"No, no, all is well," Uthorion decided. "The Carredon grew old, careless. That is the explanation for its demise. But the Wild Hunt is strong, powerful. It will destroy the paladin with ease. Then I can claim my new realm without worry. Then the prophecy will be over."
"As you say, Angar," Malraux returned, but he could not help staring at the single bead of sweat that hung on Ardinay's exquisite upper lip.
50
Eddie Paragon looked up as Baruk Kaah emerged from the black forest, stretching his body and breathing deeply of the ash-filled air. He turned to one of the nearby optants, the priests of life, and motioned for him to attend him.
"Yes, Saar," the optant said as he genuflected before the High Lord. "How may I serve you?"
"Gather the optants and start the prayer," Baruk Kaah ordered, twitching excitedly at his decision. "It is time for Lanala to send the Deep Mist to this world."
The optant made the signs of obedience, then set off to carry out the High Lord's wishes. Baruk Kaah then made his way over to where Paragon sat.
"When the Deep Mist flows down the bridges and fills this realm, then it shall truly feel like Takta Ker," Baruk Kaah declared. "That will be a glorious day, singer."
Paragon nodded, still unsure of his part in all of this. He thought again of asking, but he didn't want the High Lord to realize he was useless. He didn't think he'd live much past that realization.
There was activity in the camp today, Paragon observed. Edeinos scampered to and fro like ants around a crumb. Some attended to the large dinosaurs that lounged along the fringe of the camp. Others cared for the wounded. Paragon knew of the battles happening around them. A benefit of being so close to the leader, he mused. From the large number of wounded, Paragon imagined that the battle had not gone exactly as Baruk Kaah had envisioned it.
A group of arriving edeinos carried the spoils of war — handfuls of machineguns and rifles. They dropped them into a growing pile, obviously glad to be rid of the dead things. Paragon wondered what Baruk Kaah wanted with weapons of Core Earth. From what the singer had observed so far, the majority of the lizard men refused to use anything that wasn't alive. Except for the gotaks, but they did not seem plentiful enough to waste as front-line soldiers.
As Paragon thought about these things, a gotak rushed over to examine the weapons. Baruk Kaah, as was his practice, went over to examine the gotak.
"These are the weapons for the gospog?" Baruk Kaah asked as he hefted an M-16.
"Yes, Saar," the gotak replied. "While our warriors cannot use these instruments of the dead, the gospog will have no trouble wielding them against the Earthers."
The High Lord shook in anticipation. "Very good. I understand the crop will be ready shortly."
A commotion arose on the other side of the camp. Edeinos leaped aside as a black cloud rolled past them. Stepping out of the cloud was a huge man in an antlered helmet. His fire-red eyes paused momentarily upon Paragon, then shifted to Baruk Kaah.
"Your warriors were driven back, High Lord," the Horn Master said. "But the Wild Hunt destroyed the army that opposed them. Still, there were not enough of your edeinos left to activate the next stelae boundary."
Baruk Kaah rocked back on his tail as he contemplated this news. His lizard eyes darted from side to side nervously, and his head twitched. But he settled himself as the ravagon approached, unwilling to show weakness and indecision before the Gaunt Man's emissary.
"You did well, Horn Master," Baruk Kaah said. "I thank you for the assistance you and your force provide. Now I must regroup my own forces before we attempt another strike."
The High Lord waved one clawed appendage and a stalenger approached. It reached out with its tentacles to establish a communications link with the High Lord.
"Return to the Eastern Land and inform the master planter that he must harvest his crop now. Then lead the gospog back here over the maelstrom bridges," Baruk Kaah ordered.
"As you wish, Saar," the stalenger replied. Then it spread its starfish-shaped body and glided into the air. Soon it was gone from sight.
"Can we expect any attacks from the Earthers?" Baruk Kaah asked the Horn Master.
The leader of the Wild Hunt shook his antlered head. "No. It will take them time to regather their warriors. And I do not believe they will attempt to cross the storm front. But they will be ready for when you make another push into their reality zone."
"Yes," Baruk Kaah hissed happily, "but they won't be ready for the gospog."
The High Lord motioned for the Horn Master and the ravagon to follow him into the black forest that was Rec Pakken. Eddie Paragon hesitated, his gaze returning to the growing pile of automatic weapons.
"Come along, singer," Baruk Kaah called impatiently.
Sighing, Paragon followed them into the black forest.
51
Julie Boot rushed out to meet the incoming helicopter. For a change, there was only one wounded soldier aboard it. She had become distracted in the last few hours, and that was not a good state of mind when so much depended on her. But she couldn't get Doctor James Monroe out of her mind. And she couldn't stop herself from subconsciously putting the "Decker" back on the end of his name.
The chopper touched down and two medics unstrapped the stretcher that held the wounded soldier to the landing gear. Julie quickly checked the soldier's condition. He was unconscious, and shrapnel riddled his leg and stomach, but he didn't appear to be in too bad a shape. She turned his dogtags over and read the name imprinted in the metal: Lieutenant Charles Covent.
