Arran shook his head, glancing over the grimy floor. “You lie.” If only he could find one of the guns loaded with the bloodied bullets.
Goth-Mar-Dan laughed. “You are wise. I will not kill you, Knight. I will maim you, cripple you. You shall watch as I have my way with the girl. Then I shall rip my child from her womb and devour it as you watch.” He stepped to one of the ghastly glass tanks and rubbed his talons over its surface. “Then you both will become my finest trophies. The last Knight and Alastarius’s heir, floating side by side forever.”
An idea came to Arran in a blaze of inspiration. “I think not.”
He yanked one of his two remaining Glocks from his shoulder holsters.
Goth-Mar-Dan laughed. “Fool! Do those bullets also have the white magic? You cannot harm me.”
“You’re right,” said Arran, flipping the pistol to automatic fire. “Not with this.”
He shifted his aim, squeezed the trigger, and emptied the clip into the glass tank.
The tank shattered, and vile-smelling chemicals burst out, gushing over Goth-Mar-Dan. The winged demon roared in shock, and the rotting corpse slammed into his chest with a wet slap, knocking him back. He bellowed and fell with a thump.
Arran sprang forward, his Sacred Blade trailing white flame, and slashed down. The blade clanged through the demon’s armor and skidded along his chest. Goth-Mar-Dan howled and pushed away the corpse. Arran raised his sword high and stabbed down, hoping to pin the winged demon to the floor. Goth-Mar-Dan rolled, and Arran’s sword slashed through the demon’s hip and caught in his leg. The white fire pulsed, and Arran leaned on the sword, hoping that the flame would catch and burn through the demon…
Goth-Mar-Dan roared, and a leathery wing smacked across Arran’s face. He staggered back, his sword sliding free from the demon’s leg. Goth-Mar-Dan’s boot lashed out and caught Arran in the gut. He groaned and went to one knee, his sword point dipping. The winged demon clambered up, moving with a marked limp. Arran staggered to his feet just as Goth-Mar-Dan attacked. He parried high, blocked low, twisted to the side, and darted a thrust through the demon’s guard. His sword point slipped through the armor plates and into the demon’s stomach. Goth-Mar-Dan roared and staggered back, pulling free from the blade. Arran charged, his blade flashing, and Goth-Mar-Dan took to the air. Arran lunged, his sword angled up, but Goth-Mar-Dan swooped away.
He grimaced, both hands clenched around his Sacred Blade’s hilt, and peered into the shadows. He saw no sign of Goth-Mar-Dan. Had he driven the winged demon off?
A man-sized piece of rusted machinery came hurtling out of the darkness.
Arran tried to dodge the hunk of rusted metal, but it clipped him on the side, knocked him off his feet, and spun him around. He heard ribs crack, felt his bones creaking in protest. Arran landed with a thump, his sword sliding from his hand, the breath blasting from his lungs. He felt something wet and hot flowing down the inside of his clothing. Bits of jagged metal jutted from his side.
Goth-Mar-Dan plunged like a black thunderbolt, scimitar point leading.
###
Ally turned in a slow circle, eyes taking in the colossal circular chamber. “What is this place?”
The domed ceiling, vanishing into the darkness above, could have held a fair sized lake. Pillars ran along the walls, each the size of a Chicago skyscraper. A vast seal of silvery metal rested in the center of the floor. It was at least a quarter-mile across, and countless rings of concentric symbols had been carved in its gleaming surface.
“The Chamber of the Great Seal, in the very heart of the Tower of Endless Worlds,” said Alastarius.
Ally could feel the titanic power focused on the seal. “It’s…it’s…I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Alastarius led her towards the Seal. The metal looked cold and slippery, almost like ice. “It is the focal point of the Tower, its cornerstone. The Tower’s weight is balanced at this point, and the Great Seal is the nexus of the magical forces that bind the Tower. It is the linchpin of the knot, if you’ll pardon the crude analogy. The mighty spells that bind the Tower, the warding runes, the awesome magical forces of this place, all focus upon the Great Seal. Marugon could spend ten thousand years demolishing the Tower, but so long as the Seal held, the Tower would stand and the children of the void would remain banished. And the Great Seal is almost invincible.”
