Relentless

by R. A. Salvatore

  But the glabrezu and the bear-like demon knew it, too, he realized.

  He went at them anyway, a wild flourish, and only a last-moment downward strike with Icingdeath forced the glabrezu to retract a pincer that had gotten dangerously close to encircling Zak’s waist.

  Zak knew enough about demons to realize that had the glabrezu’s pincer gotten around him in such a manner, it would have likely snipped him in half—and he had no desire to die such an ignoble death.

  The vrocks were not quiet now, howling and cawing as they charged in at Zak’s back.

  The weapon master continued to slash and stab at the two fiends before him until the last moment, then spun and met the charge with a charge of his own. He took several hits—the thrumming of heavy winglike arms on either side, even a peck of a vrock beak on his shoulder that left his arm tingling and numb, as he crossed between a pair to barrel into a third.

  That one, too, struck at him wildly, but Zak bore on, and with Icingdeath leading the way, biting hard at the demon vrock’s animating energy, the beast had no choice but to retreat with him.

  It tumbled over, and Zak rolled with it and over it, plunging Icingdeath into its torso for the kill strike. He expected to tear the weapon free as he came back to his feet, but found himself being kicked hard by the fourth vrock, and the sword was torn from his hand.

  Zak staggered and stumbled, skidding to a stop, one leg sliding wide to almost drop him. He heard Icingdeath clang against stone to his side and knew he had to get to it.

  Forcing himself up through the pain and out of the awkward position, Zaknafein sped across the tunnel, leaping the fallen vrock as it melted into the stone, deflecting the batting arm of the one that had kicked him. Still, from the power of its blow, Zak landed awkwardly yet again.

  He didn’t fight it and let himself fall into a roll, perfectly executed and aimed.

  And when he came back onto his feet, he had Icingdeath in hand.

  But his back was to the wide tunnel’s wall, and worse, these were not manes he was fighting anymore. Before Zak could even congratulate himself on the magnificent execution of his roll and retrieval, he saw that part of his success was because the three remaining vrock demons had run past him instead of at him, now blocking the backside of the tunnel, while the glabrezu and ursine demon had moved forward to hem him in from the front.

  They were working together.

  Zak knew then that he had no chance.

  “Come on, then,” he spat, determined to do the legend of his son well.

  Despite the magical wards she had placed on herself and the additional protections from Yvonnel, Catti-brie felt a distinct discomfort as she floated down into the primordial pit. When she came below the steam, she noted immediately that there was less solid ground down here, the orange-glowing lava rolling about—it wasn’t flowing, for the area was level, but it was certainly moving, as the surface of a pond might move with the current of a feeding stream.

  No, Catti-brie thought, not like that. This was more like the waters of a pond moving because of some large animal swimming about just beneath the surface.

  She felt the energy here, anxious, eager.

  She reached through her ring, which was enchanted to bring her sensibilities into the elemental Plane of Fire, and to give her some measure of communication with, and control over, creatures of that plane. She offered her greetings to the primordial, not with words or even focused thoughts, but rather, simply because she was there, in a manner in which they could sense each other on a sentient level . . . and found herself surprised.

  The beast was happy.

  No, that wasn’t quite the correct descriptor, she thought. It was excited. The primordial understood the diminishing magic, the weakening of the elementals above which were holding it within this pit.

  The beast wanted to get out, eager for release.

  Catti-brie found the memory of the last such explosion flooding through her. Melded with the primordial, she at last understood the desire.

  She knew then that her mission here was foolhardy.

  For the anticipated, desired release wasn’t anything of conscious thought—at least, not conscious thought a human might understand or experience. It was more like the demand of a physical release, the last moments of lovemaking, the uncontrollable desire.

  Release was reproduction for the primordial. She saw the volcanic eruption as a spreading of the most primal fire, the seeding of the material plane.

  Instinctual, not planned. Unstoppable, not negotiated.

