The Destroyer of Worlds

by Jonathan Moeller

  “No one can stand on their own,” said Arran, “at least not forever.”

  “But you did,” said Ally. “You spent all those years alone. You made it to Earth alone.”

  “And I would have perished if not for Sir Liam, if not for Siduri.” Arran drew his sword. “See the blood on the blade? It is constant reminder that I cannot stand alone.”

  Ally stepped forward. “I guess you’re right.” She raised a hand to touch the stained blade, gasped, and shuddered.

  Arran frowned. “What is it?”

  “It’s…the white magic. I can sense it in the blade, now.” She tried to smile. “Conmager’s lessons must be working.”

  “He told me you have the potential to become the greatest of Wizards,” said Arran.

  Ally shook her head. “Who am I kidding? Conmager’s not much of a Wizard, we both know that. He says I have Alastarius’s power, but I doubt it. I can barely do the simplest spell.”

  “You drove off the winged demons,” said Arran.

  “Do you come up here often to practice?” said Ally, looking away.

  “I do.” Arran waved his sword in an arc. “The ceiling is high enough that I do not damage it. I could spar with you, if you wish.”

  “You’d win,” said Ally. “I’ve never used a sword in my life.” But a bit of life came into her tired eyes. “Then again, maybe that’s a good idea.” She crossed to the opposite side of the attic. “All right. Let’s start.”

  Arran blinked. “You don’t have a weapon.”

  “That’s the whole point of the martial arts, learning to fight armed opponents.” Ally grinned. “What are you waiting for?”

  Arran shrugged. “As you wish.” He took his Sacred Blade in both hands, lifted it, and charged her. Ally circled against the wall, her eyes never leaving him. Arran feinted left, spun right, and launched a chop for her head. Ally hopped out of the way.

  “You’re staying out of reach,” said Arran.

  “You have a long weapon.” Ally circled around him.

  “True,” said Arran. “But in a real fight, you’d wear yourself out long before I did.”

  Ally snorted. “In a real fight, you’d have shot me to death by now.”

  Arran laughed. “You’re right, I deem.”

  Ally spread her arms. “Oh, so you think that’s funny?” Arran saw an opening and lunged. Ally spun aside, but Arran saw her evasion coming and shifted his thrust into a sideways chop. Ally tried to dodge but moved too slow. The flat of his sword smacked into her hip. She staggered, missed a step, and Arran had the tip of his sword at her throat in a heartbeat.

  “God,” said Ally. “I guess you win. So much for practicing.” She winced and rubbed her leg.

  “Did I hurt you?” said Arran, lowering his sword. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

  Ally shook her head. “No, no. Just a bruise, I think.” She smiled. “You know, when my mom first started teaching me this stuff, the same thing happened. I must have eleven or twelve, and she accidentally kicked me right in the stomach. Mom pretended to be so tough, and she really was…but she didn’t stop apologizing for an hour.” Ally laughed. “It was…she was…” She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from Arran. “I…I…”

  She lowered her head and began to cry, her shoulders shaking with the sobs.

  Arran sheathed his sword and took a step towards her. “Ally…”

  She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.

  “Ally,” said Arran.

  Ally collapsed against him, sobbing into his shoulder. Arran hesitated and then put his arms around her. Her body jerked with every agonized draw of her breath. Arran stood with her for a long time, unsure of what to do.

  Ally sniffled and looked up at him. “I can’t go on. My parents are dead. I don’t know myself anymore. Sometimes I wake up and can’t remember if I’m Ally or Alastarius. And they’re going to kill us. They’re going to kill me.”

  “Not while I still draw breath,” said Arran.

  Ally scrubbed her hand over her eyes. “I used to dream about a monster ripping out my heart. Now I know it was Goth-Mar-Dan. He killed Alastarius, and Marugon’s going to send him to kill me.” Her voice trembled with hysteria. “I’ve dreamed about it for so long. He’ll come for me, he’ll kill Lithon, he’ll kill you, he’ll kill me, or he’ll give me to Marugon…”

  “No!” Arran gripped her shoulders. “I do not know what the future holds. But I vow that I will protect you. I will not let you die, will not let any harm come to you, while I still have an ounce of strength.”

