A Wizard of the White Council (17 page)

Marugon whirled. “You know of this?” He stalked towards Wycliffe, rage burning on his face. “You knew of this child, you knew of Lithon Scepteris, and you hid it from me?”

Wycliffe raised his hands. “Wait! I knew nothing about this!” He licked his lips. “It’s just…Simon Wester.” His voice rose in anger. “He tricked me. The night when you and Goth went to kill Lithon…Wester told me someone broke into his house, tried to kill him and his fiancée. I thought it a home-invasion robbery. But for a moment…just a moment, I thought he had been involved.” He leveled a finger at Marugon. “But you told me no one had survived. You told me that Lithon, and all those with him, had been killed in that warehouse explosion. So how could I have suspected Wester? If he had been with Lithon, he would have been killed.” 

Marugon said nothing.

“All these years,” said Wycliffe. “They’ve hidden Lithon under your very nose, here in Chicago. And this girl, Ally Wester. Perhaps she came with Lithon through the Tower from your world?”

Marugon went rigid, and for an instant fear crossed his shadowed face. “No. No. I watched him die. I laughed as he bled out his last on the courtyard stones. But his Prophecy still haunts me. Even in death, Alastarius still hinders me.”  

“I killed him,” said Goth. Blood-blackened iron claws slid from his fingertips. “I slew him and I shall slay his feeble followers.” 

“Simon Wester,” said Wycliffe, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. But how could he have known? He would have thought Lithon and this…this Ally two ragged waifs off the street. Why would he shelter them?”

“Liam Mastere must have told him,” said Marugon, “or perhaps this mysterious wielder of the white magic…who escaped from your complex, I might add.” Wycliffe scowled but said nothing. “Liam Mastere may even yet live. I know what they plan. Alastarius Prophesied that Lithon Scepteris would undo me.” Marugon’s lips pulled back in a snarl. For a moment he seemed like Goth, huge and black and terrible. “And he Prophesied that Lithon would bring him back, find a way to return Alastarius to the realm of the living.”

Wycliffe scoffed. “The dead don’t rise.”

Marugon glared at him. “Then you learned less of the black magic than I thought.” He began to pace, his words growling with fury. “I will not permit this, not now. I am so close, so very close. My enemies will not stop me now. They will regret ever trying to stop me.” He whirled again. “Dr. Krastiny. Your money has been well-earned. Senator Wycliffe, come with me to the main floor. Goth-Mar-Dan! Gather your kin.” Marugon grinned his wolfish smile. “I have work for them.” Goth bowed from the waist and departed. Marugon pointed at Kurkov. “Bandit. Take the pictures of my foes and follow me.”

“I am not an errand boy…”

“Do it!” The full force of the Voice reverberated in Marugon’s command. Kurkov jerked to the table, scooped up the photographs, and followed Marugon. Wycliffe hurried after them. What did Marugon plan? Wycliffe did not need violence in his home city the day after the election victory. 

Yet what could he do to stop Marugon? 

They took the stairs to the warehouse’s main floor. Dozens of winged demons, looming and dark in their disguises, filed through the front doors. Marugon climbed the platform before the door to the Tower.

“Goth-Mar-Dan!” Marugon called. He gestured at the meat freezers. “Release the changelings.” 

Wycliffe hurried up the platform stairs and opened his mouth to protest. A single look at Marugon’s wrathful face changed his mind. 

Goth growled orders to the other winged demons. They stalked forward and opened the freezer doors. The changelings staggered out, blinking their red eyes at the sudden light. They hissed and snapped, but they would not attack the winged demons unless Wycliffe ordered it. He had used the Voice to lay intricate complexes of instructions on the changelings. They would never attack him, and nor would they obey any order unless it came from him.

The winged demons herded the changelings before the platform. They snarled and gibbered, trying to attack the winged demons, but otherwise remained docile, bound by the instructions Wycliffe had laid on them. 

“Calm!” called Wycliffe, bringing the power of the Voice into his words. “Remain calm!” The changelings stilled, glaring up at him with their red eyes.

“Goth-Mar-Dan,” said Marugon. “Select twelve of your kin. Arm them with the guns and bombs in this warehouse. Prepare vehicles for our use. You yourself shall accompany me. We put an end to Alastarius once before. Now we shall put an end to his followers and his damned Prophecy.”

Goth’s vicious chuckle filled the warehouse. “It shall be done, Lord.”

“And as for you, you who have partaken of the Warlocks’ rose.” Marugon’s Voice rose in command, shredding through the compulsions laid over the changelings. Wycliffe gaped in dismay. Marugon tore through his spells as if they were paper. “You shall heed my command. Tonight you will march with me.” He seized two of the pictures from Kurkov and held them out. “The boy, Lithon Scepteris. The girl, Ally Wester. You shall find them and kill them. I care not who dies, I care not what you must do, but you shall kill them!” Marugon’s Voice boomed through the warehouse, thundering in Wycliffe’s skull. The changelings whimpered and groveled before the platform. “You are hungry, you are starving, but tonight, you shall feast on human flesh…if you can kill these two children!” 

