torg 02 - The Dark Realm (30 page)

The infinite storm went on, howling, and some of that howl was the rushing wind and the little flicks of blue or red lightning. And some of that howl was the infinite pain of the Gaunt Man, forever dying, forever being reborn.

Tom O'Malley appeared from out of the darkness on the other side of the storm, giving the area of localized destruction a wide berth. Beside him were Pluppa and Grim, Toolpin and Gutterby. Neither Braxon nor Triad were with them, and that saddened the priest.

"Let's get out of this place," Bryce said when Tom and the others drew near.

No one disagreed.

126

At the same instant that the Maelstrom formed around the Gaunt Man, when the forces of creation and destruction met and consumed the sorting machine, Andrew Jackson Decker collapsed.

He had been watching the fight of the werecreatures, totally amazed by Kurst's ability to become not only a regular-looking wolf and a massive, demonic man- wolf, but also to shift into a huge werebear. It was the werebear that finally destroyed the weretiger. As the bear's claws (which looked disturbingly like human fingers) raised to deliver their killing blow, Decker doubled over in pain.

Something was happening! The staves in his chest grew exceedingly hotter, burning his flesh. He was engulfed in darkness, eventually regaining vision along the shore of the blood-red beach. The doors were there, stretched out before him in endless, haphazard rows. Above the doors, hanging low in the sky, was the pattern that he had been creating earlier. It was the pattern of the Gaunt Man's victory, the pattern that left no room for failures or defeats. But the Gaunt Man never was able to imbue that pattern with reality and, as Decker watched, the latticework crumbled, falling to the sand without a sound.

The doors began to tip, then, falling like dominoes before an unseen wind. When the doors had all been knocked down, Decker saw the Gaunt Man standing in their place. He looked at Decker with a hateful gaze. Then he opened his mouth to scream. But before any sound could emerge, the Gaunt Man exploded into a thousand shards of light.

The blackness returned, then faded ...

Decker was looking up from the ground. Julie was standing over him, and Kurst. They helped him up.

"The runes are gone, Decker," Kurst said matter-of- factly. "The others must have succeeded. The machine is destroyed."

"Oh thank God," Julie said, throwing her arms around the congressman. He didn't resist.

Decker held on to Julie, squeezing her tightly. He let all of the fear and pain wash out of him as his tears mingled with hers. They kissed, and Decker thought that there could be no better medicine for the recent pain.

When their lips reluctantly parted, he looked at Kurst, standing nearby in man form. Decker reached out, taking the hunter's hand. The three remained that way for a time, then Decker remembered the current situation.

"I'm glad you're here, Kurst, however you managed it," Decker said. "I could use your help with another matter. I'm on my way to the front lines to help them turn back Baruk Kaah's forces."

Kurst nodded, but he didn't say whether he agreed with the plan or not.

"But first, I have to go say good-by to someone," Decker said, gently removing Julie's arms from around himself. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be right back."

Decker and Colonel McCall stood over the bed that held the body of President Jonathan Wells. Neither man spoke. They just stood, silently, paying their final respects to the man who had led the country through these opening weeks of the invasion.

After a time, McCall left quietly, leaving Decker alone with the man who started him on the road that led to this place.

"I'm sorry, John," Decker said. "I should have stopped the gunman. I failed you."

He bent his head, letting the tears flow freely down his cheeks.

"I promise you I'll do whatever I can to stop these invaders," he said. "And then I'll try to find out who killed you. And why."

Decker said a prayer over his friend. For Wells, the bad times were over. He was finally at peace. But as for Decker and the others? The congressman had no clue. But he had a feeling.

And the feeling told him that the days were going to get worse before they got any better.

127

Tolwyn led the group up the stairs, seeking a way out of the hellish place called Illmound Keep. She quickly checked off the companions still with her, remembering each one with fondness and a touch of sadness.

