WINDDREAMER (19 page)

"Well, what did the message say?" Shalu asked.

"You're going to love this." Thom laughed. "It said 'Welcome to hell, my fine young warriors!'"

A vague unease settled over Conar. He had heard those words before, but couldn't remember when. "Why didn't say you wanted to be in on this, Loure? All you had to do was ask and I would've agreed."

Thom shrugged. "That would've been too easy and not nearly as much fun." He rubbed his big hands together and held them over the fire. "It's the little surprises in life that keep us on our toes!" He sat beside Tyne and nudged the man with his shoulder. "Don't look so glum, Your Grace. You'll thaw out!"

Tyne let out a huff. "It's not the damned cold that bothers me. It's the salt stuck in the crack of my--" He stopped, looking at Liza. He blushed and looked away.

"We'll rest a while before tackling the corridors leading off this cave," Conar said, leaning back against the stone wall. "I'm sure Tohre will have more than a few surprises planned. Who'll keep first watch?"

"Might as well be me," Tyne grumbled. "I sure as hell can't rest with my drawers stuck to my butt."

"How long before the others join us?" Chase asked.

Conar, who'd been nodding off, opened his eyes. "Belvoir and Bent know the way into the Monastery from the western face. I doubt Tohre will think of being attacked from both directions. I hope they don't get to their destination until I've neutralized Tohre."

"Why?" Thom asked.

"The bastard doesn't play fair," Brelan quipped.

"We should change," Grice remarked as he watched a now-conscious Jah-Ma-El slipping out of his wet socks.

Chand began to strip off his tunic. "Good idea."

Liza walked to Conar's pack where her clothing had been stored. She opened the oilcloth and looked up with dismay.

"What is it?" Conar asked.

She pulled out an emerald green gown of sleek velvet.

"Not the best thing to wear for what we're about, Elizabeth," Brelan admonished.

"Gezelle packed it." She looked at the men. "I'm sorry. I left the other clothing on my bed. I thought she'd..."

"That's my Gezelle," Chand teased. "Always the lady."

Liza sighed and stepped to the darkest part of the cave to change.

"Conar?" Jah-Ma-El called.

"Aye?"

"Thank you."

"I meant what I said out there, Jamie."

Jah-Ma-El frowned. "About what?"

Before answering, Conar made sure all the men looked his way. "When I get back to Boreas, I plan to call a special session of our newly forming Senate"--he settled his gaze on Jah-Ma-El--"to have my brother officially declared a McGregor, with all the privileges and rank that entails."

Jah-Ma-El's mouth dropped open.

"It's about damned time," Brelan said, lacing up his fresh shirt.

"Conar, I--" Jah-Ma-El began, shaking his head.

"Shut up before I throttle you," Shalu growled. "Humility don't become your scrawny white ass."

A howl reverberated through the cave. Everyone leapt to their feet. Metal scraping against metal pierced the air as the men withdrew blades from scabbards. Conar's sword, the Deathwelder, however, slid silently from its sheath. The unearthly howl came again.

"I think Tohre has sent an escort," Roget whispered.

"Well, hell," Conar said with dry humor, "then let's go meet him!"

From studying maps Occultus had given him, Conar knew which twisting pathways out of the northern tunnels would lead him to the Monastery complex. Sections of the ancient fortress were part of the Wind Temple, but it was the vast underbelly of the structure where Conar knew the hidden and obscene world of the Domination lay.

Inside the mountain's gut lay the secret chambers where he, in chains, had been taken to be consecrated to the foul sect. He could vaguely remember the blood-red walls, dripping with fetid moisture and stinking of mold and mildew, dust and carnage, death and defilement. Even now, his nostrils picked out the scents, and he quivered with loathing.

It would be there, he thought, anticipating revenge, that he would meet Tohre. It would be in those vile rooms where his destiny and Liza's would join to put an end to the Domination. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Now, as he and the others warily made their way through the spiraling tunnels leading away from the cave, he found his heart growing heavier, as though a great weight had settled on him.

