Night of the Heroes

by Adrian Cole

  “Let’s keep moving,” Darkwing whispered, his voice heard by them all. Cradoc shuffled forward, Konnar close at his side. Bannerman followed, still carrying Mears. He could feel the sticky seep of his blood along his arms and on his own abdomen. Reverence, Jameson and Darkwing covered his rear. As they moved on into the colossal chamber, their eyes becoming more and more accustomed to the eerie glow, they could see more clearly now the packed rows of beings on either side that encircled the whole of the chamber’s perimeter. It was hard to calculate how many there were, but they numbered in their hundreds. Among their number were things from the deeps outside, dredged up by the calling.

  “Our strength,” said Reverence softly, “is in our own circle. We must not break it, whatever happens. They will try to prize us apart and separate us. That must not happen.”

  They came to the central mandala and as they did so, a silence dropped over the audience, broken only by the murmuring susurration of the wind outside, which seemed to be growing in strength. The faces that watched were a ghastly white, huge-eyed and fixed, their stares like the cold, carved features of statues. Shuddermen, sea spawn and among them other beings, smaller, squatter, more akin to the outlandish figurines seen in the tunnel. All of them were waiting, as if for a signal.

  There was movement below the opening high overhead. By the growing, livid moonlight, the company could now discern a stone platform, with wide steps leading from it down into the darkness at its foot. Two large braziers suddenly flared into life, lit from behind by the unseen hands of servants, their baleful glow bathing the steps and platform beyond them in scarlet light. A single figure was revealed, yellow and red light flickering across it. It wore a voluminous black robe that swept down to the floor and a black skull cap. But the face and its distinct features were etched as clearly as if by the midday sun.

  Fung Chang bowed to the company far below him. “At last, the five who are six,” he said, his voice rolling easily across the space, crystal clear. Its tone held a softness, a delicacy that belied the warped power beneath it. The lines of the ancient face drew themselves into a patient smile. Only the eyes, deep and fathomless, held the distinct threat of a serpent’s caress, the promised fang. “I have waited so very much for this moment.”

  None of the company spoke, though they were all weighing up their position carefully. They knew they had to reach the opening behind him, even if it took a bloodbath to achieve it.

  “And I see also that you have the man Mears with you, he who has done so much to sabotage my plans. But he has paid for his interference. Even from here I can smell death breathing over him, see the imprint of its hand.” Behind Fung Chang, a flicker of light across the skies was followed seconds later by a distant rumble.

  The circular orifice was widening, opening like an eye, as a whole section of the dome peeled back like a lid. Moonlight streamed in, the lunar orb itself now floating into full view. It was huge, as though viewed through a sheet of magnifying glass, its cratered surface brilliantly lit up, three-dimensional. Around it, like a dark halo, shadow shapes swirled, filling the rest of the visible sky with an aerial host. Fung Chang had already begun the summoning.

  In the hall, the acolytes began again their chant, invoking those powers, imbuing them with substance. Outside, there was more thunder, heralding the opening of doors to regions beyond the dimensions of this realm, nightmare regions out of which a hellish spawn must soon erupt. Fung Chang’s back was to the opening, but he could sense the coming of the hungering powers.

  “Prepare yourselves!” said Reverence. “He means to set these horrors loose upon us. We are to be their vessels!”

  As he spoke, the surrounding mass of acolytes moved forward, arms outstretched, tentacular fingers eager to close on the company. Konnar swung his blade in a moonlit arc, severing clutching arms, setting their blood pumping. Cradoc used his block-like fists to pummel aside a group of Shuddermen, while Reverence and Jameson both began emptying their revolvers into the massed assailants.

  “I hate to say this, Reverence,” said the doctor, “but the only way to stop these fiends is to aim for the head.”

  Reverence nodded grimly, mouth set in a hard line. Darkwing was also firing into the Shuddermen with devastating effect. Bannerman, confused at first, set down his burden and stood over it.

  “Are you armed?” Darkwing asked him.

  Bannerman shook his head, but Darkwing thrust a spare weapon into his hands, together with a box of ammunition. Bannerman emptied the first few rounds. He knew how to use a gun.

