Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) (15 page)

The floor and all four walls were thickly coated with ice, tinged pink by the bloodstains beneath, and long, jagged icicles hung down from the ceiling. The untidy heaps of junk that had been piled against the walls had disappeared under smooth coverings of frost, and the barrels weighing down the trapdoor had fused into a single huge mound of ice. The air was bitterly cold, searing the Rangers’ lungs and numbing their bare flesh.

“Where’s the cold coming from?” said Flint quietly. “It’s still summer outside.”

“It’s coming from below,” said Constance. “Something down in the tunnels doesn’t like the warmth of day.”

MacNeil looked at her sharply. “You mean it’s woken up?”

“I don’t think so. It’s just dreaming. Dreaming about how the world was when it last walked the earth.”

MacNeil made his way carefully across to the iced-over barrels. The other Rangers spread out behind him, moving slowly and cautiously. The icy floor made for treacherous footing. MacNeil put down his lantern, drew his sword, reversed it, and struck down hard. The solid steel hilt chipped the ice, and fragments flew into the air, but there were still inches more between him and the barrels. MacNeil scowled and looked at the witch.

“Use your magic, Constance. What’s under the trapdoor now?”

The witch closed her eyes, and the Sight came strongly to her.

The trapdoor was closed and bolted. The wood was oak from the Forest, newly fashioned when the fort was made. It still remembered leaf and sap and tree. The bolts were steel, cold iron, and closed to her mind. Beyond the trapdoor was darkness. It was very deep and very cold, and far below something stirred in its sleep. It dreamed constantly now, its power growing as it rose from the sleep of ages, and the dreams grew strong in the waking world. Even in its sleep the Beast knew that it was being watched, and Constance drew back as a single great eye slowly began to open. She shut down her Sight and opened her eyes, gasping for air. Her Sight had shown her some of the mind of the Beast and its intentions, and she knew beyond any shadow of doubt that to stare into its waking eye was death and worse than death.

“Well?” said MacNeil. “What did you See?”

Constance shook her head feebly. “The tunnels are empty. Whatever’s down there is much deeper in the earth.”

“Any sign of the gold?”

“None at all. But I think I know now what’s been happening here in the fort.” She had to stop and swallow hard. Her mouth was dry, and she felt sick. Even a fleeting contact with the Beast’s mind had left her feeling soiled and tainted. Flint and the Dancer looked at each other. MacNeil waited patiently. Constance took a deep breath and let it go slowly. It steadied her a little, and when she finally began to speak her voice was calm and even. Only her eyes still held some of the horror she felt at what she’d discovered.

“I thought at first it was a demon, but it’s much older than that. It has slept here, deep in the earth, for centuries beyond count. Even the coming of the Darkwood did little more than disturb its dreams. But then men came and built a fort over it, and the clamor of their minds was too loud to be ignored. The creature stirred in its sleep, and its dreams went forth and found waking minds to feed on. The dreams drove everyone here out of their minds, and they killed each other in their madness. Their deaths fed the creature’s power, and it took their bodies down to itself. I don’t know why. Perhaps they’re food for when it wakes. Or bait … I don’t know. It’s very close to waking now. Its dreams have shape and power in the real world. And when the creature wakes … the world as we know it will come to an end.”

She stopped and looked at MacNeil. “You have to kill it, Duncan. Now, before it wakes and comes into its full power. Go down into the dark and kill the Beast. If you can.”

MacNeil stared back at her, and the silence lengthened. He didn’t want to believe her, but he had to. There was something in her face and in her eyes, something fey and knowing, that left no room for doubt.

“If it’s that old and that powerful,” he said finally, “how the hell am I supposed to kill it? I’d need something really powerful, like the Infernal Devices, and those damned hellswords are lost and gone.”

“No,” said Constance evenly. “One still remains. It’s here in the fort with us, carried by a man called Jonathon Hammer.”

“Hammer?” said the Dancer. “He’s here?”

MacNeil looked at him. “You know this man?”

“Of him,” said Flint. “He’s a mercenary and proud of it. Sells his sword to the highest bidder and never asks questions. He’d kill his own mother if the money was right.”

“He thinks he’s good with a sword,” said the Dancer. “Is he?” said MacNeil.

The Dancer shrugged. “He’s good. But I’m better.”

MacNeil turned back to Constance. “How did a man like that end up with one of the Infernal Devices?”

