The Valley of Thunder

  "Don't even think of it," Howlett cried as another of the Tawnians reached for his own black box. "Christ, I've always wanted to use a line like that," he told Clive out of the corner of his mouth.

  His gaze never left the group. Besides Clive's brother, there were three other Tawnians, each of them like their earlier captors—part man, part machine. They stood frozen, their gazes shifting from the weapon in Howlett's hand to what it had done to their companion. The shock was plain in their features.

  With Howlett leading, the party moved down to join the Tawnians. Clive's gaze was riveted to his brother's features, searching each line for its familiarity. There could be no mistaking Neville. This was no replica. He had the stance, the cocky set of Neville's head, the amused look in his eye.

  "Well, little brother." Neville said. "For once, you've arrived in time to rescue me."

  Clive's ears still rang from the handgun's blast, but not so much as they had earlier. He could hear again— enough to know that the man standing before him even had Neville's sardonic manner of speech.

  "Careful now," Smythe said softly at Clive's side.

  Clive nodded. He would be careful.

  "What?" Neville asked. "Nothing to say?"

  Easy now, Clive told himself. Don't let him goad you.

  Oddly enough, having finally caught up with his twin, he felt strangely let down. The anger that had been brewing inside him like a hot fire was gone. He fell curiously flat—devoid of emotion.

  "Disarm them," he said.

  His companions approached the Tawnians, careful to make sure that they never stepped between Howlett and the weapon he kept leveled at the three that were still alive. The Tawnians submitted to the search, but when Guafe approached Neville. Clive's twin stepped back, clapping a hand to the hilt of the saber buckled at his belt.

  "I think not." he said.

  Howlett's weapon moved to cover him, but Clive stepped in the way to face his brother.

  "What was the name of Nanny's lapdog?" he asked.

  "What?"

  "You heard me."

  "For God's sake, Clive. We don't have time for games."

  "If you're truly my brother, you'll know the answer."

  "Clive, what are you driving at?"

  He doesn't know the answer, Clive thought. God help us, he's so much like Neville he could be his identical twin—more so than I.

  "The game's up," Clive told him. "Whoever you are, or think you are, you are not Neville Folliot."

  The replica took a few quick steps back, drawing his saber as he did so. But by the time he had it free of its scabbard, Clive's own blade was naked in his hand.

  "Gel out of the way," Howlett said.

  He moved forward again, trying to get a clear shot, but Smythe pulled him back.

  "All of you—keep out of this," Clive said, never taking his gaze from the replica's eyes.

  Thirty

  The Oracle gave a smile at Annabelle's question, thin-lipped and humorless.

  "THE REAL NEVILLE FOLLIOT?" it asked.

  Ot, ot. ot....

  "THAT IS CHILD'S PLAY."

  Play, play. play....

  "I EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU."

  You, you, you....

  As the Oracle arose slowly from its supine position. Annabelle and her companions stepped back from the stone slab once more. The babbling echoes that followed its voice rang back and forth in the room, growing in volume rather than fading. There was a ringing in their ears, and the surface of the floor seemed to tremble underfoot.

  Sitting up on the slab, the Oracle towered over them. It lifted an enormous, corpse-pale arm and pointed to the nearest of the sarcophagi.

  "THERE IS THE ONE YOU SEEK."

  Seek, seek, seek....

  "A LORD'S FRESH MEAT."

  Meal, meal, meal....

  The echoes rebounded until Annabelle had to put her hands over her cars. Lords of Thunder, she thought. They call them that because of their big mouths. But then the moment of black humor drained from her.

  The lid of the sarcophagus that the Oracle had indicated was slowly opening, with a rumble of grinding stone. Standing upright inside it was a twin to the enormous shape of the Oracle—just as huge, its skin just as alabaster, its clothing a similar heavy metal punk cut. But the monster wasn't alone in its crypt. Hanging from it was a human figure, dangling from its chest like a marionette with its strings cut. From out of the Lord's mouth a number of tubes protruded that were attached to the man's back.

  The Lord was feeding on him.

