Final Kingdom (16 page)

Lothag could not imagine what lay beyond that door.

“Come,” the Dark Lord said again, detaching a wall torch. He pulled the door open to reveal a tunnel.

The Dark Lord led the way, holding the torch before him. They made several turns before coming to the most shocking thing of all. Suddenly Lothag found himself in a gigantic cavern. Stalactites glistened like huge icicles. Millions of bats left the ceiling with a roar like thunder as their leathery wings beat the air.

“Here it is,” the Dark Lord said, ignoring the sound. He waved his torch, and Lothag bent forward. He could not see in the murkiness. “What is it, sire?”

“The door to the pit!”

And then Lothag saw that, indeed, at the center of the cavern floor was what appeared to be another door of heavy brass. It was fully fifty feet across and was secured to the solid stone with huge steel bolts. Some apparatus was attached to the ceiling above it, with cables descending and fastening themselves to a massive ring.

Lothag swallowed hard. “The door . . . to the pit, my lord?”

The Dark Lord seemed not to have heard him. He was muttering, “I thought never to open this—but now I have no choice.” He moved to the cave wall where a single lever extended. “Come here,” he said. “You see where the tunnel continues?”

Lothag looked to where a large blackness gaped.

“Yes, I see it.”

“That tunnel will take us to the surface. But now, take heed. When I open the door to the pit you will meet something you have never seen before.” The Dark Lord licked his lips nervously. “You may call it The Terror, if you please.”

Something in the words
The Terror
struck that very emotion in Lothag. Something was not human
about this, something he could not identify. His hands began to tremble. “Sire, what—what is it?”

“The Terror comes from the bowels of the earth. It has been bound in this pit for longer than men's minds go back. Even before Oldworld was destroyed, The Terror was here, and now we must loose it.”

“But, sire, what
is
it?”

“It is a foul spirit. No—more than that. It is a foul
presence.
I cannot say whether it is flesh. I was able to control it once, but it has had centuries to nurse its resentment. When I pull this lever, you and I both may be annihilated.”

“Then do not pull it, sire!”

“I will!
I must! I will defeat Goél. He cannot stand against The Terror. I will control it. Yes, I will control it.”

The Dark Lord leaned on the lever. There was a creaking, and some obscure machinery began to grind.

Lothag watched in horror as the cables tightened. He wished they would break. Whatever was under that massive gate, he did not want to see.

But the cables did not break. A sudden snapping sound echoed in Lothag's ears, and then the brass plate lifted slowly. It cleared the opening, swung to one side, and dropped with a clanking onto the stone floor.

For some few moments there was no further sound, nothing at all, and Lothag hoped fervently that whatever was in that hole had died! But then there came a distant rumbling, and it sent horror through him. He would have run, but his legs seemed to have failed him, they trembled so violently.

And then he saw it!

Up out of the darkness rose something even blacker than that from which it arose. It was impossible to tell the shape. It was like a swirling, angry cloud, and
inside it was flashing lightning. It was more monstrous than anything had ever been.

The Dark Lord approached it. “I command you, come with me. You must fight my battles!”

A hissing sound emerged from the center of the darkness that marked the creature—whatever it was— and the lightning flashes grew brighter. The thing moved forward.

The Dark Lord threw up a hand and began to speak words that Lothag could not understand. The commander fell to his knees, for fear drained him of his manhood. He saw the shadow touch the very robe of the Dark Lord—and then stop.

The Dark Lord gasped, but then he said, “Now, follow me, commander!”

Lothag scrambled to his feet. He could not run quickly enough to get to the tunnel toward which the Dark Lord moved. Anything to get away from The Terror!

They reached the tunnel opening and entered darkness that was broken only by their single torch. Behind them, a high-pitched keening sounded, growing steadily louder as they hurried upward toward the surface. Then they emerged, and Lothag saw that they were outside the walls of the Dread Tower.

The Dark Lord lifted his voice to the sentry. “Bring out the troops. We move to the Plains of Dothan.”

