Stone Rising (22 page)

             
“Let’s play.”

             
Time slowed, as it always did, the wiry, lean form of the Plainsman becoming a blur of speed as he leapt into battle. His first blow with the end of his Hruti took off a demon’s head at the neck, sending it sailing through the air with a look of comical confusion still plastered on its bestial face. The next was a thrust, disembowelling a gibbering creature, its form collapsing into a smoking ruin. A beast leapt at him, roaring its bloodlust, but even as it sailed through the air, the Plainsman spun in a circle, hitting the creature in the stomach with the side of his staff. The demon was hurled backwards, as though struck by incredible force, to smash aside a path through its kin as it flew.

             
The demons continued to come at him, foes without number, pressing in on every direction. But everywhere they leapt to the attack, that staff lashed out, dashing brains, rending limb from torso in sprays of smoky, ethereal gore. At the centre of the fray, Narlen laughed as he whirled about, a dancing, unstoppable blur of destruction.

             
A smile on his face and laughter on his lips, he danced the dance of death, his movements liquid, flowing, like the crystal waters of the summer Yow.

             
He noticed, as he fought, from the corner of his eye, that the Tulador Guards were watching him as they made their way to the boat, slowing and gawping in amazement at the destruction he wrought. He could almost hear their thoughts; how could he be wreaking such devastation with a mere stick? Why was he always in the right place at the right time? Why did his blows strike with the force of ten men, not one?

             
The musings only increased his laughter. If only they knew the truth, as had been slowly revealed to the Three since that fateful night in Pen-Merethia. Any of the Three could fight like this, when the moment called for it; The Servant with his hammer. The Farmer, with his broadsword.

             
So few shared the secret. Stone knew it, of course, for he had been the one to impart it. And the Woodsman, their kinsman, wherever he may be; he knew it, too.

             
Where did the power come from, that let the Plainsman move so fast and strike so hard?

             
If only the Tuladors knew the truth of it, he thought with a wry grin, as he punched a slavering beast in the stomach, causing it to fly backwards and land in a smouldering heap.

             
For the secret was, that there
was
no power.  He was just a man.

             
Just a man that had nothing left to lose.

***

Asmodeus growled in frustration as he watched the carnage before him. Again, he thought. Again I’ve been let down by the failings of my minions. The tide of demon spawn all about him charged blindly forwards into the reach of that damnable Plainsman, to be chewed up and spat out.

             
Meat into a grinder.

             
The Baron cracked his knuckles and spat, the spittle catching light as it landed on the roof of the building, the flames melting their way through concrete and steel.

“Enough.”

On piston legs of infernal power, the demon lord launched himself from the roof of the high building, soaring high overhead, as his shadow passed over his foot-soldiers. Controlling the angle of his descent with nothing more than a thought, he fell, plummeting to the pier, cloak of shadows streaming behind him like an unholy comet.

With a boom that shook the harbour, the Baron impacted upon the pier, the wooden planks that had weathered the sea for a hundred years shattering beneath his weight; splinters and shrapnel flying everywhere to eviscerate his troops, even as they were blasted off their feet and into the water by the shockwave.

Only the youth before him kept his feet, wooden staff whirling this way and that, deflecting the flying splinters with speed and precision.

Asmodeus rose up from his crouch, stretching upwards to his full, majestic height. Eyes blazing a fearsome red, he took in the sight of the diminutive warrior before him.

“This is what my minions throw themselves against in droves, and fail, still, to defeat?”

He laughed, but his laughter was cut short, as the butt-end of a staff smashed into his face, to rebound away and be caught once again by the Plainsman. Stunned, the demon felt his jaw with a taloned hand, eyes burning with fury.

“Impudent whelp!” he raged, one hand extending, a burning axe of dark, angry flames seeming to coalesce out of thin air as thunder began to rumble in the heavens above. “Pathetic man-child, you meddle with forces beyond your ken!”

Whether the warrior before him was at all cowed at this display of power, Asmodeus couldn’t tell; the hazel eyes set in the olive face spoke only of mischief, a barely contained amusement. This only fuelled the Baron’s rage.

With a roar, he launched himself forwards, axe sweeping across to cleave his foe in twain.

But the Plainsman wasn’t there.

The end of the staff lashed out again, wedging between the demon’s ankle and a gap in the decking of the pier, causing the beast to stumble and fall forwards as he ran. A mocking voice called out.

“Watch your step; this pier’s seen better days…”

Eyes wide with astonishment and anger, the demon flipped himself to his feet, rounding on his foe once more. The mortal was small, as most of them were, barely reaching the Baron’s chest, but he could move and move well. That staff whirled in a dizzying arc, and where it struck the demon, it should have bounced off, causing no more harm than a gnat does a bull.

But, no; it struck out. And it
hurt
.

Asmodeus snarled, flinching at each blow. This shouldn’t be happening, he thought, as he parried the staff with a wave of his burning axe, the flames seeming almost to stutter at the contact. This isn’t right; the spirits here are dead, no shamanic magic fuelling this whelp before him. So how did every blow seem to reverberate through him, shaking the demon to his very core?

Not since his fight with Stone, all that time ago, had he felt such a numbing power.

