The Dark Remains (57 page)

Travis put a boot on the rear bumper, then climbed into the back of the truck. A hand reached down for Grace. She took it and climbed in after him.

She had thought it would be dark inside. It was not. A soft, metallic radiance hung on the air, although where it came from she could not say. The trailer was a jumble of
large steel crates. Many of them had shifted and tumbled over in the truck’s rapid stop.

A low moan rose on the air. Grace turned, then she saw it. Something stretched forth from a hole in one of the crates. It was a hand.

The word erupted from Travis in a roar. “Beltan!”

He and Grace reached the box at the same time.

Grace gripped the knight’s big, bony hand. “Beltan, we’re here. We’ll find a way—”

—
to open the crate
, she was going to say, but there was no need. This time Travis shouted the rune.

“
Urath!
”

The door of the crate flew open. Whatever was affecting his rune magic, it was even stronger now.

Grace let go of the hand. It disappeared back through the hole. Then, slowly, shakily, something unfolded itself from the crate and stretched upward: a tall, pale, gaunt but blessedly familiar figure.

He grinned in the dim light, and despite the sunkeness of cheeks, despite his scraggly beard and the bruises beneath his eyes, in that moment his homely visage became so brilliant and beautiful it took Grace’s breath away.

“Beltan,” Travis said, his voice a whisper now.

The knight’s grin shifted into a faint frown. “By Vathris, what’s happened to you, Travis Wilder?”

And tears streamed down Grace’s cheeks as Travis caught the big man in a fierce embrace.

Travis tightened his arms around Beltan. Always before, the blond knight had seemed so strong, so invincible. Now, beneath the white lab coat, Beltan felt thin and terribly brittle. Travis knew he could easily pick the knight
up in his arms and carry him if need be. But maybe that was all right. Maybe he was the protector now.

“Travis,” Beltan said, his voice hoarse. “Travis, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Grace cast them a nervous look from her position by the open door of the trailer. “We should get going.”

“She’s right,” Travis said, starting to pull away. “It isn’t safe here. We can talk later.”

Somewhere outside gunfire sounded.

“No, it can’t wait.”

Beltan gripped his shoulders. Despite their thinness, there was a hot strength in the knight’s hands, holding Travis in place. Beltan struggled for words, his green eyes bright.

“In the baths, at Spardis, I … I told you I wasn’t sorry. But I only did that because I thought I was going to … I know you haven’t heard the call and … and I’m sorry, Travis. I’m sorry that I—”

“No.” Travis spoke the word firmly, a command. “No, don’t you dare be sorry, Beltan. No one should ever be sorry for loving someone.”

Beltan stared, his gaunt visage stricken.

“Yes, you surprised me a little.” A small laugh escaped Travis. “Okay, truth be told, more than a little. But it’s all right. I’ve had time to think about it. And while I’m still not sure I understand how I managed to deserve it, it doesn’t matter. I know that now.” The words burned in Travis’s mind, as clear as runes. Yes, this was how it was meant to be. “You see, Beltan, I—”

The light streaming from the rear of the truck dimmed, and a lithe silhouette appeared against the gray opening. Travis turned. Gold eyes locked on his. Startled, he stepped away from Beltan.

“The guards are pressing toward us,” Vani said, moving into the trailer. “There are not many—I do not believe they expected pursuit. I imagine they thought the
gorleths
at their fortress would destroy us. All the same,
the weapons of Davis and Mitchell cannot hold them off for long. We must hurry.”

The knight’s green eyes narrowed as he gazed at Vani. “Who is
she?
”

“She’s …” Travis licked his lips.

Vani rested her hands on her half-cocked hips, her gaze a mystery.

“This is Vani,” Grace said. “She’s a … a warrior from Eldh, and we owe our lives to her.”

Beltan seemed to study her, then he nodded. “Then I owe my life to you as well. Vani.”

Her gaze moved to Travis, then back to Beltan. “Your thanks may be premature, knight of Calavan. Come, we must go.”

“Wait,” Beltan said. “We can’t leave yet. There’s someone else who needs our help.”

He turned around, started to move one of the fallen boxes, then staggered.

