Castle Perilous (28 page)

Vorn watched for as long as he could, then averted his eyes. There was a brilliant, actinic flash. When he could, Vorn looked again. A white ring of vapor was expanding at astonishing speed from the epicenter of the explosion. But the epicenter itself — that he could make no sense of, at first. It was something huge and dark. It was not smoke or fire, but a shape, a thing.

Then the thing unfurled its wings and darkened the world beneath. Its head reared up, and its eyes were like windows to Hell. Its great taloned feet splayed out, eager to pounce, to tear, to crush.

Vorn found himself screaming. He wanted to run but he could not. The face of the beast stopped his heart, its eyes pierced him to the soul. Shouts, shrieks, curses, appeals to deities rose up from the troops. Some began running. Most, like Vorn, were transfixed.

The ring of vapor reached them with the sound of thunder, much like that produced by the flying ship that had sailed overhead a while ago. A blast of air hit, and tents blew down.

The titanic beast was on the wing, coming this way. Its faceted eyes searched the ground, its horrid mouth opened, and a cataract of fire spilled forth.

Vorn's mind slowly formed dim thoughts. He had been bewitched . . . she had been lying . . . he was dead, as were all his dreams of empire.

So be it. He dropped his cloak and drew his sword. He was still Vorn, Prince and Conqueror. He raised his head. The beast blotted out the sky with its vast obscene bulk. Vorn beheld, but could not grasp it. No human mind could apperceive its structure, or figure its lineaments, or live to tell of the horror of its ugliness, its loathsomeness, its frightfulness. . . .

His last thought was of how angry his mother would be with him for acting so foolishly.

 

It was good to destroy once again. The world below had much need of cleansing. Flecks of corruption moved across its surface. It had been long. How long? It did not matter.

The demon now knew its name. It opened its mouth and spoke it.

“RAMTHONODOX!” The roar shattered the air, and raised dust on the ground.

It opened its mouth again and vomited fire, cleansing fire. It spilled forth its fury, giving vent to all its hatred of earthly things. Sheets of flame spread, covering the plain. From below came pitiable cries and exclamations, and the sounds gladdened it to the core of its being. All below was consumed.
 

Spent at last, it rose on great wings and sought the cold skies.

 

 

 

Atop The Citadel, And At Its Base

 

They faced each other across a bleak plateau. The castle was gone, nothing but bare earth remained.

“It is done,” she said. “You were right. I cannot control the beast.”

“You have unleashed an ancient evil. Have you no regrets?”

She was silent, staring at the ground. Then she said, “I do not know. Now that I have accomplished my purpose, I feel strangely empty.”

“Your madness has run its course. The maggot has eaten its way out of you.”

“And left a shell? Perhaps. I cannot fathom why I feel this way.”

“You have loosed the beast to destroy the world, as you wanted to.”

“Could I have wanted that? I wanted to rule the world.”

“The desire to rule, to dictate, is born of nothing but contempt.”

“You may be right. It is so strange. I feel nothing. Nothing whatever. I am weak. I have used all the power I had within me.”

“And it was considerable. But you will not get your wish. The world will not die, neither will you. Neither shall the beast be loosed.”

“How will all this be prevented?”

“By magic, of course. I will use the same spell that trapped the beast three thousand years ago.”

She shook her head. “You cannot do it. The stars are not right. The beast is now forewarned. You will not be able to lure it down again from its home in the skies. It will descend only to destroy.”

“The missing aspect will offset those unfavorable conditions. The beast cannot exist in its incomplete state. It will return of its own accord and will bargain with me. It will see that there is only one course open to it.”

“So you hope.”

“I know, Melydia. One thing — I will need your help. I will need protection.” He pointed to the still form of the scribe at his feet. “So will your servant.”

“I will do this thing. Methinks you have bespelled me.”

“I have. Your madness is gone. Forgive me, it was a precaution.”

“I only wish you could have done it earlier.”

