In the Realm of the Wolf (41 page)

No, not until the crystal is in your power. For only then will you know immortality. Only then will you be whole again. A
muscle at his jaw twitched, and he saw again the unholy fire and the sharp little dagger in Kesa Khan’s hand. Hate suffused him, and shame rose like acid in his throat.

“You will watch your people die, Kesa Khan,” he hissed. “Every man, woman, and babe. And you will know who is to blame. That is the price for what you stole from me!”

His memories echoed the remembered pain and the months of terrible suffering that had followed the mutilation. But the crystal would change everything. The Third Grimoire told of it. An ancient knight had been carried into the chamber, his arm cut away by a weapon of light. They had laid him on a bed and unleashed the power of the crystal. Within two days a new arm had sprouted from the severed limb.

But better even than that, according to the Fourth Grimoire, leaders of the Elder races had been transformed by the crystal, their aging bodies made young again. Zhu Chao’s throat was dry, and this time he succumbed to a small goblet of wine.

“Lord! Lord!” pulsed Casta, fear radiating in his spirit voice.

“What is it?”

“The sentry is dead, lord! A crossbow bolt through the heart. And there is the mark of a grappling hook on the turret.”

“He’s here!” screamed Zhu Chao, aloud. “Waylander is here!”

“I cannot hear you, lord,” pulsed Casta.

Zhu Chao fought for calm. “Get the men from the walls. Search the gardens. Find the assassin!”

The oil-dipped torch sent crazy shadows across the rippled walls of the stairwell, and black smoke swirled in Angel’s nostrils as he descended the stairs. There was a fear in him greater than any he had ever experienced. It was a fear of death. Not his own—that he was prepared for. But his terror grew as he considered Miriel and the monster, her young body broken, her dead eyes staring up, seeing nothing.

Angel swallowed hard and moved on. He could not afford the security of stealth but blundered on down the stairs, ever down. Dardalion had said that the crystal chamber was on the sixth level, but the beast could have been anywhere. Angel
hawked and spit, vainly trying to dampen his dry mouth. And he prayed to any god that might be listening, dark or light or any shade in between.

Let her live
!

Take me instead. I’ve had a life, a good life. He missed a step and stumbled against the wall; sparks showered down from the torch, burning his bare forearm. “Concentrate, you fool!” he told himself, his words echoing along the silent corridors.

Where now? he wondered as the stairwell joined a long, flat hallway. There was a dim light there, glowing from panels in the walls. He gazed around him. Everything was made of metal—walls, ceiling, floor. Shining and rust-free, the metal everywhere was crumpled and ripped, as if it had no more strength than rotted linen.

Angel shivered. The corridors were damp and cold, and his muscles ached. Ekodas had pointed out how tired he was, and he felt it now. His limbs seemed leaden, his energy waning. Drawing in a deep breath, he thought of Miriel and pushed on.

A large arched doorway loomed before him. He entered it, sword raised. A movement sounded from behind him. He swung, his sword arcing down. At the last moment he dragged the blade aside, just missing the child dressed in his own cloak of green. “Shemak’s balls, boy! I could have killed you!”

The boy shrank back against the doorway, his lip trembling and his eyes wide and frightened. Angel sheathed his sword and forced a smile. “Followed me, did you?” he said, reaching out and drawing the child to him. “Ah, well, no harm done, eh?”

He knelt down beside the boy. “You take the torch,” he said, holding it out for the lad. In truth he no longer needed its light, for the panels cast an eerie glow over the hall. There were metal beds there and rotted mattresses. Angel stood and drew his sword once more. Signaling to the boy, he moved out into the corridor, seeking stairs.

Despite the danger, he was pleased that the boy was with him. The silence and the endless corridors were unnerving
him. “Stay close,” whispered the man. “Old Angel will look after you.”

Not understanding, the boy nodded and grinned up at the gladiator.

“Have you the faintest idea where we are?” Senta asked Ekodas as the silver-armored priest rounded yet another bend in the labyrinth of corridors on the seventh level.

“I think we are close,” said Ekodas, his face eerily pale in the faint yellow light.

Senta saw that he was sweating heavily. “Are you all right, priest?”

“I can feel the crystal. It is making me nauseous.”