“I don’t know,” said Constance. “The power in the sword shields it from my Sight. But it’s somewhere in the fort, and Hammer will bring it here. And then you and he will go down into the dark and slay the Beast. Or we will all die, horribly.”

She turned away and stared fixedly at the heavy barrels covering the trapdoor, still buried in their cocoon of ice. The fey gleam in her eyes was very strong now. MacNeil looked at her unyielding back and moved away, nodding for Flint and the Dancer to join him. They did so, and the three Rangers stood together by the far wall, murmuring in hushed voices.

“Just how much can we depend on her Sight?” asked Flint.

“Hard to say,” said MacNeil. “She hasn’t Salamander’s experience, but there’s no doubting the strength of her magic. If she says there’s a creature buried in the earth, I’m inclined to believe her.”

“But all that nonsense about dreams coming true,” said the Dancer. “Do you believe that?”

“It would explain a lot of what’s been happening,” said MacNeil.

“I don’t believe her,” said Flint. “I saw some pretty nasty things come up out of the earth in the Demon War. I was there when Prince Harald and the Princess Julia took on one of those creatures with two of the Infernal Devices, and even those hellswords were barely enough to kill it.”

“There’s another thing,” said MacNeil, frowning. “I can’t believe this mercenary Hammer has actually got hold of one of the Infernal Devices. I mean, Flarebright and Wolfsbane were both lost in the Demon War. Weren’t they?”

“Definitely,” said Flint. “I saw it happen. They fell into a great crack in the earth and were lost.”

“And Rockbreaker was supposed to have been destroyed by the Dark Prince,” said the Dancer.

“There were six Devices originally,” said MacNeil. “According to all the legends. Maybe one of the three missing blades has finally turned up.”

“If it has, Hammer could well have it,” said Flint.

“From what I’ve heard, he’s always had more than his fair share of luck. But if half the things I’ve heard about the Infernal Devices are true, I don’t envy him. Those swords were supposed to be utterly evil and corrupt.”

“Yeah,” said the Dancer. “Just like Hammer.”

“Ah, hell,” said MacNeil. “We’ll worry about that when he gets here. If he gets here. In the meantime, we’re still no nearer finding the gold. If it’s down in the tunnels with the creature …”

“If,” said Flint. “The witch never said she Saw the gold. And there’s always the chance the creature’s using the possibility of gold as bait.”

“That sounds a bit too deliberate for me,” said the Dancer. “The creature’s supposed to still be asleep, remember?”

“Believe me, I hadn’t forgotten,” said MacNeil dryly. He looked at the huge mass of ice squatting over the trapdoor, the barrels inside it only visible as shadows, and frowned unhappily. “If Hammer is on his way down here, we’ve got to get that trapdoor open before he gets here. I want to be one step ahead of him all the way. If he really has got an Infernal Device, we’re going to need every bit of an advantage we can scrape together.”

“It’ll take hours to break through that much ice,” said Flint. “And there’s no guarantee the ice is confined to this room alone. The tunnels could be full of ice for all we know.”

“No,” said MacNeil. “Constance would have said.” An idea struck him, and he looked quickly across at the witch. “Constance, can you use your magic to clear away this ice?”

“Yes,” said Constance steadily, “I can. But a spell of that magnitude will take pretty much everything I’ve got. All magic has its limits, and I’m close to the edge of mine. I might not even be able to use the Sight anymore.”

“Cast the spell,” said MacNeil.

Constance nodded, closed her eyes, and concentrated all her strength and power into one potent spell. Magic stirred sluggishly within her and then flared up, assuming shape and form. Constance spoke a single Word of Power, and the mound of ice over the trapdoor exploded. Icy splinters flew into the air like grapeshot, but none came anywhere near the four Rangers. Several icicles fell from the ceiling, dislodged by the force of the explosion, and crashed to the floor. Great cracks appeared in the ice covering the floor and walls. The Rangers slowly lowered the arms they’d raised to protect their heads, and looked over at the trapdoor. The four heavy barrels had been blasted into kindling, and the trapdoor itself lay bare and defenseless in the middle of the icy floor.

MacNeil nodded approvingly to Constance. “Very impressive.”

“It ought to be. It cost me enough.”

“How much magic do you have left?”

“Some. The rest will return in
time.”

“How much time?”

