To Rouse Leviathan, page 36
Dragoslav’s mind wandered to Morgan. Ob had managed to disable the device in Morgan’s head, by drilling through the skull at a strategic point and severing the connection between the triggering node and the other mechanism. Once the device had been safely neutralized, a second bore revealed the contents of the target implant. It proved to be a highly concentrated liquid explosive, enough to destroy half of the lab, had the device detonated. They had carefully drained the liquid from the receptacle and disposed of it. The Mons Monachus had proven themselves a ruthless breed, more cold and calculating than the Mhoul had expected. Dragoslav was reputed to be a heartless manipulator, but the Monachus were apparently not much different, willing to kill their agent, and anyone around him, should their secrets be jeopardized. Dragoslav wondered if Morgan knew. Perhaps the knowledge could be used to good advantage.
The homing beacon created another problem. They had jammed the signal almost immediately, but was that soon enough? Dragoslav had a new respect for the Monachus and had no desire to receive an unexpected visit from them. The Mhoul suspected the Monachus would be equally ruthless and efficient in person. Dragoslav had ordered detection sweeps extended around the castle day and night, which should warn of any significant assault. With the Monachus devices out of commission, the next probe session would penetrate the remaining barriers and reveal the secrets of Khulankor. Molid would take the Princess and leave Dragoslav in peace. The Lord of Ragoulgard was pleased.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Escape
Two black-armored guards entered the laboratory, supporting a staggering Morgan between them. Morgan’s bandaged head hung down and he looked pale and haggard, barely able to stand. Molid and Dragoslav waited near the probe. “Morgan’s condition concerns me. He should be much stronger now. It’s been three days since the surgery. I wonder if he’s caught some kind of infection,” Dragoslav mused.
“Who cares? I don’t know why you waited this long,” Molid complained. “Tear his mind open, and be done with it.”
Dragoslav turned the chair to face the other Mhoul. “And if he died before we were finished? Where would we be then? I didn’t wait for his benefit. I need a living brain to probe. Engrams fade shortly after death.”
“Just get on with it. I don’t care to hear your explanations,” Molid said as she turned away.
Dragoslav spoke to Morgan. “While you were recovering, we studied our previous readings and recalibrated the probe. We have also disabled the other devices implanted by the Monachus. I am confident we can now penetrate their barriers. As I said before, your mind will not survive the process. Farewell, Morgan.” The Mhoul directed his chair to the control console. “Place him in the probe.”
As the Dragons dragged him toward the dais, Morgan gauged the distance to the probe’s instrument panel. First, he would smash the probe’s controls, although he had to stay clear of Dragoslav’s defensive shield. Then he planned to create general mayhem, and pray that Diomedes and Tak could carry out their part of the scheme. They would probably all die, but it was better to end life fighting, rather than spend the rest of his days gibbering mindlessly in some cell. Tak and Diomedes were not of great value to the Mhoul. Once Morgan was gone, they would probably be killed, or worse. Though still haunted by the terrible memories from Mogda Thal, Morgan had managed to recover enough to discuss escape plans with his fellow prisoners. He had a new appreciation for Tak’s gentle wisdom and the man’s loyalty and friendship. His only regret was leaving Celeste in Molid’s hands. Perhaps Max and Talbot could somehow free the women. He knew Molid intended to take the Princess back to Skara Thrae, and once the Mhoul’s party left Ragoulgard, they were much more vulnerable to attack. Morgan had done all he could, now their fates were in the hands of Iosus. He hoped Diomedes was right about the collar. They passed the console and Morgan prepared himself. A red light began flashing on Dragoslav’s chair panel. The Mhoul whirled the chair around, as a technician came running up. Morgan hesitated. Maybe a better diversion would present itself.
“Two airships . . . heading this way . . . just came within detection range!” the technician said breathlessly.
“The Monachus!” Dragoslav said, as he manipulated various controls on the chair panels. “Evidently we didn’t silence that transmission quickly enough. Molid, you had better depart while you can. I will try to hold them off, but I have limited air defenses.”
Molid immediately ran for the exit, her cloak swirling around her. “Kill Morgan now! We can’t afford to have the Monachus rescue him. Ssardon, Kreeg, and I will retrieve the Princess and leave immediately.”
