torg 01 - Storm Knights (29 page)

"What do you want from me?" Decker asked.

The stone hung silently before him.

Then the image shifted, becoming the face of a woman. He couldn't make out her features, but she had the most penetrating emerald eyes he had ever seen.

"I tried. Now it's over."

Then his old manager's voice rang in his ears.
It isn't over til it's over, Ace. Get back in there and win the game for us!

Decker sighed. Then he sat up. His rifle was beside him. He grasped it, clicked it to automatic, and slowly rose.

He didn't like what he saw.

Sanders, Dallas, Teagle, Burton, Jones, and Sergeant Lewis were all dead. He didn't see Miller, but something told him that he was dead, too. Three lizard men were standing over the marines' bodies, and the black cat-lizard was some feet away. Decker dropped back to the ground, trying to stay hidden until he had a better chance of taking them all out.

As he watched, a man walked into sight on the road. He was of average height, but of powerful build. He wore a denim jacket that looked to be a little big on him. Judging by that and the rest of his ill-fitting clothes, Decker took him to be a refugee. The cat-lizard perked its reptile head at the man's approach. Then it started toward him.

"You killed all of those marines, you bastards, but I won't let you kill anyone else!" Decker swore as he jumped up. He leveled his M-16, pointed it at the four-legged monster, and squeezed the trigger. Automatic fire exploded from the barrel, cutting through the monster's scales and ripping away its life. Then he swung around and mowed down the lizard men before they could bring their spears to bear.

"Are you all right?" Decker called to the man.

The man looked confused for a moment, and Decker couldn't blame him. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Andrew Decker. I'm a congressman."

The man nodded, then smiled faintly, showing his teeth. When he spoke, Decker detected a definite British accent.

"My name is Kurst, Congressman Decker."

"Well, Mr. Kurst, let's bury these soldiers and get out of here before it gets too dark." Then Decker moved to do just that, not looking back to see if the man named Kurst was coming or not.

91

"How is he, Doctor Hachi?" Father Bryce asked.

Mara, her face clean of makeup, shook her head. "He's lost a lot of blood, but I've cleaned the wounds and bandaged them. He should be all right, as long as he doesn't move around too much. Those cuts will open up and start bleeding if he doesn't take it easy."

"I'll do my best, Doc," Alder said, grimacing with pain. "It's a good thing we're taking this nice relaxing vacation. It'll do me a world of good."

Bryce smiled. "Get some rest, Rick. Stay with him, Mara."

The young woman nodded.

It was getting dark. Bryce wasn't sure he wanted to face the night after meeting the ravagons, but he knew he had no choice in the matter. Even if the world were slowing down, day and night were still inevitable — at least as far as he knew. He stepped out of the van and looked it over from the outside. Much of the metal was ripped or missing. The windows were smashed. The rear door was gone. He stepped to the front of the vehicle, to where Tal Tu, Coyote, and Rat were working on the engine.

"Any luck?" the priest asked.

Coyote shrugged. "Maybe a few more miles, maybe not. It's an old van, Father, and it sure did take a beating today. I just don't know what to tell you. None of us are really very good at this."

Tal Tu, who had Cat rubbing against his leg, agreed. "I know what Rick Alder showed me, but that will not keep this machine going forever. We will have to find new transportation if we are to go much further."

Bryce spent a few more minutes with the trio, then went looking for Tolwyn. He was concerned about her reaction to the ravagons' attack. Unlike the others, she actually seemed to enjoy the combat. That scared him. He found her sitting in the dark, some distance away from the van. She was staring at a billboard across the highway, studying it with fierce intensity.

"We're looking for a few good men," he quoted from the sign. "The slogan of the United States Marines."

"Hello, Christopher," she said, not taking her eyes from the billboard. It showed a marine in dress uniform, holding a sword before him. She pointed at the sword. "I want one of those."

"Well let's see. Tal Tu and the boys want a new van. You want a sword. While I'm taking orders I might as well see what Rick and Mara want."

"There will be more of them coming," she said, his attempt at sarcasm going over her head. "We might not stop them next time."

Bryce sat beside her. They sat quietly for a time, letting the darkness build around them. Then Bryce spoke softly. "Some of your memories returned today, didn't they?"

"I remember a little more. Fighting the ravagons, my family's sword. But I still don't know why I am here, or why these creatures would be after me."

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" he asked.

"Enjoyed what, Christopher?"

"The fighting, the rush of adrenalin, the blood, all of it."

She looked him straight in the eyes. "I was very good at warfare and combat, that much I remember. Today, the battle brought back memories and movements that were familiar, comfortable. Do I enjoy it? Yes, in a way. Something tells me that it is what I do best. Does that bother you?"

"Yes," he said, but did not press the issue. And neither did she.

Bryce looked up. Mara was approaching.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Mara said, "but dinner is ready. Rat cooked it."

"Mara, why did the ravagon call us stormers?" Tolwyn asked.

The young woman sighed. "You've noticed the storms all around us? When the raiders' reality sweeps across a world, it comes into conflict with the reality already in place. The two realities clash, and this battle is manifested by violent weather and other natural disturbances."

"Sort of like the world is fighting back, trying to defend itself?" Bryce asked.

"Exactly," Mara answered. "When the storms pass over and the raiders' reality takes hold, many of the features of the land — even the people — succumb to the new reality. They conform."

The priest remembered the savages he had encountered in New York, people who had given up thousands of years of civilization and reverted to cave-dwelling primitives.

"But there are those who don't conform," Mara continued. "These individuals retain their own reality after the storm has changed everything else. Hence the name, stormers."

