The Demon Awakens (65 page)

“And I am not pleased at the prospect of backtracking all the way,” Pony replied. “Down we decided to go, and down this goes!”

“The fumes . . .” the ranger protested, and his fears were not lost on the woman. Pony fumbled in her pack and took out a strip of cloth, an intended bandage. She tore it in half and wetted both strips thoroughly from her waterskin, then tied one about her face after she handed the other to Elbryan.

The ranger, though, had a better idea. He took the green armband from his right arm, the one the elves said would defeat any poison, and tore it in two, handing one strip to Pony. With a trusting nod, the woman donned the mask, as did Elbryan, the ranger eyeing Pony all the while, admiring her gumption. The brave woman was not easily deterred.

They needed no torch in this place, because of the glow of the lava, and so their hands were free as they started down, at first hugging the wall tightly—the ledge was not narrow, but the prospects of slipping over were far too grim. Gradually, they eased out from the wall, their pace increasing, and soon they had put a couple hundred feet behind them, nearing the halfway point of the descent.

Pony, holding the lead, grew hopeful when she spotted a dark shadow along the wall far below, a side passage, running into the mountain and away from this place. So intent was she that she never noticed the crack running right across the ledge in front of her.

She stepped over it, and as she brought her weight down, the stone beneath her foot gave way.

Pony screamed; Elbryan grabbed her and pulled her back to safety, the pair falling to the ledge in a jumble. The ranger scrambled to the very lip and watched the eight-foot stone slab falling. It bounced off a jag in the wall, then spun over and out, tumbling into the magma, where it was swallowed, disappearing with hardly a splash.

Pony, horrified and breathing deeply, had to slow herself down consciously. She managed it, but the deep breaths had taken their toll, the sulfuric fumes overwhelming her, for in the fall, she had dislodged the elven mask. She rolled to the lip of the ledge, pulled her mask further down, and vomited.

“We must go back,” Elbryan said, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder, trying to comfort her.

“Shorter down than up,” Pony said stubbornly, and she retched again. Then she sat up quickly, determinedly, pulled out her waterskin and washed her face briskly, replacing the mask and standing firm.

“A long jump,” Elbryan remarked, eyeing the break in the trail.

“An easy leap,” Pony corrected, and to prove her point, the woman took a single running stride and sprang across the gap, landing easily and skidding down defensively, on the lower level.

Elbryan stared at her long and hard, admiring again that stubborn determination but honestly wondering if she wasn’t being foolhardy just to prove a point. They had no idea if that passage down below led anywhere, after all, and the eight-foot leap would be decidedly more difficult coming
up
the angled walkway.

“Easy leap,” Pony said again. The ranger managed a smile; they were going to face a demon, after all, so how could he berate the woman for what he considered recklessness?

Pony’s eyes widened, and Elbryan realized that she was about to scream.

The ranger spun, drawing Tempest as he went, but the danger was not behind him, but to the side, coming out of the solid wall. Stones burst outward; Elbryan skipped back up the slope a few scrambling steps and dove to the ground. He turned about, confused, and when he saw the source, he was even more confused.

Quintall walked out onto the ledge.

Elbryan was up in a defensive crouch, Tempest defensively before him, though he knew not what to make of this moving rockman, this obsidian image of Brother Justice.

Quintall’s intentions were easy enough to discern. The rockman looked at Pony, then turned back fully upon Elbryan, red-striped fingers clenching the air menacingly. “Do you think you can win this time, Nightbird?” the demon’s lackey asked, his voice grating like stone rubbing stone.

“What are you?” Elbryan asked breathlessly. “What manner of being, what tormented soul?”

“Tormented?” Quintall scoffed. “I am free, mortal fool, and shall live forever, while your life is forfeit!” On came the rockman, stalking straight in.

Elbryan slashed his sword across, scoring a scraping hit that didn’t even slow Quintall. The ranger jumped back a step, then lunged forward, Tempest squealing as it deflected off Quintall’s face. This hit was more substantial, Elbryan was glad to realize, for the fine elven-forged sword cracked through the rockman’s hard skin, drawing a slight orange line.

But the line cooled to black almost immediately, and if Quintall was hurt, he did not show it. He came on furiously then, and launched a roundhouse left hook.

