WINDDREAMER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Liza," he sighed, looking at the finely wrought gold chain attached to the talisman she had forged for herself of their combined marriage bracelets. The one she never removed from her neck. The source of their combined powers, now laid to waste by the touch of Tohre's filthy hands. He moaned and closed his fist around the chain once more, painfully pressing his hands into his lap.

  "You will drink it."

  He glared at the empty room, hoping for, willing Kaileel to appear. "Where are you, you foul bastard? Come and get me if you want me, you son of a jackal!"

  The room remained empty, but an echoing laugh vibrated through the air. Mocking. Challenging. Warning. A low sigh of wind whistled--then came silence.

  "Come and get me, Tohre!"

  "Drink it."

  "I'll find her," Conar whispered between grinding teeth. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed as he turned his head, searching the cold, dark corners. His nostrils flared with hatred and his breath became deep, regulated. "I'll find you!"

  "Only when I'm ready for you to do so..."

  He got to his feet, the talisman clutched in his hand. With a violent rush, he tore up the altar steps and flung his arm across the slab, sending the chalice hurling through the air to spray its evil contents on the far wall.

  "I'll find you, you son-of-a-bitch!"

  He flew down the steps, knocking over three candelabras in his haste, then bolted through the opened doorway.

  He heard the doors slam shut behind him.

  * * * *

  Chase stopped, listening. A tremor of fear run down his spine. He sent out what power he had that was not being corrupted in this unholy place and found Conar's lifeforce, throbbing like the beat of a runaway horse's heart.

  "What happened?" he whispered. "What did you encounter?"

  He glanced at his companions, then walked away from them, listening once more for the hum that could tell him Conar's location.

  But the heavy throbbing had vanished. All Montyne could gain from his intent probe was the primal fury left in Conar's wake.

  Chase looked around. The place brought back memories he wished had been laid to rest. If he was being bombarded so heavily by the evil in this place, Conar, who had endured far more malevolence here than Chase, must nearly be buried beneath it.

  "Be careful, Conar," he pleaded. "Watch out for Tohre's bag of vicious tricks."

  * * * *

  All torches in the antechamber had been extinguished, and the room lay in total darkness. He stood still, felt his pupils expanding, seeking light. A small rush of wind passed his left shoulder, and a door opened before him, light beaming through the crack. A feeble halo of yellow haze faintly lit the ceiling. It seemed alien. Menacing.

  He advanced on the doorway with cautious steps, for this was one portal that had been locked and bared against his entrance before. Now it gaped open, bidding him entry.

  "Come."

  Conar snorted at the command. "Do I have a choice?"

  "No."

  He ducked under the low stone archway. Ahead lay a long, narrow tunnel, so close in width, his shoulders touched both sides as he moved forward. The claustrophobia of his childhood reared its head, and for a moment he felt the old fear, the old agony closing up his throat. But he resolutely pushed it aside, stamped it down, refused to allow it to take over. The moisture of the walls seeped into the fabric of his shirt as he passed, and he placed his full concentration on the clammy, unhealthy, insipid feel of the dampness against his cold flesh.

  He heard the sound of bubbling water and carefully listened. Trying to get the direction of the sound fixed in his mind, he realized it was ahead of him and off to the left. Gently running his hand along the wall, he felt a vibration of some unknown source--large, untamed, powerful. Puzzled, he pressed forward until the tunnel split into four sections before him, each identical. Each dark and sinister. Forbidding.

  "Where to, Tohre?" he shouted.

  "Choose."

  He let out a ragged breath and chose the tunnel farthest to the left. "Always the Left Hand Path, Tohre," he said beneath his breath.

  ----

  Deep in the shadows, an evil smile lurked in the darkness.

  Chapter 9

  * * *

  Heaving a frustrated sigh, Brelan leaned against a beam and screwed up his eyes to see through the dimness. Ahead, on one side of the tunnel, a waterfall trickled down the stone wall. He poked his head through the hole in the wall and looked downward. He whistled, taking in the sheer drop--bottomless, from the looks of it--and drew back his head.

