Cross of the Legion (15 page)

"Why would anyone not want to go there?" I asked. "Are the natives unfriendly?"

"There are no natives. Nobody alive, anyway. Galantor is inhabited only by the dead—ghosts of the past. The place is cursed. If you go there, you die. Plenty of people have tried, looking for the treasure of Padan. But not many come back. Those few that have were driven insane by the experience. They call it the Portals of Doom. Nobody goes there any more—not even the bravest of the brave. It's guarded by mighty wizards."

"Wizards? What are they guarding?"

"The treasure, of course. Padan ruled the world—and Galantor was where the God-Kings held their wealth. Riches beyond imagining. The God-Kings took it with them, to the grave. And they still guard it, with the wisdom of the ages. Mighty wizards. Phantoms, from the past. Dead, but more powerful than we can imagine. Tread once on the sacred ground of the Realm of Galantor, and you die. There are fields of flowers there, they call them bloodblossoms. They're bright red, and they grow nowhere else. They say they're the souls of all the people who have died looking for Galantor's secrets. And there are lovely girls, dressed in black, floating over the sands. When they see you, they open their cloaks. Touch them and you die. They're dead, they're vampires, they'll drive you mad and drink your blood. I'm going to die there. That's what the soothsayer said. I've always avoided the place. But that's all right. I'll go with you. I'm tired of running from Fate." He laughed carelessly. "I don't mind facing God."

"Galantor, huh?"

"The Portals of Doom."

"Sounds like my kind of place," Psycho grinned.

"All right. Where is this Galantor?"

"It's in the far north. I can get you there, if you're determined to die. Why didn't you just tell me you were interested in the treasure?"

"We don't care about the treasure. We're after something more important."

"What could be more important than getting obscenely rich?"

"Knowledge."

"Knowledge? Ha! You people are strange. Can I keep the treasure, if we find it?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Keep it. We don't want it."

"You'll kill me after we find it."

"We're not going to be looking for the treasure. We're looking for history. But if we find the treasure, you can have it."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I don't mind sharing."

"We're not interested. All you have to do is get us to Galantor—tomorrow morning."

"One more night of life. All right—fine. By the way. What should I call you?"

"My name is Thinker," I replied.

"I see," he said. "Maybe that explains it. Say, could I keep this? It's really neat—what does it do?" He was examining my comset.

"No! Give that back! Where did you get that?"

"Oh—sorry. It was clipped to your collar. Sorry—force of habit." He handed it back to me sheepishly.

Chapter 8
The Portals of Doom

"Welcome to the Portals of Doom," Fingers said, making that gesture again over his face. We glided effortlessly on our E-sled into the lost realm of Galantor. It was a bright cold day, with both suns overhead. Galantor was a bleak desert of rosy sand dunes stretching to the horizon and beyond like mighty ocean waves. And peeking through those sandy waves, everywhere, was Galantor, a lost city submerged in the sands. Only the tips of the highest structures showed above the surface. It was spectacular, but our attention was focused on the soldiers that were guarding the city.

There were hundreds of them, everywhere we looked—skeletons, propped up on wooden poles, clad in ancient, rusting armor, battered helmets with fearsome horns, chain mail chestplates of rusting iron, massive peeling shields with mysterious symbols cut into the metal, armed with fragile spears and great steel swords and massive axes. Skeletons, ghost soldiers, still standing guard for forgotten kings. Standing against the wind, empty eye sockets staring into eternity.

We decarred and wandered around like tourists. It was dead quiet except for the sighing of the wind.

I stopped before one of the soldiers. His bones were so old they were turning black. A fragile skull, mouth open, speaking to me through the ages. His bony fingers clutched the disintegrating grip of a rusty sword. A round shield marked with an ancient rune hung from one shoulder, boldly proclaiming his allegiance to the dead. Standing, still, against the ages. Standing, still, defiant. Does it really matter what he fought for, I thought. Perhaps not. Perhaps it only matters that he fought, that he stood there and fought, and stopped only when he was dead. I made the sign of the Legion over his skull, and turned away. I'm not sure why I did that—but I felt a strange kinship for that soldier.

"Thinker—over here!" Priestess called out. I wandered her way, sliding down a great dune. She stood with Dragon and DD and Fingers and Kesan, looking up at a massive column of red stone poking through the sands, topped by a great block of carved stone.

"Can you imagine how big this thing is?"

"This is just the top—look at the diameter! The building must be gigantic!"

"I feel like an insect!"

"There are many buildings like this," Fingers said. "The sands have covered them all. Trying to get in is very difficult. Many people have died trying. The sands are alive. Just be a little careless, and the sands will get you."

"Thinker! Priestess! Over here!" Tourist called. We slogged through the sands, and stopped abruptly when we saw it. It was a gigantic stone face carved from ruby red rock, looking out from a gargantuan sand dune—a female face. It was the largest carving I had ever seen and yet it had been rendered with such exquisite care and grace that she looked totally real. She was young and beautiful. The sands had protected the statue from the ravages of time. The artist had been a genius. The lips were plump and vulnerable, the skin appeared tender and yielding, the features delicate and fragile despite the massive size of the face. Wavy hair, a few strands brushing against one cheek. Strange, elaborate headgear—was that a crown? She was holding something. We could barely make out her fingers.

