WINDDREAMER (23 page)

A long thread of orange saliva dangled from it large amphibious mouth when it grinned. Two rows of razor-like teeth gleamed from the green pucker of its maw. A growl of satisfaction hummed out of its throat, and with it the putrid smell of its unholy breath.

If Raphian, the Destroyer of Souls, had a mate on this earth, such would be the creature facing Conar. Around its tail, a dozen or so other creatures slithered over one another, snapping and clicking their teeth in a frenzy of hunger.

Its body began to rise from the tunnel floor. It had to be at least ten feet tall, and five to six feet in diameter. Its belly boiled with unborn young, pushing against the greenish-gray flesh covering its abdomen. Even as Conar watched, the thing squatted, and with a pleased grunt, expelled more slug-like babes that wiggled like tadpoles on the stone. A putrid stench of mold and slime came from the wiggling larvae as they squirted among their siblings.

Conar shuddered in revulsion, swallowing hard, trying to keep the bile in his throat from rising. He had to breathe through his mouth so the smell wouldn't bother him as much. He flattened himself against the gummy wall, terrified, his bravery trying to hide on him.

Here stood the worst horror of anyone's nightmares, staring down at him, its fangs dripping hot, flesh-sizzling venom. Conar knew he couldn't fight all the slugs. For the first time, he felt defeat and didn't like the way it made him cower before this beast from hell.

"Kaileel sent you to do his dirty work?" he snarled at the bloated thing. His breathing came in a quick, shallow cadence, while his heart hammered in his chest. "Is he so afraid of me he can't take me on himself?" He shifted down the wall, staring at beast's bobbing head. "He's afraid you can't take me either, so he made sure you brought your nest with you?" He eased away from the wall and brought up his sword. He gripped it in both hands, Liza's medallion pressing securely against the hilt. "Cowards!"

The thing looked at the mass of offspring at her feet and hissed. The smaller slugs clicked in protest, the mother growled in warning, and the creatures reluctantly moved back, nosing the new larvae, rolling them along the wall and out of harm's way. The mother turned her attention to Conar, the gaping slit of her mouth twisted in a satisfied smirk. She moved closer.

Conar clutched the Deathwelder. He knew the creature could rend him in half with those sharp teeth, and his only salvation lay in his sweating palms.

"Come on, bitch," he crooned, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he readied for her attack.

She lowered her body to the floor, a wake of slime spreading out from around her.

"Come on." He didn't take his eyes from hers, even though they made his gut spasm. "Come let me make those little bastards orphans!"

A menacing growl came from her. She slithered closer. Her scaly mouth moved repeatedly with loud clicks, while more orange saliva dripped from its corners. She snaked her head toward him and laughed when he jumped out of her way."Coward!" she hissed, almost sounding like a human female whispering taunting seductiveness.

Conar snarled and glared at the thing, bracing himself to run at her. She seemed to know his intensions, for her mouth gaped in an evil grin. Inhaling, she thrust out her unprotected chest in challenge, daring him to try to pierce her. She seemed to be telling him to give it his best shot, and when he failed, she would snap him up.

He would have run at her. He would have tried to pierce the grayish green meat behind those iridescent scales. He would have killed her if he could, then turned his attention to the squirming offspring that hissed and clicked and glowered.

He would have done all those things if he hadn't heard the scream.

And it wasn't just any scream.

It was Liza's.

The floor opened up beneath him. Conar plummeted into the great gaping chasm, tumbling over and over in space. His head struck a blunt object. He yelped in pain, seeing stars and comets shooting across the darkness. His shoulder slammed into something moist and squishy, then he continued his free-fall into a long, black maw. A thundering surge of tumbling water and the loud vibration he had heard earlier became an awful, intense cacophony of ear-shattering sound.

Then he heard nothing.

He felt nothing.

He saw nothing as his head again struck something hard.

The darkness invaded his mind, blocking out everything else.

Shalu's dark eyes sparked with fury. He glared at Jah-Ma-El, ignoring the warlock's flinch. "If we separate again, there's no telling how long it will take us to find Conar. We should stay together!"

