WINDDREAMER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "We would welcome your company," Liza said, as if anticipating Conar's denial. "With you, a follower of the White Path, by our side, it will add to our power--"

  "I can take care of my own, Chase," Conar whispered.

  "I know you can." Chase's eyes fused with Conar's. "It wasn't Liza I was sent to protect. Don't argue, please. It means as much to me as it does to Legion."

  ----

  Liza looked from one man to the other, not understanding the discussion. A faint disquiet unsettled her nerves, yet she could not say why. When Conar relaxed, his nod signifying he had given in to Chase's ransom, she let out a long, heart-felt sigh and looked down.

  She saw a faint outline of glowing blue wavering around her body. She studied her hands and saw the same rimming of color, then looked up. Chase's body also glowed, his a darker, almost lavender, color.

  When she looked at Conar, she drew in a breath. The aura surrounding him shown a deep, shimmering purple, the blending of the Blue and Green, the White Path with the Black.

  She wondered if anyone else could see the changes occurring.

  ----

  The hair along Jah-Ma-El's arms vibrated when the three people began moving down the left-hand tunnel. Before following Roget's party into the right tunnel, he spared a glance at Shalu.

  "Be careful, my friend," Shalu rumbled in his deep voice. He cupped Jah-Ma-El's frail shoulder in his big hand. "Keep your ass out of trouble, eh?"

  Jah-Ma-El could only nod, feeling the comradeship and compassion, the undisguised love from this black man that he had never felt from anyone other than Conar.

  He tried to smile, his lips trembling, then turned his head, following Roget, leading him, Grice, Chand, and Thom into their assigned tunnel.

  ----

  Shalu, his way being lighted by Brelan, ventured forward, with Sentian, Storm, and Tyne following.

  The Necroman's head lifted high, his posture ramrod straight, his right hand firmly gripping his deadly broadsword.

  "It's unlucky," Tyne mumbled.

  "What is?" Storm asked.

  "Thirteen," Sentian answered for Brell. "If Thom hadn't come with us, we'd be twelve."

  "We'd have been thirteen, anyway," Storm said, "if Rylan had been able to climb, but with his foot mangled--"

  Tyne lowered his voice. "Don't you think it odd that Rylan woke up to a foot paining him so badly he couldn't come with us?"

  "The man was drunk," Storm whispered. "And in a foul mood. Because of it, Conar made him stay behind."

  "Aye, but don't you see?" Tyne argued. "The gods meant there to be only the twelve of us. With Loure, we became an unlucky number. It just ain't right, I tell you. Almost like an omen, you know?"

  "Stow that kind of talk back there!" Shalu snarled and guided them farther into the tunnel.

  ----

  "Smells like a dung heap in here!" Chase shifted his torch to his left hand and brought out a handkerchief. Exchanging hands on the torch once more, he juggled the burning rushes and kerchief to cover his nose. The fingers on his free hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Why do demons have to smell so bad?"

  "It's in their contract." Conar nearly gagged from the odor himself, but he wouldn't remove his hand from Liza's to take out his kerchief.

  The smell had gotten much worse, a cloying, pungent scent that defied description. The temperature turned chill, growing colder by the moment. A low buzzing, like the flapping of thousands of tiny wings, filled the tunnel. Something crunched beneath Conar's feet as he walked, each crackling step bringing more putrid aromas.

  "I think our friend is right ahead," Chase said a short time later.

  Conar dragged Liza behind him and gripped the hilt of his weapon. The black blade with its crystal pommel glowed a dark intense purple in the faint light cast from Chase's torch. The jewels inside the pommel seemed to throb in his hand.

  "Right or left flank, Conar?" Chase asked.

  "You're left-handed, so take its right side." He glanced at his lady. "Stay here, Liza." He pushed her against the wall, then saw the militant light of battle on her pretty face. "I mean it, Elizabeth!" He took the torch from Chase and handed it to her. "Stay where I put you!"

  ----

  Through the throbbing glow of the torch, amidst the shadows that played over his lean face, Liza saw his fear for her. She turned and squinted at the faint, pulsing red light that flashed along the tunnel like a revolving beacon toward them. Not wanting Conar mentally divided in his chore, she nodded gravely, willing him her love and her strength.

