The Demon Awakens (66 page)

Tuntun, stretched, fearing that she would simply be ripped in half, recognized the dilemma, understanding that her friends could not hoist her and the heavy rockman. Her free hand, holding the dagger, moved upward, and she looked into Elbryan’s shining eyes.

“No,” the man pleaded, his voice barely a whisper for the lump in his throat. He shook his head.

Tuntun stabbed him hard in the wrist, and then she and Quintall, were falling fast. The stubborn rockman did not let go, would not let the elf, this wretched creature who had doomed him, use those wings to save herself! Tuntun tried to turn, tried to use her dagger . . .

Elbryan and Pony looked away, could not watch the final drop into the molten pool, could not witness the end of Tuntun.

They lay in a heap on the ledge for a long while, until the continuing fumes began to overwhelm them.

“We have to press on,” the ranger said.

“For Tuntun,” Pony agreed.

They leaped the gap and hurried along, relieved indeed to find that the side passage at the bottom was no dead end, but long and fairly straight.

They relit the torch and rushed ahead, glad to put the sickening fumes and the terrible sight behind them. Soon after, however, they came to a quick stop, spotting a distant glow far ahead in the tunnel. Elbryan looked helplessly to the torch in his hand; if he could see the glow . . .

Suddenly, the light far ahead intensified, and then narrowed, shooting down the corridor, falling over Elbryan and Pony, who had to throw up their arms to shield their eyes.

Images of demonic monsters filled their thoughts, images fast shattered by a cry of “Ho, ho, what!” from the other end of the beacon.

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CHAPTER 52

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Through the Maze

Avelyn and Bradwarden were thrilled to see their companions again, but their smiles could not hold against the tears running down Pony’s cheeks and the unmistakable mist in Elbryan’s eyes.

“Tuntun,” Elbryan explained, rubbing at one eye. “She came to our aid and saved my life, but the cost was her own.”

“Perhaps she is not quite dead,” Avelyn replied, fumbling with his stone sack. “Perhaps the hematite—”

“Into the magma,” the ranger explained grimly, putting a hand on the monk and shaking his head.

“A brave lass to the end,” Bradwarden noted. “Such is the way of the Touel’alfar—finer folk I’ve never known.” The centaur paused, letting the eulogy hang in the air for a moment. “And what of Paulson and the little one?” he asked.

“I do not know that they escaped the giant fight,” the ranger said.

“And why did ye not go back and look for them?” the centaur went on, and all three glanced Bradwarden’s way with stunned expressions. How dare he accuse Elbryan and Pony, if that was indeed what he was doing.

“Our goal was Aida, our mission to deliver Avelyn, to destroy the dactyl,” Elbryan said firmly, and even as he spoke the words, he understood Bradwarden’s cunning verbal maneuver. In so pointedly reminding Elbryan and the others of the higher goal, the centaur helped them to put Tuntun’s demise in proper perspective. She was gone, but because of her, they might move on and their higher purpose might be achieved.

That thought driving them, the four companions pushed hard along the corridors, looking for some sign as to which direction would get them to the demon. The passages forked many times, and they had to choose, without any guidance other than their own perceptions of where they might be and where the demon’s lair was likely situated.

But then, at one such fork, Avelyn stopped suddenly, and held his arm out to prevent Elbryan from moving down to the left.

“Right,” the monk insisted.

Elbryan looked at him carefully. “What do you know?” the ranger asked, surmising from the monk’s firm tone that this was no blind guess.

Avelyn had no practical answer for his friends; it was a feeling, nothing more, but a definite feeling, as if he were sensing the magical radiations of the otherworldly monster. Whatever the source, Avelyn knew in his heart that he was correct, and so he started down the right-hand corridor.

The others followed without delay, and their hopes mounted when they came to a heavy grate, bars set floor to ceiling, blocking the passage.

All went well in the south, the dactyl knew. Its armies, led by Maiyer Dek and Kos-kosio Begulne, were pressing fast for Palmaris, while Ubba Banrock’s northern force had crossed the breadth of Alpinador, tight to the coast, cutting the northern kingdom in half. Banrock’s powries had linked up tight on schedule with the great powrie fleet that sailed from the Julianthes, and now that fleet had put out once more, sailing south for the Gulf of Corona.

Despite the promising events, the demon now paced about its obsidian throne anxiously. It felt the intrusion, the powerful magic; it knew that Quintall had been destroyed.

The dactyl would no longer underestimate these foes that had come to Aida. If any of them got through the final defenses . . .

The demon creature narrowed its eyes and grinned wickedly at the thought, at the pleasures it would take in personally killing these intruders. For all the misery its army caused, for all the death and agony, Bestesbulzibar had not truly participated, other than the murders of a few upstarts or incompetents within its own ranks.

