Destroyer of Worlds

by Mark Chadbourn

  The warrior bowed his head silently for a moment. The flickering images behind him died away.

  When he looked back up, he spoke quietly, but his voice was filled with emotion. ‘If the Caraprix still infest this place, flee. Now. Go to the Groghaan Gate. Return to the Land of Always Summer and fill your heart with hope that you can run far enough and fast enough. Go to the Groghaan Gate and seek the Heart of the Drakusa. But beware: the way has been made treacherous to slow the vile beasts. Courage will prevail.’ A pause. ‘The Age of Warriors has passed.’

  The warrior winked out and the room returned to normal. Reeling from his trance, Shavi staggered back until he was caught by Church.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Veitch said. ‘The Caraprix . . . back at the court.’

  ‘So . . . what? They’re just going to wipe us out?’ Laura said.

  ‘Like the spiders did on Earth,’ Church said. ‘Wipe everything out and start again.’

  ‘What can we do?’ Shavi asked.

  ‘You can’t do anything,’ Tom snapped. ‘This is bigger than you! You’re just little cogs in a vast machine, turning slowly, not even knowing what you’re doing. Following the pattern someone else has set for you.’ He gnawed on a knuckle, long-stifled desperation breaking through his carefully devised exterior.

  ‘Did you know the Caraprix were a threat?’ Church asked.

  ‘I don’t know anything either, you idiot! I just see flashes of what’s to come. Do I have to explain it to you again?’ he said with bitter sarcasm. ‘Disconnected images like the views from windows as you climb a tower. Who knows how they all link together? Who knows what it all means? Meaning can only be divined by a true perspective, and neither you nor I have that. We live in ignorance, and do our best as we fumble around in the dark.’

  ‘What are the Caraprix?’ Church pressed. ‘Are they just the equivalent of the spiders—’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Tom marched out of the chamber, a forlorn figure.

  ‘I thought he was supposed to be our guide,’ Laura said.

  ‘He does his best,’ Church said. ‘We just don’t do our best for him.’

  The warrior’s message hung heavily over them as they continued their journey, worming its way into their thoughts and infecting them with a mood of hopelessness.

  ‘I thought the Caraprix were supposed to be close to Existence,’ Ruth said to Church. ‘Does this mean we’ve been lying to ourselves all along? That we’re on the wrong side? Maybe the Libertarian is right - people don’t want the torment of trying to be better than they are. All that insecurity and worry and struggle and pain. The things we’ve had to face. They just want to live in stability, with as much happiness as they can grasp before it all falls apart. The Mundane Spell might actually have been a blessing.’

  Church had no answers for her questions, but her words struck a chord and he pondered them in silence as they continued through the gloomy halls.

  2

  Decebalus had risen with the sun, climbing the highest tower of the Court of the Soaring Spirit to get the clearest view across the Great Plain to the mountains and the sprawling Forest of the Night that bordered it. What he saw left him with a chill that even the warmth of the sun couldn’t lift. Only the white-streaked mountaintops were visible, the forest not at all. The army surrounding the city was so large he had the impression of standing on a lighthouse on an island in the centre of a black, turbulent ocean. War machines belched out thick black smoke to fill the sky, mingling with the odd purple mist clinging to some of the enemy. Three Riot-Beasts came and went, their roving eyes revealing their idiot power that blasted out in a directionless fury that occasionally hit their own forces. It was like no army Decebalus had ever faced in his lifetime of battle. In his mind, he felt as if he was looking at a seething anthill, but what his eyes saw was even worse and his consciousness squirmed and skittered across it, refusing to accept the reality.

  ‘They know we are not defenceless.’ Lugh had joined him silently. ‘They fear the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons in our midst, and they wonder what other powers we have at our disposal. As well they should. But they will attack soon enough.’

  ‘What makes my blood boil is that this is no true battle. Its outcome is meaningless to the Enemy. It is simply a way of harrying and distracting the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons until the Void has claimed its place in this world. And yet we must fight, and we must die. And what do we gain?’

  ‘Survival.’ Lugh’s face was drawn, yet to Decebalus he appeared to have grown in stature since the barbarian had first encountered him. ‘All things under Existence are in peril. Extinction waits for Fragile Creatures and for gods. When the Void remakes this place, we will no longer be in it, replaced by supine peoples who will live in peace within the Mundane Spell, and never challenge the will of the Devourer of All Things.’

  Decebalus nodded. ‘You make sense, for a slippery manipulator of men. For all time, until this time, there was always a chance the Void could be deposed, however slim that chance might be. If this war is lost, there will never be a chance again. The Void rules, for all time.’

  ‘And we play our part here, by distracting the Enemy and deflecting the bulk of its forces from hunting Jack Giant-Killer and his fellows. There is little glory in any victory here.’ He smiled wryly. ‘But we play a part, and sometimes that is enough.’

