He ducked back outside, his gun raised and ready. What had happened to the gunmen? Had Marugon or Styr-Mar-Dan ordered this camp abandoned? Arran had seen signs of neglect throughout the High Kingdoms. Perhaps Marugon had only wanted revenge, not conquest…
A strange, low rumbling tugged at his ears.
It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before.
It came from the path leading down into the Vales. The sound was coming closer. Arran cursed, looked around, and ducked behind the crates. As the sound drew closer it sounded more like a droning whine mixed with angry rumbles.
A strange green vehicle with black wheels rolled into the camp, windows of glass gleaming on its sides. It looked somewhat like the four-wheeled carriages the high nobility of Carlisan had once used. But this carriage had no horses. Arran watched as the vehicle rolled into the center of the camp, the strange noise coming from its front half. The vehicle lurched to a stop, and the grumbling noise faded away. A door on the side of the carriage opened, and a ragged young man in the black uniform of Marugon’s soldiers climbed out, a pistol at his hip. He looked around and walked to one of the tents.
Arran hard at the strange vehicle. Could it move under its own power? How fast could it go?
An idea began to form in his mind.
Arran stepped into the open and leveled his gun at the tent.
The soldier soon reappeared, munching on a piece of jerky. He coughed when he saw Arran, bits of half-chewed meat spewing from his lips, and scrambled for his weapon.
“Hold!” yelled Arran.
The soldier started to draw his weapon.
Arran fired. The bullet ricocheted off the ground, spraying rock chips across the soldier’s boots. “I said hold, damn you!”
The soldier nodded, still clutching the half-chewed piece of jerky. “What…what do you want of me?”
“Take off your gun belt and drop it to the ground,” said Arran. The soldier obeyed. “Step away from it.” The soldier raised his hands and took a step back.
“Listen,” said the soldier, his voice a terrified croak. “If you’re a deserter, I care not. Things have gone to hell since Antarese fell. I…I was thinking of deserting myself. If you let me go, if you don’t kill me, I will keep my silence.”
“I’m not a deserter,” said Arran. “You’ll answer some questions for me, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Not…a deserter?” The soldier’s eyes focused on the Sacred Blade hanging from Arran’s belt. “Then who…oh, gods save me. That’s a Knight’s sword. You’re a Knight.” Arran nodded. “But…but you can’t be a Knight, we killed, we killed all the Knights…”
Arran grunted. “Stop babbling. I want some questions answered.”
The soldier nodded, lank hair falling over his face. “Very well. Just…just don’t shoot. What do you wish to know?”
“How many of you are here?” said Arran.
“I am alone,” said the soldier. Arran raised an eyebrow. “I speak truly! There were four of us. But Belvaerz and his brother found a gold coin outside one of the ruined cities. They went treasure-hunting in the ruins and never returned. Damned wraiths got them, I deem. And a ghoul on the Crimson Plain got Martaen.” He shuddered and went paler beneath his beard stubble. “I suppose he’s joined their number now.”
Arran tried not to think of it. Suppose Sir Liam and Lithon had met a similar fate? “What is your purpose here? What are your orders?”
“We’re…I’m to watch for caravans from the Rindl Mountains and ones coming from the Crimson Plain. We’re to guide them through the Vales, showing the safe paths.” He spat. “But there are no safe paths in this land. The gods forsook this country a long time ago, I think.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” said Arran, remembering his own journey through the Forgotten Vales. He jerked his head at the green carriage. “And that. What is that?”
The soldier blinked. “That? Oh. That’s my jeep.”
Arran frowned. “A…jeep, you said? What is a jeep?”
The soldier coughed. “Um…well…I’m not entirely sure.”
Arran scowled. “Then describe it to me.”
“Lord Marugon's caravans brought some over from Earth. It’s…like a carriage, you know, the kind those oh-so-proud lords used to ride about.” The soldier scratched his chin. “But it doesn’t have horses.”
“How does it move, then?” said Arran.
