The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults)

by Robert Scanlon

  The Professor jumped up. “I won’t go out. It’s too risky. But I’ll see if I can help in any way I can.” He sprinted down the corridor to the front of the building on the ground floor.

  Lena approached her and took her hand. “You were really brave, Sarina. I hope I’m brave like you one day.”

  Sarina forced a smile. “Me, brave? Nonsense. All I had to do was scare him. But YOU, you actually bit him! How clever!”

  The girl beamed and puffed out her chest.

  Sarina was about to ask for the drink when the moment was interrupted by a loud crack, followed by a scream that tailed off rapidly, and shot into the sky above the building.

  The children looked at each other, too scared to speak.

  A few minutes later, the lift opened, and Agent Blanchard was dragged out, half-stumbling, supported by the other agent. The Professor arrived from down the corridor, accompanied by three burly men in black. One was holding a sturdy baton. They sat Agent Blanchard down on the floor against the wall next to the lift. His face was pale and part of his hair was matted against his head with blood. One trouser was ripped into shreds and blood was already pooling on the floor. He looked in a bad way.

  “Ugh,” Sarina said, looking away. “Come on, Lena, we’d better move away from here. Agent Blanchard doesn’t need an audience and I’m sure the adults can look after this.” She needed to provide a distraction, and thought of Nathan’s obsession with the snack machine. “Let’s take the kids to the café area. Let’s find out who wants a late night snack. And I think I can get myself a drink now.”

  Subdued now, they filed off towards the corridor, but the conversation started sounding more upbeat once a few children had found the snack machine.

  Sarina plumped herself down in a comfy chair and thought. She had risked a lot, but her idea had worked and she hadn’t had one hint of dizziness or madness. Perhaps Rona was right; she would find a way forward. Somehow.

  The Professor strode up. “How is he?” She looked up at him. His face was grim.

  “He’ll live, but he’s in a bad way. That thing managed to gash his leg pretty badly with a talon. He may have been done for had the others not arrived. The guy with the baton—” he stopped himself. “You don’t need to know the gruesome details, Sarina. Suffice to say Valkrog is very badly wounded. Maybe not mortally, but he’ll be incapacitated for some time.”

  Sarina nodded. “I heard his horrible screeching. Where did he go?”

  The Professor shrugged. “Probably not important right now, though it’s good that it’s still dark. Which reminds me. One of the other agents has called one of our specialised medic-wagons. What we don’t need right now is a fleet of sirens and blue-flashing lights, so keep the kids out of sight. They’re probably best off staying in this part of the building.”

  “Do you really think they’ll be going anywhere after what they’ve been through tonight?” She flashed him a wry smile.

  He laughed quietly. “I see your sense of humour is returning. We owe you a huge debt, Sarina. What you did tonight—at your own suggestion—was nothing short of remarkable. The world may be gaining a brilliant artist in you, but it would have been just as happy with you as an actress.”

  Sarina felt her smile fade as she remembered Nathan. “We have nothing to celebrate, Professor. We may have removed Valkrog’s threat, but we’re no closer to getting Nathan back, are we? Back to square one, don’t you think?”

  The Professor’s mouth formed a thin line. He tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. “Possibly. But I do have some ideas.” He looked at Sarina and around at the rest of the kids. “I think right now, we all need to get as much rest as we can, because, as you say, our work is not yet done.”

  “But what about Nathan? And Makthryg? Won’t he carry out his threat? Surely we can't rest now?” She tried to push away the images that crowded her head of Nathan looking the same as Agent Blanchard, sprawled on the floor and bleeding in some strange world, but they came anyway.

  “If my intuition is right, I imagine that right now, Makthryg is aware of Valkrog’s fight, and possible defeat. He wants our power more than his creature, so I suspect he will wait to see what cards he is dealt. I think we have a little time up our sleeve yet.”

