Agents put the pieces together. Documents founded in Wycliffe’s damaged office buildings confirmed their suspicions.
What began as a national tragedy soon transformed into the biggest scandal in American history.
The FBI arrested Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping’s board of directors and the Gracchan Party’s leadership in one fell swoop, catching several of them as they attempted to flee the country. Their testimony matched the findings in the compound’s debris. Soon it became clear that Senator Wycliffe had made his fortune in arms smuggling, kidnapping, and some sort of illegal scientific experimentation.
Overnight, Wycliffe went from a hero of the people to a scheming fraud. Both old media and new portrayed Wycliffe as a tyrant in disguise, a lying demagogue, a blacker villain than Benedict Arnold, John Wilkes Booth, and Lee Harvey Oswald rolled together. Some even claimed that Wycliffe would have become the next Hitler.
William Jones resigned the Presidency, gave most of his personal fortune to charity, and spent the rest of his life in an assisted-living care facility in California. The FBI concluded that he had been tortured into compliance with Wycliffe and let him be. The Presidency passed to a much-surprised and delighted Speaker of the House.
The Gracchan Party itself disintegrated in less than a month. With Wycliffe dead, Jones insane, and the top leadership in federal prison, the Gracchan Party collapsed. The few die-hards that remained splintered into a dozen radical fringe parties; the neo-Gracchans, the Anti-Wealth Front, the True Gracchans, the Wycliffe Memorial Party, and others. The scandal took a long time to die away, but the controversy never did. Wycliffe had sold guns and arms in massive amounts, but no one ever quite figured out who had been buying. In addition, the mystery of the five hundred naked people never received satisfactory explanation. The FBI concluded that they had been kidnapped for the purposes of weapon experimentation, an explanation that satisfied no one. Beyond that, the strange deaths of Simon Wester, Katrina Wester, and Heloise Francis were never solved, and no one ever did find Ally and Lithon Wester. Even stranger mysteries surrounded Wycliffe; the black bones, his failed venture in tobacco, the sightings of hideous winged beings.
Within a year, a host of books, made-for-TV movies, and websites appeared, each arguing a different explanation. Some said Wycliffe had planned an armed coup. A few more radical documentaries claimed Wycliffe had been contacted by beings from another planet. Some claimed that a chain of disappearances in the Rocky Mountain states were proof that some of the strange winged creatures still prowled the nation.
Congressional committees were appointed. Historians and journalists alike received awards and doctorates for their studies and writings on the matter. The five hundred people rescued from Wycliffe’s compound found themselves pestered for incessant interviews. But despite the investigations, the books, the movies, the journals, no one ever quite figured out what happened, much to the amusement of those who knew the truth.
###
“I still don’t trust you,” said Conmager, starting at the man across the fire.
They sat on a wooded hill somewhere in western Montana. The forest smelled of wet earth and the coming spring. Thousands of stars blazed in the night sky, along with a half-moon. In the distance Conmager saw the craggy silhouette of the Rockies.
“Quite wise,” said Dr. Krastiny, “quite wise indeed. And you haven’t even played cards with me yet.” He wore an ugly flannel shirt tucked into dirty jeans.
Kyle Allard grumbled and sat down by the fire.
“Is Mary ready?” said Conmager.
Allard nodded.
Conmager grunted, satisfied, and poked the fire with his cane. “I don’t trust you, fine. But I don’t understand why you wanted to help us.
Krastiny shrugged. “I don’t entirely understand, myself. Call it repentance, of a sort.”
Conmager snorted. “I doubt you’ve ever repented of anything in your life.”
“I still think we should have shot him,” said Allard.
Krastiny yawned, stuck a bratwurst on a camp fork, and held it over the fire. “And I’m quite pleased you didn’t. I told the same thing to that Arran Belphon fellow.” He sighed. “This, I must say, is the life. Quiet air, open country, splendid scenery. It reminds me of the Urals down by the Ukraine.” He shrugged. “But I’ve been helpful, you must admit. That winged demon in Wyoming would have killed you, if I had not helped.”
