torg 02 - The Dark Realm (26 page)

Gaunt Man's estate. It was vaulted with many towers, and darkness clung to it like schools of feeding shark. The windows were dark and forbidding, and the stonework gave him a sense of intense cold. Grave cold. Looking across the vast face of the structure, Bryce felt a sense of danger, and of fear.

He was afraid of the Gaunt Man.

But before he could dwell on that, something happening up ahead called his attention. A group of young roughs were blocking the street. Kurst had spoken to them, but they made no attempt to move aside.

"I say again, move away," Kurst commanded in his most threatening tone.

The leader of the roughs laughed. "This is our street, human," he said in a heavily-accented voice. It reminded Bryce of Cockney, but not quite. "You're going to have to leave a few of the little ones if you want safe passage."

"And if we don't?" Kurst asked.

"Then we'll take you all!" the leader shouted as he began to change. He shifted, much the way Kurst did, growing thick hair as his features became more wolflike. He was a werewolf, but was nowhere near as impressive looking or as large as Kurst became when he shifted. The other roughs changed as well, turning into rat men who chattered in expectation of a kill.

"A werewolf leading wererats?" Kurst actually laughed, and Bryce decided he liked him better when he didn't. "Well, let's see who has the sharper claws."

Kurst did his shifting act then, growing larger, more powerful. His demonic wolf shape towered over the roughs, and the other werecreatures shrank back.

"We have no quarrel with you, dire wolf," the werewolf rough said. Bryce heard the fear in his voice. "We did not know that these were yours."

The werecreatures disappeared then, fading into the shadows that lined the street. When they were gone, Kurst shifted back to human form.

"What was that all about?" Bryce asked. "What's a dire wolf?"

"Apparently, I am," Kurst replied, shaken by the' encounter. "There are things about my past that, like Tolwyn, I don't remember. This must be one of those things."

107

They were such infinitely useless fools, all of them! The Gaunt Man cursed low and often as the view in the mirror phased in and out until he thought his head would burst with the throbbing colors and the searing flashes of light. Damn all stormers to the depths of darkness anyway! And especially damn the fact that they existed in droves on the very worlds best for plundering.

Thinking of the plunderable power brought calm, and with the calm the Gaunt Man's mental control over the rituals necessary to enact the mirror became more solid. The view cleared, and he was looking at the outside of his own castle, the open courtyard that none might pass without permission.

He had moved the mirror into the basement so that he could view distant happenings while he worked to reestablish the machine's link to Decker. He saw the burning gospog field, and the scene filled him with rage. And now he watched as Kurst led a large band of others through the maze of spirits that patrolled the grounds.

"You relentless sneak!" he breathed in a voice twisted with inhuman pain and hate that would have slain a normal human to hear it. "What changes have been wrought in you, Kurst?" For a moment, he considered raising a general alarm, summoning warriors from the very stones of Illmound Keep to engage and overwhelm and annihilate the intruders. But if this were just Kurst's way of bringing them to him, then he would be a fool to risk upsetting that plan. Best to let the hunter run his course.

Again he turned to the mirror to watch as Kurst spoke a word that had been taught to him in strictest confidence, setting to rest the bones of seven warriors that otherwise would have risen up to tear at the flesh of any mortals so foolish as to cross the keep's grounds. The graves remained quiet, then, and Kurst led the group onward, past the runes painted on the lower entrance that should have sounded an alarm but did not as the hunter gestured in the prescribed fashion. The Gaunt Man realized at that moment that if the gospog field had not been burned, alerting him, they might have entered the keep in complete secrecy. His fleshless fingers clenched and unclenched.

"Oh, they will die," the Gaunt Man whispered, "with the possibilities torn from their souls without preparation. They will scream as they die, and I shall be there, laughing at them all the while, driving runes into each and every one of them and sending them into my machine."

But Kurst was a bit of disquiet in an otherwise obvious course of action. To smash these overconfident stormers was all the Gaunt Man wished. But what of Kurst? If he proved to have betrayed him, what course was available? Kurst was a valuable investment, not easily discarded just because a flaw had shown itself. Far better to spend some time with the machine, re-educating, eradicating, remolding. If it was a painful process for Kurst, so be it.

The ungrateful lout certainly deserved much pain for his betrayal. The Gaunt Man smiled and left the mirror, passing a hand over its coldness so that the image of Kurst's face was frozen on the surface.

