Blood River Down

by Lionel Fenn

  "It doesn't matter," Gideon said, lifting the bat again. "We have to get out before that whole damned army comes down here. I don't suppose," he said to Tag, "you heard anything about Glorian or the duck."

  "Nothing," Tag said glumly. "I wasn't even tortured, so I couldn't tell them anything. I just woke up in this dumb cell and they didn't even ask me what my name was."

  "Did you see Wamchu?"

  Tag shook his head.

  "Any of the wives?"

  Tag shook his head again.

  Gideon knew then what he'd known before, and had tried not to think about because it made him feel wanted as he'd never been wanted before—the only reason the lorra and the boy had been taken was to bring him here, to the Wamchu. Yet the tyrant had been curiously lax in preventing an escape, almost as if he'd wanted it. But for what purpose? Gideon sure as hell didn't know where the duck was, and if Wamchu didn't know, then there was someone else playing this game. Someone neither of them knew about. Someone Wamchu thought Gideon was working for. Someone involved in a devilishly complicated plot of intrigue and counterintrigue; someone who knew of stakes far greater than Gideon could possibly imagine; someone who was determined to see both adversaries dead, or at least put permanently out of commission for the duration of whatever crisis he was preparing for this world.

  It was dizzying.

  Or, he thought suddenly, Wamchu had just been incredibly and stupidly careless.

  It happens.

  "Now what?" Ivy asked reasonably.

  He didn't answer. He had no answer. He had only the remains of a wooden door to step over, into a dimly lit corridor filled with dust, cobwebs, torches sputtering on the dank walls, Moglars at the far end, and spiders and rats scurrying for cover as he and Red led the way in the opposite direction.

  It was difficult to run because of the moss and the trickles of slippery water on the uneven floor; the best they could do was move in a rapid trot while the Moglar shouted death threats and destruction behind them, eerie sounds rebounding off the stone and filling their minds with images of mutilation and cannibalism, premature burials and unannounced death.

  Red, stockpiled with energy from his unnatural confinement, edged past Gideon and took the first door they came to with a slam of his thick skull and spiraled horns; it shattered at the second blow, and they found themselves heading upward, the corridor widening and the light brightening, the spiders and rats and cobwebs gone. The Moglar cries faded behind them. Ahead they could hear faint music, atonal and punctuated with the sharp rap of a gong. Ivy stumbled and Gideon took her arm. Tag puffed and Whale pushed him gently ahead. Something dark and nasty flew at their heads from a crack in the ceiling, but they ignored it as a danger they could live with, as opposed to what the danger behind them could do.

  The corridor twisted to the right, back to the left, up a steep slope, then around to the right again. Red was beginning to growl with impatience, and Gideon could do nothing about it. He wasn't conversant with underground tunnels and had no idea if there was a trick one had to use to keep one's direction, or if one simply ran on, and on, hoping to come to the end before one dropped of exhaustion.

  And just before he dropped from exhaustion he saw a doorway. A large doorway. At least twelve feet high and guarded by two of the ugliest dogs he had ever seen—they were large and white, and their black teeth were covered with dripping saliva as they snarled at the enemy heading in their direction; they had no tails, and their claws gouged into the stone flooring as they prepared themselves for the charge.

  Red shrieked.

  The dogs shrieked.

  Red lowered his head, and the dogs vanished down a side corridor, yelping, whimpering, snapping at one another in canine recrimination for desertion of their post.

  Gideon stroked Red's neck thankfully and took hold of the large iron loop affixed to the righthand door. He pulled, and the door opened so easily he nearly lost his balance, the sight beyond so startling he almost pinched himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The bare-floored chamber they found themselves in was as tall as the building itself, as wide, and took up fully half the total living space that protruded aboveground. Other than that, it was completely, totally, absolutely, and inarguably empty of furniture, decoration, and creatures even marginally living. At the back was a normal door, closed and perhaps locked; at the wall through which they had just passed there was a second pair of banded double doors; near the vaulted ceiling there were several round windows through which sunlight shafted and laid a faint gold hue over the room.