  Hell broke loose as the seething mass pressed forward. Shudderman after Shudderman fell, together with other more ghastly things, blocking the path of still more, but the company closed ranks in a tight circle. Above them, Fung Chang watched, his brows knitting in a frown of concentration. He snapped his fingers, directing the assault. From out of the crowd, a pack of Manwolves came snarling and snapping, rending the air with their claws.

  Konnar accounted for two of them with lightning movements. Cradoc was leapt upon, but he snapped a Manwolf’s spine easily, hurling the creature into the faces of two more. A hail of bullets accounted for the rest.

  Fung Chang nodded to himself. It was no more than he had expected. But he looked behind him at the churning skies. From out of them, shapes flitted down to the lip of the opening, winged beings, demonic and blood-hungry. The first of them swooped down into the chamber, talons reaching for Cradoc, tallest of the company. The Mire-Beast ducked as Konnar’s sword ripped open the belly of the passing monster, spilling hot guts over them both. But the thing crashed into the Shuddermen, flopping about madly until their feet crushed it like an insect.

  Madness followed as the air became alive with a swarm of the demon breed. The group were hemmed in on all sides. The skies roared with thunder, the supernatural storm giving full vent to its fury. Beneath the floor, the ground shook, rocking for a moment like the deck of a ship on a wave-tossed sea. The company knew that within moments they would be overcome as the enemy swarmed over them like ants over a spider, their sheer weight of numbers too great to hold back.

  Bannerman looked down at the prone figure of Mears, gasping at the amount of blood that had run from his wound, a widening pool that seemed to be filling the whole of the eye of the mandala, each of the company touched by it.

  Something broke through the crust of stone, green light shafting upwards as if the floor had been punctured in a dozen places. The company felt the heat and power of the light. Those not of the company that the light touched exploded. Scores of the Shuddermen and their grisly companions were blasted backwards, smashed aside in a widening ring of destruction, as if hosed by napalm.

  “The earth goddess!” cried Konnar, above the din. “She gives us power! They cannot reach us in this light.”

  “What in hell is he talking about?” gasped Bannerman beside Darkwing.

  “You’ve got me, but don’t knock it. It’s beating the crap out of these freaks.”

  On the platform above, Fung Chang’s face had clouded with suppressed fury. He directed more of the sky beings in from the gathering storm, but as they came into contact with the streaming green light, they burst into flame like moths in a candle. Down in the hall, the mounds of the dead were heaped up like barricades, countless bodies tangled and charred. Thunder boomed overhead again, as though the dark gods of the night raved in unholy joy at such carnage.

  Fung Chang held up a hand. His minions had fallen back, staring faces blank, seemingly drained of energy, machines without power.

  “The old gods of this world protect you,” Fung Chang called to the company. “I suspected that they would. They hold on to their world jealously. If we persist with this struggle, we will face an impasse, I think. A pity.”

  “He’s right,” said Reverence. “He cannot take control of us as he planned.”

  “Then we can break free?” said Darkwing. “And who in hell are these old gods?”

  “The earth protects itsel
f. I felt something of it when I was on the astral, an outrage at what was happening. This blasphemy from beyond Pulpworld has wakened forces way beyond our understanding. Konnar appreciates them. In his world, such things are very corporeal. The key is our remaining a unit. Something in that draws up this power.”

  “The way out is through that portal,” Darkwing said. “Let’s get up the steps and on through it. Or are we stuck in this goddamned magic circle?”

  Reverence frowned. “That I don’t know, my friend. There is only one way to put it to the test.” He called the others to him and explained the situation.

  “Seems like the only thing to try,” said Bannerman. “If we move quickly enough, we’ll be up there before they can stop us, earth power or not.”

  “How much ammunition have we got?” said Jameson. “I’m running rather low.”

  “Me, too, I fear,” said Reverence. Darkwing likewise concurred.

  Bannerman handed over his box of bullets. “Take these between you. I’ll have my hands full with Mears. He’s still alive and I won’t leave him for these bastards.”

