Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) (23 page)
Read Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) Online
Authors: Simon R. Green
Tags: #Forest Kingdom
And there it can stay, for all of me
, thought MacNeil firmly.
He clambered unsteadily to his feet and looked up at the tunnel above him. The opening was just above his head, easily within reach. It was the only way out, much as he disliked the thought. There was no telling how far he’d penetrated into the Beast’s body before the bone shelf broke his fall, and in his current battered state he wasn’t up to much climbing. The ledge of bone suddenly creaked loudly and shifted under his feet. He looked down, and saw a fine tracery of cracks spreading across the bone. The decay was continuing. He no longer had a choice; he had to climb out while he still could. If he fell any farther into the body of the Beast he might never get out, even if he survived a second fall.
MacNeil allowed a trickle of melted wax to fall onto the absorbant cloth of the shirt over his shoulder, and used it to stick the wax stub firmly in place. He was drenched from head to foot with foul-smelling slime from his passage through the eye, but the candle stub seemed more or less secure, and he had to have both hands free for climbing. He drew his knife from its sheath and cut himself a series of foot and handholds in the decaying flesh of the tunnel opening above him. He then gripped the knife firmly between his teeth, gagging at the awful taste, and pulled himself up into the wide shaft. His arms groaned with the effort, but eventually he pulled himself high enough for his feet to find the first footholds, and then the long climb began. In later years, he was only to remember most of it in his worst nightmares.
The climb seemed to last forever. The flickering candlelight showed him a wall of red and purple flesh, already dark with spreading pockets of decay. Dim pulses of light ran through the Beasts flesh occasionally, and once MacNeil thought he saw a strange distorted face peering up out of the meat at him. When he looked again it was gone, and he didn’t wait to look more closely. A slow dull ache burned in his legs as he climbed, spreading to his hips and chest and arms. His back grew steadily worse. He couldn’t even stop for a rest; his weight would have been too much for the precarious foot-and handholds he hacked out of the yielding wall before him. Occasionally slivers and promontories of splintered bones erupted out of the walls, and he quickly learned to work his way around them. They looked solid enough, but they were eaten away inside. Wolfsbane did its job thoroughly. MacNeil climbed on, slowly making his way up the decaying column of flesh.
He came at last to the enormous socket that had once held the Beasts eye. It was an open crater now, carpeted in places with a rotting, translucent jelly. MacNeil clambered out of the tunnel and into the crater, and just stood for a moment, while his various aches and pains subsided enough to be bearable. His candlelight didn’t travel more than a few feet, but the glowing crystals in the cavern walls still shone with a dim, stubborn light. The curving sides of the crater stretched away in all directions, and beyond them lay the cavern wall he would have to climb to reach the stone ledge that led to the exit tunnel. Assuming of course that the damned tunnel was still there … MacNeil shrugged, and started off across the crater, heading for the nearest wall. There was no point in thinking about things like that. Either the tunnel was there, or it wasn’t. He’d find out when he got there.
The rest of the journey passed in a kind of daze, and he remembered little of it, even in his dreams. Possibly because he was too tired to be scared anymore. He reached the edge of the crater eventually, and climbed up the sheer rock face until he got to the stone ledge. The climb wasn’t too hard; the walls were cracked and broken from where the Beast had stirred briefly in its sleep, and there were plenty of ready-made hand-and footholds. He made his way along the ledge and trudged wearily back up the tunnel that led to the wooden steps and the cellar. He wasn’t thinking much by this time. There was only the pain and the tiredness and his own dogged refusal to give in.