There was something else about her, something—scary. It was not just the size. It was the eyes—terrifying, empty eyes, sucking out my very soul. And that unearthly beauty.

"She looks a lot like you, Priestess."

"No, she doesn't," I said. "That's one scary lady." Empress of Galantor, I thought. I could almost hear her mighty stone heartbeat, across the centuries. How many millions of brave, hopeless soldiers had died—willingly—for this lovely, pitiless bitch? How many men had died calling out her name?

I'm going to rip your secrets right out of your heart, bitch!

"They are mighty Gods, Thinker," Fingers said.

"No, they're not," I said. "They're all dead. They're just pieces of stone. Our Gods are more powerful. Our Gods are dead too, but they're much more powerful. Does this one scare you? Who the hell is she? Dead stone bitch!" I spat at her, convulsed with hatred. "She's nothing. Nothing!" I shouted. The rest of the squad stood frozen, watching me. I don't suppose I was doing much for my image. Fingers and Kesan appeared paralyzed with terror.

"Take it easy, Thinker," Psycho said.

"Yeah. Sure." I turned away from the face, trying to control my emotions. All those soldiers! Generations of soldiers, marching into eternity—for what?

I was on sentry duty that night. Another freezing Oduran night. The planet spun so fast on its axis the days were less than half the length of those on Andrion. That tiny blue star glittered like an electric jewel, starkly illuminating the dead sands of Galantor. And every night we failed to complete the mission, more ConFree nationals died.

"There they go again, Dragon," I said. "More movement. There's two of them moving around out there." I could see them in the scope on darksight—blurry heat figures, almost on the horizon.

"Psycho, front and center," I said. "I'm getting a bit curious."

Psycho and I set out on foot toward our prey. We noted they had a tendency to disappear quickly when threatened, so the E-sled was out. I wore a comtop and A-vest over my litesuit. I set the E to vac. It was a clear cold night and the dunes were like great frozen waves, glowing electric blue. We kept to the deepest shadows between the dunes. We could only hear our own soft footsteps in the sand—and another set, following us. We sank into the dark, raised our E's, and watched him on the tacmap.

"Wait for me!" Fingers hissed. "I want to come with you!"

"You're not too quiet, for a thief."

"I wanted you to hear me! If I hadn't wanted you to hear me, you wouldn't have heard me!"

"Why do you want to come with us?"

"I'm here," he said, "and I want to face it."

I looked over to Psycho. He shrugged.

"All right, Fingers—quietly now."

"Look who's talking. Are you trying to scare them off, or what?"

We paused from time to time, and I lay on my belly scoping out the target. Still just a lightman, but we were getting closer. There were a lot of ruins near the target. One of the two figures disappeared, but one was still there, still moving around.

We passed some more dead soldiers, fearsome skeleton warriors, standing under the stars, laughing at eternity. Galantor's last stand. Who could not feel for these fearless immortals? We padded past them silently. Soldiers of the Legion, I thought—immortals.

An awful moaning arose. It drifted past us on an icy breeze, faded, then began again. It was a mournful howl, now from the left, now behind us, now from ahead. It was most peculiar. I scoped the area thoroughly. Our target was ahead. Sweety couldn't get a grip on anything else.

"It's the wizard!" Fingers whispered. His face was deathly pale.

We moved—forward. Psycho split off to outflank the target. We were closing on him.

An agonizing cry, a death rattle, a moan of agony, close at hand—right over the dune. It was a little frame of wooden slats, propped up in the sands on a wooden pole, catching the wind to produce the fearsome noise.

I pushed it over with my E and it collapsed into the sands silently.

"Your wizard," I said to Fingers. He did not reply.

"Comin' at ya," Psycho said in my ears. I ran down the dune with Fingers close beside me. The target appeared atop another dune, standing right under that tiny glittering icy blue star. She was a lovely female, dark waist-length hair floating in the breeze, a long black cloak muffling her figure. She paused, looking down haughtily at us with hungry, evil eyes. Then she slipped the cloak off her shoulders and it slid to the sands abruptly, leaving her completely naked, slim and lovely, perfect young breasts, long shapely legs. I was so stunned that I stopped. Her flesh seemed to be faintly wet. Psycho appeared from behind her.

"My," he said. "Such enthusiasm!"

"Don't touch her!" Fingers shrieked. "She's death! She'll kill you! Touch her and you die! She'll take your mind, she'll drink your blood! It's real! It's real! I told you! She guards Galantor, and if you touch her you die!"

The girl strolled down the dune toward me, her empty eyes focused on nothing. She was certainly lovely—a stunning, beautiful creature. I raised my E and shot her with a vac bolt.

***

"Clever," DD said, peeling off his gloves. He had examined our captive, back in camp. She was safely cuffed and temporarily huddled under a blanket. "It's a hallucinogenic compound—really powerful, and spread all over her body. Take a lick of that lollipop and you'll float away to ding-dong land and maybe never come back. One taste and you're hers. She can do anything with you. The stuff makes you very compliant. It's really kind of scary."