Maddened gibbering rose from the changelings, their claws scraping at the concrete floor. 

Marugon turned to Kurkov. “You are released. Bring the nuclear device to Chicago. Fail me not.” Kurkov staggered back, watching Marugon with a wary eye. The Warlock turned to Krastiny, Schzeran, and Bronsky. “You have done well. Your money awaits you.” 

Kurkov glared at Krastiny. Wycliffe wondered if the two would ever trust each other again. 

“The last obstacles are falling away,” said Marugon, to no one in particular. “The bomb will arrive soon. Yes. They may have fooled me for all these years. But Lithon Scepteris shall die. This girl, this Ally Wester, shall die with him.” He grinned at Wycliffe. “They do not know I am coming for them. And then there will be no one left to stop me, no one left at all.” 

Wycliffe swallowed. “Very…very good.” Marugon stalked away. Kurkov stormed off, and Krastiny and his partners hurried away in another direction. 

Wycliffe watched them go. “Dr. Wester, Dr. Wester,” he muttered under his breath. “What have you gotten yourself into?” He felt a moment’s sympathy for Simon Wester. Wester’s scholarship had been quite good. His death would be a waste.

Wycliffe shrugged and turned away. He had a presidency to assume. “You should have stayed working for me, Simon. You should have stayed working for me.” 

Chapter 13 - A Birthday Dinner

Anno Domini 2012

“I saw her ghost at the ruins of Castle Bastion,” said Arran. 

He and Ally sat at a booth in the corner of the coffeehouse. It was late, and most of the other tables were empty. 

Ally leaned forward. “What did she tell you?”

Arran closed his eyes, remembering. “Siduri told me that her death was not my doing.” He remembered the white mist, the light that had shimmered in Alastarius’s cairn.  “She said I should not blame myself.”

“You shouldn’t,” said Ally. “It wasn’t your fault. The…winged demon, Khan-Mar-Dan, killed her, not you.”

Arran opened his eyes. “I know.” He tried to smile. “She told me herself, did she not?” But he knew he would carry some of the guilt for the rest of his days. 

Ally hesitated. “Did you love her?”

Arran blinked. “What?”

“She loved you, I mean. She followed you out into the desert.”

“Siduri saved my life,” said Arran. “I would have died in despair. Find Alastarius on Earth. I have been trying to do that, ever since I killed Khan-Mar-Dan.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.”

But he doubted that. He knew Ally had come from his world, even if she did not remember. She often flinched with recognition at the names in his tale. And she thought of King Lithon as her younger brother. 

Alastarius had to be near Lithon. 

“Did you ever go back?” said Ally, staring into her coffee.

“Where?” 

“To the Scorpions’ Hold. To tell them what had happened to Siduri.” 

Arran shook his head. “That would have been of no purpose.” He heard anger enter his voice. “They cared nothing for her. Her husband would have thrown her into the desert to die. And she was content with that.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. Arran had told so much to her, more than he had told anyone but Siduri. He had thought she would mock his tale as fantastic. Yet she had believed him, as far as he could tell.

“What happened then?” said Ally. “After you saw Siduri's ghost?” 

“She told me again to find Alastarius on Earth. Then the mists swirled again…and the spirit of my brother appeared.”

Ally’s eyes widened. “Luthar?”

“Yes.” Arran tried to smile. “You’ve been paying attention.” 

“That must have been hard for you,” said Ally.

“It was.”

Ally fiddled with her mug. “It was his death that made you what you are, isn’t it?” She stumbled over the words. “I…I mean you would never have followed Sir Liam, you’d have never used a gun, if Luthar hadn’t been shot.”

“Luthar himself told me that,” said Arran. “I told him that I had tried to save him. He said there was nothing I could have done. And then…he gave me a gift.”

“What did he give you?”

“I shall show you.” Arran lifted Luthar’s Sacred Blade from the seat. He had taken it along with him to show Ally. 

Her eyes widened. “Is…is that his sword?”

“It is. I carried it with me to the Broken Mountains, then through the High Kingdoms, through the Desert of Scorpions, once more across the High Kingdoms, through the Tower of Endless Worlds, and now here, on your world.” He almost smiled. “I doubt few swords can boast of such impressive travels.”

Ally laughed. “I…guess not. It’s not funny, of course…but what did Luthar give you?”

Arran slid the sword from its scabbard and laid it across the table. “He touched the blade.” He indicated the thumb-sized blue gem a few inches from the hilt. “This appeared.” The gem shone with a faint light. He had never seen it glow before, but he had not taken Luthar’s sword from its scabbard since coming to Earth. 

