Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread (17 page)

Darius had no illusions about
his own prowess in battle, nor any hope of defeating the enemies before him
with a simple sword. But he had seen enough of war to know that he and his
friends would not hold out long against mounted riders equipped with projectile
weapons, and he marked the fact that the demon bowmen did not reach for new
arrows, but simply pulled the bowstrings and let fly the blazing shaft that appeared.
Dodge as he might, he would eventually tire, and one of the endless supply of
arrows would find him. Given no good alternative, he took the only path open to
him. He charged.

Darius gave one quick yell as
he sprang to his feet and started forward, more to alert his friends than
anything else. He focused on a flaming steed that was arcing around into the
part of the surrounding circle he moved toward, thinking to take a swipe at the
horse to see what effect it might have, and hoping he might continue on outside
the circle, forcing the riders to divide their attention and break the rhythm
of the encirclement.

Darius’ shout had not yet
faded into the night when the rest of his party sprang into action. Adrianna
sent a bolt of electric energy sizzling after one of the riders. The force of
the magical bolt knocked it from its mount, but it quickly rolled into a ready
position, drawing a long sword and apparently otherwise unharmed. “Need to try
something else,” she muttered to herself, even as she slid around the tree,
avoiding the searching gaze of the demon she had unseated.

Silas, Luke, and Barlow
followed Darius’ lead, instinctively coming to the same conclusion he had, that
they were outnumbered and purely on the defensive. In an organized fight, they
had no chance. Chaos was their only hope. Silas took a different angle than
Darius, wanting room to operate, but Luke, naturally, followed his brother. Barlow,
like Silas, took his own angle into the fray, but unlike the others his charge
drew the eyes of all the enemy, for when Gabriel was pulled from its scabbard,
its glow painted the night wherever Barlow wielded it. The light was different
than at New Bern, the intensity replaced by a pulsing, dull glow, as if the
sword was aching to bite into the demons.

The sword did not deter or
frighten the demons; rather, it drew their attention and marked its wielder as
a target. But the initial reaction to it, a subtle dropping of their guard,
gave the companions a brief moment in which to seize the initiative of the
battle.

Darius didn’t know what it was
that distracted the demon he had targeted, nor did he care. He brought his
sword up in a sweeping arc, using the momentum of the horse to further
strengthen the blow. The demon was taken in the ribs, a deep gash opening and
spilling black blood as he was unseated. The horse, startled by Darius’ attack
and the loss of its rider, reared, snorting smoke and flame, and Darius had to
pull back from both its flailing hooves and the heat it cast off. Luke however,
sweeping in at a different angle, was able to finish the demon before it could
collect itself. It vanished in a puff of thick, acrid smoke.

Adrianna used the circular
pattern the riders had chosen to her advantage. She cast another spell, this
one putting an invisible wall of force in the path of the horses. The first
horse slammed into the barrier, crumpling awkwardly while its rider was thrown
forward. Two other horses became tangled with the first, and soon they were on
the ground as well.

Silas took full advantage of
the confusion Adrianna had wrought. Despite his cleric’s robes and gentle
disposition, Silas was a well-trained and highly skilled warrior, and he was in
top physical form. The three unhorsed riders, their brains already addled by
the impact of their violent falls, were not expecting such skilled opposition. Silas
dispatched them before they could raise an adequate defense.

Barlow was less technically
skilled as a fighter than Silas, and age had weakened his muscles and slowed
his reflexes, but Gabriel more than made up for any deficiencies in a fight
against denizens of the underworld. The sword, hungry for such prey, drew
incredible power from its own otherworldly source, but that power was channeled
through Barlow, and during the fighting, that same power gave him an inner
strength far beyond what he could hope to muster on his own. The first demon to
reach Barlow found its wild, powerful swing parried with ease, and was stunned
to see that its sword had shattered. It looked from the sword to Barlow, a
shocked look on its cruel face, and then felt Gabriel’s bite, the blade easily
cleaving it in two.