I wondered how many intruders had died in her tender arms.

***

The road to Time was dry and cold. That's what she called it—Time. Just that one word. We tried to understand it, but it didn't seem to translate. The sunlight slowly faded as we crept deeper into the crevice. It was a narrow, steep passageway, an almost vertical sandslide between two grim stone walls of a massive prehistoric megalith buried in the sands. The sand fell down on our heads, hissing, a faint dust from the world above. The sky was a narrow niche, already fading. It looked like certain death, but there we were. The witch was on point, and I was right behind her. One false move and I'd kill her. I do believe she knew it. She was helpless in our hands. Dr. Doom had pumped her full of our own witchcraft, and she was going to do exactly what we wanted and nothing else.

Dry and cold. The dust of eternity was all around us. She paused at a jagged crack in the wall, looking back at me. It was just a crawl space. She wanted to go in. Perfect. I was not surprised, I was fully expecting it. Her eyes were empty. She was truly lovely. She wore her black cloak but I knew what was under there. Had I been alone, back then, I would surely have succumbed—and died.

"Time," she said in Oduran. I looked in, triggering the flash on my E. A perfectly flat stone ceiling, less than a mark from the floor. My tacmod mapped out the route. A checkerboard approach—the ceiling was constructed of massive stone blocks. Some of them appeared to have fallen down to the floor, blocking the way.

The witch was crying silently, pale and frightened. I didn't like it much. I snapped a cuff around one of her ankles and attached a line.

"If we die, you die," I said. She nodded, her cheeks streaked with tears. She recovered a primitive torch from out of the crack, oil-soaked rags tipping an iron rod. She chipped away with flint and steel, trying to produce a spark. I flamed it for her with my E.

Dragon peering in, glowering. "This looks interesting. What do you think, Three?"

"There's a large chamber up ahead. But we've got to crawl through that maze first. The ceiling—I kind of worry about it."

"This pattern…" Dragon pondered his tacmap. "It almost looks as if those stone blocks fall down from the ceiling—at random."

"Speak, witch." I poked her with my E. "Is it dangerous in there? Will we die if we go on?"

"Perhaps." She gazed at me blankly. "Many have died there. We may, too."

"And who is going to kill us?"

"Time. Time kills us all."

"That's enough nonsense," I said. "Dragon, Trigger, DD, we go in. Psycho, stand by with the others and secure our rear. Give us a few hours before you start worrying."

"Tenners. Hey, Thinker, this would be the perfect time to renegotiate that 100C you claim I owe you."

"I wish to come!" Fingers said in Oduran. "I can give you advice. I'll be your adviser!"

"If you take him, take me as well," Kesan said. "I can warn you when he starts to betray you."

I laughed. "All right, fine. But keep it quiet and don't get in the way."

"Note the part about keeping quiet," Fingers said to Kesan.

"You're terrified, aren't you? Why don't you stay behind? You're not impressing anybody."

"Do we have to take her?"

"Let's go, Thinker," Dragon said. "Come on, you want to live forever? The witch goes first—don't let her get away."

"That's a ten," I replied. The witch squirmed into the passageway, hitching her robe up around her waist. Lovely long legs. I followed her in, keeping the line tight. She reminded me of Moontouch—another princess of the dark.

Megatons of rock hung over us as we crawled slowly over gritty stone. It was cold and dry and dark, but I was hot and sweaty. We were worming our way somewhere underneath a great stone building buried in the sands. From time to time we ran up against a wall, and had to turn aside. The tacmap told the story. If one of those gargantuan blocks fell on us, we'd be squashed like bugs. I kept a tight rein on our young lady. Her torch cast eerie shadows and oily smoke swirled around me. Sweety said the oxygen level in the tunnel was fine. Something came tumbling past the witch's legs. A human skull, crushed, gaping at me with sightless eyes, outlined harshly in my spotlight. We crawled through his bones.

"Suggest we speed this up, gang," I said. "The last visitor…didn't make it."

"We're following you, Thinker."

"Move it, girl!" I snapped. She stopped, trembling and sobbing. I jammed the E into her ribs, terrified. "Move or I'll kill you!"

An awful, grinding vibration suddenly struck like an earthquake, freezing my heart. Then a deafening blast shook our world. The stone floor shook beneath me, and a choking cloud of dust swirled past us. A frightening silence followed. I was still alive—but it sounded as if the whole building had collapsed.

"Count off!" Dragon snarled.

"Deadman! The damned ceiling fell in! It just missed me!"

"Count off!"

"Thinker."

"Trigger!"

"DD. Fingers and Kesan are all right." All there! My heart hammered.

"Kill the bitch!"

"Move," I hissed. She resumed crawling forward. We were almost out. A massive block of stone had fallen right next to us, but we had escaped destruction by mils.

We emerged into a large, dark circular chamber that appeared to be cluttered with rubbish. The witch's torch cast spooky shadows over dark stone walls and our helmet lights lit up the scene mercilessly with a brilliant white radiance.