"Okay, get this soldier inside and prepped," she ordered the medics. "And tell Dr. Monroe we'll need him in surgery."
She thought again about the doctor and his relationship to the congressman who was still in a coma. Was that why she was attracted to Monroe? Did it have something to do with switching feelings from one Decker to another? She didn't know, and she was too tired right now to care. With a wave to the helicopter pilot as he lifted his chopper off the tarmac, Julie Boot turned and followed the medics toward the base hospital.
"Welcome to Twentynine Palms, Lt. Covent," she whispered, jogging to catch up with the stretcher.
52
Mara sat with her knees hugged up to her chin, and felt very much the little girl at that moment. She was tired, and the gentle rise and fall of the plane was comfortably lulling her to sleep. Tom was a good pilot, keeping the plane as steady as possible even though the weather wasn't cooperating. She looked out her window, watching the rain drops splatter upon the wing. The constant patter of the rain on the metal hull around her was almost like music now. It no longer seemed harsh and angry as it did aboard the military plane.
After she and Kurst had taken out the gang at the last air field, Tom had moved quickly to secure the fuel he needed for his aircraft. She recalled his tall, lanky frame as he directed them to help him. He laughed a lot, trying to make the grim situation they were in seem more normal, and he constantly brushed red hair from his eyes. He claimed to know the man in Tolwyn's dreams, but even if he didn't Mara would have trusted him anyway. He just felt right. Maybe that was the kid in her, the trusting I-believe-everything part of her. But she liked that kid. The kid just didn't get out enough anymore.
Mara dozed for a time, then awoke as the plane started to descend. She looked around. Tolwyn was asleep, as were Father Bryce and Captain Albury. She quietly made her way to the cockpit, moving like a gentle breeze through the cargo hold. In the cockpit, Tom O'Malley and Kurst sat in the command chairs. She stepped behind Kurst and watched as the ground rushed toward them.
"We'll be down in a few minutes," Tom said cheerfully. "Then I'll introduce you to the Wee Folk and the aborigine shaman."
Mara looked questioningly at Kurst, but the Orrorshan shrugged. She would have asked Tom what he was talking about, but the pilot was working the controls with an intensity that refused to be disturbed. He was very good, she noted again, and she clicked on her recorder so that she could later study his m
ovements and techniques.
The plane landed in a place Tom called Victoria River Downs. The rain was still falling, but it had changed to snow as the long night that gripped this part of the world continued and the temperature dropped. They all bundled up in whatever was available — blankets, mostly — and followed Tom out of the plane and across the snow-covered landing strip.
Mara was tempted to grab a handful of snow and toss it at Father Bryce. His bald spot made such an inviting target, she thought with a smile. But she held herself in check. There would be time for fun and games later. She hoped. Tom led them to a small building that looked warm and cozy. He opened the door and ushered the group in out of the cold.
"Shut that door!" came an angry shout from within the building.
"Yeah, you're letting the warm air out!" came still another voice.
Tom smiled, shaking the snow from his jacket. He I motioned for the group to join him, and the six entered I the room beyond the vestibule. Sitting around a roaring , fire, some in seats with their short legs not reaching the floor, others reclining on the floor, were seven little people.
"Oldchilds," Mara blurted without thinking. Their size did make them appear as children with aged faces.
Tom laughed. "No, Mara, Wee Folk."
The seven looked up with hurt expressions, apparently unsatisfied with the labels Mara and Tom assigned them. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothing — breeches, leather jerkins, and vests. The males among them, of which there were five, were stocky, and four of them wore long beards. The fifth was clean-shaven, and looked younger than the rest. The two females, also of stocky build but obviously of the opposite gender, smiled at Tom. All were busy with the pile of items stacked between them. Mara noticed engineering manuals, magazines, a piece of a motor, tools, and a few digital watches among their treasure.
Tolwyn stepped up beside Mara. She had a look of bewilderment on her face, like there was a question fighting to come out.
"Is something wrong?" Mara asked, but Tolwyn dismissed her and stepped closer to the strange group of little people.
"So let's introduce everyone," Tom suggested, looking at Father Bryce expectantly. The priest still had bits of ice in his beard, and he shook with a slight chill. But he walked over to the fire and smiled at the group.
"I'm Father Christopher Bryce," he said softly. "I'm a Jesuit priest."
"We know of your type," one of the little people said,
pointing at the cross that hung around Bryce's neck. "You are a follower of Dunad."
Tolwyn, who had been examining the oldchilds fiercely, suddenly gasped. "Hai Dunad!" she cried. "Sintra vas Dunad?"
"Tolwyn, what's the matter?" Mara asked, concerned for her friend.
"These are not Wee Folk or oldchilds, Mara" Tolwyn said. "These are dwarves from the land of Aysle."
"That's what we've been trying to tell Tom since we found him," said the youngest dwarf.
One of the females leaped to her feet and yelled, "Tolwyn? Ge stettsu Tolwyn vas Tancred, gee telliber?"
