torg 03- The Nightmare Dream (16 page)

"I got it!" Julie exclaimed as she turned the key and the jeep started.

"Get us out of here, Julie," Decker said, steadying himself on the-still-warm machinegun. "I don't want to try that again."

48

Colonel Matthews and Major Covent sat together in the command jeep, watching as the war continued. It was not a pretty sight. There were no clear rules of battle, no set positions to defend. All either side knew was their own goals—the lizards and gospog wanted to walk out of the storm, the American soldiers wanted to prevent them from accomplishing that goal.

It was a bloody engagement. The lizards were virtually helpless before the weapons the soldiers employed, and they were cut apart by automatic fire power. What they lacked in weaponry, though, they made up in speed and numbers. The soldiers were busy running from one part of the storm to another trying to contain their advance. The gospog were another matter. They could take much more damage before they fell, so valuable ammunition was being wasted trying to bring them down. They also had automatic weapons, captured from dead American soldiers during earlier battles. The first bursts had come as a surprise to the soldiers, slicing a wide path through them before they could respond. Now they had taken up defensive positions, digging in to wait out which side would run out of ammo first.

Waiting to see when their guns would stop working.

"I hope Sebastian and Tal Tu find the stelae in time," Covent commented.

"You put too much hope in these schemes, major," Matthews sneered.

"What else is there to believe in?"

Soon the sounds of battle lessened, and Covent could see that his men were holding the invaders at bay. While they had been eager to rush headlong into the path of heavy gunfire, there was a limit to their self-destructive tendencies.

"We've got them, Covent!" Matthews exclaimed. "By God, I think we've stopped the charge!"

Covent was about to join him in celebratory congratulations when a thunderous sound echoed out of the storm. It sounded like the worst thunderhead he ever heard, but it also sounded like the blare of Gabriel's Horn. It sounded like the end of the world.

It fell deathly quiet after the echo died down. Nothing moved on either side. Covent rubbed his eyes, thinking they were playing tricks on him. The wall of the storm had broken off, sending a tower of black, lightning-filled cloud rolling toward his soldiers. Then, as he watched, the cloud bubbled away. In its place were terrible, black-clad riders atop huge war horses. The mounts galloped in place for a few seconds, showing supernaturial discipline throughout the activity around them, then the horn sounded again.

And the slaughter began.

49

Mobius sat at the great bench in his workroom, tinkering with his latest invention. It was a mass of tubes, resistors and wires, and it smelled of weird science and arcane rites. Clemeta was beside him, gently massaging his shoulders while he worked. Angus Cage, still undercover in his role as a palace servant, carried a tray of fruits and wine, and placed it before the Pharaoh. Mobius, wearing the brown cowl that covered his features and muffled his voice, did not even look up. Clemeta, however, graced him with a smile that made his heart melt.

He held his breath, trying to get her out of his mind. He had never fallen for a woman this hard before (okay, maybe once or twice), and never while on a job (although there was that time in Germany...). The invention could be important, but he decided not to take any chances this time. He bowed, turned, and walked quickly toward the door.

"One moment," Mobius called, and Cage froze.

Had he slipped up somehow? Was Mobius able to pick up his thoughts about the Royal Escort through some new gadget hidden within his cowl? His heart raced, and he used every mental control he could think of to calm himself.

"Yes, Pharaoh?" Cage asked, keeping his head low in a sign of fealty.

"You may take the tray back to the kitchens," Mobius said. "We will not need it."

He retrieved the tray, trying not to watch as Clemeta peeled a grape with her teeth. He made it to the door without incident, but almost walked into the two men that entered as he opened it.

The first was one of Mobius' special agents, for he wore insignias that marked him as such. The second was the hooded villain known as the Green Shroud. Cage had gone up against the Shroud back on Terra. He hoped the villain didn't recognize him. He bowed to the pair and pushed past them. They ignored him as they moved into the room.

Cage waited a few minutes to see if they would come right out. When they didn't, he moved back to the door, pushed it open a crack, and listened.

"I want the Gaunt Man's Infernal Machine!" Mobius declared. "I want you two to find its location before this planet stops spinning and report back to me. It holds the energy I need to become Torg, and with the Gaunt Man off on one of his frequent side trips, this is the perfect opportunity for me to claim it."

"We shall not fail you, Pharaoh," the Nile agent declared.

"I'll have my associates scour the world in search of it, Mobius," the Green Shroud agreed.

"Then do it!" the Pharaoh shrieked. "I want to surprise the Gaunt Man when he returns, and what a surprise it will be!"

The meeting concluded, Cage disappeared down the corridor before the two villains emerged from the workroom. He didn't know what any of this meant, but

he was sure Dr. Frest would know. All he had to do was make contact with him without breaking his cover. Piece of cake, he mused.

50

The ravagon found Baruk Kaah lying alone beside a shattered tree. He cursed the arrogance of the High Lord. First he thought he could stamp out a hard point as big as Silicon Valley, then he decided to go one-on-one against stormers with high-tech Earther weapons. He did not deserve his Darkness Device!

Leaning close, he checked for signs of life. The Saar still lived! That meant the ravagon was obliged to aid him. The warrior who brought him the High Lord's message was with him, staring in shock at his fallen master. The ravagon slapped his wings across his body and faced the young edeinos.

"Go gather the gotaks and bring them here," the ravagon ordered. "The priests of the dead will know what to do with Baruk Kaah."

"Will he live?" the young warrior asked.

