Conan let him go, and started sprinting the way the kids were coming. Ahead, the forever boy could see a minor change in eye-gleam. It was slightly brighter that way, and there was a reddish glimmer-stain to the walls and floors. A thrill for battle and quiver of yikes struggled in the boy’s breast as he ran ahead, imagining Toffers and Sheps in lethal claw and rip with Mr. Jay. His nimble feet crossed the distance in seconds. Then Conan slowed.
The doors to the Dormitory had been broken and battered from their hinges-tossed up and scattered like Popsicle sticks. The spooky red light from within showed the bodies of two forever kids crumpled and bent into bug shapes. Conan instinctively slipped under shadow and peered into the room, snuffling the thick air for friends.
A man stood opposite Mr. Jay in the center of the room. The stranger was much taller than the magician, perhaps two feet or more, and held no weapons. At least, Conan could see nothing dangerous or sharp about the man. He had an old book clamped in one large hand but that was nothing to squeak about.
Then the little fighter noticed that all the beds and furniture had been swept aside and smashed into the walls. It rested in broken piles of junk and splinter all around the gigantic circle-room. Conan slunk into the shadows and angles of the mess and looked for a place he could get a good peek or where he could help with a stick and twist if it came to that.
“ Your time is at an end,” said the man. “Your kind must learn this.” He chuckled, his eyes focused under wrinkled eyebrows.
“Save your games, Dantalion,” growled Mr. Jay, pressing one hand to his head and wincing. His metal stick was growing white with power. “This has never been our world.”
“But it is mine now!” The man bellowed and charged toward Mr. Jay. With each stride he moved farther away from his human skin-shape. Clothes fell away and were replaced with burning muscle and rank fur; the hands became claws, the feet hooves, and the face tipped toward drooling-fang-faced-demon. Its fists grew red with heat, and flames trailed from them like fireworks. Ooh! Aah!
Mr. Jay held his metal stick high, pointed slightly toward the now-monster-man. Then just as the thing was about to bite and claw and snatch, the magician shouted a word. And the monster froze in the air, its arms and legs and body a blur of stopped time. Flame and sparks still curled off its fists and blazed out of its eyes but it was locked in place.
It glared down at the magician through slit pupils.
Mr. Jay walked up to it. His movements were tired and almost old; Conan’s brain whirred doing all the not- yakking suddenly. The magician stood a few steps in front of the monster; his stick was just a cold piece of metal in his hands.
“My time is ending,” he said, like he was talking to any old body. “I’m looking forward to it.” His words were calm. “But it isn’t over yet.”
And he lifted an open hand and struck the air in front of the frozen monster with it. There was a blinding flash and the floor shook. Conan’s dazzled eyes saw seven strokes of lightning burst out of the air and rip into the body of the beast and it was gone. A ghost of smoke hung in the dark.
The magician knelt down, studying the enormous cracks his lightning had broken into the floor. He waved at a last drifting cloud of smoke.
Conan was cross-fingered ready to step out of hiding when the lights in the room flickered, once, twice and dimmed.
A mist began to form around the room along wall, even drape-hanging across the space where Conan hid. It was close enough to give him a chill like dew-drop-rain. And as he watched it this mist thickened-spooks and ghosts, and grew heavy and soon made dark shapes of at least a hundred. Tall and massive and muscular, Conan recognized the upright bodies and strange black hats of the Toffers. And mixed in with them the glowing flame- licked spheres, the Sheps, monster beach balls full of teeth-all without their man-skins.
And there was a blinding flash, and screaming like sirens they rushed in at the magician and knocked him down. Conan heard the thunderous impacts of a hundred bodies smashing into the magician and shattering the floor. Roiling flames licked up from the Sheps as they heated the air like sun-fire and bomb-blast. It lit the Toffers and filled the room with devil-light.
And there were the sounds of breaking rocks and crushing bones. The floor shook under Conan’s feet, and for an eye-blink a cold rush of fear filled the boy. And the floor shook again. There was a wail of agony-a man’s cry and another blast of power shook the room. But still the Toffers poured their dark strength and flame into the magician.
And Conan could stand no more of it. He flicked out of his hiding place, kill-flower flashing. The boy sprinted into the forest of muscular legs and roil and started slashing.
Heat prickled his skin as he moved and weird energy snapped and popped in the air-flickered on his helmet and danced over his blades. His hair stood on end and started to smoke.
The heat grew more and more and almost plucked the breath from his little lungs but he fought on. Swing- dodge-cut-jump! His anger blinded him to his fear and pain. The Toffers’ towering legs and stamping feet moved around him, some shifting to man-skin, others monstrous, pushing forward, clawing at the tiles for grip and blood.
But Conan danced among them, smiling-blind to danger. The Toffers and Sheps moved quickly but none fast enough to catch the little Nightcare fighter who was a sharp whirling weapon of murder and death. As they turned, he slashed. As they leapt back, he jabbed. And as their numbers merged they could not move away from his cuts and rips. No sooner would he slash a crotch than he would hamstring a twisted leg, then he moved in close to open up a belly. The blades of the die-flower were singing and streaming ribbons of blood. And Conan smiled and smiled like Christmas.
He kept slashing and jabbing and cutting all the while dancing a step ahead of the defense. All the while his breath coming in hot gasps on the sulfurous wind that blew around the beasts. His body was running with sweat as he blood-stroked a deadly storm upon the monsters.
And then a misstep, a second hesitation and a giant foot came down on Conan’s ankle. Pain blinded him as he tumbled on the tiles. Still stabbing he rolled, the murder blade flickering. He leapt and cut, wove and stabbed as the beasts began to seek him out with their teeth. Smelling his sudden weakness they desired a kill.
And another searing pain flashed up his spine as a twisting claw found a mark and tore his armor open up the back. The momentum pushed him down and sent him flying. He staggered, fell to his knees and only got his kill- flower up in time to fend off a yellow-clawed hand.
The air grew hotter-the hair on his head was burning. Talons grabbed his arms and swung him, another set of claws grabbed at his legs and started pulling. Conan’s body stretched and wrenched with pain. His spine burned.
And then he heard a man shout and he was flung to the floor. So loud was the sound that it hurt his ears and caused the walls around the battle to buckle and crack with deep boulder sounds. There was a horrible animal scream in return and the monsters charged in toward the center where a white flame had suddenly appeared. A circular blasting ring of white fire and power rippled its way outward, tearing the Toffers and Sheps to pieces when it touched them. And a great bellowing rang out, as the killing began. Conan rolled into shadow, his body numb as he watched the creatures run wild in madness-trample each other as they were devoured by flame.
And as the fire approached, Conan wondered if it would hurt when it killed him.
77 – Parley
The Prime felt the concussion through his chair. His visitor sat blankly unaware or was too nervous to notice, but definitely; the Prime had just felt the whole Tower shake. It shook from time to time-there were vibrations. It was connected to the City on several levels and all those millions of cars and thousands of miles of Skyway could cause a ripple effect. The hurricane winds of Killing rains caused it to sway and shudder when they came in late summer and fall. But the Prime had never felt something like he’d just experienced.
It was unlikely the work of terrorists and Updike’s forces were too far away to work any treachery ahead of the coming battle. The City was in a state of high-security and Archangel Tower had been in lockdown for days. Powers were loose but he went to considerable effort and expense to have allies and soldiers and functionaries for security around things like that. The Prime warned himself about such micromanaging blinding him to the big
