“What happened?” said Taggert.
“The Unreal is loose in the West Wing. It found them, and rolled right over them. They never stood a chance. Only five of them came back, all of them horribly injured. The sanctuary’s dying.”
The three of them slowed their pace as they came to a makeshift barricade that blocked off the corridor. Tables and chairs had been dragged out of adjoining rooms, stacked roughly together and tied in place. A dozen or so guards manned the barricade. They nodded grimly to Captain Doyle as he approached, and a few of them even managed some kind of salute for the steward. She gave them her best calm and reassuring smile, but inwardly she was shocked by the guards’ faces. They were white and drawn and very frightened. The guards all had drawn swords, but their hands were trembling. The men looked to be on the edge of exhaustion, as though they’d just been through a major battle.
“Report,” said Captain Doyle. “Has the situation changed while I’ve been gone?”
The guards looked at one another, and finally one of them stepped forward. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper.
“It’s getting closer, sir. We can feel it. About half an hour ago something came flying toward us out of the darkness. It was bone white and ugly, and it screamed like a hungry child. We cut it to pieces, and it still didn’t die. In the end, we had to burn it before it’d stop moving. We’re still holding the line, sir. But I don’t know how much longer we can hold it, without reinforcements.”
Doyle nodded grimly. “How’s Captain Blood?”
‘“Asking for you, sir. I think you’d better see him.”
Doyle gripped the man’s shoulder for a moment, in silent recognition of what he’d been through, and then he led Taggert and Cord into a nearby room. Five men lay on the floor on makeshift stretchers. Two of them had blankets pulled up over their faces. Another was asleep. He twitched and moaned constantly. Both his arms were covered in bloodstained bandages. Captain Timothy Blood was sitting on his stretcher with his back to the wall, and his sword across his lap. His right arm ended too soon in a wad of bloodstained wrappings. His face was wet with sweat, and his eyes were haunted. Grey Davey lay beside him, hunched and twisted under a thick blanket. Blood nodded to Doyle, and then to the steward. He started to get up, but Taggert quickly waved him back.
“Tell me what happened,” she said quietly.
“For a while it didn’t look too bad,” said Blood. His voice was unnaturally calm. Probably shock. “Scary, but nothing Davey couldn’t handle. Then the Unreal came roaring out of nowhere and swept over us like a wave. Davey tried to buy us some time to get out, but he couldn’t hold it back. Most of my men died in the first few seconds. The rest of us got out by staying close to Davey. He took the worst of it on himself, deliberately.”
“What happened to him?” said Taggert.
“See for yourself.”
Cord stepped forward and knelt beside the sanctuary. He pulled back the blanket as gently as he could, and then had to look away. Taggert wanted to, but wouldn’t let herself be weak. This was her job. Grey Davey’s body was twisted and misshapen. His ribs had swollen and burst out through the flesh. His legs had fused into a single boneless tail. His hands had scales and claws. His eyes were gone.
“He didn’t live long,” said Blood, “fortunately. We left a lot of good men behind us in the West Wing, you know. Good men. They never stood a chance. We got back here, the four of us, dragging Davey between us. Started the barricade, and found Doyle and his men. And that’s it. That’s the story. And God have mercy on all our souls.”
Cord covered Grey Davey with the blanket again. Taggert blinked away the beginning of tears. She couldn’t be weak now. The others needed her to be strong.
“You did well,” she said finally. “Now take a rest. I’ll have you and the others escorted out of here as soon as possible. And don’t worry, we’ll put the West Wing right again, I promise you.”
She turned and left, and Cord and Doyle followed her out. In the corridor, Taggert wiped sweat from her face with a shaking hand, and looked at Doyle.
“Anything else I need to know, Matt?”
“I’ve sent for another sanctuary. Mother Donna’s on her way. She’s supposed to be the best, but Davey wasn’t exactly a beginner and he couldn’t even slow it down.”
“We’re going to have to stop it here,” said Taggert, “while it’s still limited to one area.”