Djil, the black man from her dreams, was right behind her. Christopher Bryce followed after that, helping the wounded Mara, lending her his support. Tom and the dwarves held up the rear. Only Pluppa, Gutterby, Grim, and Toolpin remained of the company of seven. She grieved for their losses.

The house itself had changed as they made their way out of the dungeons. No longer were the walls of wood and stone. Now they were of flesh and bone, and blood dripped from the walls in dizzying designs of crimson. But nothing barred their way, and soon they were out of the mound of flesh that once appeared as a fine manor house. Kurst had told them that nothing was as it seemed, so maybe this was the keep's true form. She ignored it and hurried on.

She stopped what few servants they came upon, asking where she might find Uthorion. But none of them answered her, and her rage built. Finally, just before they reached the place where they had left the horses and carriage, the winged demon named Thratchen stepped into their path.

"No more fighting, Tolwyn," the demon said, holding his hands open before her. "You have all performed in a spectacular fashion. Much better than I had hoped. What you did to the Gaunt Man ... why, the idea never crossed my mind! Now I will help you one last time, and then we will be done with each other."

Tolwyn looked for some sign of deception, for some hint of trap. She found none.

"Speak, Thratchen, then move out of our way," she said.

"Of course," the demon smiled. "I just wanted to inform you that Uthorion is no longer in Orrorsh. He hasn't been for a number of centuries now."

Tolwyn lunged, grabbing the demon by his leather shirt. "Where is he, Thratchen! Tell me or I swear ..."

"Please," he said, brushing her off of him. "I was getting around to it. You'll find the one called Uthorion in Aysle."

"Aysle?" Tolwyn said, letting the revelation batter her.

"Yes, Aysle," the demon repeated. "So take your

company and begone from this realm. From my realm!"

Thratchen bowed, then flew back toward Illmound Keep.

128

Number 3327 sat in his very comfortable black chair, at his very functional black-and-chrome desk, carefully arranging various-sized metal ball bearings atop a magnetic disk. Behind him, a bank of dark television monitors sprang to life.

"Number 3327, did you feel the disturbance?" asked the image that appeared on the upper-left monitor.

"What was it? Has something gone wrong?" blurted the face on the middle monitor.

"I believe that the disturbance comes from Orrorsh," said the image on the lower-right screen.

"Yes, the Gaunt Man must be up to something again," added the face on the lower-middle screen.

"What do you think, Number 3327?" asked the image on the middle-left screen.

"You know what I think," said Number 3327, rocking back in his chair. "Now leave me," he ordered, and the screens went dark.

He lifted one of the metal balls gently, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. It was a perfect sphere, yet there were a million imperfections that could be revealed under the gaze of a microsensor. Number 3327 hated imperfections. He dropped the ball back onto the magnetic sculpture, then slid the entire toy — balls, disk, and all, into the garbage slot on the edge of his desk. The sonic disruptors evaporated it instantly.

Number 3327 pressed the intercom switch.

"Yes, Kanawa-sama?" asked an unseen secretary.

"Send in Nagoya," he ordered, deciding to dispense

with the conventions of courtesy today.

"Right away, Kanawa-sama," the secretary answered.

Number 3327 leaned back in his chair. What had happened in Orrorsh realm? he wondered. What had the Gaunt Man done that sent ripples through the realities, even as far away as his own realm? He checked the computer monitor on the desk, calling up information on the planet's spin. It was still slowing down, approximately three weeks away from stopping completely. That didn't leave Number 3327 a lot of time to make preparations.

He hated not having time to make preparations.

Epilogue

Before the Earth stops spinning, an awful lot of garbage is going to settle to the surface. The Delphi Council is dedicated to cleaning up the mess.

— Ellen Conners

129

Dennis Quartermain sat behind the great oak desk in the President's office in Houston, Texas. He ran his fingers over the wood, admiring its texture. Leaning back in the plush chair, he put his feet up on the desk and laughed. Yes! This seat felt very good! He liked it already! But the curtains would have to go. They were too ... homey. The windows in the office of the President of the United States called for curtains that were extravagant.