  "N-Neville... Annabelle asked, her voice breaking.

  She wanted to throw up.

  "A SMALL, MOVABLE FEAST," the Oracle said.

  East, east, east....

  "BUT MY BROTHER FEEDS NOT NEARLY SO WELL AS I WILL."

  Will, will, will....

  "FOUR CHOICE MORSELS."

  Sels, sels, sels....

  The Oracle had stood up from its slab now, and was coming toward them. As she turned, staring up at its towering bulk. Annabelle realized how the game was set up. The Lords took turns playing the Oracle, feeding on the hapless victims when they couldn't come up with a decent question.

  How in God's name were they supposed to deal with something this size?

  Her daughter's features rose in her mind—that expectant look, hope and fear mingled in her eyes.

  Are you coming back, mommy?

  I promised, didn't I? I'll try, but Christ. Amanda....

  You won't forget me, will you?

  No way. She was going to make it. They were all gonna make it. There wasn't a chance in hell that she was gonna let any of them end up godfood without going down fighting, first.

  "Shriek!" she cried, and pointed toward the dais.

  The arachnid pulled free a handful of hair spikes, whipping them at the Oracle in rapid succession, but they didn't slow the monster down at all. So she charged the Oracle. Sidi at her side, as Annabelle ran for the open sarcophagus. With Tomàs's help she pulled the limp form of Neville from the Lord's chest. The tubes made suckerlike popping sounds as they pulled free, leaving ugly, round red welts on Neville's pale skin. But he was still warm to the touch. Still alive.

  They dragged him back, away from the sarcophagus. As they did. the Lord's eyes flickered open, the cold iron of its gaze fastening on them. For one long moment Annabelle froze in place.

  "You DARE?" the monster roared.

  Dare, dare, dare....

  Maybe she was crazy, Annabelle thought, but yeah, she dared.

  She shook her head fiercely and fell back to dragging Neville beyond the monster's grip once more, a new strength fueling her. Tomàs hesitated at her side as the Lord swallowed its feeding tubes and then stepped forth.

  On the dais, Shriek barreled into the Oracle, hitting one of its legs with her full weight and alien strength. The monster tottered, started to regain its balance, but then Sidi struck it across the back of the knee on the same leg. The leg gave out, and the two of them hopped out of the way as the creature came crashing down.

  One arm baited out, striking Sidi a glancing blow that sent him skidding across the chamber's floor. Shriek lunged for its head, lower arms grabbing hold of its neck, upper ones aiming blows at its eyes. But no sooner had she grabbed hold of the monster than its huge hands gripped her, and feeding tubes came snaking out its mouth to attach themselves to Shriek's torso.

  The alien cried out with shock at the pain.

  Annabelle turned at the cry. She saw Shriek raining blows on the Oracle, but to no avail. It merely gripped her closer, more feeding tubes coming from its mouth to fasten onto her.

  Oh, Jesus. She didn't know what to do—help Neville or Shriek?

  There was really no choice. Shriek was her friend. All she knew about Neville was that he'd been leading her on a goose chase ever since she'd first Joined up with his twin.

  But as she started to drop Neville's arm, she saw Sidi gather himself up from where he'd fallen and charge the Oracle again.
The fallen giant swept out his arm, but Sidi jumped nimbly above it and darted forward. He hammered the Oracle straight in its open eye with a fist.

  The Oracle bellowed, and the floor literally shook underfoot. It made a grab for Sidi, but the little Indian slid past the Oracle's grasping fingers. He caught hold of two feeding tubes and ripped them from Shriek's back, continuing to pull on them until he had torn them from the Oracle's mouth. The Oracle's cry of pain was now a wet gurgle as blood bubbled up through its lips.

  Annabelle concentrated on her own troubles then. She and Tomàs dragged Neville to the center of the room, but the Lord was out of its sarcophagus now and advancing upon them. Annabelle took a stance between Neville and the Lord.

  What do I do?

  Then she had it. They'd split up, she and Tomàs. Whoever the Lord went after, the other'd move in and try to take it down the way Sidi had, hitting it behind the knee.

