A Wizard of the White Council (10 page)

Arran blinked. “No. I’ve never seen her before in my life.” 

“Then stop asking her those stupid questions,” said Mary. “She’s never been to Carlisan, or wherever you’re from, so she wouldn’t know about it.” 

A thousand images swirled in Ally’s mind, merging and clicking and fusing. For a moment she saw him walking, trudging across the length and breadth of a continent, laden down with weapons. Had she seen him in one of her dreams? “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” said Arran. “You approached me, did you not?”

Ally shook her head. “No, no. Not that. Why are you here? You came a long way to be here, didn’t you?” Arran gave her a slow nod. “So why did you come?”

Arran hesitated. “Do you…know of a man named Senator Thomas Wycliffe?” 

A jolt went down Ally’s spine. She remembered what her parents had told of her Wycliffe. Now this dark man with a bloody sword had appeared, asking about him. “Some. Everyone in the country knows about him. He’s running for vice president.” She remembered hearing him speak at the honors dinner, the way his voice had grated on her ears. “There’s something not right about him. Maybe he’s a criminal. I don’t know.”

“A criminal.” Arran’s voice was bitter. “Yes, I would say he is a criminal. He sold guns to rebels in my homeland.”

“What?” said Ally. Senator Wycliffe was an arms smuggler? 

“Yes,” said Arran. “He sold guns and bombs to a…criminal from my nation, a man called Lord Marugon…”

Ally almost fell out of her seat. 

“What did you say?” she whispered.

An electric twist of memory shot through her mind. She felt herself sweating.

“Ally?” said Mary, gripping her arm. “Are you okay? Ally!” 

A thousand images blasted through her mind in rapid succession. She remembered the dream of the iron claws ripping her flesh. Other memories danced through her mind. There was a van chase, winged nightmares, and a man in a black robe. The man’s face, pale with bottomless black eyes, flashed before her mind. She had seen him in her dreams. 

She had seen him in the parking lot of a conference center, the night her parents had told her about Wycliffe. 

“Is she ill?” said Arran to Mary.

“I don’t know,” said Mary. “Ally? Are you okay?” 

Ally shuddered once, folded her arms around herself, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Really.” 

“You’re really scaring me,” said Mary. 

“I scare myself,” whispered Ally. She had to ask her parents about her past. But some part of her, a large part of her, wanted the past to remain buried. 

“I apologize,” said Arran. “I have caused you distress.”

Ally gave him a wan smile. “It’s not your fault. I have the distress within me, I suppose.” She shivered. “Marugon. I have never heard that name before in my life.” The torrent of images threatened to break free. “But I know it…I know it.”

Arran slid the sword back into its scabbard. “Perhaps you heard the name in your youth and have forgotten it since.” 

“I suppose that it’s possible,” said Ally. She thought of the forgotten years of her life and pushed the thought away. “But…but I don’t know when.”

Arran leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting. “Who are you?”

“Don’t tell him,” said Mary, looking back and forth between them. “I still think he’s nuts. I still think we shouldn’t be talking to him.” 

“I’m…Ally,” said Ally, pushing a lock of hair from her eyes. Arran’s intense gaze did not waver. “Ally Wester.”

“But who are you really?” he said, searching her face. 

“What do you mean?” she said.

“There’s something about you.” Arran shook his head. “I don’t know what. You should not have been able to lift a Sacred Blade. And you recognize me. I see it in your face.” He grew more animated as he spoke, a light coming on his eyes. “I am searching for some people. You might know one of them.”

Ally shook her head, trying to sort through the terrible confusion. “I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you before in my life.” She did not look away. “But…but you’re right. I do recognize you. I just don’t know how.” 

“Oh, God.” Mary’s hand tightened around her arm. “I used to fall for that kind of thing all the time. We should go.” 

“Wait,” said Arran. “Two men. Sir Liam Mastere and Alastarius. Have you ever met any of them?” 

Mary frowned at him. “Sir Liam? We don’t know any knights or lords or anything like that.” Her scowl deepened. “Leave her alone. You’re upsetting her. Can’t you see that?”