Except for a blotter, a pen and pencil set, and a photograph of Wells' wife and daughter that rested in a simple frame, the desk was pristine. The President had cleaned up all of the papers that had been piled atop it since the last time Quartermain visited the office. There was also one other item on the desk, positioned neatly beside the photograph. It was an old baseball, sitting on a wooden holder. Quartermain lifted it from its stand, feeling the weight of it. He tossed it once, twice, catching it easily. He smiled. Then he noticed that the ball was autographed. Turning it slightly, Quartermain read the signature.

"Ace Decker."

He threw the ball into the trash basket beside the desk with a sudden fury. It made a loud, resounding clang. With the Decker memorabilia out of sight, Quartermain's mood brightened considerably and he smiled.

A knock at the door startled him. Quartermain quickly got out of the chair, moved out from behind the desk, and called, "Come in."

General Clay Powell entered the room, wearing a grim expression. Quartermain forced the smirk off his own lips. He knew what the General was going to say, and the thought made him feel powerful, omnipotent.

"I've just received the news, Dennis," Powell said quietly. "It's not good. There's been an incident at Twentynine Palms."

Time to put on a show, Quartermain thought. "What happened? Is it the President?"

Powell nodded. "He was shot, Dennis. Point-blank range, in the head. There was nothing anyone could do."

"What are you saying, Clay?" Quartermain feigned.

"John Wells has been assassinated," Powell said, his voice cracking as though he were about to cry. "You're the President now, Dennis. The ball's in your court."

Quartermain dropped into the chair behind the desk, looking as shocked as he could. Actually, he had spoken to Lance Odell only a few minutes prior to this meeting and had been filled in on all the wonderful details.

"If there is anything I can do..." Powell started to say, but Quartermain waved him off.

"Right now I'd just like some time alone, Clay," Quartermain said, choking back a fake sob.

"Of course," Powell replied, taking his leave.

When he was gone, Quartermain picked up the telephone. "This is Dennis Quartermain," he said when the secretary answered on the other end. "I need to make two phone calls. First, get me Ellen Conners over at the Delphi Council headquarters. Then, I want you to find a way to put me in touch with Quin Sebastian. Yes, I know he's in the field. But Wells would have left a way to reach him. Now do it."

Then he sat back to wait for his calls to come through.

130

Quin Sebastian sat in the mess hall of the relocation center in Frankfort, Kentucky. He had spoken to a lot of the people who had traveled up from New York, making notes all over the maps he had with him. He had a good idea of where he was going to start looking for Douglas Kent, once he made his way through the Zone of Silence and into Manhattan.

Sebastian had also gathered information about the invaders from both official and unofficial sources. The idea of dinosaurs and intelligent lizard men didn't frighten him. To the contrary, it fascinated him.

He finished his coffee and was preparing to get a second cup when an officer approached him. The relocation center was under military command, and officers frequently wandered around the facility. This was the first time one of them came over to talk to him.

"Quin Sebastian?" the lieutenant asked.

"Why?" Quin asked back.

"The farmer wants to talk to the field, sir," the lieutenant said seriously, giving him the code that meant President John Wells wanted to speak to him.

"Where?" Quin asked.

"This way," the lieutenant answered, motioning for Quin to follow him.

He did.

The phone wasn't one of the sleek, modern types. It was an old rotary model, molded in basic black. But it looked like it worked and it was in a relatively private location. When the lieutenant excused himself, Quin lifted the phone to his mouth.

"Yes," was all he said.

"Sebastian? This is Dennis Quartermain," the voice on the other end of the line said.

Quin was prepared to hang up the phone when Quartermain said, "Wells is dead. He's been assassinated. Want to talk now?"

"Go ahead," Quin replied, keeping his voice neutral.