Worlds Unseen by Rachel Starr Thomson (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

ragged with excitement, shouting commands over the chanting. The smoke was hot with more than fire, and it burned Virginia’s skin.

A smell like brimstone filled the air and made her sick. She saw.

The smoke was billowing up in great, black clouds. Wisps of green and blue smoke played through the blackness. Here and there a wisp of smoke took on the likeness of something else: a claw, a gaping mouth, a burning eye.

She saw the strength draining out of the black-robed men of the Order, their energy leeched to feed the churning cloud of smoke. She watched as the guards in black fell to the ground, crying out for help, until their voices were silenced in a hissing roar.

And then she saw the creatures rising up all around her, stepping out of the clouds. There was a great black hound, breathing tendrils of green smoke; ravens with burning eyes; creatures like horses with goat’s feet and lion’s teeth. Most horrible of all were beings in the shape of winged men, twelve feet tall, who carried swords and maces, and laughed as they rose up from the flames.

*

Libuse ran across the platform to Professor Huss and the others. “Come quickly,” she said, motioning for them to follow her.

They leapt from the platform into the crowd. Jerome carried his master. The crowd parted for them and the Ploughman’s soldiers beat back the High Police. They ran out of the gates and into the streets until they entered the blackened courtyard where Maggie and Nicolas had first met Huss and Jerome. Libuse hurriedly beat out a rhythm on the stones, and the trapdoor opened for them.

Together they descended into the dark tunnel. Libuse lit the candle that waited at the top of the stairs. Through the damp, dark tunnels they wound their way, taking corridors that Maggie had never seen before.

At last they reached a place where the ground sloped up. There were no stairs, only ruts carved into the stone to make footholds and handholds. The way grew steeper as they went, and the roof of the corridor came closer and closer. For the last stretch they were forced to crawl on their hands and knees, and Maggie feared that Huss would not make it. He set his jaw and climbed.

When they reached a dead end, Libuse pushed against the roof with all her might, and it gave way before her. A faint light filtered in from the small opening and was blocked as Libuse led the way out.

Maggie was last to emerge from the tunnel, and she looked around to see a part of the city she had never imagined existed. They seemed to be inside a very old hall, one that had fallen into ruin over many years. It was built of white stone. Much of the roof was missing. All that remained of the walls were rows of white pillars that held up the roof on either side.

At first Maggie thought that the hall must once have been a place where nobles gathered to eat and drink, but the more she looked, the more the gloomy atmosphere of the place convinced her that this was not so. It was then that she noticed the white stones, laying on their sides, that filled it.

“What is this place?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

“This is the Hall of Kings, burial place of my ancestors,” Libuse said. She spread out her hands to indicate the stones. “Here lie the ancient rulers of Sloczka. At one time this was a place of pilgrimage, but the Empire discouraged pilgrims and allowed the hall to fall into ruin.”

“Why have you brought us here?” Jerome asked.

“Because you are in no condition to fight,” Libuse said, “and the Ploughman wished that you both be kept safe until the battle was over.”

“And you are to stay, no doubt?” Huss asked. Libuse lowered her eyes.

“The Ploughman wishes it,” she said.

“What if the battle turns against us, and even this place is lost?” Jerome asked.

“Then it seems to me that there is no more fitting place for me to die,” Libuse said.

“We could escape back through the tunnels,” Maggie said. “The tunnel leads out to the river.”

Libuse nodded, and said, “Yes, and if the enemy should come here then you all must try to escape.”

“What about you?” Maggie asked.

“If the battle is lost,” Libuse said, “it means that the Ploughman is lost. If that happens, I will not run from death.”

“Yet you would send us away like cowards?” Jerome asked.

“For the good of all,” Libuse said. “Someone must survive to continue the fight. You possess such belief-belief in a holy king, in a final end to tyranny. That hope cannot die here.”

“You can say such things, and yet you do not yourself believe?” Huss asked.

Libuse looked away. “I am not sure what I believe. Only what I wish I could.”

From somewhere close by, the sounds of battle reached the ruin. Jerome’s fingers opened and closed on the hilt of the sword Maggie had given him. “I should not be here. It is a shame to hide while the battle rages,” he said.

“Is it a shame to protect someone you love?” Maggie asked, turning to face him. He looked deeply at her for a moment, and said,

“No.”

“The master needs your protection,” Maggie said. “And as you are holding my sword, so do I.”

Jerome chuckled, a deep, throaty chuckle, and he seemed to stand a little straighter. “You are right,” he said. “Of course you are right.”

They stopped talking at the sound of a shout, and they turned to see a figure entering the ruins.

“Get out of sight,” Jerome said. Huss and Libuse obeyed. Jerome stood behind a pillar with his sword drawn, waiting for the figure to come close enough to be identified. He didn’t look like a soldier, but even so, there was no telling whether he was friend or enemy.

Maggie broke the stillness. “Nicolas!” she called. With a barely noticeable sigh of relief, Jerome sheathed his sword.

Huss stretched out his hands in welcome, rising from his hiding place near one of the tombstones. “It is good to see you again, boy.”

“And you, sir,” Nicolas said. He looked embarrassed and Huss chuckled.

“No need to be nervous,” he said. “We won’t make you explain your disappearance, or anything else you don’t feel like talking about.”

“What are you doing here?” Maggie asked.

“Haven’t you heard the shouts?” Nicolas asked. “I came looking for you to tell you-we’ve won! The Ploughman has driven the High Police from the castle. They flee the city even now. The battle is over.”

Their exclamations of delight died suddenly as a strange sound made its way through the pillars of the burial hall. It was the sound of drums beating in the distance… a slow, ominous beating. A death march.

Jerome pulled his sword out and held it ready, his brow knitted in concern. Libuse held her spear, her head high, listening. And Nicolas crouched slightly, his own slim sword in his hand. They waited.

A shadow fell slowly over the hall, covering it in darkness as though dusk had come-hours and hours too early. Maggie felt her heart beating harder with fear, and her eyes strayed to meet Nicolas’s. They had felt this shadow before, this creeping, numbing fear. The ravens and the hound both had carried it with them.

*

The victory celebration had ended as abruptly as it had began. The people of the city stood outside the gates of Pravik Castle, their eyes fixed on the horizon where clouds gathered. The rebel soldiers had fallen completely silent. They watched the darkening skies with drawn, bloody swords.

Evil was coming, and every man and animal among them could feel it.

The drums beat louder.

A shadow, deeper than the already dark sky, fell on the street just below them. There was a blinding flash, not of light but of darkness, and for the first time the Ploughman beheld his new enemies.

He was facing a giant, a creature in the shape of a man with bull’s horns and eyes that burned, and a mouth that grinned hideously. The man-thing held a black mace and an equally black sword, almost invisible against quivering black wings. He roared as he stepped inside the walls of Pravik.

Behind him came the bone-chilling howl of a hound. The shadows of winged creatures flew over the walls, screaming with hatred and glee.

Once again, the battle was joined.

*