The Destroyer of Worlds (8 page)

But he had never handed anyone to a creature as terrible as Goth. God only knew what horrors the demon would visit on Ally Wester.

“Bronsky,” said Krastiny. “Make the poor girl unconscious.” Goth glanced at him, and Krastiny swallowed. “Else we’ll listen to her screams the entire way back.”

Goth looked away. Bronsky produced a small flask and poured some of its contents onto a rag. He jammed the rag over Ally Wester’s face. She tried to writhe away, but her eyes rolled up and she fell still and silent. 

Krastiny drove into the night. 

###

“Here,” said Goth. He pointed. “Turn here.”

Krastiny drove through the ruinous warehouse districts of Chicago’s south side, not far from Wycliffe’s complex. An abandoned factory rose up to the right, its windows smashed, its bricks crumbling, and its paint peeling. A chain-link fence crowned with barbed wire encircled the decrepit structure. The fence’s gate hung askew, half on the sidewalk, half into the street. 

“Here?” said Krastiny. 

Goth growled. “Turn.” 

Krastiny turned and drove through the factory’s yard, taking care to avoid the piles of rusted machinery, broken bricks, and crumbling potholes. 

“Stop here.” Krastiny stopped, and Goth opened the side door. “Get out, all of you.”

Krastiny obeyed and wrapped his hand around his gun. Suppose Goth decided to dispose of them? Krastiny would not go down without a fight. Yet what could bullets do against a winged demon? 

Goth strode to the back of the van and opened the door. “Under the passenger seat.” He scooped up the semi-conscious Ally Wester and slung her over his shoulder. 

“Under what?” said Krastiny. 

“Under the passenger seat,” said Goth. “There you shall find the money Lord Marugon promised.” He turned his burning gaze over them. “Leave at once.” 

Krastiny didn’t argue. 

Goth strode to a small steel door in the factory wall. A gleaming metal keypad rested next to the door, and Goth’s clawed fingers danced over the pad. Krastiny made note of the sequence. The door slid open, and Goth stepped inside, Ally Wester slung over his shoulder.

The door clanged shut behind him. 

They stood in silence for a long while, watching the ruined building and listening to the wind’s cold whistle. 

“Poor bitch,” said Schzeran. “Wander what the old devil will do to her.”

Krastiny snorted. “You know full well what he’ll do to her. She’ll wish we had put a bullet through her head, before Goth-Mar-Dan is done with her.” He shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this. I think it might be time to retire.” Krastiny stared at the factory for a long time, battling with his unexpected guilt. 

The feeling was new to him, and he did not like it. 

“What do we do now, boss?” said Schzeran. “I mean, it’s damn cold out here. If you want to sit and brood, let’s go find someplace warm.” 

Krastiny opened the van’s door and looked under the passenger seat. A metal suitcase lay on the floor. He opened it and saw thick wads of hundred dollar bills, just as Goth had promised. “Here’s the money.”

“The old demon kept his word,” said Schzeran.

“Good.” Krastiny slammed the suitcase shut. “Now we get the hell out of town before Kurkov decides...”

He turned around just as a bullet blew Bronsky’s skull to mush. 

Chapter 6 - The Knight and the Assassin

Anno Domini 2012

Ally groaned. 

Icy metal pressed against her back, the chill soaking through her clothes. A strange reek brushed her nose, a mixture of chemicals and spoiled meat. She blinked her gummy eyes open. A dark roof of metal girders arched far above her, a few rays of moonlight leaking through a skylight.

She turned her head, and a moan of fear slipped from her mouth. She lay spread-eagle on a metal table, her wrists and ankles pinned by heavy metal shackles. A rack stood besides the table. It held a variety of surgical instruments and serrated knives, all of them crusted with blood. 

The memory came crashing back, and she remembered the winged demon towering over her bed.

She thrashed against the metal cuffs to little effect. Her head turned, eyes darting over her surroundings. Dim blue light came from a few lamps scattered about the floor. Her table sat in the corner of a cavernous room, the shapes of ruined machines hulking against the walls…

Her gaze fell over a massive glass tank, and Ally screamed until her lungs felt as if they would burst.

