He sighed, thinking of the strange good-night hugs he’d given his family members. His dad, Buster, and Kaylie—they hadn’t really understood why Archer embraced them for so long and with such emotion. They didn’t understand that it might be the last time. But Archer knew. When he agreed to be a Dreamtreader, he took a vow to hold nothing back in his service. He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
On the ground, Archer summoned his longboard and caught a wave of Intrusions heading north. Razz appeared with a poof.
“Ready to weave up some breaches, Archer!” she said.
“We’ve got a much bigger task tonight, Razz,” he said. Then he explained. By the time he finished answering her questions, they were halfway to Warhaven, the last civilized kingdom before entering the Nightmare Lord’s domain.
“If this is to be a fight,” Razz said, “then I am not properly dressed.” She looked at her acorn cap beret disparagingly and then disappeared. When she popped back, she wore an acorn helm and her walnut-shell armor. Surprisingly, she had a tiny sword at her side.
“Razz,” Archer said, guiding his board onto a northwesterly wave, “you look like a regular swordmaiden.”
Razz zipped into the air, performed a happy somersault, and then dropped back to Archer’s shoulder. “Full steam ahead, Captain!” she yelled.
Archer crossed the border into Warhaven and made for the old ruins to the far north. That was where Rigby and his Lucid Walkers were to be waiting.
Old Xander’s Fortune. That was the name of the ruined fortress that sat on a hilltop surrounded by deep forest at the northernmost edge of Warhaven. Archer rode his longboard right to its doorstep. It was a shell of a building, still massive and tall, but gutted. Archer dismissed the board and heard voices as he crossed the threshold into the stone frame of the keep.
“Remember,” Rigby was saying to a small group of teens, “this is not a siege. We don’t have the numbers or the time. This is a surgical strike.”
“Actually,” Archer said, approaching, “it’s more blunt force trauma than surgery.”
“Dreamtreader Archer,” Rigby said, his grin broad. “Please come meet the Lucid Walkers.”
All eyes turned to Archer. Very few eyes, he thought. And though he knew the moment he’d said it that he should never have let the words leave his lips, it was too late. “Is this it? Is this all we have?”
The expressions on six faces turned sour, and Archer felt like a jerk. “I . . . I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I’m sure you all know what you’re doing. It’s just that—Kara?”
“Hi, Archer,” Kara said quietly.
Archer turned to Rigby. “You got Kara Windchil into Lucid Walking?”
“Yeah, so?”
Archer managed to seal off his first reply before letting it be heard aloud. Yeah, something like, “But she’s the girl I like,” that wouldn’t go over well. But there was something he could say.
“Look, Rigby, I don’t know anything about your GIFT friends, but Kara and . . . and that’s Bree Lassiter, right? They can’t have been Lucid Walking for long. You’re putting them in grave danger. I don’t like that.”
“Who died and made you king?” Bree asked.
“Sorry, Archer,” Kara said, “but this isn’t your choice.”
Archer swallowed and hoped the rushing blood wouldn’t redden his face too much.
“Now that that little tasty bit is out of the way,” Rigby said, “why don’t I introduce my GIFT friends.”
In turn, Archer met Coop, Roach, Hyde, and Bianca. They shook hands and stared each other up and down, measuring . . . sizing.
In the end, Archer couldn’t help himself. “I . . . I’m not sure we’re enough.”
“Enough?” Bree blurted, indignantly flipping a cable of dark hair over her shoulder. “Enough for what?”
“Enough to finish this, to defeat the Nightmare Lord.” Archer glared at them. “I’m not sure we can win.”
“We do have a secret weapon,” Rigby said, motioning to the jagged stone archway to his left. A dark figure moved in silhouette.
Archer stepped backward, and Razz burrowed down in his duster pocket. Archer had seen that shape before. In Archaia. He still had bruised arms from the Lurker’s chains.
“Come on out, Uncle Scovy!” Rigby said.
