The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [107]
It was only then that the thunder subsided enough for them to hear the soft melodies being played by the pipes.
A tall, emaciated figure, cloaked and hooded in black, stepped off the Red Dragon. In his hands were the panpipes, and he played a tune that resonated strongly within everyone who heard it.
But with the children, the effect ran more deeply. Every one of the children who had been on the ships wore glazed, entranced expressions. The piper was controlling them all.
“The King of Crickets,” breathed Bert.
The music stopped. “The very same,” purred a voice that trembled with hate. “But you may call me the Piper.”
“The King of Crickets,” breathed Bert.
Aven was still too fixed on her son to notice or care what the tall man was saying. Stephen would hardly look at her. To him, she was simply one of his prisoners.
“He’s only a child! He’s not yet nine years old!” said Aven. “How can he be this…this…”
John suddenly realized what had rattled her so. This Stephen who commanded an army and wore the Golden Fleece was a teenager, fourteen, perhaps older, and already had the manner and bearing of a man. Whatever else he had become, he was no longer a child.
“He was a child, when I claimed him,” said the Piper. “He and many, many others who serve me. They have traveled many places, and the journeys have taken several years to complete.”
“But it’s only been a few days!” Aven cried.
“To you, perhaps,” said the Piper. “But our Crusade has been in progress for a long while, and will go on longer still. We have returned here only to deal with a few loose ends.”
There was a cry of pain and surprise, and the companions were astonished to see Burton lying on the ground, bleeding from his mouth and sobbing.
Standing above him with a clenched fist was a girl, who was dressed like the Croatoans. It was Burton’s missing daughter, Lillith. He had seen her in the throng and rushed to embrace her—and was met with a blow to the face that belied her size.
This wasn’t a girl any longer, but a warrior, as her father had just discovered to his great sorrow.
“I almost feel sorry for the bugger,” Charles whispered. “He does all these awful things just to find his own child, and she’s as entranced as the rest of them.”
“I’m not that sorry,” Bert whispered back. “Much of this is his fault.”
“What is it you want, Orpheus?” John said, feigning boldness. “Why are you doing all this?”
“Orpheus?” the Piper said in surprise. “You think I’m Orpheus?” He tipped back his head and laughed, long and hard. “Oh, my dear Caretakers, you have surprised me, when I thought there were no surprises left in this world. It was worth returning just to hear that.”
“Not Orpheus?” John whispered to Bert. “How could we be so mistaken?”
Bert shook his head. “I don’t know. If the Piper isn’t Orpheus, then I’m at a loss.”
“How did he know?” wondered Charles. “How did the Piper know we were Caretakers?”
Before John could answer, several of the soldiers started to blink and shake their heads. Apparently, without constant reinforcement, the mesmerizing effects of the Piper’s music could not hold sway over them.
The Piper again raised the pipes to his lips and began to play, and instantly Stephen, Lillith, and all the rest of the soldier children straightened, their eyes glazing over once more. Then the tune took a wicked turn, and the Indian girl Lillith drew a long knife from her belt.
She advanced toward the companions, and it became clear that the Piper was compelling her to kill them.
Aven rose to her feet and took a defensive stance. John may have been a soldier, but she was better at hand-to-hand combat. The girl was smaller, but the knife was lethally sharp, and it was obvious she could wield it with skill.
All along the outskirts of the group, the children from the labyrinth huddled together in knots, terrified that something beyond their understanding was happening—and even more terrified that it was beyond the grown-ups’ understanding too.
“John, look,” Charles hissed between