“Was it the Council then?” growled Tarquin, standing up from the old man and dragging him to his feet by the hair. “Was it Balin who sent you to collect upon me?”
“Tarquin, you must not go any further down the path you walk.” warned Ganomir. “If you do, you—” Ganomir screamed as Tarquin’s dagger-hand cut the man’s left ear from his head in a single, quick stroke.
“Who sent you to collect upon me!” roared Tarquin, shaking him.
“You cannot deny that you make debt upon the Lands!” yelled Ganomir against the pain. “Repent and take no more of the dead, lest it be too late!”
Tarquin flicked his dagger-hand, lopping off Ganomir’s other ear. “Tell me who sent you or I swear I shall make you suffer for days!” He placed the bloody dagger to the man’s crotch.
“Rankin! Rankin Parvailes!” screamed the Jinn.
Tarquin flipped his dagger-hand back around to his mechanical hand and grabbed a handful of Ganomir’s hair. He waved Whisper and instantly the two were atop the dragon skull, standing before Tarquin’s iron throne. Below, hundreds of workers all looked up, trying to see what was going on.
“What… what are you doing?” panted Ganomir, his eyes still bleeding and clenched shut as he held his bloody scalp where his ears had once been.
Tarquin pulled him by the hair toward the volcanic opening. “Who else?” barked Tarquin. “Who else on the Council sent you?”
“No one! It was Parvailes alone!”
Tarquin grabbed Ganomir by the wrist and with his mechanical hand broke one of the man’s fingers off. Ganomir howled as blood shot from the torn digit. “Who else!”
“It was Rankin alone, I swear it!” cried the old Jinn. “He called me to meet with him in secret!”
Tarquin scowled. Before him, five dark portals opened and out stepped his revenants. He looked at Ganomir. “Councilman Parvailes is going to find out the hard way that I shall not be collected upon easily. As for you, I’ve changed my mind. Death is too easy a fate for you. You once made me a Dark Star Knight. Let me return the favor and make you into something more.” He looked at his revenants. “Take a fingernail and bring him to the Chamber of the Crucible.”
“No! No!” Ganomir’s legs gave out and he fell to the floor. “No! Not that!”
Like vultures the iron-shrouded creatures descended upon Ganomir. An obsidian dagger flashed and the old man screamed as the Phantom cut a nail from his finger. Ganomir kicked and screamed, struggling for all he was worth, but the five hoisted him up and began dragging him away.
Tarquin grabbed the Ghost by the shoulder. “Not you.” he said. His lips twisted into a wicked smile. “I have a job for you.”
— 31 —
Traitors
Queen Loretta stood in front of the mirror, brushing out her long, black hair. The mattress squeaked as King Verami rolled off of it and slid into his rusty wheelchair and then slipped into his robe. Thunder rumbled the castle but there was another sound with it and Loretta paused her brushing. Lightning flashed in the barred window and a warm, storm wind swept up the purple curtains there. Loretta set down her brush and stared at the window.
“What is it, my dear?” asked Verami as he buttoned up his robe.
“Shh.” hissed Loretta. The metallic clamor of bolt-throwers rang like distant wind-chimes. She ran to the window and threw open the curtains, nearly tearing them from their hooks. Rusty wheels squeaked as Verami rolled himself to the window. In the distant city, fires burned from the church windows. There was more bolt-thrower fire, and Loretta thought she could almost hear the angry shouts of men. “My poor Agana!” she gasped.
“I’ll send for Lord Kalarus,” croaked Verami. “Go summon our Saints. They’ll end this quickly enough.”
Loretta turned from the window when the chamber door was kicked from its hinges. Verami spun around in his chair as the heavy, wooden slab smacked onto the stone floor. Saint Tiffany of the Graves stood there, looking almost naked without the cloak she always wore. The soft glow of lanterns in the hall played off her rounded Star-Armor, illuminating the crusty patches of dirt that stained it. Her white bodysuit was grimy, especially dirty at her knees and arms. In a gloved hand nearly black with soil she gripped her star-metal broadsword. From the halls there were sporadic shots from bolt-throwers and shouts from the castle guards. Saint Tiffany didn’t speak, but stepped into the room.