The other dwarves started chattering, and they stood and ran to Tolwyn. They clustered around her like children, yammering away in nonsense syllables, hopping up and down first on one foot, then another. Two of them did cartwheels. Then they formed a circle about her, and they called out in unison, "Ho, Tolwyn!"
Bryce put out a hand and gave Kurst a look to stop him from advancing. The dwarves were touching Tolwyn's hands, smiling up at her, stroking her clothing, laughing.
"You are dressed like an Earther," one of the females laughed.
Then a dwarf fell to one knee and held a metal spike (that Mara assumed to be both weapon and walking stick) above his head, obviously offering fealty of some kind. Another barked something and waved his own spike, wagging it dangerously near the face of a third, who fell backward onto the floor. Then they were all doing it, bowing solemnly with downcast faces, offering Tolwyn their weapons. There was a moment of silence.
"Well I'll be," O'Malley breathed.
Tolwyn stood there, looking mystified and a little frightened, holding in a breath as though about to say something.
"Tolwyn," Bryce said slowly. The dwarves did not move a muscle. "You'd better do something or we'll be here all day."
She turned to look at him and her face cleared. She laughed, a clear and lovely laugh. "Kanta!" she said proudly. "Kanta noch," she corrected herself and turned back, touching each dwarf's hand individually and repeating the strange phrase, "Kanta noch." Each one padded back to his or her seat, smiling, except the one who had started it all. He sat with Tolwyn in the middle of the floor, where she stayed, sinking down with heavy legs. The dwarf moved around her to sit with his back propped against hers, like mismatched bookends. He held his spike up over his head and waved it, and said something that made the others laugh.
"It seems," Bryce said dryly, "that Tolwyn needs no introduction."
Tom grinned. "They seem to know each other, by the looks of it. Why don't you finish the introductions, and then we'll see what the Wee — excuse me — what the dwarves will tell us about all that."
The dwarves smiled smugly, and one said, "It'll cost you." They all laughed and said, "Heh!" in unison.
Bryce introduced Kurst, Mara, and Captain Albury, but there was no reaction from the dwarves other than a curt nod of the head. Then it was O'Malley's turn, and he pointed to the first dwarf and started to speak, but the dwarf interrupted him.
"My name is Braxon," said the first. "And this is my sister ..."
"... Praktix," chimed the second, a female of obvious
beauty (at least to another dwarf).
"I am Grim," said the third, who smelled of things arcane.
"Gutterby," muttered the oldest of the lot.
"Pluppa," said the other female. She had the look of a leader.
"Tirad," said the sixth, a powerful-looking warrior.
"And I am Toolpin!" proclaimed the one seated with Tolwyn. "The only one who remembered the legend of Tolwyn of House Tancred!"
The other dwarves started protesting at once, in both English and their strange language. Mara laughed at the spectacle, which got rather loud before O'Malley shouted for quiet. Through it all, Tolwyn stared straight ahead, as if trying to see something in the faces of the assembled dwarves.
"Are you going to explain yourselves?" O'Malley asked. "This is a new one even for me, and I've been listening to your tall tales for the past few weeks!"
"What tall tales?" Gutterby asked with genuine hurt.
"With Tolwyn's permission ..." Toolpin began, turning toward the paladin.
"Please. Speak," said Tolwyn softly, nodding to the young, beardless dwarf.
Mara noticed that Bryce was leaning forward in the seat he had found, his hands clutching at the armrests.
"I'll tell it as a story!" Toolpin crowed.
"A story!" shouted Praktix.
"A story!" agreed Braxon
"Don't let Toolpin tell it," said Triad. "I'll fall asleep."
"Fine friend you are," Toolpin said.
"Friend? Did I ever give you reason to believe I was your friend?" Triad asked indignantly.
"Let Grim tell it," suggested Pluppa with a laugh.
"I'll tell it, for I was the only one of us to witness the great event," declared old Gutterby with great finality, and all the dwarves fell silent for a beat.
Sheepishly, Toolpin whispered, "You told the last story." Then they all started talking again, each suggesting someone else tell the story, or vetoing someone's suggestion.
"Enough!" yelled Tom at the top of his lungs. "Gutterby," he ordered, "tell the story."
"You know, you don't have to be so nasty," Toolpin complained. But his words were cut short by a sharp rap on his helmet from Pluppa's spike.
"Go ahead, Gutterby," she encouraged, before the dwarves began to argue again.
Gutterby, aged, round and plump, stood on a chair (which brought his head about level with O'Malley's chest)
and scanned his audience for effect. The other dwarves settled comfortably and turned to watch him, looking for all the world like excited children. Mara felt a giggle coming on, but stifled it when she saw Tolwyn's expression. This was important to her. Perhaps it was the key to her missing memories.
Gutterby cleared his throat.
The dwarves, in unison, shouted, "Hey!"
53
"My name is Gutterby," Gutterby said, "and I've seen five hundred and eighty Aysle years come and go. If the gods (who we as a people have very little to do with) are willing, I'll probably see another hundred."
torg 02 - The Dark Realm Page 12
