Promise: Caulborn #2

by Nicholas Olivo

  I flailed, my hand brushing against the redcap’s boot. On instinct, I Opened the locks and latches. They clattered open and the boot fell away. The redcap froze atop me. I Opened the second boot, and my nostrils were assailed with the putrid scent of boot-feet like no other. It was a gentle bouquet of overflowed toilet and a dumpster on a muggy July day, and it took all the willpower I had to not throw up. Then it occurred to me that the other redcaps had gone silent.

  I looked at my attacker. Instead of seeing a gnarled little old man, an absolutely striking young fae was sitting atop me. He had dazzling purple eyes, flawless skin, and no facial stubble. He looked down at his bare, pruny pale feet in shock. He wiggled his toes, and I couldn’t help but notice the thick bands of dirt beneath his nails. “Now, lads,” he said turning to his brethren, and froze when he heard the melodious tones his voice now produced. “Lads—”

  “You know the law,” one of the other redcaps said. “The boots never come off.” With that, he shot forward faster than I could see, his boots thundering across the room, and beheaded the redcap atop my chest. He kicked the corpse off of me and took its place, resuming my pummeling.

  Then there was a cacophony of twisting metal, and something yanked the redcap off me. My head swam as I fought my way to my feet, rivulets of hot blood running down my face and neck. Gearstripper sat astride the metal crab, his hands deep in its innards, somehow controlling it. The crab held the redcap by his ankles in its pincers, and Gears wrenched controls back and forth, causing the crab to slam the redcap into the stone floor over and over again.

  Herb appeared in the doorway with a pump shotgun. He aimed and fired off both barrels into one of the redcaps clawing its way toward us. He pumped and fired again at another. Herb fumbled a couple more shells from a pocket, reloaded, and then unloaded into another. In a few seconds, all the redcaps were down.

  My Glimpse chose that rather inconvenient moment to kick on.

  A young Herb, perhaps fourteen years old, stood in a doorway, a shotgun braced against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered, tears running down his cheeks. “I love you.” He pulled the trigger and the shotgun roared.

  The jolt of my healing fever kicking in interrupted the Glimpse. I staggered to my feet and swayed. My body temperature spiked to uncomfortable levels; it felt like I was standing in a tanning booth that had been set to fricassee. I placed my hands against the sides of my nose and steeled myself before snapping it back into place. My fever would realign it properly, eventually. I pulled a bandana from my inside coat pocket and wiped my face.

  Herb put a hand on my shoulder and then jerked it away. “Cripes, you’re burning up. Are you all right?” I nodded and leaned against the wall. Herb moved closer, put a hand under my chin, and lifted. “Holy cow, you’ve already stopped bleeding. How is that possible?”

  I pushed his hand away. “Not now. Thanks for the assist, both of you.” I couldn’t look at Herb. Was he really a matricide? I’d need to dig into that later. Right now, there was still work to do. I took a deep breath and found my balance was already better. I tottered over to the fallen kobold. He, I think it was a he, at least, was breathing shallowly. His muzzle was bloody, but I was pretty sure he’d recover. I wished I could heal him, but I can only do things like that for my followers. I pulled off my jacket and rested it under his head. Best I could do for now.

  I got back to my feet and staggered over to the kobolds’ cage. So much for looking like a total badass god. I touched the lock on the door and Opened it. “You’re safe now,” I said, ushering them out. Some of the kobolds stood stupefied amidst the destruction, their coarse tunics and pants tattered. None of them was wearing shoes, mostly because a kobold’s foot looks a lot like a mini-T-Rex’s. Most of them were covered in soot and dried blood.

  A few of them rushed over to their fallen friend. One of them gently stroked his nose and made a sort of purring noise. A moment later, the kobold’s golden eyes blinked open. I walked over, feeling steadier already, and helped him up.

  “You are Vincent Corinthos, god of the Urisk,” he said, a touch of reverence in his voice. “We thank you for your help.”

  I smiled. “My pleasure. Do you have passage back to the Bright Side?”