The withered old man Archer had seen lying comatose in Rigby’s basement stepped out of the shadows. Only he wasn’t withered and drawn. He had broad shoulders and a frame full of ropy muscle. His eyes were bright and intelligent. His white hair was as wild as ever, and his expression seemed fierce . . . on the verge of violence.
Razz whirled into a ball and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“The Lurker?” Archer blurted. “Your uncle is the Lurker?”
“Yeah,” Rigby said. “He told me that was ’is nickname here.”
“That’s ’cause I mainly keeps to meself,” Uncle Scoville said, his upper lip curling into a snarl.
“But you work for the enemy,” Archer said. “You tried to chain me up!”
“You trespassed, young man,” he said. “Not only that but you stole my puzzle box, my Karakurian Chamber. Don’t suppose you got it with you?”
Archer shook his head.
“Shame, that is,” Uncle Scoville said. “Look, lad, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but my only enemy is the Nightmare Lord. Remember, I left you because I had to take care of the hounds? Hate Sixtolls with a passion. And it’s because of that despicable resident of Number 6, Rue de la Mort that . . . that I can’t wake up. There’s a chance we might could change things tonight.”
Archer remembered Master Gabriel’s thoughts on waking those stuck in the Dream. It wasn’t in the Creeds. But Archer did not share that information openly.
“My uncle is very powerful,” Rigby said. “Being committed to the Dream has given ’im unimaginable strength here.”
Archer nodded. “That’s obviously true,” he said, staring at the Lurker. “But . . . I mean, how can we trust—”
“He’s my uncle,” Rigby said. “He’s here to help us, right?”
Archer became very still. He readied his will for a massive onslaught attack, just in case things went south when he said, “What about my Dreamtreader friends, Uncle Scovy? You know, Duncan and Mesmeera? What have you done with them?”
“I’ll tell ye what I’ve done with them. I fed them and sent them on their way.”
“Bezeal told me that Duncan and Mesmeera came to you for the puzzle box.”
“That’s right,” Uncle Scoville said. “They came. They asked. I said no. I liked that little box, heh, heh.”
“Where are they now?” Rigby asked suddenly. “Are they in the Dream? We could use their help tonight.”
“Truth is, lad,” Uncle Scoville said, putting his arm on Rigby’s shoulders, “I don’t know what happened to them. They were talking about Shadowkeep, that’s all I know.”
“Well, that settles that,” Rigby said. “We’re all in this together. Introductions are all good. We’d best be—”
“Hey!” a squeak came from Archer’s pocket. “What about me?”
Archer reached down and lifted his little friend up for all to see. “So that’s where you went,” he said. “This pretty little lady is Razz.”
“Cute!”
“Awwwww!”
“Dude, that is awesome!”
“Can I make one?”
“Whoa!”
“I think they like you, Razz,” Archer said with a wink.
Razz blinked and blushed. Then she pushed her helm forward on her head. “Okay, let’s rock this joint!”
Led by Archer, the team left the ruins and made haste toward the darkness of the Drimmrwood Forest.
Some of them bounded. Some of them ran at Flash-like speeds. Some simply flew. They met in an oblong clearing in the heart of the Drimmrwood. “This is the best place I could think of to anchor,” Archer said. “Secluded enough to keep unwanted eyes out, but easy en
ough for us to find again.”
Archer heard the Old Jack toll four times. He wasn’t sure what time each of the others had entered the Dream, but time was going to be a factor for all of them.
One by one, each dreamer placed his or her anchor. Archer gathered the team and said, “I don’t know how much each of you know about your power here, but whatever you can do, do big. We are outnumbered a hundred to one, we are attempting to defeat an enemy on his home turf, and we’ve never fought together before. We need to bull our way into that fortress, so no kid gloves. Don’t play it safe. Keep your head, of course. You don’t want to bleed out all your energy. I’m just saying, you have to be effective.”
In the distance, a violently powerful storm churned over Shadowkeep. It was like a hurricane with six eyes, and blood-red light shown down from each eye. Archer led the team up the main rampart that led out of the Drimmrwood and up to the gate of Number 6, Rue de la Mort.