“What will happen?” Lothag gasped, his mouth dry with fear.

“You will see. Goél's forces may stand against human assault, but they will never stand against this.” He waved his hand at the blob of darkness that had issued from the tunnel behind them.

The Terror, Lothag saw, had a changing form continually, and little wisps of fire showed themselves
from within the depths of the awful, beastlike creature.

“Now, we will see if Goél will stand! He will not! They will all die!” the Dark Lord cried. He mounted the battle horse a soldier brought forward. “Come, Lothag. Now, we will see how goes the battle.”

“What's going on?” Josh asked wearily. Battling had drained him dry, and grief for his lost companions was a constant pain. Strangely, the Dark Lord's forces had abruptly withdrawn two days earlier, but now Josh saw something moving on the horizon. “Get the men up,” he said to Beorn. “They're coming back.”

The warriors pulled themselves to their feet, tested their weapons, and reformed their line. They stood silently waiting, watching the battle lines of the Dark Lord form.

But then Josh saw something strange and new.

“The lines are parting,” Reb said. “What's that coming through the middle?” He shaded his eyes. “I don't know what
that
is, but it's not good.”

“Some monkey business of the Dark Lord,” Dave muttered. “Well, we'll just have to stand against it.”

And then a tall figure—it was the Dark Lord himself—rode forth, trailed by a man in the uniform of a commander. He rode to within calling distance and shouted, “Goél, show yourself!”

“I am here.” The answer came at once in ringing tones. “What would you have of me?”

The Dark Lord laughed wildly. “I would have your life and the lives of those who have served you. You have had your chance to surrender. Now, once more I will offer your followers my mercy.”

Goél stepped into view, still wearing his gray garb and the sword at his side. “I well know
your
mercy.
You have shown it in your enslavement of my people. What would you have with me?” he asked again.

The Dark Lord shook his head. “This ends your puny reign! The House of Goél falls this day. Its foundations are shaken.” He looked back, made a forward motion with his hand, and screamed a command.

Josh blinked at what happened next. “What's
that?”
he said.

Sarah was beside him. “I don't know. It looks like a cloud, a black cloud.”

“Look at Goél!” Dave cried at the top of his lungs, and the Sleepers all turned toward their leader.

Goél was advancing toward the black cloud, and as he advanced he drew his sword. It glittered in the sunlight. With his free hand he stripped off the gray outer robe and threw it aside.

“I've never seen him like
that!”
Sarah whispered.

Underneath his robe Goél wore a white garment— no, it was more than white. It would have put white to shame. It glowed like light itself. His head held high, he raised the sword, saying, “You have brought The Terror? We shall see then who will rule Nuworld!”

A cry went up from both armies as the dark shadow of The Terror rolled forward. There was a crackling in the air, and inside the darkness of the beast were flashings of fire. One flash lashed out toward the figure of Goél. He met it with a slash of his gleaming sword. A deep roar burst from The Terror. Then the thing threw itself forward, and the two armies could do nothing but watch as the adversaries met.

Goél's sword flashed quicker than light as The Terror's fiery rays tried to envelop him. He took more than one blow, but he was singing as he wielded the sword, and it was a song of victory.

Josh could hear the words. He didn't know if the
enemy could understand the song; Goél's followers did. It told of the courage of those who had followed him. It spoke of the love of comradeship, the love of one soldier for another—and be they men or women, that love would never die. There was comfort for Goél's people in the song. But Josh could not understand how their leader could sing so victoriously when it appeared he would be overwhelmed by a monster such as this one.

The roar of The Terror split the air. It threw itself forward time and again, only to be thrust back by the flashing, wheeling sword of Goél. The creature's voice was hoarse and shrill at the same time. It crackled with fury. It was as if all the thunderstorms in the world had bound themselves into this one awful, dark cloud and now were determined to annihilate the tall, glowing figure that stood against it so valiantly!

Josh did not know how long the battle raged, but suddenly he realized that the tide had turned. Goél took a step forward and then another. And another. The fiery tentacles lashed out, but he laughed aloud and said, “Taste now the wrath of Goél!” He ran toward The Terror then and seemed to throw himself into the very depths of the monster's darkness!

