torg 03- The Nightmare Dream (6 page)

Markham smiled. It was an evil smile, more like a skull's perpetual grimace than a reaction to humor.

"You can give me the source of power you carry. Do not deny that you have it. I have alread y identified it through arcane means."

Bryce reached into his pocket and put his hand around the shard of blue-red stone he carried. It was but a sliver of its original self, its song nothing but a whisper now. Any power it possessed, Bryce knew, was trapped with the Gaunt Man in a perpetual cycle of creation and destruction. Still, Bryce wasn't going to let the shard fall into Markham's greedy hands.

Grim had said that the insect things — chthon, Markham called them — reeked of necromancy. As Bryce understood the term, necromancy referred to a wizard who communes with spirits of the dead. Apparently, in Markham's case, that included dead insects.

"While my other chthons chase your companions, I have narrowed my own search to you, priest," Markham said. "You will give me the shard, whether of your own volition or of mine."

The priest backed up a step, hoping that a solution to this predicament would reveal itself. His cross was gone, and he carried no weapons. All he had was the shard of stone, and that had demonstrated none of the abilities that the unbroken Heart of Coyote had performed for him. Maybe he could find a heavy stick or a rock, he thought, desperately searching the ground.

"Recover the shard," Markham ordered, and the chthon dropped Toolpin and shambled after the priest.

Bryce hefted a fallen tree branch. It was solid, and he decided it would make a serviceable club. However, he was fairly certain that it would cause the chthon little, if any, harm.

"Stay back," Bryce warned, but the chthon ignored him. It continued forward at a steady pace, all of its dead insect eyes fixed on him with hungry glares. He swung the stick like a baseball bat, hoping to keep the monster at bay.

"Hang on, Father Bryce," Toolpin called as he rushed .it the chthon's exposed back. He still had his battle spike, and he smashed it into the chthon with all his might.

"Toolpin, be careful," Bryce started to say, but his warning came to late.

The chthon whirled on the dwarf, knocking him senseless with the back of one chitinous claw. Toolpin fell to the ground, landing heavily as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Enough of these distractions, priest," Markham said. "Give me the shard and I will let you and your companions continue on your way in peace. But if you try to thwart my will, I will use each of you as a host for some foul entity. You would not like sharing your body with something that is alien, Father Bryce."

The chthon stepped closer, looming over the priest like a mantis over some lesser insect. Bryce imagined he heard thousands of dead insects grind thousands of mandibles together in hungry anticipation. This close, he could see the separate carcasses stacked to form the chthon's humanoid shape. He could see his reflection in a thousand insect eyes.

"No!" he screamed, shattering his stick across the chthon's chest.

"You cannot harm the chthon, Biyce," Markham explained. "How can you hurt that which is already dead?"

In answer, a whirling sound emerged from the jungle. Bryce looked up to see a massive war boomerang spinning through the air. It caugli 11 he chthon in the back of the neck, actually staggering it.

"Who dares?" Markham demanded, spinning to look into the jungle.

Bryce followed Markham's gaze, al t hough he already had a good idea where the boomerang came from. Sure enough, a small black man with a white beard and a patch of white hair walked into the clearing. He smiled at Bryce with his missing tooth grin, then turned to the necromancer.

"We must leave now," Djilangulyip said solemnly to the dark mage. "We have no desire to become hosts for evil spirits, but we also have no desire to give you the stone shard."

"You have no choice," Markham raged. "The chthon will destroy you."

"Perhaps," Djil agreed. "But perhaps not." He started to sing then, and though Bryce didn't understand the words he somehow sensed their intent. It was a song to the spirits of the dead insects, intoning them to return to their rightful resting place.

"No!" Markham raged, and began making gestures with his hands and arms.

Bryce could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up as the dark mage gathered power. He was preparing to cast a spell. The priest had seen Grim make similar motions throughout this trip, but Markham's exhibited none of the dwarf's joy or light. These motions were dark and forboding, suggesting evil intent.

The chthon staggered as Djil sang, the words and melody striking the creature like blows from a hammer. Toolpin was rising, but still looked dazed. Neither would be able to protect themselves from Markham. It was up

to Bryce.

With a yell, Bryce ran at the dark mage. Markham saw him from the corner of his eye and spun to meet his charge. They locked hands, caught in an enemy's embrace. Bryce could feel power emanating from the man, but he also felt the gathering energy s(ip away as Markham lost concentration.

"You are a brave fool, priest," the necromancer proclaimed through clenched teeth. "You may have interrupted my spell, but I have other weapons at my disposal."

The two pushed back and forth, testing each other's strength as they grappled. It was obvious to Bryce that the mage was stronger than he, but not by much. But as they struggled he could feel some of his own strength sap away, seemingly swallowed by the blackness that surrounded this man.

"You are... evil," Bryce said, searching for the words to express himself. This close, actually touching the dark mage, Bryce could feel the evii of the man as a tangible thing. "You cannot have the shard, or us." Bryce pushed then, throwing all of his strength into the action in hopes of unbalancing his opponent.

Markham slipped, but caught himself before he fell. "This is not a battle you can win, priest," he warned. "Don't you feel your strength slipping away? Don't you feel my darkness smothering your light?"

Markham shoved back, and Bryce went down hard. Air exploded from his lungs as he landed. For a moment he thought he was going to black out, but he fought the tug of unconsciousness. He managed to roll out of the way as Markham brought a booted foot down into the dirt where Bryce had been.

The priest rolled back, catching the mage behind his legs. Now it was Markham's turn to fall, and he did so with no grace or style. He fell in a tangle of black robes, hitting the rotting log he had been sitting on when Bryce first saw him.

Bryce got to his feet, keeping his eyes upon the mage. Markham also began to rise, and Bryce saw that he had produced a gleaming dagger from out of his robes.

