pulled the ropes over the top and coiled them into loose circles.

  "Had a helluva time getting the fire started," Brelan snapped as the men entered the cave. "The tinder was soaked."

  "What happened to Jah-Ma-El?" Liza asked anxiously, getting to her feet and throwing off a blanket.

  "He fainted," Conar explained and laid the unconscious man before the fire. "The climb was too strenuous for him."

  Each man had a oilcloth pack strapped to his back. The pack contained a few necessities--a blanket, extra shirt, and breeches--and other items they knew they'd need after the climb, such as several squares of peat moss from which the fire had obviously been laid. Their weapons, swords, bows, arrows, and the like had been hauled up behind Conar before the others had begun climbing. Among the "weapons" was a fat bottle of brandy.

  "You better force a bit of this down Jah-Ma-El's gullet," Grice said, retrieving the bottle.

  Conar bent over Jah-Ma-El, stripping the cold clothing from his body. The man began to come around. Conar took the brandy and brought the bottle to Jah-Ma-El's blue lips. "Here, Jamie. Drink." He held the bottle as Jah-Ma-El slurped, sputtering.

  Shalu threaded the warlock's cold, blue-tinted arms through the dry clothing from Jah-Ma-El's pack.

  "Never let it be said that we ever do anything the easy way!" Eyes turned to the cave's entrance. "Surprise!" Thom said and grinned, looking at the astonished faces.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Conar asked, his brows raised. "I thought you were going to stay on the ship?"

  "How the hell did he get up here?" Roget snapped. "Grice and I brought in the ropes!"

  Thom's grin widened. "You aren't the only ones who can climb, my dear fellow. Besides, Holm thought it best if I joined you. We got a message that will certainly make your day."

  A frown of disquiet settled on Conar's face. "From whom?"

  "Tohre."

  "He sent a message to the ship?" Shalu hissed.

  "By mirror signal. We thought it best you knew--they're aware you've arrived."

  "Damn it!" Roget spat. "We made that stupid climb for nothing!"

  "Well, what did the message say?" Shalu asked.

  "You're going to love this." Thom laughed. "It said 'Welcome to hell, my fine young warriors!'"

  A vague unease settled over Conar. He had heard those words before, but couldn't remember when. "Why didn't say you wanted to be in on this, Loure? All you had to do was ask and I would've agreed."

  Thom shrugged. "That would've been too easy and not nearly as much fun." He rubbed his big hands together and held them over the fire. "It's the little surprises in life that keep us on our toes!" He sat beside Tyne and nudged the man with his shoulder. "Don't look so glum, Your Grace. You'll thaw out!"

  Tyne let out a huff. "It's not the damned cold that bothers me. It's the salt stuck in the crack of my--" He stopped, looking at Liza. He blushed and looked away.

  "We'll rest a while before tackling the corridors leading off this cave," Conar said, leaning back against the stone wall. "I'm sure Tohre will have more than a few surprises planned. Who'll keep first watch?"

  "Might as well be me," Tyne grumbled. "I sure as hell can't rest with my drawers stuck to my butt."

  "How long before the others join us?" Chase asked.

  Conar, who'd been nodding off, opened his eyes. "Belvoir and Bent know the way into the Monastery from the western face. I doubt Tohre will think of being attacked from both directions. I hope they don't get to their destination until I've neutralized Tohre."

  "Why?" Thom asked.

  "The bastard doesn't play fair," Brelan quipped.

  "We should change," Grice remarked as he watched a now-conscious Jah-Ma-El slipping out of his wet socks.

  Chand began to strip off his tunic. "Good idea."

  Liza walked to Conar's pack where her clothing had been stored. She opened the oilcloth and looked up with dismay.

  "What is it?" Conar asked.

  She pulled out an emerald green gown of sleek velvet.

  "Not the best thing to wear for what we're about, Elizabeth," Brelan admonished.

  "Gezelle packed it." She looked at the men. "I'm sorry. I left the other clothing on my bed. I thought she'd..."

  "That's my Gezelle," Chand teased. "Always the lady."

