R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Then he watched, all too aware, as the evil beast slowly, agonizingly, withdrew the jagged blade, its edge darkly stained with his lifeblood. All the while, the creature eyed Corbin, laughing, reveling in the man’s torment.

But then, for some reason that he could not understand, Corbin no longer felt any pain, and his fear, too, had flown. All that came to him was a sudden, mystical insight into the id of the evil beast, and he pitied the thing, that it could never know the joy of goodness or of mercy. Truly, it was a damned soul. “Why?” he asked calmly as the creature began to raise its sword. Corbin offered no resistance, he just sat there and repeated. “Why?”

The creature’s delight turned to confusion. No screams of pain? No hint of fear? It looked to its companions, who, undaunted by Corbin’s passive reaction, were yelping with glee and jumping around wildly, throwing sand in the air. Infected by their frenzy, the creature looked back to Corbin.

Corbin sat swaying, nearly overcome by the vicious wound. Darkness edged his vision, but he saw the sword slowly and deliberately rise up above him and he heard the creature hiss, “Men die!” before the fatal blow bashed in his skull.

In the distance, Thompson had seen enough-had seen far too much. His vision blurred by tears, he ran north along the beach and back to the raft.

Mitchell’s group had just started moving again when Corbin’s second volley rent the air.

“Those are definitely gunshots,” Doc Brady said.

“That’s enough,” Mitchell said with a certainty long absent from his tone. “We’re heading back.” He wheeled around before there could be any arguments, starting toward the beach with Doc Brady falling into quick step right behind. Reinheiser halted and sighed in dismay. Reluctantly, but without alternatives, he followed.

“What did you do that for?” Del whispered, rubbing his bruised elbow.

“Did you look below you?”

“No, I was looking at the-”

“Well, look!” Billy demanded, and he pushed Del toward the ledge. Del peered over into the dense fog.

“I can’t see a thing!”

“Give it a minute. It’ll thin,” Billy whispered, a bit more calm now. “And keep your voice down.”

A gust of wind temporarily removed the opaque veil.

“Lizards!” Del exclaimed. And there were indeed lizards. Huge lizards. Dozens of them, trapped in a wide pit and crawling all over each other, their intertwining bodies a grotesque orgy of scales and claws.

“I don’t think they can get out,” Del said. Just as he spoke, a dark beast, no less than fifteen feet long, scampered to the base of the wall directly below and lunged up at him.

“I certainly hope not,” Billy said, clutching the M-16. But it soon became apparent that the lizard was trapped. It rose up on its hind legs, its forelegs on the wall and its uplifted head only about ten feet from the two men. Frustrated at its unattainable quarry, the lizard hissed wetly and opened its huge mouth, displaying rows of jagged and all-too-numerous teeth. It held the pose for a moment, letting Billy and Del truly grasp its formidability. Then, lightning quick, it snapped its mighty jaws.

Billy blew a low whistle. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in that, would you?” he asked, but when he turned his head, he saw that Del was already gone. Panicking, Billy spun around, and sure enough, there was Del, walking swiftly down the path.

“Hey!” Billy shouted.

“Yup, Billy boy, I think we’ve seen enough here,” Del replied in a squeaky voice, still retreating as he talked. “It’s getting late anyway. About time to get back.”

“You coward!” Billy laughed.

The lizard in the pit roared, and Billy passed Del before he even realized that he was moving. He never looked back.

When Mitchell, Brady, and Reinheiser arrived back at the beach, they found Thompson frantically dragging the raft back out into the surf. Brady called out to him, but that only made him pull harder to get away.

“That son of a bitch!” Mitchell growled, and he charged into the water and viciously plowed Thompson under.

“Just what in hell are you doing?” the captain roared, grabbing Thompson’s shirt collar and roughly dragging him and the raft to the water’s edge. Instinctively, Brady went for Thompson, but Mitchell shoved the raft at the doctor and ordered him to help Reinheiser pull it up onto the beach.

Thompson offered no resistance against the great strength of the huge captain. In fact, Mitchell had to hold Thompson’s limp body upright, and this only angered Mitchell even more.

“Well?” Mitchell barked. Thompson plopped down onto the muddy beach and rolled to a sitting position, cross-legged, with his head down.

“I’m talking to you!” Mitchell yelled. With no reply forthcoming, he grabbed Thompson’s sandy-blond hair and roughly jerked the man’s head back. “Where’s Corbin? And what were those shots about?”

Thompson stared blankly ahead, and a frustrated Mitchell tore his hand away, taking clumps of hair with it, then slapped Thompson across the face.

Doc Brady had seen enough. He stepped between the two men, trying to hold the bigger man back.

“It’s no good, Captain,” Brady reasoned. “You’re just scaring him more.”

“I want to know what’s going on!”

“Let me try,” Brady begged. Mitchell turned with a disgusted wave of his hand and stormed away. Brady half carried Thompson up the beach and sat him down on the edge of the raft.

It took a lot of coaxing and soft talk, but finally Brady had Thompson ready to speak. Mitchell and Reinheiser gathered around while the seaman gave a jumbled and confused account of Ray Corbin’s death.

By the time Billy and Del came in sight of the group, Thompson had finished his tale and was in the middle of yet another breakdown. Doc Brady took him by the arm and led him away.

“What’s going on?” Del asked.

“Corbin’s dead,” Mitchell replied.

“What!” Del and Billy exclaimed in unison.

“He was killed by a monster-a goblin.” Reinheiser sneered. “That is, if one can believe our less than sane friend over there.”

“Lying bastard,” Mitchell grumbled.

“Imagining is a better word for it,” Reinheiser replied. “I believe our deluded friend shot Mr. Corbin-by accident probably,” he quickly added, seeing that Del and Billy were about to protest the accusation. “His warped little mind then concocted these creatures so he wouldn’t have to face the reality of what he’d done.”

“You’re wrong,” Brady argued, returning to the group. He had left Thompson lying on the sand. “I believe him.” Mitchell snorted in amazement as Brady explained, “There was too much detail in his description for him to be imagining the creatures.”

“Of course there was detail,” Reinheiser retorted. “Those monsters actually exist in his mind. They’ve probably been there since his childhood days, the essence of countless nightmares.”

“No way.”

“Oh, Doctor, please.” Reinheiser sighed. “Might we try to remain logical and ration-”

“Logical!” Brady laughed, pointing accusingly at Reinheiser and glancing about at all the others. “Will you just listen to the time traveler here telling me to be logical!”

“Enough!” Mitchell roared, his voice edging on violence. The muscles in his arm twitched dangerously. Even Reinheiser refrained from any comments under the imposing glare, and Mitchell cooled at the immediate respect shown him. “I’ve got an officer missing, probably dead, and all I’ve got to go on is some bullshit story from that idiot!”

He spoke loudly.

Thompson heard.

Mitchell raved on, and the others, watching him, didn’t see Thompson rise and charge across the beach. He bowled into the captain, clawing at his throat and screaming hysterically. “You’re the idiot!” he cried. “You’ll get us all killed!”