torg 03- The Nightmare Dream (36 page)

"You are strong, priest," the knight admitted, "but you do not yet know the extent of the forces you wield."

"Father Bryce!" Tolwyn called the warning as soon as she saw what the knight was doing, but it was too late to help the priest. The undead warrior pulled a dagger from its belt, holding it by the tip as it prepared to throw.

"No!" screamed Tolwyn, but she was too far to stop the skeletal from pulling back. She saw the metal edge of the dagger glint in the final rays of the setting sun. "No!" she screamed again, but her voice was drowned out by a loud, resounding series of bursts.

It took an instant for Tolwyn to recognize the sound of automatic weapons fire — an Earther weapon. She saw Decker holding the weapon, saw the spectral knight pitch forward from the impact of the rounds. Battlestar flew from the abomination's hand as it tried to keep its footing, and it released the dagger as well.

Tolwyn leaped past Bryce, catching the enchanted
2 92
sword before it hit the ground. Its power sang a welcome to its rightful master as she gripped the hilt, rolled, and landed in front of the reeling knight.

"You are not me," Tolwyn proclaimed. Then she drove Battlestar into the spectral knight's breast.

132

Decker, Kurst and Julie ran to join the others, but there was no time for greeting old friends or meeting new ones. Decker got right to the point, addressing Tolwyn as she removed her armor from the spectral knight.

"Uthorion isn't in the castle," Decker explained quickly. "We watched as he and a priest of some sort started down the maelstrom bridge."

"Tolwyn, I have to tell you that Uthorion wears the body of Pella Ardinay," Kurst added, bowing his head. "I should have told you earlier ..."

"I know," Tolwyn said, stopping his confession as the dwarves helped her strap on the armor. "There is no more to say right now."

"Tolwyn, Mara and Djil are on the bridge," Bryce reminded her.

"I know that, too, Christopher," she said, placing the helmet over her head.

"Is it my imagination, or is the shine returning to that armor?" Tom O'Malley asked.

"It knows its true owner," Tolwyn agreed. "For the first time since I battled the Carredon five hundred years ago, I feel truly alive."

She stood before them, in the armor of her House, with the sword of her father. She was Tolwyn of House Tancred again, completely and utterly. A small corner of her heart grieved for the woman Wendy Miller, a woman who was no more. But mourning would have to come later. There was still so much left to do.

"We should go, Tolwyn," Bryce suggested. "Mara and Djil will need our help."

Tolwyn nodded, and the companions headed toward the maelstrom bridge.

133

Katrina Tovarish was alone in a world of darkness. She remembered the Tharkold and the pod it wanted to place her in. Then her mind exploded — at least that's what it felt like — splintering into a thousand shards of sharpness that ... what? She tried to remember what happened next. The shards of her mind slashed at the Tharkold's mind like sharp glass, tearing it as easily as a knife cut through meat. The Tharkold was no more. After that the darkness descended and she blacked out. But now her mind was whole again, and the darkness remained.

Not that she wasn't used to darkness. She was blind, after all. But the darkness she knew was never so deep before, so complete. She had been able to "see" things with her mind—images, other people's thoughts, things that were to come. Now there was nothing. Just the darkness.

In addition, her normal senses seemed cut off as well. She did not feel anything touching her, not the floor she assumed she laid upon, not the gentle brush of wind, not even the scratching of clothing against her skin. There were no smells, no sounds, no tastes. There was nothing but the darkness.

She did not feel the presence of Nicolai Ondarev. She did not even hear the ever-present sound of the Earth, the song of life that comforted her. And even the frightened voice was gone, the voice that she had long ago told Nicolai belonged to the one she was really helping. The pain-filled voice that was the Earth, and was also something more. But it was gone now.

She was alone ...

... in the darkness ...

... total darkness.

Katrina Tovarish screamed.

134

The mirror's surface rippled like the surface of a pond, and when the ripples subsided, Thratchen was looking at the image of Dr. Hachi Mara-Two. She was dressed for battle, painted with the Kadandran mask of war that became popular during what they called the Sim War. Thratchen was intimately familiar with her garb, for he battled against those who wore it throughout the war. Why was she wearing it now, he wondered.

He examined her surroundings, forcing the mirror to expand the image so that he could see more of the place around her. She was with the aborigine shaman, who was involved in a ritual that screamed of Earth magic. The two were standing on a maelstrom bridge formed of stone and mortar. It was the bridge to Aysle.

Thratchen felt another presence deep within the mirror, but he ignored it as he studied the shaman's ritual. Djilangulyip was weaving a spell to connect one of the intermediate dimensions of Earth to the maelstrom bridge! For what purpose?

Intrigued, Thratchen watched as Djil completed the ritual dance and the bridge expanded to fill the horizon. It was now part of another of Earth's dimensions, the path down to Aysle realm hidden from view. But the path was still there. Thratchen could sense it. He absently flexed his fingers, and he saw with some amusement that Mara did the same — with the fingers of her left hand.

He expanded the image even more, and he found what he expected was the reason for the battle paint and the ritual. He saw two High Lords approaching, not realizing that they were walking into a trap.

"Do you really think you can stand against two High Lords, Mara?" Thratchen asked, realizing that she could not answer him. "Of course you do," he said in wonder. "You believe that you can do anything! You believe that you can stop Uthorion and Malraux, just as you neutralized the Gaunt Man."

The presence far back in the mirror was stronger now, but still Thratchen ignored it. He had to see how Mara's ploy would end.

His curiosity demanded it.

135

Kurst, Decker and Julie were at the back of the group, following as Tolwyn and Bryce led them toward the maelstrom bridge. Kurst thought that the valley was darker than the hour demanded, filled with shadows almost as deep as full night instead of the gray shadows of twilight. They walked further, and Kurst barely noticed as Tolwyn set foot upon the stone bridge. His senses were occupied by other things. There was something wrong, but he could not yet identify what that something was.

