A Knight of the Sacred Blade (30 page)

“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.

The sound was coming from the Tower.

The Tower trembled. Arcs of green lighting shot up and down the Tower, leaping from statue to statue. One of the flying buttresses tottered, and then fell, crumbling as it plummeted to the earth. It struck the Plain with a tremendous roar, the ground shuddering. Arran saw thousands of black dots littering the Plain at the Tower’s base. 

Debris from the Tower. 

“The Tower’s falling?” said Arran. Kaemarz had hinted that the Tower was falling. He had said that some passages within had collapsed. Was it even safe to enter?

Arran shook off his fear. “Find Alastarius on Earth.” He sheathed his weapons and kept walking. 

The dim light grew even dimmer as night approached. Arran began looking around for a campsite, and spotted a ring of eroded boulders that might serve.

He settled against one of the boulders, drew his Sacred Blade, laid it across his lap, and wrapped his hand around the hilt. Everyone he had spoken with claimed ghouls haunted the Plain at night. With luck, the sword’s power would awaken him if any creatures approached. But he was still on the edge of the Plain. Perhaps the creatures hunted closer to the Tower.

Arran fell asleep. 

###

Thunder crashed against Arran’s ears.

His jumped to his feet, his Sacred Blade coming to a guard position. The ground trembled beneath his boots. His eyes darted back and forth, but he saw only the Crimson Plain, gray and bleak as ever. 

Another rumble rang out, and Arran turned just as another buttress slid free from the Tower. It struck the earth with a tremendous crash, shattering into thousands of black boulders. Green lighting shot up and down the Tower’s structure. For a moment the entire Tower trembled, and Arran wondered if it would collapse. 

The green lighting sparked once more and vanished, and trembled stopped. The Tower became still and silent once more, filling the horizon with its dark shadow. Arran slid his Sacred Blade back into its scabbard. He thought for a moment, shrugged, and emptied one of his guns. He reloaded it with one of the ammunition cartridges he had dipped in Siduri’s blood into the weapon.

He doubted regular bullets would harm whatever beasts haunted the Plain, or the Tower itself. 

And if the Tower was indeed in danger of falling, then perhaps those beasts would be driven onto the Plain…

Arran resumed his journey. The Tower drew closer and closer, until it seemed to swallow the sky in its mass. A huge ornate archway became visible at the Tower’s base. Arran thought he could reach it before nightfall, and the prospect filled him with relief. He did not want to get caught outside the Tower after dark. 

Soon enormous chunks of broken black marble blocked Arran’s path, and he picked his way around them. The nine-eyed head of a shattered gargoyle sat atop the stone torso of a six-breasted demon. Broken boulders of black marble stretched as far as Arran could see. Suppose the Tower collapsed on top of him? 

The day grew darker as the Tower drew closer, and Arran broke into a light jog. The Tower dominated the sky, and its gateway stood not a half mile from him. Arran increased his pace. He would make it before dark…

An agonized wail rose into the night.

Arran whirled, yanking his Sacred Blade from its scabbard. He saw nothing but the dark shapes of broken stone from the Tower. He turned and kept jogging, keeping a ready grip on his sword’s hilt. 

Another wail rang over the Plain. Arran caught a glimpse of a misshapen shadow darting behind a piece of shattered buttress. Four more ghastly shapes loped besides it. Arran sprinted for the Tower, and wore wails tore into the gloom. Arran cursed and ran, his boots tearing at the ground. He heard movement behind him, claws scraping against stone.

He had not come this far only to perish within sight of the Tower! 

The gateway into the Tower yawned before him, twin statues of hideous winged creatures standing on either side. Arran raced up the steps, his boots slapping against the black granite. He shot a glance over his shoulder and saw sea of misshapen forms chasing him. Arran dashed through the gateway and entered the Tower. A vast, vaulted corridor of dark stone stretched into the distance, lit by a pale emerald glow. 

Arran could run no further. He drew his pistol with his free hand, spun, and waited for the ghouls of the Plain to charge him. 

Chapter 22 - The Caretaker of the Dead

Between the Worlds

Arran tightened his grip on his weapons, gritted his teeth, and waited for the ghouls. 

Nothing came. 

Sweat dripped down his face.

