Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) (9 page)

And out of the trapdoor mouth gushed an endless fountain of thick, viscous blood. It roared up to splash against the ceiling, and fell back again in a stinking crimson rain. More and more blood came roaring up past the open trapdoor, gallon upon gallon, soaking everything in the cellar. MacNeil and the others scrambled back from the flying blood, but there was nowhere they could hide from it. The blood continued to gush up from under the cellar, forced out by some unimaginable pressure, and then stopped as suddenly as it had begun. MacNeil slowly raised his head and looked around him. Blood dripped from the scarlet ceiling and ran down the walls. It steamed slightly in the cold air. The floor and the trapdoor looked as though they’d been painted red. The stink of blood was almost overpowering. MacNeil moved cautiously forward to stare into the dripping opening, and the others came forward to join him. They were all liberally spattered with blood. Flint shook her head disgustedly.

“I’ve seen battlefields that were less bloody than this. Where the hell did it all come from?”

“Beats me,” said MacNeil. He stared down into the darkness that lay below the cellar. Nothing moved in the impenetrable gloom, but the air was thick with the stench of freshly spilled blood. Constance handed him his lantern, and he lowered it carefully into the darkness. The amber light showed him a set of rough wooden steps, leading down into a narrow earth tunnel that fell away into the ground. The light didn’t carry far, but for as far as MacNeil could see the steps and the tunnel walls were slick with blood. The others crowded in around him to take a look, and then all of them froze as from far below the cellar came the sound of something moving. It was a slow, dragging sound, but MacNeil couldn’t tell whether it was drawing closer or moving away. He looked at the others, but it was clear they weren’t sure either. The sound stopped. MacNeil put down his lantern beside the opening and drew his sword.

“Flint, you and Constance stay here to guard the opening. Dancer, you come with me. We’re going to take a look at what’s hiding down in that tunnel.”

The Dancer smiled and drew his sword.

MacNeil looked at Flint. “If anything comes out of this trapdoor but us, kill it. If something goes wrong, shut the trapdoor and bolt it. Whether we’re out or not. If there is something dangerous down in that tunnel, I don’t want it running loose in the fort. When you’re sure the trapdoor’s secure, get out of here and report back to the reinforcements. They have to be warned.”

“We can’t just abandon you,” said Constance.

“Yes, we can,” said Flint. “He’s right, Constance. Our duty comes first, and Rangers are expendable. It’s part of the job.”

The witch looked away. MacNeil looked at her for a moment, and then picked up his lantern and stepped carefully down into the opening and onto the first of the wooden steps. The narrow slat creaked loudly as he put his weight on it, but after an uncertain moment it settled again. He slowly descended into the darkness, holding the lantern out before him. The Dancer followed behind him, sword at the ready. Shadows swayed menacingly around them as they descended into the earth.

MacNeil counted thirteen steps before he found himself facing the narrow tunnel that ran under the cellar.
Unlucky for some
, he thought wryly, and moved forward a little to give the Dancer room to join him. The circular tunnel was barely six feet in diameter, and MacNeil had to bend forward to avoid banging his head on the ceiling. There was sufficient room for MacNeil and the Dancer to walk side by side, but only just. The walls were smoothly rounded and bore no marks of human tools. The clay-like earth was tightly packed and slick with running blood. More blood lay in shallow pools on the tunnel floor.
Like walking through something’s guts
, thought MacNeil, wrinkling his nose at the stench. He stood listening for a long moment, the Dancer waiting patiently at his side, but there was no trace of the sound they’d heard earlier. He started forward into the gloom, the Dancer padding quietly beside him. MacNeil found the man’s presence reassuring. The darkness and the silence and the stench reminded him too much of his time in the Darkwood. He clutched his sword hilt tightly, aware his hand was sweating profusely despite the cold. It didn’t matter what was waiting for him; he’d face it and kill it and that was all there was to it. He was a guard and a Ranger, and he’d never backed away from anything in his life.

But there was a time when you wanted to. The demons came out of the long night faster than you could kill them, and you wanted to turn and run. And you might have, too, if the dawn hadn’t broken first. The sun rose and the long night fell and the demons retreated with the darkness. The dawn saved you. And now you’ll never know whether or not you would have run
.