Travis steadied him. “Beltan …”

The knight pulled away. “You don’t understand, Travis. We have to free him. We—”

Silvery light welled forth. It was faint and flickering, and it quickly dimmed again, but there was no mistaking where it had come from. Travis felt a tingling in his right hand. He stared at Beltan. Then he was moving.

Vani reached the crate the same time he did. Together, they pushed it over, righting it. There was a small door on the crate made of wire mesh. Something moved inside. Again pale illumination flickered within, like the light of a dying, silvery firefly.

“Hurry,” Beltan said. “I’m not sure, but I think … I think it’s ill somehow.”

Travis knelt beside the crate and peered inside. Large, tilted eyes gazed back at him. An ancient sorrow filled them, and deep pain, and something else as well. It might have been … joy. Like a wind, recognition passed through him. Yes, he understood.

“Iron,” he said. “It can’t bear the touch of iron. Or steel, I suppose. None of them can. That’s why it can’t escape.”

“What can’t stand iron?” Grace said. “What are you talking about, Travis?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, for the third time that day, he spoke the rune of opening.

“
Urath.
”

Yes, this was the source of his suddenly renewed power. The lock fell off, the wire door swung open.

With a sound like distant chimes, the fairy floated out of the crate. The four humans watched, breath suspended.

Last Midwinter, in Calavere, Travis had used the power of Sinfathisar, the Stone of Twilight, to heal a band of wraithlings, to make them again the fairies they had been. They had followed him to Shadowsdeep, and there they had saved Beltan’s life.

Those fairies had been tall, luminous beings, so radiant he had hardly been able to gaze upon them. But the fairy before them was a shadow of those beings. It was so thin—far thinner than Beltan, as if it were made of twigs—and its skin was a dull gray. Its head seemed far too large for its spindly neck, and it was naked, so that he could see it was neither male nor female.

All the same, it was beautiful. He started to sink to his knees before it.

The fairy reached out spidery arms, brushed him with cool fingers, and he found himself standing once again. But the fear was gone. Instead, a cool peace filled him.

“How—?” Grace pressed her hands to her heart. “How can it be here?”

“They were holding it captive,” Beltan said. “Like me. They were doing experiments on it.”

Even as the knight said this, Travis saw the thin, white scars on the fairy’s delicate arms.

Vani’s golden eyes were thoughtful. “It must have come through the gate with the Scirathi.”

At her words, the fairy nodded. Then a tremor shook its form, like a gale shaking the bough of a tree. It was so dim here, its radiance quelled. Being on Earth caused it pain—terrible pain.

The fairy reached a trembling hand toward the crate, then snatched it back when it brushed the metal edge. There was a high, soundless cry of pain. It wanted something—something in the crate.

Grace knelt, reached inside, then leaned back. In her hand was a plastic bottle. In the bottle were purple pills, each one marked with a white lightning bolt.

Grace looked up at the fairy, then she gave a stiff nod, twisted off the lid, and held the bottle out. With long, trembling fingers, the fairy took three of the pills. It seemed to hesitate, then it brought them to the thin, lip-less line of its mouth and swallowed them. It passed its hand over its jewel-like eyes. When it lowered its hand again, the pain was gone from its gaze.

Grace looked down at the pills. “Those bastards—that’s why they developed it. It’s for them, to keep them alive here on Earth.” She looked up at Travis, her green-gold eyes stricken. “Electria is for fairies.”

The light elf reached out and cupped her cheek with a willowy hand. Grace gasped, eyes going wide. Slowly, she lifted her own hand and touched it to the fairy’s dull gray cheek.

A call came from the rear of the truck: a deep, twanging voice. Mitchell.

“You all might want to hurry it up in there. They’ve been lying low for the last few minutes, but now it looks like we’ve got some strange company coming.”

The sound of a rifle being cocked followed Mitchell’s voice.

Travis turned, met Vani’s gaze. She nodded.

“Vani and I will go,” he said. “Grace, stay with the fairy and Beltan.”

The blond knight took a stumbling step forward. “I’m coming with you, Travis. I’m your protector.”

Travis paused, then reached out and laid his hand on Beltan’s chest. “No, Beltan,” he said gently. “Not now.”

The knight gaped, then staggered back and leaned against a crate. Sorrow etched Travis’s heart. He wanted to move to the knight, to hold him, but there wasn’t time.

“Travis!”