“Sure,” growled Cord. “But how are we going to stop it? You can’t fight this kind of Unreal with swords and axes. Can you?”
“I don’t know,” said Taggert. “I think we’re going to have to go in there and see for ourselves.”
“I had a horrible suspicion you were going to say that,” said Doyle. “And I would like to point out before we go any further that I am not volunteering to go back in there with you.”
“This breakthrough must have a heart,” said Taggert, ignoring him, “some gateway to act as its entry point into reality. If we can find that and destroy it, maybe we can still stem the tide. Assuming we survive long enough to reach it, of course.”
“Of course,” said Doyle. “I’m still not volunteering.”
“Good man,” said Taggert. “I knew I could depend on you. As soon as Mother Donna gets here, we can make a start.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” said Mother Donna. “Let’s do it.”
Everyone looked around, startled. It never ceased to amaze Taggert how silently the Reverend Mother could move when she chose to. Taggert started to say something polite in welcome, but stopped as she took in the sanctuary’s face. There were harsh, tired lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there a few days ago. Taggert put a gentle hand on Mother Donna’s arm.
“I’m sorry about Davey. From what I hear, he died bravely, doing his duty.”
“He always did have more guts than sense,” said Donna. “He thought being a sanctuary was enough to protect him from anything. Stubborn as a mule, and half as bright. But he always had time to listen to a hard luck story, and he was the softest touch for a loan I ever knew. I’m going to miss him. God grant he rest easy. Well then, Kate, looks like it’s left to us to push back the darkness. Are you ready?”
Taggert nodded, smiling. Like all sanctuaries, Mother Donna carried with her an aura of peace and calm, but Donna also had more genuine love and caring in her than any three other people. She was a medium-height, broad-based woman, who gave an immediate impression of strength and determination. There was something of the bulldog about her, though only the cruel ever applied that insight to her face. She was plain, as she’d be the first to admit, but her wise eyes and ready smile kept her from being ugly. She was in her early fifties, and looked it. She spent her early years as a priest, before coming to Castle Midnight to train as a sanctuary. She’d never said why she made the change. She wore plain, sack-like robes, and hacked her gray hair carelessly off at shoulder length. All in all, she looked more like a retired mercenary than an ex-priest. Mother Donna was perhaps the most powerful sanctuary Castle Midnight had ever known. She was loved and admired by practically everyone. Even though most of them thought she was crazy. If only because she’d given over her entire life to fighting evil, and had a tendency to walk right through anyone who got in her way.
“I’m ready,” said Taggert. She could feel her fears and worries easing away in the sanctuary’s presence. It was clear the guards were feeling it, too. “Damon, you’ll have to guard us from any physical manifestations. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need as much power as I can raise to deal with the Unreal heart. As and when we find it. Mother Donna should be able to hold the worst off until we get there. Doyle, I know this will break your heart, but you can’t come with us. I need you here, in charge of the barricade. If we don’t come back, send word to Court of what’s happened, and get the hell out of here. After that … I think the best bet would be for the Regent to order a complete evacuation of the castle, and look for help outside Re
dhart. Though, where you might find it is beyond me. Maybe the High Warlock, if he’s still alive.”
Doyle bit his lip. “You can’t go in there without an armed backup, Kate. Cord’s good, we’ve all seen him work, but he’s just one man. I think I’ll tag along, with a few good men. Just in case.”
Taggert smiled warmly at him. “Thanks, Matt, but no. Like Damon said, this isn’t the kind of Unreal you can fight with swords and axes. You and your men wouldn’t last ten minutes once the going got rough. But it was a nice thought. Now do as you’re told and don’t argue.”
Doyle nodded glumly. Taggert turned and looked at the ramshackle barricade. It wouldn’t be much use against what she feared was coming, but its solid presence was still somehow comforting. Beyond it lay the unknown, and all the horrors of the Unreal. Taggert turned to Cord.