  She started to turn to Tomàs to tell him, but the Portuguese suddenly pushed her directly into the approaching giant's path and bolted for the elevator doors. Trying to regain her balance, she fell to the floor, using her arms to break her fall.

  "You bastard!" Annabelle screamed at Tomàs.

  She scrambled to her feet, the monster towering over her, and bolted to one side. The Lord dropped to its knees and swung a mealy fist in her direction. She tried to copy Sidi's move, but she didn't leap high enough, and the monster's arm swept her legs from under her. All that kept her from cracking her head on the floor was the fact that she fell backward, against the Lord's arm. It reached for her with its other hand.

  On the dais, Sidi hauled on two more of the tubes, and by then, Shriek was recovered enough to lend her own strength to the task. The Oracle batted at them, but this time Shriek grabbed the large arm with all four hands. Muscles straining, she snapped the bones of his forearm in two.

  At the elevator, Tomàs was hammering on the metal door. That sent up echoes that mixed with the general cacophony of the monsters' bellows, creating a kind of thunder that rang against the cathedral ceiling.

  Annabelle dodged the Lord's hand. Using the arm she'd fallen on as though it were a pommel horse, she vaulted over it and took to her heels. But the leg she'd hurt previously buckled under her, and she wasn't quick enough to recover.

  This time, the Lord's meaty fist ranged out and snagged her. It drew her toward it, the feeding tubes already snaking out of its mouth. Annabelle struggled in its grip, but it held her tight as a vise, its fingers squeezing the strength out of her.

  The first tube slapped against her neck, and the end attached to her skin with a wet, sucking sound.

  On the dais, Shriek had a grip on the Oracle's other arm. As it tried to bat her with its head. Sidi launched himself forward, delivering a kick directly under its unhurt eye with such strength that it popped the eye from its socket.

  The Oracle screamed. It tried to reach for its eye, but Shriek had too strong a grip on its arm now. She broke that one as well. As the Oracle collapsed on the floor, she and Sidi each grabbed it by an ear and smashed its head against the corner of the stone slab that it had first been lying on.

  Once, twice, they battered it against the corner, and then the skull cracked. The Oracle began to convulse, and they both jumped free from the wild jerking of its limbs, running to Annabelle's aid.

  Sidi grabbed the feeding tube attached to her neck and ripped it free. As more of the tubes came at the Indian, Shriek got a grip on the Lord's leg with all four arms and toppled him over. The monster fell on its back, Annabelle's weight on its chest. Without its hands free to break its fall, the back of the Lord's head hit the floor with a sharp cracking sound. And then it lay still.

  Silence fell across the vast chamber.

  Shriek pulled Annabelle free from the monster's chest and helped her stand.

  "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus." Annabelle was muttering.

  "Everything's fine now, Annabelle," Sidi said.

  He stroked her hair as Shriek lowered her to the floor.

  "Th-that thing... was sucking on me. . .

  "It's dead now," Sidi told her. "That's all that matters."

  Slowly, Annabelle sat up.

  Dead.

  She looked at the Lord lying stretched out on the floor, then up to the dais, where the Oracle now lay still as well.

  They were really dead.

  "Christ, we did it," she said.

  Sidi nodded and gave her a weary smile. Annabelle's gaze traveled to the far side of the room, where Tomàs was standing very still now, his back against the elevator doors.

  "You bastard." she told him. "I'm gonna rip your lungs out and...."

  But she didn't finish. Her heart wasn't in it. Scared as she'd been, she found it hard not to understand the Portuguese's panic. So he was a coward. Big deal. Well, so was she. She just hadn't been lucky enough to get free, that was all. And it wasn't like they hadn't already known that he was a weasel, the weasel.

  I will kill Tomàs, Shriek said matter-of-factly. Her multiple eyes flashed dangerously as they gazed at him.

  Annabelle shook her head. He wasn't worth it.

  "No," she said. "Leave him alone."

  Slowly, with Sidi's help, she got to her feet.

