Battle Across Worlds

by Dean Chalmers

  “Thou art f-f-freed by thy own grayssh,” Mott rasped, “and on behalfff of thine own innosensshh.”

  There was something else in that terrible voice now, almost a sadness. Regret?

  Rutting hell, Ed thought. Now I’m feeling sorry for the meat-faced bastard?

  He couldn’t think about that. He had to get ready to act …

  The door slowly slid inward with a creak.

  “Back up!” he whispered to Julea. “You can’t be anywhere close.”

  Ed saw the fluttering edge of Mott’s robe as he stepped into the room, quickly followed by the silhouette of his hooded head.

  “YAHHH!” Ed screamed, and hurled the lamp.

  To his horror, he watched as it bounced off Mott’s shoulder and fell to the ground with a crunch.

  There was no explosion, and somehow the lamp was still burning. The glass reservoir which held the oil was cracked, but not smashed.

  In its light, he could see Julea’s childish face contorted with fear as she screamed “NO NO NO!”

  Then Mott turned to Ed, hissing through the skeletal snarl of his mouth.

  The thing lunged with an unearthly shriek, and before Ed could move he felt cold fingers clamping around his neck.

  Ed fought and flailed, beating at Mott’s arms. But it was no use. Mott raised him up by his neck until his feet left the floor. Ed tried to suck in a breath, wheezing, the pressure on his windpipe growing as the room began to spin, going black.

  “God givethhh the firsht breath to the lungsss of mmman,” Mott growled. “And God takethh it away at the end of his daysssh.”

  Ed could still hear Julea shouting even as his vision failed him. She was getting closer now?

  “Let him go!” she yelled. “You bad, bad evil … sinner! You’re a SINNER! And you shouldn’t still be alive, and God hates you!”

  Mott jerked, and suddenly the pressure on Ed’s throat was gone. He slid to the floor, banging his head on the wall behind him.

  Ed blinked and rubbed his eyes as his vision returned, trying to see what was happening.

  Julea was in the center of the room now, and Mott had turned to face her. She held a piece of a broken chair like a sword, pointing its jagged end at Mott. Some kind of viscous goo dripped from the splintered end of her crude weapon … blood, or whatever was inside Mott?

  She’d stabbed him!

  She saved me, Ed thought. But now she’s helpless. Have to do something!

  Ed twisted his body forward so that he was on his hands and knees, looking for the lamp. He saw that it was lying on the floor between Julea and the fireplace, its wick still sputtering. The glass base was badly cracked, and the fluid inside had leaked out in a large puddle around the lamp. But it was still half full.

  He crawled forward to retrieve it, looking up to see if Julea was okay.

  Mott stood in front of her, looming over her. “Wwwomen are the wwwoooombs of the wwworld,” he hissed, “and child-rennn are their fruit. When a wwwoman sinsh, she is twicesh as vile as a mmmman, for she makethh rancid the wwworld.”

  Then, the corpse-like bastard stepped forward, he hands reaching for Julea’s slim throat …

  No! Ed couldn’t let that happen.

  “Look here, you rutting ghoul!” Ed shouted. “I’m the one who made her do it.”

  Mott stopped advancing on Julea, turning his decayed head to look down at Ed on the floor.

  “Yeah!” Ed continued. “You want me. I’m just a cripple, you can handle me—come on!”

  Mott shrieked and shot towards him. He was almost there when he suddenly slipped in the puddle of lamp oil, losing his balance for a moment and teetering forward. Ed dove for Mott’s ankle, pushing it back—

  —And Mott fell forward, flailing. His head hit the ledge in front of the fireplace with a loud, wet thud.

  Ed grabbed the lamp and threw it towards the fireplace. It shattered on the stone there—and this time, the fire spread.

  The blazing oil covered Mott’s head. His hood burst into whooshing flames which quickly spread down to his torso as he thrashed and shrieked.

  But the flames didn’t stop there. A line of fire shot down Mott’s kicking leg and ignited the puddle on the floor. The fire spread across the puddle, and suddenly Ed’s trousers were burning, flames engulfing his right leg below the knee.