The machine was at the other end of the massive chamber, fully a hundred yards away. The Gaunt Man, eager to bring the stormers under control, crossed the room, speaking words of power as he moved. He did not run, but walked easy with loose-limbed strides.

The machine rose in power as its sounds rose in pitch, and all seemed to be functioning perfectly. He touched the flat plate, intoned his wishes out loud to better form them in his mind, then crossed quickly back to the mirror to witness the effects of what he had done.

Darkness wrapped him like a cloak as the machine screamed the scream of a tortured soul. The Gaunt Man laughed at what he now saw.

108

Kurst moved cautiously, sight and smell at wolf- level, ears arched forward like a wolf, looking for signs of danger. Behind him, Tolwyn moved almost as quietly, her sword held forward and up in her hand, her eyes bird-bright as she flicked her head back and forth. Bryce was behind her, trying to walk silently and failing miserably. Kurst glided through the darkness. The corridor was damp and smelled of things that grew in the deep places of the earth.

Behind Bryce, the dwarves moved in steady single file, a fighting unit far more dangerous than they looked. All held their battle spikes at ready, carefully avoiding clanging the metal against the stones of the wall. Behind them, Tom followed. Kurst could hear nothing of either Djil or Mara.

Something like a blue light danced before his eyes then, and he stopped, a low growling emerging from his throat. An attack? His hands came up, wolf-paws and extended silvery claws.

"What?" Tolwyn whispered, but he did not reply.

It passed, a feeling of dread and chill that had come upon him with the flash of light. His eyes cleared and he again saw only the dank corridor stretching before him, the shadows unmoving, a stairway on the left leading up, and cross-corridors further ahead.

"It was nothing," he whispered, turning to let Tolwyn see his lips that he might speak more softly. "I think those stairs are what we want. Let me scout ahead just for a moment." Before she could reply, he turned and was gone.

A feeling of freedom came over him as he moved up the stairs, a sense of space and release of pressure: all those others around him were a danger, a hindrance. He was Kurst, and he worked best when he was alone.

He padded up the steps one-by-one, feeling for deadfalls or alarms, remembering in his bones the layout of the keep. This stair rose to nearly the top level, then across two rooms to a little-used access stair. Yes. It was his fate, his ultimate goal. He would leave the others here — they would find the way, they were clever and resourceful — and he would go, on his own, to the Gaunt Man's tower.

He stood a better chance alone, for if he did meet any of the guards or servants, they would know him and let him pass. And he could arrange a diversion for the others, if they were not stealthy enough. And when he reached the tower, he would find the stairs that led down to the cellars and the machine. He would find a way to destroy the machine by himself, and then find the others and escape. Would they all be able to survive the Gaunt Man's wrath? If he were quick enough, perhaps. Perhaps the damage to the machine could be subtly done... enough! No need for thinking — he knew what he had to do, and how best to do it.

Slowly, step by step, Kurst wound his way higher and higher into the castle of his master. His footsteps were barely audible as he moved; the loudest sound he made was a low growl that came constantly from his throat, like the rumbling of the far distant machine.

109

Lance Odell watched as President Wells and Decker met for the last time. Air Force One was outside, waiting to carry the President back to Houston. Boot and McCall were a respectful distance from the two men, giving them as much privacy as they could. Only one of Well's security men was nearby. Odell, dressed as a soldier and standing guard at the door, quickly memorized every person's position. Then he made his move.

He stepped up to Decker, smiling and reaching out to shake the congressman's hand. Decker was taken aback by the approach, off balance. That was just what Odell wanted. He took the congressman's hand, then shifted his weight quickly, placing himself behind Decker and holding his arm behind him in a crushing grip. With his other hand, Odell produced an automatic pistol.

The security guard moved to intercept Odell, throwing his body between the gun and the President. He took two shots as Odell fired, dying before he hit the floor. Decker tried to free himself, or at least to knock off Odell's aim. But the Spartan was strong. He easily held the weakened congressman in check.

"This is for America, Mr. President," Odell yelled.

"Do what you think you must, young man," Wells said calmly. "Just don't kill anyone else."

His next two shots caught John Wells in the head. Decker screamed and lashed out at the sight of his friend falling, actually pulling free of Odell. Not wanting to take any chances, Odell whipped the pistol across Decker's head, knocking the congressman to the ground. He saw McCall and Boot moving toward the President, saw the other security men racing in from outside. Odell slipped out the opposite door, then into the air shaft he had scouted earlier.