  Ally stared at him. “You promise?” She sounded so frightened.

  “I swear,” said Arran, “on all the names of all the gods that ever were. Alastarius’s Prophecy may be about Lithon. But you are my purpose. And I shall not let you come to harm, not while I still draw breath.”

  Ally stared at him, trembling. Her face jerked closer and closer to him, and then she was kissing him. Shock overwhelmed him for a moment, then his reason returned and informed him of all the reasons that kissing Ally Wester was unwise.

  She kissed him harder.

  A rising flood of emotion swept away all thought.

  Arran kissed her back, pulling her tight against him.

  ###

  Moonlight fell through the window and into her eyes.

  Ally blinked awake and lifted her head, her hair brushing over Arran’s chest. His arm lay around her, hand resting on the small of her back. She shifted, the bed creaking beneath her, and looked at the clock and the wall. It was four in the morning. Arran did not have to get up for another few hours. She sighed and lay back against him, her head resting against his chest. Her mouth stretched in a wide yawn.

  Ally pulled the blankets closer, cozy warmth washing over her from the heat of Arran’s body. She waited to fall asleep.

  Instead, her eyes wandered over Arran’s body. Muscle corded every inch of his lean frame, unencumbered by a single ounce of fat. She wondered how he kept from freezing to death during his guard shift. Her fingers slid over his chest, brushing a long scar along his shoulder. Some of the scars looked like old puncture wounds, others resembled faded cuts. She thought some had been left by bullets grazing him, ripping away the skin and leaving furrows in his flesh.

  Ally kissed one of the scars. He must have been in so much pain for so long. She turned her head and saw him watching her through half-lidded eyes.

  “You’re awake,” he said, voice a low whisper.

  Ally nodded. “I keep waking up.”

  He hesitated. “Are you sore?”

  “A little.”

  “I am sorry,” said Arran. “I did not mean…”

  Ally put a light kiss on his mouth. “I know you didn’t. It was my first time.” She smiled. “The second time, that was…”

  Arran laughed. “I’m older than you. You shall wear me out.”

  Ally leaned into him, twining one leg around him. “Oh, I think you wanted to get worn out.” She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, tracing the shape of his scars.

  “I suppose I did, at that.”

  She shook her head. “You have so many scars.”

  He blinked. “I have seen many battles. Too many.” His fingers closed over hers, against one of his scars. “That one…you know, I do not even remember when it happened. A gunman in the Border Woods almost killed me. His first shot missed. The second left the scar. I killed him before he could fire a third time.” Her fingers brushed another scar. “A knife in Narramore.” She touched a long white scar that ran over his ribs. “That was in the Desert of Scorpions. When Baal-Mar-Dan almost killed me.”

  Ally pulled back the covers a bit. “And that was where he stabbed you,” she said, voice soft. A large scar marked his stomach, a patch of hard white flesh.

  “Yes,” said Arran. She felt the arm around her back tense. “I almost perished.”

  Ally lay back against him, head on his chest. “That seems to have happened quite oft
en.”

  “More than I care to remember.”

  “So many scars,” said Ally. She listened to his heart’s slow, steady beat. “You must have been in so much pain.”

  “I was,” said Arran, “but I did not care. I did not care if I lived or died.”

  She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “Do you care now?”

  “Yes,” said Arran. “I have to live to protect you.”

  “That…actually makes me feel better,” said Ally. “You’ve been through so much, and yet here you are. You crossed your world…our world…and came through the Tower and saved my life. After everything that happened to you, you found the strength to go on. And…I guess I can to.”

  “But I did not do it alone,” said Arran. “I would have perished, if Siduri had not helped me. And you need not go alone.”

  “No.” Ally smiled. “I have Mary and Lithon.” She kissed him with some force. “And you. And you.” Her hand slid below his stomach.