  Darkwing met his gaze, their eyes locking for a moment. “We need every bit of energy we’ve got now.”

  “Don’t ask me,” said Bannerman. “Not that.” Thunder roared, shaking the walls of the chamber, the storm outside mounting.

  “Cyberwolf would wreak havoc here. Buy us a lot of minutes,” said Darkwing.

  “I can’t control it any more. You saw what happened! You want another Mears?”

  Darkwing would have replied, but Reverence gripped his arm. “Look! Fung Chang! What is that devil up to now?”

  They all swung round to gaze up at their nemesis. Fung Chang was standing rock-still, eyes closed, lips moving in another incantation. Slowly he raised his arms and as he did so, more thunder crashed. He was like some satanic conductor, bringing a celestial orchestra under his power, controlling its every sound. From behind him, twin bolts of light forked into the dome, one striking a brazier, which exploded with the force of a bomb, showering the acolytes with a rain of coals and scarlet embers.

  “Has he gone mad?” cried Jameson.

  Konnar was holding back, but Reverence could see that the Barbarian wanted to rush up the steps and run home his blade. “Konnar! Hold the line! Don’t break our circle. It’s what he wants most of all.”

  Konnar nodded slowly, then ducked as another shaft of lightning tore into the building.

  “Jeeze, he’s controlling that storm!” gasped Darkwing.

  “Like the storm that brought us here,” said Reverence. Then he gasped as if he had been stabbed.

  “What is it?” said Jameson. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. The storm! Just as it brought us —” But his words were torn away in another monstrous growl of thunder and more blinding light. Ahead of them, the steps were flooded with white light. It spilled down like a waterfall towards them, pouring out around the mandala. The massed Shuddermen cried out in agony, struggling to get away, leaving yet more scorched and ruined corpses behind them.

  On the face of Fung Chang there was an ominous smile, the smile of a victor.

  “The Bridge of Light!” Reverence shouted above the din.

  The others turned this way and that, surrounded by the blazing glow as fingers of the light seeped into the circle. Konnar could restrain himself no longer. He leapt forward, racing up the steps, blinded by the whiteness, sword held in a final determined bid to foil Fung Chang. At last the Chinaman was in front of him.

  Fung Chang opened his eyes, but his face mocked Konnar as the Barbarian brought the blade through a brutal arc that went clean through Fung Chang’s neck. And met no resistance. Where flesh and bone should have parted, where blood should have jetted, there was only air. This was not Fung Chang, merely his image.

  Konnar swore, about to strike again, when the light flared up around him. Below, the others saw his silhouette throw up its arms, sword flung out into the chamber. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  Jameson turned to Reverence, about to speak, but the detective’s outline wavered. Jameson watched it wink out like a snuffed candle, then he himself was falling endlessly into the light.

  Bannerman set Mears down once more as he saw what was happening. They were all being tossed back like rejects into their own worlds. After Reverence and Jameson, Darkwing flared, dissolving like an image on a screen. Bannerman leapt out of the mandala, into the light. But his feet hit the stone floor. He had a split second to act, but it was enough. He reached down into the fabric of the building, finding what he sought. A way into the system.

  And for the last time he released Cyberwolf. He sensed his alter ego racing away into cyberspace, faster than light, faster than the Bridge of Light itself. The beast would tear apart the workings of the network, a raging, unstoppable virus. By the time they wiped it, if they could, it would be too late.

  The last thing Bannerman saw as he toppled amongst the fallen chaos of Shuddermen corpses was Mears’ body, melting away into the light. The last traces of his blood were gone, into the stone, or absorbed by the powers that had clashed here.

  EPILOGUE

  Riderman’s library was silent, even though a group of people was gathered around its polished central table. Riderman himself sat with head bowed. Beside him, Annabella sat more erectly, her fingers resting lightly on his arm. Armand de Gilbert also sat quietly and beyond him, almost unnoticed, Miss Timkins, notebook in hand. On the other side of the table, Grimsfeather and Nick Nightmare waited patiently. For once the private eye was not chewing.