“What is it?” said Ally, peering at the gem. She brushed it with her finger. “It’s…warm.”

“I know not,” said Arran. “Luthar told me that I could call on the magic of his sword in my last despair, and it would aid me, but only once.”

“Last despair?” Ally raised an eyebrow. “What did he mean by that?” 

“I do not know,” said Arran. “But he told me something of the future.”

“What? Another Prophecy?”

Arran shuddered. “Gods. I hope not. My life has been ruled by Alastarius’s damned Prophecy.” He made a fist, clenching the muscles in his sword hand. “He said…that my hope and what I most love would be stolen from me by a thing of nightmare. I would have to fight it, or all would be lost. I suppose that is what he meant by my last despair.”

“What do you think he meant?” said Ally.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

She rolled her cup between her palms. “A thing of nightmare. So many things you’ve met fit that description. The winged demons. The Ildramyn. Lord Marugon.” She scowled, rage crossing her features. “Even that traitor Rembiar.”

Arran frowned. She had smirked with satisfaction when he had told her of Rembiar’s end on the tip of Sir Liam’s blade. Arran could only half-remember the traitor’s face after all these years. “You seem to loathe him.”

“Why not?” said Ally. “He betrayed Alastarius to his death. He tried to kill you. If…if he hadn’t, maybe you wouldn’t have split with Sir Liam.”

“True.” Would Sir Liam have survived the perils of the Tower if Arran had accompanied him? “But you never met the man. I could be spinning this story out of air, for all you know.”

Ally blinked. “I…don’t know. I don’t know why. Something about him infuriates me.” 

“Betrayal is the worst of sins,” said Arran. 

“Yes…but I don’t know why it infuriates me so.” She shrugged. “It just does, I guess.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Arran slid Luthar’s sword back into its scabbard. “Rembiar is dead. He could not be the thing of nightmare Luthar foresaw.” He blinked. “But perhaps the children of the void.”

“The what?” Ally sat up straighter, her dark eyes narrowing. “The children of the void? Is that what you said?” Arran nodded. “What are they?” 

“I have not yet told you,” said Arran. He remembered their dark shapes, their whispering voices, and shuddered. “I saw them in the Tower…”

“Damn!” Ally glared at her watch. 

“What is it?” 

“I have to go.” She began to scoop up her backpack. 

“Very well. I can continue tomorrow night.”

“No.” She stood, pulling on her long green coat. 

Arran’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Arran, listen to me.” Ally closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ve told you that I was adopted, right? I don’t remember anything that happened before I was ten or eleven.” 

Arran nodded. “You did.” He stood next her. “You told me that.” He did not want her to flee from him. She held all his answers, he knew, the key to all the mysteries that plagued him. 

She shook her head, flame-red hair brushing her cheeks. “Everything you’ve told me…I believe you. I don’t know why. It’s…it’s as if I’ve heard all these names and places before, somewhere, only I don’t remember them.”

Arran nodded. 

“Tonight is Lithon’s birthday.” She blinked. “Well, not really. We don’t know his real birthday, so we picked November to celebrate it. And my parents…tonight they’re going to tell me. Everything. They never told me before, and I never asked. Well, I did ask, but I never really pushed.” She took a deep breath. “They’re going to tell tonight. And if their story matches what you’ve told me, in any way…then I’ll ask them to let you meet Lithon.” 

“You will?” said Arran. “Thank you.”

“But only if what my parents tell me matches with your story,” said Ally.

“It will.” Arran stepped closer. “Lithon is the King of Carlisan. And you…I don’t know who you are. But you are…special, somehow, I cannot say how. I know it.”

They stared at each other without blinking. 

And for a moment Arran felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. No. That would be madness. He was so close to finding Lithon, and he could risk scaring her away.

But the urge remained nonetheless.

Ally looked away first, licking her lips. “Well, thank you, I think. I have to go back to my dorm.” 

“Might I walk you there?” 

Ally’s face worked through a number of expression before she smiled. “All…all right. I suppose I trust you that much.” She slid her backpack over her shoulders. “This way.”

Arran pulled on his overcoat, retrieved Luthar’s Sacred Blade, and followed her outside. The night sky had the faint purple cast of early winter. Their breath steamed in the air, and Ally pulled her coat tighter against the chill 

“Where do you live?” said Ally.

Arran glanced at her. “Live?” He clipped his Sacred Blade to his belt and slung Luthar’s over his shoulder, the hilt rising past the collar of his coat. 

“I mean, where are you staying?” said Ally. “I don’t think you’re sleeping in a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere.” 

“After I passed through the Tower,” said Arran. “The door opened into a small wood behind a large white house. A woman named Dr. Heloise Francis owns the house. I stopped a trio of brigands from killing her and looting her house. Out of gratitude, she allowed me to stay with her while I searched for Alastarius and King Lithon.” He gestured at his clothes. “She also purchased these clothes, and has told me much of the ways of your world.”