Senta turned to Miriel. “You do take me to some romantic places,” he said, putting his arm around her and kissing her cheek. “Volcanic caves, sorcerous castles, and now a trip in the dark a hundred miles below the earth.”

“No more than three hundred feet,” said Ekodas.

“Allow for poetic overstatement,” snapped Senta.

Miriel laughed. “You needn’t have come,” she chided.

“And miss this?” he cried in mock astonishment. “What sort of a man refuses a walk in the dark with a beautiful woman?”

“And a priest,” she pointed out.

“That is a flaw, I grant you.”

“Be silent!” hissed Ekodas. Genuinely surprised, Senta was about to fire back an angry reply when he saw that Ekodas was listening intently, his dark eyes narrowing to scan the gloom at the end of the corridor.

“What is it?” whispered Miriel.

“I thought I heard something—like breathing. I don’t know; perhaps I imagined it.”

“It is unlikely there’d be anything living down here,” said Miriel. “There is no food source.”

“I cannot use my talent here,” said Ekodas, wiping sweat from his face. “I feel so … so limited. Like a man suddenly blind.”

“Happily you do not need your talent,” said Senta, still irritated by the priest’s outburst. “This is hardly the most—” He halted in midsentence, for now he could also hear stentorian breathing. Silently he drew his sword.

“It could be a trick of the earth,” whispered Miriel. “You know, like wind whistling through a crack in the rocks.”

“There’s not usually a great deal of wind at this depth,” said Senta.

They moved on cautiously, until they came to a long room filled with metal cabinets. Most of the glowing panels had ceased to operate, but two still cast pale light across the iron floor. Miriel saw an object lying beneath an overturned table. “Senta,” she said softly. “Over there!”

The swordsman crossed the room and knelt. He rose swiftly and backed to where Ekodas and Miriel were standing. “It’s a human leg,” he said. “Or what’s left of it. And believe me, you don’t want to know the size of the bite marks.”

“Kesa Khan said there was no danger,” put in Miriel.

“Perhaps he didn’t know,” volunteered Ekodas. “The crystal is through that doorway. Let me find and destroy it, then we’ll leave as fast as we can.”

“If we disappeared in a flash of magic, it wouldn’t be fast enough,” Senta told him. The priest did not smile but moved on through what was left of the doorway. “Look at that,” Senta told Miriel. “The stone of the wall around the door has been torn out. You know, call me boring if you like, but at this moment I’d like to be sitting in that cabin of yours with my feet out toward the fire, waiting for you to bring me a goblet of mulled wine.” The lightness of tone could not disguise the fear in his voice, and when Ekodas cried out, apparently in pain, Senta almost dropped his sword.

Miriel was the first to the doorway.

“Get back!” shouted Ekodas. “Stay beyond the walls. The power is too much for you to bear!”

Senta caught Miriel by the arm and hauled her back. “You know, beauty, I don’t mind telling you that I am frightened. Not for the first time, but I’ve never known anything like this.”

“And me,” she agreed.

A shuffling sound came from the other end of the hall.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” whispered Senta.

And the creature moved into sight. It was colossal, almost twelve feet high, and Senta gazed in horror at its two heads. Both were grotesque, with only vestigial traces of humanity;
the mouths were wide, almost as long as his forearm, the teeth crooked and sharp. Miriel drew her sword and backed away. “Whatever you have to do, Ekodas, do it now!” she shouted.

The creature leaned forward, partly supporting its weight on two huge arms, its three legs drawn up beneath its bloated belly. It looked to Senta like a giant white spider crouching before them. One of the heads lolled to the left, eyes opening, fastening on Miriel. A groan came from its grotesque lips, deep and full of torment. The mouth on the other head opened, and a piercing scream echoed in the hall. The creature tensed and shuffled crablike toward them, groaning and screaming.

Miriel edged to the left, Senta to the right.

The beast ignored the swordsman and charged at the girl, scattering tables and chairs. The speed was not great, but its huge bulk seemed to fill the room.

Senta ran at it, hurling himself at its broad back. One of the four arms clubbed at him, smashing his ribs. He staggered and almost fell. The creature was rearing up above Miriel. She slashed her sword across a huge forearm, slicing deep into the flesh. Then Senta attacked again, plunging his blade into the great belly.

