Castle Kidnapped c-3

by John Dechancie

  “Do you speak again to your spirit?”

  “No, to Jim Kirk. Nothing. Just dreaming.” Gene gave a huge yawn.

  “You have no desire, husband?”

  “Tired, I guess, more than I realized.”

  Vaya got to her knees and straddled him.

  “Then I will do all the work,” she said.

  “Noblesse oblige, I always say.”

  The attack came just before dawn.

  Shouts roused Gene from fitful sleep. He bolted upright. A woman screamed somewhere near the edge of the campsite. Then another, closer.

  Vaya was quicker to spring out of bed, quick enough to get her dagger into the strange yalim warrior who burst into the tent with sword raised for a quick kill. Gene finished him off, then dashed outside.

  The camp had erupted into a melee. Apparently the attackers had gotten past the guards on the eastern perimeter and had already butchered dozens of sleeping tribesmen.

  Two attackers rushed him. He beheaded one immediately and sent the other away eviscerated. He rushed out into the camp, yelling orders. Another attacking warrior jumped him, and this one took more time to dispatch. When Gene had finished with him, there were two more ready to try their turn.

  The next few minutes seemed like days. The screaming came from men, women, and children alike and never seemed to stop. Gene fought as he never had before, losing count of how many attackers he killed. But it was all useless. The attackers had used surprise to their advantage. Gene soon realized that he was one of few survivors still putting up a fight, and that soon he would be overwhelmed and killed. He had to make it back to the Queen’s tent, get Vaya, and somehow make a break for it.

  He severed his opponent’s sword arm at the wrist, saw an opening in the wall of attackers closing in, and bolted.

  As he rounded the supply tent, something tripped him up and he went flying into the dirt.

  He rolled over and looked up.

  Yerga was standing over him, grinning wickedly, battle-ax raised. Now Gene knew how they had gotten past the guards.

  A dagger blossomed in Yerga’s throat, and he staggered back and fell.

  After retrieving his sword, Gene sprang to his feet. Suddenly Vaya was above him, mounted on a voort, holding out her hand. He jumped up and mounted behind her, and they rode off.

  En route they trampled one attacker, and Gene split the skull of another. Then, finally, they were outside the camp, riding blindly into the darkness, sounds of pain and despair at their backs.

  When the light of the campfires had finally died in the distance, Vaya pulled up on the reins and stopped. She dismounted.

  “Take the voort,” she commanded, handing him the reins.

  “Vaya … I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

  “Ride to Annau. You belong there, as you are of the gods. I will return to my people.”

  “My Queen, your people are lost. No, wait, hold on just a minute. Most of them will not die. They will be absorbed into another tribe. There’s nothing you can do for them.”

  “A High Mistress belongs to her tribe. I will go back.”

  “No! Their Queen will simply have you executed.”

  “Then so be it.”

  “Bullshit. I’m taking you with me to Annau.”

  “I forbid it.”

  Gene rummaged through the saddle sack and came up with a length of braided leather cord, then jumped down and stalked toward her. “Look, honey, where I come from, men give the orders. I’m not saying it’s an enlightened system, but it does simplify things a bit.”

  “Husband! I command you —”

  She fought like a lioness, but Gene eventually got her hands tied behind her. He tripped her up and trussed her feet with his belt. She stopped struggling and fell into a sullen silence.

  He lifted her up and slung her facedown over the saddle, mounted behind her, and rode off.

  She did not beg to be let go. They rode until the sun came up, whereupon he halted and took her down.

  “You can untie me,” she said.

  “You won’t run away?”

  “No.”

  “It’s over, Vaya. Your days as High Mistress are through.”

  “This I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Please …”

  Gene cut her bonds. “I don’t blame you for hating me. I’ll take you to the Castle of the Gods, then let you go. You’ll find a new life there, just as the legends say. And you won’t have to have anything to do with me.”

  She brought her gaze round to him, and he saw the tears welling.

