The Destroyer of Worlds

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Again?” said Wycliffe.

  Kurkov blew out a cloud of smoke. “I am going make certain this goes right. I shall drive the bomb to Chicago myself.”

  “How are you getting it here?” said Wycliffe.

  “U-Haul truck,” said Kurkov. “The bomb, I do not think you understand its size. It is not very big. I shall bury it behind other boxes in the truck. That way, even if I am pulled over, all the police shall see is moving boxes.” He grinned. “And I will have some of my associates following me in cars…armed associates, should the police become too inquisitive.”

  “This is tremendously dangerous, you know,” said Wycliffe, “driving a nuclear bomb across the county in a goddamn U-Haul truck.”

  Kurkov sneered. “Do you think I am stupid? Of course it is dangerous.” He rubbed his fingers together. “But the profit is very great. And I know what I am doing.”

  “You’ll be taking Dr. Krastiny and his associates with you, I assume,” said Wycliffe.

  “No.”

  Wycliffe frowned. “Why not?”

  “I do not trust them.”

  Wycliffe snorted. “You don’t trust anyone.”

  “True.” Kurkov dropped his cigarette butt into the trash. “But…let us say they are no longer reliable.”

  “Why?” said Wycliffe. “Because they took that contract with Marugon to find Ally Wester?”

  Kurkov nodded. “I require loyalty. They shall have to be liquidated at some future date. When we return to Russia, I think. And don’t bother to protest. When they found that girl, it caused you big problems, didn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Wycliffe. “Frankly, I think Marugon might have brought more difficulty onto our heads by trying to kill the girl and her brother. Had he left them alone, most likely he would have received his bomb and departed for his world without a shot fired. Now he has the changelings scouring the nation in search of her.”

  Kurkov coughed. “Well, at least the problem will solve itself soon, no? Marugon leaves with his bomb.” He shrugged. “Of course, that will terminate our business relationship. You will no longer need to buy guns and bombs to sell to Marugon.” He grinned. “But it has been very profitable, yes?”

  Wycliffe laughed. “For you. And you have another fifty million dollars coming yet.”

  Kurkov gestured with his cigarette. “And profitable for you, too…you’re Vice President-Elect now, and…” He dropped his cigarette, leapt to his feet, and yanked a gun out from under his jacket.

  Wycliffe stood. “What the hell?”

  A changeling slipped into the office, clawed fingers brushing against the carpet.

  “What the hell is one of those things doing in here?” said Kurkov, his gun leveled at the creature.

  Wycliffe waved a hand. “You may as well put that away, Vasily. You could empty the entire clip and not even scratch its skin. Besides, it won’t hurt us.” Not unless Marugon had overridden that compulsion. Kurkov scowled and put his weapon away. “I want to know how the thing got in here. Security should have spotted it. And I instructed them never to…”

  The changeling shuffled towards the desk, a rasping growl wheezing from its fanged mouth. It snarled, closed its eyes, and wheezed again.

  Kurkov stepped away, revulsion on his face. “What is the miserable thing doing?”

  Wycliffe stared at it in wonder. “I think it’s trying to say something.”

  The changeling nodded, greasy hair sliding over its pointed ears. “Mar…Mar…”

  Wycliffe frowned. “Marugon?”

  The creature nodded. “Marugon. Where?”

  “So it can’t find Marugon,” said Kurkov.

  “He is in the bunker under 13A warehouse,” said Wycliffe. Marugon had holed himself up in the library over the last few weeks, muttering spells of the black magic over and over again. Wycliffe had no idea what he was doing.

  The creature shook with a spasm, trying to force words. “Take…me. Marugon. Bitch…ice queen. The bitch.”

  Kurkov spat. “It’s lost its mind.”

  “Not that these things had any mind left to begin with,” said Wycliffe. He paused, a memory scratching at the back of his thoughts. “I remember this one! It was the first changeling I transformed. Nathan Jameson, I think. Wasn’t that his name?”

  The changeling nodded. “Ice queen.” Its voice rasped over the words. “Bitch. Find…find her. Ally. Found…”

  Kurkov frowned. “Ally? Does it mean Ally Wester?”