The dactyl, anxious as it was, hoped that some of these intruders, at least, would survive to get to the throne room.

“Stand far from it,” Avelyn instructed, fumbling with his pouch, but Elbryan had another idea.

“No,” the ranger said. “Your magic will be too loud, I fear. There is another way.” Elbryan pulled off his pack and sorted through it, finally producing the red gel the elves had given him, the same substance Belli’mar Juraviel had put upon the darkfern those years ago in Andur’Blough Inninness, allowing Elbryan to fell the sturdy plant with ease. Elbryan knew how strong and resilient his bow was, and so he figured that if the softening gel would work on darkfern, it might even defeat the metal.

He striped the center bar, near the corridor’s low ceiling. Then he took out Tempest and called Bradwarden to him, climbing up on the centaur that his cut would be flat across. Hoping his instincts were true, hoping that he would not damage his marvelous sword, Elbryan drew back and swung mightily for the spot, both his hands clenched tightly on the hilt.

Tempest sliced right through the metal bar, then banged with a ring off the next in line. Elbryan hopped down from the centaur and pulled the sword blade near his face, sighing with relief when he noted it was not damaged, not even nicked.

Mighty Bradwarden reached to the cut bar and pulled it far to the side, enough so that the others, at least, could easily slip through.

“Well done,” Pony congratulated.

“Aye,” Bradwarden agreed, “but I’ll not be getting me bulky body through that narrow hole.”

Elbryan gave the centaur a wink. “I’ve more gel,” he assured them, and soon the next bar in line was free on the top end, as well.

So they went on, even more urgently, accepting the grate as a sure sign that they were in an important area, probably the dactyl’s own.

The passage went on and on, widening at times so that all four could move abreast, and then narrowing so that only Elbryan and Pony could remain in front, Avelyn behind them, the bulky centaur at the rear of the line. They passed several side tunnels, but this one they were traveling seemed the finest, the smoothest, and certainly the widest, and so they continued along their chosen course. Avelyn took care to modulate the diamond light; he cupped the gem so that the beam would shoot out more toward the front, while he, with the cat’s eye chrysoberyl, continually glanced into the gloom behind them.

And so it was Avelyn who first noticed the large shadowy forms slipping into the main corridor from a side passage far behind.

“Company,” the monk whispered, and even as he spoke, the telltale flickers of a torch bounced across the wall from around a bend in the tunnel some three dozen paces ahead of Elbryan.

The ranger quickly surveyed the area, then moved the group to a narrow point—if they were to be attacked both front and back, better that they fight in an area too narrow to allow more than one or two enemies to come at them from either end of the line.

The light came around the bend, another flared behind them, showing their foes to be fomorian giants, four in front, four in back, and all armored, as had been the ones chasing them at the mountainous entrance to the Barbacan.

Elbryan was glad indeed that they were not in an open field, for then they would each have been fighting two at a time—and would have had little chance indeed. In these tight quarters, the giants had to come in, front and back, in two ranks of two.

“Pony and I have the front,” the ranger called.

“And I’ve the back!” Bradwarden responded, clumsily turning his bulky frame about in the narrow tunnel.

“Not alone,” Avelyn assured him, the monk moving as far up beside the centaur as his own bulky frame would allow. Avelyn reached into a smaller pouch and took out a handful of small prismatic celestite crystals, pale blue in color, and began calling forth their enchantment.

“We cannot give them the offensive edge,” the ranger said to Pony. Then, suddenly, the pair charged ahead, temporarily confusing the giants, who were certainly not used to little people rushing at them!

Elbryan started furiously, slapping his sword many times against the blade of the giant’s sword, finally pushing the weapon out wide enough for the ranger to get in a solid, screeching slice that dented the monster’s breastplate.

Pony went in with equal ferocity, though her attacks were not quite as effective and she scored only a minor hit.

It was Elbryan, though, and not Pony, who first lost momentum, the ranger involuntarily glancing at the side, looking at his love nearly as often as he studied his opponent. Soon, he was dodging frantically, barely parrying a swipe of a giant sword that would have easily lopped off his puny head.

“I wish ye might get up here,” the centaur grumbled, eyeing the leading giants. The huge brutes couldn’t quite stand side by side in the narrow corridor, but they really didn’t have to, for one of them, the trailing giant, carried a long spear. “Oh, they’ll get me two to one,” the centaur groaned, swinging his cudgel back and forth, loosening up his joints.

“We shall see,” Brother Avelyn promised sneakily, continuing his magical summoning.