It wasn't from fear, he mused, sweeping a lock of damp hair from his forehead. Not mortal fear, at any rate. But whatever it was made him constantly turn his attention to the woman at his side, whose hand he held, whose touch hobbled him to the earth.

Liza also felt the heaviness pressing down on her, but she understood what it was--the unmistakable presence and essence of pure evil. It crawled over her flesh and assailed her nostrils with the stink of the grave. The hair on her arms moved as though she stood in the midst of an electrical storm. She could almost taste salty, acrid blood in her mouth. All around, darting green lights flowed beyond her active vision, but her sixth sense recorded their passing just the same.

Conar stopped, peering into the vast cold darkness. Ahead of him, by choice, Brelan held a burning torch and looked over his shoulder to see why his brother had stopped.

"No one move," Conar commanded.

He listened, sent out his powers to gather, to assess. He cocked his head, gaze narrowing as he looked at the ground. Then his eyes lifted. He looked past Brelan and probed the ebon stillness.

Something was forming in the tunnel ahead of them. Conar could hear its scuffling, grating noise as it struggled to embody itself. His nostrils quivered with distaste when he caught the faint malodorous wave of its manifestation, the smell of rotting vegetation with an overpowering wash of something more evil and ageless. He could almost feel the air moving as the thing began generating a presence in the darting green lights he could see.

Chase wedged himself forward, holding his torch away from the damp walls and vulnerable clothing of his fellow warriors. He laid a gentle hand on Conar's shoulder. "It's coming..."

"The tunnel branches off in three directions just ahead." Conar turned. "Roget, lead half the men to the right. Shalu, lead the others straight ahead. Liza and I will take the left path."

"It will follow you," Jah-Ma-El hissed.

Conar gave an evil smile. "I hope so."

"If it's all the same to you," Chase said, "I'll tag along with you and your lady."

Conar glanced at him. In the faint light of the torches, he could see the determined look on Montyne's face. All too suddenly it became clear to Conar why Chase was there.

"We would welcome your company," Liza said, as if anticipating Conar's denial. "With you, a follower of the White Path, by our side, it will add to our power--"

"I can take care of my own, Chase," Conar whispered.

"I know you can." Chase's eyes fused with Conar's. "It wasn't Liza I was sent to protect. Don't argue, please. It means as much to me as it does to Legion."

Liza looked from one man to the other, not understanding the discussion. A faint disquiet unsettled her nerves, yet she could not say why. When Conar relaxed, his nod signifying he had given in to Chase's ransom, she let out a long, heart-felt sigh and looked down.

She saw a faint outline of glowing blue wavering around her body. She studied her hands and saw the same rimming of color, then looked up. Chase's body also glowed, his a darker, almost lavender, color.

When she looked at Conar, she drew in a breath. The aura surrounding him shown a deep, shimmering purple, the blending of the Blue and Green, the White Path with the Black.

She wondered if anyone else could see the changes occurring.

The hair along Jah-Ma-El's arms vibrated when the three people began moving down the left-hand tunnel. Before following Roget's party into the right tunnel, he spared a glance at Shalu.

"Be careful, my friend," Shalu rumbled in his deep voice. He cupped Jah-Ma-El's frail shoulder in his big hand. "Keep your ass out of trouble, eh?"

Jah-Ma-El could only nod, feeling the comradeship and compassion, the undisguised love from this black man that he had never felt from anyone other than Conar.

He tried to smile, his lips trembling, then turned his head, following Roget, leading him, Grice, Chand, and Thom into their assigned tunnel.

Shalu, his way being lighted by Brelan, ventured forward, with Sentian, Storm, and Tyne following.

The Necroman's head lifted high, his posture ramrod straight, his right hand firmly gripping his deadly broadsword.

"It's unlucky," Tyne mumbled.

"What is?" Storm asked.