"I am not going to waste magic on you, Father Bryce," Markham said as he twisted the dagger. "I am going to cut you and watch you bleed."

"That's not very nice," Toolpin said.

His voice surprised Bryce, who was so engaged with the mage that he forgot the others. Apparently so did Markham. He barely turned to look at the dwarf when Toolpin's battle spike caught him across his bald forehead. He collapsed without a sound.

Bryce whirled to see how Djil fared. The little aborigine was standing in the middle of a puddle of dead insects, sifting through them curiously.

"Djil?" Bryce asked, checking to see if the shaman was all right.

"Insect spirits are not as stubborn as other spirits," Djil said, stepping out of the litter of carcasses toward Bryce. "They decided to listen to my song and return to their place of rest."

Djil reached into his pack and produced Bryce's cross. "I found this," the shaman said as he handed it back to the priest. "You should take better care of your possessions."

"I'll keep that in mind, Djil," Bryce said, a faint smile on his lips.

"What should I do with the necromancer, Father Bryce?" Toolpin asked. He was standing over the mage's still form, holding his battle spike at the ready.

"Leave him," Bryce decided. "Let's just get out of here."

12

Mara led the way through the jungle, running only as fast as the slowest among them. Behind her was Tom O'Malley, Pluppa, and Grim. Gutterby, being the oldest of the dwarves, was slightly behind his companions, and Mara could hear his ragged breathing. At the end of the line was Tolwyn, doing her best to keep Gutterby moving. Mara deliberately chose her path through bushes and thick patches of trees — anything that made the going harder for the insect things chasing them.

She hated running as much as Tolwyn did, but fighting appeared to be useless. The few blasts that she managed to get off from her pistol had barely slowed the monsters, and she didn't relish a hand-to-hand fight when she had only one hand to fight with. She wondered how Bryce and the others were faring, then she put the thought out of her mind. Worrying about the priest and the others would just get the rest of them killed. She couldn't afford to mourn right now, because the others depended on her to get them to safety.

Mara crashed through the brush and found herself in a clearing. It was a road, much larger than the paths they had been following, and it wasn't empty.

Tom emerged from the trees, gasping for breath. "Why have you stopped?" he asked.

Mara tipped her head toward the road. Tom looked up, finally noticing the others. There were a dozen men standing in the road, all wearing military-style uniforms and brandishing old-style rifles. Pluppa pushed between Mara and Tom so that she could see better.

"Who are they?" Pluppa asked.

"I'm not quite sure," Tom began, "but they look like British soldiers from the nineteenth century."

Tolwyn and the others bounded out of the jungle. "Move," the paladin commanded. "The insects are ..."

She didn't get to finish. One of the insect things smashed into her back, driving her forward. Marastarted to turn when she saw the sold iers lift their weapons and take aim. She barely managed to grab Tom and throw herself and the pilot to the ground when the soldiers let off a volley. Bullets whiz/ed over their heads, thudding into the insect things.

When the firing stopped, Mara looked back. The monsters had fallen apart. Insect carcasses were scattered all around them.

One of the soldiers stepped forward. He was an older man, a little on the portly side, with a great white handlebar mustache that drooped around his mouth. He called to the group. "I say, would any of you happen to be Tolwyn of House Tancred?"

Mara and Tolwyn exchanged glances, shrugged, and turned to face the man.

"I am Tolwyn," the paladin said. "We thank you for your assistance. How did you stop the insect things?"

The man laughed. It was a rich, good-humored sound. "Blessed bullets work wonders against the things of darkness," he explained. "I am General Wellington of Her Majesty's Army. We have been sent to find you."

"Why?" Mara asked.

"We have been ordered to escort you out of this foul jungle to a place of safety," the general replied.

"Ordered? By who?" Tolwyn demanded.

"Why, by Lord Salisbury, of course," the general answered.

"This must be Thratchen's doing," Mara said in low (ones so that only her friends could hear.

"Should we go?" Tolwyn asked, seeking advice from the others.

"If Thratchen wanted to kill us, he wouldn't have to go through this kind of trouble," Tom said.

"I agree," Mara added. "I think he wants us to reach

Aysle."

Tolwyn nodded. "Very well, General," she called. "We accept your offer."

13

Djil led the way, stopping often to talk to a tree or study the rocks along the ground. He seemed to be listening to them, hearing things that Bryce could not. The priest would have laughed at such thoughts a few months ago, but not now. He had heard the song of the Earth itself, as sung by the Heart of Coyote. If the planet had a voice, why couldn't the smaller components have one as well?

"What's he doing, Father?" Toolpin inquired.

"He's scouting," Bryce said. "What's it look like he's doing?"

"Talking to the plants," Toolpin said. "Hey Djil, what are the plants saying?"

The aborigine turned to the dwarf with a toothy grin. "Plants have very little to say, Toolpin. They are boring, only concerned with water and soil and sun. But this tree limb tells me much."

Bryce and Toolpin edged closer, curiosity getting the better of them. "What's it say?" Bryce asked.

Djil leaned close to the priest, his voice hushed to a conspiratorial whisper. "The trees don't speak, Father Bryce. I thought you knew that."

The priest reddened. "Then what
are
you doing?"

"Lookmg for signs of passage, and I found this," Djil said triumphantly, holding aloft a piece of cloth.

"Hey," Toolpin exclaimed, "that belongs to Pluppa!"

"Then they came this way," Bryce joined excitedly. "We're going the right way!"

Djil nodded. Then he pointed to the broken branches further up the tree. "The chthon have come this way, too."

A loud crashing sound echoed from the jungle behind them. The trio watched silently for a moment, then heard the sound again. This time it was closer.