Alan Foster - Krull

He even did it right this time.

A thunderous roar shook the tunnel. The Slayers paused, uncertain, then fired again. But this was no waddling, awkward human flying at them. Instead they confronted a quarter ton of angry, fast-moving tiger.

Titch clung to the wall where the tiger had nudged him and watched with wide eyes. No one knew if the Slayers had emotions. If so, it's certain that two died that day full of surprise.

The peasant looked up from his berry-picking and frowned. The sky was not cloudy, but there was thunder in the air. He rose, leaned on his staff and stared up the long, grassy valley. Beyond the mountains, perhaps, there might be a thunderstorm brewing.

A shape appeared in the air before him. It was very large, but it was not a cloud. He found himself backing away from it instinctively. It grew darker and more solid as he tripped and fell backward.

The Black Fortress sat silent and massive between mountain ridges as the peasant ran madly to warn his village. Its exterior was smooth and unchanged, giving no hint of the turmoil occurring within.

Colwyn held up a restraining hand and his companions slowed behind him. The corridor opened unexpectedly into a large, smooth-walled chamber with a high ceiling arching overhead. In the center stood a hexagonal dome of strange design and faintly threatening construction. It made Colwyn think of the war helmets worn by the fighters of distant Ulrathay. But what was one to make of those dark ridges that gave it support and the internally lit, translucent panels that bulged outward? No human hand had fashioned this place, and no human soul ought to abide within it.

Yet one particularly precious soul was thus trapped. Colwyn could sense it with every fragment of his being. He couldn't take his eyes from the structure. He knew where they were.

"Quietly now," he told them. "We're close to the center."

"The center of what?" Bardolph wanted to know. "Of the Fortress?"

"Of everything," Colwyn assured him.

Following his lead, they filed out of the corridor and spread out to inspect the hexagon of those softly lit panels. Not a man of the three doubted that it was any less solid than the outer walls of the Fortress. And like those outer walls, there was no sign of an entrance.

When they'd completed the brief inspection, Colwyn declared his intentions. "From here I must go on alone."

Torquil tried to see through one of the vitreous panels, fought to imagine the source of the strange inner light. "Go on to where? There's no way in. And if this is what you hint it is, I wouldn't expect some overanxious Slayer to jump out and offer us one. They won't make that mistake again."

"There are no Slayers here," Colwyn murmured. "This is the place of something else. But there must be a way in." He began backing a few steps away from the hexagon, studying it intently and paying but slight attention to his friends' movements. Torquil and the others moved to stand well behind him.

"There's nothing for it," the bandit leader announced. "That place is as solid as—" He caught himself as he saw Colwyn remove the strange, five-armed weapon from its holding loop. Colwyn's eyes were slightly glazed and he seemed to be concentrating on something beyond their range of vision.

"Get behind him," Torquil suddenly ordered his men.

"Why? What's he going to do with that?"

"Get behind, Oswyn, and you too, Bardolph. And be ready." His hand went to his war ax.

"Ready for what?" Oswyn drew his own weapon, watched as Colwyn held the glaive out in front of his chest.

"I don't know," Torquil replied irritably, his concentration on Colwyn, "but be ready for it."

Suddenly five blades appeared on the glaive, one at the terminus of each golden arm. Colwyn brought it back, then flung it hard toward the hexagon. It whizzed toward the nearest section of wall… and struck.

A thunderous chiming rang through the chamber. Oswyn put his hands to his ears while the others winced, wondering how so small a device could generate so violent a reaction.

The blades had failed to scratch the hexagon's walls and the glaive returned to Colwyn's waiting hand. Oblivious to the astonishment on the faces of his companions, he threw it a second time, striking the same spot as before with uncanny accuracy. This time a huge chunk of wall was blasted away. Again he threw the glaive, and again, ignoring the overlapping echoes that had forced his friends to their knees.

"He doesn't act like he hears the noise!" Oswyn shouted. "He doesn't act like he hears anything!"

"What?" Torquil asked. He had his hands over his own ears, trying to shut out the deafening echoes.

"I SAID, I DON'T THINK HE CAN HEAR THE SOUNDS!"

"I DON'T EITHER!" Torquil agreed.

Colwyn advanced toward the dome like a wraith through a dream, methodically catching and throwing the glaive, hewing a passage through the wall. Sweat poured off his face, and his muscles quivered with the effort. Throw, catch, throw, catch, and throw again. The blades of the glaive became nicked and dulled but the weapon itself remained as solid as the day he'd stolen it from its fiery vault. Shattered fragments of dome flew everywhere, striking walls and floor and ceiling impartially and forcing his men to dodge quickly. The only place in the chamber free of flying debris was the section of floor occupied by the slowly advancing Colwyn.

Someone else heard that steady ringing, muted though it was inside the dome. Lyssa backed away from the intensifying noise. Such announcements of destruction could herald many things, but she doubted the Beast's imminent arrival was among them. He had already revealed his noiseless entryway to the sanctuary.

That implied the presence of another party that sought to fashion its own entrance. The mere thought filled her with more hope than she'd dare allow herself since the day of her abduction. She divided her attention between the section of wall where the approaching sounds rang loudest and the dark hollow that had earlier produced the Beast.

The ringing in the chamber subsided somewhat as Colwyn dug his way deeper into the dome. Torquil removed his hands from his ears. The noise was bearable.

He turned to the other two. "Colwyn works difficult magic and we stand around like hogs waiting for'our butchers. The noise is bound to draw Slayers. Colwyn has enough to work without having to worry about such distractions. Let's scout around this object. Surely we can provide a warm welcome for any black-eyed curiosity seekers."

Oswyn swung his mace. "I hope some of them do come. We'll satisfy their curiosity, all right. I owe poor Ergo a dozen dead souls at least."

"Not if I get to them first," Bardolph said tersely, testing the edge of his own weapon.

"I'm sure there will be plenty of killing to satisfy all of you," Torquil said. "Come on."

They started off to their left, intending to complete another circumnavigation of the dome. Bardolph followed for a moment, then paused.

"We ought to split up here in case they try to take us from behind. We can meet on the far side."

Torquil nodded approvingly. "A good idea, if there were more than three of us. I don't want anyone going off by himself. But we can at least spread out a little."

Torquil took the center, Bardolph the outside, and Oswyn crept along the wall of the glowing dome. Bardolph felt his way cautiously along the chamber wall, walking parallel to his companions.

And then the wall wasn't there anymore to support him, and yet its ghost was. His hand sank through the wall. There was no time to catch his balance, only time enough to shout.

"Torquil!"

Then he was gone, the wall having swallowed him up as neatly as quicksand had taken poor Menno. Torquil and Oswyn arrived an instant too late to help. They pushed and probed the wall, testing, searching for an opening. It was as solid as the floor under their feet.