  Doors lay ahead, but he found them locked. The tunnel ended a few feet past the double black-oaken doors, so he had no alternative but to turn around. His sixth sense caused him to retry one of the doors, but it seemed bolted tight. He stared at it, wondering why he felt such a need to enter that portal. He heard a mighty roar, but couldn't deduce its agent or from where it originated. His torch had begun to die, so he took one out of the wall brace and lit it with his dying flame. The rushes caught and blazed into life.

  He decided to rest a moment, his hearing keenly attuned for any more calls of his name. This tunnel was the fifth he had searched from the stalactite cavern where he'd started. He was bone-tired, his eyes aching from peering through dark caverns and tunnels. He had passed Chase twice, but his friend had been glum, uncommunicative, a wary frown on his face.

  Pushing away from the wall, Brelan began his long trek back through the tunnel. He scanned the floor. While following a wandering crack in the stone, his peripheral vision picked up something that made him stop and look back. His gaze traced the crack to the wall, then lifted, going up the granite surface as the crack widened and became a man-sized crevice. Using his torch to illuminate the slit, he saw torches scattered along a distant wall, lighting some unseen pathway.

  Taking in a deep breath, he wedged himself through the slit and came out into another narrow tunnel, which seemed to lead under the waterfall. Hoping against hope it didn't drop into the pit he had seen, Brelan moved forward, careful where he put his feet along the narrow ledge that became his pathway.

  Something scooted across his instep. A large rodent scampered into the darkness. Shuddering, for he truly despised the furry creatures, Brelan nearly squealed in answer to the rodent's chattering voice when it doubled back and shot across his foot again, as though something had frightened it.

  "Bloody little bastard." Even through the boot leather, Brelan felt the rodent on his toes. He shook his foot to ward off the feeling and peaked over the ledge, then wished he hadn't. The dark drop-off seemed infinite. He sucked in his breath and plastered himself to the wall.

  Brelan heard a loud, prolonged hiss. Eyes widening, he stilled. He bit off a scream when something barreled out of the darkness from beyond the waterfall and skipped past him. Another hiss told him the animal had been a badly frightened cat.

  "What the hell are you guys seeing up there?" Brelan muttered, not at all happy with the animals' reactions.

  He hated to get wet under the waterfall, but there didn't appear to be anything else he could do. The slim ledge behind the cascading water jutted partially into the water's flow. With his torch sputtering, he pushed his hand against the wall, close enough, he hoped, to keep the torch dry as he passed under the water. Carefully placing his foot on the ledge, he started over the makeshift bridge nature had provided.

  Icy water tumbled over his head and chest, thoroughly soaking his shirt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his sense of humor told him he wouldn't have to take a bath that night, and he giggled. Between the climb to the Monastery and this, he reckoned he was getting a complete cleansing. A low chuckle replaced the giggle.

  "Better to laugh than cry..."

  As he cleared the waterfall, he realized with a sense of disquiet that the ledge had begun to take on a definite incline. He shifted his torch, grazing his knuckles on the sharp rocks, grimacing with the pain. He held up the torch and frowned. The pathway rose at a steep a
ngle. He didn't dare look down, which would have put more fear in his soul. Shivering, he had a horror of falling into the unseen pit, never to surface again.

  Putting his right foot on the incline, he started to climb. He used his free hand to brace himself against the wall, to feel his way along. The farther up the ledge he went, the louder that strange rumbling noise became. It sounded weird, sinister, and for some reason it put a steel barb of fear in his heart. Whatever it was, it made a lot of noise and he was heading straight for it.

  Another scream brought him up short, almost made him tumble into the yawning cavern below. He plastered his quivering body to the wall, hands pressed to the rocks, torch spiraling into the darkness as he let it go to keep himself from plummeting.

  The scream had sounded close. Very close. And it had been choked off, as if a hand had clamped over the screamer's mouth. Because of the rumbling, Brelan couldn't tell if the scream had issued from a male or female.

