"Good! Take Courflamme now. and use it well. I think it will serve you as it does me," Gord said in a low tone as the ebon demonking came within a dozen paces of the twin Theorparts.
"But . . . your blade! It is . . . Graz'zt is about to gain the thing!" Now Leda was actually bouncing, yet as she did so she instinctively reached out and took the longsword from Gord.
"And now I shall balance the scales in the bargain," the young champion said. He raised his unencumbered hands and cried aloud. "By the terms of our compact, demon, the fused portions of the relic were given as payment for a whole and unharmed captive. The prisoner was not so extant, in that she could neither reason nor speak The agreement is voided. Graz'zt!"
"Is it? IS IT??" Graz'zt boomed the last, breaking into peals of demonic laughter as he bent down, sixfingered hands swooping to clutch his hard-won prize. With the culmination of the fight, this was the sweetest and most satisfying of all the demonking's triumphs.
Entropy, gathered near to the relic, was using all of his being to maintain the nothingness surrounding the three parts of Tharizdun's artifact. The two must remain apart for a time yet before they melded into the third. It would finalize the destruction, decay, and chaos leading to the timeless peace of nullity. To assure the separation, the formless entity molded bits of himself into place around the two Theorparts already united, for their attraction was a straining power that had to be dampened. Entropy heard and understood the exchange between Gord and the demonking. of course, but it seemed as if the champion of Balance was trying to argue speciously. What matter anyway? De facto was sufficient to rule. Graz'zt would hold the thing, and then no law save the power of Evil would reign. "Grab it quickly, you fool!" Entropy intoned as rapidly as its own inert self could. Graz'zt heard, and the command galvanized him. He stepped closer, and his talonlike fingers reached out.
Leda! Instead of the thing that was the united Theorparts, Graz'zt saw the little dark elf before him, and that made even the great demonking recoil. It wasn't merely the suddenness of the exchange; Leda held the crystal and jet sword, and the instant she appeared where the relic had been, she used it.
"NO!" The denial burst forth from the ebon monarch's massive chest with a bellow of rage and dismay.
"No ... o ... o ... I" The same cry from the formless entity seemed to roll as does thunder from hill to hill as Entropy tried to deny the impossible juxtapositioning.
"No!" Leda said, but hers was another sort of denial. The little drow was voicing her rejection of Graz'zt and all demonium, and she punctuated that with a blow from Courflamme that was aimed at the demonking's chest.
"Yes!" Gord said softly in satisfaction as the two Theorparts appeared in his grasp and began to draw dark forces into play. Leda was in a dire position, and he had to act with power and speed to save her. Gord sent a blast from the conjoined Theorparts. The energy bolt struck Unbinder's length, and the Theorpart went spinning from Vuron's grasp. The cry of pain and shock from the albino demon was plain to Gord's ears over the intervening distance. That done, he called to Gellor. "At them now, comrade! We mustn't leave Leda exposed!"
Gellor was ready, and at the instant Gord shouted the troubador struck up a series of rippling chords from the kanteel. He would send forth such strains as had never before been inflicted upon the Abyss, and the demons would reel and die from the fell powers of the melodies of light and justice. Playing thus upon the ivory harp, Gellor went forth, ready to leave off the fingering of silver strings in favor of his sword when near to the wild foes. The bard knew full well that the dweomers that Gord would bring to bear upon the massed horde of demons would suffice to keep the lesser sort at bay. In the press, Gellor would meet their lords with enchanted steel and fighting skill.
Covering the distance by bounds, Gord raced to the place where Leda stood. He saw a dozen great demons leaping and running toward that place too. They understood all too well their predicament and hoped to make the little elven priestess hostage again and redress the situation thus. As he moved, Gord plied the might of the twin relics, willing all before him to accept the mastery of himself as supreme, to cease resistance and bow before his might.
The lesser demons, the warriors and bestial fighters of but dim intelligence, quickly acceded to the mental broadcast. None of the nobles of demonium heeded such an enspelled message, of course. It seemed to add oil to the burning coals of their fury, so that these came forth with greater rage than ever to contest with their three small enemies.