"I agree," Roget confirmed, nodding. "This traipsing about all these blasted caverns isn't doing anything but getting us frustrated. Let's stay together and we'll find him eventually."

"Eventually," Sentian stressed, his teeth clenched, "isn't good enough! He's in trouble. I know it!"

"As do we all," Chase maintained. "But arguing about it doesn't get us any closer to finding him, does it?"

Thom rubbed his head, grimacing. "I'm game." He glanced at Storm. "I've got business to see to."

"Let's take this tunnel," Grice recommended. "I've a feeling it might lead us somewhere."

"And why is that, Wynth?" Tyne snapped.

Grice pointed to the ground.

Chase's face blanched. He bent down and put his fingers into the loose sand. Bringing up his hand, he looked at the glistening red dampness on his fingertips. "It's blood...Conar's blood...

"Then what are we waiting for?" Shalu elbowed his way past Grice and entered the dark tunnel.

Grice looked at Chand, finding the man's cheeks wet with tears. "Keep good thoughts, Chandling. There are a lot of sharp rocks. Conar could have stumbled into one."

"I'm afraid, Grice," the younger man said, his gaze following the others as they entered the tunnel. "I have this feeling..."

Grice put his arm around his brother's shoulders. "We all do, brat...we all do."

When Conar came to, he found himself in complete darkness. His head ached; the migraine that had fled a while back had returned with a vengeance. Nausea burned his throat. His eyes throbbed with the beat of his heart. Every cut and bruise on his battered body screamed in protest as he levered himself to his knees on the rock-strewn floor. He put a hand to his temple--it came away wet and sticky--then wiped the bloody residue on the leg of his breeches.

Groaning, he got unsteadily to his feet and reached out a hand to find support. Locating nothing to hold, he wobbled until he could fairly command his steps. Hesitantly, he put out his hands and took a cautious step forward.

"God almighty!" he gasped. His right leg agonized him, from the juncture of his thigh to his knee. He deduced he had pulled a groin muscle in his fall. He hobbled forward, every step bringing tears. Bending over, hands on his knees, head dangling, he took long, calming breaths. When he thought he could move without too much pain, he tried again. The pain still pestered him, but not as severe as before. He kept moving, trying to work out the strain.

He had no idea where he could be in reference to the Monastery, but the constant humming and vibrations came from right ahead of him. He scanned the darkness, but could see nothing but gray wiggles of light. He heard nothing but the incessant humming and felt nothing but the vibrations emanating from the floor. Taking careful steps, he continued forward until, with a start and a spitting curse, he realized he no longer had his sword.

"Smart!" His jaw clenched against his stupidity. "Really smart!"

"Did you lose something, my Prince?" came a seductive croon.

Groaning with weariness and anticipation of the pain, ignoring the faint laughter that taunted him, he turned and dropped gently to his knees. The soft impact of his knees to rock hurt him all over. He gasped, aching so badly he could barely draw another breath. He paused, gathering his waning strength, then bent forward.

Reaching out his hands in the fine spray of rocks, dirt, and grit, he smoothed his fingers over the floor, searching for his weapon.

It found him with a nice, clean cut along his left palm. The wound meant nothing to him but an intake of breath and a swipe of his palm down his shirt before he picked up his blade. He felt along the weapon to make certain the shaft had remained intact. Satisfied it had, he replaced the sword in his scabbard. Running the back of his wrist under his chin, he wiped away a haze of sweat and grime. He lumbered to his feet, feeling like an ancient man.

A draft of cold air billowed toward him. Figuring that where there was air, there was eventually bound to be light, he made his way forward with a great deal of effort.

As he walked, one foot sliding before him to feel its way, his mind worked. He remembered hearing Liza scream and the creatures he had been fighting before the world dropped out from under him. How long he had been unconscious, he didn't know. The pain in his head had intensified beyond endurance, and it became hard to concentrate on his actions. Stubbornly, he put one foot ahead of the other and kept going.

