Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Green, Simon R.

  Duty. The word tolled in his head like a bell. He had served as a Ranger because of his duty to the Forest Kingdom. He had fought the demons in the long night because of that duty. He had stood at his post and he hadn’t run, because of his duty and his honor. In that moment MacNeil finally understood why he hadn’t deserted his post all those years ago, and why he never would have, no matter what. He had been afraid then, and he was afraid now, but there was no disgrace in that. Only the foolish and the dead never feel fear. Duty and honor are important because they give us courage, the courage we need to do what must be done, to face what must be faced.

  MacNeil groaned aloud and tore his gaze away from the great shining eye. He turned his back on it and pressed his face against the cold, unyielding stone of the cavern wall. His heart was racing and he was panting for breath, as though he’d just run a mile in full armor. Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes. He’d come close to losing his mind and his soul, and he knew it. He shuddered violently, his hands clenched into fists. He made himself breathe slowly and deeply, and a little of his calm returned. He turned away from the cavern wall and put his back to it, wincing as the bright silver glare hit him again. But this time the unspoken voice was gone. He knew it for what it was, and his mind was closed to it. He looked around and saw that Hammer and Jack were still staring raptly down at the blazing eye.

  Scarecrow Jack called out to the trees, but nothing answered. He’d come too far from the Forest. He was in the Beast’s domain now. Its voice thundered in his mind, disrupting his thoughts and scattering his memories. He needed the strength of the trees. He reached out with his mind, fighting fiercely against the voice of the Beast, searching desperately for the communion of the trees that had always been his. The Forest was still there, far above him. The trees and the greenery still stretched for countless miles across the Forest Land, and all of its ancient strength was his to call upon. The darkness pressed in around him as the Beast grew stronger. Only newly awakened and barely come into its power, its voice was already nearly overpowering in its intensity. Jack summoned all his defiance into one great shout of denial, and reached out one last time. And finally the trees heard him and lent him their strength. The Beast’s influence vanished from his mind like the fleeting memory of a bad dream, and he was free again. He breathed deeply, and the bitterly cold air seared his lungs, shocking him awake. He realized how close he was standing to the brink of the ledge and stepped quickly backward.

  MacNeil nodded briefly to him, but sensed that Jack was still too shaken to be much help in tackling Hammer. The renegade guard’s face was working horribly, and his hands twitched around the hilt of the Infernal Device, but he was unable to tear his gaze away from the great blazing eye. The Beast had him now. MacNeil swore silently and braced himself. He had to get the Infernal Device away from Hammer before the Beast could take control of him. Now that the Beast had awakened, the hellsword was the only chance they had of equaling the odds. MacNeil moved stealthily forward and reached out to take the sword.

  Hammer spun around, the great longsword sweeping out in a viciously short arc. MacNeil dived under the blade at the last moment, and the wind of its passing ruffled his hair. The sword bit deeply into the cavern wall, and as Hammer started to pull it free Jack stepped in behind him and pinned his arms to his sides. MacNeil lurched to his feet, but even as he started forward again, he saw that Hammer’s face was cold and calm and empty of all emotion. Hammer had lost his last battle, and now only the Beast looked out through his eyes. The outlaw struggled furiously to break Jack’s hold, but the strength of the tall trees surged through Jack’s arms, and Hammer couldn’t break free. MacNeil slammed a punch into Hammer’s gut. The outlaw stared coldly back at him, and struggled to raise the Device and cut him down. MacNeil hit him as hard as he could on the jaw, snapping Hammer’s head back. It had no effect at all. MacNeil did it again and again, and Hammer just ignored him. And slowly, despite everything Jack could do to hold him, he began to raise the Infernal Device.

  “Do something!” panted Jack. “I can’t hold him much longer.”