  “Dammit!” he swore, scrambling backwards on hand and knees, ignoring the searing pain, trying to get away from the puddle. Julea ran forward and beat at the flames, her hands wrapped in the cloth of her skirt. It seemed to help. Ed ripped off his own shirt and used it to help her.

  In a few moments, the flames were gone.

  When he looked down, the right leg of his woolen trousers was blackened above his boot, and still smoking. The leg hurt him, but he had no idea how bad the burns actually were.

  “We have to get out of here!” he told Julea. He grabbed the edge of the cell door and used it to pull himself up. Damn his clumsy clubfoot, he had to get on his feet!

  When he was standing again, he turned to see that Mott was still shrieking and flailing, his body a convulsing torch. But as Ed watched, the corpse-thing pushed himself up with his arms, then rose to a kneeling position in front of the fireplace, burning all the while.

  “Rutting hell!” Ed screamed. “He’s getting up!”

  Panicked, he pushed Julea through the cell door into the basement proper, then limped quickly through himself. He slammed it behind him and hammered the padlock closed with the palm of his hand.

  “All right—now where?” he asked.

  “The stairs!” Julea pointed to the main staircase—the same stairs which Ed had descended just before Starks and the Guardian had ambushed him earlier.

  He scanned the room. He needed a weapon if he was going to have to fight anyone who blocked their escape …

  There were objects everywhere, all of the strange machines and glass balls and silver cords on the floor. In one corner, he saw a wheel-like wood and silver device and his stomach churned as he had a vague recollection of being tormented there.

  He looked to a nearby table, covered with books and papers. There was a letter opener there, and he snatched it up.

  Besides the letter opener, there was a large map spread across the table. It showed the whole of the nation of Garatayne. Red-inked lines radiated from their location on the Isle towards the largest cities on the mainland: Ironbound, Seagirt, Quisquinton and others. By the name of each city was a written figure, numbers in the hundred thousands … Was this how many people lived in each place? But what did the red lines mean, then?

  In a moment, Julea was pulling on his arm, and Ed turned away from the map. Taking her hand, he forced his bad leg forward, then his good one, scrambling as quickly as he could towards the stairs.

  They heard excited shouts as they reached the bottom of the staircase. Ed looked up to see that the bearded Mister Starks was halfway down the stairs, the silver-headed torture tool in his hand. Behind him came two other servants wielding knives, and from the top of the steps the Guardian himself glared down at them.

  “Julea!” The Guardian’s crimson eyes went wide as he recognized his daughter. “What are you doing?”

  Ed yanked her away, trying to avoid the man’s gaze. He knew how strong the red-eyed Guardian was, and with those other goons to help …

  “We need another way!” he shouted to Julea.

  “The tunnel!” she answered, pointing to a dark opening at the other end of the cellar. One of the silver cords lead into the opening, but there was little light to see anything else.

  “It goes to the cave where the monster Krotan lives,” Julea explained, “where he has his pit. There’s a door leading outside from there, I think.”

  “Will he be down inside the pit now?” Ed asked. “Or up in the cave?”

  He didn’t relish the idea of facing the demon-thing again.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “All right. We have to try!”

&
nbsp; They hurried towards the tunnel, dodging around the tables and the other clutter in the cellar. Behind him, Ed could hear Starks screaming as well as other voices, coming up fast. He worked his legs as hard as he could, swinging his bad leg far forward with each step to try to speed up his pace.

  It was no good. He’d never outrun them, and he was holding Julea back …

  He let go of her hand. “Run!” he told her. “You have to go on ahead.”

  She looked to him, her big eyes wide and her little mouth working soundlessly.

  “Run, dammit!” he repeated. “I’m not fast enough.”

  “No!” she stopped moving and stood there, trembling. “Don’t leave me.”

  There wasn’t time to argue … he looked back to see one of the servant men jumping over a table not fifty paces away, ready to pounce on them.

  “Run ahead—NOW!” he shouted. “That’s what your exiled knight commands. Now!”

  She hesitated a moment, as if about to say something else …

  He pushed her roughly, and she sprang into motion, running.

  Ed clambered after her in futile pursuit, aware that at any second his pursuers would catch up with him in his crippled gait.

