The Sleeper Sword (25 page)

Margus
shrugged. “Even if we manage all that, which sounds no easy feat,
then what? We have no power here and without it there’s no way of
this Plane thing.”

Torrullin
looked at him from under lowered brows. “You’re right, Margus,
there is no way off … for you. I’m not staying and before I go,
however I manage it, I shall send you to the netherworld gloom into
eternity. I shall make you pay - I shall never forgive the death of
my son.” The tawny gaze was intense.

Margus was not
offended. “Why do you delay?”

Torrullin
looked away. “I don’t know.”

Perhaps he was
not sure a killing here would prevent rebirth for the Darak Or in
the future, or perhaps vengeance should have more fanfare and
careful planning … or it was this mutual reliance.

Margus
chuckled. “You know what I think? Besides the fact you need to find
how to send me permanently on my way, I am your link to your past.
If I’m gone, you’ll be left with your future, and the uncertainty
daunts you.”

Torrullin said
nothing. Yes, perhaps that, too. Margus had discovered his
nauseating self-confidence again. He rose and dressed.

“Come, idiot,
it’s time to bid farewell to our gracious hostess.”

Madri
confirmed the Plane, the time warp, lips tightening as she
explained how it worked - she did not explain well.

She also,
pertinently, confirmed there was a doorway to the other side.
Apparently, while in enforcer custody, she overheard them
discussing it and paid for the knowledge. She was once pretty, she
said, her voice filled with bitterness; torture, she revealed,
breaking of the body and spirit. She admitted she was not sure why
they chose to spare her, but suspected it had something to do with
rooting out others who sought escape.

Like-minded
people tended to gravitate. Others had come, but she told them
nothing, hating them for their judgement. She was sure she was
being watched.

The latter
caused Torrullin discomfort as they headed along the forest path.
If Madri was watched, the enforcers would track them before long.
Perhaps it could prove useful. The enforcers were the keepers of
the secret he sought.

Pity Margus
would be with him.

The enforcers
waited where the path rejoined at the chestnut tree and Torrullin
upgraded them to Enforcers.

A mean, silent
bunch, clothed in uniform olive, holsters sporting a pistol on one
hip, a palm laser on the other. Knives protruded from both webbed
belt and metal-capped boot. They were of various heights and
colour, but wore protective headgear of dulled grey that voided
those distinctions.

“Say nothing,”
Margus whispered.

A pistol butt
to the back of the head knocked him senseless and it happened so
fast Torrullin did not see the movement. They left Margus like
that, an untidy heap on the damp earth and looked to the
expressionless Torrullin.

“Would you
like to add anything, stranger?” one asked, an anticipatory glint
in his eyes.

A red,
triangular badge on his tunic pocket could only be rank insignia,
for the others had it not. Torrullin said nothing and made no
gesture, and the man’s lips quirked.

“Excellent,
you learn fast. Bring them!” He turned on his heel and strode
towards a vehicle.

It was a
squat, grey affair, and the man hopped onto it and stood beside the
driver on the deck, looking bored. The others followed, two dumping
their unconscious captive amid trampling boots and two prodded
Torrullin aboard.

The driver
toggled something on a recessed dash and the craft lifted. A low
rumble was heard and the thing moved forward, picking up speed. A
hovercraft.

They slid
through the forest for an hour and then proceeded to race across
rolling farmland for another three. Nobody said a word and when
Margus groaned into consciousness, he was brutally kicked into
silence once more.

The sun was
directly overhead, when the landscape changed. A line crossed, one
so definitive there could be no mistake.

On the one
side was verdant fertility, and then everything was different. The
ground was a dirty charcoal, but the land was not scorched. The
grass, if it was that, was alive, spike-like blades of horror.
Trees were stunted parodies, yet not dead, throwing eerie shadows.
An absence of colour, not life, though life was on the other side
of normality. Hills were indistinct, rounded shapes, and roads and
pathways were lost in the gloom.

