torg 02 - The Dark Realm (17 page)

The answer was not a thing. But the guns were right there, unguarded. No one was paying any attention to him. He was just another part of the camp. His gaze returned to Rec Pakken, and he expected to see Baruk Kaah come storming out after him in response to his thoughts. But the black forest was the same as before; no one emerged from its depths to stop him.

Even the Wild Hunt was gone, the black cloud dispersed until the Horn Master gathered it again. Paragon wiped his hands on his jeans. If he was going to try anything, it would have to be now. Without thinking, he grabbed a pistol and a rifle from the pile. His eyes darted in all directions, but no one was watching him. He stuffed the pistol into his pants and held the rifle at his side.

Slowly, at an even pace, Eddie Paragon walked to the edge of the camp. Then, with a final look toward Rec Pakken to make sure Baruk Kaah wasn't on to him, he walked into the forest and out of the camp.

65

President Jonathan Wells replaced the phone on its cradle. General Powell had called with the news: Quin Sebastian was on his way to Kentucky. At least that was going according to plan. Now he had to deal with the problem before him. He looked up, returning his attention to Ellen Conners, Director of the Delphi Council.

"John, I need you to sign that document," she said again, not letting up on her position. "For the Delphi Council to be effective, it must be allowed to recruit agents."

Wells sighed. "Ellen, the council is supposed to be a think tank. It's supposed to develop strategies to help us battle these invaders. For what possible reason does it

need permission to raise a damn army?"

Conners gave him her best Madam Medusa look, the look that withered her opponents throughout her years in the Senate. John Wells was used to it. He smiled at her.

"Damn it, John, listen to me," she urged. "We are a think tank. I've gathered the best minds I could find from the political, military, and scientific communities. But we need the ability to place agents in the field. How can we move quickly if we have to wait for some other agency to provide us with manpower? Besides, if this situation lasts throughout the foreseeable future, we'll need people specially trained to deal with it. Can you send just any FBI or CIA agent into the conquered territory and expect them to function as they would here in Houston? My God, man, look what happened to Decker and his marines."

Wells listened to her words. They made sense, on the surface. But what was the intent behind them? And, even if Conners was sincere, what if someone else came to power? The Delphi Council and its special privileges could be abused. He fingered the document before him. "By Executive Order," it began. All it needed was his signature.

"John, we're wasting precious time," Conners said. "Every second we waste is another dead soldier or civilian. Every minute is another chunk of land lost to the invaders. I need agents to go in there and find out how they work — and why our technology doesn't."

Swayed by the necessity of the moment, Wells signed the document. He would worry about curbing the long- range ramifications of the Delphi Council later. Right now, he had to give Ellen Conners the authority and ability to carry out her mission.

He handed the signed paper to her. "Do what you

have to, Ellen. But don't make me regret this decision."

"You won't, John," shesmiled. "Someday this decision will be remembered as the first step toward our victory."

She left then, off to put the new Executive Order into practice. Wells sipped his coffee. It was cold and bitter, but it settled his nerves. He had been putting his next decision off for a while, but now was the time to implement it. He reached for his phone.

"Carter," he said into the receiver. "Have the boys prepare Air Force One. I'm going to Twentynine Palms to see Decker."

66

Thratchen checked the pendant again, looking for any imperfections in the runes. It was a red, multi- faceted stone held by a gold chain. The stone sparkled when the light hit it, reflecting bright beams from its many faces. On each face, painstakingly carved by Thratchen's own hands, were runes of magic.

It had been a long time since Thratchen had called upon these arcane skills. While magic was not beyond the axiom levels of Tharkold, technology usually provided a faster, easier solution. But here, in Orrorsh, it was more prudent to use the tools available to him. Less chance of contradictions being formed that way. And, he discovered as he prepared the spell, he liked using sorcery. It added a new element to his already- extensive repertoire.

Satisfied that he was prepared, Thratchen stepped into a shadowed alcove to wait. It wasn't long before Scythak appeared at the end of the corridor, fresh from his audience with the Gaunt Man. Thratchen marveled at the weretiger's size. Even in man form, Scythak was huge. He stood over six-and-a-half-feet tall, with massive shoulders and powerful muscles. In tiger form, he was even larger. In either form, he towered over Thratchen. His size and strength did not frighten the Tharkoldan, though. It merely made him cautious.

