His yellow eyes glowed with absolute glee as he watched a scene unfolding before him on the screen. A scene in which the troublesome group, led by the pain in the ass wizard, was under siege. Apparently, they had tried to take shelter in a building from the storm that seemed to be raging outside.
The thing that struck him as funny was the fact that they had walked into a nightmare. Several, maybe as many as two dozen, ghoulish creatures were attacking them. They looked human enough, but the Black Knight got the distinct impression that they were walking corpses. Dead humans, somehow animated, and by the looks of things, they were even more violent than the living. Maybe his minion had done a good thing by releasing the girl's clone to infiltrate the group. At the very least, it gave him something entertaining to watch.
He still had his doubts about whether or not the spy would be useful. It still bothered him somewhat that he couldn't issue commands to it. Surely if he could it would hasten their downfall. Hopefully, the ghostly demons he had sent to that world would get things under control. Even though it worried him slightly that they would let the freedom go to their heads, causing everything to unravel.
Suddenly, the Black Knight roared. One of the women on the screen had just gone down. He watched with an enormous grin that bared his long, sharp teeth. A mixture of blood and saliva glistened on them as he eagerly watched three of the walking corpses pounce on the fallen woman.
The pain in the ass wizard jumped into view, trying to help. Why isn't he using his magic? the Black Knight wondered, watching as the lanky man tried to pull one of the attackers off of the woman. If he isn't using it, then perhaps it doesn't work on that world. He smiled to himself. If that is the case, this should be quick!
Screams erupted from somewhere just off the screen. By the sounds of them, something similar was happening just out of view. It brought a smile to his face, thinking that he could be witnessing the end of the puny resistance that had been mounted against him. He just wished that he could see them all meet their ends.
A blur appeared on the right side of the screen, followed by an ear-splitting howl. The Black Knight frowned as he began to see body parts flying from one side of the screen to the other. What was going on? Why couldn't he see what was happening? Whatever it was, it seemed like the tide of the battle had changed somehow.
Moments later, a man-sized creature covered in fur leapt into view. It was shredding through the army of living dead as if it were a group of small children. Within a matter of minutes, the only things moving on the screen were that stubborn group of people the sorcerer had assembled. Well, plus the hairy beast that had just annihilated the army of corpses.
The Black Knight roared in anger, so loudly that everything around him seemed to vibrate. He stood up from his throne and slammed his bony fist into the monitor, sending a shower of broken glass and sparks out to the farthest corners of the chamber.
Chapter 9
When George awoke, the sun was beating down on his face from directly above him. He squinted his eyes and painfully turned his head to the right, trying to gain his bearings. About a hundred feet away, he could just make out the shape of his horse through the blur of his watering eyes.
He tried to sit up, ignoring the searing agony that seemed to cry out from every inch of his body. After a few moments, he managed to get to a sitting position. Stars danced in front of his eyes and his head spun, the kind of spinning that reminded him of being drunk and on the verge of passing out. He closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.
As the dizziness began to fade, he opened his eyes once more. His vision, clearer now, took in his surroundings. Nothing, other than his horse, looked familiar. He searched his memory again, desperately trying to figure out where he was and how he'd gotten there.
The last thing he remembered was ... the woman from the cabin. He remembered her seeing him, sneaking away from the fireplace toward her bedroom, but everything after that was a blank. She must have hit him in the head with something, hard enough to knock him out. He'd never experienced memory loss from hitting his head before. If she had managed to knock him unconscious, where was she now?
As he prepared to make an attempt to stand, George noticed his clothes. They looked like they'd been fed into a lawnmower. Through the shredded leather he could see that his body was covered in cuts and bruises. No wonder it hurt so much to move, he thought.
Gathering up every ounce of resolve he could muster, George attempted to stand. The pain was immense. A wave of dizziness washed over him, causing him to fall back to the ground. Obviously, that isn't going to work, he thought, fighting to keep from losing consciousness.
He looked over to where the horse stood, silently regarding him. "Why couldn't it be a normal horse standing there, one that I could call over to me?" he grumbled to himself. Suddenly, a condescending voice in his head asked him, "Have you tried?"
The voice had a point. What could he lose by trying? "Come here," he coaxed. George's hopes went up when the horse turned to look at him after he spoke, though it made no move toward him.
Maybe a different approach will work, he thought. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Get over here and help me, you damn bucket of bolts!" George yelled. That seemed to get its attention. Now both heads were turned in his direction, and it took a tentative step toward him. Then another. "Hurry up!" he yelled again.
A couple of minutes later, the mechanical horse was standing next to George. He didn't know if he could get into the saddle, but he had to at least try. He extended his arms up and grabbed onto the stirrup. Just the pain of doing this threatened to keep George on the ground. He waited for the stars, and the wave of nausea, to pass.
When his head had cleared again, he began to pull himself up the strap leading from the stirrup to the saddle, hand over hand as if he were climbing a rope.
