Part 1 (1/2)

Warlock.

By Dean Koontz.

BOOK ONE.

The Mountains!

1.

In his cluttered study on the west end of the house, Sandow sat at a desk which was strewn with archaic texts whose pages had yellowed and cracked with the pa.s.sage of much time. He had not been reading them, nor did he intend to read them in the near future, since he knew every word by heart. There were always books opened on Shaker Sandow's desk, partly to present the air of industry to visitors and partly because he liked the smell of aged and dying paper. There was a romanticism in that odor which induced moods of reverie: lost times, lost secrets, lost worlds.

Sandow stirred his cup of chocolate, a rare drink in these lat.i.tudes, with a spoon whose handle was formed as a drawn, vicious wolf baring its fangs. While he stirred, he looked across the sleepy village of Perdune as the morning fog quietly parted to reveal it to him. The stone houses with their over-slung second stories were not yet abustle with life. The chimneys only breathed lightly with the vaporous residue of banked fires, or they did not smoke at all. In the eaves over the deepset gables, a few birds stirred and poked at their nests, making the sounds of morning. There was not much to see, but it contented Shaker Sandow, a man of simple tastes and much patience.

More would be happening as the day progressed. Now was the time to relax and gain the strength to meet whatever travails the G.o.ds put down.

There was a break in the mist to the west, and the towering Banibal Mountains rose into view as if marching toward Perdune from the sea. The sunlight made them a strange green color, and the emerald peaks made to stab the sky, the second highest range of mountains in this hemisphere.

Behind Perdune, to the east, lay the Cloud Range, the only other peaks to put the Banibal to shame. Fully half their great height was lost in the clouds, and that hidden expanse of ground contained the skeletons of many Perdune adventurers who had thought to scale the giants and see the land beyond, to the east. Only two expeditions had ever succeeded in that undertaking, and even one of them had followed the mountains several hundred miles south to a point where they were somewhat less impressive than here.

As Shaker Sandow considered the beauty of the sun tipping the great Banibal Mountains with dazzling colors, the sound of Mace's feet on the roof broke his moment of peace and made him sit forward in his chair, more intent now. He could hear Mace, that great lummox, clumping to the roof trap and nearly falling down the ladder from his lookout post. Next, there was the sound of the great feet slamming along the third floor corridor, then booming down the stairs past the second floor to the first level guest hall. A moment later, one of Mace's huge hands thundered against the door so insistently that the portal looked sure to snap loose of its hinges.

'Enough, enough!' Shaker Sandow called. 'Come in, Mace.'

The door opened, and the giant young man came into the study, his bl.u.s.ter suddenly replaced with reverence. He gazed at the books on the desk, the tables and racks of paraphernalia behind the Shaker, aware that he would never know the intimate contact of these exotic devices. Mace was not a Shaker and never would be.

'Did you leave your tongue on the stairs?' the Shaker asked, trying not to smile, but finding it difficult to be stern so early in the morning and with one so basically good-humored and comical as Mace.

'No, sir,' Mace said, shaking his burly head, his mane of shoulder-length locks flying with each movement. 'I have it here, sir.'

'Then tell me exactly where on the Banibal ridge the General's men are.'

Mace looked astonished and slapped at his head as if to jar his ears to better reception. 'But how do you know they come?' he asked.

'It isn't my magics,' the Shaker said. 'Mace, my boy, the sound of your horse's hooves rebounding off the stairs gave me the clue. I suppose you have not charged down from your station merely to say the sun has risen or that the birds start to sing.'

'Of course not!' Mace said, rus.h.i.+ng to the desk by the great bay window. He hunkered down, still taller than the seated Shaker, and pointed to Cage's Pa.s.s, some three miles south along the great blank face of the ridge. 'There they are, Shaker, and what looks to be a hundred of them.'

'Ah,' the Shaker said, catching sight of their visitors. 'They are rather brightly liveried for their a.s.signment, don't you think?'

'Had I been an enemy, I would have shafted all of them with but a single blow before they could have descended the face.'

Sandow frowned, pulled at his sallow, wizened face as was his habit when in contemplation. 'It's a bad sign of their efficiency as escorts. We will not follow their example of natty dress.'

'You're taking the a.s.signment, then?' Mace asked, looking into his master's face with some concern.

'I suppose,' the Shaker said. 'There are things to be gained, mostly knowledge and experience, but things nonetheless.'