Scythak drew closer, moving nearly silently for one so big. Moving like a cat. As he approached the alcove, Thratchen stepped out of the shadows and blocked the hunter's path. Scythak stopped when he saw Thratchen, regarding him from under heavy brows.

"I thought I smelled your stench, Thratchen," growled Scythak. "Get out of my way. I have a mission from the Gaunt Man, and I do not have time to deal with you."

The powerful man started forward again, but Thratchen held up his hand. "Before you go," Thratchen said, "I have something to aid you in your mission." He held up the pendant, letting it dangle from its chain. The pendant caught the light from the gas lamps in the corridor as it twirled lazily, reflecting it into Scythak's eyes. "Do you see it?"

"I see it," said Scythak, interested. "What is it?"

"It's a pendant of Orrorshan reality," Thratchen lied. "I know that you can retain your own reality, without any help from devices, but this mission is too important to risk that odd chance of disconnection. Besides, a little insurance couldn't hurt."

It was understood by those who regularly traveled through different realities that there was an inherent danger involved in the process. Even the strongest stormer could find himself "disconnected," cut off from his reality and set adrift in a wash of alien axioms. Thratchen hoped to play on that nagging concern, perhaps fanning it into outright fear.

The stone continued to reflect light into Scythak's eyes, shining indecipherable patterns across his line of vision. Satisfied that he had the weretiger's attention, Thratchen spoke the words of power. His breath caused the pendant to twirl faster, intensifying the reflected light with each rotation. And the magic flared.

"What is your mission?" Thratchen demanded.

"I am to travel by dimthread to Takta Ker, go down bridge to Baruk Kaah's realm in the western United States," Scythak said, his voice distant as the beams of light hypnotized him. "From there I must enter Core Earth reality and locate the stormer named Andrew Jackson Decker. I am to bring him and the stormer aiding him back here."

"Very good," said Thratchen, moving the pendant closer to the hunter's face. Scythak smiled like a child given candy. Thratchen spoke another word of power, then said, "Now listen to me very carefully. When you see Decker, you will kill him. You will not protect him or bring him back here. You will simply kill him, because if he remains alive you will find yourself disconnected, cut off from your own reality. Do you understand?"

The stone seemed to pulse with energy, its beams flashing directly into Scythak's eyes. "Yes, I understand," the hunter replied obediently.

"You will not remember that this is your true mission until you actually see Decker. Until then, you will do exactly as the Gaunt Man has told you. Only when you see Decker will you remember that you must kill him. For every moment that you delay, total disconnection will become more inevitable. You will become transformed to an alien reality. Do you understand?"

Another pulse of energy. "Yes, I understand."

"You will forget that we have spoken, that I have told you anything. All you remember is that I gave you a pendant of Orrorshan reality. Only when you see Decker will the fear flare within you. Then you must kill him. Do you understand?"

The pendant glowed from within. "Yes," Scythak said, "I understand."

The spell complete, Thratchen snatched up the pendant nimbly, cutting off the beams of light. Slowly, the hunter's vision cleared. Scythak stared at Thratchen like a man who has awakened to find something particularly odious in his bed. "If you have something for me, give it here," the weretiger growled.

Thratchen held out the pendant and Scythak grabbed it away. He slipped it over his head, letting the stone fall into the folds of his shirt. "Now get out of my way," Scythak warned. He moved off, down the corridor in the direction he had been going when Thratchen had stopped him. "I have no more time for the likes of you," Scythak called as he walked past. And then he was gone.

Thratchen stepped back into the shadows, smiling broadly. There was still a chance the spell might fail. But if it worked, the Gaunt Man would be deprived of Decker's strength just when he needed it most. Then, when the High Lord was frantically trying to improvise a new solution, Thratchen would strike. If all went well, he would be firmly in control of Orrorsh when Kurst arrived with the women stormers. Just in time for Thratchen to attach them to the machine for his own use.

Yes, Thratchen thought, his schemes were working out very well. Now if Kurst could only keep Mara and Tolwyn alive long enough to reach him, then everything would fall into place.

67

Kurst sat beside Tom O'Malley in the cockpit of the airplane, listening to the hum of the engine. Outside the window, the snow was a frenzy of white that made vision useless. It was like flying inside a snow drift.

"How can you see where you are flying, Tom O'Malley?" asked Kurst.

"I'm flying by instrumentation," Tom answered.