The soldier pointed. “There some sort of machinery in the front compartment. It moves the jeep.” He spat and made a sign to ward off evil. “But I think demons live in the machine and move the jeep. You have to feed them the burning water, else the jeep doesn’t move.”
“Burning water?”
The soldier pointed at a row of large metal cans. “Burning water. It came from the other world, too. It looks like water, but it is poisonous. It gives off fumes that cloud the mind, and burns like the fires of hell if it touches flame.”
“That’s oil,” said Arran.
“I still think it’s burning water,” said the soldier.
“I see,” said Arran. “This jeep. How fast can it travel?”
“With great speed,” said the soldier. “Many times faster than the fastest horse.”
Arran nodded. “How long can it travel this fast?”
The soldier thought for a minute. “Oh…perhaps half the day. Until the tank with the burning water runs out. The demons get very thirsty when they travel that fast, I suppose.”
“Have you often traveled across the Vales in this jeep?” said Arran, trying to mask his growing excitement.
“Twice a month. Orders,” said the soldier. “I drive to the pass through the Broken Mountains, watch for caravans for a few days, then drive back to this camp. The jeep can’t make it through the pass, so I don’t go to the Crimson Plain or the Tower.” He shivered. “Not that I would want to go there.”
“How long does it take to reach the pass?”
The soldier shrugged. “About half a day. Sometimes a little more or less.”
Arran gaped. “Half a day?” It had taken him and Sir Liam two and a half weeks to cross the Forgotten Vales. “By all the gods. Half a day.” He locked gazes with the soldier. “Very well. What is your name?”
“Tarrager.”
“We shall make a deal. I need to reach the pass through the Broken Mountains. You will take me there in the jeep.”
Tarrager frowned. “Why would a Knight want to go there?”
“It’s not your concern,” said Arran.
Tarrager’s eyes widened. “You’re going to the Tower, aren’t you? Gods. You don’t want to go there. Or to Earth. They’re both bad places.”
Arran shifted his grip on his gun. “You’ve been through the Tower? You’ve been to Earth?”
“Once,” said Tarrager, “when that old bastard Kaemarz still ran the caravans. Gods…the Tower. I still have nightmares about it. I don’t ever want to go back there. And the Plain’s just as bad. The ghouls always got somebody, no matter how many guards we put out.”
“You’ve been to Earth,” said Arran. He’d forgotten to ask Kaemarz about the other world. “What’s it like?”
Tarrager frowned. “I was only there once. It’s a big room. Strange lights on the ceiling. And big wooden boxes everywhere.” He shivered. “I saw Lord Marugon there. And his apprentice.”
“Marugon has an apprentice?” said Arran.
Tarrager flinched. “I think so. A fat man in funny clothes, with strange lenses of glass over his eyes. And the winged devils were there. Dozens of them.”
Marugon had taken the winged ones to Earth? “I’ve passed through worse dangers just to get here. You will take me to the pass in your jeep.”
Tarrager drew himself up. “What’s in it for me?”
Arran laughed and hefted his gun. “I don’t shoot you.”
Tarrager sputtered. “But…but if you kill me, then who will drive the jeep?”
Arran shrugged. “I can walk. I�
�ve crossed the Forgotten Vales on foot before.”
Tarrager nodded. “All right.”
Arran gestured with the gun. “Gather food supplies and put them in the jeep. Also ensure that we have enough of this burning water to reach the pass, and enough for you to return.”
Tarrager got to work, loading food rations into the jeep’s back seat. He then grabbed one of the metal cans and poured it into a hole in the jeep’s side. The liquid within did look a great deal like water, though it put off a bad smell. Tarrager finished filling up the jeep with the burning water, and then loaded another can into the backseat.
“Ready,” said Tarrager.
Arran nodded and reached for a handle on the front door.
“Um,” said Tarrager. “That’s the driver’s seat. I need to sit there.”
“Very well.” Arran walked to the jeep’s other side and climbed inside, keeping the gun leveled. A strange variety of machines and levers surrounded the driver’s seat, dominated by a large black wheel. Strange smells tugged at his nostrils, a mixture of leather and metal and thick oil.