“Sir Liam,” whispered Ally. A deep surge of grief filled her at the name. “I don’t know…I might have…I…I can’t really say…”

A muscle in Arran’s face trembled. “Do you know where they are?”

“That’s it.” Mary slid out of the booth and pushed Ally to her feet. “We’re going. There’s something wrong with this guy. I don’t know what it is.”

“Please.” Arran came to his feet in a single fluid motion. He would, Ally realized through her daze, make a splendid martial artist. “I must speak with her further. It is vital.”

“No goddamn way.” Mary waved a finger in Arran’s face. “She saved me when I got stupid over a guy, and I’m going to do the same for her. You’re bad news. I don’t know who the hell you are, carrying around a bloody sword, but you’re nuts. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had a gun under that coat.” Arran flinched. “Come on, Ally, we’re going right now.” She took Ally’s arm and pulled her towards the door. 

“Wait,” said Arran, stepping towards them.

Ally stared at him. But her muscles had no strength in them. Mary pulled her outside and into her car, and they drove away. 

Ally stared out the back window. She saw Arran staring after them. 

###

“Are you okay?” said Mary for the thousandth time, pacing the dorm room.

Ally rolled her eyes. “Mary, I’m fine,” she lied. “And stop pacing. You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Sorry.” Mary sat down on the empty bed. “Sorry. It’s just…I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen you like that, Ally.”

“What do you mean?” 

Mary picked up a pen from the desk and fidgeted with it. “You just went all to pieces when he said those strange names.” 

“Sir Liam,” said Ally. Again the strange grief tugged at her. “Alastarius. Marugon.” A deep dread filled her, soaking into her very bones. 

Mary sighed. “You’ve always been the strong one. And…I’ve never seen you like that. It really scared me.” 

Ally gave a lazy shrug. “Maybe I really do need a boyfriend.”

Mary gaped at her. “Don’t…don’t tell me you were attracted to that guy?”

“He is handsome,” said Ally. “But I could care less.” She stared at the blue carpet. “There’s something about him, though. He’s…scarred, I think, in mind and body both. I’ll bet he’s been through a lot.”

“Whatever,” said Mary. “Just promise me you won’t fall in love with him or something, okay?”

Ally laughed. “Okay, okay, I promise.”

“Who do you think he was, really?” 

“I don’t know.” Ally didn’t lift her gaze from the floor. “I really don’t.” 

“Maybe…maybe he was someone who knew you from before? You know, from before your mom and dad adopted you.”

Ally had never considered that. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.” 

“But you said you recognized him,” Mary said. “And you don’t remember anything that happened before you were ten or so, right? Maybe…you knew him when you were a little kid.” 

“I might have.” Ally blew out a sigh. 

“Maybe you should ask your parents.” Mary’s voice was gentle. “You never did ask them about your adoption, did you? Then maybe it’s time.”

“Maybe,” said Ally.

They sat in silence.

Mary got to her feet and picked up her purse. “I’d better go. It’s past midnight and I have early work tomorrow.”

Ally got up. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That the night went so bad. You went to all this trouble and we both wound up freaking out over some stranger in a coffeehouse.”

Mary laughed. “It’s not your fault.” She gave Ally a hug. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

Mary stepped back. “And you take care of yourself, okay? I worry about you.”

Ally nodded. “I will. I promise.” Mary smiled one last time and let herself out. Ally stared at her iPhone. She could call her parents right now and demand the truth. They had been promising to tell her for years. Her trembling hand picked up the iPhone. Memories flashed through her mind, the strange visions that often haunted her sleep.

Ally put down the phone, dressed for bed, and went to sleep.

She didn’t want to know. 

Chapter 8 - Night Hunting

Anno Domini 2012

“Thank you, driver.” The bus driver nodded, and Arran stepped into the night.

Crumbling brick warehouses stood all around the dark street, the only illumination coming from a few scattered streetlamps. Rusted chain-link fences ringed the warehouses, and tangled shadows lay like weeds in the darkness. Arran climbed over one of the fences and landed besides a pile of splintered crates. 