  There was no sound but their own labored breathing.

  Slowly, then, not daring to speak lest some device disclose their whereabouts, testing the parquet floor every step of the way to be sure they would not fall into yet another trap, they made the slow journey to the rear entrance. They next arrayed themselves in a defensive semicircle around Gideon, who took hold of the latch and, with breath held and eyes partially closed, lifted and pulled.

  The door was unlocked. And once opened, it revealed the city of Rayn before them, no guards in sight, the cobblestone square as devoid of life as if it were midnight.

  Though Gideon was unaccustomed to such circumstances, he had the definite feeling this was entirely too easy. It was not unlike dropping back to pass, seeing his offensive line stoutly preventing the defensive from touching him, seeing his receivers in ballet-like precision breaking into the open for a clear touchdown—all he had to do was choose the man to reap the glory and lob the ball to him. Too easy. Much too easy. Somewhere in that crowd of grunting, swearing men there was someone destined to take off his head.

  "You're thinking the same thing I am," Whale said quietly as he examined the empty streets.

  "It can't be anything but a trap."

  "Then let's go," Tag declared. "You go out and spring the trap, and we'll save you, destroy the guards, and go get Glorian before it's too late."

  "Assuming," Whale said before Gideon could use the bat, "we do all that, where do you propose we go?"

  "I told you—to get Glorian."

  "Where?"

  Tag opened his mouth to answer, shut it again, and looked helplessly around him. Complications such as that had a tendency to dampen his enthusiasm, but not, happily, for long. "We'll ask Wamchu."

  "He already knows," Ivy said, leaning against the wall as she dusted her blade against her side.

  "No, he doesn't," Gideon said.

  "Sure he does. The only reason he brought us all here was to see if we knew. And we didn't. So now he can let us go and get on with it because he knows we'll never find her in time to stop the Blood. He doesn't care. He has all the cards, and he's dealing from the bottom of the deck. He's your typical multibreed, polygamous sonofabitch, and the worst part about it is, he's right." She gave Gideon a curious look, then, one he could have sworn held a fleeting bit of affection before it was stifled. "I think we should go back and gather an army, that's what I think."

  "And leave Glorian?" he said, astounded.

  "Sure, why not? She can take care of herself."

  "That's... that's crazy!"

  "Suit yourself," she said, pouting. "You just like her because she's skinny."

  He looked to Tag, to Red, then back to Ivy in utter disbelief. Was it possible she had somehow overcome her revulsion of him and had fallen for him? Was it possible she was jealous of Glorian and didn't want her saved after all, no matter the consequences as long as she achieved her primary goal, which was to ensnare him in an emotional tangle so devious he would never be able to escape? Could it be that she had noticed something in him that no other woman had, and that certain something had addled her reason to such an extent that she was willing to desert the band because of a few slippery hormones?

  "Ivy—"

  "But it makes sense, right?" she said. "If we stay here, all we'll be doing is running around falling into traps. Up home, we'll be able to set up a deliberate and effec
tive defense."

  On the other hand, he thought, maybe she just wants to retreat to more defensible ground.

  Shit.

  "No," Whale said softly, a curious expression on his face. "No, Ivy, you're wrong. Returning to the Upper Ground is not the answer, and a moment's thought will prove it to you."

  She thought a moment.

  Whale continued, "We do, in fact, know where Glorian is. And Wamchu knows that I know, and he knows that I know how to get there. He also knows that I know that I don't know whether or not I have the courage to go." He sighed heavily and shook his head. "This is all my fault, you know."

  "How can that be?" Gideon asked.

  "Well, if I had conquered the world when I had the chance, none of this would have happened."