The ghastly wails still rose from the Plain, but softer, more distant. Arran walked to the edge of the stairs. The Crimson Plain lay cloaked in darkness, and he could just make out the misshapen forms vanishing into the gloom, their wails fading away.

He returned his sword and his gun to his belt. Why had the ghouls not pursued him into the Tower? In this stone hall, they could have surrounded and overwhelmed him. He turned and gazed into the green-lit corridor. “They’re afraid of the Tower,” he muttered. 

He couldn’t blame them. 

Arran started forward. His eyes wandered over the walls and vaulted ceiling. Bas-reliefs marked the stone, showing strange scenes of other lands and other worlds. 

Though in some places the bas-reliefs had been destroyed by cracks running through the walls. 

The hall opened into a vast cylindrical chamber. A statue of a nude woman, thirty feet high, stood in the center. Eleven other passageways, each as large as the one behind him, led away from the chamber. Countless balconies with intricate balustrades ringed the walls, and twelve corridors led away from each of them.

The balconies faded from sight far, far above. Did each of those passageways lead to a different world? Arran scanned the floor, recalling Kaemarz’s directions to his mind. “The seventh passage, clockwise.” He spotted a dark smudge of the floor and hurried over. Lord Marugon’s sigil, a clawed hand clutching a flaming eye, had been burned onto the floor. 

Arran peered down the passageway. It was built of red granite, with more bas-reliefs marking the walls, along with writing in a strange language. It stretched away as far as the eye could follow. 

No mortal could have built this place, and all of Arran’s instincts screamed for him to leave the Tower. 

He drew his Sacred Blade partway from its scabbard and looked at the blood marking the steel. “Find Alastarius on Earth.” He had no other choice. There was nothing left for him in the High Kingdoms. He could not go back. 

And even if he did go back, the ghouls of the Plain would likely catch him. 

He rammed his sword back into the scabbard and started forward. “Find Alastarius on Earth, but gods, Siduri, I hope you’re right.”

###

A gaping hole yawned in the red granite wall.

Arran stared at it, fingering the hilt of his Sacred Blade. The hole stretched a good fifteen feet across, chunks of rubble strewn across the floor below.

 And through it he could see…he could see…

Nothing.

Utter blackness and nothing more lay beyond the hole. 

Arran couldn’t understand it. There should be something behind the wall, anything other than that awful nothingness. Arran only hoped Kaemarz’s directions hadn’t become outdated, that the passages to Earth hadn’t collapsed.

He could wander this maze for ten thousand years and never find another path to Earth.

A large piece of wall had fallen some distance from the hole. Arran sat on it, dropped his pack between his knees, and pulled out a piece of dried meat. He may as well eat and drink and refresh his strength before he continued. He would sleep after he had gotten far away from that hole…

Arran frowned. Something was wrong. He sat for a long moment before it came to him.

He wasn’t hungry. 

He had spent the day and most the night walking, first across the Plain and then through the corridors of the Tower. He should be famished, but he was not. Nor was he thirsty. Arran dropped the jerky into his pack. How long had it been since he had entered the Tower? An hour? A day? A month? He could not have said. Perhaps time did not work as it should within the Tower. 

But if he did not need to eat while traversing the Tower, then he would have more supplies when he reached Earth.

Arran stood, and his boot struck a loose piece of stone. It spun away, flew over the edge of the hole, and vanished into the blackness. He swore, drew his weapons, and felt ridiculous. 

Did he expect a monster to come crawling out of the hole? 

Yet he kept his sword and his gun leveled at darkness. 

Arran shook his head and turned away. 

A cold breeze touched his neck. It was coming from the hole. 

“Dark holes in the wall. The Tower is crumbling,” said Arran. Hadn’t Kaemarz said something like that? The breeze got colder, and Arran decided he didn’t want to know what lay within that darkness. He turned and ran, bas-reliefs and statues of leering goblins flashing past him, and did not stop running until he had put the hole far behind him. 

###

The vaulted corridor of red granite ended, opening into a domed chamber strange gray stone. A fountain stood beneath the dome, its bubbling waters clear and clean. Bones of all sorts, human, animal, and unrecognizable, lay strewn around the fountain. 

