torg 02 - The Dark Realm (18 page)

Baruk Kaah struggled to maintain order among his people, but it was difficult. The concepts of military units and strategy on a grand scale were alien to their world, and even the High Lord had trouble focusing on such thoughts when his Darkness Device was not aiding him.

He commanded the Wild Hunt to remain above his forces, ready to strike at any Earthers that proved too powerful for his spiritual magic. The gospog had arrived recently, and the gotaks were busy outfitting them with the dead weapons taken from the Earthers. His singers, those especially strong with the living magic of the land, chanted ceaselessly about him, weaving a song of speed and strength that would make them powerful in battle.

Baruk Kaah took a mighty breath and let it out slowly, savoring the live taste of the air and the promise of seasons to come on this new world. He had healed well after his defeat to the Core Earth hard point, and he felt stronger, more powerful than ever before. The setback his forces suffered when trying to create another dominant zone to the south was temporary at best. This time he would lead the charge himself. This time the land would become his. All he required was a little more time to gather the Jakatts and the gospog. Then they would surge forward, a living army to defeat the dead of Earth.

The High Lord noted the presence of the ravagon, the only one of the three originally sent to him by the Gaunt Man who still remained in his camp. But he could not see the Earth singer Eddie Paragon anywhere. A terrible feeling started to crawl up his knobby spine, making his body twitch in a combination of fear and rage.

"Ravagon," he called, "where is the singer Paragon?"

"I do not know, High Lord," the ravagon said. His words were subservient on the surface, but Baruk Kaah could hear the contempt that rippled beneath them. "I last saw him during our discussions with the Horn Master."

Anger blurred his motions, making it hard to read his desire. But a stalenger reached out its tentacles to communicate with the High Lord. The stalenger said nothing; it waited for Baruk Kaah to make his wishes known.

"Fly, stalenger," the High Lord commanded. "I want Paragon found. And then I want him brought back to me. He will pay for this affront to my generosity. He shall learn what life is—and the lesson will be very long, and filled with the most terrible sensations."

69

Eddie Paragon stopped to rest, leaning against a tall tree. He was tired, thirsty, hungry, and very sure he was lost. Why did he ever think he could find his way out of this forest? He was a rock'n'roll star, not Daniel Boone. He let his body drop heavily to the ground. If he was going to die out here, he might as well be as comfortable as possible.

God, he needed a shower! And a shave and a haircut, too. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed any of those ministrations. With little else to do and no desire to start walking again, Paragon decided to examine his weapons. Both were heavy, and he assumed they were loaded. But he didn't want to start taking things apart in fear of not being able to put them back together again. Also, he didn't want to accidentally shoot himself. That would be embarrassing, he imagined; to die by a self- inflicted gun shot wound after escaping from the High Lord of the lizard men. That would make a wonderful article in one of the check-out counter tabloids.

There was a loud crashing sound, and Eddie almost screamed when he heard it. He forced himself back to his feet and peered around the side of the tree. If it was Baruk Kaah, or the ravagon, or even the Horn Master, Eddie was determined to fight to the end. He had no illusions that the end would take very long to arrive, however.

He waited, straining to see into the shadowy forest. There was another crash, and then he could see leaves and bushes swaying as something pushed through them. Paragon raised the rifle, placing his finger around the trigger. He hoped it was as easy to use as it always looked on TV and in the movies. There was probably a step they never showed you, a secret that he wouldn't be able to figure out. Then he would have to use the rifle like a club. That would rush the end along that much faster, thank you very much. He pushed all thoughts from his mind, watching the rustling bushes ahead of him.

It exploded out of the foliage with a high-pitched squeal, startling Paragon. He dropped the rifle. But what emerged wasn't Baruk Kaah, or the ravagon, or the Horn Master. It was a small, dog-sized lizard that reminded Paragon of a giant armadillo. It was running very fast on its four legs, its armor plating bouncing up

and down with the effort. As the fear subsided, Eddie began to laugh.