Bryce and the dwarves were next onto the bridge. Then Tom O'Malley. Kurst motioned for Decker and Julie to go as he stood at the bridgehead.

"Come on, Kurst," Decker called. "It's time to go."

"There is something wrong here, Decker," Kurst

said. "Something is not right."

Decker looked around, but Kurst could tell that if he felt anything at all, it was just a vague premonition. "What do you sense, Kurst?" Decker asked at last.

"I sense ... watchers," Kurst said carefully, deliberately choosing his words. "I sense ... hungry eyes watching us."

That was when the shadows moved. They slipped from the castle wall, from behind trees, from the very ground itself, becoming the warriors of the Wild Hunt as they flowed toward the bridge. One shadow sprang up behind Kurst, forming into an armored warrior wielding a two-handed sword. Before the shapeshifter could react, the shadow warrior plunged the sword into Kurst's side. The shapeshifter screamed, flowing from human to werewolf to werebear as the sword passed through his shifting flesh and emerged from the other side.

"Kurst!" Decker screamed. He charged the warrior, leveling his rifle but refusing to shoot while Kurst remained between them.

The huntsman pulled his sword free, and Kurst slid to the ground. His body continued to shift from one form to another, sometimes combining two forms before one or another was complete. The huntsman turned to face Decker's charge, but the congressman stopped running well beyond the range of the sword. Decker aimed the rifle and squeezed the trigger, and the huntsman went down in a cloud of bullets and blood.

"When they become solid, they can be hurt," Decker whispered. "They can be killed."

More shadows were approaching, becoming huntsmen and wolves as they got closer. Decker did not hesitate. He tossed a grenade into one group of huntsmen, then charged forward into the others. He was firing bursts from his M-16, using the last magazine as efficiently as possible.

Kurst watched through a haze of pain. The huntsman's weapon hurt him! Never had he felt such physical pain. It rivaled the worst that the Gaunt Man had done to his spirit over the years. He was able to stop his runaway shifting with considerable effort, stabilizing it in his werewolf form. He started to rise. He had to reach Decker, fight beside his friend until there was no life left to fight with. That was his destiny, to die beside a friend. But he heard someone running toward him from behind, and he spun to meet whoever it was.

"Ace!" Julie called frantically as she tried to run past Kurst. But the werewolf grabbed hold of her, stopping her.

"Let me go, Kurst! Let me go!" Julie raged, banging him with balled fists.

Kurst held her tightly, letting her vent her rage upon him as he turned to see how Decker was doing. The congressman was standing in a clearing, two dark forms lying still at his feet. More shadows were closing on him, and he only had a moment to rest. Decker met Kurst's gaze.

"Get her out of here, Kurst," Decker called. "Don't make this sacrifice be in vain."

The two friends looked at each other for long moments, communicating on a level that neither thought possible. Kurst felt his heart go out to the Earther, and he longed to aid him in the final fight. But he also respected Decker's wishes, even though the decision he was about to make would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Then the Wild Hunt was upon Andrew Jackson Decker. There were only moments left before Decker fell. Kurst knew that. He had no other choice. "I am sorry, my friend," Kurst whispered.

Then Kurst lifted Julie, who was still struggling with him, and stepped onto the bridge.

136

Decker watched as Kurst did as he asked. It was hard for the hunter to walk away from this fight, but if he didn't then all three of them would die. Maybe Tolwyn and the others as well. Decker thought about what Kurst had said, how all six of them were needed.

"Sorry, my friends," Decker whispered. "You'll have to finish this one without me."

He emptied the M-l 6's magazine into the approaching shadows, but they still crawled closer. He tossed his last grenade, then pulled his pistol from its holster. It was the last real weapon he had.

"You have fought well," a huge man atop a black stag said, riding out of the shadows by the castle. "You will make a fine addition to the Hunt."

Decker knew instinctively that this was the leader. What had Paragon called him? The Horn Master? If Decker could take him out, then the others might have the time they needed to finish this business. He stepped into the stag's path.

"I'm Andrew Jackson Decker," the congressman said, pointing his pistol at the Horn Master. "And this is for my world."

Decker fired four shots before the stag's pounding hooves brought him down.

137

Mara stood in the Dream Time, letting its shifting panorama reel about her. She focused upon the bridge before her, concentrating on the few shaped stones that remained to form a path back to Aysle. The rest of the bridge, walls and all, drifted into the exaggerated landscape of the Dream Time.

Djil had finished his dance, and now he was singing a dream song. She tried to follow the words, but did not know enough of the aborigine's language to understand what he was singing. She looked toward the horizon, tracing the stone path with her eyes. Distance was almost meaningless here, for she could see unbelievably far. That was how she saw the two figures.

They were walking straight toward her, not straying from the stone path. The first was a tall woman in a white gown. She reminded Mara of Tolwyn, only older, more refined. But there was a darkness to the woman as well, a swagger that was definitely male. The second figure was a man in priestly garments and a tall hat. He carried a staff topped with an ornate cross, and was obviously dressed for a high mass or other important function. He, too, had a darkness about him, and Mara shivered though the air was not cold.

"Djil?" Mara asked, trying to get the shaman's attention. He did not respond. He just continued to sing. He was painted with a white chalk she noticed, although she had not seen him pause to apply it. The white showed clearly against his dark skin, making him appear ghostly, more like a part of this spirit realm than of the natural world. "Djil, help me," she pleaded, but he continued to sing his song of dreams.

Beyond the approaching figures, Mara noticed that more people had stepped upon the bridge. There were seven more shapes walking the stone path, but they were still too far away for Mara to see clearly. For a moment, she had a feeling that someone was watching