So too Gellor's music. The least of demonkind were easily slain by the force of his playing, the stupid and brutish too were laid low by the sounds. Some of the more powerful ones were maimed, driven back, and would eventually be destroyed by sustained playing. The lords of demonium were but galled and pricked by the notes. Gellor understood that, so as he neared the place where great demonlords gathered to fight, he thrust the little kanteel within its case. Hoping it would remain safe where it rested at the rear of his broad girdle, the troubador drew forth his own good blade and laid into the onrushing foes.
Neither man needed to have been so concerned with Leda's fate. Even while facing the towering Graz'zt, being aware of the lurking presence of Lord Entropy, and seeing a score of mighty demonlords rushing toward her, the elven girl was undaunted. As Graz'zt bellowed his outraged denial of her sudden transposition with the melded Theorparts, Leda struck at him with Courflamme. "Bastard!" she said, truly meaning that epithet, remembering the callous cruelties and vileness of the demonking.
Courflamme seemed alive in her hands. Its hilt shaped itself to her grip, and the sword's energy flowed to fill Leda with strength and confidence. The instinctive recoiling saved him from the full force of the attack but Leda's thrust took Graz'zt at the place where his demonic plate joined, where mall and bands lay between corselet and cuirass. The point slipped between the thick plates, their overlap being no proof against such an upward stab. The dark metal links of mall beneath were rendered useless too, for the blade and the force behind it sufficed to break their interlinking. Courflamme's tip pierced the demonking's hard skin, sinking into the flesh beneath. But the thrust was too short, his backward motion too fast.
The sting of Courflamme's kiss sufficed to make Graz'zt curse the small drow and continue his retreat at the same time. "Bitch-slut! You'll be begging for such tenderness as that little Jab you just delivered to me when this day is through!" It was but a small wound. Graz'zt meant to fulfill his promise of frightful torture, but that could wait. First he had to get away from the deadly blade. The demonking sensed the terrible dweomers bound into the sword and knew that a moderately severe blow from it could well end his existence. Graz'zt would escape its reach and regain safety. Then, as his guards dealt with things, he would take up Unbinder and return to the fray . . . with a vengeance!
The black form spun and was lost from Leda's view as a press of other great demonlords came upon her. The power of Courflamme was still with her, and within her, though. "Come on!" she cried, making a blurred line with the sword as she sent its length back and forth before her. "Come and greet this blade!" First one, then another of the huge demons did so. Courflamme sliced and bit. Marduk fell away, molten stuff streaming from a great gash in his side where the sword had slashed deeply. Nexroth soon had but one leg. Bulumuz, his face a gory ruin, staggered back, knocking three other demonlords down as he collided with them. Then the pale form of Vuron was before Leda.
"You are wounded, Leda, and this is not your fight!" The albino spoke truth in part. The melee was deadly; the dark elven girl had suffered many hurts and was bruised and cut, with blood flowing from many small wounds. "Yield to me, give over the sword, and I will guarantee quarter," Vuron said. "Resume your place beside our Lord Graz'zt, and you will be queen of all your people soon!"
Those words were spoken with a twofold purpose. Vuron was aware that Gord had come up to join the battle, and his impact drew off the others, for he held the terrible Theorparts. None of the great masters of the Abyss dared try to flee to the face of that. It was not a matter of savagery; they had no option but to attack Either they would overwhelm the small champion or else be destroyed in the attempt. To turn and run would bring swift destruction from the twin relics in any event. Perhaps as much a factor as that logical reasoning, the demonlords also were consumed with hatred for the man who dared to face them, defeat them, thus.
As the score of demons attacked Gord, Vuron had a little time to attempt his own tactic. Perhaps he could actually sway Leda. After all, he had been almost a friend to her during her enforced confinement as Graz'zt's counselor. If that proved to be a fruitless attempt, the words had a second purpose too. Vuron needed to slow the draw's reactions, lessen her righteous anger, weaken the power that flowed between her and the terrible blade of Courflamme. The interval would also allow him to ready his own weapon, for Vuron had retrieved Unbinder in the confusion.
"Vuron! Not you!" Leda stopped the cut she had been about to deliver. "You am no longer any part of this," she spat. "Get away! Run and never let me see you again — I don't want to have to slay you, tool" As she spoke the last sentence, Leda brought Courflamme up again, readying to make good on her threat if Vuron chose not to heed her warning.
