11 The Crimson Witch by Dean Koontz

Author:Dean Koontz [Koontz, Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror
Goodreads: 3335926
Publisher: Curtis Books
Published: 1971-12-31T06:00:00+00:00

“No, no!” the dragon protested, waddling up to them. “No, no, nothing at all like that.”

“Well?” Cheryn asked impatiently.

“I want to come along.”

“No one's stopping you,” Jake said, turning to start again.

“You don't understand.”

“Well, explain for heaven's sake! Don't hold us here until more manbats come looking for their buddies,” Cheryn said.

“I want to go through the portal with you,” Kalig-lia blurted. “I want to go back to your worldline.”

Jake dropped his mouth, almost needed his hands to push his lower jaw back into place.

“Impossible!”

“No. Golgoth said the hole was wide enough to drive a dozen horses through. I'm not as big as a dozen, by any means, perhaps only as large as seven or eight. I'll fit.”

“But how could we ever get you in the castle?”

“You and Cheryn could go first. When you're in-side and ready to make your escape through the wall, Cheryn could blast open the castle with her magics, make a pathway through for me.”

“Too dangerous,” Jake said. “We don't need a mount. Cheryn can make me fly like she can, and then we will make better time than if—”

“No,” Cheryn said. “I cannot levitate and propel both of us and still be on guard against manbats and Thobs. We need a mount.” She locked her emerald eyes with Jake's blue eyes, and they seemed to com-municate through the gaze alone.

“All right,” Jake said at last. “We'll work some-thing out. But why this sudden desire to plunge into the adventure with us?”

Kaliglia snorted. “It gets pretty boring around here. Awfully boring. I might be afraid, but at least some-thing interesting will be going on for a change.”

Lelar sat on his carved onyx throne, fingering the heads of dragons that formed the ends of each of the arm rests. He was dressed in white from head to foot, a white slouch hat, a white cape, a white, ruffled shirt, white trousers, and white albino deerskin boots. Only the orange crescent of Lelar on his left shoulder broke the starkness of his uniform. But despite his snowy appearance, his mood was black.

The doors to the throne room flew wide, banged against the stone walls, shuddered and were still.

Four manbats shoved the hag through. She fell onto her knees, toppled onto her face. Her hands were bound behind her back by shimmering Thob rope con-structed from the fringe powers of Lelar's mind.

“It is thoughtful of you to lay prone before the king,” Lelar said, smiling.

The manbats laughed and nodded at one another. One of them moved forward and kicked the hag in the side. The next instant, he was a burning lump, writh-ing on the floor, smoking.

“That was a bad move,” Lelar said. He thrust his psionic blade into her skull and completely scrambled her brains.

She screamed.

He made her writhe.

He made her try to climb the walls.

He made her howl like a dog and gnaw at the floor as if it were a bone.

He made her vomit and consume her own mess as a cat might.

He made her beg.

And whimper.

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