MacNeil shut out the insistent whispering voice and concentrated on the darkness ahead. The tunnel seemed to be curving gradually downward, and he wondered uneasily just how deep it ran. His boots slid and skidded on the blood-soaked floor, and shadows ducked and weaved around him as the lantern rose and fell in his hand. He shot a quick glance at the Dancer, but he seemed entirely unperturbed, his face as calm and bland as it always was. And then the Dancer held up a hand and stopped suddenly. MacNeil stopped beside him.

“What is it?” he whispered.

The Dancer shook his head. “Listen.”

MacNeil frowned, concentrating, and in the distance he heard again the soft dragging sound, coming from deep in the tunnel. As he listened, he realized the sound was drawing gradually nearer. It was a sliding, bumping sound, as though something heavy was being dragged along the tunnel floor toward them. MacNeil put the lantern down on the floor behind him, safely out of the way. He glanced quickly at the Dancer, and saw that he was smiling. The two men stood together, swords at the ready, and waited for whatever it was to come to them.

A huge form lurched out of the darkness ahead. At first it was only a pale gray shape filling the tunnel, but as it drew nearer MacNeil gradually realized he was facing a giant. Standing upright, it would have been twenty feet tall and more, but in the cramped confines of the tunnel it was forced to crawl on hands and knees like an animal. Its skin and hair were milky white, and its great staring eyes were blind. It was entirely naked, covered with dirt and foulness and fresh bloody smears from the tunnel. MacNeil wondered sickly how long it had lived underground, and what it had found to feed on, crawling through tunnels under the earth like a vast misshapen worm. Its hands were huge and broad, the stubby fingers tipped with long curving fingernails grown into claws. Its teeth were long and pointed, and the great wide face held no human emotions. Saliva dripped from the snarling mouth, and the giant sniffed at the air, as though searching for the scent that had brought it crawling up out of the depths of the earth. Its shoulders filled the narrow tunnel from side to side. Its back rubbed against the ceiling, and its hand and knees sank into the bloodstained floor.

Look at the size of it
, thought MacNeil dazedly.
Look at the bloody size of it
… .

The crawling giant pulled itself slowly toward MacNeil and the Dancer, and they backed cautiously away as they realized it wasn’t alone. Behind it came another giant, and another. From farther down the tunnel came the sound of still more giants, hidden in the darkness. The giant in the lead raised its great head and howled like a hound, a horrid choking roar that echoed and reverberated throughout the tunnel. MacNeil and the Dancer winced at the awful sound, and the giant hauled itself forward with unexpected speed, the long muscular arms reaching blindly out for them.

MacNeil stood his ground and lashed out at the nearest hand with his sword. The blade cut deep and grated on bone. The giant howled deafeningly and jerked its hand back. The sword stuck in the thick flesh, and MacNeil had to use both hands to pull it free. He staggered back, still dazed by the sheer size of his foe. The hand alone had to be a good two feet wide across the knuckles. He threw himself to the floor as the hand closed into a fist and swept ponderously through the air where he’d been standing. The fist slammed into the wall and the giant went berserk with rage, battering the walls with both fists as it tried to find its enemy. The Dancer moved in beside MacNeil as he scrambled backward out of range, his sword gleaming dully in the lantern light. The giant hauled itself forward, and the Dancer stepped inside its reach and cut both the creature’s wrists. A thick purple blood spurted into the air, and the giant howled once before swinging one fist with unexpected speed. The Dancer threw himself backward but couldn’t move fast enough. The giant hand just clipped his shoulder in passing, and the Dancer was thrown against the tunnel wall with numbing force.

The giant pulled itself forward, the great white form filling the tunnel, battering the bloody walls and ceiling. Behind it, another crawling giant fought blindly to get past the first. MacNeil staggered to his feet, grabbed the lantern, and hacked at the giant’s arm. More blood flew into the air, but still the creature wouldn’t stop. MacNeil tried to reach the giant’s throat, but couldn’t get past the hammering fists. The Dancer moved forward to stand beside MacNeil, but even he couldn’t do more than slow the giant’s advance. Slowly, step by step, they were forced back down the tunnel. The giants howled and roared, the horrid sounds deafening in the enclosed space. MacNeil and the Dancer had almost reached the steps when the giant suddenly lunged forward. The left hand caught hold of MacNeil’s shoulder, and the right fastened onto the Dancer’s sword arm. MacNeil groaned as the huge hand crushed his shoulder in a vise-like grip, and the sword fell from his numbed hand. The Dancer’s face was white from the pressure on his arm, but somehow he still held onto his sword, though he hadn’t the strength to use it. The giant pulled them slowly forward, its mouth stretching wide to reveal huge, jagged teeth.

