torg 02 - The Dark Realm (2 page)

Tolwyn was covered with cuts and scratches. Blood ran down her body, mingling with her perspiration. None were serious yet, but the total effect was painful. She blocked out the pain and continued to hack and stab at the Carredon, slicing deep cuts into its armor but unable to get to the soft flesh beneath.

Then Tolwyn slipped on a splash of blood, hitting the chamber floor hard.

The Carredon rose over her, victory shining in its evil eyes. "And now this ends, Tolwyn," it sneered.

"Yes, demon, it does!" yelled a powerful voice from elsewhere in the chamber.

The Carredon looked up to see Bryce. The priest held the blue and red stone firmly in his hands, pointing it at the dragon.

"Please, God," Father Bryce called out, "make the image I was shown come true!"

A beam of pure light burst from the stone and struck the Carredon in the chest. The energy danced across the dragon's armor, bathing the creature in lightning. The Carredon screamed in pain, but the energy seemed unable to penetrate the beast's scales. However, a portion of the light had been deflected by the armor. It bounced clear and wrapped itself around Tolwyn's saber, drawn to it like lightning to the highest tree.

As the dragon writhed in the pain caused by the light, Tolwyn watched as her saber blade glowed with the same power. She did not know what it meant, or why she wasn't being assaulted by the lightning as well. But she knew an opening when she saw one. The Carredon had dropped its defensive stance and forgotten about her as it vainly tried to brush away the crackling light.

With all the strength she had remaining, Tolwyn aimed her glowing blade at the Carredon's shoulder, at the spot where the creature had removed two of its own scales. She screamed a war cry that rocked the chamber. Then she drove the blade home.

The beast screamed in agony as the energy exploded into fire within its body. The fire burned with an intensity that was too much for the dragon, boiling its blood and searing its soft flesh. As it crumbled to the chamber floor, Tolwyn raised her sword and prepared to continue hacking and slicing until the dragon was totally destroyed.

A voice from behind her stayed her hand, however, compelling her to turn around.

"That's enough, luv," said the small black man standing where Christopher had been. He was old and lean and wiry, with a mound of white hair that jiggled as he spoke. "This battle is over, and you did good. But there are other battles to fight, and I need to be with you and the other blokes when they occur."

Confused, Tolwyn lowered her sword and asked, "Who are you?"

The black man smiled, revealing a missing tooth and a tongue with a hole in it. "Come to me, Tolwyn. You know the way. West. And down. West and down ..."

The dream ended and Tolwyn awoke. But even in the darkened room, she could hear the black man's voice echo in her mind. There was another journey to make, and perhaps the rest of her memories would be found at the end of this next trail.

Hunting Time

Keep me from the hunting time, when darkness swirls and the moon is full.

Ayslish prayer

Better to take your own life than let the huntsman take it for you.

Ayslish proverb

Kurst had been standing at Decker's bedside throughout the night, trying to find understanding in the swirling energy slowly draining from the congressman's body. Here he was, in an alien cosm, sent to do what he had done countless times before. But this time everything was different. This time he had gone against the Gaunt Man.

He examined Andrew Jackson Decker again, but there was no change. He was still lying in the same position, with the same tubes running into and out of his body. His eyes were still closed, although Kurst could see rapid movement beneath the lids. And the rune staves were still in place, sucking away life and possibility energy to feed the Gaunt Man's machine half a world away.

The staves had been fashioned from the scales of the Carredon, the runes carved by the great dragon's own talons. They were the runes of never life and never death, for that was the condition they left their host in. As far as the hunter knew, there was no way to remove the staves without killing the host — but to leave them in place was to condemn the host to an even worse fate. For the sixth time this night, Kurst contemplated murdering the congressman. And for the sixth time, he held his claws in check.

The Gaunt Man, leader of the invasion of Earth, had sent Kurst to find the stormers named Mara and Tolwyn. He was to bring them back to Orrorsh realm, in what was once Indonesia. The two women were in the company of other stormers — Decker, the priest Bryce, Rick Alder and his edeinos partner Tal Tu, and the two youths Coyote and Rat. They were in search of a stone, and Kurst had decided to accompany them on that

search. It sounded as though they knew the location of an eternity shard, and to bring such a powerful artifact back with the women would be a definite bonus for his master. But then the Gaunt Man changed the rules.

