by Jack Conner
“You think they’re down there themselves? You don’t think they just created the thing and set it loose?”
“Taking over the Sabo through remote control?”
“They could be over at the Floor Show for all we know.”
“I doubt it. The Guards are at this very moment combing the castle for them.”
Francois gave him a strange look. “You acted fast.”
“They provoked me, or at least that was the result. They killed a man and strung him up in one of the rooms the Funhouse has been staying in.”
Francois looked even more weary than before. “Why?”
“I have no idea. Some grudge or other, I imagine. Whatever their motive, it means nothing to me except disrespect, and I will not tolerate it. However, I will try to find them first, reason with them, see if I can convince them to back off. They won’t, of course. I’ll have to kill them.”
“Roche ...”
Sarnova waited.
“It won’t happen that way,” Francois said.
“Oh, I know. They wouldn’t have started this thing unless they thought they stood a chance of winning. Nevertheless, my options are limited.”
“Just the same …”
“They have to be dealt with. And they will. Leave it to me. As for you, I need you to organize a meeting of the traitors and discuss De Soto’s death, hear what they have to say, and basically make sure you’re still their leader.”
“Consider it done.”
“They need to be united, under you, so that they pose no threat.”
Francois nodded, said nothing.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
The Ambassador laughed softly and drank some more scotch.
“What’s so funny” Sarnova said.
“Just that you’d be wasting a penny.” Francois sat the glass down, running a hand through his blood-streaked hair. “I need some sleep, Roche. You could use some yourself.”
Sarnova smiled. “Consider it done.”
* * *
When Ruegger returned to the room he shared with Danielle, he found four Castle Guards standing outside.
“What’s this?” he demanded.
“Sarnova sent us here to ensure that nothing happened to you or to Danielle before the chess match between you and the ... well, Kiernevar,” one said.
“You’re supposed to protect us?”
“Something like that.”
“Are we in any danger?”
“Junger and Jagoda have allegedly killed a member of the Funhouse of the Forsaken, and they left the body in Danielle’s old room.”
Ruegger nodded. The Balaklava liked to play, and it wasn’t out of character for them to throw fright into those that they were playing with. However, he doubted that this was the only reason the Guards were posted here.
“What if we tried to leave, Danielle and I? Would you try to stop us?”
The Guard shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve been directed to prevent you from escaping, should you choose to do so.” He gestured apologetically. “I’m sorry about this—I’m an admirer of yours; I read about you every chance I get in the papers—we’re just doing our job. We’re to follow wherever you go until the game.”
“What about Danielle? Aren’t you supposed to be protecting her?”
“We’re undermanned, you know. Not enough Guards to go around, so we were kind of hoping you two wouldn’t separate. Please, sir. Just let us do our job, we won’t interfere. Your room is soundproofed. We’ll give you your privacy.”
He stuck out a hand in friendship.
Swearing under his breath, Ruegger said, “We’ll try to be good.”
“That’s all we’re asking.”
Ruegger took the offered hand, nodded to the other three Guards, and moved inside, where Danielle was lying on the bed reading a book. When he entered, she shot to her feet and hugged him.
“Cute, aren’t they?” she said.
“So much for getting the hell out of here while we still had a chance.”
“You wouldn’t have gone anyway.”
“No, I guess not, at that. Did they tell you about ...?”
“Junger and Jagoda? Yeah. But if the bastards were trying to leave a message or something, it could just as easily have been for Sophia as for me—or Max, for that matter.” She shook her head. “Not that … if it had been intended for someone else … that would be any better, of course.”
“I know what you mean.”
“All I’m saying is that since that message may not’ve been for me—and since I haven’t heard that guards were posted to Sophe, it means those guys out there are more jailers than protectors.”
She touched his face lightly with her fingertips.
“Jesus, your clothes are stiff ... wet,” she said, laughing a little. She squeezed him harder and said, “I was worried about you. The sun …”
“It’s all right, baby.” He kissed her forehead, smelling her clean and fragrant hair. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”
She pressed her lips against the place over his heart, took his hand and pulled him over to the bed. “Now tell me what the hell happened.”
“Well, among other things, I killed a dragon.“
When he had finished the tale and convinced her that he wasn’t pulling her leg, she propped some pillows under her back and lit a cigarette, frowning in thought.
“You think this is random?” she asked.
“Meaning, does it have any relation to finding out why Ludwig died?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. The dragons, the Refuge. I mean, on top of everything else to sort through, this doesn’t just add a few pieces to the puzzle, it changes it entirely. We need some evidence, some real evidence, of who hired those two to kill Ludwig. Without that, we’re just chasing phantoms.”
She stared into space. “So magic is real … ?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
Ruegger was tired of mysteries. He simply wanted to hold Danielle in his arms and sleep. Thankfully, she let him.
* * *
Ten soldiers stopped Lord Kharker as he descended into the catacombs.
“Please, sir, we’re to advise anyone who tries to go down this way to refrain. There have been ... unforeseen circumstances ... and the catacombs are considered potentially dangerous.”
