The Curse of Deadman's Forest (28 page)

Theo screamed and Carl shrieked and the beast howled and growled in fury. Ian scrambled to his feet; tucking his injured hand under his other arm, he tried to take in what was happening.

The beast had hurled itself against the iron gate and was biting at the bars, trying to get to them. Wide-eyed and terrified, Carl and Theo had scrambled away down the tunnel.

Ian moved back as well when the stench of the awful brute filled the tunnel, causing him to gag. “We’ve got to get you two through the portal!” he shouted, turning to his companions.

“It’s not open!” Carl replied, twisting around and shining his torch toward the end of the cavern.

Ian could see he was right. The familiar stone wall holding the grisly remains of a skeleton barred them from any escape.

“Look out!” Theo cried, and Ian ducked as the beast attempted to swipe at him through the bars. He scooted a little farther away and he was again nearly frozen in terror as the massive creature bit and snarled and swiped at him. It seemed to be doing everything in its power to come through the gate, but the bars held firm. Ian couldn’t be sure how long they would hold, however. He was immensely grateful that the door swung outward. If it had swung in, the beast would have had them. As of yet, the brute hadn’t figured out that by throwing its weight against the door, it was keeping it securely closed, but Ian was well aware of the intelligence of the hateful cur, and he knew they likely had precious little time before things became perilous.

Turning to Theo, he asked, “Why isn’t the portal open?”

“I don’t have any idea!” she yelled above the sounds from the beast.

“What are we going to do?” Carl wailed. “Those bars won’t hold it back forever!”

And even as he said that, the beast caught one of the iron rods in its teeth and pulled. The door creaked open a foot. “Uh-oh,” Ian whispered as the snarling suddenly stopped and the beast stepped back for a moment in surprise, as if already working out how to open the gate and get to its prey.

With little thought for his own safety, Ian leapt forward and pulled on the bars. He managed to yank the gate shut
again and dive out of the way just as the beast lunged toward him. One of its paws did put a mean slice in his upper arm, but it was worth it if it bought them a bit more time.

“We’ve got to do something!” Carl cried. “Theo, that creature will work out how to open that gate soon enough. You’ve got to open the portal now!”

“What do you mean
I’ve
got to open it?” she snapped. “I don’t have the faintest notion how to
do
that, Carl!”

“How did you open it last time?” he asked.

Theo looked at him blankly for a moment, so Ian suggested, “Didn’t you simply ask it to open, Theo?”

Theo blinked her wild, frightened eyes and she turned to the wall at the end of the passage and said, “Portal, please open!”

The three of them stared hard at the stone, waiting for the wall to disappear and reveal another world, but nothing happened.

Behind them the beast continued to snarl and spit and bite at the bars, and suddenly, the door gave another creak and Ian whirled around to see the beast with the gate in its jaws, pulling awkwardly back on it. It was a difficult maneuver for the horrid creature, because it had to grip the gate at an odd angle as it backed itself up the stairs.

“It’s figured out how to get the gate open!” Carl shouted.

Ian pulled at the knapsack on Carl’s shoulders, freeing it before he raced forward. Carrying it by the straps, he used it to club the beast through the bars just as the opening became large enough for the beast to wiggle through. The
ghastly creature was startled enough by the knapsack striking its nose that it let go and Ian gripped the gate and heaved it closed again.

But this time the beast was far too quick for him, and it lunged forward, biting his arm. Ian screamed as the vicious fangs broke the skin and clenched straight through to the bone. Carl was by his side in a moment, pummeling the beast on the nose with his torch. “Back!” he shouted, and he struck again and again.

The beast released Ian’s arm and made to snap at Carl, but the boy was quick and darted out of the way. Grabbing Ian by his good arm, he pulled him away from the gate and farther into the tunnel.

Ian was in so much pain that he could barely keep track of what was happening around him. His fingers had gone numb and blood dripped down his wrist and covered his hand, and he realized that Theo had rushed to him to inspect his wound. “Oh, Carl!” he heard her wail. “He’s got a vicious bite!”

Ian was quickly becoming light-headed. As he struggled to stay upright, he heard Carl say, “Do what you can for him, Theo! I’ve got to secure the gate or we’re all finished!”