Elbryan ducked the blow, just barely, and scampered back as Quintall’s hand thundered against the wall. The ranger glanced at that impact spot and his respect for this enemy heightened, for where Quintall’s hand had struck, the stone was cracked and smoking.

“Will you run away, then, and leave the woman to me?” the rockman taunted. “I can get to her, do not doubt.”

The words made Elbryan glance down at Pony, and he saw, to his horror, that she was readying for a jump back across the gap. “Stay down!” the ranger yelled to her. “I will come to you!”

“You will never get past me,” Quintall remarked, accentuating his point by slamming the stone wall again, even harder.

That movement left an opening that the ranger could not resist. He came forward in a rush, Tempest driving in hard and straight, striking hard, cracking through the black shell and diving into the monster’s magma interior.

Quintall howled and launched a series of blows, but Elbryan was the quicker, already retracting his glowing sword—and the ranger was glad to know that the fine weapon had survived the immersion in the obviously hot interior of this wicked foe—and snapping Tempest up left, up right, up left, in three quick parties, then straight ahead to poke the rockman in the face once again.

But even the great wound in the monster’s belly fast closed, while Quintall’s movements became more cautious, more dangerous.

From down below, Pony was shouting out, but Elbryan hardly took the time to consider her words. He had to find some way to hurt this thing, and though his sword might inflict some sting, it seemed that the wound could only be so deep.

The answer seemed obvious, and so the ranger spent no time considering the problems with such a course, plotting out the appropriate attack. He darted ahead again, stabbing hard, then turned as if to run by the monster on its left, on the outside of the ledge.

Pure instinct dropped Elbryan to one knee, Quintall’s heavy arm swishing above his head—a blow that would have launched the ranger over the edge! Then Elbryan came up in a reverse spin, turning in front of the rockman, going hard against the wall, and angling to get in between Quintall and the stone.

The monster’s other arm shot out hard, slamming the wall in front of Elbryan, preventing him from running past. He had no intention of such a course, anyway, for he stopped short of the barrier, braced himself against the wall, and shoved back with all his great strength.

He hardly moved; Quintall, so solid, so strong, laughed at him. Then Elbryan felt the press and the heat, intense and burning from those points on the rockman that were not hardened stone. Elbryan punched and twisted, but the press grew ever tighter. He heard Pony scream out, but her voice seemed to come from far away.

Then came a sudden rush of air above the slumping ranger, and the rockman cried out, and the grip was lessened.

Elbryan stumbled back up the slope, wriggling away, and turned to see Quintall clutching at his molten eyes, drops of hot magma glowing on his cheek. A second puzzle faced the ranger when he noticed a cord, thin but strong, strung to his left, along the wall, going past him and past Quintall. A quick tug showed Elbryan that it was tied off a short distance up the ledge.

The ranger had no time to stop and figure it out, for Quintall’s eyes, like his other wounds, quickly healed. On came the Nightbird, having no answers but to attack fiercely and hope his sword would find a weakness. He slashed left, back right, straight ahead, back to the right again, the sword ringing loudly and throwing sparks with each impact upon the rockman.

Despite the fact that Tempest offered no real threat, Quintall instinctively reacted, using his solid arms to parry, using the same martial routines he had learned long ago at St.-Mere-Abelle.

Elbryan pressed on, Tempest hitting so often that the ringing song never paused. He drew crack after crack in the rock man, and entertained the fleeting hope that Quintall would simply split apart.

“Tie it off, there!” Tuntun instructed, tossing the strong elvish cord to a stunned Pony and pointing to a large, loose boulder, a dozen feet further down the slope. “And be quick!” the elf demanded.

Pony was already running, not really knowing what Tuntun had in mind, but not daring to waste the moment in questioning. Any plan, however desperate, was better than nothing, and nothing was exactly what Pony could figure to do. As the woman began looping the rope, she felt the tension from the other end and, considering that it was on the inside of the rockman, she began to figure things out.

Tuntun flew away, back up toward the combatants, her slender daggers in hand, both dripping magma from Quintall’s eyes.

