The War Of The Black Tower (Book 3) (4 page)

Gilgaroth’s eyes crackled.
“Submit to me, Baleron, or I will throw
Rolenya down . . . to them.”

The teeming Borchstogs below, tens,
no,
hundreds
of thousands of them,
cheered the passing of their great lord. Lust and cruelty and malice burned in
their eyes. Baleron looked down at them, then to Rolenya. She was deathly pale,
and shaking.

“They
will not kill her,”
added Gilgaroth unnecessarily.

Below, the hordes swarmed to the
passing shadow of their Master, fighting each other to be in it. Baleron felt
sick, thinking of what they would do with Rolenya.

“Decide
now,”
Gilgaroth commanded.
“My
children will use her for days, weeks. They may never kill her.
” He added,
giving the final nudge,
“You are your
sister’s last hope.”

It was too much for Baleron. He had
tried to be good, tried to be strong for the sake of his kingdom, for the sake
of the world. But this was beyond his limits to endure. He would not let her be
thrown down to them, like a bone to feral dogs.

He hung his head, and Rolenya
gasped, sobbing, too scared of her fate to fight him this time.

“I will serve you,” he told
Gilgaroth. “May the Light have mercy on my
soul.
”

Baleron and Rolenya were taken high into the tower and shown
to a lavish suite, which they were told would be their home for however long
they stayed at Krogbur. The Borchstogs left them, though a servant could be
summoned by ringing a bell, and former brother and sister were alone and in
comfort for the first time since those few stolen moments at Gulrothrog.

Baleron wasn’t ready to enjoy such
comfort, though, and he suspected that neither was Rolenya. When the Borchstogs
left, prince and princess just stood there at the threshold of the suite,
staring dully.

“What now?” she whispered.

He wrapped an arm about her and
said honestly, “I don’t know.”

Despair clung to him. How could he
have given in?

She seemed to see his pain. She
pressed herself against him and, surprising him, kissed him on the lips.

Startled, he stared at her, and she
drew back.

“Thank you, Baleron. I . .
. ”
She looked at the floor, ashamed but at the same time
clearly not sorry to have avoided her fate. She seemed to want to thank him
more but did not think it appropriate. He understood. How can you thank someone
for damning the world?

“I know,” he said.

She glanced up. “Don’t let it eat
you up,
Bal
. He breaks everyone. It’s what he does.
He’s the Breaker. He makes things just to destroy them. Believe me, I know. I
don’t blame you. I . . . I think you were strong.
So
strong.
You held out, and held
out. I . . .
I
couldn’t have done it,
if he’d been doing those things to
you
and
I
was the one he wanted to bend.”

He swallowed. “Do you hate me,
Rol
, for letting you die all those times?”

She searched his face. “Hate you?
How can you think that?”

“Then do you hate me for failing at
last?”

She shook her head. Trembling, she
said, “No, Bal. I . . . I love you.” Suddenly she looked away.

Many torches, urns and fireplaces
lit the rooms. It was a lavish suite, huge and magical. She moved off into it,
and he followed.

The beautifully wrought terrace did
not look outward, or inward for that matter. Instead, the view was of some majestic
snow-capped mountains that did not exist in Oslog, if at all. Their slopes were
green and the skies blue, and from somewhere birds could be heard chirping.

“What is this place?” he asked. “Is
it all an illusion?”
“It’s all part of Illistriv, I think. That’s what this place is, the whole
tower.”

“But how?”

“Might as well ask me how the stars
are born. All I know is that in this one place, he’s brought his own realty to
ours. And when he’s stronger he’ll spread the fires of the Inferno. Everything
that falls within that ring will become part of Illistriv. That’s what he
wants, for the whole world to be . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Then if I help him, I truly will
be
ul Ravast
.”

She took his hand and led him from
the balcony.

