WINDDREAMER (22 page)

Conar moved his torch to light the narrow slit in the rock wall. The tunnel that had started at the doorway had become progressively more narrow; he had to force himself sideways to advance. His arms and shoulders had been scraped raw in places, and the wounds bled a little. The tunnel had ended at this wavering slit and he wasn't sure he could squeeze through the opening. Upon closer inspection, he knew he couldn't.

"Goddamn it!" Frustrated beyond anything he had ever felt, he cursed the wall, the mountain, the tunnel--and Kaileel Tohre. "Damn you!" He pounded the fist in which he still gripped Liza's talisman against the wall. "Do you hear me you slimy bastard?"

"Of course, I do."

Shaking his head like an angry bull, Conar headed back the way he had come. Behind him, Tohre laughed, taunting him, mocking him. His shoulders scraped painfully over the rocks and he grit his teeth to keep from cursing. His shirt ripped on a snag. Wrenching his arm away from the wall, he heard the fabric tear even more. Growling in fury, he smacked the wall with his fist and cut his hand on something sharp. He shouted with the pain and jerked up his hand, scratching a long furrow along his arm as he did. He felt blood dripping to his elbow.

He carefully put down his arm and wiped his hand on his pants. Straining through parts of the passageway that seemed to be more narrow than before, gouging his flesh against sharp stones, he clenched his jaw and kept moving, not caring anymore that he bled freely in at least a dozen places. The most important thing for him was to find another way to reach the low, vibrating source of unknown sound he kept hearing. Each time he pressed against the wall, he could feel the vibrations grow stronger.

By the time he reached the beginning of the tunnel and stood trying to decide which tunnel to take next, he was beyond reasonable thought. His anger was like a festering sore, ripe to burst. Nothing, and no one, save Elizabeth McGregor, could have lessened his rage. His nostrils flared wide with fury. His long legs pumped like twins pistons as he stormed toward the right-hand tunnel.

"Where are you?" he shouted.

"Can't you find me, Conar?" came the laughing rejoinder.

Realizing time ticked away with deadly seconds, he bolted down the long, twisting corridor of stone, with no regard to what might be at the other end. When he could no longer hear the humming vibration, he stopped, took a deep breath, and willed his heart to slow.

Nothing could be accomplished this way, he decided miserably. He had to think. He was letting his anger get the best of him, exactly what Kaileel had known would happen. He had to calm down. He had to rationalize.

Easier said than done, he admonished himself, plowing his blood-sticky fingers through his hair. His main concern was time. The longer it took to find Liza, the more time Kaileel had to harm her. That bleak thought tore at his already hurting insides, totally unmanning him and bringing tears. If Kaileel hurt her...

He couldn't bear the notion.

It hurt too much. It scared him too much.

He took a deep breath and strode to the tunnel's end, where a thick door barred the exit. It wasn't locked. He swung open the portal, stooped down to leave the tunnel--

And moaned in defeat.

He found himself back in the antechamber, standing before the door leading into the Ritual Chamber. He snarled, swinging his head side to side in anger. Every door that had been shut, locked, and barred to him before, now gaped open, their dark interiors lying in wait. He wanted to sit down with his head in his hands and sob.

He couldn't afford the luxury.

Squaring his shoulders, tamping down the urge to go stark raving mad, he took the doorway closest to him. Spiraling stone steps ran steeply downward, jagging away into total darkness. The dull gray stairs looked wicked, crazily jutting at weird angles as they disappeared into the ebon beyond. The risers themselves looked too narrow for his booted feet, and he'd have to be careful descending.

Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, he put a foot on the first tilted step. The stone gave way. Before he could jump back, his foot skidded downward and he lost his balance. He also lost his grip on the torch. His arms windmilled as he crashed down the shaft of the spiraling steps, his back and hips hitting the wall from side to side.

He landed at the bottom with a thud, gouging a long furrow in the small of his back on the last riser. His tailbone throbbed with the impact. Gingerly moving his arms and legs, he felt genuine surprise that nothing seemed broken or sprained. His sword, secured across his back in its baldric, poked at his lower ribs on the right side where the hilt had decided to remind him it remained.

