The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (42 page)

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a
long hallway on the other side of the small room, and no other way
out. Orange smoke started to seep in through the doorjamb. Could
Gunner be far behind?

We ran. And ran, and ran. I thought we’d run
far enough to be back out in the city of Azgaror, but the hall
still surrounded us, with no visible exit. Fortunately, as we
looked back, we saw no wisps of smoke coming our way. We slowed
down and trotted towards a dimly lit cave far off in the
distance.

In the center of the cave was a large pit,
several yards across. Perhaps a way out? I ventured towards its
edge, leaning over to peek inside. My scream caught in my throat.
Only a few yards below us were worm-riddled carcasses, stinking of
putrefaction, extending their skeletal arms up towards us, bones
clacking as they moved, their eye sockets oozing blood and pus.
Their mouths were open, chipped and stained teeth coated with
sludge, crying out to us without making a sound.

“I expect their larynges have dissolved,
rotted away,” Spud said from behind me. “We are staring into the
maws of Hades.”

A whimper from Robert. Hey, man, I hear
you.

“Well,” I said after a deep breath, “I don’t
recommend we exit this way.”

“Indeed not,” Spud agreed. “If I recall, soon
after Gunner’s smoke wisps cleared, I saw an aperture in the
ceiling above us. Twenty or thirty yards back. I propose we revisit
that part of the hallway.”

I nodded. I couldn’t get out of this hellish
cave fast enough.

“There it is.” Spud gestured at the hole over
our heads. We’re all skinny, but even we wouldn’t be able to
squeeze through an opening that size. The light from above shone
down on us, teasing us with its warmth. “Perhaps Robert could
micro—“

“A door I didn’t see before!” cried Robert,
pointing to a 4-foot wooden portal on the side wall by our
feet.

“Now there we can fit.” I clapped our guide
on the shoulder. “Good show. Just let me make sure we don’t have
any more dead souls hiding in there first.”

The door creaked open to reveal another
hallway, this one about five feet in height. We’d have to crouch,
but otherwise the coast seemed clear. We set off in the new
direction, our eyes peeled for company, and crossroads.

Once again, it seemed as if we were walking
for miles before we reached the terminus. Another wooden door. I
looked at my companions and shrugged. “May as well.”

The room beyond was palatial. Ornate
furniture, decorations, marble floors, travertine walls, velvet
curtains, gold vases, very Versailles.

“Norse myths place Heaven and Hell in close
proximity,” Spud lectured unnecessarily. “I have found that
paradigm reflects life.”

Before I could roll my eyes, a female voice
resonated through the room. “You are impostors!”

Gunner. Damn.

We turned to see the Valkyrie of War towering
over us, her flowing robes cascading over a very muscular torso,
the sharpness of her expression only surpassed by the sharpness of
her spear.

“And impersonating a Valkyrie is a crime,”
she boomed, “punishable by excruciating death!”

Maybe we should’ve opted for that pit after
all…

* * *

Gunner waved her spear and we found ourselves
wrapped tightly in the clutches of a giant boa constrictor. I could
feel Robert’s heart beating faster and faster as the snake
tightened its grip. Spud and I both went into Catascope 101 mode,
gulping in as much air as we could to push back against the boa’s
compression. That would only buy us a few seconds, though. We had
to think fast.

“The Vizier!” I shouted, gasping.

The boa stopped contracting. Gunner bent down
to meet my eyes. “Yes?”

“We’re his guests,” I croaked, “You must not
kill us before we have fulfilled his mission.”

“Mission? What mission?”

Good. She bit. “Um, take us to him, and then
we can tell you. If we lie, you can execute us before his eyes and
preserve your honor.” God, I hope the Vizier has a heart. Even if
not, we might have enough time to plan an esc—

The room disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
When the smoke cleared, we were in a, a library? Floor to ceiling
around us were thousands, millions of books, as far as the eye
could see. I was hoping we’d see some curtain I could open for “the
great reveal”, but we were surrounded by nothing but books. In a
myriad of sizes, colors, and languages. Oh, yes, and the boa.

Gunner seemed content to stand by us and
wait. I used the time to scan our environs for possible routes of
egress. Did any of the books trigger a hidden door or window? Were
those big volumes heavy enough to use as shields—or weapons?