Once he finally managed to get himself upright, George clung to the saddle tightly with his hands. He feared, for a moment, that his legs would give out on him. They felt weak and rubbery, almost as if he'd been lying in a hospital for a long period of time and the muscles had atrophied with disuse.
He stood there wondering how he was going to get into the saddle, silently wishing the horse was shorter. He looked around, hoping to find something to step on to shorten the distance between his foot and the stirrup. As he did, George saw something that made him lose his focus. Lying on the ground about ten feet from him was the body of a woman.
"What happened here?" he mumbled aloud. Temporarily forgetting his current predicament, he reached down to his side, searching for his sword. The shock of realizing that his sword was missing caused his grip on the saddle to loosen, sending George tumbling back to the ground.
Pain immediately shut out all of his other thoughts, and blackness closed in on him from all sides, threatening to return him to the land of unconsciousness. "Fuck!" he cried out in pain, clapping his hands to either side of his head, trying to steady himself.
After a few moments, his head began to clear. He looked over at the unmoving body of the woman again. He noticed something he hadn't seen the last time he looked. Her head was missing! It took a couple of minutes, but he finally saw it, lying several feet from the rest of her, barely visible in the tall grass. Had he done that? If so, why couldn't he remember doing it?
With a determined look on his face, George began inching his way toward the body, crawling painfully on his hands and knees. It took him the better part of fifteen minutes to get there, having to stop every couple of feet so his head could clear again before moving on.
When he finally got to where the body lay, he found his sword. Apparently she had taken it from him at some point, probably using it on him. That would explain all of the cuts he was now sporting. He picked up the sword from the ground beside her and slid it back into his sheath. Dreading to go on, but insistent to claim his trophy, he began inching his way through the blood soaked grass to her head.
The closer he got to the head, the more his adrenaline kicked in, shutting out the pain until he could barely feel it at all. Grabbing it by the hair, George held the head up and spit into its face. "Worthless bitch! Teach you to fuck with me!" he snarled.
Feeling the surge of adrenaline coursing through his body again, he stood. Despite his numerous wounds, he had never felt more alive, or more like his old self. He walked back to his mechanical horse and quickly tied the woman's hair to the metal loop at the base of the saddle.
After that, he mounted the horse and surveyed his surroundings, trying to decide which way to go. After considering it for a few moments, George decided that it didn't really matter which way he went. He didn't know where he was, so there was no way for him to know in which direction the Outpost would be. He knew that he had traveled south, so the best decision he could think of at the moment was to head north.
Chapter 10
After his outburst, his chamber had cleared out very quickly. It was quiet in the room, now that all of the lesser demons, imps, and other minions had fled to escape his wrath. So quiet that the Black Knight could hear the hissing and crackling of the broken monitor. The sound only served to strengthen his anger. Reaching out, he ripped the monitor from the wall, severing its power connection, and threw it to the floor.
Now that the infernal crackling had stopped, he sat down in his throne again. Brooding, he tapped his skeletal fingers on the arm of the chair rapidly. He stared ahead with such venomous hate that his eyes no longer reflected back at him from any of the screens before him. It wasn't surprising though. When he was this angry, his eyes usually went as black as obsidian.
Why does nothing ever seem to go right? Why can't my minions do as they are told? Why, at every turn, do those around me feel the compulsive need to defy me? Each question that formed in his mind only served to fuel his ever increasing rage.
Hoping for any type of good news, like the ghostly minions he'd sent out to deal with George giving him a reason to smile again, the Black Knight turned toward the monitor that had been showing the woman beating George.
The screen was no longer black, but the image upon it was confusing. The image bobbed and turned randomly, sometimes showing nothing but trees and fields, other times the screen was a bright and shiny blur. The Black Knight's confusion temporarily diffused his temper as he tried to decipher what he was seeing. This couldn't be an image coming from the bug inside the woman's head, could it? The movements seemed too erratic and haphazard.
Suddenly, the angle shifted. Now, on the screen before him, was what appeared to be a hairy, severely lacerated, leg of a man. "George," the Black Knight growled. "That betraying little fuck! He must have somehow gotten free and killed the woman!"
He spun away from the screen and began to pace back and forth as his anger returned full force. So much for teaching George a lesson with torture. "He's going to beg for death when I get through with him!" the Black Knight roared furiously, storming from the room.
Chapter 11
It had been a few hours since George had started north. He sighed in frustration. Everything seemed to look the same out here to him. No sign of the Outpost yet, nor another town. He needed something to use as a landmark to get his bearings or else he could be wandering around aimlessly for days.
He looked to the sky, noting the position of the sun, and decided to head west for a while, hoping to find another town because there was surely nothing farther north. Sometimes he felt like cursing himself for not staying at Outpost 13. At least there was a mountain range near it that he could've used to reorient himself. Out here, there were nothing except trees, trees, and more trees. Sprinkle in a few open fields and there was no wonder he couldn't get his bearings.