  The kobold shook his head. “I am Kleep of clan Drego. We have come to this world to start anew. We ran afoul of these creatures shortly after we crossed through.”

  “Did you come through phasilion?”

  “No, through an ancient waygate that only opens to this realm once every thousand years.” He shook his head. “We had hoped to escape the strife of our homeland by coming here.” He sighed, and sadness was plainly displayed on his reptilian features. “It seems there will always be those who wish us harm.”

  I considered him and his clan for a moment. “Well, I know a safe place where you can start fresh. I’ll be happy to take you there as soon as my business here is finished.” I turned to Herb. “Is Irene okay with them staying for a bit?”

  He nodded. “And she thanks us for removing the vermin,” he made quote signs with his hands as he nodded to the corpses of the redcaps. “She’s ready to show us to the lab.”

  I told the kobolds to stay put and gestured to the door. “Lead on.”

  “Lord Corinthos, please wait,” Kleep said. I turned to him and raised my eyebrows. “Allow us to provide a small measure of aid.” He reached out and pressed a golden glowing hand against my chest. It was like my healing fever magnified a dozen times. The swelling in my face vanished and I felt my skin pull itself closed. Kleep lowered his hand and nodded. “Be safe, Lord Corinthos.”

  Holy shit. I hadn’t realized kobolds possessed healing magic. “I will, Kleep. And thank you.” We turned back into the hallway and continued past several other cobweb-filled rooms. It looked like the redcaps had looted everything they could get their hands on; crates were torn open, barrels were knocked over, and all manner of boxes were tossed haphazardly about. “I’m glad they’re all dead,” Gears hissed. “Or I’d have to kill them again for messing up Mr. Hammond’s stuff.”

  Herb chuckled. “Irene agrees with that sentiment.”

  The hall ended at a blank wall. Herb cocked his head to the side, his eyes flickering orange. He nodded then began tapping out an elaborate sequence against the wall. After a few seconds, the wall slid away, revealing another stone spiral staircase. Surprisingly, this one lacked the cobwebs we’d found the first time around. A pale blue light pulsed from somewhere below.

  “What’s down there?” I asked.

  Herb frowned. “Irene isn’t sure. She says she never knew of this place in life, and it’s the one place in the castle she can’t enter.” He held out his hand then rubbed his fingers together as if he were feeling the air. “Creepy. Something down there is blocking spectral and necromantic energies.” He shook himself. “But that’s not important now. Let’s get the schematic for that device and get out of here so we can find Megan.”

  I took the lead, keeping one hand on the stone wall for support as we moved down the stairs. We came into an octagonal stone chamber that was fifty feet across. There were four poles, maybe eight feet high, arranged in a square in the center of the room, a constant crackling bolt of electricity connecting each one at the top. Old machinery lined the walls, covered with luminescent dials, tarnished toggle switches and feeders for punch cards and ticker tape. It was like a cross between an old-fashioned stock trader’s office and the set of Frankenstein.

  Gears whistled through his teeth as he took in the apparatus in the center. “Hello beautiful, what are you for?”

  “Gears, focus,” I said. “Find those schematics.” Gears gave a longing look at the pylons and his shoulders slumped.

  He looked at me with hugely pitiful eyes. “Can we come back another time?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Good enough.” He bounded over to a workbench and began sifting through papers.

  Herb walked around the perimeter of the electric fi
eld, his lips pursed. “I think this might be what was keeping Irene from entering the room. It feels like some kind of containment field.”

  “Was Hammond afraid of ghosts?” I asked.

  “No,” Gears replied, without looking up from his search. “He was very interested in ghosts, and there were rumors that he dabbled in some spectral experimentation, but nothing concrete.”

  “What bothers me,” Herb said, “is that it’s still on.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Herb waved a hand, taking in the room. “Think about it, you’ve got this massive castle and its creator has been dead for decades. We haven’t seen any other powered experiments down here other than that crab-drone-thinger. How is it this one’s still on? And more importantly, why is it still on?”