The next demon came on more
cautiously, seeing what had befallen its comrade, but drawn inexorably by the
sword, which marked Barlow as a kill that would bring extra rewards from its
master. It feigned an attack on Barlow’s knees, then drove in close, not
thinking to finish the paladin as much as to tie him up, to use its superior
physical strength rather than duel with swords. And as it did so, its fellow
demons were closing in from Barlow’s flanks and rear.

Adrianna saw what was
happening, and had no time to get more creative with her magic. She simply
shouted at Silas, pointing at Barlow and his obvious need of aid, then cast the
wall of force spell again, this time sending it flying toward the combatants. Casting
a spell again so soon after the first normally would leave it weak, but the
adrenaline created by the battle gave her strength and focus. Four demons were
flung aside, as was Barlow.

Silas was running toward the
paladin when the spell hit, and he didn’t break stride even as his friend and
the demons near him were tossed to the ground. He leapt over one of the demons,
wishing he could take it out before it recovered but knowing he needed to reach
Barlow before one of the demons did. Barlow was trying to gather himself,
laying face down and groping for Gabriel, which was a foot out of his reach. The
demon nearest him rose to its knees and found its sword first. It had eyes only
for the prone paladin, and pulled the sword back over its head with both hands,
wanting to deliver one spectacular finishing blow. Before it could do so,
Silas’ staff crushed in the side of its head.

The cleric’s momentum carried
him past the now-vanished demon, into another that had joined the fray. This
one held out a muscular forearm, which Silas could not avoid. Despite Silas’
size and speed the demon easily took the contact, and Silas’ feet flew out from
underneath him. He slammed hard into the ground, his breath leaving him in one
loud grunt.

The demon brought its sword
down, but Silas managed to block the blow with his staff. The demon used its
leverage and strength, pushing the staff down toward Silas’ throat, meaning to
use the cleric’s own weapon to strangle the life out of him. Then, in a quick
puff of smoke, it was gone.

Darius stood where the demon
had been, breathing hard. He had seen the danger and raced over, dispatching
the demon before it realized its own peril.

“Look out,” Barlow gasped,
having just struggled to his knees.

Darius reacted more to the
alarm in Barlow’s eyes than to his voice. He dropped just as a flaming arrow
passed overhead.

Several of the demons had
remained at a distance, and although Adrianna’s earlier spell had taken away
their willingness to ride at speed, they tried to take advantage of the sudden
grouping of their enemies, realizing the arrows had a better chance of hitting
home.

Adrianna, seeing the demons
also grouped and knowing one strong blast could scatter them, tried to cast
again, too soon. The spell fizzled and died, doing damage only to the caster. She
swooned, her head spinning, and had to steady herself against the nearest tree
to keep upright.

Silas, Barlow, and Darius all
found their feet, and started toward the hell-bred bowmen, but Luke reached
them first. He had managed to come up behind them, and with a vicious thrust
ran one through.

The skewered demon’s horse
leaped, startled at the attack, and the other mounts reacted as well, causing
the once tight group to scatter. Luke tried to swipe at one more rider before
it could escape, but missed, nearly tumbling to the ground as he lost his
balance. Just as he was righting himself, one of the demons wheeled and fired.

The blazing arrow took Luke
through the shoulder. He cried out in pain, first from the passage of the
shaft, and then from the flames that continued to blaze from it. Instinctively
he dropped and rolled, trying to douse the fire, but the action only served to
work the arrow violently back and forth, further aggravating the initial wound.

Darius cut his charge short
and went instead to his brother. He would have made an easy target then, but
Silas and Barlow reached the riders, their weapons doing grim work. Whether by
spell or compulsion, the riders did not flee or simply try to gain distance and
strike again, but rather fought the two men. In close, the bows were no match
for either the staff of the muscular cleric or for Gabriel.

