Blood Ties (17 page)

Clarence Overbrook: lady killer.

There was a gentle glow from below. Obviously, there was some manner of illumination, so it wasn't as if I was heading down into blackness. Quickly, I stepped through the doorway and as my feet hit the stairs, the wall began to slide back into place. It clicked shut seconds later, but from where I was standing I was able to spot a latch on the wall next to the doorway. Getting out would be considerably easier than getting in.

At least that was the theory.

THE FIRST SCREAM I HEARD WAS A HUMAN
scream, and I knew without question that it was my brother even though I had not heard his voice in years.

I had been going down the stairs cautiously, but when that howl reached my ears, I started taking them two at a time, running my fingers along the wall to brace myself. In short order, I reached the bottom. There were corridors leading in several directions, and I followed the one that the screaming appeared to be coming from. The air was filled with an animal smell so fierce that it practically hit me like a fist. It was a stench of fur and offal and other things that I didn't want to think about. The narrow corridor in front of me was lined with cages, and from within, I heard growls and snarls that were the exact noises produced by the monstrosities that had briefly overwhelmed Blackholm.

But the one human outcry had come from farther on down the corridor, and I moved as quickly as I could. I practically flew past the cages, catching only glimpses of the denizens within. They were indeed the same creatures I had fought, but they were paying me no mind. Instead, they were stalking the interiors of their various enclosures where they were kept three, four, even five to a cage. Some were crouched, others were moving around on all fours, and still others were fighting with each other. I ignored them all. There was only one individual I was concerned with.

The human cries rose above the animalistic ones, and there was a cell just ahead of me that I was sure was the one from which the cries were originating. I had been running, but I slowed myself to a brisk, authoritative walk as I got to the cell. I looked in.

My brother, stripped to the waist, was lying splayed upon a long, flat wooden table that was tilted at a fortyfive-degree angle. Welts crisscrossed his bare chest, and there were metal collars around his wrists, legs, and throat. Each of them was fastened shut with a padlock. William was gasping for air, trying to pull himself together. He didn't look like a creature; he looked normal. So it was possible to transition from one state to the other. Fantastic.

There was a man standing in there with him. He was dressed entirely in black robes, like a monk, and he was massively built, with a blocky head squashed down upon his shoulders. I couldn't see his face. He was wearing a metal mask, painted crimson, that adhered to his face like a second skin. “Why are you giving me these problems, William?” he said in a voice that was both a whisper and yet managed to rumble in his throat. “Why are you refusing to tell me why you ordered a retreat from Blackholm? It's against your training. Against everything that has been drilled into you. We count on you and the others look to you. And I personally trust you. Do you have any idea what it is like to have trust betrayed? Do you?”

He was holding a hot poker in his hand, having just lifted it out of a red-hot brazier.

A white haze fell over my eyes, blinding me with fury.

I shoved open the door, which was easy since it wasn't locked. It hit with a clang, and the man in black looked toward me, surprised and confused. He scowled. “Is there a problem?”

Without hesitation, I withdrew my pistol, swung it up, and shot him square in the chest.

The close-range blast knocked him off his feet and he fell backwards, letting out a startled yelp as he did so, dropping the hot poker. My shot had not penetrated flesh. I knew all too well what that sounded like, a bullet striking a human chest like it was a ripe melon, and I did not hear that. Instead, there was only a dull thud that told me that he was wearing some manner of armor beneath his loosely fitting robes.

Fine. I took aim at his mask, targeted one of his eyeholes and fired.

He managed to twist away a split second before the bullet struck home, and, instead, it ricocheted off the mask right between his eyes. He went down, his skull no doubt ringing, and I advanced and kicked him as hard as I could. He went over onto his stomach and I shoved my pistol against the back of his head. The mask was solid, covering his head front and back, but the muzzle of my pistol found a junction point at the base of his skull. I felt the muzzle pushing against flesh, and I snarled, “Say good-bye, you son of a bitch.”

That was when William croaked out, “Benny . . . no. You . . . can't.”

“Watch me.”

“Don't kill him . . . please . . .”

I had no idea why in the world my brother could possibly want mercy for his torturer, but I wasn't about to take the time to find out. William didn't want me to kill the bastard. Fine. Easier to kill him later than to try to resurrect him after the fact. So I stepped back and, as the black-clad man started to sit up, I kicked him in the side of the head. My boot met the metal of his mask, and he gasped. Sure, the mask might have protected his skin from the impact, but hitting him in the head was still going to cause his brain to slosh around something fierce inside his skull. I kept kicking him, not allowing him a chance to recover. Finally, he went down, his arms flung wide, his eyes shut. I hoped his brains had the consistency of pudding as a consequence of my battering him.

I searched his robes and quickly found the keys to my brother's bonds. Going from one lock to the next, I snapped them off and tossed them aside. William started to sit up, and he groaned as he clutched at his chest. “You shouldn't have come here,” he managed to say.

“I didn't see that I had any choice. Once I found out—”

“You don't understand. I can't leave . . .”

I hauled him to his feet. “Sure you can. One foot in front of the other.”

“Benny—”

“There's time enough for talk later,” I said as I hauled him out of the cell.

My actions were immediately observed by the creatures whose cells were lining the narrow corridor. They pressed their muzzles against the bars, their gleaming eyes studying me. Some of them recognized me, I think, and they growled low in their throats.

“Good thing they're all locked in,” I said.

They pushed against the doors, and the cell doors swung open effortlessly.

I moaned. “You've
got
to be
kidding
me.”

“I was trying to tell you . . .”

“Try harder next time.” It seemed overly optimistic, that there was going to be a next time.