“True enough,” said Conmager. They sat in silence for a moment. Conmager pulled some burgers from the cooler, dropped them on a pan, and put it on the fire.
“How many of them do you think are left?” said Allard.
“The burgers? Couple dozen, so long as we keep them frozen in the cooler…”
“No, no,” said Allard. “Them. You know. The winged ones.”
Conmager looked into the trees. A shadow moved. “Just one. I only think a half-dozen got away from the compound. We’ve taken five. So one left, unless they fathered offspring, which I don’t think happened.”
Allard nodded. Krastiny took a bite of his bratwurst and sighed in contentment.
“Do you think they’re alive?” said Allard.
“Who?” said Conmager. “The winged ones…”
“No, no,” said Allard. “Ally and Arran and Lithon.”
“Oh.” Conmager grunted. His bad leg ached in the damp. “They succeeded, we know that. Earth’s still here. If they’re alive…” He thought about it. “I think so. Of course, I can’t know that. The seals on the Tower doors will last for ten thousand years.” He would never see the world of his birth again. That troubled him, but not much. He had come to love Earth, in all its horror and magnificence. “But I think they’re alive. Arran would have taken them back to the High Kingdoms.”
“So what do we do when there’s no more winged demons?” said Allard.
“Real estate,” said Krastiny.
They looked at him.
“That’s where the long-term money is, I think,” said Krastiny. “Tangible assets.”
“No way,” said Allard. “It’s in stocks…”
The shadow in the trees moved closer. Red eyes burned in the darkness. Conmager yawned, picked up his spatula, and flipped the burgers. A winged demon stepped out of the darkness, standing at the edge of the firelight. Conmager made no sign he had noticed the beast. Neither did Krastiny and Allard. The demon came closer, blood-blackened claws rising from its fingers.
Mary stepped out from behind a tree, a black spear in her hands. Before the beast could react, she flipped the switch and plunged the spear into its chest. Blue lightning crackled up the shaft, and the winged demon howled and dropped to the ground, twitching.
“Good job,” said Conmager, rising with the aid of his cane.
“Bravo,” said Krastiny, drawing his gun. “A thrust worthy of Athena herself.”
“Thanks.” Mary frowned. “I think.”
“Shall I finish him?” said Krastiny.
“I think Conmager should do the honors,” said Allard.
The winged demon tried to stand. Mary reached over and twisted the spear.
“Very well.” Conmager lifted his cane and closed his eyes, white light flaring over the cane. Conmager stepped over to the winged demon, positioned himself, and swung the cane like a golf club.
It landed with a satisfying crack.
Chapter 16 - Homecoming
Year of the Councils 973
“There,” said Arran, pointing. A weathered milestone stood beside the road, its inscription long-since faded away. Beyond it Ally saw a vast expanse of green forest, stretching to the distant horizon and beyond. “Rindl. You’ve been here before, Lithon, though I doubt you remember it.”
Lithon shrugged. “I don’t.”
Ally touched Arran’s elbow. “You’ve been here before.”
“Thrice.” Arran walked to the milestone and rubbed its worn surface. “This is the fourth time.”
Lithon squinted and pointed at something further
down the slope. “Is that a pond?”
“Aye, it is,” said Arran. “It’s fed with the streams from the snowmelt. It flows down into the Forest of Rindl, eventually. I’ve caught mountain trout there. A blessed change from dry meat and old bread.”
“Can I go fishing?” said Lithon.
“No,” said Arran, “you should not wander alone. Later there’s a stream that crosses the road. You can…”
“You can go,” said Ally, giving Arran a look. “We’ll catch up with you later. Go catch something for supper.”
Lithon grinned. “Okay.” He retrieved his makeshift fishing pole from his gear and hurried away towards the pond.
Arran scowled. “That was not wise…”
Ally wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. “We’ve not been alone together since we left Earth. Lithon can take care of himself for an hour or so.”
“Oh,” said Arran.