“Don’t just stand there, Damon, give me a leg up.”
Her apprentice grinned, and leaned forward to make a stirrup with his hands. Taggert put her foot into it, and Cord boosted her effortlessly up the side of the barricade. She quickly pulled herself over the top and clambered down the other side. Mother Donna followed, a little more slowly, and Cord brought up the rear, the barricade groaning loudly under his weight. The three of them stood together a moment at the base of the barricade, staring into the West Wing. The sounds from up ahead were growing gradually louder and more disturbing. There were roars and howls and squeals, and something low and unnerving that thrummed on the air like a racing heartbeat. Taggert took a deep breath, and started forward. The sword of light formed in her hand, crackling and spitting, and the glowing shield appeared on her arm. The scintillating light of the balefire reflected brightly from the polished wood-paneled walls. Cord still had his mallet. He carried it loosely in one hand, as though the huge steel weapon was virtually weightless. Mother Donna strode quietly along between them, her hands empty, her face calm and determined. Cord looked at her thoughtfully from time to time, when he thought she wasn’t looking.
They passed through a series of deserted corridors, and strange undercurrents hummed on the still air. They knew they were being watched, and that not too far ahead, something awful was waiting impatiently for them to come to it. The light seemed to vary from corridor to corridor, though the number of wall torches was always the same. The shadows were too dark, and subtly misshapen. Finally, Taggert rounded a corner and crossed the boundary into unreality.
She stopped dead in her tracks, and the other two stopped with her. The corridor was lit by a lurid crimson glow that came from everywhere and nowhere. A man was crawling along the wall. He was naked, and covered with patchy black fur. Thorned vines hung down from his eye sockets, and maggots burrowed in his legs. Something long and flat with too many legs scuttled back and forth across the floor in frantic little dashes. The flagstones on the floor formed into distorted faces with mad eyes and wide-stretched mouths that roared, grunted, and howled. And then they disappeared, and where the floor had been, there was only a darkness that seemed to fall away forever. Fox heads on the walls barked, howled, and slavered hungrily. Birds flew up by the vein-covered ceiling, and turned into moths that dripped blood. Snow fell through the air, and disappeared before it hit the floor, which had reappeared as crude wooden slats. Smoky flames flickered up between the slats. A man was weaving a web in a corner. His head was twisted so that he looked permanently backward. Beside him, a woman with too many eyes sat propped against the wall and stared in horror as the flesh on her legs decayed and fell away from the bones. Something like a distorted hog’s head emerged suddenly from the wall beside her, and bit off her face.
“Dear Lord, protect us now and in the hour of our need,” whispered Mother Donna. “And deliver us from the powers of darkness.”
Cord took the opportunity of her distraction to silently indicate to Taggert that he wanted to talk to her. They fell back a few paces, out of earshot. Cord looked worriedly at Taggert.
“How are we going to handle this? It’s all I can do to stay here, with her so close. And she’s not even really using her power yet. When she does, I’ll be banished, along with everything else that’s Unreal. And once I’m gone, I don’t think I can come back again.”
“I’m sorry,” said Taggert. “I hadn’t thought … Look, her range as a sanctuary is limited. As long as you stay at least ten feet away, you should be safe enough.” She smiled at him fondly. “Why have you stayed with me so long, Damon? You know that as soon as there’s a king on the throne, I’ll have to use the Stone to banish the Unreal from the castle. You’ll be gone. It’ll be as though you never existed.”
“I won’t, really,” said Cord. “I’m not Real. I’m just an idea, a whim made flesh and blood by the strength of unreality. I came to you because you needed me so badly. But I’m also your friend, and that’s why I’ve stayed. Just because I’m not Real, it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”
They shared a smile. And if it was a sad smile, they both pretended not to notice.
“You look after Mother Donna,” said Cord. “I’ll cover your back. From a distance.”
Taggert nodded, and walked forward to rejoin Mother Donna. The Unreal had moved no closer during her absence, held back by the sanctuary’s presence. Taggert even felt a little of her own unease fall away as she fell under Donna’s calming influence again.