  He held out his arms. She fell into them and cried out her pain, her loss.

  Twenty-seven

  Sea

  Dawn brought a sky of slate-gray clouds and a snowfall of volcanic ash, huge flakes of it that floated for an instant like dirty water lilies before dissolving. The makeshift cabin on board the raft made for poor shelter, but eventually they passed out of the heavy fallout zone, and the skies cleared.

  The volcano brooded on the horizon like an angry god. The wind bore its fumes to them, making them choke and gag. Throats raw, they rigged the sail to catch the full force of the wind; before long they were far enough away to be out of danger of asphyxiation.

  “We made it,” Sheila said, gasping.

  “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

  “Is the wind shifting?”

  “No, it’s just that I have a funny feeling.”

  “Oh. I don’t like funny feelings when I get them.”

  “You wouldn’t like this one, either. Let’s eat. We may not get a chance later.”

  They ate a silent meal of raw fish and breadfruit, washing it down with a few swallows of water.

  After checking the rigging again, Trent sat back down under the canopy, doing so just in time to escape being splashed as a huge boulder hit water a few yards from the raft. The impact tossed the craft about like a paper boat, and a few coconut-canteens rolled overboard.

  “Gods,” Trent breathed when the turbulence abated. “That thing must have traveled ten miles. I’m afraid that’s no ordinary volcano.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just a damned powerful one. This world must have a very active geology.”

  An hour passed, and although the wind died down a bit, they still made progress. The volcano receded over the horizon, the eruption cloud becoming a dark smear against the sky.

  Trent stood and searched ahead.

  “No land in sight. Maybe I was wrong about a mainland being near. But, then, we’ve only come fifteen miles or so.”

  “We’ll make it,” Sheila said.

  “We’re doing okay so far, for a maiden voyage.”

  “I’m not a maiden.”

  “Damn good thing. If you were a virgin, I’d consider tossing you overboard to propitiate the sea gods.”

  “Well, pish on them, too.”

  He laughed at her silly joke, then they both laughed for laughing, and soon both were giddy.

  “Oh, Trent, I thought we were dead.”

  “Me, too. Thought we’d finally bought it. We’ve been lucky. Very lucky.”

  “Who, Trent? Who did this to us? We avoid discussing it.”

  “The castle seems so far away,” he said. “Yeah, I suppose I have avoided it. And the reason is that I can only imagine Incarnadine being responsible.”

  Sheila was aghast. “Trent, you don’t think —?”

  “I’m sorry to say I do. The thing is, Sheila, no one else has the power to do what’s been done to us. No one in the castle can summon a portal, or detach one end of it and move it. None of those tricks. Incarnadine is the only one.”

  “And Ferne.”

  “Yes, Ferne, of course. But I think Ferne is dead. Incarnadine said as much himself, and he ought to know.”

  “You mean, when he said that he’d dealt with her with cold justice, he was saying he did away with her?”

  “He used the superlative. ‘Coldest.’ That could only mean
one thing. So, barring anyone in the castle suddenly developing into a magician on the order of Incarnadine himself, Incarnadine is the only suspect.”

  “I think it’s Jamin,” Sheila blurted.

  Trent eyed her askance. “What makes you say that?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. It just came out.”

  “Well, it must have been a powerful impulse. Do you have anything to back it up?”

  “Can’t think of a thing. I saw him at the Servants’ Ball. Asked me to dance, in fact. He was as nice as could be. But …” She shrugged. “There was something in his eyes, something behind it all. I don’t know.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” Trent said. “Which means that what you said is probably dead right, your intuitive powers being what they are.”

  “You think? I’m almost sure he’s up to something.” Sheila ran the memory through her mind. “Well, of course. I sensed his magical power. I can always tell a person’s talent. It’s like an aura, only I don’t quite see it visually.”

  Trent was silent while she looked far out to sea.

  Then she said, “I’m sure of it. He’s a lot more powerful than people give him credit for. I just didn’t realize it at the time.”