  "Ready, Montyne?" Conar asked.

  "As ready as I'm gonna be, my man."

  "Then, let's do it!"

  Conar charged forward, darting around a sharp bend in the tunnel, Chase close on his heels. The red glow deepened to a scarlet throb. Instinctively, Liza pressed herself against the wet, clammy wall. A mighty roar, like the bellow of a wounded bull, magnified a thousand times, shook the tunnel. Loose pebbles cascaded upon her. She covered her head and face with her arms.

  She wanted to be with Conar, but knew she'd only be in his way. With her heart in her throat, she heard the sounds of battle, the slide of metal along some alien hide. She knew the men attacked close enough to wound the thing, for its torturous howls turned deafening. Conar's shout of anger made her flinch. Blanching, she sensed the vile thing had either injured him or Chase.

  When a hand closed around her arm, Liza yelped in surprise, spinning around to face whoever had taken hold of her.

  "Oh," she said, relaxing, "it's you."

  ----

  Chase gawked at the thing lumbering toward him. Never in his worse nightmares had he ever encountered such a monstrosity. He had already wounded the vicious beast several times, pricking a few holes in the mottled gray flesh. Each stab had dispersed a thick noxious fluid that dripped to the tunnel floor and hissed, sizzling like potent acid. The aroma of the escaping "blood"--for lack of a better word to describe what oozed from the creature--smelled worse than its ghastly hide.

  The thing's breath blasted him with fetid air. "God!" he gagged, trying not to vomit.

  ----

  "Stay away from it, Montyne!" Conar warned, shivering as the monstrosity turned his way. "The thing's intent on maiming us."

  "No shit!" Chase snapped.

  Conar had no idea what it was, and had little time to even imagine. What he did know was that it was powerful enough to take the two of them to battle it.

  "This damn prick and poke ain't gonna do it!" Chase yelled.

  "I've got to get to its throat!"

  "Which one?"

  The thing had five heads, each on a long neck that wobbled in all different directions at once. Getting to one would be hard enough as it was, with five sets of beady, vicious eyes gleaming his way.

  "You take one, I take one," Conar snarled. "Between us, maybe we'll get lucky."

  "And what the hell about the other three?" Chase grumbled, backing away as the thing sidled closer to him.

  A flat, oval head, elongated at the corners, sat perched on each stalk-like neck. The red eyes, covered over with what appeared to be movable scales, blinked now and again to hide the evil lurking inside the five ugly heads. Its feet--only two of them, thank Alel, Conar thought--were webbed, but four arms lined each side of the creature's rotund body. A long, thickly scaled tail with serrated ridges flopped repeatedly on the ground. Although small and practically a part of the chest wall, the hands had long, wicked-looking talons that dripped the same sort of venom oozing from its wounds. A spray from those flexing fingers had already burned Conar.

  "Can you get around to its back?" Chase shouted.

  "What the hell good would that do, Montyne?" Conar thrust his sword forward; Deathwielder slid through layers of flesh. But whichever way Conar moved, one of the beast's necks followed, its body inching around to better maintain its balance.

  "With one of us on each side, maybe we can hit a vital spot."

  Conar sidestepped a blas
t of nail-dripped acid. "Do you suggest I climb up its tail to get to its throats?"

  Chase feigned toward the beast, but the creature didn't take his bait. "Go on, Conar. Run up the tail. I'll cover you!"

  Conar sent his friend a damning look.

  "Well, do you have a better suggestion?" Chase hissed.

  "Think you it has a heart?"

  "Not from the way it intends to do us bodily harm."

  "Look at the chest. Halfway down. See how the flesh moves in and out? If one of us could pierce it, we might have a chance." Conar took a quick look toward Chase to see if he understood. That look cost him, for another spray of acid fell on his left forearm. He jerked back his arm back and bellowed. "Shit!"

  "Stay away from it, Conar," Chase reminded him in a sing-song, little boy's taunt.

  Conar shook his arm to rid it of the burning fluid. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

  "For all we know, the thing's a female. Try using your charm."