"You're what scared me half to death?" he said to himself, retrieving the rifle from where it had fallen. "Eddie, you are just too nervous for your own good."

The roar that followed set off his frazzled nerves again, but he caught the rifle before it could fall.

"Shit!" he screamed. "What was that?"

Out of the forest, chasing after the giant armadillo, was a man-sized dinosaur that burst into sight running on two tri-toed legs. Its head was all jaws and teeth, and it bellowed loudly as it ran. Its long tail chased behind it, swaying back and forth.

Paragon raised the rifle and took aim, but then the dinosaur was gone, crashing through the woods in pursuit of the armadillo. He lowered the weapon and took a couple of deep breaths to settle himself.

"Eddie Paragon, you really must get a grip," he said.

Then he started walking again, moving in the direction he hoped led to the storm front.

And toward home.

70

"Let's go," James Monroe said, standing in the doorway. He was looking only at Julie Boot, suggesting they leave Andrew Jackson Decker to die.

Or what amounted to the same thing.

"What about Ace?" she asked, a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"There's nothing more we can do," Monroe replied stonily. "But there are other patients here who need us. It's time you got your priorities straight, Major."

"Don't you see?" she screamed angrily, regretting the anger instantly. She stopped, fought for calm. "Don't

you see," she continued shakily, "he responded to me. However slight, it was a response. That has to mean something."

"He'll come out of it or he won't," Monroe said. "It's out of our hands, Julie. Let him go and come help those who really have a chance."

She almost gave in then, almost rose from her seat and walked with James Monroe out the door. But something in her screamed, "wrong wrong wrong!" Decker did have a chance, but he required her help. And he required it now.

"I'm not wrong, James," she said, tired. "Not this time. I've never felt so sure. We've got to help Ace and we've got to do it now."

"We have a responsibility to those who need us more. We don't have time for a lost cause." Monroe, disgusted with her, turned and left the doorway. She heard his footsteps move slowly through the hall, finally fading in the distance.

Julie put her feelings for Monroe aside and tried to concentrate on the man before her. What had she done to make Decker respond? Had she truly done anything? Unsure, she took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

"Ace," she whispered, leaning close to him. "Ace, hear me. You must wake up. You must live."

And then she began to talk to Decker, telling him about herself and the situation at Twentynine Palms. She told him things she never told anyone before, carrying on a conversation as though he were listening to every word she said. She hoped he could hear her, that he would follow her voice back up to the surface. That he would open his eyes and talk back to her.

But even if he didn't, she would sit there and continue to talk to him. Because deep down, she knew that it was

helping.

71

Andrew Jackson Decker stepped through another door in the unending dream of choices. He had been alone for some time now, not even interrupted by a visit from the Gaunt Man. The dream kept him busy, however, constantly moving from scene to scene as he made his choices. Most of his decisions involved natural disasters of some sort and how to avert them. So far, he had found the least destructive paths.

A few times he had experienced a weird sensation. He thought he heard a voice, calling to him from some great distance. But when he paused to listen for it, the voice slipped away. It reminded him of Vicky's voice, soft and full of love. He missed her so much. It wasn't fair that something as unpredictable as cancer had taken her from him. How could you fight something like that? In the end, he discovered you couldn't. You could only hope the hurt would not be too great as the disease ran its course.

Thinking about Vicky, he again heard the gentle voice. It seemed closer now, more urgent. He tried to focus on it, but it remained vague, insubstantial. If he had to make choices, then let him choose to find the voice!

"Vicky!" Decker called. "Where are you?"

Then he heard the voice, clearer, more distinct. It was beyond the doorway behind him, back the way he had come. Decker ran to the door. He reached for the knob. But before he could grip it, energy crackled from the knob and pushed him back.

"No!" he screamed. "This is my choice!"

He reached for it again, forcing his hand through the glowing field of energy, ignoring the pain it caused. Again his fingers closed on the door knob. And the knob faded away.