  “Well, he does have his gifts. Everyone knows that.”

  “More. He has more, and … he didn’t have it until very recently.”

  Trent sat up. “That is a piece of information. Raw magical power is something you can’t create for yourself. You can develop it, but basically it’s a gift.”

  “So who’s gifting him?”

  “Surely not Incarnadine. I was wrong, Sheila.”

  “Thank goodness. But who?”

  “The Hosts, maybe,” Trent said. “But the problem is how. Incarnadine sealed off their aspect with a spell that no one could break.” Something occurred to him. “But if the Hosts somehow got hold of my sister …”

  “Do you think it’s possible?”

  Trent shook his head. “Not very. But stranger things have happened. I don’t understand all the motivations yet, but I think —”

  “Trent, look.”

  He turned toward the volcano. The western sky had turned a bright, eye-blinding yellow, and an expanding ring of vapor was racing across the sea toward them.

  “Get down,” Trent said.

  “What is it?”

  “Down, and hold your hands over your ears. The volcano exploded. The shock wave will be very severe.” Trent wrapped a trailing line around his right wrist and threw himself on top of Sheila.

  The sound of the titanic explosion hit, the force of the compression wave turning the sea into froth as it swept by. The raft lifted out of the water and slammed back down, stripped of its mast and sail. Somehow Trent managed to hang on to both Sheila and the raft.

  They lay stunned. Trent finally dragged himself off Sheila and helped her sit up. Neither of them could talk for a full minute.

  “Sheila,” Trent croaked.

  “I’m all right, Trent.”

  “The tsunami, the tidal wave … it will kill us, darling.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  As they spoke, the western horizon rose to form a dark wall of water that rushed toward them.

  “Too bad I didn’t build a submarine,” Trent said.

  “Darling Trent.”

  They embraced. Sheila opened her eyes and watched the wave approach, judging that it would hit in about thirty seconds.

  Thirty seconds of her life left. Well, Sheila, you finally find your man, and, skoosh, down comes the big cosmic shoe. It’s funny, really. But I’m still glad I had this time with Trent. It made everything worth it.

  Suddenly, quite unbidden, the missing piece of the magical jigsaw of this world made an appearance, and the whole puzzle fell into place. In one instantaneous Gestalt, she sensed the lines of power, the nodes of influence, and it was all perfectly logical. She wondered how she could have been so dense. This was an insanely magical world; the magic was right beneath the surface. You didn’t have to dig, like in other worlds. The trouble was that she had dug too deep, tried too hard. This was an easy universe to work magic in; but that fact was not an easy thing to understand. That’s what had taken all the time.

  Too little, too late. But she did have half a minute. In any other world, that would have been more than enough.

  Here, though, she still did not know any of the limitations, the parameters of the forces, the feedback mechanisms. She would just have to be quick about it. She would have to learn all that in the next twenty seconds.

  “Sheila? What is it?”

  “Shh! I have a spell going.”

  “You do? Sheila my darling, it’s a little late —”

  “Shhh!” She cupped a hand over his mouth. “You gave me the idea.”

  Trent’s eyebrows knitted themselves into one perplexed line. He craned his head around. The tidal wave was hundreds of feet high. He decided that Sheila had gone mad.

  Sheila stood and raised her arms against the rising water. To Trent she looked like a sea nymph invoking the spirits of the deep, bare of breast and innocent-eyed.

  Sheila was thinking: Oh, shit. This better be good.

  Twenty-eight

  Pennsylvania — U.S. Route 30, West

  At least the kid had shut up. Not more than a few words had come out of him since Snowy’s momentary metamorphosis.

  Snowy had been giving a great deal of thought to just jumping out and running off. But maybe that wasn’t the best thing to do. The night was dark, and Snowy didn’t have the slightest idea where he was. Besides, he was thirsty, and there didn’t seem to be a lot of water out there.

  Now the kid was looking in the rearview mirror nervously.