“I know all about it. The Balaklava are supposed to be down there. That’s why there are ten of you here. I can handle them.”
“Excuse me, Lord Kharker, I would not deny you, of all people, access to the tunnels, but I must tell you that I am to report all those who descend into them ... well, I have to report you to Lord Sarnova if you pass through. I guess he figures anyone who goes down there might have ties to Junger and Jagoda.” The soldier smiled nervously, as if suggesting that this was only a joke. “Please, I implore you, don’t go down there. It’s dangerous.”
Kharker laughed, then stepped forward.
“Out of my way, lads. I’ve got things to do and I don’t care whether Blackie knows about them or not. Go, give your report.”
Stomping past the guards, he began the last leg of the descent.
Once deep within the nest of old stone passageways, he knew just where to go. After making his way into a chamber built to house the remains of a long-dead Dark Lord, he triggered a hidden panel. Moving into the darkness beyond, he entered the territory of the Sabo. He had no fear of the creature itself, or of the parasites that lived within it, for Sarnova had taken him here many times in the past and the Sabo recognized him as a friend. Of the Balaklava, however, he was wary. About that he’d lied to Blackie’s soldiers. But he would not let his fear of Junger and Jagoda eclipse his purpose.
Swiftly, he moved through one tunnel after another, crossing over a bridge here and climbing a flight of stairs there, at all times keeping his senses sharp for other sounds. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he heard strange noises coming from a source he’d never heard before.
&nb
sp; He popped his head out from behind a wall and made a quick study of the area beyond. What he saw in the instant before he pulled his head back one of the several large chambers that the Sabo used to snare its victims. There were the long chains and there, up high, the rusted cages where many a mortal had spent his last moments in utter terror. But these were sights that Kharker had seen before.
What attracted his attention was the strange creature climbing up to one of those cages, using its countless arms and appendages to grasp many chains at once. Made of interwoven human and immortal bodies, its shape seemed fluid. Of course, this must be what had everyone so afraid, Sarnova included. This creature, this thing, had been fashioned by Junger and Jagoda for some grim purpose.
Why was it climbing to the cages above? Then Kharker thought he understood. It was practicing. This was a drill. Memories returned to him of times spent in various armies throughout the world, most recently of his time spent in World War Two Germany, with Ruegger as his great and evil companion. Yes, companion. That was the word. Not pupil, as Ruegger liked to think of it now. Hell, if anything, the Darkling had taught Kharker some things! But that is what this thing was doing, wasn’t it? Practicing for a time when it would need to know how to climb those chains—for a time when it was at war.
Who was there to make war upon? Sarnova, for one. Surely Junger and Jagoda weren’t preparing to attack the Dark Lord! Even they weren’t that bold.
It was a question for another time. What Kharker wondered now was whether or not this thing had a mind of its own. Had Junger and Jagoda actually given it the power to reason? Kharker needed to get around it, to reach a tunnel on the far side of the chamber.
He risked another glance. This time he noticed details he’d missed before, like the mutilated body of a dead horse on the ground. Secondly, and in greater supply, were the bodies of roughly a dozen mud-sharks. Even the Sabo could not kill the Balaklava’s creature. Third, the abomination had reached the cage it had been climbing towards. It opened and closed the door, reaching a limb inside. Once satisfied, the monster swung its great bulk through the air, shifting its purchase from one set of chains to another. It began an ascent to a cage even closer to the ceiling.
Damn it all. The creature above had many heads and many eyes, and if even a few of them actually worked it would spot Kharker crossing the chamber and he’d be finished. Suppressing a groan, he moved back from the opening and retreated down several tunnels. He would have to take the long way around. It took him another twenty minutes, but finally he made his way to the tunnel he’d been seeking, and from it he made his way to the outer limit of the Sabo, the great round door.
He gathered his telekinetic power and rolled it open. He stepped into the outer region, seeing the boulder ahead which sheltered the labyrinth from unwanted visitors. A post with a board mounted on it jutted from the ground. It’s a trap, Malie, read the note.
Kharker laughed.
“Yes, you bitch. It’s a trap, all right.” He plucked the post from the ground and put it under an arm, where it would stay until he found a place to dispose of it. Looking up through the ceiling for a moment, he sighed. “Gavin, this is for you. And for Jean-Pierre, may you find your peace at last.”
He rammed the stump of a cigar into his mouth, careful not to light it lest the scent give him away, and returned to the dark corridors of the Sabo, confident now that Maleasoel would die, painfully and in fear. Then he made his way back the way he’d come.
He tried to ignore the feeling that he was being watched all the while.
THE END
OF VOLUME TWO
THE LIVING NIGHT
PART THREE
IN THE HALLS OF MADNESS
by Jack Conner
Copyright 2014
All rights reserved
Cover image used with permission
FROM THE AUTHOR
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Chapter 1
While Ruegger and Danielle, and most of the other vampires in the Castle were going to sleep, Jean-Pierre found the rift in the wall of the water-filled shaft and entered it. Straining his eyes, he saw that the widest portion of the rift went deepest, becoming a tunnel. Where it led he didn’t know, but he took it anyway. He had no idea he was swimming into the nether end of Roche Sarnova’s Zoo.