The path in front of me was blocked by monstrosities. The way behind me was clear, and I saw it as the only way out. Rapidly, we backed up, William half-leaning on me and contributing about as much to our getaway as a sack of rice. He still seemed dazed and confused, as if he were trying to determine whether I was really there or not.

I swung my rifle around and fired off a quick shot. I hit one of the creatures square in the chest, knocking it backwards into some of its brethren. They pushed their fallen fellow aside and kept coming at us.

And suddenly William transformed.

I have seen a great many things in my time, much of which would easily be termed unholy, but I swear I had never seen anything quite like that. William's skin rippled and undulated as if there was something underneath it, a thousand insects crawling about and trying to find a means of escape. His teeth elongated, his eyes changed color to an animalistic yellow, and his ragged fingernails extended and transformed into claws. I was sure that I heard actual cracking of bones from within him, and he was howling and snarling as the change progressed. I couldn't tell whether it was because he was in pain from the transformation or if it was something inherent in becoming something bestial and inhuman.

The instant that William finished his transformation, he let out a defiant roar that froze all of them. For a moment, I thought we would try to head forward, right through the lot of them. But then they seemed to recover their wits, and they started roaring back at him, defying him as one.

“Fine,” I said, and fired twice more. Two more of the creatures went down, creating a temporary blockage in the corridor as William and I backed up as quickly as we could. There was a door at the end of the corridor right behind us. I prayed it wasn't locked. I backed up into it, and the door swung open. Breathing a quick appreciation for my prayer's being answered, we moved quickly through it, and the moment we had done so, I slammed the door as quickly as I could. There was a bolt across the door, and I threw it shut, then turned to see where we could go.

The answer was: nowhere.

Our way in was also our way out, and that wasn't exactly a useful means of egress. The door had opened out onto what only could be termed an arena, a large, circular room with a diameter of about fifty feet. The floor was solid rock, stained with dark splotches I could only assume were blood. There were no other doors along any of the walls.

High above, there was an upper level that ringed the top. I took it to be an observation deck since we were being observed.

By Reaver.

And he had friends.

Not friends, exactly. Employees, guardsmen, all of them wearing coats identical to the one I had stolen. The difference between us, of course, was that they were legitimately supposed to be wearing them. Me, I was just passing through. It appeared, though, that I wouldn't be passing too much farther. By my quick count, there were at least a dozen guardsmen, and each of them was holding a rifle aimed straight at me.

“Did you truly think there was anything that went on in my home that eluded my notice?” said Reaver, with a faintly scolding tone.

There was no denying either my speed or accuracy, but that would only take me so far. In order to survive this situation, I would need speed, accuracy, bulletproof clothing, and a helping hand from a deity. Unless all of that was made available to me, I didn't think we really had much in the way of chances.

I heard that cracking and snapping of bone again and glanced toward my brother. He had shifted back into his human aspect, gasping from the effort, and there was a layer of sweat covering his chest and face. He dropped to one knee in order to compose himself and, as he did so, looked up at me wanly. “You shouldn't have come here, Benny.”

The door rattled behind me, doubtless from the creatures slamming into it, hoping to break through.

It appeared that even if they managed it, there wasn't going to be much for them to find. The guardsmen had enough firepower aimed at us that, if they should cut loose, we'd be torn to pieces. The creatures striving to get in would only find a couple of corpses. On the other hand, that might be more than enough for them if all they were interested in was making a fast lunch of us.

I abruptly realized I should stop thinking in terms of “us.” Every rifle was aimed at me. Well, that made sense. Reaver had invested time and energy in the creation of whatever it was that he had turned my brother into. Me, I was simply a boil to be lanced.

A dozen hammers were cocked on a dozen rifles. They clearly were not fooling around.

William tried to step in front of me, calling out, “Let him go! He has nothing to do with any of this!” I shoved him aside, having no patience for last-minute heroics. I had gotten myself into the situation, and if I was not going to be making an exit, then it was entirely my concern.

“You should be aware, Reaver,” I called out defiantly, “that an entire army knows precisely where I am. You let the two of us walk out of here, unharmed, and I'll see to it that you and this monster factory of yours are left unmolested.”

“How marvelously generous of you, Mr. Finn,” said Reaver, sounding disinclined to take me up on my offer, which admittedly made sense since it was entirely a bluff. “It is Ben Finn, is it not? I have quite the memory for names and faces, and I'm reasonably certain we met back in Bowerstone.”

There seemed little reason to deny it. “Ben Finn am I.”

“And you obviously know me. That is hardly a surprise. I am well-known in certain parts of Albion.”

“I'd venture to say in all parts.” I wanted to keep him talking. I had no clue what I was going to do or how I was going to do it, but people like Reaver were typically in love with the sound of their own voices. The more he talked, the more chance that something might turn in my favor.

“How kind of you to say. I assure you my notoriety has not come without effort.” He gestured around our surroundings with his walking staff, the jeweled top glinting in the minimal light. “Welcome to the Pit. I have numerous homes, but in every single one, I make certain to include someplace like this. My little arena has provided many hours of entertainment for assorted guests and me.”

“So is that what's going to happen now? You're going to bring in guests and watch me fight for my life?”

“You?” He laughed lightly at that, as if the very notion was absurd. “My dear Finn, I've had lords and ladies and even the occasional Hero coming through my Pits, fighting for their lives. My guests have high expectations. A simple soldier of fortune such as yourself would hardly be the level of entertainment they've come to expect. On the other hand”—and he nodded toward the far door, against which the creatures were continuing to bang—“my Half-breeds won't be remotely as discriminating. They will be more than happy to tear you to shreds just for the opportunity.”