  Then, Julea reached the tunnel.

  Ed saw her enter the shadowy opening just as someone tackled him from behind, sending him crashing to the cold floor. The letter opener flew from his grasp and skidded off across the stone.

  “Bastards!” he screamed. “You rutting mad demon worshipping bast—UNNF!”

  Someone kicked his side, hard. Then the man holding him down was moving aside while someone else hauled him up.

  The Guardian! He dragged Ed roughly to his feet, handling him as if he weighed nothing at all.

  “What have you done to my child?” he bellowed. “Master forgive me … But I’m going to crush your skull with my bare hands!” He clamped his hands on either side of Ed’s head.

  Just then, a girlish shriek echoed from the dark tunnel. “HELP!!!” the voice pleaded. Julea!

  The Guardian jerked his head in that direction, startled.

  “Edwynnnnnnn!” she screamed. “Help!”

  “She’s in trouble!” Ed said. “The demon—Krotan, dammit! He’s in there!”

  The Guardian wrapped his arm around Ed’s waist and half-carried, half-dragged him towards the tunnel. Ed’s crippled and recently burned right leg skidded across the floor, sending stabs of pain through him.

  They entered the tunnel and plunged into blackness. Ed struggled to raise his head to see where they were going. A hundred paces or so ahead there was a faint yellow glow.

  “NOOOOOOO!” Julea screamed, and Ed felt cold fear grip his chest.

  “You bastard, he’s got her!” Ed shouted. “Call him off, do something!”

  But the Guardian didn’t answer, just kept dragging him forward.

  As they got closer, Ed saw that the light was cast by a heavy lantern set on the floor of the tunnel. It illuminated the rough fieldstone walls of the earthen-floored passage, which were supported by wooden beams. This tunnel was man-made, built recently by the looks of it. The silver cord ran down the length of it through the dirt, disappearing into darkness at the other end.

  Ed caught a glimpse of something moving at the far edge of the light.

  It was Julea! She was grasping at the dirt, thrashing and crying as something dragged her backwards down the tunnel, into the shadows.

  “Help!” she sobbed.

  Ed thought he could see a pair of lambent red eyes glaring from just behind her in the deep shadows.

  “Dammit!” Ed cried. “Krotan has her!”

  The Guardian stopped for a moment, as if confused. Ed twisted in his grip, trying to get loose. He had to do something!

  “That thing has her!” he yelled. “Has your daughter, Julea. He’s going to hurt her, you rutting idiot!”

  “He … he shouldn’t do that,” the Guardian said. “I’ll have to talk to him.”

  The Guardian suddenly dropped Ed, who fell face-first into the dirt. Ed quickly picked himself up, only to have his arms grabbed by two servants who’d come up behind him.

  “I have to go help her!” Ed snarled, trying to get loose.

  The Guardian had now disappeared down the tunnel, out of the range of the lantern-light.

  Mr. Starks came forward to stand in front of Ed, placing a grimy finger to Ed’s lips. “SHHH!” he whispered. “The Guardian is talking with his Master now, lad. We can’t bother them.”

  “JULEA!” Ed cried.

  “Shut up!” said one of the men behind him. “Or I’ll stab ya!”

  “Better be quiet, lad,” Starks advised, and now placed his whole greasy hand over Ed’s mouth.

  It was no use struggling; they held him tight.

  The silence was killing Ed; he strained to hear something from down the tunnel, anything. He thought he heard whispering, and crying—not screaming, but a girl sobbing. Then she was still alive? She might be all right?

  All he could do is wait and hope that the bastard of a Guardian valued his daughter over his demon Master.

  After what seemed like an eternity, someone entered the field of the lantern-light. He saw the Guardian’s Stefanite robes first, then the frills of Julea’s stained dress.

  Thank God!

  She was coughing, and her face and clothes were streaked with dirt and soot, but she seemed to be uninjured. When she saw Ed, she let out a little cry and made as if to run forward—but her father grabbed her arms and held her back.

  “Mister Bocke is not going to bother you again, child,” he said. “Stay here.”

  The Guardian strode towards Ed, his hands outstretched, fingers clenching rhythmically.