Uncertain what to do, the Dragons holding Morgan stopped. When Molid had left the room, Dragoslav turned towards them. “I doubt the Monachus are here to rescue him. Take Morgan to the dungeon. I will attend to him later.” Dragoslav pressed a button and his voice became greatly amplified. “Prepare the castle for evacuation! Sound the general alarm!”
Sirens began to broadcast the alert as the lab technicians hurried about their tasks. Dragoslav’s gloved hands moved over his control panels, and then he quickly moved the chair to the nearest lift. Morgan modified his plans. He would let the guards take him to the nearby dungeon. He recalled the dwarf’s hand signal in the Great Hall. It was a Raav recognition sign. Morgan was not sure what that meant, exactly, but evidently he had allies among the dwarves. If he could free them, they might help him escape the castle. And if the Monachus had come to rescue him, he had to let them know he still lived.
**
The women heard the alarms in the tower and Sha’lor moved to the nearest window slit. The late afternoon sun shone past ugly storm clouds gathering around the castle. Sha’lor could see figures running on the pavement below. She turned to Celeste. “The castle is under attack,” the Ha’ashtari said simply.
Misa, with uncharacteristic bravery, ran to the door and started calling for the guards, while the other two women watched her suspiciously. As if in response to Misa’s cries, the door swung wide. Swain stood there, prod in hand, with Molid behind her. “Kill the savage. Bring me the Princess,” the Mhoul ordered.
Swain lumbered toward Sha’lor, who crouched, waiting. A group of Harriers burst into the room and approached Celeste. Misa stepped over and laid her hand on Molid’s arm. The Mhoul did not seem surprised by the action. “I would suggest taking the Ha’ashtari as well. There’s a bond between them. Use their friendship to control the Princess,” the albino said.
Molid hesitated a moment and then spoke. “Swain! We’re taking the savage with us. Hurry!”
Sha’lor went mad at Misa’s betrayal. She spun away from Swain’s first jab with the prod and dodged past the larger woman. Before anyone could stop her, she had her hands around Misa’s throat. “Die, traitor,” Sha’lor cried.
Misa’s eyes bulged with the crushing pressure. She clawed at Sha’lor’s hands, helpless in the Ha’ashtari’s powerful grip. Molid stepped away, out of reach, and gestured to Swain. Ignoring the soldiers bearing down on her, Celeste yelled a warning to Sha’lor. Blinded by her rage, the Ha’ashtari did not respond in time and Swain felled her with the prod. Sha’lor tried to roll away, but a soldier kicked her back to Swain, who rammed the prod into her stomach, holding it there until Sha’lor lay nearly senseless. The Harriers seized Celeste, who struggled briefly, until Swain menaced her with the rod.
Two Harriers dragged Sha’lor from the room. Molid and Misa waited by the door, as the remaining soldiers brought Celeste before them. Swain waited in the rear, her prod swinging back and forth. Celeste stopped and faced Misa. The pale woman stood rubbing her throat, still gasping for breath. She met Celeste’s eyes, her timid aspect gone, replaced by a sullen, crafty look.
Molid put a hand possessively on Misa’s shoulder. “Another specimen from Dragoslav’s collection. One of my favorites.” The Mhoul moved her hand to Misa’s chin and lifted the pale face. Misa shuddered as she stared into Molid’s dark lenses. “Misa is an empath, almost a telepath. As such, she is constantly bombarded by the thoughts and feelings of those around her. I understand that, in close proximity to many people, the onslaught can be extremely unpleasant. Fortunately, Dragoslav has developed a drug that dampens her empathic abilities, thus preventing her abilities from driving her mad. Dragoslav uses his supply of the drug to ensure Misa’s cooperation. As an empath, Misa is a very effective informant. Her assignment was to make us aware of any information you disclosed during your imprisonment. Poor Misa has been deprived of the drug for quite a while now,” Molid said.
Tears formed in Misa’s eyes. “Please. I can’t stand it much longer.”
The Mhoul dropped her hand. “We have more important tasks now.”
The Princess gave the albino a sympathetic look. “I am sorry, Misa. It must be terrible, to be forced into betrayal. A traitor has no friends, you know.”