Letting out a thankful breath, he pushed his hand along the floor until he felt a wall, then braced himself and got unsteadily to his feet. He couldn't see a thing in front of him. He stood in total darkness. Even narrowing his eyes brought nothing but wavering sparks of blood-light behind his lids.

"What now, idiot?"

He felt along the rocky wall, wincing at the slimy, unsavory, and moist surface. With one foot feeling ahead of the other, the toe of his boot tapping for obstruction, he inched forward.

To try to climb the steps would be futile, he realized. The risers themselves were slanted downward, like the steps. Such stairways were meant for descent, not ascension. Besides, he thought grimly, he knew he was exactly where Tohre wanted him to be. The vibrating sound seemed closer here, more intense. The floor beneath his boots hummed.

Conar moved along until his hand touched what appeared to be a corner. Removing his fingers from the stone, he touched only air before him and to the sides, no obstruction at all. He eased his foot forward, felt firm ground, and carefully turned into the opening. Sliding his foot from side to side ahead of him, he took small, mincing steps should he find a drop-off or perilous pratfall.

His right hand clutched Liza's talisman so tightly, the metal dug into his flesh, but it was a part of her that seemed his shield and protection. He would not pocket the precious medallion for fear of losing it. At that moment, it was the only connection he had to his beloved and just having it in his hand made him feel better.

In the distance, a glimmer of light suddenly appeared. It wavered in an arc, back and forth, like a beacon at the end of the narrow path. Stagnant, heavy, and oppressively warm air filled the passageway. An undercurrent of something alien played just under Conar's subconscious; warning bells began to go off in his head even before two skittering creatures flitted past him in blind panic, their fearful chirping feeding on his own sense of bravery.

He smelled the air changing. Along with it came that identifiable odor he had smelled when he and Chase had battled the demon hours ago. He shifted the talisman to his left hand and drew the Deathwelder from its sheath. Holding the black sword in front of him, he purposefully moved toward the swinging light.

A sound like nothing he had ever heard howled into the darkness, answered by another, more sinister howl that drew out long and shrill. No sooner had that howl ended than another began, closer this time. Conar's flesh crawled. Whatever lay at the end of the passageway had company.

Conar felt the things before he saw them. His sixth sense, so finely attuned, picked them up on his internal radar, warning him before they could scuttle out of the end of the passageway and come at him. They slithered over his feet, nipping at his boots with razor-like teeth that pierced and sank into the leather, although not deep enough to touch his flesh. One unseen entity snapped at his knee. Hearing the low growl, Conar flattened himself against the moist wall. He jabbed at the floor with his blade, grinning when he heard a startled, piercing yelp, much like a puppy would make.

Then something rumbled with a deep, penetrating bass, shoving him sideways along the wall, his already-bruised shoulder sliding through the muck and slime.

Straightening, turning to face his attacker, he heard tiny clicking sounds all around him, but couldn't see anything in the darkness. Once more he thrust his sword downward. Instead of encountering prey, he heard what could have only been laughter from the things surrounding him, one laugh deeper, older than the others. Had he wandered into a nest? He stepped back, the thought not setting well with his courage.

Just along his nether vision, he saw the arc of light move closer to him. He tensed, hoping the spill of light would illumine whatever held him at bay. He flinched as something sharp grazed his left hand. He drew it back with a grunt, feeling blood dripping from the wound.

Conar sucked in his breath. It seemed the smell of his blood excited the creatures, who clicked and hissed, like dogs slathering over a bone. A satisfied groan came from that deeper voice, along with a sliding, shuffling sound that moved steadily closer. After a grumble of laughter, the clicking sound intensified.

Striking out with his sword, Conar heard the deep growl again, cooing to him. Something clawed at him, leaving a bloody gash down his right arm. The Deathwelder quivered in his sword hand and he tightened his grip on the hilt.

"Only cowards hide in the dark and strike unseen at their victims, Tohre! But then, you were always a coward, weren't you?"

The creatures issued a shocked intake of breath, then their menacing growls grew in volume until the wall began to shake behind Conar's back. How big are these things? he thought with worry.