Darius
slapped at the arrow lodged in his brother’s shoulder, trying frantically to beat
out the flames even as he tried to soothe Luke with promises of help and relief
from the pain. But the dark magic imbued to the arrow continued on even after
the demon that had delivered it was no more, and Darius’ hands were soon raw
and blistered. As Luke’s cries became more anguished, he struggled to get away
from his brother, the madness of his agony overtaking him. Darius knew he was
running out of time. Wrapping his hands in his cloak he broke the head of the
arrow off, then pulled the remaining shaft free. He tossed the parts of the
arrow aside, and the flames finally died down.

Luke ground his teeth, biting
off a scream.

“It’s okay,” Darius said. “You’re
going to be fine. Silas and Barlow will be able to help.”

Luke nodded, accepting the
words even as his expression showed doubt and fear. The wound still felt like
it was on fire, and Luke started to wonder if anything would ever be able to
stop that awful sensation. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he envisioned himself
burning up from the inside, the victim of foul magic.

Silas and Barlow arrived, the
cleric forcing a smile and putting a reassuring hand on Luke’s good shoulder. “Lie
still.”

Barlow started to kneel as
well, then caught himself. His sword had continued with that pale white
throbbing glow, which he thought due to the flaming horses which meandered
about, the steeds unsure what to do or where to go without their riders. Now he
saw that one demon remained, still sitting atop a horse some distance off. He
had remained hooded, and had simply observed the battle. Now with slow,
deliberate movements he dismounted and pulled off his cloak.

He was at least a foot taller
than the other demons, and his legs and lower torso resembled those of a goat
rather than a man. The horns on his head were long with age, curling around to
frame his face on both sides. His eyes, rather than seeming to be ablaze, were
solid black, a promise of endless night and despair. He said a few words in
some harsh tongue and gave a nonchalant wave of a hand, upon which all the
horses, save his own, disappeared.

“You fight well, paladin,” he
said, his voice hard and sharp like broken glass. “You have earned your life.
Give me your sword and the book, and I will spare you and your allies.”

Barlow drew himself up to his
full height, Gabriel held in front of him. His muscles were already aching, and
his heart was racing recklessly, but he was able to muster the calm he wanted
in his voice. “We both know none of those things is going to happen.”

The demon shrugged. “I will
have what I want regardless. Will you tell me the name of the sword, so that I
may know what it is called when I wield it?”

Barlow forced a laugh, an
uncertain, nervous sound he regretted immediately. He pushed on. “The sword is
Gabriel, but you will never wield it, even if you slay me.”

“I intend to find out,” the
demon said with a gruesome smile. He drew his own sword, which blazed brightly
with fire once unsheathed. “This is Deathbringer, as am I. My name is Ondrel. Know
the one who brings your doom.”

Barlow hoped—prayed—that
Ondrel was not this demon’s formal name. If it was, the fact the demon would
reveal it meant he had no fear whatsoever of Barlow and his friends. Barlow
readied himself as the demon approached.

Silas rose and moved to the
left while Darius pulled Luke away from the impending battle. Seeing the
movement, the demon again spoke words in his native language and motioned with
his hand. Walls of flame sprang up, the intense heat forcing Silas and Darius
back. The demon turned and walled off Adrianna as well, ending her hope that
she had gone unnoticed and might be able to strike Ondrel when he was unaware. “I
will attend first to the paladin,” Ondrel told them. “But do not worry. You
will each have the chance to test your skills against mine.”

Ondrel had been steadily
moving toward Barlow, an easy, confident stalk. But now that the battle was
joined, he closed the remaining gap with surprising speed, and as his first
blow fell, the paladin was stepping backward, unable to overcome the instinct
to back away from his larger opponent. Deathbringer arced forward, the flames
struggling to keep up with the blade, trailing behind like a fiery tail.

Barlow managed to plant his
feet and put both hands on Gabriel’s hilt. The two swords met with an explosion
of light and sound, the clang of metal almost swallowed by the unearthly blaze
of fire and white light as the swords touched. Barlow had to squint against the
brightness, but worse was the shock of the blow. It made both his shoulders
feel like they were being driven out of place, and his hands were suddenly
holding a swarm of bees. He hopped back a step, to regroup and regain his
balance.