The Destroyer of Worlds (3 page)

Grief and pain filled the waking world. 

“Ally!” 

She cracked open and eye. “What?” 

Lithon stood over her bed. A pale ray of moonlight illuminated his grim face. 

She sat up. “What is it?” 

He tugged at her shoulder. “You have to come downstairs.” 

Her frown widened. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“You know those gray things we saw,” said Lithon, “you know, with red eyes and skinny arms…”

Ally felt a chill. “The changelings.” 

“Yes, them,” said Lithon, twitching with impatience. “One’s in the woods. You have to come downstairs. Conmager and Arran are watching it. If it finds us, we have to run.”

“Oh God.” Raw fear bit at Ally’s stomach. “I’m…I’m not even dressed. I can’t run, not again.”

“Then you should hurry up and get dressed. I’ll wait for you in the living room.” Lithon disappeared through the door and shut it behind him. 

Ally climbed to her feet, shaking. All her clothes had burned with her parents’ house, but Conmager had purchased new ones. She reached into a battered dresser and pulled on a sweaters, jeans, and boots. Something dark passed over the moon, throwing her room into darkness. For a terrible moment Ally thought it was a winged demon, but it was only a cloud.

Ally shivered and hurried downstairs. 

The living room was dark. Arran and Conmager kneeled on the couch, staring out the front windows. Allard stood by the front door, an Uzi ready in his arms. Mary sat in the shadows behind him, another gun resting in her lap. Both Arran and Conmager held Glocks, and even Lithon held a gun. 

“What is it?” said Ally, creeping forward.

“Hush!” said Conmager. He gestured at the windows. “Watch.” 

Ally knelt besides Arran, her knees sinking into the cushions. He smelled of gun oil and smoke and sweat. She felt safer besides him, though she could not say why. 

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Here.” He pressed a pair of heavy binoculars into her hands. “Lift them slowly. Look at the driveway, where it wends past the large tree.” 

Ally nodded and raised the binoculars. A shimmering image of green light danced before her eyes. Arran had given her night-vision binoculars. She turned them, scanning the driveway, and froze. 

“Yes,” said Conmager, his voice a low rasp. “You see it.”

A changeling stood a hundred yards away, half-hidden beneath the trees. The creature took a few steps forward and stopped, staring at the house. Ally lowered the binoculars, her heart hammering in her chest, sweat beading on her forehead. “Why is it here?”

“Looking for us, I’d imagine,” said Conmager. “I’m not surprised.” He lifted his cane and muttered something under his breath. “Marugon has imbued it with a spell of seeking. He’s probably done the same for all the changelings. No doubt hundreds of them seek us, driven on by the black magic.”

“Hundreds?” said Ally. “My God. We’ve got to run before the rest of them find us.”

“There’s no need to fear, not yet,” said Arran, voice low. His dark eyes glinted with the moonlight reflecting off the snow. “We can kill this one, if it comes for us, and have plenty of time to escape.”

Conmager snorted. “There may be no need to flee. The wards may turn it back, destroy any memory that it ever found this place.” 

“Then let us hope they work,” said Arran.

They sat in silence for a long moment, Ally’s heart thundering like a drum. Even without the night-vision binoculars, she saw the changeling across the moon-lit snow, a dark blotch beneath a barren tree. She could almost feel its red eyes on the house, staring into her. 

“This is my fault,” muttered Allard. “My fault. I handed out the cigarettes, I let them…”

“Shut up,” said Conmager. He tensed, propped his pistol against the back of the couch, and took aim. “It’s not working. Sir Arran. Can you manage a shot through the head at this distance?” 

“I should,” said Arran, closing one eye and sighting down his Glock’s barrel, “unless there is a branch or some other obstruction that I cannot see.” 

“All five of us should shoot,” said Allard, “one of us is bound to hit the poor bastard.” 

“Very well,” said Conmager. His hands tensed around his gun. “On the count of three.” Ally braced herself for the gunshots. “One, two…”

“Wait.” Arran lowered his pistol. “It’s moving.”

“No.” Conmager grinned. “It’s leaving.”

Ally watched as the changeling staggered away. It moved with a drunken, looping walk, its head lolling back and forth. It vanished down the snowy driveway and did not return.