“Sure you’re ready for this?” Archer whispered to Kara.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied. “I guess.”
“I’m ready too!” Razz squeaked.
“Look, I’m not bragging here,” Archer said. “But I’ve been doing this a long time—”
“I know that.”
There it was again, that sting about Dreamtreading. Archer couldn’t understand it now. Kara could do it, could Lucid Dream. But there was still bitterness. “All I’m saying is that I’m strong, and here, I know how to fight. If things get ugly and you need help, call me.”
“Thanks, Archer,” she said. “Same to you. I can fight here also.”
Archer laughed. “That sounds like the Kara I know and, uh . . . that sounds like you.”
Kara made an odd face at Archer and then fell back to speak to Rigby.
Shadowkeep’s guards were already out in force, waiting. They were a sea of corpse-warriors, shambling in a great mass toward Archer and his team. These were the poor souls—Lucid Dreamers throughout history—who had consumed gort in their dreams, the black berries or even the root. Now forever locked in the Nightmare Lord’s control, they mindlessly, violently served his every whim.
“Ready, Razz?” Archer asked, taking a deep breath himself.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, leaping from Archer’s shoulder and racing toward their foes.
Archer increased his running speed, taking great loping strides, fifteen yards at a time. Their plan would involve evasion wherever possible, but the guards could not be avoided. If the group tried to fly over them, the Nightmare Lord’s soldiers would surge and be there when they landed. If the team stayed in the sky, the Nightmare Lord himself would unleash a flight of dragons for the guards to ride upon. In fact, Archer thought he saw a squad of soldiers already mounted, waiting at the foot of Shadowkeep. No, there would be no avoiding this fight. They would need to push through as fast as possible.
Closing now, Archer could see the pale green in the guards’ half-empty eyes. Archer glanced left and right. His team was there, Rigby and Kara running slightly ahead of the others. Old Jack chimed its fifth bell, and for once, Archer was grateful for its call. It’s time, Archer thought.
With a kind of lunatic humor taking hold of him, Archer summoned his will and called up one of those chevron-shaped plow blades he’d seen used in construction projects. The massive steel plow head was four feet high and drove ahead like a monstrous shield. Then Archer set it on fire.
“Booyah!” he yelled as his fiery plow crashed into the guards. Their swords, battle axes, and shields did nothing against Archer’s weapon. Guards were tossed aside like rag dolls. They flew through the air and were flung in great tangled heaps from the ramparts.
Archer heard their screams and felt momentary pity for them, but that was the two-edged sword of being in the Dream. You never wanted to turn away emotionally, but you couldn’t become so tortured by what you saw or did that you’d become useless.
When Archer glanced to the side to check on his team, they were gone. He was so stunned by what he saw in their place that he almost stumbled off of the rampart. He’d told them to go big but . . .
Hyde had evidently decided that being a human fist wasn’t nearly enough muscle. He now rode forward in an M1 Abrams main battle tank. Rigby, on the other hand, now stood fifteen feet tall, and he was quite literally kicking guards out of his way.
Kara stood at the head of her own minihurricane, the winds battering guards left and right. Archer also saw a giant black panther, a bulldozer, a walking tree, and a silver 1967 Shelby Mustang with a machine gun mounted on the hood.
“I guess I did say go big,” Archer said, pushing to increase speed. He was too busy staring straight ahead. The snarling guard who dove over the plow blade slammed into Archer. The Dreamtreader rolled backward, dizzy. He stood up only to find the blade of a greatsword plunged into his gut.
He knew the sword wasn’t real. He knew the wound wasn’t real. His mind was keen and saw the attack for what it was, but that didn’t keep him from a moment of sheer panic. There was blood and pain and fear of death. He lashed out with his hand, sending ten thousand shards of white-hot metal at the guard. Archer saw its sickly pale eyes just before it disintegrated.
“I thought he had you!” Razz said, appearing suddenly at Archer’s side.
“Not that easy,” he said.
“Good!” Razz sped away, searching for a fight that was more her size.