That was Davis’s voice. Together, Travis and Vani moved to the end of the truck and leaped out the doors.

It didn’t take long to spot the problem. Davis and Mitchell stood, rifles ready. A moment later the things appeared around the cab of the closest truck, long arms dragging the asphalt as they loped nearer. Travis counted three. Five. Then he stopped counting.

Thunder sounded as Mitchell squeezed the trigger of his rifle. A second report came as Davis followed suit. Two of the
gorleths
squealed and fell to the ground.

More continued to appear from around the truck. Davis and Mitchell cocked their rifles, fired again. Two more fell. It wasn’t enough; they were coming faster than the two men could drop them. Travis felt Vani tense beside him. Then his heart froze in his chest as another figure came into view.

He walked slowly, black robes billowing behind him. The light of the westering sun had broken through the clouds, and it gleamed off his mask of gold. Travis saw now that the expression on the mask was wrought into a lifeless smile, the eye slits thin and leering. The Scirathi raised a hand, and Travis’s heart shuddered in his chest.

Vani clutched him. “Travis!”

He tried to speak but could not.

Gunshots split the air. Only it didn’t come from Davis and Mitchell’s rifles. Another of the
gorleths
fell, screeching. But the second bullet missed its mark. Instead, there was a bright
ping
as it struck something metal.

The sorcerer halted, head bowed, as something sparked and skittered away across the pavement. The
gorleths
faltered, then ceased their advance. Travis drew in a ragged breath, his heart beating once more. What was happening?

The Scirathi lifted its head, and the black cowl slipped back. The gold mask was gone. The bullet must have struck it, knocking it off, exposing the sorcerer’s face.

Or what was left of his face. Two black eyes peered from a tangled mass of livid pink scars. The sorcerer’s mouth was a crooked gash, and his nose two pits amid the ruin of his face. Travis fought for understanding—

—then gained it. Vani had said the sorcerers used blood to work their magic. How many times had the Scirathi been forced to cut himself? How many times before his arms, his legs, his torso became too damaged to heal, too damaged to bear more wounds? How long until there was nowhere left to cut.…

A flash of gold. Light glinted off the sorcerer’s mask. He saw it at the same time as Travis, stopped against the tire of one of the trucks. The sorcerer lunged for it.

He was too slow. In a black, howling knot of fury, the
gorleths
sprang at the Scirathi. Davis and Mitchell lowered their rifles, horror on their faces. Travis took a step forward, but Vani’s strong hand held him back.

“So the old stories are true,” she said. “The masks truly are the focus for their power. Without it, the sorcerer cannot control the
gorleths.
”

Free from his will, they turned on him—their maker and their torturer. Travis felt his gorge rise in his throat, but he could not look away.

The monsters made quick work of their master. His screams ended as they tore his arms from their sockets. In moments all that remained were shards of bone, and shreds of meat and black cloth. Travis thought the
gorleths
would turn when they were finished and resume the attack, but they did not. Instead, they hissed and tore at each other, ripping their own bodies with long talons.
Free of the command to kill others, they turned on themselves and their own suffering.

At last Travis forced himself to turn away from the grisly spectacle. Davis was vomiting on the pavement, and Mitchell was holding his shoulders with strong, gentle hands.

Footsteps on asphalt. Travis jerked his head up, fearing that he would see gun-wielding guards. Instead, the pistols were gripped in familiar hands.

“Deirdre.” He said the word like a prayer, then caught her in a tight embrace.

Farr lowered his gun, gazing at the now-still heap of fur and flesh that had been the sorcerer and the
gorleths
. “That was a lucky shot, Deirdre.”

She stepped back, her dark eyes serious. “No.” She gripped the yellowed bear claw that hung around her neck. “I think maybe it was fate.”

Davis was standing upright, although his face was pale. Mitchell kept an arm around him.

“I don’t see any more of the guards,” Mitchell said. “I think they’ve run off. Can’t really say I blame them.”

Farr shook his head. “No, they’ve retreated, that’s all. They’re waiting for backup from Duratek. And it will be here in minutes. We’ve got to—”

A crystalline chiming drifted on the air, along with silvery light. They gazed up at the open back of the truck. Grace stood beside a slender gray being, not quite touching it, as it raised a hand to shield its eyes from the last remains of the daylight.