  “Father, no!” Julea suddenly doubled over, her hands on her head, as if the thought of his death caused her physical agony.

  “He is disruptive and violent,” the Guardian explained, “and the Master wishes him to be … put out of the way.”

  “NO!” Julea ran to her father, beating her tiny fists on his chest, her face streaked with tears. “You can’t, not him!”

  He shook his head, bent down to touch her chin. “I am sorry. I would have spared you this, my child. I should never have let you talk to him …”

  “But you promised!” she wailed. “You told mother and you PROMISED!”

  “I do not understand. What does that—”

  “Because! We are …” She leaned forward to whisper something in his ear.

  Suddenly, the Guardian’s red eyes went wide, and he jerked upright, stunned. “But daughter, this will not be easy to … the Master will not approve the lad’s continued … Hmm.”

  She pulled away, looked her father in the eyes. “You promised. To me and mother.”

  “Very well.” He patted her blonde head, then walked over to where Ed was restrained by the two servants.

  The insane bastard was smiling now, though his lips quivered as if the effort of it was a strain on his muscles. “My loyalty to the Master runs deep,” he said. “But I have a father’s weakness towards my child and I cannot go back on my word. Just promise me you’ll be good to her in the time we have left, yes?”

  Ed nodded, unable to speak properly as Mr. Stark’s hand still covered his mouth.

  Of course he’d be good to her! She was pretty and respected him and made him feel things he hadn’t dared to feel since his crush on Elsbeth Kreeks years ago.

  Although the best thing for her would be to get her out of this hell-hole … And I still intend to try. I just wish these thugs would let go of my arms …

  But what had she said to her father to keep him from killing Ed? The Guardian had been ready to turn his head to pulp a few minutes ago, and now the man was giving him gentle advice?

  The Guardian walked back to Julea, resting his hands on her slim shoulders. “We’ll have to get your mother’s dress ready. Mrs. Starks can clean and press it, alter it if need be. There’s not much time, but I’ll do everything I ca
n to make things beautiful for you.”

  Finally, Mr. Starks removed his hand, and Ed was able to speak.

  “What dress?” Ed gasped, perplexed.

  “For our wedding,” Julea whispered. Her big eyes darted to his face, and then she shyly looked away, blushing.

  Had she really said wedding?

  Rutting hell!

  -22-

  After a hasty breakfast of bread and dates, Ralley and Taxamia boarded an Order of Kion flyer which carried them across the river to the Valley of Tombs and their ultimate destination, the Tomb of Oberkion.

  Orcus Gaelti, Master of the Order, saw them off from the small landing platform near the palace, but did not accompany them.

  “My presence at this time would not aid you,” he explained to Ralley, his expression inscrutable as always behind his wooden eye-shield. “Indeed, too many aon sensitives in that place would only complicate things. Taxamia knows what she has to do, and she can guide you.”

  The had a small escort of Xa Ashaon guards, and the Xai Ashaon Jarlus Sanreeven himself came along, scowling and complaining about the Order of Kion and their damned mysteries.

  The craft landed on the plateau very close to the cliff-side platform where Ralley and the others had first arrived. Ralley saw that the blue-black crystal obelisks still stood sentinel over the platform, the exact twins of those on top of the “faerie mound” back on the Isle of Briars.

  “The Key of Oberkion is directly underneath that transit platform,” Taxamia explained.

  “Gaelti wants us to stay up here,” Jarlus told them, nodding to his Xa Ashaon subordinates. “He says you two have to be alone in there to do whatever … ritual this is.” His eyes narrowed above his hawk-like nose. “But I will not be far.”

  They left their escort, and Taxamia led Ralley down the rough-hewn stairs which descended the limestone cliff, and off on a narrow ledge to one side. Here, they came upon a door fashioned from the same blue-black crystal as so much of the ancient’s technology. But this door had Dameryan symbols upon it.

  “It’s not really Oberkion’s tomb,” Taxamia explained. “No one knows where Phaedon Oberkion was actually buried. But this is … his legacy. At least, part of it … The glyphs at the top represent an interconnected hierarchy of aona. The falcon with the bee and reed is the Culcras crest. And the writing says—“