World's End (23 page)

"That must be Alexander's Bridge," said Hill. "It's named after a precocious teenage engineer from Somnos who solved the mathematical equations necessary to construct a bridge of this size. I remember reading about it when I was in school in Somnos. All the teachers used it as an example of the incredible feats we can do when asleep. Apparently the idea for the bridge came to Alexander when he was lost in the jungle and he came upon a slithering mass of snakes. Dormian historians say it's the oldest bridge of its length in the world. When Europe and Asia could barely make two-story buildings, Dormians built this bridge, complete with the first example of flying buttresses. Without it, Somnos would have been cut off from the rest of the Dormian cities and would never have become the capital."

"We gotta cross it?" asked Bilblox uneasily. "Ya sure it's still workin' after all these years?"

"I'm sure it is," Hill replied. "I mean, I think it is."

"You
think?
" asked Alfonso.

"Come on, you babies," said Resuza. "Must I always lead the way?"

Resuza walked forward, heading down the road toward the bridge. The others followed closely behind. Upon closer inspection, the bridge did not inspire confidence. In many places, the stonework had crumbled away, leaving gaping holes. The entire structure also groaned and creaked loudly as if it were straining simply to hold its own weight. At one point, Hill reached out and grabbed the stone guardrail to steady himself and it crumbled in his hands. Occasionally, Alfonso peered over the edge and looked down. It was an eerie thing to look into a seemingly bottomless depth and see a faint red glow miles below. Long tendrils of fire rose up, as if trying to lick the underside of the stone bridge.

Midway across, they came upon the abandoned stagecoach. One door was ajar. Resuza readied her rifle and crept up to the vehicle slowly, half expecting someone to jump out. The coach was made of fine cedar and its interior was upholstered with red velvet and blue silk. She brushed her hand across the plush silk and it disintegrated into a gritty powder. Startled, she fell backwards against the door. It splintered loudly and fell off its hinges. Although the stagecoach looked beautiful, it was in an advanced state of decay.

Just beyond the stagecoach, they came upon a section of the bridge—perhaps fifteen feet in length—that looked as if it had been repaired somewhat recently. The stonework here was lighter in color and the texture of the stones was coarser and less polished.

"Who do you think did this repair work?" asked Resuza.

"No idea," said Hill.

"Do you think it's sturdy?" asked Alfonso.

Hill extended a leg and tested one of the stones with his foot.

"It feels solid enough," replied Hill.

He walked forward and crossed this section of the bridge in several jaunty steps. Resuza followed him. Alfonso stared at the stonework suspiciously for a moment. Something about this section of the bridge looked wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what was giving him pause. He hustled across and joined Resuza and Hill on the far side. The only one left to cross was Bilblox. He was having a hard time because Kõrgu—who had been quiet for most of the journey—whimpered and refused to go forward.

"Oh, fer cryin' out loud!" griped Bilblox. He reached down, scooped Kõrgu up in his arms, and began to walk forward. Suddenly the stones beneath his feet began to shift and give way. It looked as if they were going to collapse, but they didn't, they simply undulated and jiggled like giant cubes of jelly.

"What's happenin'?" yelled Bilblox.

The stones were all moving now, as if somehow they had lost their stonelike properties and had become gelatinous. They began changing form into something altogether different. Alfonso thought back to the boulders that had materialized mysteriously on the road the night before. He gasped as he realized what was going on. They weren't stones at all—they were alive! At that moment, a hand emerged from the shifting stones and grabbed Bilblox's leg. Stones were now transforming rapidly all around him. These creatures had been lying face-down on the ground, masquerading as part of the bridge. They seemed to be chameleons—able to take on the color and texture of their surrounding environment. But as they sprang into motion and blood coursed through their veins, their gray rocklike appearance dissolved and their true form became visible.

They looked vaguely human, although horribly deformed. Their arms and legs were covered with a great many bulges, stumps, and nodules where the creatures' bones had apparently grown in bizarre and unnatural ways. More abhorrent than this, however, was the creatures' skin, which was transparent and slimy-looking—like the yolk on an uncooked egg. It was possible to look directly through their skin and see their muscles and tendons and even some of their inner organs. The creatures wore tattered pants but no shirts. Their bluish-red hearts throbbed rapidly in their chests.

