WINDDREAMER (20 page)

Chase moved away from the pool of vomit and slid down the tunnel wall, his legs shooting out in front of him. He strove to draw in fresh, untainted air. "My back feels like yours must have after Tohre was finished with you." He hung his head and gulped air.

Conar walked to Chase and held out a hand. "Let me take a look at your back."

Chase looked wearily at the strong hand, then gripped it and allowed himself to be lifted. He winced, moaned as his shirt stuck to the burns on his back. "I'll be all right." He shook his head when Conar started to protest. "There's nothing you can do. Maybe Liza brought something with her."

Conar had been standing there, slumped with fatigue, his breaths deep and calming. At the mention of his lady's name, he turned his head and took several steps down the tunnel. "Liza?" When no answer came, a tremor went through his body. "Liza?"

The still-burning bundle of rushes lay abandoned on the ground. Conar retrieved it.

"Elizabeth!" he screamed in rage, stumbling toward the central tunnel where the team had parted company.
"Elizabeth!"

"Conar--" Chase said, his shared fear making the word a litany of sympathy.

Conar turned terrified eyes to Montyne. "He's got her, Chase! Tohre has my lady!"

"I know you didn't want me, but I couldn't keep away, Brelan. He's my brother, too, and I'll be by his side in this whether he wants me or not!"

Brelan exchanged a quick look with Jah-Ma-El.

The others--Grice, Chand, and Shalu--were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with some of the Domination's guards. Chand and Grice dispatched two apiece. A fifth quard screamed as his life's blood flowed from a gaping wound in his belly. Duncan Cree wiped his blade on the guard's shirt.

"How did you get in here?" Brelan asked.

"I came in with Bent and Belvoir. They're not far."

"And just why the hell aren't you with them?" Jah-Ma-El probed, Conar's intent to legally name him a McGregor making him bold.

"Whatever either of you thinks of me, I couldn't stay behind when my own flesh and blood is in danger." Duncan resheathed his sword. "Where is Conar, anyway?"

Jah-Ma-El regarded him for a long moment. "We don't know. We separated a while back. From the sounds we heard earlier, Roget's group have encountered opposition, as well."

Duncan looked around when Shalu joined them. The heavy scowl on the Necroman's face made his jaw tighten. He turned his attention on Grice. "Maybe we should split up and see what other mischief we can get into."

"Always the fighter, eh, Cree?" Grice asked, his handsome face expressionless.

"Fighters and lovers," Duncan said. "That's the McGregor men, right, Bre?" He patted his sword. "We like to let blood and semen, be it man or virgin!"

Shalu snorted, his contempt obvious. He stood his ground as Duncan's attention moved to him and narrowed.

"What is your problem, Taborn?" Duncan growled.

The black man raked his eyes down the frame of the man facing him. With another snort of derision, he turned away, looking at Brelan. "You'd better find your brother, Saur." He returned his gaze to Duncan. "There is treachery about, I think."

Duncan stepped closer to the Necroman. "Are you accusing me--"

Brelan wedged himself between the men. "Not now. Let's find the others. It's quieter than I like."

In another part of the tunnel system, Roget and Sentian stood fighting. At their feet, a dozen or so slain temple guards lay in pools of cooling blood. Now, three additional guards engaged the two warriors in swordplay. They circled, back to back. Their swords flickered brightly in the light cast from the rushes scattered along the walls.

"For the love of Alel, Heil, get on with it!" Roget yelled.

One attacker, obviously unaware the two men had comrades, flinched as though struck and turned a suddenly pale face to Thom Loure, leaning in the shadows against the tunnel wall. As Thom shifted sideways into the light, arms crossed over his wide chest, a wicked grin on his rubbery lips, the attacker dropped his weapons and fled, screeching to the heavens.

"Was it something I said?" Thom joked.

"The bastard will be going for reinforcements, thanks to you!" Sentian growled, lunging at his opponent.

Thom sighed and pushed away from the wall. "I'd better go get him, then."

"Do be quick about it, will you, old man?" Storm yawned from his place on the other side of Thom.

A yelp sounded across the room. One of the remaining attackers went to his knees, Sentian's blade buried deep in his chest. A bloody froth of fluid dribbled over his gasping lips and he pitched forward when Sentian withdrew his blade.

He laughed. "Are you still working on that fellow, du Mer?"

Roget lunged forward, catching his foe off guard, and rammed his blade home, skewering the attacker from side to side. He pulled the blade free and the man dropped to the ground.

"I see you gentlemen have been entertaining yourselves," Shalu called as he, Jah-Ma-El, Duncan, and the Wynth brothers came into the light from one of the darkened tunnels.

"Nothing of real interest, though," Roget said. "I expected better of Tohre's Elite."

"These aren't his Elite," Thom said as he loped back down the tunnel into which he had chased the runaway attacker. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "
There's
his Elite!"