Tarrager dug in a pocket and produced a shiny little key. He stuck the key into a slot and turned it. The jeep lurched, and a dull roar rose from the front compartment. Tarrager adjusted a lever and pressed a pedal on the floor, and the jeep shuddered into motion, pulling down the narrow path through the foothills and into the Vales.
Arran blinked. He had never moved this fast in his life.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” said Tarrager.
Arran gestured with his gun. “You try anything, anything at all, and I’ll shoot you.”
Tarrager opened his mouth, closed it, and kept driving.
###
“We’re almost there,” said Tarrager, hands clenched around the black wheel. “Then you’ll let me go?”
Arran nodded, but kept the gun pointed at Tarrager’s head. He looked out the window and watched the Forgotten Vales pass in a blur. The wheels bounced and rocked over the ancient road.
“Once we reach the pass,” said Arran. “How far is it to the Tower?”
“Due west for two-score miles,” said Tarrager. “A few less, perhaps.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “You needn’t worry about getting lost. The Tower…you can see the Tower from anywhere on the Crimson Plain.”
Arran shook his head. “Gods.” He pointed at a pile of ruins visible through mists. “When last I journeyed in this land, it took us two weeks to travel from the Mountains of Rindl to that ruin. And this machine has covered the same distance in a third of a day.” He shook his head, still amazed. “I have seen many wonders and horrors since Marugon returned from Earth. But nothing like this. Nothing.”
Tarrager grinned. “It is great magic.”
Arran saw the jagged peaks of the Broken Mountains in the distance. “It is. Tell me. You were thinking of deserting?”
Tarrager nodded. “I am. I think they forgot about me. No one remembers I’m here. And it’s all falling to pieces. Lord Marugon conquered the High Kingdoms…but it’s as if he’s forgotten about them, now that he’s won.”
Arran frowned. “Why did you join Marugon?”
Tarrager blinked, fresh sweat beading on his forehead. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My father died when I was a boy, and I had to fend for myself. I joined Kaemarz’s band in the Ruin Hills for a time, but he was a madman, so I fled. Then I heard Lord Marugon was recruiting, so I went to hear him speak. He said we would have everything we ever wanted if we just took up the guns and joined him. It was…I’d never heard anything like it before.”
“The Warlocks have great powers of beguiling voice,” said Arran.
“I’d always hated the Knights and the Wizards and the high lords,” said Tarrager. “But now I’m sick of it all. I want to run to one of the Lesser Kingdoms, find myself a lass with wide hips and a strong back, and start a farm with her.”
Arran snorted. “Someone told me to do much the same, once. It is a good plan.” He gestured with the gun. “Throw these things aside before it is too late for you. They only destroy. I shall die by them one day, most likely. Throw them aside before they devour you as well.”
Tarrager swallowed. “You’re probably right.” They drove in silence for a while, the terrain growing rockier and rougher. The jeep bounced along the ancient road and climbed higher. The Broken Mountains stood out like the blade of a shattered sword against the gray sky.
Tarrager slowed the jeep and adjusted a lever, and the vehicle shuddered to a halt. “Here. The jeep can go no farther.”
“I know this place,” said Arran, his voice soft. He gestured with the gun. “Shut off the machinery and get out.” Tarrager obliged, following Arran as he climbed out of the jeep.
Arran remembered this place. Rembiar and his men had ambushed Arran and Sir Liam here. Lithon would have killed them if Arran had not taken up the guns. Bones lay strewn amongst the boulders, and a rusted machine gun lay beside a grinning skull. The bones of Rembiar and his men still rested here, after all these years. He wondered if Rembiar’s accursed spirit had become one of the Vales’ wraiths.
“You…you know where these bones came from?” said Tarrager, staring at a rusted gun.
“I killed them.”
“Oh.”
Arran turned away from the bones. “My supplies. A week’s worth.” He held out a hand. Tarrager hurried to the jeep, retrieved several packages of rations, and handed them to Arran. He tucked them into his pack.