Molid laughed harshly. She seized Celeste by the arm and dragged her from the room. “Who needs friends? I haven’t had any for centuries.”
**
A figure in bulky armor ascended the steps to the roof of Ragoulgard’s highest tower, every movement heralded by the hum of mechanisms powering the metal limbs. Dragoslav strode heavily to the center of the roof. Black clouds boiled overhead, and gusts of wind tore across the stone and wood, while flickers of lightning darted through the surging masses in the sky. The storm seemed unnaturally drawn to the castle mount, leaving the horizons clear. An angry red sun hung in the western sky. Dragoslav touched a stud on one forearm and the valves of a hidden portal rumbled aside. The Mhoul pressed a second panel and a nightmarish form unfolded from inside the tower. It resembled a giant, winged insect as it rose up on heavy, jointed legs. The thing continued to rear slowly on its hind pairs of legs and the wings spread wide. The bulging multi-faceted eyes began to glow eerily, and the forelegs lanced toward the sky, then froze in twisted shapes.
Dragoslav moved one gauntlet, and the monstrosity before the Mhoul moved in response, scrabbling around to face the crimson sun. Dragoslav and his mechanical puppet waited as the wind whipped past and the thunder rumbled above. Soon a massive shape lowered itself from the cauldron of churning clouds, its shadow spreading hungrily across the tower. The airship drifted toward the tower and the sun turned its silver flanks to flame. Powerful motors drove it forward, their droning audible above the wind and thunder.
The Mhoul studied the dirigible calmly and waited for it to come within range. A huge, aerodynamic oblong, the craft had a nearly featureless metal skin. Air scoops lined its prow, providing thrust for the engines aft. A streamlined cabin hung beneath the soaring superstructure, dwarfed by the giant that carried it through the skies. Steering vanes at the stern guided the airship, and stubby wings along the side controlled ascent and descent. Almost unique in the world, it was a magnificent piece of technology. Dragoslav regretted what would happen next. He raised both arms and pointed his gauntlets at the approaching craft. The grotesque shape beside him twisted to face the airship and its glowing eyes flashed. The Mhoul clenched a fist. A bolt of light erupted from the insect’s foreleg and arced into the dirigible. The craft lurched with the impact, which left an ugly scar across its gleaming side.
The operators of the ship saw their peril and attempted to turn away. Engines whining, the great craft swung about. The Mhoul tracked it ruthlessly. Shafts of lightning from the insectoid weapon lanced into the metal skin. Its hull riddled with blackened tears, the airship swayed and shuddered. An explosion rocked the craft and a gout of flame belched into the stormy sky. The powerful throbbing of the great engines lost their rhythm, replaced with a tortured grinding. The dirigible seemed to lose power and the surging wind twisted it around. Dragoslav brought his weapon to bear on the cabin below the madly rocking aircraft. Jagged spears of light impaled the cabin, shattering the windows and filling it with flame. The wind tore away the dying screams of the occupants.
The dirigible now hung helpless in the gale. The stern sagged and the engines choked into silence. The cabin still burned fiercely. A series of explosions rocked the craft, flames licking from its raw wounds. The storm winds shoved the airship toward the tower. The Mhoul stood fast and kept the insectoid forelimbs trained on the falling ship. The aircraft drifted overhead, so close Dragoslav could see the rivets in the hull. The fire had gutted the shattered cabin and chunks of burning debris streaked toward the tower’s roof, landing around the Mhoul. The airship continued to lose altitude and finally settled to the churning surface of the lake. With a lurch, it splashed into Ravenglass and disappeared in clouds of steam. Through the mist, Dragoslav could see the tilted stern as it sank beneath the waves.
Another sound reached Dragoslav’s ears, signaling the arrival of the second airship. Dragoslav twisted around and redirected the lightning projector. The pilots of the other craft, seeing the fate of their companions, immediately took measures to avoid a similar catastrophe. The remaining dirigible lifted its prow at a sharp angle and powerful engines drove it into the sky. The Mhoul sent several bolts after it, but the craft rapidly gained altitude and soon disappeared into the mass of storm clouds overhead. Dragoslav kept the antenna trained on the ship’s last position and hoped for another shot.