Inside the suite ran several
babbling brooks that came through the walls, and they channeled here and there
into little pools that, though steaming, were not too hot to bathe in. Baleron
and Rolenya explored the suite with interest, and its marvels took his mind off
his shame and confusion for a time. The rooms were surprisingly warm, covered
in rugs of animal fur that masked the cold black floors and walls. The couches
and chairs, were upholstered in hides and furs, as was the bed.

There was only one bed.

Brother and sister stopped when
they came to it. Butterflies tickled his belly.

“You take it,” he said at last,
speaking around the lump in his throat.

She looked at him levelly. “No.”

“No, truly,” he said, trying to
sound casual. “The floors are more than warm enough for me. Let’s catch us a
rest, shall we? I’m tired. I don’t know if I can sleep, but I’m tired. Then
it’s baths and breakfast.”

“Baleron,” she whispered.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t make me say it,” she said.

He opened his mouth,
then
closed it.

“Bal—”

He stopped her with a kiss. He
wrapped her in his arms, and she melted against him. It seemed as if the world
dissolved, simply folding away, and there was only the two of them. Her lips
were hot and moist.

Suddenly, she made a frustrated
sound and pushed away. Shaking her head, she stumbled back. “No, no—”

“What?”

She covered her face with her
hands. “No, it’s not—”

“Not right?”

She nodded miserably.

Slowly, he moved towards her. “I’ve
loved you my whole life,
Rolly
. I never knew I wanted
you like I do, but, Omkar help me, I do. I really, truly do. I love you in
every way I can. After all I’ve been through, all I’ve seen, and done, and
survived, I won’t feel bad about this. If this is all the happiness life can
afford me, then I will
revel
in it. I
won’t have you feeling ill about it.
About
us
.
We’re
right
together, Rolenya. We’re very, very right.”

He took her hands away from her
face. Teary-eyed, she stared up at him. Her lips trembled.

“Say you love me,” he said.

“I love you.” Her voice quavered.

“Say you want me.”

“I want you. Omkar help me,
Bal
, I never thought about you like this before now, but I
do.”

Suddenly, she stood on her tiptoes
and kissed him. She tasted sweet and pure, and he wanted more. He kissed her
back, heatedly, and she responded in kind.

They kissed and touched each other,
whispering fervent things in each other’s ear, and gradually they helped each
other to disrobe, blushing shyly at each other’s nakedness. He had never felt
more awkward with a girl before, and never more alive. Her body, new-formed,
was much like her old one, and it was beautiful and erotic and lush.

They moved to the bed and slipped
under its warm furs, caressing each other more boldly, and drowned in each
other’s touch.

Afterwards, they bathed. He luxuriated in the feel of the
hot water against his skin.

Soap had been laid beside the
pools, and she said, “Allow me” and began soaping off his grimy, whip-scarred
back, sitting behind him in the water, her long legs about him. Gingerly, she
cleaned him, avoiding the sensitive areas.

“Look what they’ve done to you,”
she whispered. “May the Light protect
you.
”

Later, she said, “Stand.”

“What?”

“I said, stand.”

Self-consciously, he obeyed.

“Turn around,” she instructed, and,
having to resist the urge to cover himself, he turned. His eyes found her. Her
breasts, soapy and wet, were only half—concealed by the water.

He felt hot, and saw
her own
cheeks redden. She was all too aware of his arousal,
yet she didn’t skirt it when she helped him wash.

They took their time soaping each
other up and rinsing each other off, and as he touched her, and she touched
him, his feelings solidified.
Deepened.
It began to
feel real, their being together, and the taint of Rauglir faded.

Soon she took his hand and led him
toward the bed again. He stopped, but she continued to it without him, turning
when she reached it. Her towel slipped from one delicate white shoulder,
revealing the top of one smooth, round breast.

She stretched out her hand to him,
beckoning.

For a moment, he hesitated.
The world might end
, he thought.
Because of our love, the world might end.

But then all he could think of was
her, her red lips, her round breasts, and he stepped forward.