Elbryan was still on the offensive when the elf buzzed in, the ranger’s heavy blows whacking repeatedly against the rockman’s blocking arms or every so often slipping through to smack the monster about the torso or even across the head. He didn’t know how long he could keep it up, though, and understood that if he did no real damage soon, his momentum would be lost, and then it would be Quintall’s turn.

But then, suddenly, the rockman howled again, as Tuntun’s arms came about his head, tiny daggers finding their way to glowing eyes. Quintall threw his arms up mightily, connecting a glancing blow that sent the elf fluttering way up high, one dagger flying free, spinning down to disappear in the magma.

Elbryan grabbed up Tempest in both hands and surged ahead, swinging an over-the-shoulder chop with every ounce of strength he could muster. Quintall’s arm got down to block, and Tempest blasted right through it, severing the limb halfway between wrist and elbow.

The rockman howled again, hot magma pouring from the wound, though it, too, like all the others, hardened fast and cooled to black, leaving a stump below the monster’s red-striped elbow joint.

Quintall continued to roar, coming on with sheer outrage. Up above, Tuntun was screaming at the top of her melodic voice, “Now! Now!”

Elbryan had no idea of what the elf could mean, but Pony did. The woman put her back to the roped boulder, squeezed in between it and the wall and braced her feet, then pushed out with all her strength. The strong muscles in Pony’s legs corded taut; she groaned with the great effort, and the boulder slid only a fraction of an inch.

Pony heard the renewed fighting, the ringing blade, the roaring monster. Strength alone would not dislodge this heavy stone; she had to be smart. She turned her shoulders, shifting the angle a bit upward, and pushed out again. She felt the closest edge of the stone lift from the ledge, knew that she only had to go a bit more to get over that back edge.

Tuntun dove for the combatants, but veered at the last second as Quintall spun, not surprised this time. The turn cost the rockman another sting as Elbryan seized the moment and thrust ahead, Tempest cutting hard.

“Over the cord!” Tuntun yelled to the ranger. “Over the cord.” The meaning came clear to Elbryan even as Pony overturned the boulder, the heavy rock rolling off the ledge. The ranger started to leap over the suddenly taut, suddenly moving, cord, but only made it halfway. He dropped Tempest to the ledge and grabbed on for all his life as the boulder plummeted, its fall pulling the elven cord from the wall, swinging it, and Quintall and Elbryan, over the ledge.

Down they went, screaming. They came to a sudden, jarring stop as the rope played out to its length, the boulder jolting free of Pony’s knot and spinning down, down, to plop into the magma, where it was swallowed.

Elbryan held on, and some five feet below him, so did Quintall, the rockman clenching his one impossibly strong hand about the rope so powerfully that his hold was more solid than that of the two-handed man above him.

“Climb!” Pony cried to her love, and so Elbryan did, driving on with all speed and all strength.

Faster still was Quintall, the rockman, heaving mightily, launching himself up a foot or more, then grabbing tight again. Heaving and grabbing, he was closing fast on Elbryan, who had at least twenty feet of scrambling still ahead of him.

Pony continued to call out encouragement. She ran up and leaped the eight-foot gap, slamming her shin hard against the higher lip, but driving on, running to her love.

Hand over hand went the ranger; Pony thought he might make it. He threw one arm and shoulder over the ledge and the woman dove to him, tugging hard. But then, Quintall gave a great heave and caught the rope again, barely inches below Elbryan’s feet. One more leap and the ranger would be caught.

In swooped Tuntun. Elbryan saw the desperate move and cried out for the elf to go back. He let go with one hand, trusting in Pony to brace him, and even tried to catch the elf as she swept below him.

Elven cord was fine and strong, but Tuntun’s dagger, too, was of elvish make, and a quick flick of her wrist snapped the stretched rope tight below Elbryan’s feet.

Elbryan caught the elf’s forearm; Quintall caught her by the foot. Then they hung, twisting and turning, Pony looping the rope about her as a firmer brace and tugging Elbryan’s tunic desperately. The ranger’s hand tightened on poor Tuntun’s forearm, his muscles bulging from the strain, but down below, heavy Quintall’s grip was even stronger.

“Pull!” Elbryan begged Pony, for though they were working with all their might, the ranger was slipping back over the lip.