  His eyes adjusting, he began to detect a faint glow and continued up the incline, extremely careful where he put his feet. As a loose rock skidded out from under his foot, he yelped with fear, pressing himself as close to the wall as he could get. His heart thundered in his chest; sweat dripped down his body in waves. He eased forward, felt steady footing beneath his boots, and sidestepped upward again.

  Something shrieked farther up the incline. Another small creature darted toward him. Sucking in his breath, Brelan prayed the thing wasn't large enough or strong enough to collide with him and send them both into the pit. As it brushed against his legs, it hissed, yowled in surprise, then shrieked as it tumbled over the ledge.

  Brelan looked down, and again wished he hadn't. The strange glow came from hundreds of feet below. He saw a sparkle of water as it tumbled over rock formations and splashed far up the cavern walls, a violently hissing trough of water that fed downward.

  That's the source of the rumbling, he thought grimly. The water looked deadly. Its center swirled counterclockwise under the rock formations, disappearing into the blackness beyond the point where he could see. He had spent enough time sailing about in his ill-begotten youth to know a whirlpool. This one looked enormous, and by the force of the swirling water and the noise it caused, seemed to feed into something larger. The vortex itself slammed into the stone, shaking the walls with its might. That was the vibrating, humming noise he had heard.

  He laid his head along the stone wall and closed his eyes. If he had slipped into that, he'd have been sucked down into the whirlpool.

  Sucked down into the...

  Brelan's lids popped open. He gasped and stared downward, mesmerized by the water's power, its lethality.

  "The Maelstrom," he whispered, fear rising inside him like a striking serpent. Sweat ran down his sides, and he could smell his own sour aroma. Sudden overwhelming knowledge struck horror in his mind, and he knew at that moment where Tohre had taken Liza!

  * * * *

  Chase stared at the sarcophagus and knew immediately that this had been the source of Conar's fear. He saw the chalice lying on its side, a deep red residue clinging to its sides.

  "There are many honors a Brother may have, Chaseton," he could hear Tolkan instructing him from long ago. "The greatest of these honors is participation in the Rite of Transmergence."

  He had been only a child, a naive child at that, but he had understood well enough the teachings of the old reprobate. Tolkan had made sure of that.

  "Can you conceive of anything more rewarding than being mated, body and soul, to another of your kind?" Tolkan had stroked the damp blond hair where sweat had plastered it to Chase's forehead. "Think of it, Chaseton. Think of being a part of someone else, an integral part. Losing your own identity in the identity of your Master!"

  The Rite of Transmergence had been outlawed, but Tolkan had remembered it with fondness and reverent pleasure as he explained it to the shivering, beaten Ionarian Princeling.

  "Think of how intimate such an act can be. Your soul irrevocably absorbed by that of your Master. Two souls, but one body. Two minds, but one Control." Tolkan had sighed. His long vermilion-tipped nails had dragged seductively over Chase's bleeding back. "Just think of it."

  And Chase had. Even at his young age, he could think of nothing more vile, more heinous or fiendish. There was no other Rite in the plethora of Domination nastiness that could equal such a despicable thing, no other obscene ceremony designed more to exact infinite vengeance than what Tolkan had called "The Retribution."

  Montyne's wide shoulders slumped. He supposed he had known all along what Tohre had planned for Conar. Taking in the room where he had also been punished, he felt an overpowering urge to flee, to run as fast as he could from this horrible place where boys had been turned into broken men too early and too often.

  "Before Alel," Chase told the leering statue of Raphian, "I will not let Tohre do to Conar what he plans." He held up his arms. "I would rather have my friend's blood on these hands than allow him to know the agony of being trapped inside the tainted soul of his worst enemy!"

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  Conar moved his torch to light the narrow slit in the rock wall. The tunnel that had started at the doorway had become progressively more narrow; he had to force himself sideways to advance. His arms and shoulders had been scraped raw in places, and the wounds bled a little. The tunnel had ended at this wavering slit and he wasn't sure he could squeeze through the opening. Upon closer inspection, he knew he couldn't.