“It worked.” Conmager slid his gun back into its holster. “The wards turned it back. It will regain its senses in a few hours. By then it will have wandered miles away. And it will have no memory of this place.” He shrugged into his coat and picked up his cane. “I’ll go back on watch.” He disappeared out the front door. 

“God. That scared me half to death.” Mary stood and handed her gun to Allard. “I’m going to go cook something.”

Allard snickered. “That’s what you always do when something bad happens. You go and cook something.”

Mary snorted. “You have a problem with that?”

Allard grinned. “It keeps me fed, doesn’t it?” They moved towards the kitchen, still talking. Lithon hurried after them. 

Ally slipped away from them. “I’m going back to bed.” 

“Wait.” Arran moved towards her, a dark shadow in the dim room. “You have not eaten all day. Mary told me. You should eat something before you go to bed.” 

Ally scowled. “I’m not hungry.”

Arran stepped closer. “You must keep up your strength. We need you.” 

Ally shook her head. “No, you don’t. Alastarius’s Prophecy was about Lithon, remember? He’s the one that’s supposed to overthrow Marugon.”

“But the Prophecy said Lithon would bring Alastarius back…”

“And he has, hasn’t he?” said Ally, thinking of Alastarius’s shade. “And he’s still the one who will overthrow Marugon, Alastarius or no Alastarius. It’s…it’s…” She stared at Arran, and suddenly she had one of her premonitions, her insights. Of course, those premonitions must have come from the white magic locked inside her skull. “Conmager needs Lithon, not me. But you need me.” 

Arran blinked. “I do not believe that is true. Lithon will need…”

“You need me,” said Ally. Arran fell silent. “Find Alastarius on Earth. That’s what Siduri told you, wasn’t it? Find Alastarius. Find me, his heir, on Earth. You had no other choice, save to kill yourself. The guilt and the despair drove you across your world, through the Tower, and here to Earth. And now you’ve found me, as close to Alastarius as you will ever get. You need me. Without me, you have no purpose.”

Arran looked away. “You cannot understand.” A muscle in his jaw trembled. “It…”

“I understand just fine,” said Ally. “I saw my parents die, remember?”

Arran glared at her. “As did I. Marugon’s soldiers overran my family’s estate. My mother perished in the fighting. My father was slain in the battle outside Carlisan’s walls.” His voice was as cold and dead as the ice outside. “I saw my brother die, only a few feet away, and I could do nothing to save him. And Carlisan was destroyed. The High Kingdoms were destroyed. You saw your parents die. I saw everything destroyed.”

“Everything you ever loved,” whispered Ally. Even in her own pain, she still flinched to see the raw agony in Arran’s eyes. 

“I thought to find Alastarius on Earth, to demand answers from him,” said Arran. “He would tell me about his damned Prophecy. And then I met you, this beautiful young woman who knew so much of my world.” He shook his head. “And I was really looking for you all along. Find Alastarius on Earth. No. Find Ally Wester on Earth. And I did.” He stepped closer, looking down at her. “You are right. You have become all that I have left. Lithon is my King, but you are my purpose.” He put his hard strong hands on her shoulders. “I cannot let any harm come to you. I cannot.” His grim face cracked for a moment, showing such pain that Ally wanted to comfort him. “I will protect you to my last breath.”

“I…” Ally swallowed. Tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted somebody to protect her. She wanted to fall against him and weep into his shoulder. “I…good night, Arran.”

She turned and hurried up the stairs, feeling Arran’s eyes on her back. 

Chapter 3 - Hate and Black Magic

Anno Domini 2012

Arran knocked the snow from his boots and his cloak. A low wind whistled past him, sinking a chill deep into his clothes and bones. He pushed open the kitchen door and stepped inside, weapons thumping against legs. Some leftover food sat on the counter, and Arran ate a piece of cold bacon as he slid out of his cloak and coat. He heard laughter coming from the living room.

Allard lay sprawled on the couch, a sandwich in hand, watching the TV. Its glass screen showed something called a “sitcom”. It reminded Arran of the shows of traveling buffoons that had wandered the High Kingdoms in his youth. 