"You cannot deny your affinity to Evil, Leda. There is much of Eclavdra in you, too much ever to be other than kindred of the Abyss. Once again, forget the petty hopes and desires of mankind and take your place amongst the great ones of demonium."
"I give you my answer thus!" Leda said harshly, hacking down with the sword.
A lightless shield interposed between Courflamme and the thin demonlord. "You can't harm me with that blade, you foolish little girl!" Vuron said with confident rebuke. "I helped to make its very essence and gave it back to the puny manling you now cleave to. Now I give you a last chance. Surrender the sword; better still, turn it against Gord! Do one or the other, else I will end your life." As he made the threat, Vuron suddenly produced a weapon from behind the Theorpart-shield. The albino demon wielded a Javelinlike spear, almost an extension of his stick-thin arm, and Vuron plied it as quickly as an adder. He emphasized his words with a thrust which darted toward Leda's eyes.
The shock of the sword contacting the Theorpartshield numbed Leda's arm. The dark force of the artifact drew energy from Courflamme and from her as well. Many more such contacts, and the power of her weapon would be gone, its dark half drained by the vampiric hunger of the Theorpart. Gord had used the black power of the weapon to contest with the like force of the Theorpart when facing Iuz. Could she manage something like that? Leda knew that such was her only hope now, for Vuron was striking to kill.
"No balance in shield and spear against Courflamme," she called, speaking to the blade she now bore. "Give me Balance!" Courflamme split in twain at that, placing a diamond-bright sword in her left hand, its negative counterpart of inky hue in the girl's right.
"What trick do you try now, ingrate? The doubling of your sword will be of no avail," Vuron called as he stabbed quickly again. This time he did his utmost to sink the barb-edged spearpoint into Leda's exposed jugular. The division of Courflamme into halves worried the albino demonlord. He was rightly confident that the evil force of the sword was not baneful to him. It was made, In part, by his own forging. Why he had done that bothered him. It had seemed a mere whim, inculcating the evil force that blighted the ancient sword so as to make it even more deadly a weapon than it had formerly been. Now he wondered if it had been some bleak fate that compelled the action. Those fleeting thoughts didn't distract him in the least. Complex and multilevel thinking was, after all, Vuron's forte.
"Ah-hah!" the albino started to vaunt as he saw his long point strike home. Then he was leaping back, drawing his arm in desperate haste, for the stab had but cut a red line on the glistening sable of Leda's neck, and she, in turn, struck back.
The cut burned, but Leda was unaffected by that. The black blade in her right hand shot straight out, sinking its point into the Theorpart-shield. It held fast, and sword and relic seemed to lock together in a hateful contest of strength. The sword could never win such a battle, for it was but a half of the full force of what it was. The effect was great, however, for it held fast the defense that Vuron had relied upon. Neither sword nor shield could be moved during the interchange of malign stroke and counterstroke of force that then occurred. At the same instant, Leda used the crystalline brand held in her left hand to sweep up and around in an arcing blow aimed at Vuron's outthrust arm. "Death to you, Vuron," Leda shouted.
He was very fast, but the bright edge of Courflamme's crystal half caught Vuron's forearm. "Eeeeyaa!" The cry of pain was drawn as a high and terrible piping from the thin demonlord's chest. Leathery, even as hard as the alabaster it resembled, was Vuron's appendage. But not even steel could have resisted the edge of the diamond-bright blade as it swept up. The stuff cut into Vuron's arm, and he drew it backward at the same moment, thus prolonging the exposure of demonhide to enchanted edge. Vuron's arm was sliced from elbow to wrist. The spear dropped from his now useless hand. He knew it was all finished then, that the wound had done more than destroy his right arm.
"I am sorry ... so sorry, Vuron. If ever your kind could make claim to nobility, you were the only one who could do so with justice," Leda said, almost sobbing as she saw what her attack had accomplished.
"Weakling! Tarry in your work, and I'll have your skull yet," the albino demon snarled back. Even as he spoke, Vuron worked frantically to change the useless shield into some form of weapon to use against her. But the dark portion of Courflamme held leechlike to the Theorpart, and this made the arcane relic's response to Vuron's willed commands sluggish. He regretted speaking then, for Leda steeled herself and struck again. Vuron tried to hide his whiteness beneath the cover of the slowly metamorphosing Theorpart, but his body was too long, arms and legs too gangling.