She led him to a sheltered outcropping of boulders. He laid his cloak down on the ground, and she slid out of her clothes. The mountain air felt cool against her skin, even in the late spring, but the thought soon fled her mind.
After they had finished, she leaned up and whispered in his ear. “Don’t move. You make a fine blanket.”
Arran snorted, blinking sweat from his eyes. “It’s good to know you have some use for me.”
She closed her eyes, feeling warm and safe and content.
“We ought to check on Lithon,” said Arran, after they had dozed for a few hours.
Ally opened an eye. “Now? He can look after himself for a few minutes. And I don’t think he wants us to check on him. He’s not stupid. He knows what we’re doing.”
Arran hesitated. “What should we do now?”
Ally opened both eyes and grinned. “You have some suggestions?”
“I mean, where should we go now?” said Arran.
Ally sighed. “I don’t know.” They could not go back to Earth, and there was nothing but ghouls and ruins in the Crimson Plain and the Forgotten Vales. “The High Kingdoms, to Carlisan. Lithon has been King of Carlisan for over a decade. He should be crowned.”
Arran’s mouth twisted. “To be King of what? Ruin and waste?”
Ally put a hand over his lips. “There are still people there, Arran. Kingdoms can be rebuilt. Lands can be resettled.” She thought for a moment. “Marugon said we were the last. The last Wizard, the last Knight, the last King. But I think he was wrong. We shall be the first, instead. The first of the new Wizards, first of the new Knights, the first King of a new Carlisan.”
Arran turned his head, looking at the forests of Rindl far below. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I am right,” said Ally. “But that's still in the future. I’ll tell you what I want to do now.” She hooked her leg over his side, rolled him onto his back, and straddled him.
Some time later she lay atop him, spent and content, her head resting on his shoulder. His breath came in short gasps, his hands still clutching her hips.
“You shall wear me out,” he said. “I will sleep like the dead tonight.”
Ally smiled, stretched, and kissed him. “If I let you.”
Arran groaned, but didn’t stop smiling. “Then you shall wear me out.”
“I haven’t heard you complain yet.” She rolled off him and climbed to her feet. “Let’s go check on Lithon.”
They got dressed and walked down the mountainside. Lithon sat on a flat boulder by the clear pond, his line on the water. A trio of fish sat on the rock besides him.
He smiled. “You’re done?” He blinked. “Talking, that is.”
Ally laughed. “For now.”
“I’ll help you clean those,” said Arran. “I want to get down to the lower foothills ere dark. We can cook them for supper.”
Lithon produced his dagger and began gutting the fish. “Then were shall we go?”
“To Carlisan,” said Ally. “To your kingdom.” Lithon’s eyes got wide. “It’s time Carlisan had a king again. And then, who can say?”
They finished cleaning the fish and continued down the mountainside, taking the road back to the High Kingdoms.
###
The spirit stood on a high crest of rock and watched the three enter the forests of Rindl.
He smiled to himself.
It had gone far better than he had dared to hope. Carlisan would rise again from Marugon’s ashes. Lithon would make a good king. Arran would raise a new Order of Knights. The White Council would grow and flourish anew under Ally’s wise hand.
And the Tower of Endless Worlds was sealed for good or ill, beyond the reach of mortal hands.
The spirit’s work was done.
The ghost of Alastarius smiled and faded away.
THE END
Thank you for reading THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS, the final volume in THE TOWER OF ENDLESS WORLDS. Turn the page for exclusive bonus content. For immediate notification of new releases, you can sign up for my email newsletter here, or watch for news on my Facebook page.
Bonus Chapter - Child of the Ghosts
Here is a bonus chapter from CHILD OF THE GHOSTS, from THE GHOSTS series of sword-and-sorcery novels.
Caina loved her father’s library.
It had high windows, with a fine view of the town and rippling Bay of Empire beyond. Her father’s desk stood by those windows, covered with papers and books and curiosities he had picked up over the years. Count Sebastian Amalas worked there in the evenings, writing and sealing letters with his heavy gold signet ring. Caina liked to sit on the nearby couch, reading as he wrote.