A human servant knocked at the door and asked if they were
hungry. Baleron was famished and ate with enthusiasm when breakfast came. It
was comprised of eggs and toast and sausage and bacon, with sides of fruit and
juice, just like he might have eaten back home; likely Gilgaroth’s spies had
gathered the information necessary to make it. Just the same, it was the best
meal he’d had in a long, long while.

Afterward, they lounged on the
terrace and watched the snow-capped mountains against the clear blue sky. They
didn’t speak much, just held each other close.
She smelled
clean and fresh and new.

After lunch, they made love again,
then they lay in each other’s arms and spoke of sweet things. They made no
plans for the future, for what could the future hold for the likes of them?

About mid-afternoon, a Borchstog
necromancer, dressed in exotic robes, burst through the doors of the suite and
thumped his sorcerous staff on the floor.

“I am High Priest Ustagrot!” the
Borchstog said. “You are invited for an audience with Master. Come!”

They dressed and followed him from
the suite, and when he led them to a lift operated by sorcery, they boarded it,
Baleron’s stomach lurching as it rose. When it stopped, the necromancer stepped
off, and Baleron and Rolenya followed, casting wary gazes about them. Ustagrot
led them onwards, up huge flights of stairs, and Baleron, tired already by his
and Rolenya’s exertions, breathed heavily, and so did she. Before long, they
were leaning on each other for support.

“What could he want with us?” she
panted.

“I don’t know,” he responded. “And
I don’t want to.”

The necromancer led them to the grand
staircase that led from highest terrace—the one where Gilgaroth had met
Throgmar—up, presumably, to the Dark One’s Throne Room. Then, to Baleron’s
consternation, Ustagrot began ascending these stairs. Reluctantly, they
followed, mounting the high black steps one by one. The stairs seemed endless,
but finally Ustagrot marched up the last one, and so did they

“We go to the Throne Room,” the
necromancer said, as if they could not have figured this out.

 
Baleron saw the massive doors that framed the
portal and felt dread creep over his soul.
Beyond
those doors lies Hell
. He knew it. He could feel it in the air, feel it in
his bones. Beside him, Rolenya began to shudder. A steady red light, emanating
from within the Throne Room, poured out between the great doors and washed the
black stairs with a fiery glow.

“Be strong,” Baleron told Rolenya,
seeing her fright. “The worst is past.”

She nodded, and he hoped his words
were true. He could not help but think that soon he would learn the price for
her salvation. What would Gilgaroth have him do?

They passed through the massive,
obscenely engraved doors, and Baleron gaped at what lay beyond. Through them
lay another world.

Through them lay Hell.

Lit by towering bonfires stretched
a massive stone cavern so tall its upper reaches were hidden in shadow and its
walls were so far apart they loomed in the distance like mountains. The
bonfires threw a red light upon the cave walls and floor and colored everything
the color of human blood. The higher reaches were dark blood, and the highest
reaches black. Shadows leapt and danced in sinister seduction. The cavern was
so large it could have contained a city, and it did. Twisting spires and
profane domes dotted the floor between the towering stalagmites, some of which
had been carved into terrifying forms that loomed overhead, while others had
been carved into palaces and temples and other more recognizable buildings.
Demons great and small lurched and crept and stomped all about, and wraiths
like living shadows sped here and there through the infernal city on mysterious
errands of their own.

Two Colossi stood in the wings,
mountainous creatures a thousand feet high, their features somewhere between
Man and Borchstog and Spider. They had four muscular arms each, and a long,
triple-pronged tail. Baleron had never believed in them before: they’d been
mythical monsters to him, said to help shape Gilgaroth’s mountains, and when
they were angry, they were said to pound the earth, breaking it apart and
reshaping it.

On the far side, rearing over the
city of the damned, thrust a jagged peak, and from the top of this hill
sprouted a palace of twisting, interlocked towers and erotic mounds. The fires
colored it red, though Baleron thought it might truly be made of red stone.