It was time for a change in tactics, Archer thought, as a group of guards shambled closer. He called up a four-inch-thick cable and yelled for Kara. “Catch this!” Archer made a perfectly guided throw of the cable’s end. Kara caught it in stride just as Archer surged forward. The cable went taut between them, and the pack of guards were clotheslined, tumbling away in a heap. Some tried to hold on or clamber to one end of the cable, but there were so many of them getting in each other’s way that they could scarcely move.
The dreamers had made it more than halfway to Shadowkeep’s gatehouse without much trouble. Archer had to give credit to Rigby. He’d trained his team well. Amazing, Archer thought. He didn’t think that Lucid Walkers would be capable of such devastating tactics, but they were very strong and very smart.
It suddenly occurred to Archer that he had not seen the Lurker . . . or rather, Rigby’s Uncle Scoville, since the clearing. The Dreamtreader looked side to side but Scovy wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Archer looked over his shoulder best as he could and didn’t see him there either. Then he heard something that snapped his attention forward. It sounded like an earthquake, but there was just an endless sea of Shadowkeep’s guards . . . only, there wasn’t.
Archer wasn’t sure what he was witnessing. About a hundred yards away, a black wall materialized, cutting off the rampart for both sides. The rumbling increased its fearsome reverberation. The black wall seemed to sheer the rampart in half. As if it were made of some malleable substance rather than stone, the rampart bent sideways. Hundreds of guards toppled off its edge and into the chasm below.
The black wall disappeared, and Archer saw Rigby’s Uncle Scoville at last. He stood ahead where the black wall had been and waved the team on. That was when Old Jack rang out. They all heard it.
It was Sixtolls.
TWENTY-SEVEN
NUMBER 6, RUE DE LA MORT
THE HOWLS THAT RANG OUT FROM SHADOWKEEP SHOOK the ground upon which Archer and his team now stood. Uncle Scoville walked back to the teens and said, “Are you prepared for this?”
Archer searched the team’s eyes. There was indecision there . . . hesitance. “Whatever you do,” he said, “do not show fear inside those gates. Wear a helmet, war paint, or turn your head into a block of iron. Do whatever you need to do to avoid showing fear. This is Sixtolls, the height of the Nightmare Lord’s power. He releases his hounds to frighten us because fear increases his strength.”
“Have you seen the hounds?” Kara asked.
“Yeah,” Rigby said, cutting Archer off. “From a distance.
But Archer’s right. No fear.”
“Why aren’t the hounds coming out after us?” Bree asked.
“Because,” Uncle Scoville said, “he wants us inside his gates. He wants to finish us off on his own terms. But we won’t be letting him, will we?”
“No fear!” Archer shouted. The team answered, and with the howls echoing in the chasm far below, they pressed on toward the gate of Shadowkeep.
Everything changed inside Shadowkeep. It soon became apparent why the being who sat on its thrown was known as the Lord of Nightmares.
Archer and the others found themselves in a vast and ancient graveyard. Gnarled, misshapen trees rose up around them and lined their path. Two moons gazed out at them from the torn shreds of tattered cloud high above.
Feverish red eyes smoldered out of the gloom all around the team. They were slanted, burning with hate, much larger and much higher off the ground than they should have been.
“Remember,” Archer whispered. “No fear.”
A voice that did not belong to any of the team whispered back in a raspy, mocking tone, “Nooooo feeaaarrr!”
All at once, the hounds sprang. The moonlight and mist obscured their shape, their speed even more so, but what Archer saw made his heart leap into his throat. Something happened to his pulse that made him suddenly feel like he’d been thrust beneath the surface of some dark water. He gasped for breath even as the first hound was upon him.
There was a frantic tangle of tooth, claw, and mane. Archer felt rips and punctures, and the dizzying motion of being yanked back and forth. There was blood all around him and icy cold . . . and a strange, mournful cry, calling out that he should simply surrender, fall into a deep sleep, and let it be.
“Archer, fight!” a female voice commanded. Archer thought at first it was Razz, but it couldn’t have been. The voice was not outside, but within his mind.
It was the Windmaiden, saving him once more.