A Wizard of the White Council (20 page)

How could she have forgotten? 

She crawled to her bed and buried her face in the covers. Mary had been right all along. The nightmares were not just bad dreams. They were something more. 

They were real.

And that thought scared her more than anything. 

###

“How fast are we going?” said Arran, shouting over the roar of the van’s motor. He gripped at a gun rack to keep his balance.

Conmager drove like a man possessed, darting through traffic, weaving and dodging oncoming cars. Horns blared and tires screeched, but Conmager ignored them all. 

“Um.” Allard had turned pale. “About ninety miles an hour. On a residential street. The speed limit’s twenty-five.” 

Conmager growled. “Idiot. I’d hit you but I need both hands to steer. Sir Arran! Look in the box behind my seat.”

Arran went to one knee, the van’s floor bouncing and vibrating. A cardboard box sat on the floor, and he pushed it open. A vest of some thick black material lay inside. “What is it?”

“Put it on, quickly!” said Conmager. Arran shrugged out of his overcoat and pulled on the gray vest. “It’s called Kevlar. It will deflect most any sort of bullet.”

Arran blinked. “You mean…armor against bullets?” He thought of the metal armor he had discarded years ago. The plate armor of a Knight could stop sword and arrow, but shredded like paper beneath a bullet. 

“Yes,” said Conmager, spinning the wheel as the van flew around a corner. “Now arm yourself. Take whatever you want.”

Arran obliged, pulling a pair of Glocks from the rack. He loaded them with Conmager’s enhanced bullets and strapped their holsters around his waist, alongside his Sacred Blade. He pulled his overcoat back on and stuffed several grenades and ammunition cartridges into the pockets. 

“And pass a couple of the Uzis up here,” said Conmager. The van missed an oncoming bus by a few inches. “If we need to come out fighting, then by God we’re going to come out fighting.” Arran handed a pair of the weapons to Allard, who tucked them between the seats. Arran took one of the Kalashnikovs for himself, slinging the strap over his shoulder. 

“How much time do you think we have?” said Arran.

Conmager shook his head. “I don’t know. There are sixty or seventy winged demons in Wycliffe’s compound, along with three or four hundred of the changelings.”

“Changelings?” 

Conmager jerked his head at Allard. “You tell him, son.” 

Allard swallowed. “They’re…well, they look like devils. Gray skin, red eyes, pointed ears, long claws on their hands and feet…”

Arran frowned. “I fought one, when I scouted Wycliffe’s fortress. I wounded the creature with my Sacred Blade, though it fled with incredible speed.”

Allard nodded and ran a hand through his spiky black hair. “Yeah, that’s a changeling. They…they used to be human. But they ingested the Warlocks’ Rose…” Allard coughed and looked away. 

“And Marugon used it as a catalyst of transformation,” said Conmager, “creating the changelings, creatures of the black magic, slaves to his will.” 

Arran hissed. “The Warlocks have always used the black magic for such foul ends.” He thought of the seeking spirit. “Now it seems Marugon has brought this perversion to Earth. I thought as much when I fought the creature.” 

“It was my fault,” said Allard, voice hard. “They hid the Warlocks' Rose in cigarettes, Wycliffe and Marugon. I gave away free samples. I didn’t know what I was doing. I ran when I found out.”

“Ah,” said Arran. 

“I’ll never forgive myself,” said Allard. “Never, not if I live a thousand…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, pull yourself together,” snapped Conmager. “Now is not the goddamn time.” He froze. “Shit. Shit!” 

Arran’s Sacred Blade jolted. 

“What?” said Allard. 

Conmager pointed. “Look!”

Arran leaned forward. He caught a glimpse of a winged demon soaring through the beam of a streetlight, a dark shadow in its black armor.

“Damnation,” said Conmager. 

“What numbers do we face?” said Arran. “Do you know?”

Conmager shook his head. “If Marugon learned about Lithon, he will loose everything we have.”

“The bullets,” said Arran. “Will your enchanted bullets strike the changelings?”

“Yes,” said Conmager. “We’ve tried to avoid killing changelings, since they used to be human. But if comes down to it, the bullets will kill them.”