  “What about the machine? What if Valkrog goes back there? Or returns here for that matter?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will try. But from what I observed out the front window, he’s going to be licking his wounds. He’ll be in no condition to fight. This building is impenetrable, and I have men guarding the warehouse now. Besides ... does he know what to do with the collider? I think not.”

  She smiled. “How do you stay so calm?”

  He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “The same way you stay so brave. Let’s find these kids somewhere to rest while I wrack my brains for the excuses I’ll give their parents for the unplanned sleepover.”

  ~ 17 ~

  Thugs

  Makthryg had heard no more from the attackers, but he was certain they had done exactly as he would, and retreated to track and observe. Which also meant they were not confident to regroup in the darkness, and that they were not strong in numbers. Or that they were afraid of what he might do to his two captives.

  He smiled. Whatever the situation, he would profit from whatever advantage he had, and move closer to the forest under cover of darkness.

  He shoved the two boys to get their attention.

  “What do you want from us?” It was the insolent one—the one who had escaped him before. This one he would need to be wary of.

  He held up a sharp rock in his hand. “We will move shortly. I will first bind your hand to his”—he indicated the other boy with the drooling mouth—“then I will untie you from the tree. You will loosen him with your free hand and stand in front of him with both of your hands behind you. I will then bind your other hand to both of his. Any attempt to escape, now or later, and you will feel this on your skull.” He pointed to the rock.

  Makthryg moved around, placed the rock on the ground while he loosened the bindings sufficiently to free Paolo’s arm. He grabbed the boy’s hand roughly and pulled it across to Nathan’s; and bound the two together tightly with more vines.

  He picked up the rock, moved around to loosen Paolo’s bindings some more, and kicked him in the back to stand up.

  The boy glared back at him. Good. More anger would make him easier to manipulate. “You might be brave, but your friend will suffer should you disobey me.” He held the rock over Nathan’s head.

  Paolo’s scowl was visible in the starlight.

  The boys were now standing, one behind the other with their hands bound together.

  “Now we walk. You may hope your friends are watching and listening, but any noise, any talking, and this one will suffer. Walk.”

  He shoved the boys ahead of him and they picked their way across the scrub towards the edge of the forest; well away from where he suspected the other attackers had emerged earlier.

  The terrain was tough—rocky and criss-crossed with vines—and the light had faded, causing them to trip on several occasions and land heavily on each other.

  “Ummmph!” The boy in front fell again, dragging the stupid one behind him down. Makthryg was unable to prevent himself falling onto both of them. He rolled sideways and landed eye-to-eye with the angry one.

  “You will never win.” The boy’s eyes blazed.

  Makthryg sneered and whispered into the boy’s face. “You think winning is everything. You have no idea what is possible in the world. If your poor farmers knew what I know; they would be helping me, not fighting useless fights. Now get up and continue. We are almost at the forest.”

  He stood first and yanked the boy behind off the angry one, until the angry one was able to first kneel, then stagger to his feet. The dumb boy looked at them both with a thick grin, which in the darkness gave him a ghoulish expression. “Orlmosh thorst?” Makthryg said nothing and shoved
the boys forward.

  They were within metres of the dark edge of the forest when Makthryg dropped to the ground on one knee. He ground his teeth together to avoid yelling, but could not help a whimper escaping his mouth. “Aieee ...” He felt his neck gingerly, expecting to feel blood, but found nothing. He lunged forward to stop the boy in front from continuing, but his leg collapsed under him and this time he howled in pain.

  Both boys stopped and craned around.

  “Stop,” he managed to whisper through the veil of agony. The lead boy had a puzzled look on his face as Makthryg turned and lay on his back with his chest heaving. He dared not even move his leg; it felt crushed. But by what? All he had done was stumble across a tree root. Surely something else had happened? He reached down and patted his leg; expecting again to feel blood or some savage injury, but the leg itself was fine. The pain that shot through him when he touched it was not.

  The lead boy moved around, dragging the other one behind and squatted, forcing the other to do the same behind him. He whispered to Makthryg. “What has happened? Are you injured?”