Loretta’s hand went to her heart. “Saint Tiffany, thank the Goddess you’re here! What is going on?” She was about to run to her when Verami grabbed her wrist.
“No, my dear.” croaked the King from his wheelchair. “I believe she is a part of what is going on.”
With her amber eyes locked on them, Tiffany hugged the perimeter of the room as she slunk around them like a cat on the prowl. She held her broadsword with both hands, its blade held up before her. She had a wild look in her eyes, her pale lips something between a smile and a snarl.
“Get our daughter.” cracked Verami. “I’ll handle this, my dear.”
Loretta ran from the room.
Like a mummy raised from an age-old slumber, Verami slowly stood from his wheelchair. As he did, his royal gown turned to black, as if a bucket of ink had been spilled over his shoulders and washed down its length. His eyes sunk into his skull until only dark pits remained as the flesh from his face and scalp rotted from the bone and fell to the floor with a wet smacking.
Saint Tiffany’s head bobbed as she nodded frantically at him. “Yes… yes…” she breathed. “Kill you. All I have to do is kill you and the dead will haunt me no more. They’ll lead me back to my love. They promise me as much!” She swatted around the air even as she stared at him.
Tendrils of green mist seeped up from the floor around Verami, and in his skeletal hand a large scythe appeared. “It has been long since my last harvest.” his voice rang like hollow, iron bells from behind his yellow teeth and ancient skull. “Plague.” He smacked the end of his scythe upon the floor and green mist rolled from its sharp, iron blade. “Pestilence.” He smacked it again and more mist billowed forth. “May it all befall you.” Fingers of green vapor began to encroach upon Tiffany. Wherever they touched her flesh there was a sizzle and a red pustule formed.
Tiffany’s body began to glow in a soft, yellow orb swirled with white and the creeping mist recoiled from her, the sores washed from her body. Her voice cracked and then went out as she tried to scream, leaping into the air with her black broadsword held high.
Verami swept his scythe up, catching her sword and knocking her aside. Tiffany hit the floor and rolled, her breastplate cracking the stone of the wall when she hit. She scrambled to her feet and came at him again, whirling her sword chaotically. Black sparks struck off Verami’s scythe as he used it to turn away each of her blows. Then he swung it around as if reaping wheat from a field. Tiffany leapt back, narrowly escaping being gutted. She pushed out her hand, and in a blast of Caliber energy Verami was sent against the far wall.
She charged at him, her mouth open in a voiceless scream. She leapt into the air, swinging her sword at his skull. Verami whipped his scythe around, its curved blade hooking around her breastplate and slamming her into the wall. The room shook from the impact of her armor against the stone. Bricks cracked and the wall nearly toppled. She fell to the floor on her back, but before she could get up a skeletal foot stomped down on her wrist, preventing her from getting her sword up. Then the edge of Verami’s scythe pressed against her throat, pinning her.
Yellow teeth clacked as a laugh escaped Verami’s jaw. “Disease and death!”
Sickening green mist poured over Tiffany’s face. She coughed and choked as it infiltrated her faltering Caliber light. Sores began to pock her flesh and pustules exploded on her cheeks, oozing stinking fluid. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and blisters boiled up all down her esophagus.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ �
�� ♦ ♦ ♦
“Calm down, Tabitha.” said Saint Belphegor. He wrestled with the creature’s giant, hairy leg as he held it beneath one arm and tried to straighten it out with his other. It was a soft thing, covered in course, black hair with orange upon its many joints. However, near the foot was a patch of burnt, red flesh that was oozing puss and Belphegor needed to heal it and prevent the infection from spreading. The tarantula wasn’t agitated, just being fussy. However, even by tarantula standards Tabitha was enormous, and her fidgeting was proving difficult for Belphegor to control.
At last he got the leg steady and quickly placed his hand upon the wound. Just as his Caliber began to shine, Tabitha made something of a hiss and tore her leg away. Her many limbs danced with a soft patter as she spun around to face Belphegor, nearly knocking him over with the plump bulb that was her abdomen. She raised her front legs nearly to the ceiling in warning as her eight, beady eyes stared down at him. Blobs of yellow venom glistened upon a pair of splayed, obsidian fangs.