“Dr. Francis?” Ally shook her head. “You’re kidding me.”

“I am not,” said Arran.

“No, it’s not that. I don’t think you’re lying. It’s just…I know Dr. Francis. She was one of my dad’s teachers. They’re still good friends. And that white house…my dad and my grandma used to live there.” She stiffened. “That…clearing in the woods, behind the house. That means there’s a door to the Tower there.” She shivered. “No wonder.” 

“You’ve seen the door?” said Arran. 

“No. I…just thought there was something there. I could feel it.” She looked him in the eye, her jaw set. “Why did you bother?”

“Bother with what?”

Ally waved her hand. “All of this. Telling me your story. You could have found out about Lithon from Dr. Francis. Or you could have just followed me home. They used to call you the Ghost of Carlisan, right? You could have broken into the university, found my records,” she made a face, “assuming no one accidentally deleted them, again. So why are you bothering with this?”

Arran took a deep breath. “I wanted you to trust me. I did not want you to think me an agent of Marugon. And I did not want to offend your protectors.”

“Protectors?” said Ally. “You mean my parents?”

“No.” Arran shook his head. “Your bodyguards. I see them every now and again, following you.” 

“I don’t have any bodyguards,” said Ally. “And no one’s following me.” She frowned. “Unless…no, I scared them off, I think.”

“Who?” said Arran, concerned. If someone was following her…

“No one, I think,” said Ally. “There were some wannabe stalkers a few weeks ago.”

“Stalkers?” said Arran. “Why would someone stalk you?” But he knew the answer. If Marugon or his minions had learned of her or Lithon…

Ally shrugged. “Got me. It happens more often than I like. Some guy talks to a girl once or twice and then he gets obsessed with her.”

“It is not hard to see why,” said Arran. “You must have had a dozen suitors vying for your attention.”

“Thank you.” Ally blinked. “I think. Ah…not that I’ve had very many suitors. Or…um…” She turned red and fell silent.

They walked in silence to the university campus and Ally’s dorm building. A car pulled up in the parking lot, its engine coughing and wheezing. The headlights flicked off and Ally’s friend Mary Lucas emerged from the vehicle. 

“Mary!” Ally called. “Over here.”

Mary grinned and hurried over. “Ally!” Her expression darkened. “It’s him.”

Arran put his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Most observant.”

“Oh, so good to see you again, Mr. Belphon,” said Mary. “Ally, why are you hanging out with him? He scared you half to death the first time you met. And he’s got to be like, fifty years old, or something. Isn’t that just a bit creepy, hanging out with a fifty year old guy?”

“I’m not quite that old, thank you,” said Arran. 

“It’s not that, Mary,” said Ally. “It’s…it’s…oh, I’ll explain it to you in the car.” She turned. “Arran. I’ll come to the coffeehouse tomorrow. Wait for me, okay?”

Arran nodded. “I shall.” She and Mary climbed into the car and drove off. Arran watched them go, his eye following the passage their car…and he glimpsed a dark haired man ducking behind a blue public mailbox. 

Arran’s eyes narrowed. 

He walked away at an unhurried pace, keeping the mailbox in the corner of his vision. After a moment the dark-haired man stood and strode away. Arran had seen him before. He had been following Ally, along with an older bearded man. He had assumed them to be bodyguards. 

Yet Ally knew nothing of any bodyguards. 

Arran decided to investigate for himself. He loosed his gun in its holster and started after the dark-haired young man. 

###

Mary punched the gas, her old car rumbling forward. “So why were you hanging out with him anyway?” 

“I don’t know,” said Ally. “He was telling me about himself.”

Mary snorted. “Oh, sure. I suppose he likes foreign films, long walks on the beach, and sitting before a fireplace with a glass of wine.”

Ally thought about this for a moment. “I don’t think he even knows what a movie is.” 

Mary shook her head. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you see in him.” 

“That’s not it,” said Ally, rubbing her hands together. “I don’t see anything in him.”

“You do too,” said Mary. “I saw you watching him.”

“Fine!” snapped Ally. “Maybe I do. Does it matter?” She tapped the heater’s dial. “Does this thing even work? It’s freezing in here.” 

“Sometimes,” said Mary. “It’s an old car. The rest of the time I bring a cup of very hot coffee.” She sighed. “I’m just worried about you, okay?”

Ally rolled her eyes. “Mary. You’re always worried about me. We must have had this conversation about ten thousand times.” 

“Yeah, but now I’m really worried about you.” They pulled up to a stoplight. Mary reached under the seat, retrieved a pair of gloves, and pulled them onto her hands. “I mean, it’s just not like you, hanging out with this guy twice your age.”