The door to the study opened behind them, and Gregor entered, his voice mock-serious. 'Master Shaker, I fear there must be a funeral today and prayers for the soul of our beloved Mace. I was awakened by the sound of the roof giving in as his weight carried him to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Oh! There Oh! There you are, Mace! Thank the G.o.ds that things were not as I a.s.sumed!' you are, Mace! Thank the G.o.ds that things were not as I a.s.sumed!'

Mace grumbled and stood, his head but a foot from the ceiling of the study. 'If I had fallen through the roof, you can be sure that I would have calculated a fall through your bedchamber to carry you with me.'

Smiling, Gregor walked to the window and stared at the descending line of the General's troops.

Shaker Sandow regarded the boy fondly. He loved both Mace and Gregor as if they were his own sons, but perhaps he loved Gregor just a bit more. An awful thing to say or think, perhaps, but nonetheless true for it. No matter what qualities he possessed, Mace was not a complete Shaker-and the fair, slight young Gregor was. No father or step-father can resist letting a flow of affection pour upon a son who will walk in his same footsteps.

'A bright lot, eh?' Gregor asked.

'I could have got all of them with an odd lot of arrows and a bow, at proper distance,' Mace said.

'I wouldn't if I were you,' Gregor replied. They're our friends.'

'Enough, enough!' Shaker Sandow said, holding up his hands. 'Your brotherly jousting will one day lead to fists-but today is not the day for it. There is much to do.'

At that Mace went to prepare the table for guests, and the apprentice, Gregor, went to dress in something more formal than a nightgown.

For the next hour, the Shaker watched the troops moving toward the slim valley where Perdune lay, their banners fluttering before them on four staffs borne by four crimson liveried young men. The fools, he thought. The stupid, ill-prepared fools.

But with his help and his magics, perhaps some of them would live to step foot across the Cloud Range to the east. Perhaps a few of them would see the mysterious lands beyond the mountains where but two parties from the coastal lands had ever penetrated before. Maybe. But he would not wager on that!

2.

At precisely two hours until noon, the foot soldiers reached the gate of Shaker Sandow, with all eyes on the street watching them from behind curtained windows or dakened doorways. Though they were a natty lot in yellows and blues and reds, with green boots to mid-thigh and cloaks of purest white falling behind them, they were bedraggled and in need of rest. It had been impossible to bring horses across the Banibals, and it was quite some distance and rough footing without them. The men were perspiring, and their faces were smudged with dirt, as were their cloaks and s.h.i.+rts, their ballooning sleeves torn and deflated.

There were two officers, a captain and a commander, the former quite young and the latter almost as old as the Shaker himself. These detached themselves from the squad and walked stiffly to the Shaker's door. On the third clatter of the iron knocker, Mace swung the portal wide, looked down on them from his six feet seven inches, and said, 'The Shaker expects you. Come in.'

The two officers hesitated, looked at each other in confusion, then entered past the bulk of the young a.s.sistant. Whether they were more surprised by the sight of the giant Mace or by the realization that the Shaker was expecting them, it was difficult to say. But when they were led to the study and seated to wait for the Shaker, they fidgeted like laborers at a king's dance and sipped only lightly at the fine brew which had been supplied them in ceramic mugs.

A moment later, the Shaker entered, with Gregor in tow, both of them dressed impressively. Gregor now wore a gray robe much like a monk's habit, with a silver chain about his neck and another such length belted round his waist. But his garments did not serve to enhance his appearance so much as they pointed up the power and enigma of the Shaker. Sandow was robed in the purest black cloth, so dark that it gleamed with a blue metallic light along its creases. His gray hair and contrasting black beard flowed over a rolled collar decorated with archaic signs st.i.tched to impress the uninitiated as much as anything. The Shaker's hands were gloved in the sheerest silk the color of freshly spilled blood.

The two officers rose and bowed, and seemed relieved when Sandow waved them to their seats again. 'As few formalities as possible,' the old man said. 'I am not one for protocol.'

'We appreciate your hospitality, your ale,' the commander said. 'My name is Solvon Richter, and this is Captain Jan Belmondo who has been with me in General Dark's forces for some months now.'

The Shaker introduced Mace and Gregor, completing the few rituals attendant such a situation. 'And now,' said the Shaker, 'what business of General Dark's brings you all this way from the sea?'

'Pardon me if I pry,' Richter said, 'but I must know why you expected us. Your man, Mace, said that you did.'