"If you hurry," -he replied, "and if they can get him to Rec Pakken in time."

The warrior took off without another word, running as fast as he could into the mist. The ravagon turned back to the fallen High Lord.

"You had to attempt to take Paragon alone?" he asked, expecting no answer. "Your pride has been your undoing, High Lord of Takta Ker."

The ravagon spread black wings. He would not confront the stormers by himself, but he would follow them to see where they were going. They were dangerous, and that meant they could pose a threat to his own master, the Gaunt Man. He took one more look at the

High Lord lying beneath him.

"Pitiful," the ravagon scowled. Then, with a powerful flap of his wings, he took to the air.

51

Thratchen stood before the Gaunt Man's ornate mirror. The mirror still leaned against the wall in the workroom beneath Illmound Keep, in the place it had been since the Gaunt Man moved it from the tower. A spider-web crack marred the reflective surface, radiating from the spot Thratchen had punched on the night of the Gaunt Man's demise.

The mirror, which the Gaunt Man named Wicked, was a portal to other places, as well as a means to secretly view those who were far away. Thratchen had shattered it in order to keep Kurst from using its power to reach Decker, to force Mara and the others to use their own powers to send the werewolf — dire wolf, he corrected — on his way. Now, looking at his own reflection in the mirror, he hoped he had not destroyed the instrument.

"Wicked," Thratchen intoned, calling the mirror by its name as he had secretly observed the Gaunt Man do, "reveal to me Kurst."

Nothing. The demonkind's reflection remained, cut through by the tiny cracks in the glass. Thratchen placed his hands on the ornate frame. "Wicked," he demanded, "show me the dire wolf!"

Was it his imagination, or was the spider-web crack shrinking? Could the mirror heal itself? As he watched, the surface shimmered, clouded over, and his own image disappeared. Thratchen tried to back away, but he could not pull his hands free. His fingers had somehow passed through the wood and were now trapped inside the frame. Panic welled inside him, and Thratchen

screamed.

"What are you doing to me?" he shouted, hysteria creeping into his voice. "Let go!"

The mirror held him fast.

It was draining him, taking vital energy from him. He thought of Sabathine and their time together. While he enjoyed the vampyre's company, he was never truly comfortable, for in the back of his mind he could not stop the image of her red lips kissing his neck, of her pure white fangs breaking his flesh, of the sucking sounds, from invading his thoughts. But none of those images became real. Sabathine controlled herself. He had made it through a night with a vampyre, his life intact. It did not seem fair that he would now lose it to a vampyric mirror.

"No!" Thratchen raged, gathering his will to use against his captor. The crack was almost gone now, retracing its way back to the place his fist had battered. "Release me!"

With a final effort, Thratchen pulled his hands free. He felt the wood let go, allowing his fingers to slip out with only a soft plop. The mirror, still clouded over, was whole again, unmarred. And though he knew some part of himself had been taken, he felt that no lasting damage had been done to him.

"Wicked," he said again, focusing his will into the command, "let us try that again. Reveal to me Kurst!"

The surface shimmered, rippling like the surface of a still pond after a pebble had struck it. When it again calmed, Thratchen was looking at Kurst.

The hunter was riding in a motorized vehicle. It was one of the primitive wheeled transports used by the Earthers. He was with three others. One was Decker, who showed no lingering damage after his long ordeal with the rune staves. The others Thratchen did not know. From their surroundings, he guessed they were in the Living Land. He reached out with his mind, projecting a question into the mirror.

"Who are you, Kurst?" he asked. "Who are you?"

The hunter looked up, staring directly into Thratchen's eyes across the distance of the mirror. It was disconcerting, as though Kurst was aware of this intrusion, able to watch his watcher. That was impossible, Thratchen told himself. Kurst did not possess such powers, no matter what racial tag he claimed.

The mirror shimmered again, and Kurst was gone.

"No!" Thratchen shouted. "Bring him back!" His mind reached into the mirror, probing, searching for the connection back to Kurst. As he searched this unfamiliar place, Thratchen felt the touch of another image. Tentatively, he touched back, trying to determine if it was Kurst or some other agent the mirror was attuned to. As he made contact, the techno-demon decided it wasn't Kurst. There was too much darkness in this image, and a disconcerting slice of madness.

The mirror's surface rippled, swirled, and the image that Thratchen found took shape. It was the image of a man, as seen through a blood-red haze. The man was large, with long blond hair. A tattoo adorned one forearm. It was a picture of a cobra, coiled and ready to strike. He wore heavy, metal-toed work boots, and he carried a long knife with a serrated edge.

"Malcolm Kane," Thratchen gasped, remembering when he interrupted the Gaunt Man in the tower room. The High Lord had been looking at the mirror, and he had said the name of his Earther servant. But Kane was dead! The stormers had killed him in the Grand Canyon! Or had they? Thratchen remembered that the body was not recovered.

The techno-demon watched the scene in the mirror. In it, Kane was standing over a woman. Wet crimson stained his knife, his hand. He had murdered, and Thratchen knew it was not the first time. Or the last. He studied the image, probing for other information. Then he had it.

"He is in Orrorsh realm," Thratchen gasped. Why had the man come here? "To find the Gaunt Man," he realized as understanding dawned.

With a wave of his hand, the mirror returned to normal. He was getting the hang of this, Thratchen decided. He would come back to it later to learn what other uses the mirror had. Right now he had to find Cheltenham and send him after Kane before the man got too close. It would not do to have him find the Gaunt Man.