  They were interrupted by a Sister of Dragons with dyed red hair. Her name was Sarah Mazzarella, a thoughtful and intuitive woman to whom Decebalus had given the onerous task of liaising with the gods. ‘They’re ready,’ she said, her voice weary. ‘They’ve agreed to accept your orders in the battle.’ She glanced at Lugh. ‘But no other.’

  ‘As it should be,’ Lugh said. ‘We would only fight amongst each other if one of us tried to gain ascendancy.’

  ‘You are an irritating and troublesome kind.’ Decebalus sighed. ‘It would be easier to herd cats with a stick and a flute.’ He nodded to Sarah. ‘Tell them we march onto the field of slaughter within the hour.’

  ‘I may reword that,’ she said as she left.

  ‘You have a strategy in place?’ Lugh asked.

  ‘Yes. Run hard at the enemy and see if they fall down.’

  Lugh eyed Decebalus, unsure if he was joking.

  ‘I have a plan,’ the barbarian said with a grin. He glanced towards the tower where smoke belched from the windows and lights flashed mysteriously. Math was hard at work.

  As they made their way down towards their troops, there was a loud disturbance at the gate. Soon after, the chief of the guards ran breathlessly to them. ‘The Enemy has sent an emissary to talk,’ he gasped.

  ‘We are not going to surrender!’ Decebalus said.

  Lugh caught his arm. ‘Let us listen to what he has to say.’

  At the gate, a skeletal figure in black robes with a sly smile and staring yellow eyes waited with three Redcaps who could barely contain their bloodlust. They all stank of rotting meat.

  ‘Perhaps I should cut you down here, and save time,’ Decebalus mused.

  ‘What would it profit you?’ The skeletal man nodded mockingly. ‘I am Lorca, charged to speak for the one your kind knows as Seth, sole survivor of the Great Dominion of the desert lands, who commands this mighty force.’

  ‘Ah. He seeks revenge.’

  Lorca gave a chittering laugh. ‘Revenge is for equals, Fragile Creature. We come here to . . .’ With a wry expression, Lorca searched for words that Decebalus might understand and finally settled on, ‘Save trouble.’

  ‘Save trouble? Why, I have been looking forward to this fight for a long time. I have organised my week around it.’

  ‘You wish to die so soon?’

  ‘If needs must. But I have a bet on with the drinkers down at the Hunter’s Moon. How many of you will I take with me? That is the question.’

  Lorca nodded, patronisingly.

  ‘Say your piece and then we can get down to the sport,’ Decebalus said.

  ‘Give up th
e Caraprix.’

  Taken aback, Decebalus shared a glance with Lugh.

  ‘Give them up now, and we will leave you in peace here to live out the rest of your days, however long that may be,’ Lorca continued.

  ‘Why would you want those silver rats?’

  ‘Why would you? They are no use to Fragile Creatures.’

  ‘They were no use. Now that you have raised the matter, I think they may well be of great use indeed.’

  ‘Then you do not know their true nature. You harbour the seeds of your own destruction, Fragile Creature. The Caraprix are not benign. They are a force of destruction.’

  ‘Ah. So you are doing us a favour by taking them off our hands. I had the same proposition in the market this very morning. A ducat for my axe. To save me from cutting myself.’

  Lorca nodded and smiled, but his eyes were filled with a deathly cold. ‘Understand that you may make a gift of the Caraprix, or we will take them. The only difference is the life or death of everyone in this city.’

  ‘Run along now. I am tired of talking.’

  Lorca held Decebalus’s gaze for a moment, before giving another contemptuous nod and retreating with the Redcaps.

  ‘An interesting development,’ Decebalus mused.

  ‘Then the Enemy has a reason to be here,’ Lugh said.

  ‘There is a reason for everything. The question, then, is of what use are those shape-shifting rats to the Army of Ultimate Destruction?’

  ‘They must be of great value indeed.’ Lugh pondered for a moment and then said, ‘And why did the Enemy not simply crush us and take the Caraprix? There is something here, I think.’

  ‘There is something, indeed!’ Decebalus gave a pleased grin. ‘If the Enemy wants the Caraprix so badly that they are prepared to wheedle for them, our course of action is decided. They shall not have them!’

  3

  Hunter and Jack spent the better part of an hour searching the reaches of the cavern for an exit. Far behind them in the dark, the Fomorii hunted through the field of bones, drawing closer with every passing minute.

  The sign would have been easy to miss if Jack had not been resting his forehead against the rock to calm his mounting panic. Faint vibrations rippled through the wall, a steady, rhythmic beat. He called Hunter over, who pressed his ear to the damp rock.

  ‘You can hear it,’ he whispered. ‘Boom-boom-boom, like machinery.’

  ‘In here? What could it be?’

  When Hunter edged along the wall in a particular direction, the beat grew fractionally louder, until he could hear it clearly. At that point, he spied handholds in the rock leading up to a small, dark opening about ten feet off the ground. Boosting Jack up, he followed him into a tunnel large enough for them to stand upright, cut through the rock. The beat emanated from somewhere ahead.