Arran frowned. Despite his lack of thirst, the water looked tempting. But Kaemarz had warned him of a poisoned fountain in the Tower’s depths. And he had seen a poisoned spring, years ago, in Carlisan’s Ruin Hills. The bones of dead animals had lain in a ring around the waters. 

Arran scooped up a skull, an ugly thing with five eyeholes and two rows of teeth. He flung the skull into the fountain. There was a sizzle, and steam rose from the sparkling waters as the skull started to dissolve. 

“I think I’ll abstain,” said Arran. 

He walked past the fountain. Three doorways stood in the wall behind the fountain, each leading in a different direction. Marugon’s sigil had been burned into the floor before the leftmost, but Kaemarz had warned him against that passage. Arran took a few steps forward and peered down the passageway.

The corridor ended in utter blackness about fifty feet away. The walls, floors, and ceiling all terminated in jagged edges. Beyond them lay utter blackness. A faint icy breeze rose from the darkness. Arran swallowed and stepped back into the domed chamber. 

Little wonder Kaemarz had warned him against it, and told him to take the rightmost passage.

Arran strode to the rightmost passage. It opened into a vast corridor with a ribbed ceiling, many times larger than even the greatest temple ever raised in Carlisan. Pillars arched from the ceiling and touched the floor, each as thick as a great tree. Intricate scenes, grim bas-reliefs, ornate sculptures and strange writings covered every inch of the columns and ceilings. He started down the massive corridor, feeling like a gnat trespassing in the hall of a giant. Doubt chewed at him with every step. How had Sir Liam ever found his way through this maze? Following Marugon’s sigil would have led him to the void. But that had been years ago. Perhaps the corridor had been intact when Sir Liam had reached the Tower. 

Or Sir Liam might not have even reached the Tower. The ghouls of the Plain might have taken him. Arran closed his eyes and shoved aside his doubts. He could not brood like this. He kept going. 

###

Arran glanced at one of the titanic bas-reliefs on the wall. One scene showed squid-like beasts strangling screaming men and women in their tentacles. Another scene showed…Arran shuddered and looked away. 

The silence weighed on him. Arran had spent months in solitude, but never in such unending, tomblike silence. Sometimes he talked to himself to break the quiet, but his voice seemed small and feeble in such a large space. More and more his worried thoughts turned to Sir Liam and Lithon. Had they reached Earth? Or did they wander the Tower still? Or had something claimed the old man and the child? 

That had been almost ten years ago. Lithon would be thirteen, maybe even fourteen, now. Assuming he had survived the perils of the Tower…

He heard a distant murmuring.

Arran shook his head. “Gods. I’m hearing voices. I am going mad.” He took three more steps and then froze.

He was sure those voices were not in his head. 

Dark specks moved far in the distance, drawing closer. The murmuring resolved into the click of boots and the grumbling of voices. Arran dashed for the wall, flattened himself against a pillar, pulled his cloak tight, and waited. 

The voices became clearer. Arran inched forward and dared to glance around the pillar. A troop of at least a hundred black-uniformed soldiers marched through the corridor, herding several hundred donkeys. Guns, boxes of ammunition, grenades, and other weaponry burdened the donkeys. 

“Move it, you dogs!” called a gunman at the head of the caravan.  He wore the uniform and ornate cloak of a captain. “Quit straggling! You had more energy in your step when Lord Marugon was with us.”

“Aye, that we did!” answered a scowling young man. He brandished his Kalashnikov. “But his Lordship’s not here, is he? He stayed on that other world.”

Arran whispered a curse. Marugon had gone to Earth? Why?

Had he discovered Sir Liam and Lithon?

“Let’s set a slower pace,” said another soldier. 

“Why?” sneered the captain. “It’s not as if you’ll get tired, not in this ungodly place.”

“It’s not natural, I tell you,” said yet another gunman. “It’s not right, that a man should go for days without needing to eat or empty his bowls. Not right, I tell you.”

The captain laughed. “Aye, that it is, but at least your stink isn’t quite so foul.” A chorus of raucous laughs rang out. “Very well. A slower pace. But no straggling! Any man straggles, I’ll give him forty stripes across his back.”

“Why in hell should we bother?” said the scowling soldier. “It’s not as if we’ll starve. We can always catch up.”