The tank held a naked female corpse floating in blue chemicals, slashes and scars marking the pale dead skin. A dozen more glass cylinders stood besides the first, each holding a naked corpse. A row of metal shelves held a variety of body parts - hearts, heads, hands, feet. A glass jar held dozens of eyeballs, all of them seeming to stare at Ally.  

And as she screamed, a dark shadow leapt swooped from one of the massive broken machines. 

The winged demon dropped out of the darkness and landed before the table, its crown of red gold glittering in the dim light. 

“You are awake,” said the demon, stepping towards her. 

Ally shrank back against the metal slab. “Don’t…don’t touch me. Stay away.” 

“Do you know who I am?” 

Ally stared at the demon’s hard, pale face, the burning eyes, the crown of red gold. She remembered those iron claws plunging into her chest, coiling around her heart and ripping it free. “You’re Goth-Mar-Dan.” Arran and Conmager had told her of the king of the winged demons, a terror of blood and murder and horror. “You killed me.”

Goth-Mar-Dan titled his head to one side, watching her. 

“You killed Alastarius,” whispered Ally. 

“I killed Alastarius,” said the demon, lifting a clawed hand. Layer after layer of dried blood marked his iron claws. One of Alastarius’s memories rose into Ally’s mind, and she recalled that the winged demons never washed the blood of a kill from their talons. “I tore his heart from his wretched body. And you remember it.” 

“Go to hell,” said Ally, her voice a feeble croak.

Goth-Mar-Dan moved with terrifying speed, lunging towards her. His hideous face stopped a few inches from her own, and she felt the heat of his eyes pulsing against her face. “I slew Alastarius. And now Alastarius’s heir is in my power.”

Ally closed her eyes, her jaw trembling. 

“Do you know what this place is?” said the demon.

Ally opened her eyes. Goth-Mar-Dan stood before one of the tanks, admiring the corpse within. “I don’t know.”

“I considered bringing their corpses here,” said Goth-Mar-Dan. 

Ally said nothing, watching the demon. 

“Your companions and your guardians,” said Goth-Mar-Dan. He chuckled, his voice like grinding stone. “The Knight. The feeble apprentice. Wycliffe’s dog, the cigarette merchant. The other woman. And Lithon Scepteris. I slew them all. Perhaps I shall return, after I am finished with you, and add them to my collection.”

Ally felt her heart twist. “No. No. You didn’t kill them.” 

Goth-Mar-Dan laughed at her, fangs bared. “I slew them all. You saw Lithon’s body in the hallway.”

“He…he wasn’t dead,” said Ally, trying not to cry and failing. “He…”

“Was he breathing?” growled Goth-Mar-Dan, pacing towards her. “Were his eyes open? Was he standing?”

“I…he…” It had been too dark to see. “He can’t be dead.”

Goth-Mar-Dan laughed. “He is, and all the others. Lord Marugon sent me to slay them.”

Ally’s face worked. “Then kill me and get it over with.”

The demon drew closer. “Lord Marugon commanded me to slay you. And I shall.” He ran his clawed fingers down her cheek, the points pressing against her skin. “But I have a use for you first.”

Ally tried to turn away. Goth-Mar-Dan laughed again and stalked away. Fear and panic worked through Ally’s mind. One of the spells Conmager had tried to teach her flashed through her memory. If she could stun the winged demon, long enough to find a way to freedom…

Her wrists were bound, but her fingers were still free. Ally summoned her power and began to chant, her fingers tracing the spell’s patterns. She felt the white magic rise to the call of her spirit, following the pattern of her spell…

Goth-Mar-Dan whirled, one clawed hand coming up. Black light glimmered around his fingers, and an unseen force smashed into Ally, slamming her back against the table. A cold fog swam through her mind, and the white magic crumpled and faded away. 

Goth-Mar-Dan snarled. “Do not do that.”

Ally tried to summon the white magic once more, but she could not reach through the cold fog in her mind. “The winged demons can’t use the black magic.” Conmager had told her that. So had Arran. 