Without informing Kurst, the Gaunt Man sent others after the group. An Earther named Malcolm Kane led a band of hunters into the Grand Canyon, but their mission was very different from Kurst's. They were to kill the group. Obviously, they had not succeeded, and Kane and his companions were dead. At least, they assumed Kane was dead. His body fell into the raging river at the bottom of the canyon and was whisked from sight.

But those were not the only hunters the Gaunt Man had sent. He also sent the Carredon.

The great dragon had come to kill the stormers, and Kurst had fought beside them although he knew that nothing could stop the monster. But something did stop it — Tolwyn and the eternity shard called the Heart of Coyote.

Alder was dead now, and Decker was as near to death as one could be and still be called alive. Kurst had gone against the obvious orders of the Gaunt Man, and he did not know what that meant. He told himself it was because of the words that Thratchen had said. The demon from Tharkold had said that the Gaunt Man was only reacting to a few minor setbacks when he ordered the stormers' deaths. He would be better served, Thratchen had said, if we kept them alive for study. And Kurst said he would do what he could. But was it because he believed the demon, or was it because of some inner purpose of his own that he had yet to understand? The confusion ate at him like the Gaunt Man and the other High Lords ate at this world.

Now they were at the medical facility of a military base called T wentynine Palms, in the portion of America called California. It was where the army copter had taken them when they left the Grand Canyon.

The door to the room opened and Kurst's senses were filled with the odor of flowers and sunshine. It was the nurse, Julie Boot, making her rounds. She did not say a word to Kurst. She simply checked the machines attached to Decker and dabbed at his forehead with a cool sponge. She kept her eyes down, trying not to meet Kurst's gaze. I frighten her, he thought. Tonight, that thought bothered him.

The nurse cleared her throat, but her voice was still a whisper when it emerged from her lips. "Why have you been sitting here all night?" she asked.

"I have been watching Decker," Kurst replied, his own voice low and deep.

"Why?"

"He is... my friend," Kurst said, and he could almost believe it was true.

Then the door opened again, and the smell of thought, learning, and renewed faith assaulted the hunter's senses. Father Christopher Bryce was standing in the doorway.

"Have you been here all night, Mr. Kurst?" the priest asked cautiously. They still did not trust Kurst.

"I have," Kurst replied, looking into the nurse's eyes, keeping his back to Bryce.

"You really should have slept. You're still not a hundred percent yourself."

"Have you come for a reason, Father Bryce?"

"Yes. Yes I have," the priest stammered, taken aback by Kurst's lack of comradery. "Tolwyn has asked us to gather in the rec area. She wants to talk to us."

"Of course." But Kurst did not move from Decker's side until Bryce shut the door and was well on his way.

Then he turned away, leaving Decker to his own troubled dreams and the ministrations of Nurse Boot.

2

It was most definitely
not
a day like any other in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

For one thing, it was hotter than hell — far hotter than Mark Hope could remember. Hot ash sifted down out of the mud-gray sky like pepper from God's shaker, hissing as it fell and turning the city a dirty shade of black. Heat rippled up from the streets, belly-dancing into the sky.

It was also quiet, except for the hissing of the ash and a low rumbling coming from somewhere to the northeast, rolling through the air like angry thunder. There were few cars on the road, and fewer animals in yards to bark or call out to the day. Machinery was silent in factories and on construction sites. People weren't out today — a day that was already thirty-five hours old — for fear of the growing heat. Night, which last showed itself thirty- five eternal hours ago, had been a long period of darkness and record-setting cold. Now, beneath the ash covering that offered some protection, the two-day sun was baking the city into oblivion. The only people still moving about the city were looters, a few loyal policemen, the stubborn who tried to keep their businesses going, and Mark Hope.

Out on Route 30, Mark urged a little more speed out of the once-shiny Chevy truck, and prayed that the air- conditioning wouldn't quit before he reached his family. His wife, daughter, and parents were waiting for Mark to arrive so they could head north, to the rumored safe lands in Canada. Sure, the President had called for Americans to unite against the invasion. Mark had heard the speech over the radio. But as far as Mark was

concerned, flight to Canada was a time-honored tradition for his family. His Uncle Josh, a draft dodger from the Vietnam days, would welcome them to his home in Yellowknife without political comment. They hadn't heard from Josh in a while, but it was a destination, a goal in these troubled times.