"It fits," Bryce noted.

"Yes," said Tolwyn, "but I hate it. If it is what the evil ones call us, then it is no better than being called a peasant."

Bryce stood, stretching the kinks from his back and shoulders. "Come on, let's go try Rat's cooking."

"Aye," Tolwyn said, but she sat there in the dark, thinking, long into the night.

92

Under the same night sky, within fifty miles of where Tolwyn contemplated the events of the day, Andrew Decker and Kurst set up camp. Kurst had no supplies of his own, but Decker had salvaged as much as they could carry from the dead marines. Now they had a fire going, and food was cooking over the comfortable blaze.

Kurst studied the man while he worked with the food, never looking directly at him but taking in every detail nonetheless. Decker was tall and lean, and muscle played beneath his green outfit. It was the muscle of a civilized man, but muscle just the same. He was a stormer, of that there was no doubt. Kurst could smell it on him, the aroma as bright as the fire before him.

"Who are you, Mr. Kurst?" Decker asked finally. He had finished setting up his tent, had laid out two sleeping bags, and was now sitting beside the fire. He had a sword in his lap, its blade still sheathed within its fine leather scabbard.

"I am Kurst, a traveler far from home caught in a strange land."

"Do you have a first name, Mr. Kurst?"

"Just Kurst. That's all I have ever been called for as long as I can remember."

Decker fell silent for a time, examing the weapon he held. "Teagle had this in his pack," he said at last. "I have no idea why he brought his dress sabre with him, but I felt compelled to take it with me. Who knows? Maybe it will do some good if my rifle fails on me." He paused, running his finger tips across the polished brass scabbard frame. Then he asked, "What brought you to America, Kurst?"

The hunter looked up from the food after checking on its progress. He scanned Decker's eyes for some hint of distrust, but all he saw was honest, good-natured curiosity. "I'm looking for someone," he replied, deciding to be honest as well.

"Really? So am I, in a way." Decker poured himself a cup of coffee, then replaced the pot over the fire. "I'm actually looking for something else, an object, but more and more I'm sure that there are people involved in my quest. You may find this a little strange, come to think of it."

"After what I have seen these past few days, nothing will ever seem strange again," Kurst said, scooping food into his bowl.

"Good point. I've been having dreams lately, and in these dreams I see the object that I'm after. And then I see a woman. She has long brown hair and beautiful green eyes. I don't know what it means, but I have a feeling she's out here somewhere, looking for the same object I'm seeking."

Kurst choked on his food, spitting bits into the fire. Decker had described the woman named Tolwyn—the woman who was traveling with Thratchen's quarry. Never had he heard of stormers behaving in this manner!

Decker came around the fire and began banging Kurst on the back. "Are you all right? Did I say something wrong?" There was actual concern in the man's voice, and that disturbed Kurst.

He wiped his mouth, shifting his gaze to meet Decker's. How far should he take his ploy, he wondered. All the way, he decided, all the way.

"I am fine, Mr. Decker. It is just that you have described the person that I am seeking as well."

"What? How can that be?"

Kurst simply shrugged. "Perhaps, together, we will find this out."

Yes, Kurst thought. If this stormer is following the others, then it should be a simple task to let him lead me to them. If I can gain his trust. Then I will have them all in the same place, and my job will prove to be that much easier.

They talked until the fire dimmed and the coffee grew cold.

93

Bryce and Mara sat outside the van. The others were asleep inside, and Tolwyn was still off by herself. So the priest and the young scientist from another reality talked quietly.

"It must have taken a lot of courage to leave your world to come here," Bryce said.

Mara, who was fiddling with a small metal plate no larger than the tip of her finger, pursed her lips but offered no comment. It seemed to be a sore point. She had removed the heavy makeup, Bryce noted, revealing a pretty young face. Even with the wild hair, he found it almost impossible to believe that she was from someplace else. Almost. Then he remembered her hand.

"Tell me about Tolwyn, Chris," Mara said as she continued to work with the tiny plate.

"What's to tell? She used to be someone named Wendy Miller, but I never met that woman. I've only had the pleasure of meeting Tolwyn, a young woman who seems to have come back from the dead."

"And from another cosm," Mara added.

"But I am here now," said Tolwyn as she emerged from the darkness to stand beside Bryce and Mara. "I have done much thinking this night. First, we must get an early start. I want to reach the stone as soon as possible."

"And second?" Bryce asked lightly.

"And second, we shall not use the term 'stormers' ever again," Tolwyn said very seriously.

Bryce and Mara looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. She did not disappoint them.

"We shall be called 'Storm Knights', for that is more noble a term. More valiant."

Tolwyn turned away, and Bryce knew that if he laughed, if he so much as giggled, she would pound him senseless — or worse. He did not laugh. In fact, when she said the words, they did sound noble. She leaped into the van, but turned once more to speak.

"And Christopher," she said, "I want a sword."

94

The fire had burned low. Only the cinders still glowed, softly illuminating the immediate area. Kurst sat beyond the glow, wrapping himself in the night. He watched Decker sleep, watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His rifle and the sword were resting right beside him.

"An interesting situation, I dare say," whispered Thratchen, his foul lips almost touching Kurst's ear. He heard the demon approach, but just barely. Thratchen was good. Kurst would remember that.

Kurst flexed his hand, letting it shift from soft human fingers to hair-covered claws and back with each clench of his fist. "What do you want, Thratchen?" he asked, his voice low but menacing. "You can see that I am busy?"

"I, too, have a job to do. I seek a woman tainted with the stench of Apeiros. I want you to understand exactly what you are to do when you find her."