"ZWODSZAY!" yelled Hill as he whipped out his Colt .45 and began to blast away. A bullet struck the zwodszay that was clinging to Bilblox's leg. For a brief moment, Alfonso watched in sickened fascination as the blood rushed through the creature's veins and pulsed toward the wound. Then Alfonso snatched his blue sphere and began hurling it. Resuza loaded her Enfield rifle and began firing.

"OFF THE BRIDGE!" yelled Hill. "RUN!"

Bilblox roared with fear and rage and pushed his way forward through the mob of a dozen or so zwodszay that were clawing at him. Kõrgu snarled and snapped her jaws ferociously every time a zwodszay reached for her master. One of the zwodszay clawed at Bilblox's backpack and, in one powerful stroke, tore it open. Instantly, the barrel of skelter sap fell out and crashed against the bridge. The impact caused the barrel to splinter and viscous sap exploded everywhere. The zwodszay shrieked. Bilblox took advantage of this momentary confusion and ran toward the others.

Once Bilblox reached them, they all set off in a panicked run. Hill led the way, followed by Alfonso, Resuza, and Bilblox. Kõrgu led his master dutifully. They crossed the remainder of the bridge quickly and sprinted down the Fault Road for as long as they could until exhaustion overcame them.

The road was silent—both ahead of them and behind them.

"They're gone," panted Alfonso.

"For now," gasped Bilblox. "But we've lost the skelter sap."

Hill looked at everyone. They were all sweating profusely. It would be child's play for the zwodszay to track them now.

S
EVERAL MILES DOWN
the Fault Road, ahead of Alfonso and his companions, a convoy of one hundred armed soldiers was marching toward the Hub. They were Dormian knights from Somnos and they looked as if they were setting out on a long journey. They all shouldered packs crammed with weapons, rope, grappling hooks, a range of other spelunking equipment, and food provisions. All of their faces and arms were covered with the same gleaming green sap. Oddly, though, the entire formation had only two torches. The first was held by a soldier walking about ten feet ahead of the procession. His eyes were wide open and he constantly scanned the road, the walls, and the fault that began only feet away. The second torchbearer was also wide awake, and he trailed the entire convoy by about ten feet. Walking backwards, he too scanned every inch of his environment, watching for anything amiss. These soldiers weren't awake so that they could see better. Without question, their senses would be sharper when they were asleep. However, these scouts had to think, anticipate, and predict when an attack might occur, and these types of cerebral activities were always best done while awake.

The rest of the soldiers marched in perfect formation. They all held their swords in the same manner, gripped in their right hand and resting loosely on their outstretched left arm. A soft, strangely delicate sound came from the soldiers. It was a mix of hypnotically rhythmic breathing and light snoring.

All of them were fast asleep.

In the middle of the procession a number of soldiers were grouped closely around a prisoner in shackles. That prisoner, of course, was Kiril. Meanwhile, at the front of the procession, just behind the wide-awake scout, walked two people who appeared to be in charge. The first was Josephus, who carried a bulky leather rucksack and an old wooden walking stick. The other was his niece, Colonel Nathalia Treeknot. They appeared to be awake.

"You know, Great-uncle," Nathalia Treeknot was saying, "one of my men can carry that rucksack for you. It looks rather heavy."

"That's quite kind of you, Nathalia," replied Josephus. "But I'm up to the task."

"What's in that rucksack anyway?" asked Nathalia.

"An assortment of things," replied Josephus cryptically.

"Things from Kiril's list?" asked Nathalia.

Josephus nodded, but offered no further explanation.

"Do you know what purpose Kiril has in mind for those items?" asked Nathalia.

"I know enough," said Josephus testily.

"I see," replied Nathalia. After a few seconds' pause, she continued. "I still can't believe that the Grand Vizier changed her mind about this mission. How did you convince her?"

"It wasn't anything I said," Josephus quickly replied. "We agreed that Kiril could not be trusted, but the Grand Vizier also understood the historic opportunity that we had. And opportunities always involve risk. However, we've managed the risk. There is no way Kiril can escape."