  Herb’s line of questioning reminded me of Megan; that’s exactly how she would’ve looked at the situation. I hip-checked the self-loathing to the side and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. “Not sure, but it’s probably not good, whatever it is. Let’s just leave it alone and—”

  A high-pitched whine, like an old-fashioned teakettle, burst from the electrified pylons. Then they went dark. For the span of three heartbeats, the room was pitch black and completely silent. Then arcs of electricity crackled and popped as they lanced their way back across the pylons. Purple and white after-images danced in my vision. I heard Gearstripper let out a sigh of relief.

  “I think we got lucky there, Vinnie.”

  “What did you do?” I asked, walking over to where he stood perched on a roll-top desk.

  “There was a switch in this desk panel,” he said, gesturing to it. “I bumped it by mistake. I flipped it back right away, so I’m not sure why it didn’t just turn back on.” He looked at me and shrugged.

  I looked over at Herb. The necromancer had his palms out, eyes closed. “You getting anything?”

  Herb shook his head. “While the device was off, there was something, but it wasn’t a spirit. I didn’t have enough time to figure out what it was.”

  I waited to a count of ten. When nothing tried to eat us, I let out a relaxed breath. “All right, it’s probably not important.”

  Chapter 10

  Brothers, tonight the Black Flash was released from its prison within the depths of Hammond Castle, as was foretold. Be vigilant. The events related to this prophecy must come to bear in the coming months.

  —Missive from Stranger Wolfram to the Stranger community at large

  “Oh, oh, I think this is it, Vinnie,” Gears called. He held a partially unrolled blueprint down against the desk with one hand. “Help me with this, will you?” Herb and I moved over to the desk, unrolled the paper, and held it steady while Gears scurried around it, tracing the blueprint’s design with his finger. “Yes, this is it.” I felt a wave of relief roll over me. Hang on Megan, we’re coming for you.

  “Do you need anything else from here?” Herb asked. Gears consulted the schematics for another few moments before shaking his head. “Good, let’s get out of here.”

  We left the pylon room and headed up the stairs. We picked up the kobolds, grabbed the skull, and the lot of us traveled back to the car. It was a good thing Herb drove a station wagon; otherwise there was no way we all would’ve fit. As it was, Herb and I were up front, and Gears and the kobolds were all huddled down in the back seat and hatchback area, hiding beneath the blankets Herb kept in the car.

  We’d driven for a few minutes when Herb cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “The little guy back there called you ‘god of the Urisk.’”

  “So he did.”

  Herb kept his eyes straight ahead, focused on the road. “You’re a god,” he said flatly.

  “Yes.”

  “So can you explain to me why you haven’t just brought Megan back? Why all this stupid side-quest crap?” His tone was level, but I saw he was talking through clenched teeth.

  I tried to put myself in his place. His girlfriend had gone missing, and he’d just learned her partner was a deity. All right, I suppose I could understand where he was coming from.

  “It’s not like that, Herb. I’m not even worshipped in this dimension. In fact, my powers are much weaker here in Boston because I’m so far removed from my followers. I can do anything they can do, know anything they know, but I’m not omniscient or omnipotent.”

  “So those tricks you were doing, with the fire and the force and the mouse, those are all things your followers can do?”

  I hadn’t realized he’d seen me do some of those things. “That’s right.”

  “Can you create things? Alter the universe like the gods do in myths?”

  “To a point, yes.”

  He turned to me, his face illuminated only by the Taurus’s green dashboard lights. His expression was a strange combination of bewilderment and frustration. “Then why not just imbue your followers with the ability to blink Megan back to where she belongs? Once they could do it, you could do it, right?”

  “Jesus, Herb, keep your eyes on the road,” I said gesturing at the windshield. He obliged, but kept stealing sideways glances at me. “It’s not that easy,” I said after a moment. “The Urisk developed their powers gradually over time as part of natural evolution. Suddenly imbuing them with new abilities just for the hell of it would be a major shock to their collective systems and may do massive damage. It might even rattle their faith in me to the point where they stopped worshipping me, and then I’d really be S.O.L.”