His candle stub had pretty much run out by the time he finally reached the wooden steps, and he clawed his way up the steps in pitch darkness after the light suddenly guttered and went out. The first he knew of reaching the closed trapdoor was when he banged his head against it. The shock snapped MacNeil awake again, and a horrid thought came to him. What if the others had supposed him dead, and gone away, leaving the trapdoor securely bolted? He grinned savagely. After all he’d been through to get here, a closed trapdoor sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him. He braced himself on the narrow wooden slat, and his hand brushed against something on the top step. He froze, studying the feel of it in his memory. It hadn’t seemed alive; it had felt cold, like metal or glass. He reached out again carefully, and his fingers found the familiar shape of his lantern. MacNeil smiled widely in the darkness. So Jack had made it back, at least. He took out his flint and steel and lit the lantern with trembling fingers. The sudden light was blinding, and tears ran down his face. He waited patiently till his eyes had adjusted to the new light, and then put his shoulder against the underside of the trapdoor. He took a quick breath, and then thrust upwards with all his strength. For one heartbreaking moment he thought the damn thing wasn’t going to budge, and then it suddenly rose a good three inches, almost throwing him off balance. He quickly regained his footing and pushed again, and in a few moments the trapdoor had swung high enough for him to push it over backward. It fell to the floor with a great echoing crash, but there was no response. The cellar was dark and abandoned.
MacNeil clambered painfully out of the opening, but rested only a moment before checking through the piled up bodies for signs of his friends. But among all the trolls, there was only one human body: Wilde. MacNeil heaved a sigh of relief and started the long slow journey out of the cellar and back through the warren of passageways that would take him eventually to the outside world. Not for the first time, he wondered if the others had already gone, leaving him alone in the fort. He had no way of knowing how long he’d been unconscious in the body of the Beast. But if they hadn’t left yet, they were probably still in the dining hall. He stood undecided in a dark passageway for a moment. He wanted to get out of the fort, with all its blood and death and madness, and breathe fresh, clean air again, but even more than that he needed the company of friends. So he set off in the direction of the dining hall and hoped. It took longer than he’d thought to get there, mainly because he was so much weaker than he’d realized, but finally he stood in the empty corridor before the closed hall door. He hesitated again, but couldn’t hear anything. He shrugged and pushed the door open, slamming it back against the wall.
The Dancer had been sitting on guard. He was on his feet, sword in hand, before the echoes had even begun to ring, but when he saw who it was, his jaw dropped and he stood frozen in place. Jack, Flint, and Constance sat up bleary-eyed from sleep, and stared blankly at the grisly apparition in the doorway And then the shock of the moment passed, and all four of them hurried forward to greet him. Constance got there first and hugged MacNeil ferociously, despite the blood and slime that soaked his clothes.
“You’re alive! Oh, Duncan, I knew you had to be alive! I knew it!”
Her feelings ran wild within her, making her suddenly inarticulate, but that didn’t matter. There’d be time to tell him about those feelings later. There would be time for many things now.
Finally she let him go, and the others took turns hugging him and slapping him on the back and shoulders. All the exuberance was suddenly too much for MacNeil, and he had to sit down quickly before he fell down. The Dancer and Jack helped him to a chair, and MacNeil then had to spend some time assuring them all that he was fine really, and just needed a little time to get his breath back. Constance wrapped a blanket around his shoulders to keep out the cold. Flint handed him a wine flask, and he nodded his thanks.
“All right,” said Constance, “tell us what happened. You’ve been missing for hours. Did you really kill the Beast?”
“Oh, yes,” said MacNeil. “It’s dead.” He told them his story, and they sat around him in silent awe, like children listening to the village storyteller. When he was finished, no one said anything for a long time.
“So, Wolfsbane is lost again,” said Flint finally “I can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of it. Damn thing gave me the creeps.”
“Right,” said MacNeil. “As far as my official report is concerned, it’s lost without trace. I think it’s better for everyone if it stays that way.” He yawned suddenly and allowed himself the luxury of a long, slow stretch. “And now, my friends, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to lose these clothes and crawl into my sleeping roll and sleep for a week. Good night … and pleasant dreams.”