Allard groaned. “Don’t tell me it’s my turn already.” 

“It is.” Arran leaned against the wall. “At least it’s stopped snowing.” 

“Small comfort,” said Allard, climbing to his feet. His coat and gun lay in the corner. “Time to go freeze myself for another eight hours.”

Arran looked at Allard’s Uzi. “You shouldn't leave that lying around.”

“Hey, some of us like to relax at the end of the day.” Allard tugged on his coat. “I suppose you’re going to go upstairs and swing that thing,” he waved a hand at Arran’s sword, “around in circles.”

“More or less,” said Arran. “I prefer to be ready. Lying about and watching televised buffoons is hardly the way to maintain readiness.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Allard picked up gun and checked the ammunition clip.

“Where’s Conmager?” said Arran.

“In the barn, enchanting more bullets,” said Allard. He slung the gun over his shoulder and opened the front door. “We used up most of them in Chicago.” He stepped outside. “Well, enjoy working yourself to a threat.”

“Try not to freeze to death,” said Arran. Allard smirked and disappeared out the door. Arran strode upstairs and looked around. The bedrooms were empty. He reached up, grabbed a chain dangling from the ceiling, and pulled it. A collapsible wooden staircase swung down from the ceiling, and Arran climbed into the attic. It ran the length of the farmhouse, sunlight filtering through a dirty skylight. Asides from a few boxes stacked in one corner, the spacious attic lay empty. Arran had begun using the space to practice his sword work. He did not want to lose his edge in the relative peace of Conmager’s safe house.

He stopped. 

Ally stood at the far end of the attic, barefoot in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Her arms blurred in a flurry of punches. As he watched, she spun and kicked at the air, foot level with her face. 

She stopped. “Oh.” Her leg lowered. “I didn’t see you.”

“I just came up,” said Arran. “I can leave, if you wish.”

“No, no.” She wiped sweat from her forehead. “It’s fine. I was almost done, anyway.”

“Do you practice often?” said Arran. She had told him of the martial arts she knew. 

“Yeah,” said Ally. “I always used to practice an hour every day. Now…it’s more like three or four. Asides from Conmager’s lessons, I don’t have much else to do.” She shrugged. “It passes the time. And it keeps me from thinking too much.”

Arran nodded. “I understand. It is good that you practice.” 

Ally shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” She smirked. “I always thought I could take care of myself.” A tremor entered her voice. “Turns out that I couldn’t.”

“No one can stand on their own,” said Arran, “at least not forever.”

“But you did,” said Ally. “You spent all those years alone. You made it to Earth alone.”

“And I would have perished if not for Sir Liam, if not for Siduri.” Arran drew his sword. “See the blood on the blade? It is constant reminder that I cannot stand alone.”

Ally stepped forward. “I guess you’re right.” She raised a hand to touch the stained blade, gasped, and shuddered. 

Arran frowned. “What is it?” 

“It’s…the white magic. I can sense it in the blade, now.” She tried to smile. “Conmager’s lessons must be working.” 

“He told me you have the potential to become the greatest of Wizards,” said Arran.

Ally shook her head. “Who am I kidding? Conmager’s not much of a Wizard, we both know that. He says I have Alastarius’s power, but I doubt it. I can barely do the simplest spell.”

“You drove off the winged demons,” said Arran. 

“Do you come up here often to practice?” said Ally, looking away. 

“I do.” Arran waved his sword in an arc. “The ceiling is high enough that I do not damage it. I could spar with you, if you wish.” 

“You’d win,” said Ally. “I’ve never used a sword in my life.” But a bit of life came into her tired eyes. “Then again, maybe that’s a good idea.” She crossed to the opposite side of the attic. “All right. Let’s start.”

Arran blinked. “You don’t have a weapon.”

“That’s the whole point of the martial arts, learning to fight armed opponents.” Ally grinned. “What are you waiting for?”

Arran shrugged. “As you wish.” He took his Sacred Blade in both hands, lifted it, and charged her. Ally circled against the wall, her eyes never leaving him. Arran feinted left, spun right, and launched a chop for her head. Ally hopped out of the way. 

“You’re staying out of reach,” said Arran. 