He slammed on the gas pedal, and the van jolted forward. 

“Jesus, Regent,” gasped Allard. “We’re going a hundred! The cops will catch…”

Conmager snorted. “Let them try.”

The van rocketed into the night, engine howling.

###

“Lord,” said Goth, tapping his headset. 

“What?” said Marugon. 

The voices inside his skull screamed with tension, demanding and cajoling. 

“The scouts found nothing at the university, save for one old woman whom they slew. They have now reached the Westers’ house.” 

Marugon nodded. “So six of your kin now keep watch over the house?”

“Yes.”

“And how far are we from the house?”

“Not far.” Goth let loose one of his rumbling chuckles. “Lithon Scepteris shall live for another five minutes, I deem.”

“Good. The six of your kin at the house. Order them to begin.” The voices shrieked with approval, calling for the blood of Ally Wester. They cared nothing for Lithon Scepteris. 

Curious.

“Lord?” said Goth. 

“Let us distract them,” said Marugon. “Let them think I have only sent six of your kin, as before. And then we shall arrive and crush the hope from their hearts. And if the scouts should kill them first…then all for the better.”

Goth laughed, red fire glaring through his black glasses, and conveyed the orders.

###

Ally sniffled and wiped her nose. 

Katrina and Simon were right. They had to flee. She stood and looked around the room. She had nothing left to pack. All her clothes were in her dorm room. 

“Arran,” she whispered. She thought of his tired face, eyes grim and watchful in deep sockets. He had come so far, come through so much, to find Lithon. She had to find him before they left. Conmager would understand.

Her stomach growled. She had not eaten anything since breakfast, and Mary had gone to such trouble for the pot roast. Ally pushed her hair out of her eyes and took a deep breath. 

Something thumped downstairs. 

Ally blinked. Were Katrina and Simon moving furniture? Ally shook her head as a louder thump reached her ears. She pushed open her door and started down the hall…

An agonized scream rang through the hallway.

Ally froze. 

Another scream came from downstairs, followed by a sound like tearing meat. Ally ran down the stairs and through the living room. “Mom! Dad! What’s…”

She skidded to a halt before the dining room. 

All the strength drained out of her muscles, and a scream died in her constricting throat. 

A winged monster stood on the far side of the room, covered in black plate armor. A small arsenal hung from its belt and shoulder harness. The tips of its leathery wings brushed the ceiling. Hellish fires burned its eyes, and its hideous grin exposed yellowed fangs. 

Katrina’s head dangled from its claws, her expression frozen in a scream of agony.

Ally whimpered, the room spinning around her. The rest of Katrina’s corpse lay strewn in pieces across the floor. Blood spattered the walls, the carpet, the ceiling, everything. Simon’s head and legs lay strewn across the table, white bones jutting from the ragged red meat. Mary huddled in the corner, clutching Lithon, both of them shaking like trapped rabbits. 

The winged monster threw Katrina’s head. It struck Ally’s leg and bounced away, leaving a bloody smear across her jeans. The creature stalked toward her, looming over Ally like an angel of death. The back door shattered, shards of wood flying across the kitchen. 

More of the winged monsters stormed inside. 

The scream ripped from Ally’s throat like a living thing.

The winged demons laughed at her. 

Then the windows exploded in a spray of glass and fire. 

Chapter 15 - A Knight's Wrath

Anno Domini 2012

“Faster,” said Conmager, hands clenched around the wheel. 

The van sped down a residential street, dodging past traffic. Conmager slammed on the brakes, spun the wheel, and skidded around a corner. Arran swore and grabbed at the gun rack for support. 

“Warn me before you do that,” said Arran. 

“Sorry.” Conmager sat up straighter. “There’s the house.”

“Look!” said Allard. “Winged demons.” Arran saw a pair of winged demons spiral out of the sky and disappear behind the Westers’ house. A black van pulled into the house’s driveway. 

“Damn it!” Conmager stomped on the gas pedal. “That’s one of Wycliffe’s vans. Allard! Roll down your window. And get your gun ready.”

Allard scrabbled for his Uzi. “What? Regent…you’re going to hit it…”

“This thing’s armored, son. Hold on!” 