  “Let me rest a moment boy. I am not injured—” and to prove it, he gritted his teeth and punched the boy in the chest through his searing agony, causing both boys to fall over. The last thing he needed now was to have them escape. He was already weak from severe dehydration and overconsumption of harrowbrush. He had to recover. An opportunity to restore his power over the townsmen was within his grasp, and mere physical pain would not prevent him.

  He breathed deeply for a few moments, then tried to move his leg, carefully at first. The agonising pain returned, but the strange thing was his leg was perfectly operational. If he—

  Of course!

  The realisation lifted his mood briefly before the implication settled in. He was not injured at all. It was Valkrog who must have sustained a terrible injury, though, since he was still feeling the creature’s pain, he was still alive. But for how much longer?

  He felt the weight of despair arrive with the thought Valkrog could be too severely injured to use the powerful machine he had spoken of. The creature may even be doomed.

  Nonetheless, he would prevail, with or without Valkrog. Life had given him the will to lead others and bring changes. There would always be those who resisted, until they realised the value his new world could bring.

  But if he could only find a way to harness the power of the Orange Witch. Now that would be useful. He glanced over at the two boys, struggling to right themselves. Perhaps he would find the answer there. He brushed the thought away. They needed a safe place to rest, and water, or none of them would survive. He braced himself. Knowing that he had no physical injuries did not lessen the pain. Just standing would be an ordeal. He rolled over onto an elbow, still mindful to protect the stump on his hand. He drew on his remaining energy reserves to push the searing pain from his leg to a distant compartment in his mind, where he could ignore it. Temporarily. He climbed to his feet, where he stood unsteadily, looking down at his prisoners.

  “Get up. We must make the forest.”

  The lead boy presented him with a sullen look and rose up. He turned without a word and continued picking his way across the rocky gorse, dragging his stumbling, slack-faced burden behind him. Makthryg gritted his teeth again, forced the shooting pain from his leg to one side and limped after them. He hoped he would have time to recover before he had the need to defend himself again.

  Before long, they entered the forest trails, where it was too dark to continue. Exhausted from managing the intensity of the pain, Makthryg was grateful for a chance to rest, although he would not show this to his captives.

  “Sit down next to that tree. I will untie your hands from each other and bind you for a short rest.” He winced as he moved to secure the boys.

  “Something hurting you? Is that why we must rest?”

  Makthryg slapped the back of his hand across the sullen-faced boy’s head, and said nothing. He finished tying the vines with difficulty. His extreme tiredness, the awkwardness of his injured hand and now the stabbing pains in his neck and leg had taken their toll. He sat against a tree across from the boys, whom he could barely make out in the dark, and leaned his head back against the trunk.

  As far as he knew, only moments had passed before he was being shaken awake roughly.

  “Sire? Is that you, Sire?”

  His head swam and the pain rushed back, even as he tried to suppress it. The voice was familiar ... one of Hursk’s captains? He must be dreaming. He was shaken again.

  “Sire! Please wake!”

  He opened his eyes. A small band of vagabonds, dressed in ripped clothing and with soiled faces, but armed with crossbows, stood in front of him. The dawn light was creeping through the trees. One was kneeling at his feet with a concerned expression. “Sire. I was led to believe you had been killed by the Witch. Are you injured?” His gaze flicked to Makthryg’s hand and back again.

  Makthryg’s tongue was thick and dry. “I ... am not ... badly injured. Need water.”

  The man sprang up and dropped his head. “Of course, Sire. My apologies, Sire.” He whipped around to his men. “Water for the Great One, now!”

  Makthryg slurped hungrily from the water vessel held to his lips. The water was cool, though brackish. He felt his energy returning and pushed the bottle away. “How did you find me?”