  MacNeil lifted his sword and cut Hammer’s throat with a single stroke. Blood gushed into the air, spattering MacNeil’s chest and arms, but the outlaw didn’t fall. He went on struggling even as the color drained from his face and the blood pumped more and more feebly. Finally the blood stopped coming and he stopped breathing, but still he stood there, gripping the Infernal Device and fighting to break free. MacNeil stood gaping, and in that moment Hammer broke Jack’s hold and sent him staggering backward. Hammer spun around to face him. Jack tripped and fell, and again the Device missed its target by only a fraction of an inch. MacNeil yelled and stamped his foot on the ledge to draw Hammer’s attention away from Jack, and the outlaw turned back to face him. Hammer’s chest was soaked with his own blood, but the dead eyes watched MacNeil’s every movement with unblinking intensity.

  He belonged to the Beast now.

  MacNeil backed slowly away along the narrow ledge. He daren’t meet Wolfsbane with his own blade; the Device would shear through the simple steel as though it were paper. But he couldn’t just keep backing away, or Hammer would either rush him or turn on Jack. He was still groping desperately for a plan when he saw Jack move silently in behind Hammer and crouch down. MacNeil realized immediately what he had to do. He held his sword with both hands and charged straight at Hammer, roaring at the top of his voice. Hammer stepped back to brace himself to meet MacNeil’s rush, and tripped over Jack, crouching down behind him. He toppled helplessly backward, and Jack gave him the last little push that sent Hammer flying away from the ledge and out into the long drop. MacNeil stepped quickly forward and brought his blade flashing down in one last, desperate stroke. The blade caught Hammer’s right arm against the brink of the ledge and sheared clean through the wrist. The Infernal Device clattered safely onto the ledge, with Hammer’s right hand still wrapped around the hilt. Jack and MacNeil watched Hammer’s body fall until the distant speck disappeared into the brilliant light of the Beast’s eye.

  Finally they both turned away from the edge and leaned against the cavern wall while they got their breath back. MacNeil felt dizzy and lightheaded from the strain, and his leg muscles were trembling with fatigue, but he knew he couldn’t rest yet. He looked down at the Infernal Device, glowing brightly on the ledge before him. Hammer’s severed hand slowly relaxed its grip on the hilt.

  “All right,” said Jack hoarsely, “now what are we going to do?”

  “Kill the Beast,” said MacNeil.

  Jack looked down at the great staring eye and then back at Wolfsbane. A sudden chill ran down his spine as he realized what MacNeil meant to do, and he stared respectfully at the Ranger.

  “You don’t have, to do this.”

  “Yes, I do. Its my job. My duty.”

  Jack looked at him for a moment and then nodded briefly. “You’re a brave man, Sergeant. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to need it. Now get the hell out of here. The tunnel that brought us down here was a part of the Beast’s dreams. There’s no telling what’ll happen to it when the Beast dies.”

  “Sergeant … are you sure the Device can kill it?”

  “Why else would the Beast be so afraid of it? Now go on. I’ll join you later.”

  “Yeah,” said Jack quietly. “Sure. Goodbye, Sergeant.”

  He gave MacNeil a quick salute, picked up the lantern, and then padded along the ledge and into the tunnel. MacNeil stood alone on the ledge and listened to the sound of Jack’s footsteps fading away into silence. He could feel the Beast’s presence beating on the air all around him. Its power was growing.

  I could run and get away. I could run even now. But I won’t.

  He breathed deeply and was surprised at how shaky his breath was. He sheathed his own sword and looked down at Wolfsbane. His hands were sweating, and he rubbed them dry on the sides of his trousers. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so scared in his life. He knel
t down and took hold of Wolfsbane’s hilt, being careful to avoid touching Hammer’s severed hand. He straightened up slowly. The sword was uncannily light in his hand, despite the great length of the blade. It glowed brightly, but it was not a healthy light. And finally MacNeil discovered why Hammer had always been so reluctant to draw the Device.

  Wolfsbane moved in his mind, a soft, seductive whisper that spoke of power and destiny, and appealed to all the dark dreams and fantasies he’d ever had. MacNeil shuddered helplessly as the alien presence seeped slowly through him like a horribly sweet poison. No wonder Hammer had fallen so quickly under the Beast’s control; with two such forces warring for control within him, it was inevitable that he would fall to one of them. MacNeil shook his head to clear it, and stepped forward to the brink of the ledge. There was something he had to do, and he was going to do it, despite everything the Beast or the Device or his own fear could do to stop him.