He laughed at her. “Indeed? Then how did I block your power?” He turned away, voice low and quiet. “When I was young, three hundred years ago. I was flying through the Wastes, looking for human flesh to devour. I came across a Warlock. The fool had fallen from his horse and broken his leg. He commanded me to aid him, to return him to Castamar.” Goth-Mar-Dan paused for a long moment. “Instead I devoured him.” 

Ally stared at him. “But…the winged demons serve the Warlocks…” 

“I knew it was forbidden. But I cared not.” He lifted his hand and muttered a phrase, black light glimmering around his fingers. “And when I devoured him, I gained his powers. He was weak in the black magic. Barely more than an apprentice. But I consumed others, some of them stronger, and I stole their powers, their strength. And with that power I ruled my kin. No one has ruled the kin as I long as I have. I had killed a dozen Warlocks when I met Lord Marugon.” A hiss came through Goth’s fangs. “His power was greater than any I have encountered. I swore to serve him, even after the Knights and the Wizards destroyed the Black Council. For one day I will consume him and make his power my own.” 

“That’s horrible,” whispered Ally, staring at the demon. Had Alastarius even known how powerful Goth-Mar-Dan could become? 

Goth-Mar-Dan laughed and leaned over her. “But first, I have you. Alastarius’s heir.” His ghastly claws rubbed against her cheek, and the fire in his eyes burned brighter. “All his powers have passed onto you.” He lowered his fanged mouth and whispered into her ear. “I could never have defeated Alastarius in battle, to have consumed him. But you have his powers, and you do not know how to use them. You are helpless.”

Stark terror tore at Ally like a wild animal. “You can’t. I have the white magic. It would destroy you.”

Goth-Mar-Dan laughed, his vile breath washing over her. “The raw power is within you. It is your choice whether you use the white or the black magic. And it is that power I shall take from your flesh.” He paused. “Or…perhaps. Dare I?” Both his cold hands clamped around her face, the claws pressing against her skin. “Perhaps I shall father a child on you.” 

Ally moaned in revulsion and tried to look away, but Goth-Mar-Dan’s talons held her fast. 

“Yes,” growled the demon. “A child born of your womb and my seed. It would inherit your power and mine. I could devour such a child, make its power my own. Though you would not survive the birth. Yes. Perhaps I shall consume you while the child remains in your womb.” 

Goth-Mar-Dan dragged one finger down her cheek, and Ally shrieked. The demon lifted his hand, her blood trickling down his fingers. Goth-Mar-Dan licked the blood from his claws and smiled. “I can taste the power in your blood. You are mighty. And you are mine.” His clawed hands roved down her body, squeezing, grabbing, clutching. “You are mine.”

Ally closed her eyes, trembling. Raw, animal panic took over her mind. She yanked and pulled against the cuffs, bruising her wrists and ankles. 

She was going to die a horrible death, and she could do nothing to stop it. 

Something began to burn in her mind. A crackling heat spread from her heart and sank into her blood. Ally shuddered, sweat beading on her skin despite the cold. Goth-Mar-Dan growled and stepped back, looking down at her. 

Darkness washed over Ally’s vision, the world fading away. Perhaps the fear had shut her mind down. Nothingness and unconsciousness rushed up to claim her. 

She welcomed them both.

###

Columns of crimson stone rose towards the distant ceiling, lined with thousands of stone effigies gazing at each other. 

“Arran Belphon.”

Arran turned. 

The caretaker stood over a sarcophagus, his gray-robed form shimmering and misty. Arran looked down at the tomb. Ally’s carven effigy stared up at him, twisted and tormented. A growing sense of urgency gnawed at him. 

Something was wrong. 

He looked around the Chamber of the Dead. Walls of black mist flowed through the chamber, sparking with dark light. Arran had visited the Chamber before, and he had seen no walls of black mist. 

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered, hands dropping to his weapons. 

A wave of dizziness came over him. The Chamber of the Dead fragmented into a thousand pieces, the black mist rushing to engulf him…

Arran awoke.