  Gideon stared at the wattled, lean man and decided he didn't want to know what Whale knew about world conquering and population subjugation, nor did he want to know what Whale knew about Glorian. That clearly portended another round of fighting, several instances of unpleasant danger, and not a little discomfort in the process. Despite his apparent prowess with the bat now back in its holster, he was more convinced than ever that he was not cut out for this sort of thing. There was no longer any difficulty in believing it—his bruises, cuts, and scratches were proof enough of the reality of his situation, all things considered—but there was also a lessening sense of obligation to the woman who had wanted him to find her duck. She had failed to inform him of the forces that would be arrayed against him, had failed to explain the complexities of the mission, and had failed to provide sufficient motivation for his continuing.

  I think, he thought, I want to go home.

  Whale put a hand to his arm, and he smiled wanly and allowed himself to be drawn apart from the others. Struck as he was by the change in the man's demeanor, nevertheless he was rather unsettled when he saw the gloom in Whale's watery eyes and the nervous tic that pulled at his right ear.

  "We are in trouble," Whale told him confidentially.

  "It's a way of life, I'm beginning to think."

  Whale frowned, then brightened suddenly. "Ah! A bit of humor in dire tragedy, yes? Oh, Gideon, my friend, you don't know how much I appreciate the gesture. It tasks one, you realize, to have such responsibility as you do, and to still have a way with words, a kind of... well, I'm sure you understand what I'm driving at. Especially now that we're on our way to something more dreadful than this place."

  "Then you do know where Glorian is."

  "Didn't I say that already?"

  "You did, but I was hoping you were speaking metaphorically."

  Whale's smile faded only a shade. "Refreshing. You are most refreshing, Gideon Sunday. But yes, I am speaking from certain knowledge, not fanciful."

  Gideon nodded fatalistically and listened as the armorer explained that there could only be one place Glorian and the duck could be that would build such confidence in Wamchu that he did not kill them outright. The mention of Houte Illklor had given that much information away—it was the villain's vile summer place, long fallen into disrepair when he was, many years ago, exiled after an abortive attempt to drain the Tearlach Sea and turn Chey into a desert testing ground for his wives. Since there was, as far as Whale knew, no other place as large or inhospitable for Wamchu's activities, it must be there that he had sequestered the means for his new thrust for conquest. It was there that he intended to hold the Ceremony.

  "And what is this Ceremony you keep talking about?"

  Whale swallowed hard and gnawed at his lower lip. "It has to do with... the duck."

  "I gathered that."

  "The down, you see. It's the down Wamchu needs."

  "Down from a duck?"

  "Is that a joke?"

  "Whale, please, not now."

  Whale nodded, doubly miserable now. "When the Blood reaches the tops of its banks," he explained in a hushed voice, "the down from a very special fowl, scattered over the river's surface, will bring it all the way up. All the way, Gideon; once started, it cannot be stopped."

  "And if the down isn't used?"

  "The Blood will recede and not rise again for a hundred years."

  Gideon nodded, shook his head, nodded again. "A special duck, you say."

  "Exactly."

  "The one Glorian has."

  "Precisely."

  "And what's the name of this place where we can find it?"

  "Umbrel, a miserable hovel and one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy," Whale told him.

  "Umbrella? What kind of a place is that?"

  Whale seemed puzzled. "But I never heard of it."

  "You just told me the name."

  "But I said, 'Umbrel, a miserable place and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.' That's what I said."

  "And I said, 'Umbrella?' "

  "I still never heard of it. A certain similarity, perhaps, but not where we're going at all. Heavens, no. Your place is bound to be nicer than mine."

  Gideon put a hand on the man's shoulder and looked deep into his eyes for signs of senility and deafness, then ran the double conversation back through twice, with varying punctuation and inflection, until, at last, he allowed himself a smile for his own inability to grasp the local nuance and provide the proper comma. "Ah," he said.

  "You've heard of it?"

  "No. Do I want to?"

  Whale shook his head, then glanced fearfully around the room. "I fear for our lives, Gideon. I truly do. If we do not succeed, then this entire world as we know it and as you are learning to know it will vanish."

  "I see."

  "The rise of the Blood will, directly and in after-effect, destroy everything I and our friends hold dear."

  "All right."

