Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) (11 page)

Hammer glanced briefly at Wilde. “What were you doing in a dangerous place like the Tanglewood?”

Wilde stiffened at the open contempt in Hammer’s voice. “I used to be a hero,” he said flatly. “Remember?”

“That was a long time ago,” said Hammer.

The creature suddenly lunged forward, and the outlaws scattered. Wilde drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow. The creature spun around to face him, and Wilde sneered into its unwavering grin. He aimed and let fly in a single smooth motion, and the arrow punched through the creature’s skull and out the back, sending the creature staggering backward. It slammed up against a closed door, and Wilde fired three more arrows in quick succession. The heavy shafts smashed through the skull and sank deep into the wood of the door, pinning the skull to the door. It struggled to get free, but the deep-sunk arrows held it fast. Wilde looked at Hammer with all his old arrogance.

“I’m as good as I ever was, Hammer, and don’t you forget it.”

He broke off abruptly as the creature sagged back against the door and went limp. It hung lifelessly, supported only by the arrows through its skull. And then the strands of webbing that held the creature together writhed and coiled and fell away, dropping to the floor with soft pattering sounds. They humped and slithered across the floor with unnatural speed, and plunged back into the main mass of the web. Bloodstained bones collected in a heap on the floor, until all the webbing was gone and only the skull remained, pinned high up on the door. The jawbone was the last to fall, taking the endless grin with it.

Jack started to say something, and then stopped and looked at the web. Something new was happening in the seething milky heart; he could feel it. Wilde and Hammer followed Jack’s gaze as the thick ropy strands writhed and twisted until the whole cloudy mass was boiling with slow, sluggish movements.

Wilde nocked an arrow to his bow and fired it into the writhing mass. The arrow disappeared without trace. A long strand of milky webbing raised itself into the air like a tentacle, and Jack had to throw himself to one side as it suddenly lashed out at him. Hammer stood his ground and sliced through the tentacle with his sword. The severed end fell writhing to the floor. What was left of the tentacle rose farther out of the main mass until it was the same length as before. More tentacles surged up out of the web, clawing at the air like so many searching fingers. Jack backed quickly away.

“We’ve got to get out of here, Hammer. There’s no way we can fight something like that!”

“He’s right,” said Wilde quietly. “It can’t be killed. We’ll have to go back.”

“No,” said Hammer. “There is a way.”

He sheathed his sword on his hip and reached up for the hilt of the longsword on his back. The long leather-wrapped hilt seemed almost to leap into his hand, and the great length of blade swept out of its scabbard in one swift movement. The sword was almost seven feet long and six inches wide at the crosspiece. The weight must have been immense, but Hammer hefted the blade one-handed as though it weighed nothing. The gleaming steel had a sickly yellow sheen that was subtly unpleasant to the eye. Jack winced at the sight of it. Even with his senses muffled, he could feel the power in the sword. Magic roared and raged in the long blade, barely contained by ancient spells, and without even knowing what the power was, Jack knew it was evil.

He also had a strong feeling that just possibly the sword was alive, and aware.

Hammer stepped forward, and the great sword leapt out and into the center of the web. Milky white streamers frayed out into the air as the trembling web tried to draw back from the glowing blade. The longsword burrowed deep into the heart of the webbing like a hound hot on a scent, dragging Hammer along behind it, and where the glowing blade touched the web, the thick milky stuff decayed and fell away as strands of rotting gossamer. The web boiled, heaving and bubbling, throwing out long arms and streamers as though it could run from what was destroying it.

Hammer moved slowly forward, his face twisted with distaste at the stench of rotting tissues, and the sword burned a bitter yellow. He swept the blade back and forth, and the web fell apart in rotting clumps. Dark creatures stumbled forward, lurching out of the milky heart of the web—patchwork things of bone and horror, obscene unliving puppets manipulated by the web. They threw themselves at Hammer, bony hands reaching out like yellowed claws, only to rot and fall apart as the glowing blade caressed them in passing, releasing the long dead bones from servitude to the web.

