Sir Gawaine howled a Forest warcry, and charged into the midst of the creatures. His ax was a shimmering blur as it sheared through a distorted shape that screeched in agony and despair and then vanished. Something with jagged teeth launched itself at Gawaine, and he spun quickly around to bury his ax in its breastbone. He staggered back a step under the creature’s weight, and then it too was gone, and air rushed in to fill the gap where it had been. Gawaine grinned wolfishly. It seemed the ax’s property of destroying inimical magic was working to his advantage. He gripped the haft firmly and swung again. The runes on the steel head burned with a bright silver fire.
Jordan did his best to guard Gawaine’s back, but it was all he could do to clear a space in the press of inhuman bodies. Damon Cord reared up from under a crowd of monsters, and struck about him with his mace. Blood ran from a long scalp wound, making his face an ugly crimson mask. A crawling thing with too many legs and an insane woman’s face ran down the wall to strike at Wee Geordie. Jordan saw the thing coming, but knew he couldn’t hope to reach the boy in time. And then Geordie turned and looked at the monstrosity. He frowned, and it fell dying to the floor.
Good thing I decided to help him, thought Jordan.
The Unreal creatures suddenly gave up on their prey, and fled down the corridor, their shapes changing as they ran. Jordan and Gawaine stood together in the empty corridor, panting for breath. Damon Cord reversed his long-handled mace and leaned on it wearily.
“Thanks for the help. I couldn’t have lasted much longer.” He looked approvingly at Gawaine’s blood-soaked ax. “That’s some ax you’ve got there.” He glanced at the bloodhound, and raised an eyebrow. “Though this is a hell of a time to be taking your dog for a walk.”
Jordan looked at Cord’s bloodstained clothing, and frowned worriedly. “Are you all right? Do you need a surgeon?”
Cord shook his head. “I’ll live. Look, Your Highness, I’m grateful for your help, but we can’t stay here. The steward and Mother Donna are up ahead, and they’re in trouble. You’ve got to help them. I can’t. The best I can do is guard your backs.”
Sir Gawaine nodded briskly, and set off down the corridor. Blood dripped steadily from his ax. Wee Geordie hurried after him, the bloodhound padding close at his side. Jordan had to wait a moment to get his breath back before continuing, and that was how he saw what happened to the dog. It was trotting along quite happily when a long warty tentacle snapped out of the corridor wall and grabbed at the dog. Jordan opened his mouth to shout a warning, and then stopped as the tentacle passed clean through the bloodhound’s body as though it wasn’t there. The tentacle tried again, but to no effect. The bloodhound padded on, unconcerned, and the tentacle whipped back into the wall. Jordan’s mouth closed with a snap.
It’s a ghost. It’s another damned ghost. No wonder it kept appearing and disappearing …
Jordan shot a glance at Cord, but he didn’t seem to have seen anything untoward. Jordan shook his head, and started after the others. He’d always heard Castle Midnight was lousy with ghosts, and it looked as though the stories were true. He soon caught up with Sir Gawaine, and they walked side by side deeper into the heart of the Unreal. Cord brought up the rear, silent and scowling. The corridor continued to fluctuate around them, but although strange shapes came and went like the threads of a drifting nightmare, none of them drew near the small party. Word of Sir Gawaine’s ax had spread among the Unreal.
Jordan kept a careful watch about him, nonetheless. There was something horribly unsettling about the West Wing now, apart from the insane shifting and stirrings in the passageways. The very nature of the world seemed somehow different, as though all the old relationships like cause and effect were no longer valid, or at least no longer constant. You couldn’t rely on left and right or up and down to mean the same things anymore. The simple everyday certainties upon which the Real world is based had become confused and contradictory. Time itself appeared to become slow and sluggish, and then speeded up again. Jordan had never felt so scared in his life. It was as though he’d woken from the worst nightmare he’d ever had, only to find he was trapped in the dream and unable to break free. He could turn and run, of course. No one was stopping him. He could run back the way he’d come and escape all this madness. No one would blame him. It was the sensible thing to do. But in the end, he only considered the thought seriously for a moment or two, and then discarded it. He wasn’t going to turn back. He had his pride and his dignity … and his honor. He’d promised Wee Geordie his help. And Catriona Taggert needed him.
