The Last Rune 6: The First Stone

by Mark Anthony

The dim air of the hallway condensed in on itself, solidifying into a thing of sleek fury. The Scirathi started to turn, but he was too slow. A fist lashed out, striking him in the face. There was a bright flash of gold, and the sorcerer screamed. He groped with trembling fingers, touching the scarred ruin of what had once been his face. His gold mask clattered to the floor across the room.

  For eons, the Scirathi had poured all their will and energy into the forging of the golden masks. The masks channeled their magic, focused it, granting a sorcerer abilities that otherwise would lay beyond his skill. Yet there was a price. Over time, the Scirathi had become dependent on the masks, and so without the devices they were powerless.

  The sorcerer started to stumble toward the mask, but Vani landed soundlessly next to him. She laid her hands on either side of his head and made a motion so gentle it seemed a caress. There was a popping sound, and the sorcerer slumped to the floor.

  Beltan jumped over the corpse, sword before him.

  “Travis,” he growled. “Duck.”

  Travis knew not to question. He grabbed Deirdre, pulling her to the floor along with Nim, and rolled to one side. He looked up in time to see the remaining sorcerer reach a hand toward Beltan’s chest to cast a death spell. However, the blond man’s sword was already moving. The Scirathi’s hand flew off, hitting the floor with a thud. A hiss escaped the mouth slit of the sorcerer’s mask, and he clutched the stump of his wrist to his chest. Beltan pulled his sword back, preparing a killing blow.

  “No, Beltan,” Travis said, the words sharp. “Wait.”

  Beltan gave him a puzzled look, but he did as Travis asked. Travis set Nim on the floor next to Deirdre and stood. The sorcerer let out another venomous hiss, reaching toward Travis’s chest. Only his hand was gone. Blood rained from the stump.

  The red fluid vanished before it touched the floor.

  Travis could hear it now: a buzzing noise, growing louder. The sorcerer jerked his gold face upward. Yes, he heard, too.

  “You called them to you with your spell,” Travis said softly. “Now they’re coming.”

  The sorcerer frantically clutched the wounded stump of his wrist, trying to staunch the flow of blood with his robe.

  It was no use. They howled in through the window like a swarm of angry insects. Travis knew they would be invisible to the eyes of the others, but he could see them as tiny motes whirling on the air: sparks of blackness rather than light. Travis knelt and shielded Nim’s eyes with a hand.

  A part of him watched with disinterested fascination. He had always wondered if the morndari existed on this world. But of course they had to; otherwise the magic of the sorcerers would not work here. The spirits had passed through the crack Travis had opened between the worlds in 1883, just like the power of rune magic.

  Only just like rune magic, the morndari were far weaker here on Earth. They should have consumed the sorcerer’s blood swiftly, granting him a quick, if not painless, end.

  Instead it was slow. Horribly slow. He waved his remaining hand in frantic motions, as if he could beat them away, though that was impossible, for they had no substance, no form. They swarmed around the stump of his hand like bees around a flower dripping nectar, consuming the blood that poured from it. Then, hungry for more, they passed through the wound into his veins. He fell to the floor, back arching, crimson froth bubbling through the mouth slit of his mask.

  At last the sorcerer went still. His body was an empty husk; there was no more blood to drink. The morndari buzzed away and were gone. They had been sated, for now at least.

  Deirdre wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What the hell just happened?”

  “A sorcerer must control the flow of his blood,” Vani said. “He did not, and so the morndari he summoned turned on him.” She moved forward and picked up Nim. “Are you well, daughter?”

  The girl gave a somber nod. “My father Travis is a powerful sorcerer.”

  Travis felt Vani’s gold eyes on him.

  “Yes,” the T’gol said. “He is.”

  “What was in the bedroom?” Deirdre said, looking as if she was trying hard not to vomit.

  “A stone through the window,” Beltan said. “It was a distraction, meant to separate us. It nearly worked. I should have known the Scirathi would try a trick like that. They’re sly dogs.” He looked at Vani. “I wonder how they knew you and Nim were here.”