The corridor was nine feet high and eight feet wide, and the webbing had filled it for fifteen feet. When Hammer finally came to a halt and looked back, all that remained were a few blackened streamers hanging still and lifeless from the walls and ceiling, and a scattering of old bones on the bare flagstones, at peace at last. Hammer looked at his sword. The long blade was glowing brightly with the same yellow sheen as a corpse fire on a cairn.

“You damned fool,” said Wilde quietly. “That’s Wolfsbane, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Hammer. “It is.” He thrust the longsword back into its scabbard. The sword slid slowly into place, as though reluctant to be sheathed.

Jack checked the candle in his lantern. Somehow he’d managed to hold onto it through all the excitement, and miraculously, the candle was still alight. Wilde retrieved his torch from the wall bracket, and then glared suddenly at Hammer.

“I thought that hellsword was lost in the Demon War,” he said harshly.

“It was. I found it.”

“Then keep away from me, Hammer. Keep well away.”

“What’s the matter, Wilde? Frightened?”

“Of that thing? Yes. So would you be, if that sword hadn’t already got its hooks into you.”

Jack didn’t know what they were talking about, and decided that for the moment at least he really didn’t give a damn. The web was dead, along with its creatures, but there were other dangers. And much as the longsword worried him, he was more concerned with finding the gold and getting the hell out of the fort before the Rangers found them. He said as much and Hammer nodded.

“You’re right. Since you were stupid enough to let yourself be seen, the Rangers could still be searching the fort for you, and we can’t afford to be found. If they’re anywhere nearby, they couldn’t have missed hearing us. We’d better find a secure place and lie low for an hour or so; give things a chance to settle down again.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not staying in this godforsaken place one minute longer than I have to.” Wilde glared unflinchingly at Hammer, his hand clenched into a fist around his bow. “You saw the web; those creatures are supposed to be extinct, ever since the Tanglewood was destroyed during the Demon War. If this fort is going to be full of things like that, things that shouldn’t even exist, then I say we get the hell out of here right now, before something really nasty comes crawling out of the woodwork.”

“You disappoint me, Edmond,” said Hammer. “You really do. Look at you. I can remember when you were part of the Royal Guard itself. You killed the rebel Bladesmaster, Sir Guillam, and stood with the king in the last great battle of the Demon War. And now all you can do is flap that stupid mouth of yours and jump out of your skin every time you see a shadow move.”

“I remember those times too,” said Wilde steadily. “I was younger then, and believed all the lies they told me about honor and duty. I know better now. I don’t put my neck on the line for anyone but me.”

“You’ll do whatever I tell you to do,” said Hammer softly. “Won’t you, Edmond?”

Their eyes met for a long moment. Wilde looked away first.

“All right, we’ll hole up for an hour. But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” said Hammer. He turned his back on Wilde and stalked off down the corridor. The bowman watched him go, his face very cold, and then moved off after Hammer. Jack brought up the rear, watching Wilde’s back thoughtfully. He hadn’t known Wilde possessed such a heroic past. Out of the five thousand and more men and women who’d fought in the last great battle of the Demon War outside the Forest Castle, less than two hundred had survived, the bravest of the brave. That didn’t sound much like the Edmond Wilde that Jack knew. The bowman was an outlaw and a murderer, who shot most of his victims in the back. He looted and stole, fought for whoever would hire him, and there were at least three rape charges against him. Jack shook his head. He’d never understood people anyway.

Hammer hurried down the corridor, checking each door he passed. The first two turned out to be a cupboard and a crowded storeroom, but the third led off into a small annex. Hammer gave it a quick look over and nodded, satisfied. “This will do. No windows and only the one door. Easy enough to defend, and small enough to be overlooked. Get some rest, both of you. We’ll give it an hour or so, and then see how the land lies.”