Standing in the archway of the tunnel stood thirty to forty heavily armed and outfitted warriors, their swords glistening in the torchlight.

Brelan met Chase at the side entrance into the Wind Temple. From the worried look on Montyne's face, Brelan knew something was terribly wrong. "What's happened?"

"Elizabeth's missing." Chase panted. His face ran with sweat, while the fingers of his left hand dripped with blood, matching his blade. "When we got into the damned Monastery, we came up against Temple Guards. I lost track of Conar in the fighting. I don't know where he is!" A look of self-disgust flowed across his flushed face. "We've got to find them, Saur!"

"We'll keep looking until we do!" Brelan's heart wrenched in his chest, but he thrust aside his fear and tried to think rationally. "Where did you last see him?"

"Over by that bridge, the one that leads to the classrooms. I've searched the rooms, but I can't find him." Chase bent forward. "And I can't find her, either."

Brelan's spine tightened. "We will!" He pointed to a long corridor leading to the left. "I'll take that way. Do whatever you can."

Chase straightened. "I intend to..."

Conar's heart slammed against his ribcage. It pounded in his ears. He had never been more afraid. Not the time when he feared for Liza's life when she gave birth to their first child, nor when he had been stretched across the whipping post at Boreas, nor when he had awakened in the Labyrinth Penal Colony. Never had he been more aware of his own helplessness. He trembled from head to foot. His stomach bunched into a knot that brought a sour taste to his mouth. A merciless ache above his right eye caused intense pain with every footstep he took.

"Not now," he begged the gods between clenched teeth. "Don't let me have the damned headache now!"

Somehow he had become separated from Chase, but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing mattered except finding his lady. His voice had gone hoarse from calling her name. The sound of it still reverberated back to him through the thick stone walls, the empty rooms of the Monastery, the hallways. Every corner turned seemed a letdown when it proved devoid of the one shining light in his life.

He put a shaking hand to his right temple and rubbed at the agony. It felt as though a sharp stick jabbed at his eye. His sight began to blur; light played along his peripheral vision.

"Where are you, beloved?" he whispered, even his voice making him wince with pain.

He knew in his soul Kaileel had her. He couldn't feel her presence, no matter how hard he tried. No strumming lifeforce beckoned like a beacon to him. No light, no warmth, showed him the way. No faint scent of lavender teased his nostrils. She seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth; it seemed everyone had, as he confronted the Monastery's empty rooms and deserted corridors.

And yet, he thought, closing his eyes to ease the agony in his head, he knew Liza was alive. He might not have felt her presence, but he knew in his heart he would have sensed her death. Kaileel wouldn't have had time to kill her, or wouldn't possess the power to do it on his own. No, Tohre's way would be to do irreparable harm to Elizabeth McGregor, to neutralize her powers. But Conar knew the longer it took to find her, the slimmer the chance he'd find her alive and unharmed.

"Call out to me, Elizabeth," he pleaded into the Veil. "Give me an idea of where to look."

Only silence met his fearful probing.

Arming the sweat from his forehead, he continued across the suspension bridge that led to the Arch-Prelate's quarters.

He had yet to find the passageway into the nether region of the Monastery. He knew it wasn't far from where Tolkan Coure had resided, but each door he opened revealed the everyday working chambers of the place--classrooms, dormitories, and reading rooms.

Every room brought back memories that tormented him, tightened his groin with fear. Their yawning emptiness did nothing to alleviate the remembered shame and unreasoning terror he felt at being in them once more. Even smells brought back emotions he thought long dead; they wafted up to remind him of his tenuous hold on sanity in this vile place. Some rooms took extra courage to enter, to make sure no one lurked inside the darkened walls. With every step into such confining chambers, he thought he would scream with sheer, blind panic.

But he forced himself to continue. To search. To look into every dark corner, every hidden space. Somewhere in the maze of dimly lit corridors and silent rooms lay a portal into the belly of the vile place, an entrance into the evil that was the Domination.

And he was running out of time trying to find it.

"Beloved," he sighed. His grip tightened on his blade.

"Conar."

He stopped, sucked in a breath.

It hadn't been his beloved's voice calling to him.

He heard a noise. Faint. Hushed. Furtive. A door closed; a footstep sounded. A moment of silence followed, then a choked-off scream.

That voice he recognized all too well--"
Conar!
"

He ran.

Roget and Grice had followed a pathway from the Temple's sacristy down to the work area, where monks made their wines and ales. The air stank of acrid hops and barley and fermenting fruit. The casks lining the walls gave off a pungent odor, almost as intoxicating as the beverages they held.

"Where is everybody?" Roget asked, shaking one of the casks. They had found no inhabitants, not even a stray worker. "What did hell do? Open up and swallow the lot of them?"

"With any luck." Grice poked his head into a storage room, found nothing, and started to turn. Something caught his eye. He entered the room. Beside a low-hung door lay a swatch of fabric. He picked it up and held it to the light.

Green velvet.