When the tunnel ended, the albino rose to find himself treading water in a pond much smaller than the one the dragon had used. However, the air in here was no less stagnant. Great.
Leaving the water, he followed the only corridor available. Stone, all around him; he could feel its weight above him, poised to crush. For a moment he had second thoughts about going this route, but the truth was he needed to feed. Until he had, his wounds would not heal and he couldn’t face the sun. Hopefully he’d have an opportunity to strengthen himself soon. Then he could go back up to the lake, without fear of the sun, and enter the Castle through the Old Courtyard.
That was the plan.
The tunnel twisted, sometimes opening out into larger caverns of hard cold stone, at other times narrowing so that he could barely pass through. Every now and then a tributary of a tunnel would spill out into this main avenue, but Jean-Pierre, dripping water and sodden shirt sticking to his back, decided to stick to his chosen course. Sometimes stalactites and stalagmites reared from the floor and the ceiling, and in the uneven light of the torches they seemed sinister.
Suddenly, the smell of old blood washed across his nose, and he picked up his pace to find the source. He didn’t have to travel far. When he reached the remains of the human, he wasn’t sure what to think; he’d never seen such a corpse before.
He sensed that it had died long before it wound up here, but how could that be? It didn’t smell like a zombie. Almost, it looked as if something had eaten the dead man from the inside out. There were many tiny bite and claw marks reminiscent of a bat, but what bat could survive down here, in this air? That’s what it looked like, though, as if a horde of bats had infested his body, lived there for a time and, when the man’s flesh was useless to them, had broken out and flown away. Jean-Pierre could even smell the vague smell of bat guano.
What the fuck? It made no sense.
Regardless, the man had been dead for far too long for the werewolf to feed from. Jean-Pierre moved on, ever more cautiously. His clothes had dried when at last he came to a major fork, where the main avenue split into no less than six tunnels.
The albino paused, then entered the widest corridor. Torches blazed along the walls, but great distances separated each torch from the other, creating large dark pockets Jean-Pierre had to pass through. As weak as he was, he could still see well in the dark, but not as well as before. Again, he wondered at the nature of the torches; did someone light them? No, there couldn’t be enough oxygen down here to feed a flame for long. Was it some trick of magic? Perhaps a sorcerer ...
He shook the thought away. Though Kharker had alluded to magic-wielders from time to time, he spoke very little of them, saying only that once they had existed, had even been almost common—but no more. Perhaps magic did exist in the modern world, though, as evidenced by the dragon as much as the torches, and who but a sorcerer could wield magic? Still ... magic?
Jean-Pierre delved through the caves, sometimes encountering forks and crossroads; he always took the largest tunnel. Some might choose the path less traveled, but when it came to basic survival, Jean-Pierre preferred safety.
At one torch, he hesitated. He couldn’t see the next torch. Dimly, he could make out a bend in the cave and assumed that a torch would be waiting beyond, but in order to get to that light he’d have to cross a large portion of dark cave, threading through low-hanging stalactites and tall stalagmites all the way. The perfect place for an ambush. But what choice did he have?
He walked into the darkness.
When he had crossed the tunnel about halfway, he turned b
ack to get a glimpse of the torch and get a better feel of his bearings, but even as he moved a section of the cave closest to the torch began to close.
The tunnel did not simply collapse. Rather, the rock walls, or what he’d thought to be rock, spiraled inward in a strangely organic way, closing off the rear path completely. When the spiraling was complete, it seemed as if a new wall had formed between him and the torch, but it was no wall, not really. The cave … was alive.
As he darted toward the far side, where the cave began to curve, he saw a similar scene there. Just as pliable as flesh, the stone wall folded inward from all three hundred and sixty degrees and spiraled in to close off his only exit.
The cave began to tremble. More, the very walls of the cave began to contract, as if the tunnel were shrinking—but he was not in a tunnel, he knew. He was in some sort of creature, the nature of which he couldn’t guess. It was like being trapped inside a giant stone intestine that was contracting in some lethal spasm.
All at once, the stalactites and stalagmites came alive. They shot out from their stone beds and elongated, their hard sharp points turning his way. Whether they were the tongues or the swords of the beast, Jean-Pierre didn’t know, but like serpents the stone spikes drove towards him.
He dodged, weaving and spinning as he made for the far end, but the stone spears kept striking at him, whipping around him and plunging right by him. Meanwhile, the cave continued to contract, giving him less room to maneuver.
He couldn’t evade the darting stalactites and stalagmites forever. At last one plunged through his side and out his back. Screaming, Jean-Pierre wrapped his hands about the weapon so it couldn’t drive any deeper, or force his wound to grow larger. The stalactite that drove through him continued to drive, and it carried Jean-Pierre with it.
As he was pulled away from the place where he’d been standing, he saw a dozen sharp-tipped stone lances cutting right through the place he would even now be had not this one borne him away. The tongue, if that is what it was, had saved his life.