  “Yes!” The changeling nodded. “Ice queen. Found. Her.”

  Wycliffe frowned. What armed chaos would Marugon unleash now?

  “Marugon,” rasped the changeling, interrupting Wycliffe’s thoughts. “Take. Marugon.”

  “Very well,” said Wycliffe. “I need to speak with Marugon anyway. Come along.”

  He set out into the hallway, watching for staffers.

  The changeling loped after him, hissing.

  ###

  “Could you,” said Allard, shoveling more mashed potatoes onto his plate, “pass the gravy?”

  Ally nodded and passed the gravy. Allard mumbled thanks and dumped a generous amount of gravy over the potatoes.

  “You should not eat so much,” said Arran. “You’ll have a hard time staying awake tonight.”

  Allard gave him an incredulous look and waved his fork over the kitchen table. “But how I can resist this food?”

  Mary snorted. “Kiss-up.”

  Allard winked at her. “You wish.” Ally gave him a look, and Allard grinned and began shoveling potatoes into his mouth.

  “Allard is right, you know,” said Conmager, wiping his mouth. “The food is excellent. You shall make us all fat, before you are done.”

  Ally grinned. “And you even made enough to satisfy Lithon.”

  Lithon rolled his eyes. “But I was hungry.”

  Mary blushed and looked at her plate. “It’s no big deal. Someone has to do the cooking, and if Arran cooked, we’d have nothing but stew and jerky every day.”

  They ate in silence for a moment. Ally was not hungry, but she ate a little anyway, to satisfy Mary and Arran. Mary’s feelings would be hurt if she did not, and Arran worried for her, thinking that she did not eat enough.

  She didn’t, in truth. She cared what happened to Lithon, to Mary, to Arran, and had become friends with Conmager and even Allard. But Ally did not care about her own fate very much, a fact that worried Mary to no end.

  So she ate.

  “It is time,” said Conmager, “that we decided what we are to do next.”

  Ally felt a twinge of fear. She did not want to leave. She had been safe here.

  “I cannot tell you what to do, only advise,” said Conmager. “But now let me advise. I think it is time we moved on.”

  “Where?” said Arran. Ally sought his hand under the table. She found it, and his hard, callused fingers gave hers a comforting squeeze. “Another of your safe houses?”

  “At first,” said Conmager, “But a longer journey. I think we should travel through the Tower of Endless Worlds and return to my world.” He smiled. “Our world…it is your native world, Ally and Lithon, even if you cannot remember it.”

  Ally shook her head. “All I can remember of it is the Crimson Plain.”

  “And I can’t remember any of it,” said Lithon.

  “Why should we return to our world?” said Arran. “The journey through the Tower is perilous. The Tower is collapsing, and the way back to our world may no longer exist.”

  “The Tower might be falling,” said Conmager, “but such a colossal structure would not fall so quickly.”

  Arran shook his head. “The Tower is falling into ruin. The way you took to Earth is likely gone, and the way I traveled might have disappeared. The Tower is crumbling very quickly, I think, though I know not why.” Ally could hear the faint tension in his voice at the mention of the Tower. She knew the memory, among others, still haunted him.

  “Perhaps,” said Conmager, “b
ut these creatures, these children of the void, only seem to attack lone travelers. They appear to leave large groups alone. The soldiers you overheard said as much.”

  Ally blinked. “They attacked us and Sir Liam.” She could now remember what had inspired the strange image that had haunted her dreams for so long, the vast stone corridor and the whispering shadows.

  The voidspawn, the children of the void.

  “Sir Liam was tired and old, and you and Lithon were but children,” said Conmager. “If we went, we would be well-equipped. You and I know some of the white magic.”

  Ally grimaced. “Not much, in my case.”

  “And we will have Sir Arran’s Sacred Blade, and the enchanted bullets,” said Conmager. “We could fight off any assault.”

  “I do not think that is possible,” said Arran, his voice quiet. Ally felt the tension in his fingers. “I barely escaped with my life from the Tower. One misstep, a second’s hesitation, and I would have perished but inches from the door to Earth. I will not go to the Tower again, save for a great need.”