  Opposite Riderman, the short, elderly man in the faded suit leaned back in his seat, puffing out his cheeks. “Come, come, you should not be so dispirited,” he said.

  “But, Sir Guy,” Riderman interjected, “this is hardly a triumph! The Temple of Seven Winds was almost deserted. Our people broke in without meeting any resistance. The Black Bowman, Nick here, even Shadow Woman. Not to mention almost a full legion of Lentullus’ soldiers. And blow me, all they had to deal with was cobwebs! The bird had flown.”

  “Yes, yes, that is true. But it was a double bluff. I needed Fung Chang to trip over his own confidence. Which he did. He thought he was diverting our entire attention to the Temple. In fact, the opposite was true. And he underestimated the powers of this world and the old gods that protect it.”

  “You say our friends are all safe?”

  “Yes. Well, almost,” said Sir Guy, scratching his head thoughtfully.

  “Almost?” echoed Annabella.

  “Yes. You see, in this conflict, the balance of power was always going to be very delicate. The forces that Fung Chang unleashed were incalculably powerful. Perhaps too powerful for this world. Fung Chang thought he would, ah, hedge his bets, by bringing the five who were six here. If he had kept them apart and leeched their powers into some new being, then made it the focus of his invasion, he would undoubtedly have overrun Pulpworld and almost certainly other worlds, too.”

  “So you brought Mr. Mears here to thwart him,” said Annabella. “That bewildered young man, who had no special powers —”

  “I wouldn’t say that. He was remarkably knowledgeable and quite resourceful.” Sir Guy looked across at Miss Timkins, but her eyes were fixed on the table top in front of her.

  “He was a sacrifice,” said Riderman. He was holding a piece of paper, the message that had been given to Mears when he had first arrived. From Abbot.

  “My dear Henry, I told you that in such conflicts, the balance is often very fine. Sometimes it only takes one life to tip it.”

  “One life, yes,” breathed Riderman. “That of the unfortunate Mr. Mears. His blood.”

  “But I will not hear of despondency,” said Sir Guy, standing up and clearing his throat. “Fung Chang has retreated, either to another continent, or likely to another world. The island where he tried to induce the invasion is a sterile rock once more, its sinister systems burned out, rendered impotent. Be satisfied! And in the
meantime, there is someone I want you to meet.”

  He turned to the door and swung it open before anyone could speak.

  As the man entered, the company let out a unified gasp. It was Bannerman.

  “You are alive, after all!” said Annabella, rising with the others.

  Bannerman came into the room, a little uncertain of himself. He nodded at Sir Guy, who beamed at him.

  “There,” said the latter. “The others went back over the Bridge of Light. But Mr. Bannerman remained. His own part in Fung Chang’s defeat was no small thing. It cost him his association with Cyberwolf, but I’m sure he has no regrets about that.”

  Bannerman nodded slowly, like a man unable to take in his surroundings.

  “Make him feel at home,” Sir Guy added, preparing to leave. “After all, this is where he belongs now.” And with a last, cheery wave, the Lord Protector closed the door behind him as he left.

  Riderman came around the table and took Bannerman’s hand, shaking it firmly. “My dear chap, you must think us awfully rude. Of course, you are most welcome here. And as Sir Guy rightly said, you must treat this as you would your home. I’m not sure that you actually know us, given the rather dire circumstances in which you came to Pulpworld. Allow me to introduce you.”

  Riderman proceeded to do just that and each of the company shook Bannerman’s hand warmly. At the end, he came to Miss Timkins, who smiled coyly at him.

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Timkins,” he said in a voice that seemed strained but oddly familiar.

  She shook his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Bannerman.”

  “Please,” he said. “I wish you’d call me Rupert.”

  * * * *

  In the Athenaeum, the last of the boxes had been packed, the huge collection of books, magazines, comics and journals finally bundled up, ready to be transported to their new home. The man overseeing the operation, Brian Gardener, looked up to see a portly visitor in a very expensive overcoat coming towards him through the far doors of the library. Gardener stubbed out his cigarette and went to meet the newcomer.