He pulled out his sword belt from beneath his coat, lashed it through his Sacred Blade’s scabbard, and buckled it around his waist. He holstered one pistol on his left hip, keeping the other hidden beneath his coat. He paused long enough to check his weapons and his ammunition, and then started moving.

Arran slipped into the darkness, sliding from shadow to shadow. He wore a long dark overcoat in the fashion of Chicago instead of his cloak, but the coat mixed well with the shadows. He had donned his worn old boots, though, since the shoes Dr. Francis had purchased him made too much noise against the concrete. 

He planned to remain unnoticed.

Arran darted from shadow to shadow, his thoughts chasing each other in a tangled whirl. 

Who was the young woman he had met at the house of the coffee merchant?”

A group of young men walked towards him, laughing and talking. Arran slid behind a lamppost and waited for them to pass. They took no notice of him, and Arran shook his head in disgust. The people of Chicago were oblivious to their surroundings. He could have walked up those young men, drawn his weapon, and killed them all before they even looked up. 

They had grown too used to peace and prosperity. 

No wonder such a man as Thomas Wycliffe had grown so powerful among them. 

Arran hurried along the deserted lanes of Chicago’s warehouse district, trying to keep his thoughts on the task before him. But his mind kept returning to Ally Wester. He had no doubt she was an unusual young woman. Lovely, true, and her eyes held the same glint of intelligence that he had seen in Dr. Francis. But that was not unusual. 

Yet she had lifted his Sacred Blade without any apparent effort. 

Only a Knight of the Order of the Sacred Blade, anointed and sworn, could lift a Sacred Blade. A true Wizard could lift a Sacred Blade as well, through their studies of the white magic. Yet neither explanation made sense. 

Who was she? 

Arran had never seen her before, yet she had recognized him and his Sacred Blade. He had seen the tortured confusion on her face. Could she have come from Carlisan? Perhaps she had been abducted as a child, taken to Earth, and then escaped through some accident? 

Arran crept along a brick wall as he tried to think. 

It had been almost eleven years since Marugon had unleashed the horrors of Earth’s weapons on the High Kingdoms. Ally Wester looked about twenty years of age. Perhaps she had been abducted at the age of nine or ten? 

Arran stopped. “Sir Liam.” 

She had reacted to his name, even if she had claimed not to recognize it. How could she have known him? Sir Liam had perished in the Tower…

His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. He remembered standing before the spectral caretaker in the Chamber of the Dead, the endless sarcophagi stretching into the darkness. The caretaker had told him that Sir Liam traveled in the company of a mortal girl. She had vanished through the doors to Earth, carrying Lithon in her arms. But that had been years ago. The mortal girl would be a young woman by now… 

Arran nodded to himself. 

Could Ally Wester have carried Lithon to Earth? She had recognized the Sacred Blade, she had reacted to Sir Liam’s name, and he had seen the terror on her face at the mention of Marugon’s accursed name. 

His mind burned with the conclusion. She knew where to find Lithon Scepteris, the King of Carlisan.

He turned, intending to rush back the house of the coffee merchant. Someone there had to know her. He would track her down. And if that failed, he could have Dr. Francis use the strange machine she called the “Internet” to find her.  

But suppose she did not want to be found? Senator Wycliffe and his minions lived in Chicago. Winged demons roamed the streets disguised as men. And Lord Marugon himself was in the city, somewhere. It had been Sir Liam’s entire plan to hide Lithon on Earth, to keep the King safe from Marugon’s dark grasp. Suppose Ally had traveled with Sir Liam long enough to learn his plan? Yet Sir Liam had been slain in the Tower, and a girl and a toddler could not survive on their own. Someone must have taken them in and hidden them away, keeping them unnoticed under Wycliffe's and Marugon’s very noses. 

No wonder he had frightened Ally. She must have thought him one of Marugon’s servants, despite his Sacred Blade. 

He turned once more and continued towards his original destination. He would track Ally Wester down, but with greater care. Perhaps he could speak with her adoptive family or her husband. Most likely her family, since the women of Earth often married much later than those of Carlisan. 