  “Yeah,” said Mary, waving her serving fork. “Why should we go to the other world? I mean, if we’re safe here, why? Isn’t the other world dangerous, filled with winged demons and gunmen and worse things? I’ve heard some of the stories you tell.”

  “True,” said Conmager, “but hear me out, I beg. I think it would give us an advantage. First, Marugon searches for Ally and Lithon here on Earth. If we could slip through the Tower and reach our world without his knowledge, it would throw off his search.”

  Mary snorted. “Isn’t that why Sir Liam brought Ally and Lithon here in the first place?” Allard grunted and reached for the mashed potatoes.

  “Yes,” said Arran. Ally again felt the tension of memory in his hand. “That was his hope.”

  “And it worked so well, didn’t it?” said Mary.

  Conmager scratched his chin. “Sarcasm does not become you.”

  Ally raised an eyebrow. “Even when she’s right?”

  “A second reason,” said Conmager. “I think it is time that we took the fight to Marugon.”

  “And how shall we do that?” said Arran.

  “Lithon is King of Carlisan,” said Conmager, “and perhaps it is time he claimed his throne.”

  “And how will he do so?” said Arran. “Most of the High Kingdom’s people have perished. Even if a remnant could be gathered, Marugon’s soldiers would quickly slaughter them.”

  “Marugon’s dominion over the High Kingdoms is crumbling.” Conmager’s dark eyes gleamed in his lined face. “From what you said, it seems that he has wearied of his conquests. I would wager that the High Kingdoms are breaking into petty domains, ruled by winged demons or ambitious gunmen. If the surviving people of the High Kingdoms rose up, it would not be hard to defeat these petty tyrants. And we could fight the gunmen with their own weapons.”

  Arran stared at him. “Guns. You want to bring more guns to our world.”

  Conmager nodded. “Five of the Tower’s doors open to Earth. One stands in Wycliffe’s warehouse. That door and its ill history we already know. The second door stands in the woods behind the Westers’ old house. You came through that door, Sir Arran, as did Ally and Lithon. The third door stands in New York, the fourth someplace in Ghana. But the fifth door opens in the town Broken Skull.”

  “Charming name,” said Ally.

  Allard grunted and swallowed a mouthful. “Actually, it’s a little town in South Dakota. I’ve been there; Regent took me. Little shitburg, but lots of cheap beer.”

  “I own a warehouse there,” said Conmager, “and it is filled with guns. I purpose we return to our world and take the guns, bit by bit, with us. We shall have to set up caravans, as did Marugon, but we can ferry the weapons over. And then we can arm the people of the High Kingdoms and drive out the winged demons and Marugon’s soldiers.”

  “I dislike this plan,” said Arran. “We shall do again to the High Kingdoms what Marugon has already done.”

  “And it must be done again.” Conmager leaned forward. “It is the only way to restore the High Kingdoms, if only as pale shadows of their former selves. The High Kingdoms will take centuries to heal. But that healing cannot begin until Marugon is defeated.”

  “Marugon is here on Earth,” said Arran. “How shall waging war across the High Kingdoms defeat Marugon?”

  “We cannot confront Marugon, not yet.” Conmager gestured around the room. “His winged demons and changelings almost destroyed us. Alastarius Prophesied that Lithon would defeat Marugon. I say we must restore the High Kingdoms, raise an army, and return to Earth to kill Marugon.”

  “No,” said Arran. “We are not ready to fight Marugon. But we must not fight the gunmen in the High Kingdoms. I tried and failed. We should wait until Lithon is old enough, until Ally is strong enough, and then attack Marugon here.”

  Conmager blinked. “I do not believe that is wise. Marugon is the last of the Warlocks, yes, but he is the mightiest. He could kill us all with little effort.”

  “He is still a man,” said Arran, “of mortal flesh and blood. One bullet could kill him, if we caught him by surprise. It would not surprise me if his spells protected him from bullets. But if we catch him off guard, when Ally and Lithon are stronger, we can kill him.”

  Ally shook her head. “No. He’s not mortal. At least not entirely.”

  Arran frowned. “What?”

  “Marugon is…” Something fluttered just behind her conscious mind. “It…I don’t know. Something. I thought I remembered.” She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  Mary pointed her fork at Conmager. “Shouldn’t Ally and Lithon have a say? After all, if you’re making these big decisions about their lives, shouldn’t they say what they think?”