  Travis crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to think of the way his own blood surged through his veins. “I have a better question: How are the sorcerers here on Earth at all? Sareth has the one gate artifact, and the other was lost when the Etherion collapsed.”

  “Perhaps it was found,” Vani said.

  Beltan pulled the robes of the sorcerers over their faces. “And maybe they still had some of the fairy’s blood. I mean Sindar’s blood. He gave himself up to the Scirathi so he could get to Earth and find you, Travis, to give you the Stone of Twilight. The sorcerers might have preserved some of his blood.”

  Travis couldn’t help a grim smile. As usual Beltan saw the simple solution the rest of them had overlooked. “That explains how the Scirathi got here, but how did they know you were here, Vani?”

  “I would give much to know the answer to that,” the T’gol said. “I cannot believe they followed me.”

  Nor could Travis. The T’gol could make herself virtually invisible when she wanted. No one could have followed her, not even a sorcerer. All the same, somehow they had known she and Nim were there.

  Beltan picked up the gold mask, which had fallen to the floor. “Vani, do the Scirathi usually attack in twos?”

  The T’gol shook her head. “There will be more. We must go.”

  “Go where?” the blond knight said.

  “The Seeker Charterhouse,” Deirdre said, gripping Travis’s arm. “There’s no place in the city with tighter security. Not even Buckingham Palace.”

  Beltan tossed down the mask. “We’ll take my cab.”

  Vani moved down the hallway. “We will take the fire escape and go through the alley. The front of the building might be watched.”

  However, by the time they peered around the corner of the alley, the street beyond was dark and silent.

  “Can you see anything?” Beltan whispered to Travis.

  Travis could see in the dark better than even Vani; it was one of the ways he had been changed by the Stone of Fire. But there was nothing there. In fact, he had never seen the street so utterly devoid of signs of life. Every window was dark; even the street-lamps seemed dim, their circles of light contracted.

  Beltan motioned for the others to follow and led the way to his cab. They climbed in—Beltan and Vani up front, Travis, Nim, and Deirdre in the back. Beltan cranked the key in the ignition.

  Nothing happened. Beltan made a growling sound low in his throat. “By the Holy Bull’s Big Bloody B—”

  Vani slapped the blond man’s cheek. Hard.

  He shot her a wounded look. “What was that for?”

  “I think it was for swearing when children are present,” Deirdre said, hugging Nim on her lap.

  “No,” Vani said, then reconsidered. “Well, yes, now that you mention it. But it was mostly for this.”

  She opened her hand. On her palm was what looked at first like a crumpled piece of gold foil.

  “Get out of the car,” Travis said. “Now!”

  They scrambled out of the taxi. Travis grabbed Deirdre, spinning her around, searching for any signs of them on her or on Nim.

  “Are you trying to make me throw up?” the Seeker said, staggering.

  “Gold spiders,” Travis said. “Do you see any gold spiders on you or Nim? The Scirathi create them. They move like they’re alive, only they’re not. They’re more like little machines, filled with venom. One bite and you’re—” He clamped his mouth shut, aware of Nim’s wide eyes locked on him.

  “I don’t like spiders,” the girl said, pronouncing the word thpiderth. “They have too many legs.”
>
  “I’m with you on that one,” Deirdre said in a cheerful voice. “But look—they’re all gone now.”

  They were, as far as Travis could tell, though there could be more of them in the taxi, hiding in niches and recesses, waiting to crawl out when a hand passed nearby. It didn’t matter. The car was dead.

  “We must go,” Vani said, giving him a sharp look.

  Travis started to reply, then froze. He saw them before the others possibly could have, making out the hump-backed shapes against the gloom. They loped down the street, moving swiftly on both feet and knuckles. A moment later Beltan swore, and Vani went rigid. So they had seen the things as well.

  “Run,” Travis said. “Now.”

  They turned and careened down the street. Travis muttered the runes of twilight and shadow through clenched teeth. They only seemed to work half the time, and when they did they were pitifully frail, but he had to hope their magic would conceal the five of them. Because there was no way they could outrun the things that were after them.

  Beltan took Nim from Deirdre, holding the girl easily under one arm as he ran.