There was a clatter of feet on the stairs behind them as Flint and Constance came charging down into the tunnel. Constance raised her hands and spoke a single Word of Power. A searing white light flashed down the tunnel from her upraised hands and struck the giant in the face. It screamed shrilly as the blazing heat burned away its face, leaving only charred bone and empty eye sockets. It dropped MacNeil and the Dancer and pawed feebly at its ruined head. The Dancer shifted his sword to his left hand, stepped forward, and cut the giant’s throat. Thick purple blood gushed out onto the tunnel floor, and the giant collapsed and lay twitching in its own gore. Behind it, another crawling giant tore at its flesh and began to pull itself past the unmoving body, still searching for prey.

MacNeil snatched up his sword, and he and the Dancer retreated back to the steps. Constance still held the stance of summoning, a pure white force crackling between her hands. Flint stood at her side, sword at the ready. They stood guard as MacNeil and the Dancer pulled themselves exhaustedly up the stairs and out into the cellar. Flint went up next, and finally Constance lowered her hands and the fire went out. She scrambled up the steps and out into the cellar. MacNeil slammed the trapdoor shut after her and pushed home both the bolts. Barely a second later the trapdoor shuddered violently as a giant fist beat furiously against it from below. The hammering continued for several minutes while MacNeil and the others watched anxiously, and then it stopped, leaving only an echoing silence.

Constance sat down suddenly, as though all the strength had gone out of her. MacNeil leaned on his sword and concentrated on getting his breathing back to normal. He realized he was still clinging desperately to his lantern, and put it down on the floor beside him. His hands were trembling now that the action was over, and not only from fatigue. Giants in the earth … perhaps that was what had happened to all the bodies. His mind’s eye showed him an army of crawling giants struggling up through the trapdoor, stealing the bodies and then dragging them back down to the secret places of the earth. He swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it. His hands and his breathing had steadied, and he looked cautiously at the others to see if they’d noticed his momentary weakness. Flint and the Dancer were sitting side by side. The Dancer was trying to clean his sword one-handed while Flint massaged some feeling back into the arm the giant had crushed. Constance was kneeling beside the trapdoor, staring at it worriedly.

“What’s the matter?” asked MacNeil. “The trapdoor will keep the giants out. Won’t it?”

“That’s the point,” said Constance slowly. “As far as I can See, the giants aren’t there anymore. They’ve just … gone. Vanished.”

MacNeil looked at the trapdoor and then at the witch. “Just how dependable is your Sight at the moment?”

“Not very. It comes and goes, and calling up balefire for you weakened my magic considerably. But I’m sure about this, Duncan. There’s nothing down there now. Nothing at all.”

“That’s impossible,” said MacNeil. “Those giants were flesh and blood, not ghosts.”

“The one I hit was very much alive,” said the Dancer. “I’ve still got most of its blood all over me.”

Flint smiled fondly at him. “Your biggest bag yet. You should have brought the body back with you. We could have had it stuffed.”

“I’ll remember next time,” said the Dancer.

“There’s nothing down there now,” insisted Constance. “There’s no trace of the giants at all. Open the trapdoor and you’ll see I’m right.”

They all looked at one another, but nobody said anything. Finally MacNeil hefted his sword and shrugged unhappily.

“All right, dammit, let’s take a look. Everyone stand ready. Same procedure as before; if it moves, kill it.”

The Dancer rose to his feet in a single lithe movement, the cleaning rag gone from his hand and his sword at the ready. Flint got to her feet a little more slowly and gave him a wry smile.

“Show off.”

Constance got up and moved back from the trapdoor, scowling worriedly. MacNeil hesitated and looked thoughtfully at the witch.

“Can you call up that balefire again?”