Ally looked at the carven runes, and then at her grandfather. “Almost?”
“Earth is a world of wonders and horrors,” said Alastarius. “You know that, having lived half your life there. Earth’s technology has created wonders that defy belief, but it has also created the power to destroy. And the worst is a weapon of such power that Marugon himself could not have imagined it. A bomb that can destroy a city, a nation, a machine that summons a piece of the stars’ very fire and unleashes it.”
“You mean…” Ally hesitated. “You mean a nuclear bomb, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Alastarius. “I do not think I have ever seen a more terrible weapon. A handful of bombs, properly placed, can destroy a world. And Marugon has found one.”
“He has a nuke?” said Ally. “Will he use it to blow up the Tower?”
“He cannot use the bomb to destroy the Tower,” said Alastarius. “The Tower is too vast for that.” He pointed at the Great Seal. “Instead, he will take the bomb here, to the Chamber of the Great Seal. The explosion will shatter the Seal, the Tower will collapse in ruin, and the forces binding the Tower will dissipate.”
“But won’t Marugon kill himself, if he does that?” said Ally.
“Almost certainly,” said Alastarius. “Perhaps he thinks of the blast will free him of mortal flesh, transform him into a true prince of the voidspawn. Or perhaps he knows it will kill him. He may no longer care.” He took her arm. “Come. Let me show you.”
The Chamber swirled, dissolved, and reformed into a dimly lit library. Shelves of books climbed towards the ceiling, and comfortable chairs stood scattered around the room.
Ally took a step back and gasped.
Lord Marugon sat hunched over a low table, his fingers writhing over a metal disk.
“Do not fear,” said Alastarius. “He cannot see us.”
“I’ve seen this place before, in my dreams,” said Ally. “I’ve seen him before.”
Alastarius nodded. “Your buried both your powers and the connected memories deeply. Yet sometimes your spirit would rove over the world while you dreamed, when your power briefly manifested.”
Ally took a hesitant step forward, looking at the metal disk beneath Marugon’s fingers. Endless rings of dark-etched runes marked its surface. “What is he doing?”
“That disk will shift its bearer partway into the spiritual world,” said Alastarius. “Much as the winged demons exist simultaneously in this world and the other.”
“Why is he making it?” said Ally. “Will it make him resistant to material weapons like the winged demons?”
“Oh, certainly,” said Alastarius, “but Marugon’s power is such that he need not fear material weapons. No, he will place the disk in the bomb before he detonates it. That means the bomb shall explode in both the material and spiritual realms. The blast will shatter the Great Seal, throw down the Tower, and free the children of the void. Our world will be destroyed, of course, in the Tower’s fall. But the Tower’s fall will doom more worlds than you and I can comprehend.”
“But Marugon doesn’t have a nuclear bomb quite yet, does he?” She envisioned the children of the void bursting out through the doors, swarming over Earth, though Chicago, killing and slaying and feasting. “Does he?”
“Not yet.” Alastarius sighed. “But he will have the bomb in another two days at most. And in three days, the universe as you and I know may very well cease to exist.”
###
Arran yanked his last gun from its holster and squeezed the trigger. The bullets slammed into Goth-Mar-Dan, slowing him, but doing little
other damage. Arran rolled, gritting his teeth through the pain, snatched up his Sacred Blade, and leapt to his feet to meet Goth-Mar-Dan’s attack. The black scimitar clanged against his sword, slid past his guard, and slashed down his forearm. Arran hissed in pain, fresh blood oozing down his arm. Goth-Mar-Dan turned his blade and stabbed down. The scimitar slashed down Arran’s side and grazed against his hip, and Arran lurched away before the winged demon disemboweled him. His breath came in shallow, rasping gasps.
He felt shards from the broken machine scraping against his bones.
“So,” said Goth-Mar-Dan, stepping back. Black blood oozed from the wounds Arran had inflicted. “You are more cunning than I deemed.”
Arran took his sword’s hilt in both trembling hands and watched the winged demon.
