Destroyer of Worlds

1

In the dead heat, a stifling desolation choked the blasted lands. The dry, ochre dust of the hardpan licked up to jagged rocks and dead, twisted trees reaching blackened hands towards the bleached sky. In the craters, pools of foul-smelling, rainbow-streaked oil attracted clouds of fat, lazy flies, droning constantly.

This was the land that the Void had built.

Just visible through the haze hanging in the distance was a structure so large that at first it appeared to be a part of the landscape, a soaring bluff stretching across the whole length of the horizon, its brown granite charred here and there by great fires. Above it, black birds swirled like gulls scavenging a refuse tip. But as the eye adjusted to the perspective, jarring details emerged in opposition to natural law: disturbing angles, unsettling proportions, materials with the gleam of plastic or metal, or the sickly resilience of meat; and the birds could not be birds: much larger than any known living creature, their scavenging took on a menacing air.

It was the Fortress of the Enemy, known by some as the House of Pain, a complex as large as a city, constantly under construction, with no end in sight as it crept relentlessly across the landscape exuding a potent atmosphere of black depression. For all its artifice, there was still a sense that in some way it was alive.

The Burning Man towered above, black smoke pothering from the flaming outline.

Scrambling down the scree of a steep hillside, the first sight of the Fortress brought Church, Ruth, Shavi, Veitch and Tom to a sudden halt. They told themselves it was the imposing sight that affected them so deeply, and tried to ignore the unsettling alien whispers that insinuated into the back of their heads.

'Big.' Veitch shielded his eyes against the sun. What he didn't say told them more about his feelings.

'Swarming with Lament-Brood, Redcaps and God knows what else,' Ruth said. 'I mean, how many of them must be inside a building that size? Are we expected to fight past every one?'

'Yes, go right up and knock on the door,' Tom said tartly.

'Virginia could have shown us the secret path into the Fortress,' Church noted, 'but she's not here so we've got to find another way. We know the path exists. If we could find it-'

Tom snorted derisively. 'Stumble across it, perhaps.'

Veitch flinched, and Church steadied him with a subtle nod. 'Whatever, if Laura is in there, they'll be ready for us.'

He felt the skitter of quick glances upon him. He knew why: he could barely believe Laura had betrayed them, and the more he allowed the concept to settle upon him, the more despairing he felt. They needed to be Five united as One for the Pendragon Spirit to be most effective. Every new development destabilised them a little further, causing fissures to spread throughout relationships he had considered solid. He felt the hand of the Libertarian upon it — sickeningly, his own hand. He had underestimated his alter ego's capability for subtlety: the brash, theatrical exterior of the Libertarian had been a distraction, and now looked clever and carefully designed.

They skidded down the remainder of the scree and raised clouds of sticky yellow dust as they trudged across the hardpan towards the Fortress. After ten minutes, Shavi brought them to a halt.

'Movement,' he whispered, subtly indicating a crumbling rock formation that resembled a finger pointing at the sky.

'That eye's a bloody good deal, mate,' Veitch said.

Veitch and Church kicked up a large cloud of dust, which allowed Veitch the cover to approach the rock on the blindside of where Shavi had seen the movement. When he disappeared behind the outcropping, they waited for the sound of a fight, but within a few seconds Veitch was hailing them from a ledge on the side of the rock.

They found him with his arm around a ruddy-faced Brother of Dragons with a thatch of wiry blond hair, who was grinning broadly. John Baker was a seventeenth-century farmhand. Church had discovered him lifting a cart to mend a broken wheel, a remarkable feat of strength that was matched only by the depth of his good humour.

'Never thought I'd see the day,' he said in a broad Cornish accent.

'The rest of the Army of Dragons is here,' Veitch said.

'Ar, what's left of 'em.' The grim note in Baker's voice was quickly replaced by the grin. 'I've been out on patrol for a day and night. Orders were to find you and bring you in, but we were afraid you'd already gone inside there, and that'd be the last we'd see of you.'

'We wouldn't leave you out of the fun,' Veitch said. 'Let's go and get everybody tooled up. This is where it all kicks off.'