Kurst had no idea what that meant. He decided that further explanation was not necessary, however, just so long as the plane stayed in the air.

"We're over Timor now, Mr. Kurst," Tom explained. "My radar is picking up a major disturbance about three hundred kilometers in front of us. That must be the storm front."

"We'll have to pass through it to reach Borneo," Kurst said.

"We should hit the edge of it in about twenty-five minutes. Then the ride will get pretty rough."

Kurst let his thoughts wander, thinking about everything that had happened thus far. As he replayed scenes in his mind, he looked for anything he might have missed the first time. Any piece of stray information could possibly prove useful at some point. Then his thoughts turned to the upcoming climax in Orrorsh. Would Tolwyn and Mara put up a fight? Yes, he was certain. The others would fight as well. Especially Bryce, who had grown stronger than he or the others realized. But Kurst saw it. And a powerful holy man in Orrorsh could prove troublesome. Only Djil was an unknown quantity. Kurst had no clue as to what the shaman was capable of.

"There it is, Mr. Kurst," Tom said, snapping Kurst out of his pondering.

Before them was a huge wall of swirling cloud, driving sleet, and crackling lightning. It stretched to both sides and as far up as they could see. As they flew closer, great claps of thunder shook the plane violently. But Tom held it steady. He was a good pilot.

"Be prepared to experience some disturbing visions, Tom," Kurst warned. "Reality is not stable on the boundaries between two axiom sets. Ignore what you see and simply fly."

To his credit, Tom O'Malley did not question Kurst. He concentrated instead on holding the airplane steady, on keeping their course true. The wall of storm was on top of them now, its jagged stripes of lightning shining into the cockpit. The harsh light made Tom look corpselike, and Kurst felt a strange sensation of premonition come over him. The feeling saddened him, and he thought that odd.

The plane hit the wall then, jerking wildly as rain and wind engulfed it. Kurst held on to the panel in front of him, forcing his mind to remain calm. If he gave in to his instincts, he would change form. The wolf was not what he needed now — he needed the man.

Outside, rain splattered the windshield. But the rain was not water. It was thick, steaming blood. Kurst let his gaze rest on O'Malley. The pilot ignored the gore dripping down the window. He was fighting with the controls, pulling up on the stick in a valiant effort to keep their altitude. Lightning flashed in front of them, exploding through a nearby cloud. Where the jagged bolt touched, the cloud transformed into silvery batlike things that flew into the windshield as well. Soon they covered the glass, and visual flying was again hampered.

"I'm not picking up any navigational beacons anymore, Kurst," Tom yelled so that the hunter could hear him, raising his voice above the constant thunder that battered the plane. "And I can't see where we're going. All I can do is fly straight and hope there's

nothing too big and heavy somewhere in front of us."

"Perhaps," Kurst called back, "it is better that you cannot see what occurs outside. I have known the shifting realities to drive men mad."

Tom didn't comment. He simply flew as best he knew how. And that was very good indeed. Then, as quickly as it had begun, they were out of the storm. Kurst could tell because the thunder had died off drastically, and the constant pelting of blood-red rain ceased, too. But more, Kurst felt his world's presence like a wash of warm water. Immediately the ever-present tension of holding his own reality in another cosm was gone, and he felt his body and mind relax. He closed his eyes and nearly growled with pleasure.

"We're not out of this yet, Mr. Kurst," Tom warned. "We must have been struck by a stray bolt of lightning. The left engine is on fire and we're losing fuel. I'm going to have to take us down."

Kurst tried to get their bearings by looking out the window. The bat-things and the steaming blood were evaporating within the set reality of Orrorsh, so his line of sight was better. "Can we make it to Borneo, Tom?" he asked.

"I don't know if we'll even have the option to try, Mr. Kurst," Tom said.

Then they were dropping, down through the clouds of black ash, down through the gently falling snow.

Down toward the sea.

68

The army that Baruk Kaah established on the border between the Living Land and Core Earth Sequoia National Forest was like many armies: it contained air elements and ground assault elements.

In other ways, it was very different. Its air element was a boiling cloud of blackness and lightning, where shapes of mad dogs and frothing horses could be seen by those that could stand to look into the heart of it. It also had flying reptiles and twirling starfish-shaped creatures that seemed to hover in the air. Its land groups were lizard men and huge dinosaurs, wild men and women, and terrible giant insects.