  "Go to hell." Conar thrust his weapon forward, but the creature slid away from him.

  "Head up, Conar!"

  Chase ran straight at the thing, his sword aimed at the spot where the flesh moved like a visible heartbeat. Acid splatted his leather vest, sending up smoke and making him yelp. Though he stabbed at the spot and missed, his sword slid down the body, opening an evil-looking gash in the creature's side. He groaned in frustration, then ducked his head, leapt backward, and rolled away from the demon's feet and thundering tail lashing out at him.

  "He don't like you, son!" Conar called.

  The creature lumbered toward Chase. Montyne spun around and tried to crawl away. His vest still smoked where the acid had hit him. His mouth compressed into a white line of pain. The demon slid toward him, its full attention on its attacker.

  Conar held his sword at chest level. Lunging forward, he drove the Deathwielder at the beast, feeling the give as the weapon plunged into the putrid body. The crystals inside the pommel vibrated against his palm, sending a shock up his arm and into his shoulder. He knew he had hit the one chink in the beast's tough armor even before he heard its ungodly shriek of pain.

  Chase barely had time to scuttle out of the way before the creature crashed down. The beast burst open like a squashed melon, spraying thick acidic liquid and chunks of gray flesh in all directions.

  "Let's get out of here!" Chase screamed as he pushed himself up.

  When the body bubbled and popped, the stench grew insufferable. Both men gagged as they ran. Reaching a safe distance away, they bent over and vomited, holding their bellies as the contents poured out.

  In an effort to rid himself of the godawful taste in his mouth, Conar ran his short sleeve across his lips. He shuddered, then spat out excess saliva. "What the hell...was that thing?" he gasped.

  Chase moved away from the pool of vomit and slid down the tunnel wall, his legs shooting out in front of him. He strove to draw in fresh, untainted air. "My back feels like yours must have after Tohre was finished with you." He hung his head and gulped air.

  Conar walked to Chase and held out a hand. "Let me take a look at your back."

  Chase looked wearily at the strong hand, then gripped it and allowed himself to be lifted. He winced, moaned as his shirt stuck to the burns on his back. "I'll be all right." He shook his head when Conar started to protest. "There's nothing you can do. Maybe Liza brought something with her."

  Conar had been standing there, slumped with fatigue, his breaths deep and calming. At the mention of his lady's name, he turned his head and took several steps down the tunnel. "Liza?" When no answer came, a tremor went through his body. "Liza?"

  The still-burning bundle of rushes lay abandoned on the ground. Conar retrieved it.

  "Elizabeth!" he screamed in rage, stumbling toward the central tunnel where the team had parted company. "Elizabeth!"

  "Conar--" Chase said, his shared fear making the word a litany of sympathy.

  Conar turned terrified eyes to Montyne. "He's got her, Chase! Tohre has my lady!"

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  "I know you didn't want me, but I couldn't keep away, Brelan. He's my brother, too, and I'll be by his side in this whether he wants me or not!"

  Brelan exchanged a quick look with Jah-Ma-El.

  The others--Grice, Chand, and Shalu--were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with some of the Domination's guards. Chand and Grice dispatched two apiece. A fifth quard screamed as his life's blood flowed from a gaping wound in his belly. Duncan Cree wiped his blade on the guard's shirt.

  "How did you get in here?" Brelan asked.

  "I came in with Bent and Belvoir. They're not far."

  "And just why the hell aren't you with them?" Jah-Ma-El probed, Conar's intent to legally name him a McGregor making him bold.

  "Whatever either of you thinks of me, I couldn't stay behind when my own flesh and blood is in danger." Duncan resheathed his sword. "Where is Conar, anyway?"

  Jah-Ma-El regarded him for a long moment. "We don't know. We separated a while back. From the sounds we heard earlier, Roget's group have encountered opposition, as well."

  Duncan looked around when Shalu joined them. The heavy scowl on the Necroman's face made his jaw tighten. He turned his attention on Grice. "Maybe we should split up and see what other mischief we can get into."

  "Always the fighter, eh, Cree?" Grice asked, his handsome face expressionless.