  Arran’s eyes widened. “That’s not,” she felt his heartbeat quicken, “that’s not a scar.”

  Ally smiled. “Oh, I know.”

  ###

  Snow blasted into the creature’s red eyes.

  The changeling that had once been Nathan Jameson, the ex-boyfriend of Mary Lucas, hurried through the dark woods, clawed feet kicking up clods of frozen snow. Every movement filled its twisted body with pain. The cold sank into its flesh, and it yearned for warmth. Specifically, it yearned to find hot flesh and devour it.

  But Lord Marugon had commanded otherwise.

  Marugon’s Voice thundered through the changeling’s broken mind over and over again, filling it with his will. Lord Marugon had commanded that the changeling search for Lithon Scepteris and Ally Wester. The changeling, and hundreds of others, had gone to scour the world in search of them. The changelings were to remain unseen and unnoticed. They were not to hunt, not to eat, until they had found Lord Marugon’s quarry.

  The changeling loped over a fallen long, its hot breath steaming over its fangs. It was hungry and tired, and it hated the world, hated itself, and hated and feared Lord Marugon. The changeling stopped, glancing at the star-strewn sky. The seeking spells Lord Marugon had burned into its brain buzzed.

  It was getting closer to its prey. A rush of eagerness filled it, pushing aside its exhaustion. The changeling hurried into the night, slipping like a shadow from tree to tree.

  For more than Lord Marugon’s seeking spells drove the changeling that had once been Nathan Jameson.

  Memories of Ally Wester lay within the dark murk of the creature’s ruined mind. It remembered her, from its dim, almost-forgotten days as a mortal man. She had caused him great pain. She had ruined his life. And if she had not ruined his life, the changeling would not have become what it was now.

  It wanted Ally Wester dead. The desire for revenge filled the creature, drove it through the endless cold days and nights, over the countless miles.

  It came across a snow-covered gravel driveway. The thunder of the seeking spells and the Voice filled the changeling’s head, and Ally Wester was close, it knew. So was Lithon Scepteris, but that did not concern the changeling very much. It stood motionless for a moment, watching for guards, then loped down the driveway. It saw an old farmhouse far in the distance, lights burning through its windows. A surge of bloodlust filled the creature. Perhaps it could find Ally Wester and tear her head from her shoulders.

  The changeling sprang forward and slammed into an invisible wall.

  White lights burned before its eyes, and burning pain lanced through it. It let loose an agonized gibber and staggered back, its leathery skin crawling with revulsion. Some instinct in its mind recognized the presence of white magic. It felt the white magic reaching into its thoughts, digging into its memories. For a moment it wanted to turn and flee and leave this awful place far behind.

  Then the changeling’s hatred rose up. It wanted Ally Wester dead, its will matching Lord Marugon’s command, and the combined force of its rage and the black magic ripped through the tendrils of the white magic. The changeling staggered forward, snarling, its clawed fingers lashing at the cold air. The pressure in its mind grew and grew…

  Then all at once the pressure vanished. The changeling staggered, blinking its glaring eyes. It had broken through whatever wards surrounded this place.

  The creature that had once been Nathan Jameson loped forward with a hiss of satisfaction.

  A broad clearing surrounded the farmhouse and the nearby barn. The changeling crept along, keeping low to the ground. It saw a young man leaning in the barn’s doorway, a machine gun cradled in his arm. The creature crept around the barn, taking care to remain out of sight, confident that the following snow would erase any tracks.

  The changeling slid up to the house and crouched against the foundation. The seeking spells screamed through its dark mind. Ally Wester was so close. It inched up and peered through a window.

  Ally Wester sat on the couch, leaning against a weathered man with deep eyes and dark hair. The changeling wanted to leap through the window and tear Ally’s throat free. But the weathered man had a sword propped against his knees, and even sheathed, the light of the sword’s white magic stung the changeling’s eyes. The weathered man could destroy the changeling before it took two steps.

  But it wanted Ally Wester dead.

  For a moment it peered through window, rage and fear warring in its skull.