Ian’s head felt heavier and heavier and he let his chin fall onto his chest. He was aware that Theo was talking to him, but it was hard to hear over the commotion by the gate. He managed to take a deep breath and turn his head toward Carl. He could see that his friend was holding in one hand the lock that had once secured the iron bars,
while he attempted to get the beast’s attention with his other hand.

Carl was sticking his fingers through the bars and waving them dangerously close to the creature. “Here, stinky!” he yelled. “Come have a chomp on my fingers, won’t you?”

The beast lunged at Carl’s hand, and Carl managed to loop the lock around the latch with his other hand while snatching back his first. The beast narrowly missed taking off most of Carl’s fingers.

But the hellhound was far too clever for the ruse. It immediately saw that Carl was attempting to lock the gate, and before he could secure the door, the beast lunged toward Carl’s other hand, causing him to back up and drop the lock.

“Carl!” Ian shouted, struggling to get to his feet.

“Ian, sit still!” Theo warned. “I’ve got to stop the bleeding!”

But Ian was having none of it. He knew that Carl would never be able to distract the beast long enough to secure the gate. “He can’t do it alone,” he said to her, and half stumbled, half ran back down the tunnel.

“Oy!” Ian shouted when he was within a meter. “You like drawing blood, beasty?” he asked, and for emphasis he shoved his injured arm forward, just out of reach of the brute’s snout. For a moment the mangy cur abandoned Carl and lunged again toward Ian. “Get to the lock!” Ian shouted, keeping his eyes on the beast even though he sensed he was very close to fainting. “I’ll distract it while you secure the gate!”

Carl didn’t need to be told twice. He dove for the lock,
snatching it and rolling away as the beast caught on to their plan and lunged again toward Carl. Ian leaned in and wiped his bloody hand on the bars as a searing pain shot up his arm. “Smell that, you hateful brute?” he shouted, and instantly the beast was back to his side of the gate, the scent of Ian’s blood driving it to froth at the mouth and roll its red eyes up. Spittle and drool flew from its lips as it bit and snarled and licked at the iron bars where Ian had smeared his hand.

Ian was panting hard and he swayed in front of the beast, his knees weak and the air all about him filled with the cloying, suffocating stench of the hellhound. “Carl,” he tried to yell, but all that came out was a pitiful cry. “I think I’m …” He could say no more. The world about him spun and he had the sensation of sinking into a deep pond, right before he felt something hard slam into his knees and then his side. He wanted to cry out in pain, but he found that he couldn’t utter a sound. The last thing he heard was Theo’s mournful scream.

M
agus the Black stood in the fading light of dusk, staring down the hill at the lush patch of forest that marked the border between Germany and Poland. Behind him, scattered about the lee side of the hill, was the German Eighth Armored Panzer Division. Eighteen tanks and well over a thousand infantrymen huddled in small groups, most of them bored and hoping for the orders that would finally allow them to invade Poland.

But at the moment, Magus was less interested in the invasion, and more interested in that cursed forest. His sister lay trapped somewhere in that dense thicket of trees; he could feel the dangerous undertones of her energy from there, and the scout he’d sent in had reported enough to confirm the sorcerer’s suspicions.

But Magus dared not enter the forest himself, lest he also become trapped. A powerful old crone guarded the wood and held his sister fast. Lachestia’s captor was a dangerous one, someone clearly not to be underestimated. And Magus
understood that the only way to kill the crone was to free Lachestia, which made his sister’s release all the more problematic.

Since the sorcerer could not enter the forest himself, he would need to rely on some other way to pummel and weaken the crone’s defenses. He would need a force strong enough to overwhelm the stone prison where Lachestia had been held captive for over three millennia. And the German Eighth Army Panzer Division was just the firepower he needed.

All that was left to fulfill this plan was to convince the commander to go through the forest, instead of around it as Berlin had directed. “Magus!” shouted someone behind him.

The sorcerer narrowed his eyes, smiled evilly, and turned around. “Colonel,” he said cordially, moving toward the ugly little man, noting with satisfaction that the colonel carried the chess set. “Have you received my request for a rematch?”