“Easy, girl.” said Belphegor, grabbing a bundle of gauze off the table. “Now I just have to bind it and you’ll be good as new. Next time when I tell you to stay away from Cinder’s cage maybe you’ll listen.”
The spider scuttled up the stone wall and into the high rafters. Belphegor sighed as the creature hung upside down, watching him. He was about to contemplate what sort of treat might coax her down when the sound of distant bolt-thrower fire caught his attention. He ran to the window of his tower room and saw smoke rising from the city.
Belphegor hurried and grabbed a large set of iron keys from his shelf and slung them around the belt of his scabbard. He fastened it to his waist as he bolted from his room and kicked in the door across the hall. “Malachi! Trouble in the city!”
Malachi was slightly shorter than Belphegor, though they shared the same rich, brown tourmaline hair and eyes. He grabbed up his star-metal mace and followed Belphegor out into the dark hall of the tower. There, Saints Beckeliel and Dengarial were stepping out from their respective rooms.
“Do you guys hear that?” asked Beckeliel. “I hear bolt-throwers.” The white-haired Saint held her sword in one hand, her head cocked as she listened to the sounds of the castle.
“What’s going on?” asked Dengarial, brushing his long, ruby hair from his eyes with a hand. Like Beckeliel, he held his sword at the ready.
“Trouble in the city.” said Belphegor, motioning to them with his hand. “To the King and Queen.”
The four Saints ran down the hall, their star-metal boots clanking loudly on the stone floor. They flew down a spiraling flight of stairs and came to a large chamber lit by lanterns on the walls. Across the room was a rusty portcullis that howled as the storm winds swept through it. It led out onto a high walkway which crossed over to the castle proper. As the Saints headed toward the gate a group of knights came into the chamber across the room.
“Trouble in the city!” Belphegor called to them. “Assemble in the—”
JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK!
Belphegor dove as the floor around him and the wall behind him exploded from bolt-thrower fire. Malachi ducked and put his mace up defensively. He grunted as a bolt cracked on his pauldron, the impact twisting him to the side. Beckeliel yelped as a bolt impacted her arm, exploding off her star-metal bracer. Dengarial wasn’t as lucky as the others. His sword fell to the floor with a tremendous crack as his unarmored belly was torn open by the gunfire. He stumbled and fell backward, screaming as his innards spilled out.
JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK!
As a single unit, Belphegor, Malachi and Beckeliel scrambled toward the gate as bolts destroyed the floor and walls. Malachi and Beckeliel flourished their weapons, bolts bursting into showers of sparks upon them.
Belphegor threw his arms up as he barreled through the steel bars of the portcullis and out onto the narrow walkway. It was an iron bridge with a grated floor, railed with decorative bars in the shape of ravens. The long bridge was swept by the wind and overlooked the castle’s courtyard some two-hundred feet below. Above, dark storm clouds swirled and lightning flashed in their depths. At the opposite end, about fifty-yards off, the castle proper stood with another barred gate leading in. The three ran out onto the walkway, rain pelting them and beading off their Star-Armor and leather bodysuits. About half-way across, Belphegor skid to a halt, Malachi crashing into him and Beckeliel into Malachi. From the opposite gate another group of knights came out, all of them with bolt-throwers raised.
Belphegor turned. Past Malachi and Beckeliel the knights who had first shot at them were coming out onto the bridge.
“Move! Go!” screamed Beckeliel as bolt-throwers were raised to her. She tried to push her way past Malachi when the knights behind her began shooting.
JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK!
Belphegor and Malachi ducked as Beckeliel screamed. Her side was torn open, and then her sword fell as her arm exploded at the elbow. She fell and another bolt impacted her head, destroying it.
JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK! The knights from both ends of the walkway began firing. Belphegor raised his sword and brought it down hard, sweeping it across the iron railings and cutting through the grated floor. There was a squeal from both ends of the bridge as iron bent, and then the two halves collapsed where Belphegor had cut.
Belphegor felt the entire walkway tilt as it began to fall and swing toward the far side of the castle and he grabbed onto one of the railings. Beckeliel’s body toppled and fell just as she began to consume into her armor. Malachi slid but managed to grab onto the grated floor just in time.