In came the giants at full charge; Bradwarden braced and set his hind legs firmly. And then Avelyn threw, and the corridor before the centaur erupted in a shower of popping, stinging explosions, snapping bursts, a dozen or more, that stopped the charge fully and had the giants scrambling, crying out in pain.

Bradwarden recovered his wits and seized the moment, charging straight ahead, ramming the lead giant and knocking it back and to the floor, then turning out the spear with his free hand, launching a heavy swing with his cudgel that connected on the side of the second giant’s helmet, knocking the protective armor clear off the brute’s head and knocking the giant against the passage wall.

Bradwarden’s second swing was even harder, all the centaur’s great strength behind it connecting solidly with the giant’s vulnerable head, which was still braced against the stone. The massive skull cracked with a tremendous sound and the giant slumped to the floor.

But the other fomorians were back and ready, though one seemed to be partially blinded from the celestite explosions, and Bradwarden’s momentum came to a swift halt.

Pony saw what was happening here, and she was not pleased. She knew Elbryan trusted her—how could he not after all their fights together?—and yet, fighting in such proximity had him on the defensive for her sake.

That the young woman could not tolerate, more for the practical reason that they could not hope to win with such a posture than for any reason of pride. Pony had to hit fast and hard, to remind her love of her prowess. She slipped the graphite rod into her sword hand, clutching it tightly against the weapon’s hilt, and wondered if her plan would work.

Elbryan ducked another swing, a clear opening to score a wicked hit, but he went to the side instead, picking off a sword strike aimed for Pony—and one she could easily have avoided on her own.

The ranger’s move did leave an opening, though, the surprised giant glancing to regard Elbryan, and Pony rushed ahead, jabbing hard into the brute’s belly. Her sword found a bit of a crease in the armor but couldn’t sink in far enough to score a decisive hit.

No need for that, the giant—and Elbryan—discovered a moment later, when Pony released the stone’s magical energy. A crackling black arc raced up the weapon and leaped from its tip, right into the fomorian’s belly. The giant jolted violently, again and again, and then, when the electrical barrage finally ended, fell back off the sword to the floor, stunned, if not dead.

The lesson was not lost on Elbryan, who marveled at the powerful combination of sword and stone, even as he berated himself for thinking that Pony might need his help. Not to be outdone—and with another giant ready to take the fallen one’s place—the ranger leaped ahead and launched a series of furious attacks, right and left and straight ahead, Tempest moving too quickly for the fomorian’s heavy sword to keep up. The mighty elvish weapon scored bit after hit, sparks flying as it banged hard against metal armor. Finally, Elbryan found that crease between breastplate and girdle, mentally marking the spot.

The ranger let up for an instant, and as he expected, the giant roared and cut mightily. Elbryan was down in a low squat before the blade ever got close to hitting him, and he skittered under as it swooshed past. The ranger came up hard, his aim perfect for that slight crease.

In slipped Tempest, past the armor, tearing guts and diving deep. Elbryan moved ahead again, wanting to be well within the arc of that monstrous sword, pushing his blade in to the hilt. The giant reached across his back with its free hand, but there was little strength in that grip. Elbryan jerked fiercely, once and then again, the tearing jolts straightening the agonized fomorian. Then, seeing his work with this one finished; the ranger tore free the blade and let the brute fall.

The last in line was quick to join in, swinging its huge torch as a weapon.

Pony, thick into it with the third giant, took out a stone for yet another trick. But then she heard more clearly the situation at the back of the line, Bradwarden grunting, taking hits.

“Avelyn!” the woman called, and she tossed the stone, one she knew that the monk could put to much more deadly effect than she, over her shoulder.

It bounced off the monk’s back, catching his attention, for he was falling into the magic of yet another gem. He noted the gift Pony had offered, though, and halted his spell, quickly retrieving the fallen stone, the lodestone.

“Ho, ho, what!” the monk bellowed happily, bringing the deadly gem in line. “This is going to hurt!”

“Well, be quick about it!” Bradwarden pleaded and then grunted, accepting a heavy club hit on his left flank, for he was too busy keeping his other opponent’s sword at bay. The centaur had already taken a hit from that sword, and had a huge gash on the side of his human torso to prove it.

Avelyn called forth the energy of the stone and let it fly, swifter than any crossbow quarrel, more powerful than any ballista bolt. It hit the sword-wielding giant towering right in front of Bradwarden square in the chest, blasting a huge hole, lifting the brute clear of its feet and hurling it backward, crashing past the club wielder to slam heavily into the last in line, the pair going down in a heap.

Bradwarden used the moment of distraction to spin completely about, and as the club wielder regained its balance, the centaur launched a mighty double kick against its breastplate, knocking it back into the jumble.