The world suddenly changed again. The corridor spun dizzily around him, and then settled. Jordan blinked dazedly as he discovered he and his party were now standing in a small circle of normality, together with the steward and Mother Donna. The sanctuary’s face was gray and drawn from strain and exhaustion. Taggert was sitting with her back to the wall, nursing a torn arm. Her glowing shield was gone, but her balefire sword still crackled quietly in her right hand. She and Mother Donna nodded tiredly to their rescuers, too exhausted even to be surprised.
“We’ve come to help you,” said Jordan lamely.
“A bit late,” said Taggert, “but none the less welcome for that.”
“There’s a gateway somewhere ahead,” said Mother Donna. “I’m sure of it. If we’re to stop the Unreal, it must be destroyed. The steward and I have done all we can. It’s up to you now. There’s a power in your ax, Gawaine—I can feel it. With that, and God’s blessing, you might just live long enough to reach the gateway.”
“Looks like I’ve been volunteered again,” said Sir Gawaine.
“And me,” said Jordan. Gawaine looked at him, and Jordan glared right back at him. “You’re going to need someone to guard your back.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. I gave Geordie my word.”
Sir Gawaine nodded approvingly. Jordan felt proud, and just a little sick. Playing a hero onstage was one thing, being one was quite another. He swallowed hard, and turned to Wee Geordie and the bloodhound.
“I want you two to stay here and look after Mother Donna and the steward. Do you think you can do that?”
Geordie’s lower lip thrust out. “I want to stay with you.”
“I need someone to look after the ladies,” said Jordan. “Someone I can trust.”
Geordie thought about it, and then nodded. “I’ll protect them, Viktor. I promise.”
Jordan ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, and leaned down to pet the dog. It fixed him with its sad eyes, and wagged its tail furiously. Jordan turned back to Sir Gawaine, and nodded jerkily to show he was ready. The knight took a firm grip on his ax, then stepped out of the sanctuary’s circle of normality and back into nightmare. Jordan followed him, sword in hand.
Beyond the circle, things were different again. The light was an unhealthy purple glow that flickered up from jagged holes in the pitch-black floor. Sir Gawaine started slowly forward, and Jordan followed him. He kept well clear of the holes. They looked a lot like mouths to him. The walls were covered with running sores, and the ceiling was so low he had to bend his head to avoid banging it. Somewhere up ahead, something was grunting like a gigantic hog at its trough. It sounded hungry, and horribly eager.
“It knows we’re coming,” said Gawaine softly.
“What the hell are we looking for, anyway?” said Jordan, just as quietly. He felt uneasy about raising his voice. He didn’t know who might be listening.
“Beats me,” said Sir Gawaine. “We’ll know it when we find it. If we get that far. It could be a place or a person, or even an object. It’s a gateway; a part of reality through which the Unreal can enter from outside. Rather like a sanctuary in reverse. It could be anything, anywhere. We just keep looking until we find it. And then we do something about it.”
“Like what?” said Jordan.
“I haven’t worked that out yet,” said Sir Gawaine.
“Great,” said Jordan. “Just great.�
��
Gawaine grinned at him suddenly. “Sorry you came?”
“Damned right!” said Jordan, smiling in return. “What do you think I am—crazy?”
They continued down the corridor, trying to look in every direction at once. Jordan gripped his sword tightly, until his fingers ached. The passage was ominously quiet. The light blazed up through the holes in the floor. It waxed and waned and flickered unsteadily, as the color changed from a sickly purple to a dark crimson that reminded Jordan inescapably of blood. The harsh, garish light made Gawaine look like a walking corpse. The comparison disturbed Jordan, and he looked away. He paused briefly to look down into one of the holes, careful to keep a safe distance between him and the edge. Far below, something dark and indistinct swam listlessly in a sea of blazing magma. It was too far away to tell how big the thing was, but the slow ponderousness of its movements suggested something unthinkably huge. Jordan looked quickly away, and hurried to catch up with Sir Gawaine.