“That was not possible, as you well know.”

“Of course,” she said. “Only now am I vulnerable . . . so to speak.”

“Enough. May we begin?”

“You need no accouterments? No paraphernalia?”

“None. The spell is purely mental in execution.”

She pointed to the sky. “Behold, the beast rises.”

“It will return soon, if all goes according to plan.”

 

The tunnel had been dark, lit only by the strange glow that had stayed with him through the underworld. The aura of his sainthood? But he saw light ahead, daylight. He smelled the outdoors. It was strange, because he hadn't smelled it for so long. A cool breeze came to him.

He rounded a bend and saw the mouth of the cave a short distance ahead. He hurried, wondering what would be waiting for him out there.

He came out into bright day. He walked out from the base of the cliff and looked up. He was at the foot of the castle's citadel. He could not see the castle, which he found strange. Perhaps if he got out a little farther.

The plain was bare, empty, nothing but dried grass and rock.

Wait! Wasn't the camp of the besiegers out here somewhere? Perhaps on the other side of the promontory. No, he was sure it was this side.

He lifted his eyes heavenward. “Speak, O Great Holy Voice! Speak to thy servant!”

He searched the skies. There was something up there, circling, some great black shape. A bird? No. It was descending, growing bigger.

Presently he saw what it was. He did not completely understand what it was, but he knew the thing sought him, and he knew he had been betrayed.

His heart gave out before he reached the cave.

 

The beast spoke.

You, again.

“Yes.”

Like your fathers before you, you seek to enslave me.

“You have no choice. Only I can make you whole again.”

Free me now from your thrall, and I shall heal myself.

“You know you can't. The fragment is only a metaphor. You are nothing but metaphor.”

Yet I am real.

“I wonder. Or are you merely our reflection?”

I AM NO ONE'S REFLECTION! I AM RAMTHONODOX! I WILL EAT THE INTESTINES OF MY ENEMIES!

“Enough of that nonsense. I offer you a proposition. You have no choice. Perhaps one day you will gain your freedom again. It is not impossible. You are immortal, are you not? One day Man, your enemy, will be gone, and the world will be yours once more.”

No, I fear the world will never again be mine. I will fade to nothingness. The earth will belong to the small, the insignificant.

“Perhaps. But time will tell. And time you have aplenty.”

It was good to cleanse the world once again.

“I'm glad you had fun. Now you must rest.”

I feel weak.

“Of course. You will feel weaker.”

Help me.

“I shall. Come closer.”

The sky darkened as the huge form bore down. Parts of the beast became indistinct. Multicolored flashes broke out along its vast bulk. A strong wind suddenly rose, whipping dust about the citadel.

I do not do this willingly.

“Doubtless not. Be quiet.”

Whirling clouds appeared, at their center a growing vortex of blackness.

I could crush you. A gargantuan foot hovered above.

“You would not last long in your present incomplete state. And you know it.”

There was a sound not unlike a sigh, and very like a fierce gale.

I suppose you are right.

The clouds rotated faster, and the vortex grew.

I feel myself becoming something other than myself.

“This won't hurt a bit.”

The world imploded into blackness.

 

He couldn't find a sign. Coming to the mouth of the ramp he had driven down, he looked up, saw it was a long way to walk, dangerous, too, and decided there must be a stairwell, better yet, an elevator around somewhere.

He searched in vain. He did find a featureless corridor which met another at a T. To his right the way was dark, so he turned left, turned again at an L, and found himself back in the sepulchral silence of the garage again. Sighing, he retraced his steps, passed the intersection of the first corridor and continued on into the darkness. Feeling his way, he went about thirty paces until he bumped into a wall. The passageway turned to the right, still unlighted, and continued interminably.

Another turn, and there was light up ahead.