“Valiant, but futile,” said Goth-Mar-Dan. “You weaken, Knight. Your lifeblood seeps upon the stones.” He lifted his arm, displaying one of the wounds Arran had given him. The pale flesh and iron muscles crawled back together, healing themselves. “You weaken. But my wounds heal. I grow stronger.”
“Stop raving and fight,” said Arran.
Goth-Mar-Dan roared with laughter. “Come, now. You have proven a valiant foe, worthy of a quick death. You shall die here tonight, one way or another. Lay down your sword, and I shall spare you my torments.”
Arran staggered towards Goth-Mar-Dan, letting his sword point scrape against the concrete. The winged demon smiled.
“If you want my sword,” said Arran, something gurgling in his chest, “then you shall have it.”
He spun, drawing on all the speed he had left, and brought his sword across in a blurring arc. The blade dug deep into Goth-Mar-Dan’s side. The winged demon howled and leaped back. Arran tried to continue the attack, and Goth-Mar-Dan roared and went on the offensive. Arran parried most of the blows, and dodged many, but Goth-Mar-Dan scored minor hit after minor hit. The winged demon drove him around the glass tanks, past where Ally lay unconscious on the metal table, and closer to the grimy concrete wall.
Goth-Mar-Dan laughed all the while, his eyes burning.
The force of the demon’s next blow knocked Arran off balance. Goth-Mar-Dan’s leathery wing caught him across the face, and Arran smashed into the wall, groaned, and slid to one knee.
“I shall devour you, Knight,” said Goth-Mar-Dan, watching him. “Perhaps I shall wake the girl first. I shall permit her to watch as I consume you.”
“No,” said Arran, voice grating against his ears. “You will not.” But his words were empty. Pain burned through him with every breath, and he did not know if he had the strength left to stand, let at alone fight. Something began to burn between his shoulders. Had the demon wounded him there?
Goth-Mar-Dan growled, eyes narrowing, and took a step back.
The burning changed to a gentle warmth that spread through him. He reached back and touched the hilt of Luthar’s Sacred Blade. It felt hot, almost too hot to hold.
He frowned, stood, and drew the weapon free. Its silvery blade burst into cold azure fire, mixing with the white light radiating from Arran’s sword. Goth-Mar-Dan flinched and stepped back, and Arran stared at the swords in wonder. He could lift both swords at once. How was it possible? Only Sir Liam had been able to wield two Sacred Blades at once…
Goth-Mar-Dan gave a terrible cry of fury, took to the air, and dropped like a stone. Arran dodged, beat aside the winged demon’s thrust with his Sacred Blade, and thrust Luthar’s. The sword carved a gash in Goth-Mar-Dan’s shoulder. The winged demon shrieked and charged at Arran. Arran parried, picking off the blows with his crimson Sacred Blade, and Luthar’s sword darted out to score a minor hit on the demon’s arm. Arran gritted his teeth against the pain and fought on, tasting blood and sweat on his tongue.
With two swords, he could hold his own against the demon.
Goth-Mar-Dan roared and charged, black scimitar spinning.
###
“Two days?” said Ally. “Marugon will have a nuclear bomb in two days?”
“Possibly sooner,” said Alastarius. He waved his hand, and they returned to Castle Bastion’s mist-shrouded courtyard. “Wycliffe has an arrangement with a Russian criminal leader, a man named Vasily Kurkov. Kurkov provided the guns and bombs that Wycliffe sold to Marugon. Now Kurkov has obtained a nuclear bomb. He is bringing it to the city of Chicago even as we speak.”
“Does Wycliffe even know about it?” said Ally.
“He knows about the bomb, aye,” said Alastarius, “but he does not know what use Marugon intends for it, and he does not really care. Wycliffe has what he wants, the vice-presidency of the United States and a puppet president to control. Wycliffe wants Marugon gone.”
“The fool,” said Ally, “the miserable murdering fool.”
“Wycliffe’s folly,” said Alastarius, “though he knows it not, will have terrible consequences for both himself and countless others.”
“You have to stop him,” said Ally. “Marugon can’t set off that bomb…”
“I?” Alastarius pointed at himself. “I am dead, child. I died years ago. My spirit lingers on until my charge is fulfilled, but I cannot affect the world of the living. I can only watch, observe, and advise.”