  Commander Courageous and I had discussed this at great length shortly after the Urisk began worshipping me. Suddenly having psychic powers had been exciting, and I’d asked him if I could imbue the Urisk with super strength or make their skin denser at the molecular level. I imagined myself bench-pressing cars and bullets bouncing harmlessly off me, both of which would be extremely handy in my line of work. Courageous had given me the same spiel I’d just given Herb.

  The necromancer appeared to be mulling this over, so I took advantage of the moment to make contact with the Urisk. I opened my mind and listened to their prayers for a time, granting what peace and comfort I could. My faith reserves refilled a bit more with each answered prayer, and pretty soon I had a chunk of my power back. It’d be a bad idea to go toe-to-toe with another army of redcaps tonight, but I wouldn’t be a complete slouch, either.

  That done, I needed some answers to what I’d briefly Glimpsed earlier. “You handle a shotgun pretty well,” I said to Herb.

  He nodded. “My grandfather taught me. Said it was an important skill to have.”

  “Was he a hunter?”

  “Of sorts.” Herb shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “He used to hunt undead. My family, well, some of us have necromantic powers, it’s a bloodline thing. My grandfather’s magic was the strongest out there, but he rarely used it. Said it was unnatural. Instead, he used to go around and clean up anytime someone in the family did something that got out of control. He said a shotgun was—”

  My Glimpse kicked on.

  “A shotgun is the Lord’s preferred method for killing undead, son,” the weathered old man said as he handed a pump shotgun to the young Herb. The two stood in the living room of a log cabin; a fire burned merrily in the hearth and a woven rug was spread in front of it.

  “But our magic,” Herb began.

  “Is an evil temptation,” the old man snapped. “You came to me tonight for help, and this is the help I’m giving. I’m too damned old to keep running around fixing the shit that your daddy and your uncles cause, or the shit that my own damned brothers stir up.” He gestured with his thumb at his chest. “Vernon Wallenby is retired. But this, young Herbert, is your chance to show what sort of man you are. What sort of man you will be. Will you stand by while necromantic magic is used for evil? Will you stop it? Or will you use your black gifts for dark purposes of your own?”

  “Granddad,” Herb’s voice cracked. “Dad’s become a lich. He brought Mom back from the dead, too. Granddad, I spied on t
hem last night, she was crying because she wants to go back to Heaven and Dad won’t let her.”

  The old man’s leathery face fell as he sagged into a well-loved leather recliner and ran his hands through his thin white hair. “God damn that boy. Your father was one of the smartest men I ever knew. I just wish the Lord had given him common sense to match.” He rubbed his face, the scritching sound of his leathery skin brushing against his whiskers audible above the crackling of the fire. Vernon Wallenby and his grandson stared into the fire for a few moments in silence.

  Finally, Vernon nodded to the shotgun he’d handed Herb. “The Lord’s preferred method to killing undead may be able to send your mother back to her rest, but it won’t be enough to stop your father.” He stood and tucked his worn flannel shirt into his jeans. “I’ll have to help you, and unfortunately, it means I’ll have to use my own cursed gift.” The pure disgust on his face spoke volumes of what he thought of the Wallenby necromantic abilities.

  “What will you do?” Herb asked.

  “I’ll use my magic to locate your father’s phylactery. Once we know where that is, I’ll negate the spells that will undoubtedly be protecting it. Then you’ll have to blast it.”

  My Glimpse shifted ahead, fast-forwarding to them moving to either side of a wooden door. Vernon nodded at his grandson, and Herb swung the door open. The room he faced into was lined with bookshelves and alchemical supplies. Two animated corpses stood in the room, one male, the other female. The male was in an advanced state of undeath; he was little more than a skeleton wearing fancy purple robes, but his eyes glowed with a reddish-purple light. The woman looked normal, save for her glowing red eyes. Her hair was neatly braided, her business casual clothes were clean, and for all intents and purposes, she looked rather matronly. She also looked sad.

  “Please, Albert, let me go back.”

  “Noreen,” the skeletal figure replied, “you are to be by my side always and forever. I will not lose you again.”