“Shit!” wailed Allard, ducking. Arran locked his arms around the gun rack. 

Conmager’s van jumped the curb, shot over the sidewalk, and slammed into the black van. The black vehicle spun and skidded onto the Westers' snow-crusted lawn. Conmager hit the brakes and smashed through a fence, the van squealing to halt on a neighboring lot. Allard raised his weapon and fired out the open window. The Uzi chattered, bullets shredding through the black van’s windshield and trunk. Arran caught a glimpse of a winged demon in the driver’s seat, clawing at the door. 

Arran released the gun rack, leapt across the van, and sprang through the back doors. He fell, tucked his shoulder, and rolled to one knee. His Kalashnikov came up in one smooth motion. He fired, bullets ripping into the side of the black van. 

The van exploded. 

A ball of yellow-orange fire rose towards the sky, spitting burning debris. The shock knocked Arran over. A changeling ran out of the wreckage, screaming, its body wreathed in flames. Arran came up and fired a burst into its chest. Conmager's enhanced bullets ripped into its torso, and the creature fell with a wail, black blood spattering the ground. 

Conmager and Allard scrabbled out of the van.

“Holy shit,” breathed Allard, looking at the flaming wreckage. “You must have hit the gas tank.”

“Later,” snapped Arran, stalking towards the house’s front door. The blast had shattered the windows and set the roof on fire, the flames spreading to the walls. “We must get them out, before the house burns down around…”

A scream rose through one of the broken windows. Arran recognized that voice. 

It belonged to Ally.

“No!” he roared.

Arran sprang up the stairs, kicked down the door, and sprinted inside. He had not come through so much, endured so much, to see Lithon Scepteris perish just inches from his reach…

The living room was empty, but the dining room looked like a butcher's shop. Body parts lay strewn across the floor, fresh blood dripping from the walls. Ally’s friend Mary huddled in a corner, clutching a boy of thirteen or fourteen. And a winged demon stood in the center of the room, its clawed hand around Ally Wester’s throat. Even as Arran reached for his Sacred Blade, the demon lifted her, its hand tightening against her skin. For an awful instant Arran remembered standing outside the Ildramyn’s castle, watching as Khan-Mar-Dan tore Siduri’s head from her neck…

A red haze fell over Arran's vision.

It would not happen again!

He howled in fury and leapt forward, yanking his Sacred Blade free, and the sword's white fire blazed to match his wrath. The winged demon started to turn just as Arran hammered down with a two-handed blow. His sword sheared through the winged demon’s arm, sending Ally to the floor in a heap. The creature howled in agony, stumbling against the table. Arran’s next blow hewed through its knee, and his third tore through its neck. The creature wailed as white fire burned through it, leaving behind ashes and obsidian bones. 

Arran spun as another winged demon leapt through the kitchen door, scimitar in hand. The demon struck, its sword a black blur. Arran parried, dodged, twisted, parried again, snarling all the while. The winged demon swung at his knee, and Arran parried, yanked a pistol free with his spare hand, and fired. The demon tried to jerk back, but Conmager’s enchanted bullets slammed into its face and neck. The creature threw back its head and screamed, a faint white glow shining around its wounds. Arran emptied a clip into the creature, bullets tearing through black armor. The demon groaned and toppled to one knee, and Arran stabbed, all his weight and strength driving his Sacred Blade into the demon's black heart. 

The winged demon shuddered and burned to black ashes. 

A bullet whined past Arran’s head. 

Another winged demon stood in the kitchen, gun in hand. Arran drew another pistol, and a bullet slammed into his chest. He gasped and staggered back several steps. The Kevlar had stopped the bullet, though it still felt as if he had been hit with a hammer. The winged demon raised its pistol for another shot, and Arran brought up his pistol and squeezed the trigger. A volley of shots slammed into the demon’s chest, shredding its armor. It shrieked and ducked back into the kitchen, taking shelter behind the center counter. Arran pulled a grenade from his belt, yanked the pin, and flung it, masking the movement with another spray of gunfire. His pistol clicked empty as the grenade landed next to the refrigerator. The winged demon snarled and lurched free from its cover, weapon raised. Arran threw himself in the corner, yanking his coat over his face. 