The sun that
shone benignly over Bluebell County was absent for this place,
replaced with a grey disc that served to highlight the shadows.

Here silence
was absolute, as was lack of movement. Torrullin for the first time
he believed he was in a place beyond death. This was no vision, no
dream, no nightmare; this was the present reality … on the other
side.

The Enforcers
relaxed minutes later, apparently more comfortable in the new
surroundings, and when Margus groaned and proceeded to clamber to
his feet, they ignored him and started whispering among
themselves.

Margus
shuffled his way to Torrullin’s side, who stood at the rail of the
craft, studying the nuances of the alien landscape. A netherworld.
It would not be easy to escape, whether by foot through the gloom
or through a magical portal between realms. He ignored the presence
at his side, keeping his senses on alert, and was careful to keep
it low level of magic. Madri neglected to describe the Enforcer
enclave.

The craft
slowed after a further hour’s travel, a route indecipherable on the
terrain below, and came to a throbbing stop. The engine shut down
and the vehicle settled to the ground.

There was
nothing to be seen. Nothing pointed to a destination and there were
no landmarks in sight.

The two
prisoners were hauled off with amused roughness. Captives
considered it temporarily safer in current company; nobody made a
bid for freedom at this juncture.

The leader
pushed his way forward, raised his hands and muttered.

A floodlight
switched on, blinding, a fact Torrullin filed away for future use,
and a lit doorway appeared before them.

The two
captives looked at each other. Magic. Sorcery was not dead on the
Plane. The task took on a new level of difficulty.

They were
prodded inside.

The Enforcer
stronghold was a warren of corridors connecting multi-purpose
buildings on the surface. It had been cloaked from view. Inside
everything was stark white and polished metal, and screens and
consoles gave evidence to high technology.

It seemed
technology and sorcery went hand-in-hand in Enforcer territory; a
volatile combination.

They were
shoved into a chamber and abandoned there. Doors slid closed on
laughter. It was a featureless, empty space with white walls,
floors and ceiling, no windows, no anything. Fluorescent lights
beamed down from a recessed square in the ceiling, a glare that
reached into all four corners.

Torrullin and
Margus looked at each other and wondered how long they would wait
for action.

Not long, for
interrogation commenced instantly.

A disembodied
voice sounded. “State your name and purpose.”

Again they
looked at each other; neither deigned to reply.

An altering in
the chamber’s pressure tossed them to the floor gasping for air. It
would be fatal to neither, but it could stun and leave them
vulnerable.

“Answer!” The
pressure eased.

Both rose.
Torrullin spoke first, “I am Torrullin and I seek a way home.” He
decided to get that fact into the open, hoping to goad a
reaction.

The Darak Or
understood. “I am Margus and I seek a way back.”

“How are you
on the Plane?” The voice was devoid of feeling and reaction - it
merely gathered intelligence.

“We died,”
Torrullin muttered. “How else?”

“We ask the
questions and you will respond to them only. Dying does not
guarantee entry. I ask again, how come you onto the Plane?”

“Choice,”
Torrullin responded.

“Choice
signifies pre-knowledge. How? Why?”

“Re-birthed
souls have spoken of the Plane.”

“Indeed, a
glitch we are unable to iron out. Why?”

Margus was
unmoving, Torrullin realised. The Darak Or was just told - on a
silver platter - if he died here, he could escape eternity
here.

“Answer!”

“We were to
retain our physical forms if the choice was consciously made before
death.”

A brief
silence and then, “Why do you feel the need to return?”

“Unfinished
business.”

“You believe
there is a way off the Plane?”

“Yes.”

“Did the witch
reveal anything?”

“She confirmed
what we already knew.”

Another
silence, this one longer, and then, “Where do you hail from?”

“I shall never
answer that.”

Margus hissed,
but it was too late. Both were summarily thrown to the floor, a
bruising experience, both gasping for air.

“You are able
to withstand a mere twenty seconds, beware. You are able to
withstand five reductions, beware.” The pressure lifted. “Again,
where do you hail from?”