  The obvious analogy shook the woman profoundly and made her think again of Drizzt. She tried to put him out of her thoughts. She had no time for that worry now, or more importantly, though she tried to deny it, for that grief.

  She tried to look for ways to bargain. Would the primordial be pleased to open the gates, to bring in more mortals to secure this place, its home?

  No.

  Would the primordial open the gates that those inside could leave, then?

  The denial came to her with less intensity.

  Remove the cursed water, Catti-brie felt in her thoughts.

  If you open the gates, we leave and take the creatures of your opposed plane with us? she pointed her thoughts to ask.

  Yes. Yes. Take it away. Now!

  What had initially seemed to her a bargain suddenly turned into a demand, one filled with a level of power and anger Catti-brie had never before experienced. It was as if every cell in her brain and body reverberated with the command, and she felt small then, tiny and inconsequential, a speck of sand on the endless beach that was this creature, this living, godlike being.

  She tried to focus, to discern a way to bring the exchange back to a bargain. Perhaps this would be the only way, to open the gates and flee, all of them, and let the volcano explode.

  It seemed the best option of no other options.

  But what of Neverwinter City? The last time the volcano had erupted, the place had been buried beneath a gigantic rush of ash and lava flowing as smoothly and quickly as a tidal wave.

  A wall of indifference struck her the moment the consideration came to her, one that quickly turned to umbrage. That she would even harbor such a meaningless concern separated her from the primordial, she suddenly understood.

  It didn’t care.

  They were all inconsequential, nothingness, temporary.

  So temporary.

  She knew then, to her horror. It was all beyond her comprehension or emotions, and she knew, too, that the primordial would never care, could never care, for any mortal being. Including her. Instinctively, from somewhere so deep within her that she wasn’t even aware of her action, Catti-brie canceled the magical connection of the ring.

  She realized only then where she was. She felt the heat, the sweat sprouting from her every pore.

  And she saw through the mist a wall of orange, a cresting wave of lava, breaking over her.

  No magic in all the world could deny the pure heat energy of the primordial of fire.

  Her wards were nothing. Nothing!

  Her child . . .

  He threw himself at the line of vrocks, blades slashing and stabbing with abandon, letting his body lead, for there was no plan to be had. He felt every hit he scored, doubly so when it was Icingdeath biting hard at the demonic life energy, but he also felt the raking claws, and another hard peck on his shoulder that sent him staggering back toward the wall, stunning him momentarily.

  The more dangerous enemies, the glabrezu and the ursine demon, bore in. The bear-like monster reared up and rumbled forward to simply overwhelm him and bury him beneath its bulk.

  Zak tried to line up Icingdeath that the beast would impale itself. He was dead, he realized, but he was determined to take this one with him, at least.

  The demonic bear went low to all fours suddenly, surprisingly, and Zak wasn’t sure how to react—for it took him a long moment to recognize the massive black panther atop the fiend, as Guenhwyvar’s powerful m
aw clamped down on the back of the demon’s neck, long fangs deeply buried.

  To the side and behind, the glabrezu jolted suddenly, lightning arcing all about its waving limbs.

  Down went the ursine demon, skidding short of Zak, a loud crack sounding as its neck bone snapped.

  It stopped struggling, and Guen leaped away, flying past Zak and into the nearest vrock, driving it backward, bulling it down the hallway.

  The other two came in and Zak readied to meet the attack—and he thought a third joining from the other way, running past the glabrezu. But no, he realized, it was no vrock. It was a diatryma, a huge flightless bird, and one Zaknafein had seen before, one produced by the large feather on Jarlaxle’s outrageous hat!

  Despite his predicament, despite the blood flowing over his collar from his wounds, the numbness in his battered right shoulder, the sheer heaviness of the bruise a pecking vrock had hammered through his fine mithral shirt across his chest, the weapon master nearly laughed aloud when the diatryma and the second vrock crashed together, both leaping and kicking out with clawed feet, little wings flapping furiously to give them each additional height. He had seen this type of fight before among chickens kept by drow, but now, on this scale, with each of the combatants nearly twice his height and weight, that similarity struck him as patently absurd.