  “Are those things back there what I think they are?” Deirdre said between ragged breaths.

  “They are if you think they are gorleths,” Vani answered. “I am not certain how many are following us.”

  Travis tried to count the shadows he had seen. “Too many,” he said, and ran faster. The gorleths were abominations spawned by the Scirathi, creatures pieced together from the blood and flesh of multiple beasts. Their strength, hunger, and desire to kill knew no limits.

  “Where are we going?” Beltan asked as they rounded a corner.

  Travis pointed. “There. The Tube station. We can catch a train to the Charterhouse.”

  They pounded the last hundred yards to the entrance of the station, and Travis uttered a constant litany of runes as they dashed down a flight of steps. It was late, and there was no attendant on duty in the booth next to a bank of turnstiles. Deirdre stopped, searching in her pockets.

  Travis stared at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a ticket. Ah.” She pulled a small cardboard rectangle from her pocket, put it in the slot, and passed through the turnstile.

  Vani jumped over the turnstile after her. Beltan handed Nim to the T’gol and followed suit, as did Travis.

  Deirdre grimaced. “Well, if I had known we were going to be a gang of hoodlums, I would have saved the fare.”

  “Come on,” Travis said, grabbing her hand.

  They dashed down the steps that led to the southbound platform of the Jubilee line. They could take the train to Westminster, then catch either the District or Circle line to the Blackfriars station. From there it was only a few blocks to the Seeker Charterhouse.

  And what if the Scirathi know where the Charterhouse is? What if they’re staking it out?

  Travis set aside the question. They could worry about that on the train ride there. They halted at the edge of the platform. Travis leaned out, peering down the lightless tunnel, hoping to feel the puff of air that would indicate an arriving train.

  “How long until a vehicle comes?” Vani said, cradling Nim. The girl seemed unable or unwilling to blink.

  Travis peered at the electronic sign over the platform. It was blank. There were no other passengers in sight; the platform was deserted.

  “I don’t see a schedule anywhere,” Deirdre said, gazing around. “The trains don’t run as often this late at night.”

  “Or maybe not at all,” Beltan said. He knelt to pick up a length of yellow plastic tape from the tile floor—the kind of tape often used for police or construction barricades. The blond man held out the tape. Words were printed on it: DO NOT ENTER. CLOSED FOR MAINT—

  “Great Spirit protect us,” Deirdre murmured, gripping her bear claw necklace, but Travis knew it was too late for that, that there was nothing to protect them now.

  Vani turned, arms locked around Nim. “We were herded here. This is where they wanted us to come all along.”

  Even as the T’gol spoke, the first hungry, guttural sounds skittered along the curved tile walls of the station.

  13.

  There was a stairway at either end of the platform; the growling noises emanated from both.

  “Get ready, Vani.” Beltan said as he raised his sword. Travis hadn’t realized the knight had carried it all this way.

  “Deirdre, take Nim,” Vani said, handing the girl to the Seeker. “I must be free to fight.”

  “I don’t want you to fight the ’leths,” Nim said, then began to cry.

  Vani caressed her damp cheek. “You must be brave, daughter.”

  Nim nodded, her sobs ceasing if not her tears, and Deirdre hugged the girl tight, looking as if she was trying to be brave herself.

  “Travis,” Beltan said, alternating his gaze between both stairways, “can you speak any runes that might help us?”

  Travis was so tired. Speaking runes on Earth was like running through water: great effort for little effect. “I’ll try.”

  The first dark forms appeared at the foot of both stairways. They were the size of apes. But then, the gorleths had been apes once—or at least part of them had. Chimpanzees were one of the animals the Scirathi used in fashioning the gorleths here on Earth. What other animals they had used, Travis could only imagine. Muscles writhed under the skin of their humped backs, their digits ended in curved talons, and knifelike teeth jutted from their maws.

  Beltan and Vani each faced one of the stairwells, with Travis, Deirdre, and Nim between them. The first gorleths had already covered half the distance across the platform, their talons scraping against the tiles, making a sound like fingernails being dragged across a blackboard. Their pale eyes shone with hungry intelligence.