He had taught her to read when she was three or four years old. First in the High Nighmarian tongue, as befit the daughter of an Imperial Count. Then in Caerish, the commoners' language, and then in the tongues of the eastern Empire; Saddaic, Disali, Kagarish, Cyrican and Anshani. His library held books in all those languages and more, and Caina devoured them, working her way through his oak shelves over and over again, reading new books as her father bought them from printers in the Imperial capital. Sometimes she spent all day in the library, and old Azaia the cook brought her meals, and Caina read as she ate.
“You read too much, daughter,” her father said, with a slight smile.
“No, I don’t,” she answered. “If you’re meeting with the town's decimvirs, you should just tell me to use another room.”
Count Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. “And just how do you know that I’m meeting with the decimvirs?”
“Because,” said Caina. “You always meet with petitioners at your desk. You don’t care if I overhear those. But if you’re meeting with the decimvirs, that means you’re discussing criminal cases, which don’t want to discuss in front of me.” She stood from the couch. “I’ll go read in the solar.”
Sebastian laughed, leaned down, kissed her forehead. “Why do I even try to keep secrets from you, my clever child?”
Caina smiled, picked up her book, and left the library, her skirts whispering against the polished marble floors of the villa's corridors. Busts of long-dead Emperors stood in niches, gazing down with stern marble eyes. Sebastian was a Loyalist, and so he had busts of Emperors like Soterius, who had ended slavery in the Empire, or Helioran, who had forced the magi to abide by Imperial law. Caina had read about them in her father’s books of history.
She opened the solar door and stopped.
Her mother stood at the windows, gazing down at the sea with a scowl.
Caina slipped away before her mother could notice her.
She loved her father’s library. It gave her a place to hide from her mother.
###
Caina was eleven years old, and she could not remember ever hearing a kind word from her mother.
Countess Laeria Amalas was the opposite of her husband, short where he was tall, slender where he was thick. She had long black hair and icy blue eyes that seemed to burn when she was angry.
And she got angry a lot.
Caina’s earliest memory was her mother
’s fury. She had been no more than two or three, so young that she had not yet learned to read. Her mother had been alone in the dining hall, practicing simple sorcery - making a goblet float, summoning light from her fingers, conjuring gusts of wind.
Caina blundered into her, disrupting her concentration. The goblet fell from midair and shattered against the floor.
"You stupid girl!" screamed Laeria. Her backhand sent Caina to the floor atop the shattered goblet. "Useless brat!" She started to kick. "I wish I had never borne you! I wish had I never met your father! Get out of my sight! Get out of my sight! If you interrupt my concentration again, I'll beat you so bloody that..."
Caina fled, wailing, and hid herself beneath the table.
Her father came, and Sebastian and Laeria shouted at each other. After Laeria stalked from the room, Sebastian carried Caina, still weeping, to her bed.
"Why does she hate me so much?" whispered Caina.
Sebastian hesitated before he answered.
"I don't know."
She spent much more time with her father after that.
###
But her mother still did things to her.
Laeria knew a spell that let her reach into another's mind. And she used it upon Caina whenever she had the chance, digging through Caina's thoughts and turning her into a puppet. Caina hated it, hated the feeling of her mother's thoughts digging through her mind like wet, groping fingers. She loathed how the spell forced her to do without question whatever Laeria commanded.
And she grew to hate her mother, the rage becoming hard and sharp.
One day when Caina was seven, Laeria held her immobile in the grip of her sorcery.
"Do you know," murmured Laeria, taking Caina's chin in her hand, "why I had you?"
Caina said nothing. She couldn't, not with Laeria's spell wrapped about her mind.
"I wanted to go back," sighed Laeria, black hair sliding over her pale face. "They put me out, only four years into my novitiate. They said I wasn't strong enough, that I could never wield the power of a full magus. But if I had a talented child...then the Magisterium would have to take me back."
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