Spud must have been making the same
calculations. I saw him flick his eyes toward a shelf a few feet to
our side. I’ll be damned—Milton. In English. Paradise Lost and
Paradise Regained. Here in this alien brane. Oh, no, I was starting
to rhyme, too. Was Spud was betting those two books could open a
portal out of here? Considering our limited options, not a bad
bet.

Spud nodded and together we each inhaled an
enormous breath, sticking out our chests and enlarging the boa’s
circumference. On the count of three, we both exhaled explosively,
sucking in our guts and dropping down to the ground, sliding out
from under the boa’s spiral prison and rolling on the floor onto
our feet. We each leapt for a Milton volume, grabbed one, and
opened it, hoping for a trapdoor release. And—nothing. Alas, poor
William! Where be your escape route now?

“They’re just books,” said a familiar voice.
“Though I would never deign to malign masterpieces of literature
with the adverb ‘just’. Still, I must commend you for your survival
skills—at least to date.”

I looked up to see the familiar balding pate,
wire-rimmed glasses, and hint of a sneer. Theodore Benedict.
Sporting floor-length, colorful gilded robes.

Gunner aimed her staff at the Zygfed
terrorist leader and announced, “Ladies, the Vizier of Az.”

Theodore Benedict, The Zygan Federation’s
Number One “Most Wanted”! And us without our Ergals.

Doomed.

Chapter 7

Pandora’s Balks

“They’re here, I beg you to approve, the
spell that will this curse remove,” came the high-pitched whine. I
spun around to see Robert pointing his index finger in our
direction.

“You traitor!” I clenched my jaw. And my
fists.

Benedict chuckled, “It all depends on your
perspective, Rush. Robert will get what he has earned. Anesidora?”
He gestured at a petite young woman who stepped out from behind the
colossal Valkyrie. Her long brown curls framed beautiful features
and teased the shoulders of her sparkling gown.

The woman smiled and touched the ring on her
middle finger. Wasn’t that the band-shaped Ergal we’d, uh,
collected from Gary’s body? The one Benedict reclaimed on his
planet ship? Apparently. Robert was surrounded by a cocoon of
bright light, which flared and then faded. Where the tall, handsome
young man had been standing was now, once again, a small frog.

“Hey!” Frog Robert croaked.

Benedict wagged his own index finger. “Now,
don’t be ungrateful. At least you’re not rhyming any more.”

Before Benedict could finish his sentence,
the boa opened his jaws and swallowed the frog in one gulp. I
swallowed a gasp.

Benedict sighed and continued. “Catascope
101, Lesson 5”: Never let your guard down.”

Spud, white as the lovely brunette’s gown,
watched the lump travel down the snake’s gullet and then disappear
in its coils.

I was shaking in anger. “If I had Marlin’s
Geryon, I’d—“

“I’m sure you would,” Benedict said, as he
turned to Gunner, “but now that you mention it. Gunner, do send my
thanks to the old fossil for his alert, will you.” Facing us again,
Benedict winked, “Always good to have a Plan B.”

Spud’s gaze had lingered on the boa, but he
now favored Benedict with an icy glare. “Win us with honest
trifles, to betray’s. In deepest consequence,” he growled, fury
dripping from his voice.

Benedict continued to smile. “As I said, it’s
all a matter of perspective.” He reached over and gently squeezed
the brunette’s smooth hand.

Spud’s eyes fell on the young woman, and,
still frowning, he asked, “Anesidora? As in the mythical, er,
philanthropist?”

“Right again, Escott. May I introduce the two
of you to Anesidora Benedict. My mother.”

I caught my breath. Benedict’s mother? Was
this the woman for whom Benedict had sacrificed his membership in
Zygan Intelligence, and in the Zygan Federation itself? The woman
whose neurocache Agriarctos and I had been forced to rescue from
the Zygan Federation’s Registered Anastasial Memory chamber on
Benedict’s orders?

“Good to see you again, Shiloh,” Anesidora
said, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. “I never had a chance to
properly thank you for reuniting me with my son. Perhaps I can
return the favor to you some day.”

Spud interrupted, his eyes widening on noting
Anesidora’s ring. Benedict’s Ergal! “How did you get the Ergal
across to this brane?” he demanded.