"Thirteen," Sentian answered for Brell. "If Thom hadn't come with us, we'd be twelve."

"We'd have been thirteen, anyway," Storm said, "if Rylan had been able to climb, but with his foot mangled--"

Tyne lowered his voice. "Don't you think it odd that Rylan woke up to a foot paining him so badly he couldn't come with us?"

"The man was drunk," Storm whispered. "And in a foul mood. Because of it, Conar made him stay behind."

"Aye, but don't you see?" Tyne argued. "The gods meant there to be only the twelve of us. With Loure, we became an unlucky number. It just ain't right, I tell you. Almost like an omen, you know?"

"Stow that kind of talk back there!" Shalu snarled and guided them farther into the tunnel.

"Smells like a dung heap in here!" Chase shifted his torch to his left hand and brought out a handkerchief. Exchanging hands on the torch once more, he juggled the burning rushes and kerchief to cover his nose. The fingers on his free hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Why do demons have to smell so bad?"

"It's in their contract." Conar nearly gagged from the odor himself, but he wouldn't remove his hand from Liza's to take out his kerchief.

The smell had gotten much worse, a cloying, pungent scent that defied description. The temperature turned chill, growing colder by the moment. A low buzzing, like the flapping of thousands of tiny wings, filled the tunnel. Something crunched beneath Conar's feet as he walked, each crackling step bringing more putrid aromas.

"I think our friend is right ahead," Chase said a short time later.

Conar dragged Liza behind him and gripped the hilt of his weapon. The black blade with its crystal pommel glowed a dark intense purple in the faint light cast from Chase's torch. The jewels inside the pommel seemed to throb in his hand.

"Right or left flank, Conar?" Chase asked.

"You're left-handed, so take its right side." He glanced at his lady. "Stay here, Liza." He pushed her against the wall, then saw the militant light of battle on her pretty face. "I mean it, Elizabeth!" He took the torch from Chase and handed it to her. "Stay where I put you!"

Through the throbbing glow of the torch, amidst the shadows that played over his lean face, Liza saw his fear for her. She turned and squinted at the faint, pulsing red light that flashed along the tunnel like a revolving beacon toward them. Not wanting Conar mentally divided in his chore, she nodded gravely, willing him her love and her strength.

"Ready, Montyne?" Conar asked.

"As ready as I'm gonna be, my man."

"Then, let's do it!"

Conar charged forward, darting around a sharp bend in the tunnel, Chase close on his heels. The red glow deepened to a scarlet throb. Instinctively, Liza pressed herself against the wet, clammy wall. A mighty roar, like the bellow of a wounded bull, magnified a thousand times, shook the tunnel. Loose pebbles cascaded upon her. She covered her head and face with her arms.

She wanted to be with Conar, but knew she'd only be in his way. With her heart in her throat, she heard the sounds of battle, the slide of metal along some alien hide. She knew the men attacked close enough to wound the thing, for its torturous howls turned deafening. Conar's shout of anger made her flinch. Blanching, she sensed the vile thing had either injured him or Chase.

When a hand closed around her arm, Liza yelped in surprise, spinning around to face whoever had taken hold of her.

"Oh," she said, relaxing, "it's you."

Chase gawked at the thing lumbering toward him. Never in his worse nightmares had he ever encountered such a monstrosity. He had already wounded the vicious beast several times, pricking a few holes in the mottled gray flesh. Each stab had dispersed a thick noxious fluid that dripped to the tunnel floor and hissed, sizzling like potent acid. The aroma of the escaping "blood"--for lack of a better word to describe what oozed from the creature--smelled worse than its ghastly hide.

The thing's breath blasted him with fetid air. "God!" he gagged, trying not to vomit.

"Stay away from it, Montyne!" Conar warned, shivering as the monstrosity turned his way. "The thing's intent on maiming us."

"No shit!" Chase snapped.