  He wasn’t about to pause and question his good luck, though, not with a vrock so near and the glabrezu a few strides away. Back and forth worked Icingdeath, Vidrinath held in reserve. He wanted the frostbrand to intercept the flailing wings of his attacker, for each moment of defense was also a bit of offense.

  He felt that scimitar’s satisfaction with every parry, or maybe it was the continual squawking of the vrock that showed him the wisdom of his technique. Still, the creature wouldn’t give him an opening to finish, and he needed to dispatch it before the more powerful glabrezu joined in.

  A glance to the side offered relief, though, for the larger demon had spun away, charging down the corridor—at Jarlaxle, he presumed.

  It staggered and was driven sideways enough for Zak to see a glob of greenish goo over its upper torso and face. Another lightning bolt had hit it, then.

  Zak fully focused on his own fight and pressed forward with sudden intensity, fearing that Jarlaxle would need him. Back and forth whipped Icingdeath, driving the vrock’s arms low, before Zak hopped up, lowering his leading sword and cutting across up high with Vidrinath.

  Too slow to hit, though, purposely so, for the vrock predictably ducked, arms rising to protect its head, and Zak, as he landed, did so in a posture to propel himself fast forward, Icingdeath stabbing powerfully. How easily did the frostbrand slide through demon flesh, devouring. The vrock hit him repeatedly, but each blow came with less power as it quickly expired.

  It fell away.

  Before him, Zak saw Guen finishing the vrock farther along the corridor. Ahead and to the side, the diatryma held its own with the remaining birdlike demon.

  Zak turned back and saw the glabrezu charging down the corridor, moving awkwardly, one arm stuck tight against the side of its doglike head. Another lightning bolt hit it, but hardly slowed it, and from the inception point of that spark, Zak realized that the hulking monster was barely strides from Jarlaxle.

  He rushed off after it, wishing then that he had put those bracers on his ankles!

  But then the demon disappeared, as if it had fallen off a cliff, and there stood Jarlaxle, calmly holding two wands in one hand. The mercenary leader offered a shrug to his approaching friend.

  Zak understood as he moved a bit nearer.

  Jarlaxle had thrown down his portable hole in the glabrezu’s path—the demon was in the pit between Zak and Jarlaxle. For good measure, Jarlaxle had then used his innate drow abilities to fill that pit with magical darkness, obviously disorienting the wounded and struggling behemoth.

  Zak glanced back, noting that Guen was now with the diatryma, overwhelming the remaining vrock.

  He looked back to Jarlaxle and returned the mercenary’s shrug.

  “A moment, please,” Zaknafein said, and he jumped into the pit.

  The sounds that came forth—howling, shrieking, roaring, though muffled by goo—still echoed off the walls of the corridor for a long, long way.

  Perhaps signaling to other demons to come to the glabrezu’s aid.

  But it didn’t matter.

  For they ended quickly.

  Zaknafein jumped back out. “Let’s go.”

  She ducked.

  She screamed.

  She tried to cover herself, hoping against hope that the redundant wards and protections against fire would shield her—but of course, even if they did, the sheer weight of the wave would crush her and drive her into the creature’s bubbling fire maw.

  Still, instinctively, Catti-brie braced, and her scream became a strange cry of surprise as she overbalanced when the wave did not hit.

  When a hand grasped her by the arm, helping to ease her down onto the stone.

  Wet stone.

  Cool stone.

  Catti-brie looked up to see Yvonnel bending low over her.

  “I don’t . . .” Catti-brie stammered, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to remember the telepathic conversation with the primordial. She was too stupefied at the moment, however, too stunned to be here. Too shocked that she was still alive. “How?”

  “I heard it all,” Yvonnel said.

  “Heard it? We weren’t speaking.”