  One of the men standing behind the captain shoved the two boys forward into view. The captain spoke. “We found these two—or rather, we heard these two—crashing through the woods in the dark. We laid in wait, as we were unsure of the danger. We ambushed them and found they were boys. One cannot say anything intelligent and the other refused to speak. But we recognised them. It was all I could do to stop the men from tearing them apart as revenge for our defeat.”

  Makthryg noticed the bruises on Paolo’s cheeks. “So you held them until sufficient light returned and then followed their trail to me.”

  The captain nodded with a brief smile. “You truly are the Great One, Sire. Yes, that is what we did. We were cautious. We knew not where they came from or who might be lying in wait. When we found you, I thanked the Powers, for we believed you dead. What would you command for us, Sire?”

  “You have done well—”

  “Jzarak, Sire.”

  “Commander Jzarak—”

  “Sire, I beg to interrupt. I am only a lowly captain—”

  Makthryg looked at him and held up his hand to quiet the man. He climbed painfully to his feet and fixed his gaze on the man. “Congratulations on your promotion, Commander Jzarak. Now, we must move to a safe place. I am possibly being tracked, but I must rest somewhere safe to question these prisoners and formulate a plan to re-establish my authority. Tell me, what is this”—he waved his hand at the band of men—“gaggle of ragtags doing in the forest?”

  The man—who Makthryg now saw was missing many teeth—nodded. “Your Greatness, we are all that is left of a loyal group of your soldiers. When the townsmen attacked the fortress and freed the women and children, we fought back, but were repelled. Some cowards surrendered and joined the townsmen. They believed you dead and acted only to save their own skin. We chose to escape into the woods to regroup in the hope we may fight again. These men are loyal to you, Sire, but we are outcasts and live from day-to-day in the rough. We have been pursued by the townsmen and survived several skirmishes, though not without loss of life and injury.” He fingered his teeth absent-mindedly. “We have a small safe camp in a cave not far from here. It is defensible”—he added quickly seeing the look on Makthryg’s face—“but we can take a route that will be hard to track.”

  Makthryg nodded. “Then we will go to your camp, Jzarak. I will share my plan for recapturing the fortress and bringing the townsmen to justice. Our battle may have taken a great toll, but our war is far from over. I have seen a glimpse of a new power that will transform our world. You loyal men will be the first to revel in its benefits, should you be willing to fight.”<
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  The men all lifted their crossbows into the air with one hand, and thumped the other to their chest. They made nary a sound. Jzarak had disciplined them well. These were no ordinary fighters, he could see that. They would be of great assistance in luring the townsmen to defeat.

  Because these loyalists were not just soldiers. They were killers.

  ~~~

  By the time they arrived at the makeshift camp, his plan had fully formed. He had managed to suppress the pain to the point where it occasionally speared through him, and he was left with a limp. But his mind was clear again.

  His power lay in his two captives. He eyed them both and thought through his plan. He could down two crows with one bolt: Trap the townsmen and force them to give up the fortress, and send a very traumatic message to the other world. He was sure with the boy appearing in his world, and Valkrog engaged in battle in the other, that there would already be people attempting a connection. He needed to give them an urgent reason to make that happen.

  He surveyed the camp. Set against the slope of a small cliff—a part of the hillside leading up to the fortress—was a cave. Judging by the vile stench, the men had been here a while. The men had hidden the cave entrance behind demountable tree branches.

  But the men had not been as careful as he would have liked. He supposed even hardened killers had to eat cooked meat and stay warm, so the men had obviously had more than one fire, risking the attention it could bring. The embers of the current one, ringed by stones and with a couple of buckets full with water to the side, were still glowing. At least the men were not so careless that they hadn’t made provision to douse the fire quickly.

  Presumably the risk was lessened at night, when no townsman would be out in the forest. He scowled as he remembered his loss of the women and children as hostages. Those townsmen were in all likelihood ensconced in their comfortable cottages, away from the cold night and snug in front of their own fireplaces, oblivious to his plans.

  He looked again at the glowing coals, and realised his answer to creating urgency was staring back at him. He looked for Jzarak and called him over.