Margus croaked
as he rose, “My homeworld is no more. I come from an alternate
universe.”

“Impossible.”

“There’s a
doorway between this realm and what we left behind - why not
between one universe and another?”

There was a
protracted silence and Torrullin clambered to his feet. He sent
Margus a warning look. He hoped the Darak Or would not be stupid
enough to reveal Valaris to these barbarians.

“Torrullin.
Last warning, we await your answer. Where do you hail from?”

“I won’t
answer.”

“I’ll answer
for him!” Margus screeched. Pain was something the Darak Or could
mete out, not endure.

“Very well …”
the voice began, and Torrullin turned and gripped the nerves in
Margus’s neck to render him unconscious. Before he was able to
react or respond, Margus was inert on the floor.

“I speak for
myself,” Torrullin stated.

A high-pitched
wail sounded.

Margus writhed
on the floor even in his senseless state, but Torrullin was not
about to be bullied again. He blocked his ears and ignored the
debilitating sound.

The wail
diminished and ceased.

The voice was
no longer quite so disinterested. “We’ll interrogate you
separately!”

“I’ll kill him
before you can get to him,” Torrullin stated.

He looked upon
the bruised man at his feet and knew no pity. While dispatching
Margus was not what he wanted yet, not unless he was sure of the
evil creature’s ultimate destination, he would kill him to prevent
him revealing Valaris to these devils.

“You
underestimate us, stranger,” the disembodied said.

Torrullin
laughed. “No, you underestimate my resolve. I would commit murder
and then I would take my own life before I give you the gift of my
world.”

“You then
merely achieve what we intend.”

“Really? You
remain in ignorance. I believe I have the upper hand.”

The door
opened and Torrullin placed his booted foot on Margus’s neck.

The leader who
ferried them to the enclave entered and there was an amused twist
to his mouth. “Kill him if you will, it makes no difference to us.
We’ll get to you before you’re able to do something to yourself.
There are other means to ensure cooperation. I look forward to it
and eventually you will break.”

“Indeed?”
Torrullin murmured, eyes watchful.

The Enforcer
smiled and lifted his hand.

A bolt of
scarlet power shot jaggedly across the chamber … to meet a
countering.

The man paled
visibly. Torrullin had not moved a muscle.

“Impossible,”
he breathed.

“I’m sorry,
something a-miss?” Torrullin queried.

“You’re a
sorcerer! Impossible! You were stripped of your power upon entering
this realm!”

Torrullin
frowned in apparent confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t get your
meaning.”

The Enforcer
stepped back and hastened out, the door opening and shutting for
him soundlessly.

Torrullin
permitted a small, satisfied smile and bent over the comatose form
at his feet. He had thought of another way to keep Margus’s mouth
shut and had a small window in which to do so, before the confusion
became organised.

“Darak Or, as
of this moment you have forgotten everything besides your hellish
existence beyond the Rift.”

The door
opened again to admit a contingent of soldiers with lasers drawn.
They hurtled across the chamber in a practised manoeuvre and took
hold of the two captives, this time far more roughly.

The leader
laughed. “Not so quick after all!”

Torrullin
merely smiled and allowed himself to be dragged away.

Chapter
28

Day Three:
Marauders

1600 - 1400
years ago

The Enforcers
dumped them into the nether-like territory the following morning,
well away from the enclave.

There was no
direction and no landmarks - north was west and east was south and
all permutations imaginable. It amounted to a spiteful gesture,
punishment beyond the night’s torture. It had been a terrible
night, but the Enforcers learned nothing as Torrullin steadfastly
refused to reveal more. He asked his own questions, which went
unanswered.

Margus could
no longer remember anything beyond his dark, hell pit world. The
brutes hated admitting defeat, but that point came, and Torrullin
thanked all gods they were not the persistent kind, easily bored,
quickly distracted, for Destroyer came too close during the
night.