In the end, he slept about ten hours. It was late in the afternoon when he finally woke up. Every muscle he had was complaining loudly, but the long sleep had taken the edge off his pains, and he thought he could live with them now. Flint and the Dancer were sitting not too far away, talking quietly. Constance was preparing a meal of cold field rations at one of the tables. There was no sign of Scarecrow Jack. MacNeil smiled contentedly. It felt good to be alive. He lay back in his bedroll and stared up at the ceiling. In a strange way, he felt very much at peace with himself. Down in the darkness, under the gaze of the Beast, he had tested his courage and found it sound. He’d never been more scared in his life, but still, when it mattered, he had done the right thing. It meant a lot to him, knowing that.
He emerged reluctantly from his blankets and climbed into his spare set of clothes. One look at the stained and slime-drenched clothes he’d worn previously was enough to convince him they were beyond saving. He raised his hands to his face and sniffed them suspiciously. Despite a thorough washing the night before, he could still smell the foul stench of the Beast. Maybe when the reinforcements arrived they’d have someone with them who could repair the hot water boilers, and he could have a long soak in a very hot bath. MacNeil smiled, savoring the thought, and moved over to join Constance at the table. She smiled back at him and passed him some of the cold field rations. It was a continuing matter for debate among all guards as to whether field rations tasted worse cooked or cold. Most guards usually ended up deciding they tasted equally vile either way. MacNeil wasn’t all that hungry anyway, but since Constance had gone to the trouble of preparing the meal, he supposed he’d better eat some of it or she’d be upset. After a few mouthfuls he discovered he was hungry after all, ate the lot, and even wished there was more. He pushed back the empty plate with a sigh, and looked up to find Constance sitting patiently beside him.
“Jack’s waiting in the courtyard,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t like being indoors, but he didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
“Strictly speaking, I ought to arrest him,” said MacNeil. “But …”
“Yes,” said Constance. “But.”
They shared a smile, and MacNeil got up from the table and headed for the door. Flint and the Dancer broke off their conversation and got up to follow him. Constance brought up the rear, as usual.
The fort seemed somehow smaller and less impressive in the afternoon sunlight, as though the evil that had infested it had vanished with the night. In a way, MacNeil supposed it had. For all the death and spilled blood, this was just another border fort now, and that was all it would ever be. MacNeil finally led the others through the entrance hall and out into the courtyard. The storm had passed over during the early hours of the morning, and the rain was long gone. There were no clouds in the sky, and the warm sunlight had dried off most of the stonework. Scarecrow Jack was standing by the open main gates, staring out at the Forest. He looked around as the Rangers approached, and nodded politely.
“You’re looking better, Sergeant MacNeil. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
“I don’t think so,” said MacNeil easily. Despite Jack’s relaxed appearance, he was clearly ready to turn and run for the trees at the first sign of any attempt to arrest him. Old habits die hard. MacNeil smiled warmly at Jack to reassure him. “In fact, as far as my official report is concerned, you were never here. But do me a favor: try to stay out of trouble until we’ve left the area. I’d hate to be ordered to hunt you down.”
Jack grinned at him. “What makes you think you could find me?”
They all laughed. Jack turned away and looked at the Forest.
“You don’t have to go,” said Constance suddenly. “After all your help, after all you’ve done, I’m sure we could get you a pardon. You could return to your home, to your family; make a new life for yourself.”
“The Forest is my home and my family,” said Scarecrow Jack. “I wouldn’t leave it for a dozen pardons. Thanks anyway, Constance. Goodbye, my friends.”
He grinned quicldy at them, and then ran through the gates and out into the clearing. For a while his running figure was outlined against the bright sunshine, and then he reached the trees. His camouflage of rags blended into the Forest, and he was gone.
“I have a strong feeling we should have gone down into the tunnels and counted those bags of gold before we let him go,” said Flint.
MacNeil smiled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have begrudged him a bag or two, but I doubt he took a single gold coin with him. What use is gold in the Forest? Come on, we ought to clean up some of the mess before the reinforcements get here. And we’ve still got to agree on what story we’re going to tell them.”
“Right,” said the Dancer. “They’d never believe the truth. I was here, and I don’t believe half of it.”
The four Rangers laughed together and went back into the fort. The sun shone down through a cloudless sky, and the fort stood clean and open beneath it.