“The gateway can’t be too far away,” muttered the knight, as much to himself as to Jordan. “The Unreal hasn’t had time to spread far.”
“How does a gateway come about anyway?” said Jordan. “I got the impression they were pretty rare.”
“They are,” said Sir Gawaine. “I did some research on the history of the Unreal when I first came to Castle Midnight. I like to know what I might be up against. As far as I can tell, there have only ever been four major gateways, and they were all the result of High Magic gone bad.”
“High Magic …” Jordan scowled unhappily. “There aren’t many people in the castle with that kind of power. There’s the steward, of course, but I think we can count her out. There’s Roderik, but I don’t see what he could hope to gain by it. And there’s Count William, but I think we can count him out for the same reason. No, Gawaine, there’s only one person in this castle with High Magic who’s crazy enough to do something like this, and that’s Dominic.”
“I was wondering how long it would take you to work that out,” said Sir Gawaine. “That’s why we’re going in this direction. Prince Dominic has a set of spare apartments down this way. I’m betting that’s where we’ll find him and his gateway.”
A low rumbling began in the gloom at the end of the long corridor. It was quiet at first, like a roll of faraway thunder, but it grew steadily louder as it drew nearer. Jordan and Gawaine stopped where they were, and listened. The noise changed from thunder to something that might have been the growling of a huge beast, and Jordan stirred uneasily. But the sound rumbled on, always gaining in volume, roaring, churning, and splashing. Jordan gradually realized what he was hearing. He looked at Gawaine in horror, and saw his own shocked understanding in the knight’s face. They looked back at the corridor, and the great wave of water came boiling down the passage toward them. Dominic had used his water magic to call up a tsunami: a gigantic tidal wave.
“Run!” screamed Jordan, but Gawaine grabbed him by the arm.
“There isn’t time!” he yelled, over the roar of the approaching water. “Get behind me!”
He planted his feet firmly and held his ax out before him, using both hands to hold it steady. The runes on the blade glowed brighter than the sun. Jordan crouched behind Gawaine, and wondered how long it took to die by drowning. He’d only seen the ocean a few times in his life, and he’d never bothered to learn to swim. He clung forlornly to his sword, and wished he could have made a better showing as Viktor. Now he’d never know what kind of prince he’d have made. The great wall of frothing water came surging down the corridor and slammed against Sir Gawaine, only to break apart as it hit his glowing ax and split into two lesser waves that roared by on either side of him. Enough spray and rough water broke free to drench Gawaine and Jordan to the skin, but they were still able to snatch gulps of air and hold their ground. The water thundered on and on; breaking around them and beating against the corridor walls. And then, finally, the level of the water fell away, and the tsunami was past, its fury spent. Gawaine lowered his ax, and let out a slow sigh of relief.
“That was close. That was as close as it’s ever been, and then some. Are you all right, Your Highness?”
“Fine. I’ve always wanted to play the part of a drowned rat.” Jordan tried to squeeze some of the water out of his clothes, and then gave it up as a bad job. “That’s some ax the High Warlock gave you.”
“I’ve always thought so. We’d better get moving. Calling up that much water must have weakened your brother considerably, but it won’t take him long to recover. His apartments should be just down here.”
Gawaine splashed through the inches-deep water and headed for a closed door up on the right. Jordan followed him, wondering absently if the water was draining away through the holes in the floor, and if so, what would happen when all those gallons of water met the blazing magma down below. He decided that he’d rather not be around when it happened, and increased his pace to draw level with the knight. Gawaine finally stopped before a door that looked no different from any of the others. He tried the doorknob, and it turned easily in his grasp. Gawaine eased the door open an inch, and let go the handle. He looked inquiringly at Jordan, who nodded firmly. Sir Gawaine kicked the door open, and the two of them charged into Dominic’s apartment.