Aside from these problems, he found himself facing one a little more urgent. Hunger. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to eat, and it wasn't like you could hunt wild game with a sword.
Pushing the pommel forward, he urged his steed to greater speed. He would be running out of daylight in the next couple of hours or so. He hoped to find something before it got dark.
Looking like a giant spider hopped up on cocaine, the six-legged machine took off. With an agility that could never have been possible on Earth, the horse deftly maneuvered through the brush and trees before it, almost as if it wasn't even there.
After nearly an hour of traveling at this heightened speed, George saw something ahead that was encouraging. He pulled back on the pommel to slow the horse. Looking across the field before him, George could see smoke rising from behind the patch of trees in front of him.
He pushed the pommel forward a bit more, hoping to get across the open area without being seen, slowing down again once he reached the trees. Picking his way slowly through the grove, he found himself on the outskirts of another town a few minutes later. He brought the horse to a stop, studying the layout of the town.
If he wasn't mistaken, which was possible because many of the towns he'd encountered looked similar, this was a town he had scouted a while back. He hadn't actually taken anyone from this place before, but his gut told him that it was definitely the town that lay directly west of Outpost 12. If that were the case, then he had been closer than he thought to the Outpost before he had opted for turning west.
George decided that he would wait until it got dark, and then sneak into the town. This would only be a mission to acquire food, though. He was in no condition to try another abduction this soon after nearly losing his life, but he could rest a few days and come back to rectify that.
He moved the horse into the woods a bit further, finding a thick patch of new growth to hide it behind. Getting down was a major chore. Not only was he battling the stiffness of the long ride, but his injuries had only ached while riding. Now that he moved to get down, every wound felt like a dagger being stabbed into him. It took all his restraint to keep from crying out in pain.
Once he was on the ground, walking wasn't as painful. It was just those few moments that his skin had stretched as he dismounted that had been bad. Sure, his body was still very tender, but at least walking wasn't agonizing. He found another cluster of new growth that looked like a good hiding spot and tucked himself into it, being very careful not to scrape his wounds. There was just enough room for him to lay down if he curled up a little, so he positioned himself the best he could and closed his eyes for a short nap.
When George opened his eyes again, it was completely dark. He sat up for a moment and squinted into the darkness, trying to make sure when he exited from his hiding place that he didn't draw any attention to himself. He could just barely make out a few small branches in front of his face, so he raised his hands and carefully brushed them aside, giving him room to stand.
As he boosted himself from the ground, he felt a twig snap beneath his boot.
"What was that?" a male voice nearby asked.
"Probably an animal. You know how gutsy they get at night," another man replied, laughing at the other's jumpiness.
"You're probably right," the first man admitted, relaxing slightly.
"Sometimes I swear that you would be scared of your own shadow," the second man laughed again. "Let's keep moving."
George held his breath and didn't move a muscle for several minutes as he listened to the sound of their footfalls fading away. Once he was sure they were gone, he let out his breath and stood up, cracking another branch. When only silence greeted this, he stepped out from his hiding place.
He crept slowly toward the town, which wasn't but fifty feet or so from the trees. Then he moved as quietly as he could between the buildings, searching this time, not for a home, but rather a farmer's market.
Luck shined upon him, as he only had to look around for a few minutes before finding what he was looking for. Even better, it was an open air building with no door. He fought the urge to laugh. Trusting fools! It was nearly pitch black inside the building, so he had to be very careful not to knock something over.
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br /> He slowly made his way into the building, sweeping one hand slowly back and forth at head level, and the other doing the same between his waist and knees. Then he just followed his nose. Toward one side he could smell ripe fruits and vegetables, to the other side was a saltier smell, perhaps dried meat? There was also a softer, underlying scent of what could be bread.
Moving away from what he assumed were vegetables, George continued his methodical search. After a few moments, he felt something in front of him. Moving his hand over the coarse object, he tried to determine its size. It felt like it could be jerky of some sort. As he grasped a handful of it, his hand brushed against something softer and smoother lying next to it. As he checked it with his other hand, he was relatively sure that he'd also found bread. He couldn't believe his good fortune after all he'd been through.
He turned to make his way out of the building, and stopped in his tracks. Painfully, he ducked down as he heard voices approaching. George remained crouched down for a few minutes, even though his legs felt like they were on fire as the wounds on them stretched and threatened to open back up.
The same two male voices passed by slowly, talking about the next day's work and their wives, completely unaware of his presence. After what seemed like an eternity, their voices faded away. He began to stand up again, the searing pain in his legs nearly causing him to cry out.
As quickly as he could, George stuck to the shadows and headed for the edge of town. When he got to the last building before the woods, he had to stop for a moment. The guards were in between him and the safety of the trees. They were no longer making idle chit-chat about their daily routines. Instead, they seemed focused on the woods. Had they heard something again to arouse their suspicion? Had his horse moved, alerting them to a potential threat?
Desolace Omnibus Edition Page 41