Conar had no idea what it was, and had little time to even imagine. What he did know was that it was powerful enough to take the two of them to battle it.

"This damn prick and poke ain't gonna do it!" Chase yelled.

"I've got to get to its throat!"

"Which one?"

The thing had five heads, each on a long neck that wobbled in all different directions at once. Getting to one would be hard enough as it was, with five sets of beady, vicious eyes gleaming his way.

"You take one, I take one," Conar snarled. "Between us, maybe we'll get lucky."

"And what the hell about the other three?" Chase grumbled, backing away as the thing sidled closer to him.

A flat, oval head, elongated at the corners, sat perched on each stalk-like neck. The red eyes, covered over with what appeared to be movable scales, blinked now and again to hide the evil lurking inside the five ugly heads. Its feet--only two of them, thank Alel, Conar thought--were webbed, but four arms lined each side of the creature's rotund body. A long, thickly scaled tail with serrated ridges flopped repeatedly on the ground. Although small and practically a part of the chest wall, the hands had long, wicked-looking talons that dripped the same sort of venom oozing from its wounds. A spray from those flexing fingers had already burned Conar.

"Can you get around to its back?" Chase shouted.

"What the hell good would that do, Montyne?" Conar thrust his sword forward; Deathwielder slid through layers of flesh. But whichever way Conar moved, one of the beast's necks followed, its body inching around to better maintain its balance.

"With one of us on each side, maybe we can hit a vital spot."

Conar sidestepped a blast of nail-dripped acid. "Do you suggest I climb up its tail to get to its throats?"

Chase feigned toward the beast, but the creature didn't take his bait. "Go on, Conar. Run up the tail. I'll cover you!"

Conar sent his friend a damning look.

"Well, do you have a better suggestion?" Chase hissed.

"Think you it has a heart?"

"Not from the way it intends to do us bodily harm."

"Look at the chest. Halfway down. See how the flesh moves in and out? If one of us could pierce it, we might have a chance." Conar took a quick look toward Chase to see if he understood. That look cost him, for another spray of acid fell on his left forearm. He jerked back his arm back and bellowed. "Shit!"

"Stay away from it, Conar," Chase reminded him in a sing-song, little boy's taunt.

Conar shook his arm to rid it of the burning fluid. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

"For all we know, the thing's a female. Try using your charm."

"Go to hell." Conar thrust his weapon forward, but the creature slid away from him.

"Head up, Conar!"

Chase ran straight at the thing, his sword aimed at the spot where the flesh moved like a visible heartbeat. Acid splatted his leather vest, sending up smoke and making him yelp. Though he stabbed at the spot and missed, his sword slid down the body, opening an evil-looking gash in the creature's side. He groaned in frustration, then ducked his head, leapt backward, and rolled away from the demon's feet and thundering tail lashing out at him.

"He don't like you, son!" Conar called.

The creature lumbered toward Chase. Montyne spun around and tried to crawl away. His vest still smoked where the acid had hit him. His mouth compressed into a white line of pain. The demon slid toward him, its full attention on its attacker.

Conar held his sword at chest level. Lunging forward, he drove the Deathwielder at the beast, feeling the give as the weapon plunged into the putrid body. The crystals inside the pommel vibrated against his palm, sending a shock up his arm and into his shoulder. He knew he had hit the one chink in the beast's tough armor even before he heard its ungodly shriek of pain.

Chase barely had time to scuttle out of the way before the creature crashed down. The beast burst open like a squashed melon, spraying thick acidic liquid and chunks of gray flesh in all directions.

"Let's get out of here!" Chase screamed as he pushed himself up.

When the body bubbled and popped, the stench grew insufferable. Both men gagged as they ran. Reaching a safe distance away, they bent over and vomited, holding their bellies as the contents poured out.

In an effort to rid himself of the godawful taste in his mouth, Conar ran his short sleeve across his lips. He shuddered, then spat out excess saliva. "What the hell...was that thing?" he gasped.