“You have a long weapon.” Ally circled around him.

“True,” said Arran. “But in a real fight, you’d wear yourself out long before I did.”

Ally snorted. “In a real fight, you’d have shot me to death by now.” 

Arran laughed. “You’re right, I deem.”

Ally spread her arms. “Oh, so you think that’s funny?” Arran saw an opening and lunged. Ally spun aside, but Arran saw her evasion coming and shifted his thrust into a sideways chop. Ally tried to dodge but moved too slow. The flat of his sword smacked into her hip. She staggered, missed a step, and Arran had the tip of his sword at her throat in a heartbeat. 

“God,” said Ally. “I guess you win. So much for practicing.” She winced and rubbed her leg. 

“Did I hurt you?” said Arran, lowering his sword. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Ally shook her head. “No, no. Just a bruise, I think.” She smiled. “You know, when my mom first started teaching me this stuff, the same thing happened. I must have eleven or twelve, and she accidentally kicked me right in the stomach. Mom pretended to be so tough, and she really was…but she didn’t stop apologizing for an hour.” Ally laughed. “It was…she was…” She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from Arran. “I…I…”

She lowered her head and began to cry, her shoulders shaking with the sobs. 

Arran sheathed his sword and took a step towards her. “Ally…”

She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.

“Ally,” said Arran. 

Ally collapsed against him, sobbing into his shoulder. Arran hesitated and then put his arms around her. Her body jerked with every agonized draw of her breath. Arran stood with her for a long time, unsure of what to do. 

Ally sniffled and looked up at him. “I can’t go on. My parents are dead. I don’t know myself anymore. Sometimes I wake up and can’t remember if I’m Ally or Alastarius. And they’re going to kill us. They’re going to kill me.”

“Not while I still draw breath,” said Arran.

Ally scrubbed her hand over her eyes. “I used to dream about a monster ripping out my heart. Now I know it was Goth-Mar-Dan. He killed Alastarius, and Marugon’s going to send him to kill me.” Her voice trembled with hysteria. “I’ve dreamed about it for so long. He’ll come for me, he’ll kill Lithon, he’ll kill you, he’ll kill me, or he’ll give me to Marugon…”

“No!” Arran gripped her shoulders. “I do not know what the future holds. But I vow that I will protect you. I will not let you die, will not let any harm come to you, while I still have an ounce of strength.”

Ally stared at him. “You promise?” She sounded so frightened.

“I swear,” said Arran, “on all the names of all the gods that ever were. Alastarius’s Prophecy may be about Lithon. But you are my purpose. And I shall not let you come to harm, not while I still draw breath.”

Ally stared at him, trembling. Her face jerked closer and closer to him, and then she was kissing him. Shock overwhelmed him for a moment, then his reason returned and informed him of all the reasons that kissing Ally Wester was unwise.

She kissed him harder.

A rising flood of emotion swept away all thought. 

Arran kissed her back, pulling her tight against him. 

###

Moonlight fell through the window and into her eyes. 

Ally blinked awake and lifted her head, her hair brushing over Arran’s chest. His arm lay around her, hand resting on the small of her back. She shifted, the bed creaking beneath her, and looked at the clock and the wall. It was four in the morning. Arran did not have to get up for another few hours. She sighed and lay back against him, her head resting against his chest. Her mouth stretched in a wide yawn. 

Ally pulled the blankets closer, cozy warmth washing over her from the heat of Arran’s body. She waited to fall asleep. 

Instead, her eyes wandered over Arran’s body. Muscle corded every inch of his lean frame, unencumbered by a single ounce of fat. She wondered how he kept from freezing to death during his guard shift. Her fingers slid over his chest, brushing a long scar along his shoulder. Some of the scars looked like old puncture wounds, others resembled faded cuts. She thought some had been left by bullets grazing him, ripping away the skin and leaving furrows in his flesh. 

Ally kissed one of the scars. He must have been in so much pain for so long. She turned her head and saw him watching her through half-lidded eyes. 

“You’re awake,” he said, voice a low whisper. 

Ally nodded. “I keep waking up.”

He hesitated. “Are you sore?” 

“A little.”