  Liza sighed and stepped to the darkest part of the cave to change.

  "Conar?" Jah-Ma-El called.

  "Aye?"

  "Thank you."

  "I meant what I said out there, Jamie."

  Jah-Ma-El frowned. "About what?"

  Before answering, Conar made sure all the men looked his way. "When I get back to Boreas, I plan to call a special session of our newly forming Senate"--he settled his gaze on Jah-Ma-El--"to have my brother officially declared a McGregor, with all the privileges and rank that entails."

  Jah-Ma-El's mouth dropped open.

  "It's about damned time," Brelan said, lacing up his fresh shirt.

  "Conar, I--" Jah-Ma-El began, shaking his head.

  "Shut up before I throttle you," Shalu growled. "Humility don't become your scrawny white ass."

  A howl reverberated through the cave. Everyone leapt to their feet. Metal scraping against metal pierced the air as the men withdrew blades from scabbards. Conar's sword, the Deathwelder, however, slid silently from its sheath. The unearthly howl came again.

  "I think Tohre has sent an escort," Roget whispered.

  "Well, hell," Conar said with dry humor, "then let's go meet him!"

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  From studying maps Occultus had given him, Conar knew which twisting pathways out of the northern tunnels would lead him to the Monastery complex. Sections of the ancient fortress were part of the Wind Temple, but it was the vast underbelly of the structure where Conar knew the hidden and obscene world of the Domination lay.

  Inside the mountain's gut lay the secret chambers where he, in chains, had been taken to be consecrated to the foul sect. He could vaguely remember the blood-red walls, dripping with fetid moisture and stinking of mold and mildew, dust and carnage, death and defilement. Even now, his nostrils picked out the scents, and he quivered with loathing.

  It would be there, he thought, anticipating revenge, that he would meet Tohre. It would be in those vile rooms where his destiny and Liza's would join to put an end to the Domination. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Now, as he and the others warily made their way through the spiraling tunnels leading away from the cave, he found his heart growing heavier, as though a great weight had settled on him.

  It wasn't from fear, he mused, sweeping a lock of damp hair from his forehead. Not mortal fear, at any rate. But whatever it was made him constantly turn his attention to the woman at his side, whose hand he held, whose touch hobbled him to the earth.

  ----

  Liza also felt the heaviness pressing down on her, but she understood what it was--the unmistakable presence and essence of pure evil. It crawled over her flesh and assailed her nostrils with the stink of the grave. The hair on
her arms moved as though she stood in the midst of an electrical storm. She could almost taste salty, acrid blood in her mouth. All around, darting green lights flowed beyond her active vision, but her sixth sense recorded their passing just the same.

  ----

  Conar stopped, peering into the vast cold darkness. Ahead of him, by choice, Brelan held a burning torch and looked over his shoulder to see why his brother had stopped.

  "No one move," Conar commanded.

  He listened, sent out his powers to gather, to assess. He cocked his head, gaze narrowing as he looked at the ground. Then his eyes lifted. He looked past Brelan and probed the ebon stillness.

  Something was forming in the tunnel ahead of them. Conar could hear its scuffling, grating noise as it struggled to embody itself. His nostrils quivered with distaste when he caught the faint malodorous wave of its manifestation, the smell of rotting vegetation with an overpowering wash of something more evil and ageless. He could almost feel the air moving as the thing began generating a presence in the darting green lights he could see.

  Chase wedged himself forward, holding his torch away from the damp walls and vulnerable clothing of his fellow warriors. He laid a gentle hand on Conar's shoulder. "It's coming..."

  "The tunnel branches off in three directions just ahead." Conar turned. "Roget, lead half the men to the right. Shalu, lead the others straight ahead. Liza and I will take the left path."

  "It will follow you," Jah-Ma-El hissed.

  Conar gave an evil smile. "I hope so."

  "If it's all the same to you," Chase said, "I'll tag along with you and your lady."

  Conar glanced at him. In the faint light of the torches, he could see the determined look on Montyne's face. All too suddenly it became clear to Conar why Chase was there.