  “What is it?” Snowy asked.

  “This van seems like it’s been behind us for a hunnert miles,” the kid said.

  Snowy decided to stay put and wait. Sheila’s spell was still working, but Snowy knew it didn’t have long to go.

  “Ah, it’s probably nothin’,” the kid said. “Who the hell’d be innersted in a truck load of cigarettes?”

  Snowy was thinking about Sheila. He had been worried sick for weeks now, and it was getting to him. He liked Sheila. Sheila was special. Linda was nice, too; he couldn’t forget her. In fact, he had known Linda longer. But Sheila was the one in danger now. It galled Snowy to be so helpless, like a stray cub out on the ice. But there was nothing he could do until he got back to Perilous. If then.

  “I gotta piss,” the kid announced, wheeling the truck into the parking lot of a dimly lit roadhouse.

  “I could use a drink,” Snowy said.

  “Yeah, me, too,” the kid said as he squeezed the truck between two parked cars. “I could go for a couple beers. You want I should get a six-pack?”

  “No beer for me, thanks,” Snowy said. “Just bring me some coffee, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Be right out.”

  Of course the kid did not come right out. The kid was in there swilling medicine water, but Snowy didn’t mind, because the cab was cooling off, finally, and he needed the time to think.

  I’ve got to lose the kid, somehow, Snowy thought. If only I could drive one of these things.

  Snowy shifted over and put his feet up on the pedals. Now, this one made it go, and this one …? He knew it had something to do with this metal bar over here, which you were supposed to move when the engine started screaming. Yeah.

  Damn, he’d never get this right. But he had to ditch the kid, for more than one reason. The spell was about to blow, and, two, Snowy had to find Halfway House soon or he’d start losing his grip. Humans were okay in small doses, but …

  The door beside him suddenly opened. Speaking of humans, here was one: a tall, skinny critter with lip hair. He was flashing something at Snowy, a wallet or something with some kind of badge or emblem on it.

  “Freeze!” Snowy turned his head. Another human had opened the far door and was pointing a weapon at him.

  �
��Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms!” the first one blurted. “You’re under arrest!”

  Those things said, the two of them began to act strangely. Transfixed, they stared at Snowy, their small eyes round and disbelieving.

  “What’s up, guys?” Snowy asked.

  Neither one of them could speak. The one nearest Snowy backed off, making a noise like “Gah gah gah —” and looking fearful.

  The other one blinked his eyes a few times and kept staring while still pointing the gun.

  “Well?” Snowy demanded, throwing up his hands. “Look, if you guys —”

  He saw that his hands had reverted to their original furry state. He felt his face. Sure enough, the spell had evaporated.

  Snowy reached a huge arm across and snatched the gun away. “If you’re not gonna use that, pal,” he said.

  He gave the other guy a little push and sent him flying over a hood. Snowy closed the door, found the ignition key, and twisted it. The engine came to life, and the truck lurched forward. Snowy fiddled with the pedals and the bar until the engine stayed on and the truck kept moving forward. Then he floored the power pedal.

  There was nothing in front of the truck save for a hedge. But beyond the hedge lay a field full of auto parts and other debris. He cut a swath through there, then smashed through a wooden fence, flattening the tool shed on the other side.

  Snowy got confused for a moment; then the crashing and banging stopped and all the debris and broken stuff slid off the windshield and hood, and he could see. He was on the road, but apparently headed in the wrong direction. Headlights rushed at him, horns blaring. He veered off the road.

  He wrenched the steering wheel around, spinning the truck on the gravel-strewn shoulder. He flattened a traffic sign, sideswiped a parked car, then roared back out on the highway again, the truck’s engine howling its pain.

  He fiddled with the metal bar until the engine settled down. He found that different positions of the metal bar gave different speeds, more or less. He shifted to the highest speed and pushed the power pedal as far as it went.

  He checked the mirrors. Nothing following. Maybe those guys had a big enough scare put into them that they wouldn’t be interested.