Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

deeper into the heart of the Unreal. Cord brought up the rear, silent and scowling. The corridor continued to fluctuate around them, but although strange shapes came and went like the threads of a drifting nightmare, none of them drew near the small party. Word of Sir Gawaine's axe had spread among the Unreal.
    Jordan kept a careful watch about him, nonetheless. There was something horribly unsettling about the West Wing now, apart from the insane shiftings and stirrings in the passageways. The very nature of the world seemed somehow different, as though all the old relationships like cause and effect were no longer valid, or at least no longer constant. You couldn't rely on left and right or up and down to mean the same things any more. The simple everyday certainties upon which the Real world is based had become confused and contradictory. Time itself appeared to become slow and sluggish, and then speeded up again. Jordan had never felt so scared in his life. It was as though he'd woken from the worst nightmare he'd ever had, only to find he was trapped in the dream and unable to break free. He could turn and run, of course. No one was stopping him. He could run back the way he'd come and escape all this madness. No one would blame him. It was the sensible thing to do. But in the end he considered the thought seriously only for a moment or two, and then discarded it. He wasn't going to turn back. He had his pride and his dignity . . . and his honour. He'd promised Wee Geordie his help. And Catriona Taggert needed him.
    The world suddenly changed again. The corridor spun dizzily around him, and then settled. Jordan blinked dazedly as he discovered he and his party were now standing in a small circle of normality, together with the Steward and Mother Donna. The Sanctuary's face was grey and drawn from strain and exhaustion. Taggert was sitting with her back to the wall, nursing a torn arm. Her glowing shield was gone, but her balefire sword still crackled quietly in her right hand. She and Mother Donna nodded tiredly to their rescuers, too exhausted even to be surprised.
    'We've come to help you,' said Jordan lamely.
    'A bit late,' said Taggert, 'but none the less welcome for that.'
    'There's a gateway somewhere ahead,' said Mother Donna. 'I'm sure of it. If we're to stop the Unreal, it must be destroyed. The Steward and I have done all we can. It's up to you now. There's a power in your axe, Gawaine; I can feel it. With that, and God's blessing, you might just live long enough to reach the gateway.'
    'Looks like I've been volunteered again,' said Sir Gawaine.
    'And me,' said Jordan. Gawaine looked at him, and Jordan glared right back at him. 'You're going to need someone to guard your back.'
    'You don't have to do this.'
    'Yes, I do. I gave Geordie my word.'
    Sir Gawaine nodded approvingly. Jordan felt proud, and just
    a little sick. Playing a hero on stage was one thing, being one was quite another. He swallowed hard, and turned to Wee Geordie and the bloodhound.
    'I want you two to stay here and look after Mother Donna and the Steward. Do you think you can do that?'
    Geordie's lower lip thrust out. 'I want to stay with you.'
    'I need someone to look after the ladies,' said Jordan. 'Someone I can trust.'
    Geordie thought about it, and then nodded. 'I'll protect them, Viktor. I promise.'
    Jordan ruffled the boy's hair affectionately, and leaned down to pet the dog. It fixed him with its sad eyes, and wagged its tail furiously. Jordan turned back to Sir Gawaine, and nodded jerkily to show he was ready. The knight took a firm grip on his axe and stepped out of the Sanctuary's circle of normality, and back into nightmare. Jordan followed him, sword in hand.
    Beyond the circle, things were different again. The light was an unhealthy purple glow that flickered up from jagged holes in the pitch-black floor. Sir Gawaine started slowly forward, and Jordan followed him.
    He kept well clear of the holes. They looked a lot like mouths to him. The walls were covered with running sores, and the ceiling was so low he had to bend his head to avoid banging it. Somewhere up ahead, something was grunting like a gigantic hog at its trough. It sounded hungry, and horribly eager.
    'It knows we're coming,' said Gawaine softly.
    'What the hell are we looking for, anyway?' said Jordan, just as quietly. He felt uneasy about raising his voice. He didn't know who might be listening.
    'Beats me,' said Sir Gawaine. 'We'll know it when we find