torg 02 - The Dark Realm (12 page)

"Sorry about that, but I prefer to fast drop. That's when you know you're really flying."

Mara edged closer to Father Bryce, placing her arm in his. "I like this guy," she whispered. "I think he's going to get us to Orrorsh."

"Yes," Bryce agreed, holding tight to the pilot's chair as the plane angled wildly. "But I'd like to get there in one piece!"

44

Sergeant Joe Houston gave Lieutenant Covent the once over. There was shrapnel all through his right leg and in his stomach, and he was unconscious. But he was alive, and that counted for something.

"Get him out of here," he ordered the soldier driving the jeep. "Make sure he's on a helicopter and being evacuated to Irwin or Twentynine Palms before you

come back to the unit."

The soldier confirmed the orders and drove off. Houston watched after the vehicle for a time, then t urned to deal with his current situation. "I never wanted to be in charge, especially in a war-time engagement," he complained. "Hey, private. Did I ever tell you I was related to General Sam Houston? Of Texas?"

"Once or twice, sergeant," the private replied.

"Oh," Houston said, disappointed.

"Sergeant, we've got company!" the private shouted.

Houston grabbed his binoculars and looked toward the storm front. Emerging from the bizarre weather pattern were flying creatures, winged reptiles and hovering starfish that looked to be tough and mean. Below them were lizard men and a handful of primitive- looking men and women riding weird dinosaurs. Houston wondered if the dark forest would inhibit the enemy, or if they were better equipped for this terrain than his men were.

"Wait for it," he told the private, who was now manning his radio. He counted off, watching the lizards advance. "Have Blue Three start firing."

The battle began then, as Houston ordered Blue Platoon to attack. It was their job to keep the invaders from taking the forest — to keep them on the other side of the storm front. He just hoped the other squads made it to the site quickly, because he had a bad feeling about this combat situation.

The battle was a series of bright flashes to Houston, like something under a strobe light, stop-action scenes melding one into another with punctuations of darkness in between. There were starshells and flares, and the hordes of nightmare attackers from out the dark, and the constant hammering of machineguns, and the explosions

of artillery shells and grenades. One moment he remembered was a whoosh of anti-tank fire that brought down one of the huge dinosaurs, its side an exposed cavern of bloody tatters that brought others of its kind to feed. Cries of pain and fury arose from the attackers, and through the little blinks of battle Houston realized they were winning. The bastards were falling back across the storm front, falling like scythed wheat as they ran.

But then the scene changed. The storm front advanced toward Blue Platoon, rolling forward through the mighty sequoias. Through his binoculars, he watched as a dark cloud broke away and transformed into black armored riders atop black foaming horses. "My God," he whispered. "Who are they?"

He watched a moment longer as the riders cut into his men with flaring swords and metal-shoed hooves. A new slaughter had begun, and this time the soldiers were on the receiving line.

"Call in, private, call in!" Houston shouted. "We need back up!"

And over the screams of his men, the discharge of their weapons, and the thundering hooves, Houston heard a horn sound. It was the sound of a coffin opening, the sound of the deepest night.

It was the sound of death.

45

The Horn Master sounded the great horn and ordered the Wild Hunt forward. The Hunt arrived in Baruk Kaah's camp as the battle to the south started, and the High Lord quickly dispatched the Hunt to assist his troops at the storm's edge. The edeinos did not expect to meet such staunch resistance in the forest and, without their reality to protect them, the Earthers' weapons cut the lizards down. But the Wild Hunt was not as hindered by varying realities. Its magic was strong wherever it traveled, for it carried its own reality with it.

Now the huntsmen cut through the Earthers with swords and spears. The wolf hounds ripped at them with sharp teeth. The ravens tore at them with deadly talons and pointed beaks. The forest ran red with rivers of blood. As the Hunt passed by, the squires followed behind. They gathered the souls of the dead so that they could be bound to the Hunt. Thus the Hunt grew.

The Horn Master watched a moment more, then turned his fiery eyes upon a chariot further back in the Farther line. That was the command chariot, the Horn Master knew. The Earth warriors were directed from there. A cannon mounted on the chariot fired burst after burst into the Hunt, bringing down a few of the Horn Master's cherished huntsmen. That could not be abided.