  Conmager nodded. “Of course.” He looked at Lithon, and then at Ally. “What do you think? Should we stay, or should we go?”

  Lithon shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Ally hesitated. “I don’t want to leave here. I really don’t. But I don’t know what we should do. I don’t even know what I want to do, anymore.” Had she ever really known? “We need to think about it.”

  “I agree,” said Conmager. “Such a great decision should not be made over a supper, however tasty.” Mary smiled. “But in any case, we should move soon. I have a number of safe houses scattered across the country, and we should not linger long at any one of them.”

  “Where are we going next?” said Allard. “Someplace warm, I hope.”

  “Minnesota.” Conmager finished his water and set down his glass. “A bit west of Duluth.” Allard groaned.

  Mary looked at Ally. “Do you want any more to eat?”

  Ally shook her head, staring at her plate. “No, no thank you. It’s good…I’m just not very hungry.”

  They finished their meal in silence. Allard went to his guard shift. Mary cleared the plates and went into the kitchen. Conmager went to the barn to enchant more bullets. Ally paid them no heed, staring into nothing. Something scratched at the back of her mind, something important, but she could not bring the thought into focus.

  “What is the matter?” said Arran. “And I mean besides the obvious, as you so often say.” Ally almost smiled. “Something is troubling you.”

  Ally shook her head. “I don’t know. I feel like we’re missing something important. Something that’s obvious, but we’re just not seeing.” A thought clicked into focus, and she sat up straighter. “What does Marugon want?”

  Arran shrugged. “Revenge, I suppose. Conquest, destruction. Rule over the High Kingdoms, or what remains of them.”

  Ally shook her head. “No, no. Why does he want those things?” She rubbed her temples. “Why?”

  “I know not,” said Arran. “He is a monster, I do not doubt. Why does such a man do anything? Who can understand his mind?”

  “We must,” said Ally. “It’s important, but I don’t know why.”

  “Go to sleep,” said Arran.
“You need to rest.”

  “Yeah.” Ally nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Sleep.” She had not gotten much lately, between her nightmares and her growing relationship with Arran. “I’ll sleep.”

  But she still felt as if she had missed something of tremendous importance.

  ###

  Wycliffe muttered under his breath, the Voice trembling with soft power. It sent out waves of indifference, of apathy, of quiet ignorance. The staffers and office workers glanced over him and the changeling and looked away. They showed no reaction to the sight of the changeling, its claws dragging over the carpet.

  Kurkov looked alarmed. “What are you doing?”

  Wycliffe shushed him and followed the changeling outside, across the loading yard, and to warehouse 13A. He swiped his card through the lock and the massive steel door hissed open. The changeling hurried inside, Wycliffe and Kurkov struggling to keep pace. The stacks of crates cast deep shadows over the warehouse. Wycliffe looked over the array of weapons and frowned. What was he going to do with all this stuff? Marugon had stopped sending caravans through the Tower.

  “Slow down,” Wycliffe commanded. The changeling growled, but slowed its pace. “Now, downstairs. Take the stairs.” He was not sharing the elevator with the stinking creature. “Lord Marugon is likely in the library. I shall go first. Understand?” Wycliffe started down the stairs, the changeling and Kurkov behind him. He let himself into the bunker and strode down the corridor.

  He felt the presence of black magic in the library, cold energy crackling through the air.

  Wycliffe steeled himself and stepped into the library. Shadows lay thick over the floors. Marugon sat hunched over one of the reading tables, his fingers tracing designs in the air. A gleaming steel disk the size of a serving platter lay on the table, runes carved into its surface. Even as Wycliffe watched, one of them flared with black light and then went cold and dark.

  “Lord Marugon.”

  Marugon looked up. “Unless you have located Ally Wester, do not disturb me.”

  Wycliffe blinked. “What are you doing, if I might ask?”

  “This?” Marugon ran a finger over the disk. “This disk, once properly enchanted, will push its bearer partway into the spiritual world. Much as the winged demons exist both in the material world and the spiritual.” Lines of exhaustion marked his face. “I assume you have business other than pestering me?”