“I am sorry,” said Arran. “I did not mean…”

Ally put a light kiss on his mouth. “I know you didn’t. It was my first time.” She smiled. “The second time, that was…”

Arran laughed. “I’m older than you. You shall wear me out.”

Ally leaned into him, twining one leg around him. “Oh, I think you wanted to get worn out.” She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, tracing the shape of his scars. 

“I suppose I did, at that.” 

She shook her head. “You have so many scars.” 

He blinked. “I have seen many battles. Too many.” His fingers closed over hers, against one of his scars. “That one…you know, I do not even remember when it happened. A gunman in the Border Woods almost killed me. His first shot missed. The second left the scar. I killed him before he could fire a third time.” Her fingers brushed another scar. “A knife in Narramore.” She touched a long white scar that ran over his ribs. “That was in the Desert of Scorpions. When Baal-Mar-Dan almost killed me.”

Ally pulled back the covers a bit. “And that was where he stabbed you,” she said, voice soft. A large scar marked his stomach, a patch of hard white flesh. 

“Yes,” said Arran. She felt the arm around her back tense. “I almost perished.”

Ally lay back against him, head on his chest. “That seems to have happened quite often.” 

“More than I care to remember.”

“So many scars,” said Ally. She listened to his heart’s slow, steady beat. “You must have been in so much pain.”

“I was,” said Arran, “but I did not care. I did not care if I lived or died.”

She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “Do you care now?”

“Yes,” said Arran. “I have to live to protect you.” 

“That…actually makes me feel better,” said Ally. “You’ve been through so much, and yet here you are. You crossed your world…our world…and came through the Tower and saved my life. After everything that happened to you, you found the strength to go on. And…I guess I can to.”

“But I did not do it alone,” said Arran. “I would have perished, if Siduri had not helped me. And you need not go alone.”

“No.” Ally smiled. “I have Mary and Lithon.” She kissed him with some force. “And you. And you.” Her hand slid below his stomach. 

Arran’s eyes widened. “That’s not,” she felt his heartbeat quicken, “that’s not a scar.”

Ally smiled. “Oh, I know.” 

###

Snow blasted into the creature’s red eyes. 

The changeling that had once been Nathan Jameson, the ex-boyfriend of Mary Lucas, hurried through the dark woods, clawed feet kicking up clods of frozen snow. Every movement filled its twisted body with pain. The cold sank into its flesh, and it yearned for warmth. Specifically, it yearned to find hot flesh and devour it. 

But Lord Marugon had commanded otherwise. 

Marugon’s Voice thundered through the changeling’s broken mind over and over again, filling it with his will. Lord Marugon had commanded that the changeling search for Lithon Scepteris and Ally Wester. The changeling, and hundreds of others, had gone to scour the world in search of them. The changelings were to remain unseen and unnoticed. They were not to hunt, not to eat, until they had found Lord Marugon’s quarry. 

The changeling loped over a fallen long, its hot breath steaming over its fangs. It was hungry and tired, and it hated the world, hated itself, and hated and feared Lord Marugon. The changeling stopped, glancing at the star-strewn sky. The seeking spells Lord Marugon had burned into its brain buzzed.

It was getting closer to its prey. A rush of eagerness filled it, pushing aside its exhaustion. The changeling hurried into the night, slipping like a shadow from tree to tree. 

For more than Lord Marugon’s seeking spells drove the changeling that had once been Nathan Jameson. 

Memories of Ally Wester lay within the dark murk of the creature’s ruined mind. It remembered her, from its dim, almost-forgotten days as a mortal man. She had caused him great pain. She had ruined his life. And if she had not ruined his life, the changeling would not have become what it was now. 

It wanted Ally Wester dead. The desire for revenge filled the creature, drove it through the endless cold days and nights, over the countless miles. 

It came across a snow-covered gravel driveway. The thunder of the seeking spells and the Voice filled the changeling’s head, and Ally Wester was close, it knew. So was Lithon Scepteris, but that did not concern the changeling very much. It stood motionless for a moment, watching for guards, then loped down the driveway. It saw an old farmhouse far in the distance, lights burning through its windows. A surge of bloodlust filled the creature. Perhaps it could find Ally Wester and tear her head from her shoulders.