  "Goddamn it!" Frustrated beyond anything he had ever felt, he cursed the wall, the mountain, the tunnel--and Kaileel Tohre. "Damn you!" He pounded the fist in which he still gripped Liza's talisman against the wall. "Do you hear me you slimy bastard?"

  "Of course, I do."

  Shaking his head like an angry bull, Conar headed back the way he had come. Behind him, Tohre laughed, taunting him, mocking him. His shoulders scraped painfully over the rocks and he grit his teeth to keep from cursing. His shirt ripped on a snag. Wrenching his arm away from the wall, he heard the fabric tear even more. Growling in fury, he smacked the wall with his fist and cut his hand on something sharp. He shouted with the pain and jerked up his hand, scratching a long furrow along his arm as he did. He felt blood dripping to his elbow.

  He carefully put down his arm and wiped his hand on his pants. Straining through parts of the passageway that seemed to be more narrow than before, gouging his flesh against sharp stones, he clenched his jaw and kept moving, not caring anymore that he bled freely in at least a dozen places. The most important thing for him was to find another way to reach the low, vibrating source of unknown sound he kept hearing. Each time he pressed against the wall, he could feel the vibrations grow stronger.

  By the time he reached the beginning of the tunnel and stood trying to decide which tunnel to take next, he was beyond reasonable thought. His anger was like a festering sore, ripe to burst. Nothing, and no one, save Elizabeth McGregor, could have lessened his rage. His nostrils flared wide with fury. His long legs pumped like twins pistons as he stormed toward the right-hand tunnel.

  "Where are you?" he shouted.

  "Can't you find me, Conar?" came the laughing rejoinder.

  Realizing time ticked away with deadly seconds, he bolted down the long, twisting corridor of stone, with no regard to what might be at the other end. When he could no longer hear the humming vibration, he stopped, took a deep breath, and willed his heart to slow.

  Nothing could be accomplished this way, he decided miserably. He had to think. He was letting his anger get the best of him, exactly what Kaileel had known would happen. He had to calm down. He had to rationalize.

  Easier said than done, he admonished himself, plowing his blood-sticky fingers through his hair. His main concern was time. The longer it took to find Liza, the more time Kaileel had to harm her. That bleak thought tore at his already hurting insides, totally unmanning him and bringing tears. If Kaileel hurt her...

  He couldn't bear the
notion.

  It hurt too much. It scared him too much.

  He took a deep breath and strode to the tunnel's end, where a thick door barred the exit. It wasn't locked. He swung open the portal, stooped down to leave the tunnel--

  And moaned in defeat.

  He found himself back in the antechamber, standing before the door leading into the Ritual Chamber. He snarled, swinging his head side to side in anger. Every door that had been shut, locked, and barred to him before, now gaped open, their dark interiors lying in wait. He wanted to sit down with his head in his hands and sob.

  He couldn't afford the luxury.

  Squaring his shoulders, tamping down the urge to go stark raving mad, he took the doorway closest to him. Spiraling stone steps ran steeply downward, jagging away into total darkness. The dull gray stairs looked wicked, crazily jutting at weird angles as they disappeared into the ebon beyond. The risers themselves looked too narrow for his booted feet, and he'd have to be careful descending.

  Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, he put a foot on the first tilted step. The stone gave way. Before he could jump back, his foot skidded downward and he lost his balance. He also lost his grip on the torch. His arms windmilled as he crashed down the shaft of the spiraling steps, his back and hips hitting the wall from side to side.

  He landed at the bottom with a thud, gouging a long furrow in the small of his back on the last riser. His tailbone throbbed with the impact. Gingerly moving his arms and legs, he felt genuine surprise that nothing seemed broken or sprained. His sword, secured across his back in its baldric, poked at his lower ribs on the right side where the hilt had decided to remind him it remained.