“Lithon,” said Ally, swallowing. “You Prophesied about Lithon. You said he would overthrow Marugon. It’s not too late…”
Alastarius sighed. “Lithon will play some part, I have no doubt, but he is just a boy. He will become a great man, should he survive the next few days. But for now he is just a boy Marugon could crush with a thought.” Alastarius sighed. “No, Ally. My child. If Marugon is to be stopped, then it is up to you.”
Ally stared at the old man for a long moment. “Me?”
“Yes. I was the mightiest Wizard of my time, the mightiest Wizard in centuries,” said Alastarius. “And my powers have passed on to you, Ally, all of them. Do you not yet see? Your life was the goal of my machinations, my Prophecies. Someone had to survive. Someone had to possess the strength to battle Marugon, even after he had destroyed the Knights and the High Kingdoms and the White Council. Marugon thinks he has slain everyone who can possibly oppose him. He has not. You have the strength to face him and defeat him.”
Ally shook her head. “How? I have the white magic, but I cannot use it. At least not well enough to fight Marugon. Even Goth-Mar-Dan could stop me from using it.” Her physical peril seemed distant now, insignificant next to the ruin Marugon threatened to bring.
“Conmager tried to teach you, but his skills are limited.” Alastarius paused. “The night I appeared to you and the others. I would have told you everything. But it was your power that had brought me there. You did not want to hear what I had to say, and your mind pushed me away. Not consciously, of course, but it did nonetheless. Conmager cannot teach you what you need to know.”
“Then how?” said Ally.
“There is a way,” said Alastarius. “You’ve experienced some of my memories. That is only a part of what I’ve passed onto you. All of my memories rest within your mind. You have struggled against them for as long as you can remember. But if you were to embrace them…”
“Then I would have the skill to wield the white magic,” said Ally. She stared at the mist for a long time. “What would happen to me? Would I stop being me? Would I become you?”
“No,” said Alastarius. “I am dead. I cannot live again. You would remain you. But you would remember my life as if you have lived it yourself, though as a spectator.”
“Like a movie in my head,” said Ally.
“Essentially, yes. You would have skills you did not before,” said Alastarius, “not the least of which is the white magic. Your personality may change. But your mind is powerful, and it is yours. You will remain who you are.”
Ally snorted. “No, I won’t.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t really have any choice, do I?”
“No. The choice is yours. I cannot force you to do this.”
Ally turned, face him. “Then I choose t
o do this.”
Alastarius smiled. “As you wish. Farewell, Allara Marentine, my granddaughter. We shall not meet again for many years.”
Her grandfather stepped towards her, raised his hands, and stepped into her.
Ally shuddered.
Her nerves crawled and twitched. Something deep within her mind, something that had always remained closed, shattered open.
A storm of memories flooded through her. She remembered Alastarius’s life as if it was her own.
She remembered Alastarius striding through the woods, a younger Sir Liam at his side as they spoke of many things…
She remembered Marugon coming before Alastarius, the Warlock’s face twisted with agony and torment and hope, remembered Alastarius’s family lying butchered and torn in the hall of Castle Marentine, remembered lying on the cold stone of Castle Bastion’s courtyard, the blood seeping over the stones…
A thousand memories burst through her mind.
Chapter 8 - White Magic
Anno Domini 2012
Ally opened her eyes.
She still lay on the cold metal table, the steel cuffs around her wrists and ankles. The stink of chemicals filled her nostrils, and the clang of steel and roars of rage filled her ears.
She felt no fear.
Arran and Goth-Mar-Dan fought some distance away. Goth-Mar-Dan moved with a limp, his lips peeled back in a snarl. His eyes blazed and black flames crackled around his scimitar. She saw the darkness gathered around him, within him, like a great black shroud. Arran fought with fury, despite a dozen bleeding wounds. She saw the fire of his scarred, unbroken spirit burning within him, matching the twin fires of his Sacred Blades. She could also see the bonds of spirit that bound Luthar’s blade to Arran, the threads of power that permitted him to wield two Sacred Blades at once.
Ally realized she could see both worlds at once, both the material and the spiritual.
The Destroyer of Worlds Page 12