"You won't make this easy, will you?" Decker said aloud.

He pounded on the door then, smashing his fists into the hard wood. But no matter how hard he hit it, the door refused to budge.

"You can't stop me, Gaunt Man!" Decker raged. "I will get through this door!"

"Then I will simply place another one before you," the Gaunt Man said, appearing behind Decker. "Your choices are before you. Nothing exists for you back there anymore."

"You're wrong, Gaunt Man," Decker said. "My life exists back there. My freedom. You can't keep me from getting that back."

"Oh, but I can," the Gaunt Man said, but his usual smile did not accompany the words. "Even now my agents move to eliminate the voice that calls to you. And without the voice to support you, you can only move forward."

"But listen, Gaunt Man. The voice is still there. And it's louder now, stronger." And Decker was right. He could hear the voice much clearer now. It wasn't Vicky's voice, he realized, and that saddened him. But it was someone who cared for him nonetheless. Someone who was trying to help him.

"Create as many doors as you want to, Gaunt Man," Decker said. "In the end, I'll just step through them all."

With that, Decker threw his body against the door. The wood splintered, broke, and Decker was through the door. He picked himself up and ran then, following the sound of the voice.

And behind him, he heard the Gaunt Man's shouts of rage.

72

In Victoria River Downs, in Australia's Northern Territory, a ravagon stood in a snow-covered air field. Around him huddled a pack of shaden, waiting obediently like hounds for their master. The midnight black shapes were a mass of tangled tendrils at the winged demon's feet. What they were doing in Core Earth was a mystery. He was just glad they had not been able to kill Kurst and his party. The Gaunt Man would not have liked that.

The ravagon had been dispatched by the Gaunt Man to intercept Kurst and his party. Apparently the hunter had fallen out of favor, or at least had done enough to warrant the Gaunt Man's distrust. It was the ravagon's assignment to "accompany" Kurst and his charges directly to Illmound Keep in Orrorsh realm. But he had arrived too late, for they had already been to this air field and gone.

The ravagon slashed out with one mighty talon and ripped one of the shaden in half. Its dying squeal filled the night air, rising up to the ravagon like sweet music. But the act did not completely quell his frustration. That required the deaths of a dozen more of the shaden. When he finished, the burning fluids that spilled from the dead creatures melted a wide patch of snow around him. He ordered the remaining few to disperse.

"You are close, Kurst," the ravagon said to himself. His great wings flapped loudly, then he pulled them around himself like a cloak. "It will not be long before I catch up with you. When that happens, I hope you show some sign of betrayal, some evidence that you have turned against the Gaunt Man. Because if you do, I will take great pleasure in killing you where you stand."

He spread his wings again, letting them billow in the cold breeze. Then he took to the air, flying in the direction his senses indicated, following Kurst's scent.

Flying toward Orrorsh.

73

"We're going down!" Tom shouted as Mara entered the cockpit.

"Hold on to something!" Kurst advised her as the airplane started to descend.

Seeing there was little she could do in the cockpit, Mara grabbed a window seat back in the cabin and strapped in. Outside, she could see flames trailing from the engine on the wing. That, she realized, was the cause of their problems.

She looked around at the others in the cabin. Bryce was silent, his head bent in prayer. Tolwyn sat up straight, every muscle in her body tensed as though ready to explode. Djil, stretched out comfortably across two seats, snored loudly. The dwarves were talking to themselves, suggesting ways to repair the damaged craft. Mara took in all of this with a detached calm as the plane continued to arc down in a long glide. Tom was doing what he could, but Mara estimated impact with sea level within twenty minutes — if the engine didn't blow up first.

The thought shocked her, reminding her of similar times on her world. The war between Kadandra and the Sims produced many instances where death was imminent and all but guaranteed. She had always made it through those instances. But many she cared about didn't. Their names and faces flashed before her eyes —