"Yes, of course," replied Nathalia. She didn't seem entirely satisfied by her great-uncle's logic or his explanation, and it showed on her face. Of course, Nathalia loved her great-uncle, even though he wasn't exactly a warm man. He had always buried himself too deeply in his books to pay much attention to her when she was a child. She could remember visiting his mansion in the Delirium Quarter, when she was no more than five or six, and feeling as if she were in a museum. "Don't touch anything in your great-uncle's house," her mother had told her. "He is a very strange man and is likely to fly into a rage if you disturb so much as a cobweb." Later on, when she was in school and doing extremely well in her classes, Josephus began to take a more active interest in her. He bought her books, and maps, and even play-swords. He delighted in her obvious military talent. He wasn't affectionate, but he was very fond of her, far more so than of any of the other nieces and nephews in the family. "You have an incandescence," he told her occasionally. "You remind me of myself when I was young."

At one point, when she was nineteen, Nathalia briefly fell in love with a carpenter who was doing work on her parents' house. He was much older than she was, and far less educated, but he had a quiet strength about him that Nathalia greatly admired. He also wrote poetry, and Nathalia, like Josephus, was a lover of sonnets. Nathalia's parents naturally disapproved of her affections, but this made little difference to her. She proclaimed that she intended to wed the carpenter. It was Josephus who convinced her otherwise.

"Don't do it," he told her bluntly one afternoon.

"I am
thoroughly
tired of trying to make my parents happy," she replied. "I have to do what's best for me."

"I couldn't agree more," said Josephus. "You are one of the brightest stars in our family's illustrious history. But to achieve, you must take risks—bold risks—and getting married at the age of nineteen is far too conventional and it doesn't suit you. Becoming a general does."

Nathalia had bristled at her great-uncle's advice but, eventually, she was won over by it. Ultimately, what the two of them shared more than anything else was ambition—a burning desire to do something great, something worthy of being remembered. Of course, this was precisely why Nathalia felt a growing unease about her great-uncle as they proceeded along the Fault Roads. She sensed his hunger to reach Jasber and it unsettled her.

"Is there something that you aren't telling me?" she asked Josephus.

Her great-uncle slowly shook his head. "Nathalia," he said in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, "I have told you everything and I don't know why you insist—" Josephus was interrupted by a shout from behind them. Nathalia immediately ordered the convoy into defensive positions and dashed back to see what had transpired. Josephus followed as quickly as he could. The soldier at the back of the formation had dropped the torch and pointed his trembling sword into the darkness.

"What did you see?" demanded Nathalia.

Sweat ran freely down the soldier's face. Clearly, he was terrified. "C-Colonel Treeknot, for the last few minutes I thought I've heard something scurrying in the darkness, just beyond the reach of my torch. And then I just saw something. It was a face or an arm or something like that. Whatever it was, it gave me a start. It looked like clay but it was alive. And it's not alone. I think there may be, well, hundreds of these things." He shook his head furiously, as if trying to rid himself of the memory. "It's th-the most awful thing I've ever seen." Tears dripped down his dirty face. "I-I'm sorry, Madame Colonel. Begging your pardon."

"Don't worry, soldier," Colonel Treeknot softly replied. "You can rejoin the others. You've been awake for a few hours now and I know it's stressful. We'll wake up your replacement."

"That'll be most appreciated," the soldier gratefully replied. "I could do with a few hours of sleep-marching." He paused. "Do you think it was a zwodszay?"

"I'm not sure," Nathalia replied. "But don't worry, they won't bother us. We have the sap that Josephus provided and what's more, we're a hundred knights strong. If they wanted to attack us they would have done so already. They're probably just curious. Ignore them and you'll be fine."

Several of the knights who had also woken up were nodding their heads. They seemed to be reassured. But the calm that Nathalia had restored did not last long because it was interrupted by a hoarse but deep laugh. The soldiers looked around for a moment—incredulous that someone would laugh at the words of their commanding officer—and then realized that it was Kiril. His mouth was contorted in a bitter, twisted smile and his white eyes gleamed brightly.