  He clutched the leather-wrapped sword hilt with both hands, and held the Infernal Device up before him, blinking at the brightly shining light that burned in the blade. He stepped carefully forward onto the very edge of the narrow stone ledge and looked down.

  MacNeil remembered the demons in the long night, how he’d wanted to turn and run. He had always looked on his fear as a secret weakness, a flaw in his character he could never forget or forgive. He had always thought of himself as strong, and despised weakness in himself as he despised it in others. But now, standing alone on the ledge and looking down into the single great eye of the Beast, he finally knew the truth. There is no shame in fear, only in surrendering to it.

  The Beast was awake at last, and when it came into its full power it would destroy the world and remake it in its own awful image. Once before, in the time of the Darkwood, he had vowed to die rather than to let such a thing happen. His vow still held, and scared as he was, his duty and his honor gave him the courage he needed to do what was necessary. He thought briefly, Why me? The answer came back: Because there’s nobody else. Because it’s your job. Your responsibility. He remembered his vow of vengeance to the dead children, and his resolve hardened a little more. He sighed once and lowered the great sword so that its point was facing down toward the huge eye.

  Goodbye, Jessica, Giles. I was always proud to work with you. Goodbye, Constance. You turned out to be a damn good witch, after all. And Salamander … I’m sorry about that village.

  The Infernal Device screamed with rage in his mind as it finally realized what he intended to do, but it was too late. MacNeil flexed his feet, feeling the ledge under his heels and the emptiness under his toes. He smiled wryly. He’d never liked heights. He took a firm hold on the sword hilt with both hands, bent forward, and jumped out from the ledge, diving headfirst toward the Beast.

  The freezing air rushed past him as he fell, the Infernal Device held firmly out before him. The sword and the Beast screamed soundlessly in his mind, and he laughed at them both. The eye rushed closer, ever closer, the shimmering silver and gold rising to fill his vision, until all he could see was the eye, growing larger and larger, a sea of dazzling light. And finally the sword plunged into it, driven by the horrid weight of his long drop, and MacNeil and the sword disappeared into the body of the Beast. For a long moment there was only silence, and then the Beast screamed, on and on and on.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  Leavetakings

  The scream broke off abruptly, and the voice of the Beast fell silent forever.

  In the cellar, the mists began to fade away. They sank back into the stonework and disappeared, leaving no trace of their passing. Without the gathering fog, the torch light was suddenly brighter, less diffuse, and the shadows were no longer quite so dark. The Dancer cut down the last two trolls in the doorway, and then looked around, confused, as he slowly realized there were no more. Flint sat down suddenly on the blood-spattered floor and closed her eyes. Constance let her hands drop back to her sides and bowed her head tiredly.

  “It’s dead,” she said dully. “The Beast is dead.”

  “Are you sure?” said the Dancer.

  “Yes. I can’t feel its presence anymore.”

  The Dancer sighed once, shrugged, and sheathed his sword. He looked at Flint and moved quickly over to kneel beside her. He swore softly as he saw the ragged wound where her left ear used to be. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently to the side of her head. She winced and opened her eyes in protest, and then lifted a hand to hold the folded handkerchief in place. She gritted her teeth as the Dancer gently tied a length of rag around her head to hold the handkerchief securely. A sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead, and she felt sick and giddy from the pain, but she was still able to smile her thanks to the Dancer when he looked at her anxiously.

  “We won, Giles. We actually won.”

  “Looks that way, Jessica.”

  “If this is what a victory feels like, I’d hate to be around at one of your defeats,” said Wilde.

  Flint looked around quickly, and with the Dancer’s help she moved over to sit beside the fallen bowman. He lay on his back, glaring up at the ceiling with pain-filled eyes. There was a gaping hole in his gut, revealing broken and splintered ribs, and only his hands kept his intestines from falling out. Blood soaked his clothes and welled out from beneath him in a widening pool. There was more blood on his mouth and chin, and he couldn’t even raise his head to look at Flint when she took one of his hands in both of hers. Flint looked at the Dancer, who shook his head slightly. Constance knelt down beside Flint.