“The focus for all this is a gateway not far from here,” said Mother Donna. “We have to shut it down, while we still can. It’s growing stronger all the time. Follow me, and stay close. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
She walked unflinchingly forward into the madness, and Catriona Taggert walked at her side, silver balefire glowing in her hand and on her arm. Cord watched them go, and waited a while before bringing up the rear. He threw his mallet away into nothingness, and took instead out of thin air a huge mace. The shaft was four feet long, and the great steel head was studded with barbed spikes. And so a man who wasn’t Real went forward to battle the unreality that birthed him.
The air heaved and sparkled around Mother Donna as she walked deeper into the West Wing. Distorted, melting creatures fell back before her, hissing and spitting, their flesh crawling and bubbling like hot wax over a flame. But the floor beneath her feet was just a floor, and the air directly around her was fresh, clear, and pure, and nothing that was not Real could tarry in her presence. A few of the more stable creatures tried to block her way. Taggert cut them down with her balefire sword. Some way behind the two of them, Cord cut a bloody path through a growing crowd of horrors to keep up with them. His mace rose and fell with inhuman regularity, and the creatures from the dark places couldn’t stand against him.
And still Mother Donna strode on, more slowly now as the strain began to tell. Nightmares scuttled around her, changing and reforming even as she looked. The limits of her power grew steadily smaller as the pressure of unreality weighed down upon her. Taggert swung her sword until her arm ached and sweat ran down her heaving sides, but for every creature that fell, there were always more to take its place. She called upon her High Magic, and spoke a Word of Power. A blinding light flared up around her and the sanctuary, consuming everything Unreal it touched. The creatures fell back and disappeared, and for a while they walked through an empty corridor. But the magic took its toll in pain and energy, and all too soon the light was flickering unsteadily. Taggert fought to maintain it, but it had been a long day and she’d done too much already. The light faded away, and one by one the creatures returned. Taggert still had her sword and shield, but for the first time, she began to wonder if they were going to be enough.
Mother Donna suddenly came to a halt, and Taggert stopped beside her. The gateway was somewhere up ahead, but the pressure of the Unreal was now so strong it was all Donna could do to hold her ground. Sweat ran down her straining face as creatures that could not have existed in the Real world pressed close about her and the steward. She’d gone as far as she could, as far as her power and her courage could take her, an
d it hadn’t been far enough. The first faint stirrings of panic tugged at her calm, and she wondered suddenly if this was what Grey Davey had felt, before the Unreal took him.
Taggert swung her sword with desperate strength. The sanctuary stood motionless at her side, her eyes clenched shut, despair written openly on her face. Taggert looked back for Cord, but he had disappeared beneath a horde of swarming creatures, back down the corridor. The steward fought on, her arms and back screaming for rest, but the creatures before her wouldn’t stay dead. They were Unreal, and they were strong in their own world.
Taggert wondered what it would be like to die in the Unreal world. And if she would stay dead, or if something with her face would return to wage war against Castle Midnight in the cause of unreality.
CHAPTER 6
* * *
Wolves At The Gate
Sir Gawaine Hellstrom, once of Tower Rouge, lay stiffly in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He’d blown out his night-light a good hour ago, but despite heavy eyelids and the weary ache in his bones, sleep still eluded him. Hazy shafts of light spilled into the darkened room from the corridor outside, and his night vision showed him the familiar shapes and shadows of his bedroom. Emma had insisted their furniture be transported from Kahalimar to the castle. Gawaine didn’t care; Viktor was the one who’d end up footing the bill. It wasn’t as if he’d chosen any of it himself. He’d never had the time or the inclination to develop domestic instincts. He’d spent most of his life as a soldier, and most of that on the move. His time at Kahalimar had been the longest he’d ever spent in one place. Four interminable years … He’d waited so long for them to be over, only to discover that what came next was worse.