They would look for him, but they wouldn't catch him. All he had to do now was make a call to Quartermain and have him send in the Spartans.

Just like they planned.

The Gaunt Man watched Kurst progress upward, drawing ever closer to the stairs that would then lead him down into the bowels of the keep. He could see the glowing blue and red sparks as they detached themselves from the hunter's body and floated upward to the mirror's surface. He laughed each time this occurred, for it was clear that Kurst was in pain and yet had no idea what was happening to him. Satisfied that Kurst would soon be taken care of, he moved away from the mirror, pulling something brown and twisted from a pocket of his garment. He held the dried thing in his palm and whispered a few words of power. The thing burst into flame

Smoke billowed from it, a thousand times the volume that could have been expected, writhing unnaturally away from the Gaunt Man. It was a mist of madness that billowed like fog, puffing around corners, boiling down stairways and through doors. It was a gray mist that obscured vision although it was transparent. It carried death, and it filled the manor.

"Fly, spirits of the mist," the Gaunt Man ordered. "Deal with the intruders. But do not kill the women. Save them for me."

Ill

"We cannot wait any longer," Tolwyn declared. "If he has been hurt, he needs our help. If he has betrayed us ..." She did not have to finish the statement.

Bryce frowned. "I just want to get on with this. Lead on."

Tolwyn moved with catlike grace and caution, wincing at the noise Bryce made behind her. The dwarves moved well, and Mara and Djil were ghosts behind them. But Tom had feet of stone. Ah well, not much to be done about it.

She found the stairs Kurst had taken, started up them one slow step at a time. There were side passages almost immediately, and he could have taken any one. Trying to find him looked hopeless, but the offshoot passages were small, and smelled musty with age. It did not seem likely he had gone that way.

She bent low over the next stair, staring at it through the gloom. Was that a footprint, marked with claws at the tips of the toes? It was hard to tell if she was imagining it or not, but it looked like his tracks, and they were moving up. She followed, hunching over every step, still seeing faint prints. Were they really there? She sighed and continued.

It was foolish to have let him leave the group — he was their only guide! Even if he was trustworthy, if he was killed they would have to stumble around in the

dark, just like they were doing now.

She did not notice the writing on the archway through which she passed, or the way the letters glowed and the corridor shifted.

Seconds later her subconscious realized that something was wrong: silence followed her. The rustle of the dwarves, the scrunch of Bryce's shoes — the sounds were gone. She whirled, sword ready.

And she found herself alone. Alone in the Gaunt Man's keep.

A faint mist grew up around her, so slow that at first she did not notice. But she did see the chamber come into being, its high vaulted ceiling suddenly rising above her, a descending stair dropping away across the wide, carpet-covered floor. There was no other egress. Fearful of what might have happened to the others, she started forward.

The carpet beneath her feet squished as she walked, and for a moment she imagined that she had stepped on something alive. She walked further, and the squishing continued, only now it was accompanied by tiny screams of pain. With her sword she caused a breeze that forced the mist to part momentarily so that she could see the carpet better. But the rug was no longer a swirl of bright colors. It was a mat of maggots, wriggling and sliding one over the other in a dance of bodies.

The maggots continued their wriggling dance, piling atop each other. The carpet of worms gathered its members from the far corner of the room, creating a mound in the center of the floor between Tolwyn and the stairs down. Soon it was a mound the same height as she was, shaped like some mountain in miniature. Tolwyn put one foot in front of her in the direction of the stairs, and the mound moved!

Two appendages like legs formed out of the mound, made of intertwined worms and swirling mist. Then two maggot arms formed from its side, reaching for her. Instinctively she swung her sword, and a spray of maggot juice blinded her as the metal slapped into the piled insects. She staggered, gasping and spitting, and teetered on the brink of nothingness. With a yell of surprise, she tumbled down the steps which somehow appeared beneath her feet. Jarring pain shot through her as she bounced down several steps, coming to a halt at a small landing. She hunched, dazed, her sword lost in the tumble. For long moments her body would not respond to desperate mental commands, and she feared broken bones or worse. But slowly the disorientation faded, and Tolwyn rose up, staring up into the mist. The maggot-beast was still coming. It was almost on top of her, reaching out. There was no time to turn and run.