  “Can you do anything for him, Constance?” Flint asked quietly.

  The witch shook her head. “I’ve no magic left. I used it all. It’ll be some time before any of it returns.”

  “And I don’t have that much time,” said Wilde. He swallowed painfully. “Typical. My luck always was bad.”

  “Lie still,” said Flint gently.

  “What for? Can’t hurt any worse. You there, Dancer?”

  “Yes, Wilde. I’m here.”

  “This is a death wound, but it’s a bloody slow one. Going to take me some time to die, and I’d rather not be around while it’s happening. End it for me now, Dancer. Let me go out with some dignity at least.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” said Flint, almost angrily. “There’s still a chance.”

  “No, there isn’t,” snapped Wilde. He stopped to breathe heavily for a moment, and Flint mopped some of the sweat from his face with her sleeve. Wilde grinned harshly. “You always were the soft one, Jess. Now, how about a last kiss, eh? Just to say goodbye. And then, when we’re through, the Dancer can let me go out on a high note.”

  Flint smiled despite herself, holding back tears. “You always were a Romantic, Edmond.”

  She leant forward, wiped some of the blood from his mouth with her sleeve, and kissed him tenderly. As she did, Wilde’s hand came up and gave her left breast a playful squeeze. Flint straightened up, half shocked and half laughing. Wilde nodded to the Dancer, and he leaned forward and slipped his dagger expertly into Wilde’s heart. The bowman stiffened and grinned up at Flint.

  “Romantic, my arse.”

  And then his breath went out of him in a long sigh, and the light went out of his eyes. Flint reached out with a shaking hand and gently closed his eyes for him.

  “Goodbye, Edmond. I wish things could have been … different.”

  “Jessica?” The Dancer met her gaze steadily. “I had to do it, Jessica.”

  “Of course you did, Thank you, Giles.”

  “What do we do now?” said Constance. “The trolls are all dead, the Beast is dead … but what about Duncan and Jack and Hammer? What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to rest awhile and get our strength back,” said Flint. “Duncan and the others will be back soon.”

  “But what if they’re not?” said Constance quietly. “What if they don’t come back?”

  “Then we go down and look for them,” said the Da
ncer.

  Scarecrow Jack staggered on through the earth tunnel, holding the lantern out before him with an aching arm. He’d lost track of how long he’d been in the tunnel, but his feet hurt and the weight of the lantern had become almost too heavy to bear. He trudged doggedly on, the faint echoes of his progress dying quickly away. He tried reaching out to the Forest as he had before, but there was nothing there. He was too tired and too faraway. His head pounded unmercifully, and he found it hard to concentrate. It was nothing serious, he knew that, just strain and tiredness. A few hours’ sleep and he’d be fine. He was tempted to lie down and sleep for a while on the packed earth of the tunnel floor, but somewhere deep inside him he knew that if he lay down here, he might never find the strength to get up again. And so he plodded on, head hanging tiredly down, putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again.

  Some time ago he’d heard the Beast scream, but the long, agonized howl had come and gone, and the tunnel was still here. Nothing had changed. He had wondered if the Beast’s dreams would vanish with its death, and if so whether he might fade away along with the dream he walked through, but it hadn’t happened. Or perhaps it had, and he just hadn’t noticed. No, you couldn’t feel this tired and hurt this much unless you were still alive. But if the dreams were still real, then maybe the Beast wasn’t dead after all… .

  The sudden thought shocked him out of his dazed state, and he stopped and looked back down the tunnel. The Beast was dead. It had to be. It couldn’t have survived the Infernal Device… . But he had to be sure. He sat down cross-legged in the middle of the tunnel and cautiously opened his mind, letting it drift out, reaching for communion with the trees. He was still too faraway to be able to touch the Forest, but there was no trace remaining of the dark, oppressive presence of the Beast. It was gone, as though it had never been. Jack smiled grimly and rose painfully to his feet again. Maybe there was some justice in the world after all. Just a little. He walked on up the tunnel.