  Then a cunning thought took hold. The changeling would do as Lord Marugon compelled. It would return to him and tell the Warlock about Ally Wester. Then Lord Marugon would deal Ally Wester a far more painful death than the changeling ever could.

  The changeling slipped away into the dark trees, racing for the south.

  The wind and the snow did not feel quite so cold.

  Chapter 4 - Stealth

  Anno Domini 2012

  “Arran Belphon.”

  Arran turned.

  He stood in the Chamber of the Dead in the Tower of Endless Worlds, the forest of titanic columns spreading away in all directions. The stone faces stared down at him from the pillars, effigies of the dead gazing at him with cold eyes. He turned in a circle, his heart racing.

  “Arran Belphon.”

  The caretaker of the dead stood behind a sarcophagus, wrapped in gray mist, shifting from the shape of a giant skeleton to a hooded specter and back again.

  “What?” said Arran. “Earth, I have to get to Earth…”

  “You have failed,” said the caretaker, “and now all is lost.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The caretaker raised a skeletal hand and pointed at a nearby sarcophagus. “Look.”

  Arran strode to the sarcophagus.

  An effigy of Ally covered the tomb, her body twisted and broken, her mouth yawning in an endless scream.

  Arran’s mind lurched. “No.” He stepped back from the awful sight, his heart hammering. “No, no, this cannot be…”

  “You failed her, Arran Belphon,” said the caretaker, gliding towards him. “Arran. Arran…”

  “Arran!”

  Arran gasped and jerked awake.

  “Jesus,” said Mary. Arran blinked, his heart racing. He sat at the table in the farmhouse’s kitchen, his head propped on his hand. “I’ve never seen anyone fall asleep while they were eating.”

  Arran glanced at his half-eaten breakfast. “My apologies.” He picked up his fork. “It is not a criticism of your cooking.”

  Mary gave him a look and returned to the stove. “Well, someone has to feed all of you, and Allard couldn’t boil a hot dog without burning down the house.” She stirred something in a pot. “You look tired, Mr. Belphon.”

  Arran chewed and swallowed. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  Mary gave him another look, pointing with her wooden spoon. “That,” she said, “is bullshit, and we both know it.”

  Arran looked back at her. “Perhaps I misspoke. I have not been sleeping
as much.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Mary. “Is Ally up yet?”

  “No,” said Arran. “She is still sleeping. She needs her rest.”

  “I’d guess so,” said Mary. “You’d better not be taking advantage of her, Mr. Belphon.”

  Arran put down his fork. “What do you mean?”

  “You know.” Mary stirred her pot with savage force. “Taking advantage of her. I had someone do that to me.”

  “No,” said Arran. “I am not.”

  She shook the spoon at him. “You’d better not. You ever hurt her, Mr. Belphon…you ever hurt her, and I’ll shoot you in your sleep.”

  Arran believed her. “But I will not. Do you understand? I would sooner cut off my right hand than hurt her. I spent too long looking for her.”

  Mary snorted. “But you weren’t looking for her…or you were looking for her and didn’t know it. She’s told me some of it.”

  “Yes,” said Arran. “That is the irony.” He paused. “How much has she told you?”

  Mary smirked. “Quite a bit.” She paused. “What she gets pregnant?”

  Arran blinked. “What?”

  Mary gave him a level look. “What if she gets pregnant?”

  Arran shook his head. “Conmager told her that the white magic will prevent her from conceiving until she has better control of her powers. Ally will not become pregnant. Even if she wishes it.”

  The people of the United States, Arran had noticed, had a horror of children. But in Carlisan, sons were a man’s pride, proof that his family line would continue after his death. The prospect of children pleased Arran, but it was for the best that Ally could not conceive.

  Not while Marugon and his creatures hunted her.

  Mary gave him another look. “She’d better not. That’s the last thing she needs.”

  Arran finished his breakfast and stood.

  “Do you have guard duty?” said Mary.

  “Shortly,” said Arran. “Allard is taking an extra hour. Conmager wishes me to teach Lithon the sword for at least an hour, preferably two, every day.”