He sat at the kitchen table, a half-finished glass of water glinting in the moonlight near his hand. Mary lay on the floor by the stove, a spilled box of rice besides her. Arran frowned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Hadn’t he just sat down? He had given Lithon a lesson in sword work, and Ally had been taking a nap before dinner. Lithon had gone upstairs to practice some more…

…and Arran remembered nothing after that.

He looked at the clock on the stove and cursed in astonishment. It was two-thirty in the morning, and it had only been six o’clock when he had sat down. Arran shook his head again, trying to clear some of the fog. Had he fallen asleep for eight hours? Why hadn’t anyone awakened him? And why was Mary lying on the floor? 

Something was indeed wrong. He drew a gun, went to one knee, and shook Mary’s shoulder. “Mary. Wake up.” 

Mary groaned and rolled away. “Leave me alone.”

Arran snatched the glass of water from the table and dumped it over her face. “Wake up, damn it.” 

Mary spluttered and sat up, glaring daggers at him. “Arran! What the hell are you doing? It…it…” Confusion came over her face. “What am I doing on the floor?” Her eyes got big. “Why do you have a gun?” 

“Something’s wrong,” said Arran. “Look at the clock.” 

Mary gaped. “Two-thirty? But I just started supper!” 

“Get up,” said Arran, helping to her feet. “We have to find the others.” Mary nodded and retrieved her pistol from one of the kitchen cabinets. 

They hurried through the dining room, into the living room, and froze. Conmager lay sprawled on the floor, his cane beneath him. Arran knelt and shook him. Conmager jerked awake and lunged for his gun.

“Something’s happened,” said Arran.

“What?” Conmager’s lined face creased in confusion. “Why am I on the floor?” 

“I’ve noticed.” Conmager groped for his cane, his bad leg jerking, and Arran helped him up. 

“But…” Conmager glanced at the clock over the TV and swore. “Merciful gods! It’s two in the morning. It’s…it was six o’clock.”

“We must have all fallen asleep at once,” said Arran. 

“But how?” said Mary.

Conmager went rigid. “There’s a spell of the black magic, one that can be used to send people into deep sleep.” 

“You mean…” said Mary.

“They’ve found us,” said Arran. “Where are Ally and Lithon?”

“I’ll check upstairs,” said Conmager. “Arran, go find Allard. If he fell asleep outside…he might have frozen to death by now.”

Arran nodded and hurried outside. The moonlight glistened against the crusted snow as he ran to the barn. Allard lay in the doorway, his Uzi besides him. He had fallen within range of the space heater. Arran knelt and shook him.

“Huh?” said Allard. “I’m up, I’m up…” His voice trailed off. “I’m outside. Why am I outside?”

“You fell asleep on watch,” said Arran.

Allard blanched. “Oh, God. I did, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I…”

“Shut up and get up,” said Arran. “We all fell asleep. Conmager thinks it was a spell of the black magic.” A growing fear spread through him. “We have to hurry.” 

Arran ran back to the house, Allard staggering behind him. He hurried through the living room, up the stairs to the second floor, and froze. 

“Oh my God,” said Allard, lurching to a stop behind Arran.

Lithon lay on the floor, a pool of dried blood around his head. Mary and Conmager knelt over him, rummaging through a first aid kit. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” said Arran, a horrible certainty settling over him. 

Conmager shook his head. “No. He has a nasty gash on his jaw, and a bump on his head, but he’s alive. He’ll live, though he’ll have headaches for a week.” 

“What the hell happened?” said Allard, gaping at Lithon. “Did he fall and…”

Mary glared at him. “Look at the window.”

The window at the end of the hall had been shattered, the frame and a portion of the wall lying in chunks across the floor. A cold wind blew through the hole. 

“Ally,” said Arran. “Where is Ally?” 

Conmager wrapped a bandage around Lithon’s head. “I don’t know.”

Arran shoved past them and kicked open the door to Ally’s bedroom. There was no trace of Ally, though he did see droplets of blood on the wall Arran examined the other bedrooms, ignoring the others’ glances. 

He saw no sign of Ally.

“She’s not here,” he said. “And there’s blood on the wall.” His heart hammered with panic, and he forced down his fear and tried to think.