Arran stopped, his face hardening. 

The warehouse complex of Senator Thomas Wycliffe had come into sight.

It sprawled over dozens of acres, crouching behind a high brick wall crowned with barbed wire. Electric lights cast swathes of illumination over the warehouses. It was past midnight, yet Arran heard the hum and clang of machinery through the walls. A huge truck pulled up to the gate, its lights flashing. The gate slid aside with a chattering clang. 

Tarrager had described “Earth” as a huge room filled with boxes. This place must be it, must be Marugon’s stronghold on Earth, a fortress built to defend the door to the Tower of Endless Worlds. Wycliffe brought the guns and bombs here, and Marugon took them back through the Tower.

Arran wanted to storm forward, guns blazing, and rip this vile place to shreds. But he would fail. Wycliffe’s retainers would defend the fortress, and the winged demons lurked in the shadows here. And perhaps the complex housed even Lord Marugon himself. Arran could not hope to stand against such dark power. 

He turned, hurried across the streets, and slipped back into the shadows. 

No, revenge for the High Kingdoms could wait. He had come here to spy. 

The warehouse across the street was abandoned, its windows broken and boarded. In fact, the entire district surrounding the complex seemed empty and desolate. Arran climbed up the abandoned warehouse’s wall, finding handholds with ease in the broken brick. He reached the roof and spread himself flat, staring at the warehouses. Arran reached into his coat and retrieved the binoculars he had purchased at a sporting goods supply store. He had purchased many useful items at the store, including a sharp knife, a good whetstone, and an ample supply of bullets for his weapons. He pried the lens caps from the binoculars and raised the device to his eyes.

The binoculars still amazed him. They were not magical, the merchant had assured him, but a simple arrangement of powerful lenses. Arran had seen a telescope in his youth, a huge brass thing brought on a ship from the south. Yet this device had many times the magnification power of the brass telescope.

Arran swept his binoculars over the complex. He saw stacks of crates and pallets strewn around the warehouses, workingmen in dark coveralls using machinery to move metal boxes, and trucks rolling back and forth. The complex had to handle an enormous amount of freight. All the stories he had heard agreed that Wycliffe had made his wealth as a shipper. No doubt he used his legitimate businesses as cover for weapons smuggling. 

Arran wanted to slip inside and look around. A guard booth stood at the side of the front gate. The front gate was no doubt guarded, but perhaps he could find an easier way into the complex…

Arran froze. A winged demon sat in the guard booth.

It had disguised itself as a man. A huge bushy beard covered its face and its yellow fangs. Dark mirrored glasses hid its burning eyes, and jacket of black leather hid its wings, though the demon sat with a marked slouch. Arran shifted the binoculars’ gaze to the well-lit complex. His stomach tightened. He saw more of the winged demons in their slouching disguises, patrolling the complex’s grounds. So much for creeping into Wycliffe’s complex. Human security, even with the machines of Earth, did not daunt him. But the winged demons were dangerous foes. At least Arran now knew beyond any doubt that Senator Wycliffe served Marugon…

His Sacred Blade jolted in its scabbard. 

Arran dropped back to the roof, his hand clenching around the sword’s hilt. He scanned the sky, looking for winged shapes, but saw nothing. He considered drawing his sword and decided against it. The sword’s glow might draw unwanted attention. 

Something scraped beneath him. 

Someone was in the abandoned warehouse. A man-sized hole yawned in the roof, perhaps a dozen yards from where he stood. Arran dropped to his belly and crawled to the edge of the hole, taking care to remain silent. He reached the hole and peered over the edge. There was not much light, but Arran saw a hulking winged shape standing beside a stack of crates. It was only a short distance to the ground. Arran could spring from the roof, land behind the creature, and plunge his Sacred Blade through its chest before it even turned…

The winged demon turned. “So. Did you find the miserable bit of trash?”  

Two more hulking shapes strode into sight, their burning eyes glaring in the gloom. “Gah.” The voice was gargling snarl. “We have hunted for three hours. I found no sign of the wretch.” 