Josh's heart almost stopped when that happened, but then he cried, “Look—look at it, Sarah!”

Sarah was indeed looking, staring.

The Terror seemed to fly apart. The flashing sword of Goél reached its vitals. Its darkness grew gray . . . broke into tiny fragments. . .and then it was gone!

A sudden, mighty cry of victory went up all along the line of Goél's army.

Goél turned to his followers. “Come, my children,” he cried. “The day is ours!”

That was all the army needed! Goél led the way.
The Sleepers rushed forward, Reb Jackson in the lead, waving his sword and giving the Confederate Rebel cry.

The army of the Dark Lord turned on its heels. They fled in terror, led in their retreat by the Dark Lord himself, who turned his horse's head back toward the tower.

“Come!” he screamed. “They cannot get at us inside the tower. Fight your way back. Hold an honorable retreat!”

Josh laughed at this and slapped Reb on the back, who in turn slapped Beorn's back, and then Dave joined them, and then Sarah.

“Let's see if he can stop this bunch,” Reb yelled.

And thus the final battle began, and Josh knew that there would be no end until the Dark Lord bowed his knee to Goél.

T
he Dread Tower stood like a lean, black forefinger pointing to the sky. The Dark Lord and his followers had frantically retreated to their citadel, and now he marched around the parapet, muttering as he watched Goél's host gathering outside, preparing for attack. Turning to his commander, he snapped, “We should charge them!”

“No, my lord!” Lothag exclaimed. He had seen the fiery light in the eyes of the attackers and knew that his own men were exhausted by the retreat. Most had dropped their weapons and now were manning the walls with whatever they could find. Some had only clubs. “We will be fortunate if we can stand off their attack.”

The Dark Lord snarled, “You always were a coward, Lothag!”

Lothag straightened up but did not answer. He had lost hope but dared not say so. If the Dark Lord had been any other, he might have suggested surrender, but one look at the wrath on his leader's face told him that such a recommendation was useless.

“We will do what men can do, sire,” he said stiffly. His thought was,
If The Terror could not overcome Goél's forces, how can our poor remnants hope to do so?
But aloud he said, “I will make the rounds and try to shore up our defense.”

Outside the Dread Tower, Goél stood with his captains grouped around him. The battle had been fierce,
but still his raiment seemed to glow, and there was a noble light on his face that encouraged all of his weary commanders—among them what remained of the Seven Sleepers.

Goél's eyes went from face to face. He said, “Never have men fought so bravely, but our task is not done.” He pointed firmly. “We
will
take that tower.” Then he whirled back to them and seemed to examine the soul of each one. “Are you willing to try?” He knew they were exhausted, that each had lost dear friends, and that their hearts were sore.

It was Josh Adams who said, as he straightened his shoulders, “We will try, my lord.”

“That's my brave young commander!” Goél smiled. He shook Josh's hand, then went around the circle and shook every hand. “This day will be recorded and sung as the greatest victory of the House of Goél,” he said. “Now, go to your places, and when you hear the sound of the trumpet, do not look back to see who is following.”

Wearily, Josh and the other Sleepers returned to their positions. The attacking line was thin. And he well knew that, as soon as they came within range of the archers on the parapets, others would fall. Never the less Josh smiled and slapped the back of every member of his small command, saying, “Now we will show them what we can do.”

“I reckon we will, Josh. I trust you to tote the key to the smokehouse.” It was the highest compliment Reb could pay, and he smiled widely as he said it.

Dave had not smiled since hearing of the death of Abbey, but now he did. “I don't mind dying now,” he said, “if that's the way it goes.” He looked toward the Dread Tower. “I want the House of Goél to rule over the earth. That's all that really counts.”

“I feel the same way, Dave,” Sarah said. Then she moved a little closer to Josh so that her arm touched his. They did not speak, but, somehow, as they looked at each other, volumes were spoken.