The Lady Elizabeth was hanging on the far wall. Crude iron nails had been driven through her arms and legs, pinning her to the brickwork. She’d been gutted, her body split open from neck to crotch. And yet somehow, horribly, she was still alive. Her mouth worked silently, but there was no sanity left in the bulging eyes. In the center of what had been Elizabeth’s abdomen, strange lights and colors moved sickeningly.
A gateway can be anything.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Dominic.
Jordan and Sir Gawaine looked around sharply. Prince Dominic was seated elegantly in a comfortably padded chair, one hand cradling a brandy glass. Beside him stood a small table, bearing a silver tray with a dozen or so dainty little snacks. He looked like he’d been there for some time. As always, Dominic wore no sword or armor, but still he looked totally at ease, and in full command of the situation.
“You bastard,” said Jordan. “How could you do that to her? She was your wife!”
“You’re even more sentimental than the man you pretend to be,” said Dominic, amusedly. “Ours was never a love match, actor. Elizabeth thought she was using me as a means to power. In fact, it turned out to be the other way around. Poor Elizabeth.” He gestured languidly with his free hand, and all the water soaking Jordan and Gawaine’s clothes suddenly disappeared. “There. That’s better. I don’t know why you’re looking so shocked, Gawaine. You know perfectly well that you despised Elizabeth, and she you. Or perhaps you’re merely worried about the castle. Fear not. The Unreal isn’t nearly strong enough yet to break through without my gateway. As soon as it’s caused enough chaos to suit my purpose, I’ll destroy the gate, and the Unreal will be back under control again. Simple, but elegant, don’t you think—like all the best plans.”
“What do you hope to achieve by all this?” said Jordan slowly. A dizzying anger had begun to burn within him, but for the moment he kept it firmly under control. “What’s so important that hundreds of people in the West Wing had to die because of it?”
“Just a little general chaos,” said Dominic, “which my people, carefully forewarned, will take advantage of to gain the best positions in the castle, and destroy Lewis’s troops. William’s men will be too busy coping with the Unreal to interfere, until it’s too late. By the time I finally close the gateway, my people will control Castle Midnight, and my rule will begin.”
“You take care of Dominic,” said Gawaine to Jordan. He turned to stare at the gateway. “I’ll take care of this abomination.”
“I’m afraid I really can’t allow that,” said Dominic. He rose to his feet in a single languid movement, pivoted on one foot, and kicked the ax out of Gawaine’s hand. “Now, old man, let’s see how good you are without a magi
c ax to protect you.”
Gawaine cursed angrily, and reached for Dominic with his bare hands. The prince smiled, and gestured lightly with his left hand. Gawaine groaned once, and slumped to his knees. Fat beads of sweat formed on his face, and ran away in steady streams.
“Have you ever considered,” said Dominic conversationally to Jordan, “how much of the human body is water? Water I can control, by my magic? In fact, have you ever considered what a man would look like, after every drop of water in him had been drained away?”
Jordan palmed a flare pellet from his sleeve, nicked the wax coating with his thumbnail, and threw the pellet at Dominic’s face. The prince fell back a step, taken by surprise, but the pellet still cracked against his forehead and broke open. Flames roared up around his face, and his hair caught alight. He screamed, and beat at the flames with his hands.
Jordan ran over to the gateway, sword in hand. He stood before Elizabeth and then stopped, as he realized he had no idea what to do next. Compassion, outrage, and not wanting to look a coward had brought him this far, but the gateway was more horrible than anything in the corridors. Elizabeth should have been dead, but somehow the gateway was keeping her alive. The power that implied was far beyond anything Jordan could hope to defeat. He’d never felt so scared in his life. He couldn’t seem to get his breath, his legs were shuddering, and his stomach churned with tension. He was no hero or soldier—he didn’t belong here. Jordan swallowed hard, and shook his head doggedly. He remembered the tsunami, and his regret at never having had a chance to act as a prince should. Now he’d been given the chance. Whether he lived or died no longer seemed as important as it once had. All that mattered now was destroying the gateway before the Unreal broke free of its restraints, and killed everyone in the castle. Jordan raised his sword, and tried to figure out where to strike for the best. He was still just as scared. He just didn’t care anymore.
Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) Page 26