Two evenings previously, when Magus had arrived at his new post as strategic advisor to Colonel Gropp, he’d allowed the pompous twit to win a game of chess, and the sorcerer had offered the priceless chess pieces as a prize to the colonel.

“I have,” said Gropp, his speech clipped and impatient. “But I fully intend to win another game off you. And since I already have the chess set, what will you offer me when you lose?”

Magus’s eyes smoldered slightly at the petulant tone this
insufferable mortal was showing him. A flicker of smoke wafted out his nostrils and he forced himself to resist the urge to kill the colonel. Instead, he reached into the folds of his cloak and brought out a small velvet bag whose contents jingled temptingly.

The colonel craned his neck forward, showing great interest in the sorcerer’s new prize. “What have you there, Herr Black?” he demanded.

“Gold, Colonel.” For emphasis, Magus loosened the drawstrings and pulled out one gold bullion, which glinted beautifully in the late-afternoon sun.

The colonel smiled widely—an unusual expression for him—and accepted the terms. “Ah,” he said smoothly. “I see now how you have gained such favor among the party elite in Berlin!”

Magus chuckled merrily. Gold bullion had been a factor in many of the influential connections he’d made recently. “I contribute where I can, Colonel.”

Gropp tipped his hat appreciatively before barking orders at two nearby soldiers, and within moments a table was set for the players, and snifters of brandy were brought over for them to enjoy while they played their match.

Magus eyed the colonel with amusement as the man laid out his chessboard with efficiency. Such arrogance. Such confidence. Magus would enjoy shattering both. Yet he cautioned himself against winning the game too quickly. He had to secure the colonel’s agreement to his plan first.

“Silver or gold?” asked the colonel.

“Gold,” said Magus, knowing that on this chessboard, silver always went first.

His choice seemed agreeable to the colonel, who was quick to move his pawn.

They played for a time in silence, Colonel Gropp focusing intently on the game. Magus found that he quite enjoyed toying with the man across from him. He lured him into several false traps and kept the colonel on the defensive.

And when Gropp boldly moved his bishop to a vulnerable position, Magus nearly tsked. It left Gropp’s queen exposed. But Magus wasn’t quite ready to end the game, so he moved his knight aggressively toward the other man’s bishop. Gropp would need to play defensively for a move or two, which would buy Magus a little time. He had to convince the colonel to disobey a direct order.

“Have you given any further consideration to my suggestion of moving your division through the forest?” Magus asked casually.

Gropp clenched his fists while he studied the chess pieces in front of him. “Yes,” he said curtly. “But it cannot be accomplished.”

“No?” Magus asked. “Why not, Colonel?”

“Because Deadman’s Forest is too thick. The tanks would be unable to make it through and the prize on the other side is only a small village. Hardly worth the trouble. Besides,” he added with a grin, “have you not heard? The forest is cursed, Magus.”

Magus forced himself to laugh. “Yes, these Polish scum will think of anything to keep us from learning their secrets.”

The colonel eyed Magus sharply. “What secrets?”

Magus pretended to appear surprised. “Have you not heard the truth behind these rumors of curses?” he asked. When the colonel shook his head, Magus explained, “The forest is riddled with spies, Colonel. They use the trees as a cover to watch over their border and report back to Warsaw.”

Gropp—who had just moved his knight to cover his bishop—looked angrily at the forest, then back at his opponent. “Is this
true
?”

Magus offered him a crafty smile, exposing his jagged, frightful teeth. “It is quite true. The village of Lubieszyn is a breeding ground for Polish spies. Think of its placement, my friend. The village itself is tucked just on the other side of the border and is neatly hidden in the cove of those thick trees, which cover it from three sides. My sources tell me that the villagers have been spying on the motherland for some time now. They’ve been reporting on your movements for many days, in fact.”

Gropp’s eyes narrowed, and his face contorted into a snarl.
“Peasant scum!”
he spat. “You tell me there are spies just beyond those trees?” And for emphasis the colonel stood up and pointed down the large hill.

Magus nodded soberly. “Yes, Colonel, I’m afraid so.”

The colonel sat back down in his seat heavily and drummed his fingers on the board in irritation. “We must
destroy this village and all who live there,” he said at last, and Magus’s smile grew. “When we receive the order, I shall dispatch my men to go around the woods and attack them from the front.”