He saw the dark stone masonry, the jewel-torch, and wondered where the hell he was. He stopped. Suddenly he couldn't bear the thought of facing another useless interview for a job he really didn't want. Why not face it? He was unemployable, at least as far as white-collar jobs went. So what was wrong with blue-collar occupations? This sudden impulse to drop back in, to “get a job and settle down,” was just a response to pressure from his parents. Wasn't it? Knee-jerk bourgeois security-seeking.

Well, to hell with USX, and to hell with getting a “good job.” He'd tend bar, open a bookstore, go to Europe . . . something. To hell with everything.

He looked down the hall at the strange discontinuity. He took a step forward. . . .

 

It was an ordinary California day, bright sun, blue sky, haze, smog, and Linda was tired of it.

She was tired of everything. She didn't think she could get through another day.

She had tried calling her sister, but Sharon was at a rehabilitation nurses' convention in Denver. Linda didn't feel like bothering her. She had always been able to talk to Sharon, but what exactly was the point now?

Still, she couldn't think of suicide. It would kill Mother, and she couldn't stomach the thought of lying there in the casket with all the old biddies in the family talking in whispers about her. And the gossip. Did you hear about the Barclay girl? No, the younger one. Did you know what they're saying about how she died?

Ugh.

Maybe she was just afraid of dying. She was afraid of everything else. Afraid of living. But she did have a death wish — wasn't that what the pills were all about? Maybe she should go back to popping pills. That way, death would come and she wouldn't have to act, to make a decision. . . .

She was disgusted with herself.

She got up from the bed and went to the closet. She really should get out of this filthy T-shirt. Look at all this laundry lying here. She should get up off her butt and get down to the Laundromat —

Her closet had gotten a lot bigger. She wondered who had torn out the rear wall. And what was out there? It looked like the inside of a church, or a castle or something. . . .

 

Kwip paced his cell, contemplating the life of a thief. His life. A good life? No. The only one he could have led? Mayhap not. He wondered, as he had always wondered, if he could have been anything else. If only he were not such an accomplished thief! But to what station in life could he have hoped to rise, he a low-born guttersnipe, an orphan, an unwanted child? He had found it necessary to steal in order to survive. There had been no other course to follow. Perhaps in a better world — ah, but there were no other worlds, were there?

Kwip turned about and beheld the doorway.

 

When the ice bridge collapsed, Snowclaw had thought he was going to die, but now that he had time to assess the situation, he was sure he was going to. He was never going to be able to climb out of this crevasse, no one was anywhere near, and that was that. He'd stay here till he froze or starved. He'd probably starve first.

He was hungry already. He hated the thought of starving to death. Really hated it. He'd much rather freeze to death, but he knew there was no chance of that this time of year. He'd just get miserably cold. He growled and pounded his huge fist against the wall of ice at his back.

Right. There was no other choice. He'd use his claws and open up an artery, and that would be that. He flexed the muscles of his left hand. Bone-white claws extruded from the ends of his fingers.

He turned his head to the left, noticing that the ledge extended quite some way into the dark crevasse. Maybe he should . . . No, there'd be nothing. The ledge would peter out a little way down. He extended his claws again. Damn. What a stupid way to go.

Afterward, Incarnadine could not locate Melydia. He searched the reconstructed castle, but she was nowhere to be found. Therefore he was surprised when she spoke to him.

Incarnadine.

He stopped in his tracks. “Melydia?”

I am here. I am part of what is around you.

“How?” he asked.

My strength was drained, all my spells gone. I was dying. Then . . .

“I see. Then we will always be together, in a sense.”

Yes, my love. Yes.

He discovered Osmirik in the library, already hard at work.

 

 

 

Castle

 

On his way to the family quarters he ran into the great white beast, the girl, and the young man.

“Welcome. I see you've met up again. These things are preordained, I've always thought.”

The young man looked blankly at his companions, then said, “I'm sorry? We just ran into each other in the basement of this place. Who are you? And where the hell are we, if you don't mind my asking?”

The King and Lord Protector smiled. “The name's Incarnadine. This is my place.” He gestured about. “Really something, isn't it?”