No, NO! This wouldn’t do. He was a Baron, exalted in the eyes of Those Beyond the Veil. He was not about to be defeated by some puny mortal, no matter what tricks it might employ.

That staff whirled about once again, aiming this time for his face. Asmodeus went to parry it, but then allowed the axe to disappear in a cloud of acrid smoke, instead, catching the staff with his bare palm and holding tight. The pain was extraordinary, a cold, numbing shock like electricity, that spoke of great pain and loss that had been mastered and brought under control.

             
So, thought the Baron, a snarling smile on his face. That’s your little secret, eh?

             
“Pathetic,” he spat.

             
The Plainsman strove in vain to free his Hruti from the demon’s grasp, but the beast ignored the pain now, its strength unmatchable. Its free hand shot out to grab the mortal about his neck, lifting him high off the wooden decking of the pier until he drew level with the Baron’s own bestial face.

             
The Plainsman gasped for breath, his feet dangling uselessly a metre above the ground.

             
“Pathetic,” the demon repeated, a sneering smile curling its fanged mouth. “You think that to suffer a few petty travails in your eye-blink of an existence will give you what it takes to defeat the likes of me?” It laughed, the sound booming out across the harbour.

             
To the beast’s astonishment, the Plainsman smiled, even as blood began to trickled from his nose at the pressure of the demon’s grip.

             
“Who said I had to beat you?” the human managed to croak out.

             
Comprehension dawned on the Baron’s features. He threw the Plainsman to one side, glaring down the pier in impotent rage as the laden boat at the end gunned its engines and began to power away from the shore in a spray of foam.

             
“No!”

             
Baron Asmodeus’ cry of frustration echoed off the clouds. Again, they were escaping his grasp. Again, he had let himself be distracted! He roared as he turned to vent his anger on the mortal, but even as he turned, the Plainsman struck out with the end of his staff, hitting the beast in his stomach and winding him, before leaping high, using the demon’s back as a springboard, to jump over him and away.

             
Incredulous, the Baron turned his head even as he sought to regain his breath. The human ran, a blur of motion along the pier, before leaping into the choppy bay. Asmodeus frowned in confusion, but then the Plainsman burst into view again, dragged along at breakneck pace along the surface of the water by a rope that had been left, deliberately, to dangle behind the speeding boat.

             
Anger surged through the demon’s veins at the sight. He rose up to his full height, striding along the pier, leaving hoof-prints of flame in his wake. He stood at the end of the ruined and flaming structure, even as it fell apart all about him, glaring out with hate-filled eyes at his escaping prey.

             
Soon, the sounds of the retreating boat began to fade away, leaving only the crackling of the burning harbour and the hissing of the hordes at his back.

             
A lowly spawn dared venture closer, keeping itself low and hunched in respect as it spoke.

             
“My lord Baron,” it hissed through needle fangs. “What would you have us do?”

             
The Baron didn’t even deign to look at the creature, snorting in anger as he spoke.

             
“They cannot escape me. This chase ends today.”

             
Other demons had crept closer now, behind the pair. Gaining confidence from the numbers of its kin, the spawn spoke again.

             
“Of course, o’ great and powerful master. How would you like us to help? Would you have us swim after them?” It glanced down into the choppy, cold waters with a gulp; such a prospect did not appeal to a creature born of dark flame.

             
The Baron laughed, the great, bellowing tones startling the numerous spawn into backing away a few steps.

             
“No,” he smiled, as he looked down upon the demon that had dared speak out. “I would not have you swim.”

             
The creature looked almost relieved for a moment, then its expression froze as it saw the look of pure malice on its master’s face.

             
“I would not have you swim, my loyal servants. I would have you die…”

             
With a gesture of the Baron’s massive, taloned hand, the spawn disappeared with a screech, in a puff of cloying black smoke and a burst of dirty flames. Turning, Asmodeus looked out at the rest of the demons behind him, sweeping out with his arm to encompass them all. With a chorus of pitiful screams and wails, the demons all began to vanish in the same way, swathes of spawn erupting in flames at his every gesture.

             
Soon, his infernal army had vanished, leaving not a trace.

             
The Baron smiled as he felt the fabric of reality relax, no longer stretched thin by the burden of so many unnatural creatures existing in one place at one time. He snarled, summoning upon his powers as he parted a doorway between dimensions through sheer force of will.

             
With the strain of maintaining his hordes of pathetic spawn gone, this world was now free to support something else of his choosing.

             
Something bigger. More suited to the task at hand.

             
As he waved his arms, a shape began to take form on the surface of the burning waters before him. A great circle of flames, within which there floated a five-pointed star.

             
From somewhere, a dread and echoing roar sounded out across dimensions, as an ancient leviathan was awoken from its decades-long slumber and called forth to battle.

Chapter Ten:

Sumptuous. That was the first word that sprang to mind. From the tapestried walls to the thick, downy cushions on the chairs, the chamber positively reeked of luxury, of decadence. But then another word leapt to the forefront of his mind.

              Corruption.

             
Sure, he’d spent a lot of time in such chambers as this in his life – memories he’d tried to forget over the years  – but none had been so lavishly furnished upon the proceeds of
evil
. The stench of expensive, perfumed oils permeated the air.

Somehow, he preferred the cells of before; at least the piss had smelt honest…