Read Stackpole, Michael A - Dark Conspiracy 03 Online
Authors: Evil Triumphant
Stackpole, Michael A - Dark Conspiracy 03 (27 page)
from his feet and held his arms wide apart, but Ryuhito seemed neither concerned nor frightened. His
glow intensified, and smoke began to rise from the Yidam's clothing. The sling on his rifle burned away,
but the Yidam maintained his grip and started to pummel Ryuhito with his lower set of arms.
"It is not possible! I am a god!" Ryuhito roared.
"As I have become, as well!" The Yidam gnashed his teeth as he rammed his head into Ryuhito's chest.
"To catch a god, you set a god."
The prince gasped aloud and his glare faded just a whit, then it started to build in intensity and focus itself down through Ryuhito's eyes. The solar light tightened down into twin nova-beams that started the
Yidam's flesh sizzling at their touch. The Yidam screamed in pain, then pulled his clawed thumbs back
and drove them both through Ryuhito's wrists.
The Prince's blood ran like liquid fire over the Yidam's flesh.
Will dashed forward, smelling the bittersweet scent of singeing hair, and grabbed the Yidam's rifle up off the ground by the barrel. Without looking, without thinking, but trusting in the spirits to guide him as
they had before, he swung the massive rifle around like a baseball bat and smashed Ryuhito in the back
of the head. Light exploded, and the gun ignited, then Will felt himself spinning like a top through an
ocean of molten gold.
In a heartbeat, everything went dark. Will didn't know
if he had fallen or had been knocked unconscious or what. He felt dazed and dazzled. His hands began to
hurt, pulsing with the angry sensations of a bad bum. He tried to take a step forward, but found he had to stand up first, then he blinked his eyes and saw shadows moving in a dark gray world.
One more blink and tears ran down his cheeks. He saw Crowley pulling Ryuhito's motionless body off
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the Yida
m. Will crawled over in their direction and looked up at the shadow man. "Is he dead?"
"You cracked his skull, I think, but enough of the rifle stock had combusted that you didn't kill him."
Crowley rolled Ryuhito onto his face and folded the youth's arms across his chest. "He'll be out for a good long time, and 1 know of a dimension where time runs slowly enough that he'll be out until we
decide how to treat him."
Will nodded unconsciously and looked down at the Yidam. Ryuhito's eyebeams had bumed criss-cross
scars over the chest, blistering and charring flesh. The Yidam's upper arms and hands were badly bumed,
and Will knew the creature had to be in incredible pain. "What can I do for you?"
The Yidam forced his face into a smile, "ft is too late to ask for sunblock, I think."
Crowley shook his head. "We'll dip you in aloe and get you healthy again."
"No. 1 was not god enough to stop Ryuhito on my own, and I am too much a mortal to recover from the
attempt." The Yidam glanced over at Will then again at Crowley. "Tell my daughter I remembered her as such." His back bowed as pain radiated off him, then his body slackened and his eyes went glassy.
Crowley reached over and closed the Yidam's eyes. "One more thing for which Pygmalion will pay."
Will shookhis head. "Ryuhito killed him, notPygmalion.
Your people believe in an eye for an eye, don't they?"
"Yeah, but we also hold the person responsible for the actions of their agents." Crowley hoisted Ryuhito up and draped him over his shoulder. "And, yes, I'd shed no tears if Ryuhito here ended up dead. Of
course, I'd rather see him on our side. I know some people in a place where he could leam some things.
The Yidam came from there."
Will stood slowly, holding his hands carefully in front of himself as the pain built. "I'd like to leam, too."
Crowley nodded. "I can arrange that. Want a lesson now?"
Will smiled and followed him over to the eight holes, then squatted down. "What do I do?"
"Move one of those blue stones from hole two to hole four. Good. Once I go through the dimensional
gate, you have to move the stones around so Pygmalion will have ahard time tracking me." Crowley
shifted Ryuhito around as sporadic gunfire sounded from the encampment. "Get back down there, gather the survivors. I'll return for you then."
As Crowley turned toward the termite mounds, Will saw something move behind him. The Native
American kicked out, knocking Crowley down as the beastie they had shot before snapped both arms
forward. The chitin-stars hissed through where Crowley had stood, missing him by inches.
The shadow man shed the Prince in a roll and came up on one knee, with his Mac-10 blazing. The bullets
tore up sod on a direct line between the creature's legs, then tracked upward. The .45-caliber slugs opened the monster up from groin to throat and knocked it back against a blood-splashed termite mound.
Crowley jammed a new clip into the smoking Mac-10. "Ryuhrto's light display must have been enough to
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revive
it for that last shot."
"It made it count." Will tried to roll up on his side, but the
pain in his chest from where the chftin -stars had hit stopped him. He coughed once and felt a sliver of
agony pin him to the ground. Again he coughed, and it hurt less, but he tasted blood in his mouth and felt a rivulet trail down his cheek.
Crowley knelt beside him. "Hang on, Will. I'll dump Ryuhito and be back."
Will weakly pushed him away. "Go, go before 1 can't move the stones."
Crowley nodded grimly and stood up. "Your son wants for nothing in his life. You know that. You have my word."
The Native American nodded. "My grandfather trusts you, so do I. The Man Who Dies Far From Home
believes the Ghost Who Lives."
Like a phantom, Crowley retreated with Ryuhito to the circle of termite mounds. Will saw a bluish flash,
then reached out with his left hand and began to brush stones from one hole to another. He measured the
rest of his life by the number of stones he could move between coughs. He didn't die as fast as he feared he might, nor did he live as long as he hoped he would, but he died happy knowing any search for
Ryuhito would die right where he did.
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Awakening from a nightmare of pain and fire is not a pleasant experience. It is made less so by opening
your eyes to find yourself lying on a bier in a sepulchre. I could feel death around me, clinging like stale perfume, and my return to consciousness came with a knowledge of death's reluctance to surrender its
grip on me. With an etheric
until we are one again,
death left me alive but not at ease.
My eyes, having been closed, were pre-adjusted to the darkness, but it took my brain some time to
become used to
seeing again.
I had no idea where I was nor how long I had been there. I raised a hand to my chin and felt no stubble, which would have suggested only a short stay, but back at the edge of my
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jaw near my
right ear I found a spot the person who had shaved me had missed.
That hint of beard provided no clue as to the length of time I had spent in the small cave, but it did tell me other things that were valuable. The first was that I had not been left entirely alone to recover from my wounds. Second, and more significant, I found the attention to my appearance disquieting. It suggested at least one of those watching over me had given some thought to more than my recovery, but no one in my
circle of acquaintances shared with me the sort of relationship that would bring
with it such concerns.
My right hand moved up from my jaw to touch the garland of laurel leaves encircling my head. It
surprised me at first, then prompted a smile. I could have seen Crowley crowning me with such a wreath,
but only after I had recovered. I realized then that the wreath, short kilt and sandals I wore were all of a set, and that answered some questions while creating more.
Crowley had told me of a proto-dimension in which regeneration was part and parcel of the natural laws.
I remembered enough of my last moment of consciousness to know 1 had to have been in dire need of
that place's powers. Just the fact that I knew I wore sandals because of how the straps bound my calves
and the leather felt against the soles of my feet meant that my broken spine and severed spinal cord had
been repaired.
I idly scratched my chin with my left hand and smiled when I felt no pain in the joint that had been
destroyed fighting the Aryans. The return to functionality of my limbs, my return to life and my attire all suggested strongly that I had been deposited in the proto-dimension that had been placed as part of the
Greek Tartaurus in legends. Crowley would have seen to that because he knew better than anyone else