“It’s not a Zygan Ergal, Escott,” Benedict
confided. “It does not wither away if you travel beyond Zygfed’s
prison walls. There is technology in the multiverse that far
surpasses the Omega Archon’s. Pity you won’t have a chance to
observe it.”

“Your verdict, Vizier?” Gunner boomed,
impatient.

Benedict’s hand slowly extended to form a
gesture of ‘thumbs down’. I froze, my eyes meeting Spud’s. Why the
hell was he smiling?

“Thumbs down means Benedict will
not
throw us to the lions,” Spud whispered. “Modern reviewers have it
backwards. Thumbs up is the one to fear.”

“Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief, as a
frowning Gunner tapped her staff on the stone floor and disappeared
in a cloud of smoke.

“Let us ourselves X-fan to my salon,”
Benedict urged, “Plionarctos the Ursan will brew us a blissful tea,
and I will proffer some of the answers I am certain you seek.”

My brow furrowed as well. This seemed a
little too easy. Remember Catascope 101, Lesson 8. Keep an eye out
for the other shoe.

* * *

Theodore Benedict’s Lair, Valholler—present
day

With help from Anesidora’s Ergal ring, we
M-fanned into a spacious room, lined by walls of glass that looked
out onto a panorama of green hills nudging azure seas. Didn’t seem
to be a part of the topography of gloomy Azgaror, that’s for sure.
Much more a Pacific Islands or Mediterranean look.

The light of two suns reflected off of three
moons in the pink sky. The brightness was a blinding contrast to
the oppressive gray of the village, and the terrifying twilight of
that bramble forest.

Benedict motioned for us to take a seat on a
fluffy beige couch. Spud sat stiffly on its edge, but I welcomed
its softness and lounged back in the cushions. No point in making
the visible point to Benedict that we didn’t trust him. I managed a
quick glance around to establish my environment. The room was
filled with art, sculptures, paintings, modern and ancient, all
beautiful. Richly woven carpets on the polished marble floor. I
could see no easy exits, however, unless some of those
floor-to-ceiling glass panels were in fact doors. Or breakable.

My not-favorite Ursan, Plionarctos, M-fanned
with a tray of appetizers, followed by—yes!—Agriarctos, our
disguised friend Wart, bringing in tea.

“Thank you,” I said to both Ursans as they
served us, putting a hint more sincerity into my gratitudinal gaze
at the former colleague who had saved our lives, perhaps more than
once. “Nice to see some of the old crowd again.” I took a sip of
the gentle brew and added, “Where’s the rest of your staff?”

Benedict waved a hand at the panorama beyond
the window, pointing at the three moons in the rosy sky. “This
planet in fact only has two moons. Our ship adds a certain ‘
je
ne sais quoi
’ to the
mise en scene
,” he grinned. “And I
can pop in every now and then to ensure their ambitions remain
focused on their tasks and not on each other.”

“And…and Nephil Stratum?”

“All in due time,” Benedict said, waving the
Ursans away. He snapped his fingers as they X-fanned and we were
surrounded by the soothing sounds of—

“Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring,” Spud
chimed in.

“Conducted by Copland himself,” Benedict
said. “While I admire the technical skill of the baroque masters,
their work cannot capture the grandeur of the compositions of the
late 19
^th
and early 20
^th
centuries.”

“I’ll bet he loves Wagner,” I muttered to
Spud.

It was Benedict who chuckled. “Not really, my
dear, there
is
such a thing as ‘over the top’.” He took a
few swigs of his tea as, smiling, he waved his fingers to the
music. An expression of sadness crossed his face. “Humanity has so
many divine gifts it can share with the universe. Pity it cannot
conquer its demons.”

I flashed an image of NoOne, before I tossed
back, “Physician, heal thyself, Benedict?”

“One must play the cards one is dealt, Rush,
and at the level of your opponent, or else you will soon not have
anyone with whom to play. That, by the way, became your brother’s
curse.”

His words hit me smack in the gut. “Is John
here? Do you know where he is? Did he,” I hesitated, “make it to
Level 3?”

“He made it to the heaven he imagined. But a
soul cannot survive for long in a vacuum.”

I softened my tone. “Please. We came here on
our own because we thought he was in trouble. He worked with you.
Can’t you help us?”

Smiling again, Benedict swallowed one of the
appetizers. “Never thought I’d hear that question from a
catascope.”