After a time, a shrill keening pierced the roar of the gale. Dragoslav searched for the source and finally saw a tumbling shape that emerged from the clouds. The Mhoul tried to blast it from the sky with his lightning, but the object proved too small a target. The falling thing shot past the tower and suddenly the whistling sound ceased. Moments later the dull thud of an explosion joined the crashing thunder and a pillar of flame rose up beside the tower. Dragoslav sent a barrage of bolts into the clouds. The hidden craft was evidently out of range, and more bombs began to fall, raining down on the castle. They made a shrill whistling sound until just before impact and then came the roar of their detonation. The Mhoul kept firing into the sky, until a bomb struck the edge of the tower. The explosion tore away the foundation of the tower’s antenna spire. The structure began to lean dangerously and Dragoslav moved out of its path. He directed the lightning bug to follow him, but the antenna toppled and smashed the insectoid mechanism.
In a black rage, the Mhoul tore off the heavy gauntlets and stalked toward the stairwell. He was oblivious to the raging sky and the deadly rain of bombs. As Dragoslav descended the stairs, the armored exoskeleton groaned with the strain of his furious movement.
**
Black Dragons took Morgan down the long, sloping corridor into the dungeon below. They passed along the first tier of cells, through the central chamber, and into the second row of cells. Morgan, feigning weakness, had been leaning heavily on his escort. As they neared the dwarves’ cells, Morgan began to walk more on his own, causing the guards to relax their grip. Suddenly, Morgan stumbled and fell forward. The unexpected weight pulled his arms free and he sprawled headlong on the metal catwalk. Grumbling, the Dragons bent to lift him. Morgan grabbed each guard by an ankle. He surged to his feet and flipped the men onto their backs. Stunned, the Dragons yelled and tried to scramble to their feet, while Morgan seized one of the cell access ladders.
As answering shouts came from the nearby guardroom, Morgan turned to face his captors. The angry Dragons charged him, brandishing their swords. Using the ladder, Morgan swept the first guard from the catwalk and sent him tumbling into a cell. Morgan parried the second Dragon’s thrust and then jabbed him in the stomach with the ladder. As the guard bent over and dropped his sword, Morgan struck him on the side of the head. The man toppled into one of the dwarves’ cells. Hearing the sound of boots behind him, Morgan tossed the ladder into the dwarf’s cell. He retrieved the Dragon’s sword and turned to face the Dungeonmaster Hyde. The man had been rushing up behind Morgan, intent on killing him before he could turn. Morgan parried Hyde’s first thrust and stepped back. “Hadn’t you better get Dragoslav’s permission before you kill his prize captive? I think he had further plans for me.”
Hyde snarled and his pent up rage seemed to overflow. “I don’t need anyone’s permission,” he cried. The Dungeonmaster attacked furiously, thrusting and slashing. He was a skilled swordsman and Morgan’s abused body was still weak. Morgan fell back a few steps and concentrated on staying alive. Hyde’s anger made him reckless and Morgan blocked each attack. Over Hyde’s shoulder, Morgan could see a group of Dragons. They stood with swords drawn, watching the contest, but in no hurry to interfere with the Dungeonmaster’s obsession. Morgan counterattacked, cutting high and low and then thrusting at his opponent’s stomach. The assault forced Hyde to retreat.
Suddenly, a dwarf climbed out of the cell behind Hyde, the body of the guard draped over his shoulder. The waiting Dragons thrust at the dwarf, but they only succeeded in mortally wounding their stunned comrade. The Dolim tossed the dying man into the group of guards and dashed several of them from their feet. Taking advantage of the resulting confusion, the dwarf calmly pulled the ladder from his former cell and dropped it into his companion’s chamber. By this time the Dragons had untangled themselves. They charged, determined to drive the Dolim from the catwalk.
The dwarf waited silently for the first attacker. With a speed that seemed impossible for his bulk, the dwarf dodged the sword cut aimed at his head. His arm flashed out and the square hand engulfed the guard’s grip on his sword. Twisting the Dragon around, the dwarf wielded the man like a helpless puppet, slashing at the next assailant. The guard facing them parried and then hesitated, reluctant to injure his comrade. The Dolim wrenched the sword arm and nearly took the Dragon’s head from his shoulders. As the dying man fell, the dwarf shoved his living shield into the oncoming guards, sending them reeling.