The Horn Master whirled his jet-black mount and galloped straight for the command chariot. When the warriors within it noticed him, they turned the cannon his way. Fire spewed from the open mouth of the weapon, but the first shots went wide, missing their mark. The next blast was more accurate, but the Horn Master raised his shield and deflected the shot. Then he was upon the chariot, his great sword slicing through the cannon as his horse sliced through the tall grass.

"It's no good, Houston!" he heard one of the warriors shout.

"Order the men to fall back!" the other said, raising his personal weapon to defend himself.

The Horn Master cut them both down quickly, cleaving the men in two with his mighty sword swipes. He watched them fall to the forest floor. The cries around him told him that this engagement was drawing

to a close. But a voice behind him made him whirl, his sword at the ready.

"Blue Company, do you copy?" The voice came out of a small black box atop the chariot. "Please respond, Blue Company."

His sword slashed downward. The box exploded into a dozen shards. Blue Company was no more! Its warriors would now run with the Wild Hunt, forever responding to the call of the horn. The Horn Master raised his sword triumphantly, then led the spectral host back into the raging storm.

46

Pharaoh Mobius entered his temporary sleeping quarters that overlooked the site where his palace was being built. Muab, the Royal Builder, was working the slaves throughout the night to complete the palace according to Mobius' schedule. He had never failed his Pharaoh yet.

The temporary quarters were splendid, full of rich silks and fluffy pillows. A tray of fruits awaited him, as well as a decanter of fine wine. He fell upon the pillows, sinking into their softness. Yes, he liked being Pharaoh. He liked it very much. He reached for his goblet when a soft hand touched his and a soft voice spoke.

"Allow me, master," the voice said.

"Ah, Clemeta," sighed Mobius. "I had forgotten that you would be here."

"Where else would I be, master?" she asked as she handed him the goblet.

She had been with him since he had taken a liking to her that day at the construction site. He had her promoted from serving girl to Royal Escort, and she was now dressed accordingly in gold and silver. She was so like

the original Clemeta, the Clemeta of his court some three thousand years ago in Terra's Egypt.

"Remind me to one day tell you about ancient Egypt, Clemeta," he said after sipping the wine. "About how I took the throne."

She was beside him now, holding a bunch of grapes. Without a word, she pulled one grape from its stem and placed it in her mouth. She rolled it within her lips, moistening the fruit so that it shined. Then she reached toward the Pharaoh's hood, offering the grape to her master.

Before Mobius could take the fruit, the door swung open and a priest marched in. Mobius remained seated, barely turning toward the man. He was a lesser priest, one of Mobius' faithful from Khem, and it appeared that he had ridden hard to get here.

"Pharaoh, I am sorry to disturb you, but I have urgent news that cannot wait," the priest blurted out, trying to catch his breath.

"Very well," Mobius said, his tone ice cold. "Tell me this urgent news."

"The Mystery Men are here, master," the priest explained.

"More," Mobius demanded.

"One of the Royal Warehouses in Cairo. It has been demolished. Witnesses say the destruction was caused by an army of costumed men and women."

"And?" Mobius urged.

"They left a message. They carved it into the wall of the warehouse ..."

"With a diamond-tipped cane," Mobius finished. "The trademark of the Guardian. What did the message say?"

The priest gulped nervously. "It said, 'We will bring

you to justice, Dr. Mobius. Your games of conquest are over.' It was signed, the Mystery Men."

The Pharaoh took the moistened grape fromClemeta's delicate fingers and popped it into his mouth. Then he gulped down his wine and tossed the goblet aside. Standing, he said, "You did well to bring me this news, priest. However, you did disturb my evening of relaxation. I hate that." He took Clemeta's chin in his hand and gently tilted her head so that he could look into her soft eyes. "I was so looking forward to relaxing. Ah, well. The duties of the Pharaoh do not end at sundown."

Mobius giggled at that, since such ways of reckoning time no longer worked. The sun rose and fell apparently at will now, due to the change in the planet's spin.

He turned and walked quickly to the door, but he stopped when he got there. "Oh, yes. We have ruined your evening, dear Clemeta. To make it up to you, I present you with a gift." Mobius gestured in the direction of the priest. "He is yours to kill for ruining your pleasure. I just require that his death be slow and agonizing."