  "And once that is gone, we will be left at the mercy of Wamchu and his wives."

  Well, Gideon thought, so much for going home.

  "Are you two finished with your secrets?" Ivy asked after a nervous glance outside.

  Whale nodded. Gideon nodded. Red stopped trying to nibble on the walls. Tag squared his shoulders and took a step over the threshold, leapt back, and fell pale-faced against the wall.

  "Too late," he gasped. "They're waiting for us out there."

  "It could be worse," Gideon said, hefting the bat once again.

  It was. The second door opened, and the Moglar poured out.

  —|—

  "You know what it's like being caught on the wrong end of a blitz?" Gideon said to Whale as they raced through the door.

  "No. I've never been to London."

  He's on your side, Gideon reminded himself, and hurriedly scanned the options as they raced across the square surrounding the Hold. There were only a handful of guards waiting for them here, while ten times that amount were filling the vaulted room with feral cries of discovery and triumph. It seemed best to avoid them all and run around the corner, duck up a deserted street, and head as fast as they could for the walls.

  Which they did, using their superior strides to keep them well ahead of the giant dwarves and their brandished weapons to prevent the occasional pedestrian from attempting to think of stopping them for questioning.

  And for the most part it worked.

  They successfully made it to the city walls with only one minor incident involving an old woman and her aged wolfhound, broke through the gateless gaps, at which there were no more than five guards, who scattered when Red unleashed his clawed hooves and deftly trimmed one of their beards, and headed rapidly southward across broad, rolling farmland toward a forest that broke the plane of the horizon. As they ran—and Gideon rode on Red, who wouldn't let anyone else on his back—the armorer pantingly explained that Umbrel was at the far edge of Chey, just before the descent into Choy, in a land protected from invasion by any number of incredible beasts and subhumans in the sole employ of the Wamchu. It would be their task to break through that defense, get into Umbrel, search for Glorian and the duck, and bring them both out alive. Only this, with a little more thrown in in order to stop th
e Blood's rise, would save the world as they knew it.

  Gideon suggested they not go quite so fast. To preserve their strength, he added quickly when they all turned to look at him scornfully.

  Tag, over the course of the next hour, suggested and developed suicidally effective plans for a frontal assault, one the enemy surely would not be expecting. Such a battle would undoubtedly produce casualties, but the survivors would then be able to assault Umbrel. The remaining survivors would then be able to make their way to his sister and the fowl, and the survivors of that would be able to complete the mission in time and halt the Blood's devastation. When Gideon asked how many that would leave at the end, Tag admitted they could use a few more people, though he refused to estimate the numbers; Gideon thought the kid couldn't count that high.

  Ivy and Whale were silent, the former in the lead and watching the trees for signs of treachery as they grew nearer, the latter running almost backward to keep his eye on Rayn and the certainty that Wamchu would surely not permit them to reach the dubious safety of the woodland without at least one final attempt to stop them. Wamchu was not, despite his recent ignominious failure, an entirely stupid man; once he understood that the hero from across the Bridge was indeed going to Umbrel, he would move heaven and earth to prevent it.

  Whale was right.

  They had just reached the trees when the earthquake struck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was no ordinary earthquake.

  There was no abrupt silence, nor did the birds suddenly take flight from their forest roosts and wing to safety in the skies; no canines or their relatives barked preternatural warnings, nor was there a growing cold feeling that stability had hopelessly lost its definition; the ground itself neither rippled nor heaved, and there was a conspicuous absence of locomotive grumblings beneath the surface; the leaves did not tremble, the boles did not sway, and the grass was perfectly still in the afternoon sun.

  But as Gideon and his friends plunged into the woodland twilight, Whale threw up his hands and yelled for them all to drop to the ground and cover their heads. He would have suggested a few urgent prayers as well, but there was no time. As Gideon did as he was ordered, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a massive bolt of pulsing white light streak toward them from Rayn. He had no time to yell his terror and only barely heard Whale shouting Thong Wamchu's name before the lightning-not-lightning slammed into the earth.