  "What's the story with Neville?" she asked. "Is he still alive?" leaning on Sidi's shoulder, she hobbled over to where Clive's twin lay. When she knelt beside him and turned him over, she flinched. There were little round welts all over his skin."Jesus, what were they taking outta him, anyway?"

  "His life force."

  Annabelle started to feel sick all over again.

  "I wonder how long they had him in there?"

  She reached out a hand to touch Neville's pale cheek, and started when he stirred. His eyelid flickered, and suddenly he was looking at her—right at her—but it was obvious that he wasn't seeing her.

  Weakly, he tried to push her away.

  "It's okay," she said. "We killed the bugger that had you."

  Slowly, his gaze focused on her.

  "W-who are you...?"

  "Friends of your brother's."

  "Clive? He... he's here?"

  Ah, shit. Annabelle thought. So what do I tell him? We split up, and your brother's probably dead?

  "Sort of," she said. "We kinda went our own way a few days ago. Listen, we need some information—like, what the hell's going on around here, anyway? What's with the journal? What's with the mind games you've been playing on our heads?"

  "The journal? You found that?"

  "Clive did." she said. "And lost it somewhere, and now I've got it. Which gives me the bad feeling that he's dead."

  Neville shook his head slowly, wincing at the pain the movement caused him.

  "Hey, take it easy," Annabelle told him.

  "Clive... can't be dead. I would know if he... were...."

  Right. The bond between twins, and all that stuff. All wired up to a human vacuum cleaner that was sucking up his blood, he was really gonna have had time for that kind of thing.

  "Right now," she said, "all we want to know is, how do we get outta this place?"

  Neville closed his eyes and lay still.

  "Don't fade on me now, Neville." She shook him lightly. "Neville? Damn! He checked out on us."

  Sidi leaned closer. "Is he dead?" he asked.

  Annabelle shook her head. "He might as well be, for all the good he’s gonna do us, but naw, he's just passed out again." She looked from Sidi to Shriek. "So, what are we gonna do?"

  At the sound of a step on the floor, she glanced over to sec Tomàs nervously approaching them.

  "I have been muito estúpido," he said. A weak, hopeful smile touched his lips. "I am . . . there was such a fear on me...."

  Annabelle nodded. "You panicked," she said. "Plain and simple. It happens."

  "I don't see how you can be so forgiving," Sidi said.

  He glared at the Portuguese. The look in his eyes was fierce, though not so fierce as Shriek's.

  "We're a
ll in this together," Annabelle said. "Don't ask me why I’m not pissed. I mean. I'm the one he left in the lurch, right? But I don't think he was being mean-minded. He just freaked, okay? Like I did when we stepped through that last gateway, and couldn't take the bridge. So let's just drop it."

  "Madre de Dios," Tomàs said. "I will honor you forever...."

  Annabelle waved him quiet. "Give it a rest, would you? I already said it’s okay. What we’ve gotta do now is stop farting around and...."

  Her voice trailed off as a rumbling sound filled the vast room. Knowing what she was going to see, not wanting to look, but unable to stop herself, she turned her gaze to the sarcophagi that lined two walls of the chamber. One by one the lids were sliding open to reveal more Lords of Thunder. At least twenty of them. Stirring. Eyes opening, cold gazes fixing on them.

  "Oh, shit," Annabelle said.

  Thirty-one

  He would have satisfaction. Clive thought as he faced the replica of his twin. There had been enough—too much, by God—dilly-dallying about as they were led from one disaster into another, always following the nebulous trail of his brother Neville. He had a grudge to settle with both his twin and whoever was behind this Dungeon. And while the man who stood before him now might not be Neville, nor even one of those responsible for the rule of this damned place, he was still here, close at hand, and Clive meant to have that satisfaction from him.

  The saber was a comfortable weight in his hand and he had no doubts as to his own skill with the blade—unfamiliar though this particular weapon might be to his hand. As for the replica, if he followed Neville's lead, he would be relying more on strength and daring in his swordplay than finesse. The latter had always been Clive's particular forte.

  The replica looked across his blade at Clive. A sardonic smile touched the corner of his lips.