Clemeta's mouth dropped open, but when she saw that Mobius was serious her lips curved into a wickedly delightful smile. The priest began to protest, but a look from the Pharaoh silenced him.

"Remember, slow and agonizing. Have fun, my love," Mobius said. He directed his guards to assist Clemeta and hurried off to deal with the new development in his empire.

47

Father Bryce held on to the back of Tom O'Malley's chair as the plane landed. He needn't have bothered, for Tom brought the plane down smoothly, with barely a bump.

"A big difference from your landing, Mara," he joked. But she didn't pick up on the humor. She seemed serious .ill of a sudden.

"They didn't answer your call, Tom," she said. "Why didn't the tower guide you down?"

The pilot shrugged. "It's a small air strip. Maybe no one's around."

It had started to rain as they made their approach, and now the rain was falling heavily. Great drops bounced off the plane and splattered upon the tarmac. O' Malley grabbed the pistol and holster that hung behind his chair. He strapped on the holster as he walked out of the cockpit.

Bryce and Mara followed him, but Albury remained seated. "I'll wait here," he offered as they walked away.

Tom exited the plane first. Kurst and Mara followed behind him, then Tolwyn. Bryce, pulling up the collar of his jacket to ward off some of the rain, exited last. Tolwyn and Tom were waiting right outside the plane when he emerged, getting soaked to the bone.

"Don't just stand there!" Bryce shouted over the drum beat of the rain. "Get inside. Let's go." Tolwyn put out a hand to stop him, and pointed across the runway to the opposite side of the small airfield, and then to the lone building beside a small hangar.

At the door to the building, two men with pistols stood, watching them. And over there, in the pouring rain, a group of at least six was moving toward them at a steady pace from across the runway.

"What's everyone so nervous about?" Bryce asked, his voice nearly a whisper. "They could be friends, you know."

The rain was heavy, very heavy, and it slapped the top of his head like a man playing bongos. The water ran in rivulets down to his eyes and into his beard, and pooled into a little stream that ran off his chin. His clothes were baggy and wet as well, and hung like lead from his body. He really didn't want to get into a fight in these conditions. He wished that they could go inside the building, where it looked warm and bright and dry.

Unfortunately, the way was blocked by the two men with pistols. The men did nothing; they just stood in the doorway and watched. And that would have been fine, if not for the larger group moving across the tarmac, coming toward them out of the rain.

"The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea," Bryce said softly. "Okay, now what?"

Tolwyn growled deep in her throat, and for a moment he thought it was Kurst. But Kurst was gone, into the shadows without a sound. Mara, too, had vanished. Tolwyn took Bryce's arm firmly.

"As you say, either or both groups could be friends," she said, leading him in slow-cadence steps toward the open door of the building, eyes locked forward and unafraid. "But until we find out for sure, let us move on the smaller group first."

Tom nodded and walked with them, also trying to appear calm and unafraid. They continued to stride, step by step, away from the plane and toward the building. The group across the runway began moving faster, and Bryce fancied he could hear a shout come from out of the beating rain. Fear took him, and his breath grew short. There were too many of them! He didn't even have a weapon! He started to run, but Tolwyn's strong arm held him back.

"Easy," she cautioned. "Do not give them cause for

alarm."

The two men in the doorway were motionless, still with their pistols held up, at the ready but not aimed. ISryce was aware of the pounding rain drumming on his head and back, and he wondered where Kurst and Mara were hiding.

Thirty feet from the door, at the point Bryce judged was as close as they wanted to get and still have a chance not to be shot, Tolwyn stopped. She glanced at Tom and he nodded.

"We need fuel for the plane," Tom called. "Is Old Jake .1 round?"

The two men laughed. "Old Jake don't own this place no more. It's ours now," one of the men called back. "And I think that fine airplane out there is ours now,

too."

From behind them, another shout arose.

"Please let us pass," Tolwyn said to the men in the doorway, her voice loud over the driving rain. "We have a vital mission to perform to save a friend's life."

"Come over here, little lady," the second man said. "If you're nice to us, maybe we'll help you." He did not move as he spoke, and his pistol did not waver.

"Who are these people, Tom?" Bryce asked.

"Looters would be my guess," the pilot replied. "Things are a little wilder out here, especially since the days and nights got longer."