All of them seemed to be moving closer, bumping against him as he kicked out.

"Tohre!" His boot buried itself into something soft and giving. As the deeper growl came from almost at his side, Conar stepped farther away. "Damn you, you bastard! Show yourself!"

"You want to see your adversaries, my beloved Prince?" a voice called. "Then view them!"

Before Conar could answer, the arc of light shot forward, nearly blinding him with its intensity as it threw the entire passageway into overwhelming light. He threw his arm over his eyes so his vision could adjust. As he did, something sank its sharp teeth into his left thigh. He screamed with pain, thrusting down his arms to push away the creature. His fingers encountered something so vile, so loathsome, he snatched them back.

And when he looked down at the thing clinging to him, he nearly vomited in disgust.

Thom Loure slumped down the wall, his hands coated with blood, the front of his shirt sweat-soaked and smelling of blood and gore. He plucked at the offending material, then shrugged.

"He was a Hasdu, wasn't he?"

Loure looked up at Storm. "Aye."

Storm hunkered down beside his friend. "What was that he said before you killed him?"

Thom shrugged. "I didn't catch it all, but it was something about an asp. He said he sold an asp to an Elite." He laid his head along the wall, exhausted from his bloodletting.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

"He was trying to tell you something, Thom. Something he thought would save his life."

"Nothing would have saved his life."

"Still," Storm insisted, "I think you should have let the man speak."

"It was a Hasdu what murdered my brother, Rayle, or don't you remember that?"

"I'm not apt to forget, Thommy. Rayle was a good friend of mine."

Some vague memory stirred in Loure's tired brain. His forehead creased. "You know," he said, sitting up, "there was that time Conar was bitten by an asp in the garden at Boreas." He looked at Storm.

"You think he knew who put that viper in the garden?" Storm shivered. "An Elite?"

Thom stared at him. "There is a traitor among us, Jale!"

The vile creature, maybe ten, eleven inches long, with teeth grinding into Conar's flesh, had wrapped its scaly body around his legs. The limbless creature looked like a giant slug, its back end tapering down to a twitching stub of a tail. Two beady red eyes glared up at Conar as it worked its teeth through flesh and muscle, endeavoring to reach gristle and bone. Its body had wrapped so snugly around the lower part of his knee and calf, Conar could feel the constriction like a band of molten iron. Although no more than two inches in diameter, the creature made up for its size with the ferocity of its chewing.

Shrieking, Conar jerked it away from his leg, his flesh shredding with blinding pain. He tossed up the creature and brought up his sword, severing it in mid-air. He gagged once more, hot bile rising in his throat, and he stumbled, eyeing another creature preparing to attack.

Before Conar had a chance to back away, the slug-like being sprang from the ground like a grasshopper. One needle-sharp tooth caught the fleshy part of Conar's right forearm, snagging itself. With a speed and agility that boggled the mind, the beast wrapped its loathsome tail around Conar's elbow and constricted.

In horror, Conar stared at the thing, the wide set of its closely spaced teeth snapping at him from a foul-smelling green mouth. A high-pitched sound of terror issued from Conar's lips. He slammed his arm along the wall, jamming his elbow against the stone with such force it brought tears to his eyes. But the motion crushed the creature. With a squish, it slid to the floor, oozing a noxious fluid that filled the air with breath-taking fumes.

"Fuck!" Conar spat, shaking his arm of the creature's slimy residue.

A fierce growl rent the air. Conar looked up to see two more things spring at him. He stepped out of the way of one, stomping on its bloated body with his foot, gagging as it squashed beneath his heel. He speared the other on the tip of his blade. Four more slithered forward, preparing to launch themselves, but the deeper growl roared out of the blinding light. Conar's heart ceased to beat when he took in the sight of the mother-creature as it shifted to block his escape.

Slime dripped down the massive, corpulent, tube-like body. Its scales rose and fell like the breathing fins on a fish. Two huge blood-red eyes glowered at Conar with an evil so old and so powerful it feared nothing, the sweep of its vision leaving no doubt that it thought of him merely as fodder for its young. Conar trembled.