Belphegor and Malachi braced for impact as the walkway swung downward toward the castle. Encompassed in Caliber energy, the two hit the stone wall, their star-metal breastplates like wrecking balls. Stone broke over them as they crashed through the castle. They tumbled and rolled across the floor of a chamber, both of them coming up onto their feet, running.
“To the King and Queen!” yelled Belphegor. They tore across the chamber floor and up a flight of stairs as they headed into the royal tower. As they rounded a corner they saw Queen Loretta running toward them.
“Saint Belphegor!” cried Loretta as she ran toward the Saint. The hall was dark but for a few torches on the wall and the occasional flash of lightning through the barred windows.
“Milady, we must get you and the King out of here!” said Saint Belphegor, looking around the halls nervously with his sword at the ready. “Some sort of rebellion among the knights. They took us all by surprise. They’ve already killed Saints Beckeliel and Dengarial.” All throughout the castle bolt-thrower fire and the screams of men echoed.
“Agana!” said the Queen. “She’s out in the town with Ophelia!”
Malachi nodded and took Loretta’s hand. “We’ll find her. First, let’s get you to safety. Where is King Ver—”
JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK!
Belphegor and Malachi wrapped themselves around the Queen and ran her back down the hall as bolt-thrower fire rocked the corridor. Ceiling and floor exploded, showering them with fragments of stone. A bolt burst on the back of Belphegor’s breastplate just as they got around a corner and into a long hall. They ushered the Queen through the corridor and up a spiraling flight of stairs. They rushed her through another hall and rounded a few more corners, coming to a small, tower chamber. At the other end of the room was another flight of stairs leading up. “This way, quickly!” said Belphegor.
Belphegor raced to the stairs and was about to go up when he stopped. Torchlight and many boots were coming down. He turned Loretta around and began heading back the other way.
JINK-JINK-JINK!
Malachi got his mace up defensively as knights poured into the room, firing on him. A bolt exploded off his breastplate, and one off his greave. He flourished his mace, blocking another shot, but the knights all began firing at once. Another bolt burst
off his breastplate and then his mace, but then his body twisted as one hit him in the stomach, blowing a bloody chunk of meat out of him. He fell to his knees just as another exploded on his face.
Belphegor grabbed Loretta and pushed her against the wall, standing before her like a shield. JINK-JINK-JINK! Belphegor flourished his sword, bolt’s breaking upon his blade. Loretta screamed as one of the bolt fragments hit her cheek, slicing it open. JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK! Blood and bone exploded from Belphegor’s arms and legs. He fell to his knees as more bolts opened up his belly and then finally took off his head. And now the knights all trained their weapons on Loretta.
Lightning flashed in the barred window of the chamber. In the brief, white light Loretta saw huge, wolfen hands wrapping around the bars. The knights were about to fire when the entire encasement was torn from the wall.
They all turned as a hulking, bestial form slipped into the room. Before they could even train their weapons on it the shaggy, gray-furred thing tore into their ranks. Claws flashed. White teeth snapped from a snarling muzzle. A gusher of blood and limbs was thrown into the air, painting the walls, floor and ceiling red as mangled bodies were tossed from the window. And then it was done. Blood and entrails dripped from the ceiling. A fecal odor filled the room. The creature turned and fixed the stairway with its yellow eyes. Bootsteps and shouts; torchlight coming down the stairs toward them.
“Kalarus,” said Loretta. “Agana is in the city. Find her.”
Kalarus eyed the stairs as he stepped in front of Loretta. “Let me devour these for you first!” he growled.
“No.” said Loretta coldly. She wiped at her bleeding cheek and looked at the blood. “Naughty. So naughty.” she said with frigid ruthlessness. She looked at the hulking wolf-man. “Find Agana. Bring her back to me safe and sound. Leave these naughty people to me.”
Kalarus turned and bounded out of the broken window he had come through. Loretta stepped toward the stairway. As she did, she became tall, rigid and cruel, her eyes hateful, dark orbs. Twenty knights poured down the stairs and into the room. They stopped in their tracks as they saw Loretta. Bolt-throwers were raised.
Here Shines the Sun Page 60