  “Not to rush you, Travis,” Beltan said, holding his sword ready, “but now would be a good time for those runes.”

  Travis drew in a breath, but he felt so weak—just like rune magic did here on Earth.

  By the Lost Hand of Olrig, that’s no way for a Runelord to think! Jack Graystone’s voice thundered in his mind. You’re a wizard, Travis, on this or any world. Now speak a rune. Gelth should do nicely, I think.

  This time Jack was right. Travis clenched his right fist, knowing without looking that the silvery symbol—three crossed lines, the rune of runes—had blazed to life on his palm.

  “Gelth,” he intoned.

  Again he felt the deep wrenching sensation inside, as if someone had just punched him in the gut. The rune had no effect.

  Beltan tightened his hands around the hilt of the sword. “Travis . . .”

  There was love in the blond man’s voice, and urgency. The gorleths were so close Travis could hear their whuffling, could smell the putrid reek of their breath.

  “Gelth!” Travis shouted, straining with all his being.

  This time a thousand voices chanted the rune in his mind, and he felt a hum resonate through him like a tone through a pitchfork. Instantly, tiny, glittering crystals precipitated out of thin air, frosting the gorleths’ dark fur, and sheeting the tiles of the platform with a glaze of ice.

  On Eldh, Travis would have been able to conjure an ice storm; he could have frozen the gorleths solid. However, in some ways, the coating of ice was equally effective. The curved talons of the gorleths could find no purchase. The nearest creatures let out shrieks of fury as they fell, skidding across the platform.

  One slid close to Beltan, and the blond knight took the opportunity to swing his sword, lopping the beast’s head off. Another gorleth flew over the edge of the platform. There was a sizzling sound as the creature struck one of the electrified rails on which the trains ran.

  Vani gazed at the smoking gorleth, then glanced at Beltan. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  The blond man snorted. “I think everyone is thinking what you’re thinking.”

  Three more gorleths remained close by and were starting to slowly crawl toward them, w
hile five or six of the beasts clustered at the foot of each stairwell, testing the ice with their talons; it was already beginning to melt. They could fight four of the creatures, maybe five. But not a dozen of them, not even with Beltan and Vani.

  The T’gol prowled toward one of the nearby gorleths, moving across the ice as surefooted as if it were rough cement. Beltan started to do the same, but he swore as he nearly lost his footing, only catching himself by digging the point of his sword into the ice.

  Travis knelt and touched Beltan’s boots. “Krond,” he murmured.

  “What are you doing?” Beltan yowled stamping his feet. “That’s hot!”

  The ice melted through to the tiles where his boots touched.

  “Oh,” he said, then started toward one of the struggling gorleths, able to move across the ice now, if not as quickly as Vani. The creature reached for him, trying to rake open his stomach, but Beltan swiped with his sword, sending the beast’s arm spinning across the ice. He kicked, and the gorleth flew over the edge of the platform, striking the rails. Again came the sizzle of electricity, a sound that continued as Vani heaved first one, then another gorleth over the edge. However, one of them raked its claws across her leg, and she limped as she came back toward them, trailing a line of blood.

  “It is a scratch,” she said in answer to their looks, but her words were more for Nim’s benefit than theirs. The ice was growing slushy beneath her feet, not just Beltan’s.

  “Gelth,” Travis said, pressing his hand against the floor, murmuring the rune over and over. The tiles froze again, but they began to melt almost immediately. Despite the chill that radiated from them, Travis was sweating, and he couldn’t stop shaking. He kept speaking runes.

  A group of gorleths edged away from one of the stairwells. They crept across the ice, pressing themselves against the wall at the end of the platform for support, moving toward the edge.

  “What are they doing?” Beltan said.

  Vani’s gold eyes narrowed. “They’re learning.”

  When they reached the edge of the platform, the beasts lowered themselves into the trench where the trains ran, careful to avoid the electrified rails. Slowly, the gorleths began making their way parallel to the rails. Creatures from the other end of the platform were following suit. Travis knew what would happen when they reached the center of the platform. They would climb back up; and then there would be no escaping them.