“I’ve taken you to the pass.” Tarrager waved a hand at the dark, narrow pass winding its way into the Broken Mountains. “I have kept my word. And you’ll keep yours? You’ll…you’ll let me go?”
“I shall.” Arran flipped the gun back into its holster. “Unless you betray me.”
Tarrager snorted. “Gods. I’m not that foolish.” He stepped back towards the jeep. “I’ll do as you said. I’ll desert. And I wish you luck, whoever you are.”
Arran smiled. “The Ghost of Carlisan, you can call me.”
Tarrager gaped. “The Ghost? You’re the Ghost? Gods above! Do you know the size of the bounty on your head?”
“No.” Arran grinned. “And don’t even think about trying to collect.”
Tarrager shook his head, lank hair flopping over his face. “Gods no. I want to live.” He laughed. “To think I drove the Ghost of Carlisan to the Broken Mountains. What a tale to tell my grandchildren. If I live that long. I’m getting the hell out of the High Kingdoms as fast as I can.”
Arran started up the path to the pass. “That is wise. Do not leave until I am out of sight.”
“I won’t. Good luck!” called Tarrager.
Arran turned. “And to you as well.” He continued his climb. His heart raced in his chest. It had been years since had last seen this pass. After all this time, perhaps he would finally learn the fate of Sir Liam and Lithon. Arran steeled himself and kept climbing.
He heard a roar and turned. He saw the green jeep speeding away across the Vales, back towards the Mountains of Rindl. Arran turned back to the pass. Fear churned within him.
“Find Alastarius on Earth.”
He kept climbing.
###
The pass widened.
Arran walked on, his boots scraping against the dusty stone. A definite chill hung in the air, despite the summer season. The pass turned twice more and then widened into rocky hills.
Arran climbed upon a flat boulder and beheld the Crimson Plain.
The gray waste stretched unending in all directions. The land was bleak, parched, nothing more than blasted stone and dry dust. Steel gray clouds covered the sky, letting only feeble light fall upon the Plain.
For a moment he glimpsed something like a massive black mountain just over the horizon.
The Tower?
“It doesn’t look very crimson,” muttered Arran. Something like distant thunder boomed over the Plain, and a few seconds later a green light flashed over the horizon.
Lightning? No
, if it had been lightning, he would have seen the flash first and then heard the thunder.
If it had been thunder.
Arran started down the slope and reached the Plain itself a few hours later. The bleak Plain lay empty and quiet, and no wind stirred the chill air or the lifeless dust. Something about this land made the hair on the back of Arran neck stand up. The very earth beneath his boots felt wrong, as if something dark and foul poisoned the soil and stone. The Ildramyn’s ruined castle had felt much the same way. Arran kept eyes on the rocky land before him, watching for enemies. He had heard whispered tales of the Crimson Plain all his life, stories filled with fear and legends. He remembered the fear that had come over Kaemarz’s scarred face at the mention of the Tower.
Arran supposed he understood. He stepped around a boulder and lifted his eyes…
For a moment he stood, rooted with shock.
A strange, awful sensation flooded through him, a mixture of awe and dread and wonder.
“My gods,” he muttered. “My gods.”
The Tower of Endless Worlds stood before him.
It rose like a mountain of black marble against the sky, yet it was far larger than any mountain he had ever seen. Its peak lay hidden in the swirling gray clouds. Countless windows and turrets and arches and windows studded its sides. Legions of statues of hideous, strange beasts adorned the arches and turrets. Flying buttresses sprouted from the Tower’s flanks, reaching down to touch the earth like the legs of a colossal spider.
Arran had never seen anything like it.
Fear and wonder battled in him. How could Sir Liam have found the courage to enter its gates? How could even Lord Marugon have summoned the nerve to enter the Tower?
Arran closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Find Alastarius on Earth. Find Alastarius on Earth.” He took one step forward, then another, and soon had resumed his pace. He had to keep going…
Dull thunder shook the Plain. Arran drew his Sacred Blade and a Glock, his eyes darting over the rocks and the dust. After a moment, he lowered his weapons and stared.
A Knight of the Sacred Blade Page 29