The grenade went off. 

The house shook, and a storm of debris shot out of the kitchen. The winged demon’s agonized howl rose over the roar of the blast. Arran leapt to his feet, squinting into the cloud of dust, both hands wrapped around the hilt of his Sacred Blade. The winged demon roared out of the kitchen, maddened by pain, and Arran stabbed. His blade sank through the demon’s ruined armor and plunged deep into its chest. The creature let loose a long wail and crumbled into ashes and black bones. 

Arran gasped and lowered his Sacred Blade. 

The entire fight had taken less than a minute. 

Mary and the boy picked themselves up, staring at him with frightened expressions. 

“Are you all right?” said Arran.

“Not really,” said Mary, dust smeared over her pale face. She had a stunned expression. “Ally went upstairs. The window shattered. The…the monster came in. It…oh, God, it killed them…”

“We have to run.” Arran stared at the boy. It had been almost ten years, but Arran still recognized Lithon Scepteris, the child Sir Liam had carried across half the world to the Tower of Endless Worlds. “Your Majesty. I am Arran Belphon, a Knight of the Order of the Sacred Blade.” Lithon stared back at him, his gray eyes wet with tears. “We have to go. Lord Marugon is coming to kill you.” 

Lithon nodded, his face trembling. “I…I know. My parents, my parents told me.” 

“Ally,” said Mary, looking around the room. “Where’s Ally?”

Ally sat huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, and flinched away at Arran’s approach. 

“Stay away from me!” she hissed, her face almost unrecognizable with grief and horror. “Don’t…this is your fault, this is your fault, you…you told me…”

“We must go,” said Arran, dropping to one knee besides her.  “They’ll kill you if we stay.”

“Don’t…” Her words dissolved into sobs, her body shaking. Arran slid his Sacred Blade into his scabbard, retrieved his pistols, and picked her up. She fought him for a moment and then went limp, sobbing into his chest. 

“Can you walk?” said Arran. Mary and Lithon nodded. “Then run.” He turned towards the front door and almost crashed into Conmager and Allard. 

“Where the hell were you?” said Arran. 

Conmager gestured with his cane, a faint white glow coming from the steel handle. “There were three winged demons outside. They jumped us just as you went inside. We managed to fight them off…” 

“Holy goddamn shit,” breathed Allard, catching sight of the carnage in the dining room. 

Conmager stepped forward. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Simon and Katrina. This is my fault. I…I should never have gotten them involved in this.” He growled and shook his head. “The children, Sir Arran. Are…are…”

“They are alive,” said Arran. “But we must go.”

Conmager nodded. “You’re right. Marugon could arrive at any moment. Your Majesty, this way!” Conmager and Allard raised their Uzis and dashed outside, followed by Lithon and Mary. Arran draped Ally over his shoulder and drew his last pistol with his free hand. 

“Where are you taking us?” said Mary. A plume of sooty smoke rose from the wrecked black van, and spreading flames danced over the house's roof. 

“Anywhere but here,” said Conmager. He herded them over to the van’s back doors. “In here. Grab one of the racks, but don’t touch anything.” Mary gaped at the array of weaponry hanging from the van’s walls, and then scrambled inside, followed by Lithon. 

Arran laid Ally down besides the spear rack, Mary watching her with worried eyes. “Take care of her.” 

Mary nodded. 

“Sir Arran!” Arran spun, saw the headlights of more black vans speeding up the street. Conmager and Allard raised their weapons and opened fire, and Arran lifted a pistol and joined them. A storm of bullets struck the first van, blasting the windshield to shards. The van skidded and came to a halt, blocking the street. Arran drew another grenade from his coat, ran six steps forward, and flung it just as a winged demon clawed its way free from the shattered windshield. The grenade bounced off the winged demon’s armor and landed in the front seat. 

“Allard, get in the van!” roared Conmager, spraying bullets at the other vans. “You too, Sir Arran!” 