  The tunnel wound steadily upwards, presenting occasional rough-hewn steps for them to climb, the beat growing louder the closer they drew to the source. Soon it was ringing off the stone walls and vibrating beneath their feet.

  BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

  They entered a large hall that smelled of sulphur and coal, with enormous furnaces along opposite walls, still black with soot, the tools of the smiths protruding from the dead cores. Half-completed swords and chain mail rusted on the ground amidst anvils and scattered hammers.

  ‘Looks like we’ve found the back door into the Halls of the Drakusa,’ Hunter said.

  ‘If the others got in, we could meet up with them.’ Jack’s eyes gleamed with hope. ‘I was afraid we might have to go back the way we came.’

  Beyond, another chamber was given over to industrial production, but here its purpose was less clear: a faint chemical smell hung over benches covered with glass bottles and jars. Bones had been swept into the corners. Mysterious implements lay abandoned on the floor and on the benches, as if the occupants had been rudely disturbed.

  The floor of the following chamber was covered with runes and ritual marks, and contained an overwhelming atmosphere of threat. Hunter and Jack couldn’t bear to tarry in it for too long.

  Finally the booming was so painful they had to cover their ears. The source was a huge iron door set in the wall of a long corridor, but the moment Hunter grabbed the handle with both hands and dragged the door open, silence fell.

  Jack futilely urged his friend not to venture into the room, but Hunter’s curiosity had got the better of him.

  The chamber was lit by a shaft of natural sunlight falling from an incredible height overhead. Stone steps wound around the walls up the dizzying stretch to whatever lay in the dim upper reaches. The floor of the chamber was occupied by a giant with a brutish, bare, heavily scarred torso, its head covered with a leather hood, its arms outstretched and fastened to the floor by shackles. It was stock-still, head cocked, listening.

  ‘How long has it been here?’ Jack whispered.

  ‘The Drakusa disappeared long before the Tuatha Dé Danaan arrived on the scene . . . an age ago.’

  ‘All that time? What does it feed on?’

  ‘What does it feed on?’ the giant repeated.

  Jack started. ‘It heard me. It can speak.’

  Hunter pushed Jack back towards the door. As they stepped out of the chamber, the giant wrenched at its chains again and again, creating the deafening booming sound they had followed.

  Hunter took them back into the chamber and it stopped, waiting.

  ‘It’s been trying to break free all this time,’ Hunter observed.

  ‘It’s been trying to break free,’ the giant repeated.

  ‘Why is it mimicking what we say?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I don’t think it is,’ Hunter replied thoughtfully. ‘Let’s forget how it survived all this time. Why did the Drakusa imprison it here?’

  The giant continued to listen intently.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Jack decided.

  ‘One hundred and ninety-three cried like a baby,’ the giant said.

  ‘What’s it talking about?’ Jack asked before he saw Hunter staring, mouth open.

  ‘Sixty-seven spilled blood and urine on the tiles,’ the giant continued.

  ‘Get out of my head!’ Hunter shouted.

  ‘What’s it saying?’ Jack asked. ‘What’s one hundred and ninety-three and sixty-seven?’

  ‘Never you mind. Let’s get out of here.’

  The door slammed shut. A lock fell into place.

  ‘You’re here now,’ the giant said.

  4

  The thunder of the barricaded door being torn open echoed through the halls, and was followed by a grinding, metallic sound of something being dragged over the stone flags.

  ‘Dammit,’ Church said under his breath. They were only three halls away from where he and Veitch had discovered the sign in the dust.

  ‘Did you really think you’d be given a free run right up to the gates of the Enemy?’ Tom mocked. ‘They’re going to be hunting and harrying you at every turn. The Void won’t want to risk you getting anywhere near enough to do any damage. Everything at their disposal will have been put in place long ago to keep you away - spies, traitors, hunting parties, the kind of sentinels that can’t be avoided, that never stop.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say this before?’ Church said sharply.

  ‘What was the point? You never had any chance of getting through. Better to let you keep your hopes up to the last.’

  ‘And now you’ve decided to get my hopes down?’

  Refusing to answer any further questions, Tom moved away, but Church was already wondering if he’d made the wrong decision to suspect Virginia. Was Tom’s comment about spies and traitors a cry for help?

  The grinding metallic sound drew closer. ‘They’re outpacing us,’ Veitch said, glancing back. ‘We could barricade each door we pass through, but I don’t reckon it’ll do us much good.’

  ‘Better hope we get to the gate back to Summer-side pretty quick, then.’

  ‘You think they’re going to stop at the gate? W
e’ve lost any advantage we had crossing through this God-forsaken place. They’re going to be straight on us the minute we crash back into the Far Lands.’

  Ruth had overheard their conversation as she helped Miller and Virginia, who were flagging. ‘We have to stop them here. It’s the only way.’

  Ahead, Tom and Shavi conferred intensely. ‘We both feel we are near to the gate,’ Shavi said, ‘but we cannot find the way.’