His toe struck something. He tripped, going to his knees hard enough to bang his teeth together. His hands went out in front of him to break his fall, encountering jagged rocks that inclined upward. With a grunt of frustration and a wince at his scraped knees, he realized he had come to what appeared to be steps. He felt upward, finding more steps. The air drifted down from somewhere above. Although he craned his head and tried to pierce the darkness, he still saw no light.

Resolutely, he got to his feet and began to climb.

The steps proved steep and slippery with some kind of noxious slime. He could hold on to nothing as he climbed either. Not being able to see made it difficult enough, but maintaining his balance on the narrow steps seemed nearly impossible. He shifted his weight forward and prayed the steps wouldn't fall away into nothingness.

The closer he got to the cool air, the louder the humming noise became. It reverberated through his aching skull like a million bees. He shook his head--a mistake. Strong bile leapt up his throat with lightning speed to flood his mouth. He swallowed, too afraid if he bent over to retch, he'd lose his balance; one awkward movement could send him plunging into the blackness. He could do nothing but swallow as another wave of fluid bubbled up his throat and filled his nostrils.

How far he had climbed, he could only guess. He had tried counting the steps, but his concentration rapidly dwindled. His calf muscles strained, his right thigh muscles seemed an agony, while his groin became an ache that defied description. His shins and knees felt on fire from the scrapes and bruises.

He shivered, for the swirling air above turned frigid, blowing down with enough force to ruffle his hair. His teeth chattered and his lips grew so numb, he couldn't feel them with his tongue. It seemed the higher he climbed, the colder he became.

Something wavered above. He stopped, squinting when he became aware of a faint blue streak of light about five feet away. It glowed in a long, thin strip around what could only be a doorway. The vibrations grew so loud, he felt as if he were back in the wind tunnel, deep in the godforsaken mines of the Labyrinth.

The intense light changed from a pale blue to a darker teal as Conar reached the top step. His head violently throbbed. He couldn't see beyond the haze, but heard the sound of bubbling water and smelled the tang of salt.

He pushed at a damp door. The portal swung open, revealing a bright blue light that left him hurting with its vibrancy. He put up his right hand, shielding his eyes to the glow.

Something, or someone, shoved him hard from behind.

He went sprawling to his knees in the thickly swirling dust beyond the doorway. He landed with a thud, his chin hitting the ground, making him bite his tongue. Furious at the attack, he spat and looked behind him to see the door slam shut. Over the loud humming and vibrations that shook his body, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being driven home.

"Son of a bitch!" he snarled, shaking his head, ignoring the burst of pain.

He pushed up from the ground and crouched on all fours. Hanging his head, drawing in breath, he saw blood seeping from the gouges in his knees. He let out an angry hiss and leaned back, plopping down on his haunches. With hands on his thighs, he glared at the blinding light, trying to see through the shimmering haze.

"What now, Tohre?"

No answer.

His mind shot back in time to his first night in the Punishment cells at Boreas, at the shaft of light that had rained over him as he knelt on the cold floor, his arms painfully bound behind him, his wrists dragged toward the low-slung ceiling. He now felt the same overwhelming sense of hopelessness and abandonment as he had felt then.

He clenched his fist. "You wanted me, Tohre! Here I am!"

"Did you lose something, Conar?" came a seductive whisper.

Conar flinched and looked down, bringing up his right, then his left hand. His heart pounded in his chest, while his lips parted in disbelief.

He had lost Liza's talisman.

"Damn it, no!" He swung his head, searching the ground for the medallion. He couldn't remember when last he had held it. Was it before he climbed the stairs? Before he fell down the hole? Before something pushed him into this hellish place?

He couldn't recall.

His fingers swept the ground, stirring up dust that wafted into his nose, mouth, and throat as he tried to breathe. He dug through the fine silt, but couldn't find the talisman. Turning on his knees, striking out in each direction, paying no attention to his pain or the dirt being driven into his wounds, he scooped up handfuls of the loose sand in an effort to locate the talisman. Beneath his shirt, his own twin talisman swung against his sweaty chest as he moved.

He stopped and glared at the locked door. He struggled to his feet and rammed himself against the black oak surface. The door held; its handle refused to move.

"Open the door!" he shouted, pounding it with his fists.

"Not in this lifetime..."