The captain sneered and raised his hand, and the column came to a halt. “It’s for your own good. Go wandering off on your own, and you might vanish. Forever. Seen the lieutenant lately?”

“The lieutenant? He’s usually…” The gunman’s scowl turned to a puzzled frown. “No.”

“Wandered off on his own three days past,” said the captain. “Or it might’ve been three weeks, for all I know. But he said he’d catch up with us in an hour, and even in here, an hour’s usually still an hour. And we haven’t seen him since, have we?” Silence answered his proclamation. “I was talking to Lord Marugon on our way to the other world. He gave me the order not to let anyone go wandering about. He said there are monsters loose in the Tower. They stay away from large groups, but they attack men traveling on their own. Ever wonder why so many of us have to herd to the donkeys? In the old days, ten or twenty men could make the trip through this ungodly place. Now you need a hundred or two hundred if anyone is going to survive.”

The scowling gunman did not look impressed. “I didn’t see any monsters when Lord Marugon was with us.”

The captain laughed. “Fool! His Lordship was with us. You really think they’d want to cross him?” The scowling gunman looked sheepish. “Hell, for all I know, the monsters belong to him. Now, enough talk. I’ll permit a slow march, but no straggling!”

The gunmen continued their march along the corridor, boots clacking against the stone floor. Arran waited as the gunmen disappeared down the vast corridor, muttering and grumbling to themselves. When the last echoes had faded, Arran stepped from behind the pillar. 

“Monsters in the Tower,” said Arran. 

If any creatures hunted the Tower, they would surely come after him. But he was only one man, and the Tower of Endless Worlds was vast. Perhaps he could slip through unnoticed. 

He touched the hilt of his Sacred Blade for reassurance, loosened his guns in their holsters, and kept walking.

###

An odd metallic gleam shone in the distance. 

Arran could just make out the shape of a metal doorway, far in the distance. His spirits rose and he broke into a run. Just the prospect of finally leaving this unending corridor cheered him. 

The doorway stood taller than the greatest tower ever built in Carlisan. Statues of solemn robed figures stood in niches in the walls. Intricate symbols, seeming to crackle with power, had been carved into the doorway’s arch. Beyond the doorway loomed another chamber, far larger than any Arran had yet seen. He passed the doorway and stopped.

“My gods,” said Arran.

The circular chamber lay at least a mile across. The domed ceiling, large enough to hold a lake, vanished into the darkness overhead. A great seal of silvery metal lay in the center of the chamber. Thousands upon thousands of symbols had been carved in its surface, laid out in rings of concentric symbols. A tangible feeling of power rose from the metal.

“I’ve seen this place before,” muttered Arran. The Ildramyn had shown it to him in the vision. “The Chamber of the Great Seal.” Marugon had appeared in the vision. Had the Warlock already come here? No - Marugon had destroyed the Great Seal in the vision, and the chamber looked intact. 

“A vision of the future,” Arran said, starting forward. “It hasn’t happened yet.” 

He began to cross the chamber. The Ildramyn’s vision of the future played in his head over and over again. Marugon had used that strange box to destroy the Seal. But why? Surely the Seal’s destruction would kill the Warlock as well.

Arran stepped onto the Seal , the metal cold and slippery. A tremendous sensation of power radiated from the metal, and a vast sense of weight touched Arran’s mind. For a moment he was conscious of the Tower’s great bulk, spreading above and below and around him, pressing down on the thrumming metal of the Great Seal. 

Perhaps all the weight of the Tower balanced on the Seal.

Arran remembered the vision of the strange box ripping the Seal to shreds, and something clicked in his mind with overwhelming force. “Marugon. He’s making the Tower fall.” The destruction of the Great Seal would destroy the Tower. But why would Marugon want to destroy the Tower of Endless Worlds? His guns and bombs came through the Tower. “Find Alastarius on Earth. He’d better know.” 

Arran passed the center of the Seal. The sensation of pressure, of titanic forces balanced overhead, became almost overwhelming. He shuddered and increased his pace, trying not to fall on the slick metal. Soon he reached the other side of the Seal, grateful to have his feet on hard stone again. Another colossal archway stood in the far wall, framed by statues of winged skeletons. Beyond the archway he saw a forest of massive columns.