Tolwyn continued to walk closer to the two men, finally stopping once she was within arm's length of them. "Will you let us pass?" she asked again.

Bryce waited to hear the answer as though simply asking a person was sufficient for finding out his intentions. And yet, that almost made sense for Tolwyn. She seemed to be able to look inside people sometimes and know their true selves in a way he never could — and he considered himself a very perceptive person.

One of the men grabbed Tolwyn then, wrapping thick fingers around her forearm and pulling her toward him. The other man raised his pistol and aimed it at Bryce and O'Malley, freezing them in their tracks. But the priest noticed that Tolwyn wasn't resisting. She hadn't even reached for her sword. Instead, she let the man pull her close. She tolerated his touch, waiting until he stuffed his pistol back into his jacket pocket.

"Now," he urged, "isn't it nicer in here with me, out of that rain?"

"No," Tolwyn answered truthfully. And with that, she made her move. Her free hand shot out and smashed the pistol away from the other man, then her knee came up to meet the soft flesh between her would-be suitor's legs. She silenced his howl with a shot to the throat that crushed his windpipe.

The second man attacked then, using his greater weight to drive her against the wall of the building. His large fist connected with the side of her head, snapping it back. Bryce gasped, sure that Tolwyn would be injured — or worse. But then her elbow caught the man in the chest, and he staggered back to catch his breath. That's when Tom got involved.

The pilot planted a heavy punch in the man's side. As he spun to ward off the pilot, Tom delivered two quick shots to his face, then decked him with a vicious uppercut. The man, his face a bloody mess, dropped to the ground.

"Are you all right?" Tom asked Tolwyn.

"You let him live," she said, surprise filling her voice. "You are a more generous adversary than I am."

Before Bryce could comment on the exchange, Kurst and Mara were beside him. Both appeared out of the rain silently. He noticed that metal claws were extended from Mara's cybernetic arm. The claws were covered with blood.

"The others have been taken care of," Kurst said.

"How?" Bryce stammered, not sure if he really wanted to know.

"We do not have time for this, priest," Kurst continued. "We must take the supplies we require before any others show up."

"There might be more?" Bryce asked.

"There could be, Chris," Mara answered. "These kind usually travel in packs."

Without any further discussion, Tom went in search of the fuel his plane needed.

48

Quin Sebastian listened as General Clay Powell outlined the facts. President Douglas Kent and Vice President Gregory Farrel had been in New York to attend a special session of the United Nations when the world suddenly changed. New York and a large portion of the east coast had been cut off from the rest of the country, engulfed in a zone of silence that disrupted all forms of modern communications. To add to the problem, the area was crawling with organized armies of dinosaurs and lizard men that were establishing some sort of staging ground for an expanding invasion.

"Recently," continued General Powell, "we discovered that the island of Manhattan had not completely fallen to the invaders. Reports of an interim government being established by the deputy mayor seem to be true, so some form of resistance has been mounted. We have also learned that the street gangs have taken parts of the city for themselves. While these are two very different types of settlements, they both represent order in an area we once took to be in total chaos."

"And?" Quin urged, trying to get to the point of all this.

"One of the refugees, the ex-mayor of New York himself who fled before the first week of the invasion was over, claims to have seen President Kent alive."

Quin sat up in his chair, looking from Powell to Wells for confirmation of what the general was saying.

"That was a few weeks ago, Quin," Wells said. "We only found out about Mayor Green's claim ourselves. After checking it as best we could, I called you."

"And what do you want me to do?" Quin asked.

"I want you to go into New York and find Douglas Kent," Wells said. "And if Kent is alive, I want you to bring him back out of there in one piece."

Quin studied the maps that Powell had brought with him more carefully now, examining the marks that indicated what refugees had reported as far as conditions in the Zone of Silence. "What are these triangles overlaying the map?" Quin asked, pointing at the gray and white triangles that covered the map from New York to the Great Lakes.

"Those are the areas where the lizards have taken control. The gray triangles are areas where our weaponry works occasionally but has an annoying tendency to cut out," Powell explained. "The white triangles are the areas we call the Zone of Silence."

"I want to talk to a few of these refugees," Quin finally said. "And I'll need some special equipment."

"There's a refugee relocation camp in Kentucky," Powell said. "Most of the New Yorkers wind up there sooner or later."