"From your sister's gown?" Roget asked, joining his friend.

Grice stared at him. "Something's happened, du Mer." He crushed the velvet in his palm. "I know it!"

"Let's find the others," Roget advised, starting to leave.

"No! There's no time." He tugged on the low-hung door's handle. The door stuck tight. "Damn it," he spat, yanking, trying to pull it open. "She's in there, du Mer! I know she's in there!" He kicked at the door.

"Here, let me." Roget wedged his blade into the crack between the door and the jamb, but the portal didn't budge as he tried to pry it free. "There must be another way in."

"But where?" His cheeks hot, Grice screamed in rage. "I'll get through this goddamned door if it's the last thing I do!"

He scanned the room. His narrowed gaze fell on an axe, leaning against a worktable. He hefted the weapon in his massive fist, tightened his grip, then crashed the blade into the door.

The axe bit deep, splitting the wood and leaving a long gash in the oak. Wynth twisted the blade and jerked it free. Using every bit of his strength, he smashed the axe into the wood again, grinning like a devilish child when a chunk of the wall broke from the door. He pulled out the axe and struck again. This time, the door shuddered on its hinges and cracked down the middle, one half gaping crazily into the room beyond.

Tossing away the axe, barely hearing Roget's hiss of warning, Grice assaulted the broken wood, widening the gap and laughing evilly as it split and gave way. He saw the crosspiece of a latch stretching across the door. He flipped the crosspiece out of its wooden supports and the rest of the door swung inward at a broken angle.

Roget whistled, following Grice through the destroyed door. Once beyond the portal, he groaned.

They stood in a vast underground cavern of stalagmites and stalactites. The whole place glowed an iridescent pink that hurt the head and made the stomach roll. An unidentifiable, putrid stench made their eyes water, while the air seemed as hot as an inferno.

"Where the hell are we?" Roget asked.

"That may be
exactly
where we are," Grice said, marveling at what appeared an infinite distance of soaring limestone formations above.

"Where do we go from here?"

Grice wasn't sure. He hated to get separated from du Mer. There was always safety in numbers, but there were dozens of pathways leading from where they stood, and none of them were marked, although all seemed to be well-traveled. The only sensible thing to do was to split up.

"We'll start on the right," he said. "I'll take the first pathway, you take the next. If it should be a dead end, come back and take the one two tunnels away from the one you entered. If we stagger our searches, we can soon cover all the paths."

"What if they have no end, Wynth?"

Grice glared at him. This du Mer brother was more of a pessimist than Teal! Though he felt like throttling the man, he gritted his teeth and shoved Roget away. "Just find her, damn it! Find my sister!"

Conar's footsteps echoed down the steep and slippery steps, leading into the further reaches of the Monastery's underbelly. He passed black oaken doorways, locked and barred from the other side, but knew his lady wasn't behind them, for he felt no calling. Every pathway stood open, nothing barred his way, nothing lurked about to delay him. He sensed Tohre had planned it that way, charted the path he trekked. If a door was locked, Tohre had made it so, leading him only where he wanted Conar to go. Now, he didn't bother to check other closed doors. He kept to the open hallways and doorways, going deeper, and deeper still, into the bowels of the mountain.

"
Elizabeth!
"

Brelan's voice had thickened, gone hoarse. He wandered down the long hallway, looking into empty rooms that stared back at him with contempt. He pounded his fist against a wall, leaning his head against the paneling, tears of frustration coming to his eyes.

"Elizabeth," he sighed, feeling her nearby, but inaccessible.

"You'll find her."

"My lady?" he gasped, hearing the voice of the lady to whom he had been Sentinel for many years. He turned, looking for her in the dark corridor.

"Search, my warrior," she whispered. "Search."

He bowed his head and pushed away from the wall. His lady had given him all the help she could in this evil place.

Brelan was about to go back down the corridor, to try another way, when he heard a distant shout.

He stopped, listened. The cry came again.

"Brelan!"

He headed toward the sound.

"It's some antechamber," Roget said, gripping Grice's arm. He'd been seeking Wynth for more than twenty minutes. "I don't know where it leads, but I've a hunch it'll take us where we need to be."

"Then, lead on!" Grice snarled. "We're wasting precious time!"

They found the entrance to the underground passages at the same time, bumping into each other at a juncture in the path.

"Have you seen him?" Jah-Ma-El asked, his hand gripping Shalu's brown arm.

"No sign of him."

"They're in trouble, Shalu." Jah-Ma-El's voice trembled along with his body.

Shalu looked at the others--Tyne Brell, Chase Montyne, Roget du Mer, Grice and Chand Wynth, Storm Jale, Sentian Heil, Thom Loure. He wasn't in the least surprised to find Duncan Cree missing. He settled on Chase and saw fear in the Ionarian's pale blue eyes. He heard Jah-Ma-El repeating his words.

"They're in trouble! They're in terrible trouble!"

"I know," the Necroman whispered. "I know."