  "Fighters and lovers," Duncan said. "That's the McGregor men, right, Bre?" He patted his sword. "We like to let blood and semen, be it man or virgin!"

  Shalu snorted, his contempt obvious. He stood his ground as Duncan's attention moved to him and narrowed.

  "What is your problem, Taborn?" Duncan growled.

  The black man raked his eyes down the frame of the man facing him. With another snort of derision, he turned away, looking at Brelan. "You'd better find your brother, Saur." He returned his gaze to Duncan. "There is treachery about, I think."

  Duncan stepped closer to the Necroman. "Are you accusing me--"

  Brelan wedged himself between the men. "Not now. Let's find the others. It's quieter than I like."

  * * * *

  In another part of the tunnel system, Roget and Sentian stood fighting. At their feet, a dozen or so slain temple guards lay in pools of cooling blood. Now, three additional guards engaged the two warriors in swordplay. They circled, back to back. Their swords flickered brightly in the light cast from the rushes scattered along the walls.

  "For the love of Alel, Heil, get on with it!" Roget yelled.

  One attacker, obviously unaware the two men had comrades, flinched as though struck and turned a suddenly pale face to Thom Loure, leaning in the shadows against the tunnel wall. As Thom shifted sideways into the light, arms crossed over his wide chest, a wicked grin on his rubbery lips, the attacker dropped his weapons and fled, screeching to the heavens.

  "Was it something I said?" Thom joked.

  "The bastard will be going for reinforcements, thanks to you!" Sentian growled, lunging at his opponent.

  Thom sighed and pushed away from the wall. "I'd better go get him, then."

  "Do be quick about it, will you, old man?" Storm yawned from his place on the other side of Thom.

  A yelp sounded across the room. One of the remaining attackers went to his knees, Sentian's blade buried deep in his chest. A bloody froth of fluid dribbled over his gasping lips and he pitched forward when Sentian withdrew his blade.

  He laughed. "Are you still working on that fellow, du Mer?"

  Roget lunged forward, catching his foe off guard, and rammed his blade home, skewering the attacker from side to side. He pulled the blade free and the man dropped to the ground.

  "I see you gentlemen have been entertaining yourselves," Shalu called as he, Jah-Ma-El, Duncan, and the Wynth brothers came into the light from one of the darkened tunnels.

  "Nothing of real interest, though," Roget said. "I expected better of Tohre's Elite."

  "These aren't his
Elite," Thom said as he loped back down the tunnel into which he had chased the runaway attacker. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "There's his Elite!"

  Standing in the archway of the tunnel stood thirty to forty heavily armed and outfitted warriors, their swords glistening in the torchlight.

  Chapter 7

  * * *

  Brelan met Chase at the side entrance into the Wind Temple. From the worried look on Montyne's face, Brelan knew something was terribly wrong. "What's happened?"

  "Elizabeth's missing." Chase panted. His face ran with sweat, while the fingers of his left hand dripped with blood, matching his blade. "When we got into the damned Monastery, we came up against Temple Guards. I lost track of Conar in the fighting. I don't know where he is!" A look of self-disgust flowed across his flushed face. "We've got to find them, Saur!"

  "We'll keep looking until we do!" Brelan's heart wrenched in his chest, but he thrust aside his fear and tried to think rationally. "Where did you last see him?"

  "Over by that bridge, the one that leads to the classrooms. I've searched the rooms, but I can't find him." Chase bent forward. "And I can't find her, either."

  Brelan's spine tightened. "We will!" He pointed to a long corridor leading to the left. "I'll take that way. Do whatever you can."

  Chase straightened. "I intend to..."

  * * * *

  Conar's heart slammed against his ribcage. It pounded in his ears. He had never been more afraid. Not the time when he feared for Liza's life when she gave birth to their first child, nor when he had been stretched across the whipping post at Boreas, nor when he had awakened in the Labyrinth Penal Colony. Never had he been more aware of his own helplessness. He trembled from head to foot. His stomach bunched into a knot that brought a sour taste to his mouth. A merciless ache above his right eye caused intense pain with every footstep he took.

  "Not now," he begged the gods between clenched teeth. "Don't let me have the damned headache now!"