He waved the outlaws in, closed the door, and jammed a chair up against the doorknob. Then while Jack and Wilde were still looking around, he commandeered the only other chair and sat down with a contented sigh, stretching his legs out before him. Wilde glared at him, and turned away and thrust his torch into a wall holder with unnecessary violence. He sat down in a corner where he could watch the door, his back to the wall and his bow in his lap. Jack sat down in the opposite corner, wincing at the feel of the cold stone floor through his damp rags. He set his lantern down beside him, looked unenthusiastically around the annex, and sighed quietly. It was dark, stuffy, and far too small for his liking. And he was feeling the start of a cold. Some days you just can’t win. He wriggled uncomfortably, searching in vain for a position that would let him relax. It seemed ages since he’d last laid down on a mossy riverbank, warmed by the summer sun. He sniffed resignedly and settled himself as best he could. He was tired, and a short rest would do him good. Just a short rest.

On his chair facing the door, Hammer slept soundly, his chin on his chest. The longsword hung quietly in its scabbard, waiting and watching.

***

Duncan MacNeil plunged down one corridor after another, working his way determinedly through the warren of interconnecting corridors and passageways. Flint and the Dancer hurried after him, with Constance bringing up the rear. MacNeil glared angrily about him into the gloom. He was sure he’d heard the sound of fighting somewhere nearby, but so far he’d found no evidence to suggest there was anyone in the fort but the Rangers.

Outside, the storm still raged. The driving rain was almost as loud as the thunder, and occasionally lightning would flare through one of the narrow embrasures, dazzling the Rangers. The rest of the fort was pitch dark. MacNeil held his lantern out before him, and did his best not to trip over anything. And then he rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks as he saw before him the remains of the huge web. The others crowded in beside him. Decaying strands of webbing still hung from the walls and ceiling, and the air was thick with the stench of corruption. Yellow bones stained with old blood lay scattered across the floor, and MacNeil didn’t need to examine them to know they were human.

“What the hell happened here?” said Flint softly. No one answered her.

MacNeil knelt down and looked closely at the floor. There were a few vague footprints, but not enough to track whoever made them. He didn’t touch the bones or what remained of the webbing. He got to his feet and looked unhappily around him. None of it made any sense. He’d already been through this corridor once less than three hours ago, and there’d been no trace of anything then. MacNeil shook his head and smiled wryly. He should be used to things not making sense by now.

He turned to Constance. “Can you See what happened here?”

Constance frowned and closed her eyes. “There were three men here. Outlaws. One of them was Scarecrow Jack. Another was one of the guards who brought the gold here. They were fighting something, but I can’t See what.”

“Whatever made the web, presumably,” said MacNeil. “What else can you See?”

Constance’s brow furrowed as she concentrated. “There was something else here,” she said slowly. “Something apart from the outlaws and the web … Duncan, they’ve brought something evil into this fort. Something old, and powerful.” She shuddered suddenly and opened her eyes. “I can’t See anything else. The three outlaws are gone. I could try tracking them with a spell, but calling up the magic needed would knock me out for several hours.”

“It’s not worth it,” said MacNeil. “Three outlaws aren’t going to be much of a threat, no matter what they’ve brought with them, and I might need your abilities yet. No, we’ll track them down the hard way, by checking every room till we find them. It’ll take a while, but what with one thing and another, I doubt we’d be getting much sleep tonight anyway.”

Constance looked at him but didn’t say anything. The outlaws had brought something awful into the fort, something that endangered them all, but her Sight hadn’t given her a clear picture of what it was. And until she was sure, she couldn’t say anything more to MacNeil. He wouldn’t just take her word for it.

Even though he would have taken Salamander’s word
…

“Strange coincidence,” said Flint suddenly.

“What is?” said MacNeil.

“We fought monsters down below, and now it seems the outlaws have been fighting something nasty here in the corridor. And we all dreamed of monsters. Maybe there’s a connection.”

“Such as?”

Flint shrugged. “Beats me.”

The Rangers stood together a while, thinking about the new turn of events, and MacNeil frowned as an idea came to him.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but it seems to me that if the outlaws were heading for anywhere in particular, it’s almost bound to be the cellar. That’s where the gold was supposed to have been stored, after all.”

He paused, and the others looked at him expectantly. “So?” said Constance.

“So, I think we ought to get back down to the cellar first, so we can wait for them.”

Flint and the Dancer looked at each other. Constance looked at the floor. MacNeil smiled suddenly.