The witch shrugged. “A few hours, a few days. It depends on how much of a strain I’m under.”

“All right,” said MacNeil. “Take it easy for a while.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” muttered Flint behind him. “I haven’t had a moment to myself since we got here.”

MacNeil pretended not to hear that and moved over to the trapdoor. He squatted on his haunches beside it and ran his fingertips lightly over the two steel bolts. They were uncomfortably cold, but there was no trace of the unnatural sliminess he’d felt earlier. MacNeil glanced back at Flint and the Dancer, and smiled slightly as he saw that they were both standing well back with their swords drawn and at the ready. Constance was standing beside them. Her face was calm, but her eyes were worried. MacNeil looked back at the trapdoor. He remembered the crawling giants pulling themselves through the dark tunnels, and shuddered briefly in spite of himself. He took a deep breath and then pulled back the first bolt. It slid easily into place, with hardly a sound. The second bolt came free just as easily. MacNeil pursed his lips. Maybe Constance’s magic had loosened them. And maybe whatever was waiting under the tunnels wanted the trapdoor opened… . MacNeil’s palms were wet with sweat despite the cold, and he stopped to wipe them dry on his trousers before taking hold of the great steel ring in the center of the trapdoor. He took a firm grip and pulled hard, and the trapdoor swung up and back with a muffled squeal. The opening was full of darkness.

MacNeil looked at the underside of the trapdoor, and his lips thinned away from his teeth in disgust. The dented and battered wood was soaked with fresh, dripping blood. Maggots writhed and squirmed in the wood in the hundreds. A gust of air wafted out of the opening, thick with the stench of rotting meat. Flint swore harshly, and the Dancer swept his sword back and forth before him. Constance stood and watched, impassive as a statue. MacNeil leaned over the opening and looked down into the darkness. He couldn’t make out a damn thing. He knew there was a flight of wooden steps just below the edge of the opening, but the darkness turned aside his gaze with contemptuous ease. It was like looking up into a starless night sky; the dark just seemed to fall away forever. MacNeil felt suddenly dizzy, as though he was staring down from a great height, and he tore his eyes away from the darkness. And then he froze, as from far below came a single great roar of sound, like the insane neighing of some monstrous horse. The sound rose and rose until it seemed to echo and reverberate in MacNeil’s bones, and then it suddenly stopped. The silence seemed very loud. MacNeil slammed the trapdoor shut, pushed home both the bolts, and backed quickly away.

“What the hell was that?” said the Dancer softly.

“The Beast,” said Constance. “It sleeps very lightly now.”

“Are you sure you want to go down there, Duncan?” said Flint, looking dubiously at the closed trapdoor.

“No, I’m not sure,” said MacNeil. “But that’s the only way we’re going to find out what happened to the gold and the missing bodies.”

“Personally, I’m mostly interested in the gold,” said Hammer.

The Rangers spun around to find Hammer, Wilde, and Scarecrow Jack standing together by the open cellar door. Wilde had an arrow nocked to his bow, aimed impartially at all the Rangers. Constance smiled slightly.

“Come in,” she said easily. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Hammer raised an eyebrow at the Rangers’ bloodstained appearance, and then looked calmly at MacNeil. “Put down your swords. Wilde here is a master bowman. He’s very quick, and he never misses.”

The Dancer chuckled quietly. “I’m a Bladesmaster. Tell him to put his bow away, or I’ll make him eat it.”

Wilde studied him coldly. “I’ve already killed one Bladesmaster in my time. He died just as easily as any other man.”

The Dancer’s eyes narrowed. “So that was you. From what I’ve heard, the situation was very different then. Still, you never know. Go ahead, Wilde. Give it a try. Who knows, you might get lucky.”

Wilde grinned slowly, and his eyes were very cold.

“Don’t, Edmond,” said Flint quickly. She stepped forward a pace so that Wilde could see her clearly. He looked at her for a long moment, and then lowered his bow.

“Hello, Jessica. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” “Nine, ten years.”

“Yes. It must be all of that. You’re looking good, Jess.”

“Wait a minute.” The Dancer looked from Flint to Wilde and back again. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, we know each other very well,” said Wilde, grinning. “Don’t we, Jess?”

“That was a long time ago,” said Flint. “Things have changed since then. You’ve changed a lot, Edmond. What the hell are you doing, traveling with scum like Hammer?”