Mark thought about recent events, and tears threatened to explode from his eyes. No, he told himself. Calm down. If he fell apart now, he'd never reach his family. And if he didn't arrive, they might not make it to safer climes. Still, images of the last few weeks flashed through his mind, and Mark was forced to examine them. First there were the mysterious reports concerning New York and the east coast. It was like a blackout as communications ceased. Then rumors of some kind of war started to make the rounds, igniting the first stages of panic. Then the refugees appeared, bringing with them tales of dinosaurs and lizard men called edeinos. When the rest of the country finally realized the United States had been attacked, the edeinos invaders appeared on the west coast. Then the planet itself started to slow down; days lasted longer and longer until the heat became unbearable, nights went on until it seemed dawn would never break and the cold would remain forever.

It was like the end of the world.

Mark slowed down through a winding curve, looking for a fuel sign and wondering if anyone still had working pumps, or if they had all been bled dry during the first few days of the panic when survivalists and cowardly hoarders had looted and taken what they claimed they needed without regard for the law. Mark himself had once been forced to take gas at gunpoint, from a garage owner who didn't want cash anymore. The owner

c laimed it was no good now that the government was gone. That was a dirty rotten lie, as anyone who listened to the radio knew, but Mark had paid him fair and square. He dropped the money right there on the ground where the man could take it as soon as Mark stopped pointing the shotgun at him. He winced at the memory.

Mark spotted a Sunoco sign and veered toward the exit. A particularly dense cloud of cinders was falling from the sky as the Chevy pulled off the highway, making the going slow and treacherous, but Mark thanked God that when the Earth slowed down the volcanoes had all gone off at once. He heard the report, how scientists claimed that such a series of eruptions was impossible, but then he thought about everything else that he had heard about over the last month. Nothing would ever seem impossible again.

He pulled the Chevy out of a skid. Driving on ash was similar to driving on snow, he thought. Once he cursed snow, but he was unwilling to curse the ash. Without the ash the volcanoes had sent into the sky to block out the sun, they'd all have roasted or frozen to death by now. As it was, who knew what was going to happen if the planet continued to slow? A reflex glance in the rear- view mirror showed a towering thunderhead moving in from the northeast. It was blacker than the gray-ash sky, moving across the expanse of gray with almost definite purpose. It was unnatural for a storm to move from east to west, but with the Earth turning so slowly, the storms had a tendency to move wherever they pleased. He almost hoped it would catch him with its cooling rain, and he slowed the truck a bit more. After all, caution was more prudent than speed as he traveled over the fallen ash.

Slow and cautious would not bring safety and cool

rain this time, though. This time it would bring death.

3

Within the tower of cloud and darkness that rumbled across the ash-gray sky, the Horn Master flew. He was an imposing specter, cloaked in swirling storm and raging thunder. Lightning crackled from his shoulders, an electric cape flaring in his wake. Monstrous in size, he rode atop a monstrous, foam-spattered stag. His muscled arms and naked chest were stained wet with crimson, and on his head he wore an antlered helmet that hid his face in shadow. But his eyes glared out of the shadow, two points of fire in the night.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the Horn Master as the bolt slashed across the sky. And for those brief seconds, the Horn Master's form changed.

In the light of the bolt, flesh became transparent and the specter was revealed. Gigantic skeleton arms held the reins of his mount, crimson running wet down white bone instead of knotted sinew. His powerful chest faded to expose rib cage, which housed chittering shadow forms that reached through the bone bars with long, sharp claws. His head was not helmeted. The lightning revealed a human skull with flaming eyes and antlers that rose in cruel curves. The stag itself became a black, misshapen thing that ran on four cloven-hooved appendages. Its shadow skin rippled and shifted constantly in the glare of the bolt, as though trying to retain some semblance of form before the shadows dispersed.

When the bolt expended itself, flesh flowed back into place and muscle re-formed. Horn Master and stag galloped on through the tower of cloud and darkness, the waiting storm riding fast beside them.

18

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