Arran jumped back into the van just as the grenade went off. The black van exploded, windows shattering into glass diamonds, doors flying from their hinges. An instant later the engine went up, immolating the van in a ball of flame. The other black vans screeched to a halt behind the burning wreckage, their doors bursting open. Changelings boiled out of the vans and charged in a gray-skinned wave. 

“Allard, you idiot. Go, go!” Conmager sprinted towards the back doors. Arran grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Allard stomped the gas, backed the van into the street, and spun around. A horde of changelings swarmed towards them. Arran and Conmager raised their guns and fired. Three of the changelings fell, blood spurting from their wounds, and Allard hit the gas. The van roared forward, leaving the changelings and the black vans behind. 

“Damn it, that was close,” said Conmager, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“This isn’t over yet,” said Arran. He slammed a new clip into his Kalashnikov. “They’re coming after us.” He seized ammunition for his pistols and began reloading. 

“Regent! Where the hell are we going?” said Allard. Sirens began to wail in the distance. 

“Out of Chicago as fast as possible.” Conmager turned and knelt besides Ally. “I don’t care how, just get us out of the damn city.” He examined Ally, turning her head back. “She’s unconscious.”

Arran felt a stab of dread. “Will she live?” Mary made a pained sound. 

“Bruised neck, some cuts. Might have a concussion. But she’ll live.”

“Thank God,” said Mary. “And who are you, anyway?”

“I am Conmager.” The van bounced over a pothole. 

“Dr. Wester told us about you,” said Mary. 

Conmager nodded and turned to Lithon. “Your Majesty. It has been my task to guard you for many years. But now…”

“You didn’t do a very good job,” said Mary. “His parents are dead.”

Conmager looked pained. “I know. I failed them. I did not think Marugon would find…”

Arran’s Sacred Blade jolted. 

Mary screamed. “Behind you!”

Arran turned just as a winged demon dropped out of the sky and leapt through the open back doors. It raised a gun and fired, the bullet ricocheting off the windshield. Allard shrieked and ducked, the van swerved over the street. Conmager yelled and swung his cane, the handle shining with white light. It impacted the demon’s hand with a crunch, knocking the gun from its hand and into the street. The demon howled and surged forward, hunching to fit in the cramped van. Arran drew both his pistols and fired, pumping bullets through the winged demon’s armor. The demon roared, clawing the walls for balance. Conmager seized one the black spears and flipped the switch. It emitted an angry buzz, sparks of blue-white light dancing around the razor-edged head. He stabbed forward, driving the spear through the winged demon’s chest. The monster let loose an awful howl, arcs of lightning crackling up and down its body, foul smoke rising from its armor. Arran unloaded another clip into the demon's chest, and the creature fell out the back, the spear still buried in its chest. 

“Would somebody please shut the damn door so that doesn’t happen again?” said Allard. Conmager yanked the doors shut and locked them. “Thank you!” The stink of gun smoke, ozone, and burned flesh hung in the air. 

“Where are we?” said Conmager, crawling into the front seat. 

“Almost to Cicero by now,” said Allard. 

Conmager grunted. “Get to the interstate and head for Wisconsin. We’ll have to find someplace quiet to pull over and change the license plates before we hit the tollbooth. Quick paint job wouldn’t hurt, either.” 

Arran slapped fresh clips into his pistols and shoved them back into their holsters. He glared out the back windows, watching for any sign of pursuit.

“You saved us.”

“What?” said Arran, looking down at Mary. 

“They’d have killed Ally, if you hadn’t come just then,” said Mary. 

“I could not let her die, nor Lithon,” said Arran. “I have spent too long looking for them. If only we had come sooner.”

“I.” Lithon’s voice was hoarse with grief. “I…remember you, I think.”

Arran's mind flashed back to the long journey over the High Kingdoms with Sir Liam. “You do?” 

“I used to have dreams, when I was little,” said Lithon. “I’d remember an old man with a beard.”

“Sir Liam,” said Arran. 

“And I think I saw you, too,” said Lithon. “Why?”

“Your Majesty," said Arran. "Sir Liam and I took you from Carlisan, across the High Kingdoms, and to the Tower of Endless Worlds. It took almost a year. You were very young…I’m not surprised you cannot remember.”