A fist clubbed him again, and he was sent spinning to the floor, his sword torn from his grasp. He saw Miriel dive beneath the creature’s grasp and roll to her feet. Senta tried to rise, but a piercing pain tore into his side, and he knew that several of his ribs were broken.

“Ekodas! For the sake of all that’s holy, help us!”

Ekodas knelt in the golden chamber, the crystal held in his hands, his thoughts far away. The doors of his mind were all open now, and the noises from beyond the chamber held no meaning for him. His life unfolded before the eyes of memory, wasted and filled with ridiculous fears. The sanctuary of the temple now seemed like a gray prison holding him from the riches of life. He gazed down at the many facets of the crystal, seeing himself reflected a hundred times, and felt the strength of his soul expanding within the frail flesh of his body.

In an instant he could see not only the battle in the hall outside but also the grim fighting on the walls far above. And more
than that he saw the man Waylander moving silently along the darkened corridors of Zhu Chao’s palace.

He laughed then. What did it matter?

And he saw Shia, standing beside the tall Orsa Khan, and the hole in the portcullis gate through which Gothir soldiers were scrambling. Meaningless, he thought, though he felt a shaft of irritation that he would no longer have the opportunity to enjoy her body, his enhanced memory recalling again the smell of her skin and her hair.

“
Ekodas! For the sake of all that’s holy, help us
!”

For all that’s holy! What an amusing thought. Just like the temple, the Source was created by men as a prison for the soul, to prevent stronger men from enjoying the fruits of their power. I am free of such baggage, he thought.

Dardalion had said the crystal was evil. Such nonsense. It was beautiful, perfect. And what was evil but a name given by weak men to a force they could neither comprehend nor control?

“Now you understand,” whispered a voice in his mind. Ekodas closed his eyes and saw Zhu Chao sitting at a desk in a small study.

“Yes, I understand,” Ekodas told him.

“Bring me the crystal and we shall know such power, such joy!”

“Why should I not keep it for myself?”

Zhu Chao laughed. “The Brotherhood is already in place, Ekodas. Ready to rule. Even with the crystal it would take you years to reach such a position of power.”

“There is truth in that,” agreed Ekodas. “It will be as you say.”

“Good. Now show me the battle, my brother.”

Ekodas stood and, the crystal in his hands, walked to the doorway. Beyond it he saw Miriel dive to the floor and roll as the beast lunged for her. Senta, one hand clutching his ribs, had drawn a dagger and was stumbling forward to the attack.

Foolish man. Like trying to kill a whale with a needle.

The injured warrior plunged his dagger into the beast’s back. The beast half turned, and a mighty fist crashed into Senta’s neck. He crumpled to the floor without a sound. Miriel saw
him fall and screamed, the sound full of fury. Hurling herself forward, she thrust her blade into one of the open mouths, plunging it up into what should have been a brain.

Ekodas chuckled. There was no brain there, he knew. It was situated—if brain it could be called—between the heads, in the enormous lump of the shoulders.

The beast caught hold of Miriel, lifting her from her feet. Ekodas found himself wondering whether it would tear her apart or merely bite her head from her shoulders.

“Such confusion in the beast’s mind,” said Zhu Chao. “Part of it is still Bodalen. It recognizes the girl, the twin of a maid he killed by accident. See it hesitate! And can you feel the rising anger from the souls that were once of the Brotherhood?”

“I can,” admitted Ekodas. “Hunger, desire, bafflement. Amusing, is it not?”

A figure moved in the background.

“More entertainment,” whispered the voice of Zhu Chao. “Sadly I cannot retain the spell and must miss the inevitable conclusion. We will share the memory in Gulgothir.”

The sorcerer faded from Ekodas, and the young priest returned his attention to the gladiator who had entered the hall.

You shouldn’t have come, he thought. You are too weary for such an adventure.

Angel had heard the awful screams and was already running as he entered the hall. He saw Senta stretched out unconscious on the floor and witnessed the monster lunge down, grabbing Miriel and dragging her into the air.

Reversing his sword, holding it like a dagger, Angel angled his run, first leaping to a metal table and then launching himself at the beast’s bloated back. He landed knees first and plunged his sword deep in the creature’s flesh, driving it down with all his weight. The monster reared up and swung. Angel was thrown clear. It still held Miriel in one huge hand, but now it turned on Angel. Half-stunned, he rolled to his feet and staggered.