  “Telepathy is words, floating freely, and those who know how can catch them,” Yvonnel explained. “Maegera was not possessing you.”

  “Maegera?”

  “The primordial.”

  Catti-brie paused and considered the primordial. Maegera. Yes, that was its name.

  “Your exchange was free-floating,” said Yvonnel. “I heard.”

  “Then you heard the bargain the pri—Maegera, offered? We can get out, some of us, at least,” Catti-brie said, accepting Yvonnel’s hand to help her shakily to her feet.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s too high a price. I cannot condemn a city.”

  “Do you think you can stop it?” Yvonnel asked.

  Catti-brie scoffed at the thought. Of course she could not. No one could deny the power of a primordial.

  “The creature was lying, in any case,” said Yvonnel.

  “Lying? I don’t think there is such a thing in the conscience or consciousness of the primordial.”

  “Well reasoned,” Yvonnel congratulated. “Its thoughts are not as ours. Its wants and needs are unknown to us. What we consider a promise could mean nothing to it. All we know is that the beast craves release.”

  “And that it will find it soon enough.”

  As if on cue, the chamber shook suddenly and violently, nearly throwing Yvonnel from her feet and causing a stumbling Catti-brie to nearly pitch headlong back into the chasm!

  Artemis Entreri was there at once, however, grabbing both of them, pulling them back—and just in time, for high into the mist of the water elementals leaped a lava appendage of Maegera. Most of it hardened fast in the grip of the elementals to fall back down, but some splashes escaped the pit, splattering about the floor.

  A waft of warm steam washed over the three.

  Yvonnel stepped forward then, chanting, her voice strong and unwavering. Catti-brie and Entreri watched as the moments slipped past.

  The drow woman stopped her chant and lifted her hands, palms together before her. A final word, shouted with power as she swept her arms out to either side, brought forth a great geyser of water, appearing in the air, rushing out and over the lip of the chasm—not like a river, but more a blob of water.

  A giant elemental, Catti-brie realized.

  It rolled over the ledge and fell from sight, and the chamber rumbled again in protest.

  A second creature from the Plane of Water followed from Yvonnel’s opened gate, then a third and a fourth.

  The cavern rumbled and shook ag
ain, but in a diminishing manner. Combined with the residual powers of the swirling elementals from the Hosttower, the primordial Maegera was contained again for the time being.

  “There is no reasoning with it,” Yvonnel said.

  “It is not evil,” Catti-brie said, as much to herself as to the drow woman.

  “Definitely not. It does not even understand the concepts of good and evil,” Yvonnel replied, and Catti-brie knew it was true. “It does not matter. Maegera does what it must to do, what it is compelled to do. Like a lover desperate, beyond reason.”

  “To destroy and to create,” Catti-brie whispered. “That’s all it does. That’s what it will do unless we hold it. We are nothing to it.”

  “Not even you and your ring. Not a city. Not even your child. It does not care.”

  “There is no sympathy, no empathy, no emotion.” She looked at Entreri and noted the man blanching at her words as if they reflected on more than the beast in the pit.

  “You saved me,” she said to Yvonnel.

  “That was the plan.”

  “You saved my child. I’ll not forget that. I’ll never forget that.” She breathed heavily, then, feeling flush, her face warm, uncomfortably so. Thinking she was simply overcome by the powerful experience, Catti-brie brushed it off—no time for such weakness.

  Yvonnel nodded and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She started to say that she was certain Catti-brie would return the favor, but stopped short and pointed a curious look at the woman. “What?”

  “It needs release more because its powers are not being well used,” Catti-brie said on a sudden insight. She looked to Yvonnel, then to her hand and the ring, rolling it about her finger. “This is a ring of great power, but it gives me no power over the primordial.”

  “Of course not,” said Yvonnel.

  Catti-brie looked back up, her lips turned up in a wicked smirk, her blue eyes sparkling in the orange glow. “But over its seed?”