“I as well,” said the first winged demon. “We shall not find the vermin. There are ten thousand places to hide in these warehouses, as we well know.” A vicious chuckle rose up from the demons. “Let it terrorize the humans of the city. I cannot fathom a better use for it.”

The second winged demon hissed. “I fail to see what use Lord Marugon has for them.” 

The first winged demon stepped forward, its wings spreading in a menacing shadow. “You question King Goth-Mar-Dan?” 

The second demon growled like a mad wolf. “The King does not care for the stinking beasts any more than we do. I think Lord Marugon created the creatures as an experiment, but he has no use for them. It’s that mewling Lord Wycliffe that uses them.”

“Lord Wycliffe. Bah!” The first demon’s eyes flared, illuminating the pale skin of its face. “That wretched schemer is no more a Warlock than I.”

“A fool,” agreed the second demon. “It is amusing, though. He does not realize he is naught more than Lord Marugon’s patsy.” The creature growled. “Yet Lord Wycliffe thinks to give us commands! Why King Goth-Mar-Dan permits it, I shall never understand.”

The third winged demon spoke. “Yet service on this world is not so onerous. We have all the flesh and all the women we could ever desire. And there are no Knights or Wizards here to persecute us.”

The first winged demon chuckled. “Aye, there are no Knights here,” its laughter rose, “because we slew them all!” The winged demons roared with laughter, and Arran’s fingers tightened against his sword hilt. 

“Let us hunt,” said the second of the winged demons. Two of them disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse. The third flapped its dark wings and took to the air, soaring for the hole in the ceiling. Arran flinched as the demon rocketed past him, climbing into the sky. He tensed, ready to leap to his feet and draw his Sacred Blade. But the winged demon did not notice him. It banked to the left and disappeared over the city. A few moments later the other two appeared in the sidewalk. 

Arran blew out a long breath and got to his feet. He climbed down the side of the warehouse, wrapped his coat around him, and made for the bus stop. Part of him wanted to hunt down the winged demons, even as they hunted the people of Chicago. But he knew it was folly. He could not fight them all. And if he tried, they would recognize his Sacred Blade. Marugon would know a Knight had survived, and his hunt for Arran might well lead him to Lithon. 

Arran hopped a fence and crossed the abandoned yard of a crumbling factory. Something moved, and Sacred Blade trembled in its scabbard.

Arran froze, his eyes scanning the wreckage. Had one of the winged demons followed him? He drew his sword and waited, the weapon giving off a pale white glow. The sword usually burned brighter at a creature of black magic’s approach. 

A dark shape crept out from behind a rusted machine and shambled forward.

The thing had leathery, gray skin, claws dangling from the ends of its spindly arms and legs. A long black tongue lashed at the air, rubbing against twisted fangs, and its eyes burned with a faint red glow. 

“What manner of devil are you?” said Arran. He drew one of his guns, fitted it with the silencer he had purchased, and leveled it at the creature. 

The creature lunged at him, claws slicing at the air.

Arran squeezed the trigger. Three shots smacked into the creature, and it gibbered in pain and stumbled back. Arran took aim for the head and fired again. The bullet slammed into the creature’s forehead. 

It staggered, shook itself, and lunged at Arran. 

He cursed and hopped back, bringing his Sacred Blade up. The creature flinched from the blade’s glow, and Arran whirled and launched a blurring slash at the thing’s neck. It tried to dodge, raising its hands to block, but Arran’s blow sliced two fingers from its hand. The creature wailed in agony, clutching its maimed hand. Arran raised his sword for the kill, but the creature turned and fled, moving with incredible speed. Its agonized gibbering rose into the night He cursed, looked down at the ground, and froze. 

Human blood stained the concrete. The creature had bled human blood. He remembered the seeking spirit he and Sir Liam had fought in the Mountains of Rindl. The Warlocks could use their dark powers to transform men and women, changing them into hideous beasts of black magic.

Had Marugon done the same on Earth? 

Arran continued for the bus stop, eyes scanning the darkness, hands resting on his weapons.

He had found some answers, but many more questions.