“Escalla, change back. We need you back to faerie form.”
The little snake shuddered and groaned. An icy bath had done nothing to cure her shock. Finally a forked tongue quivered. In a tiny voice, Escalla breathed a few painful words out into the air. “Enid?”
“She’s with us. She’s still a snake.”
“I have to… to ch-change.” Escalla tried to lift her head but couldn’t. She flopped back down, then stared at the injuries all over Jus’ side. She lay there, panting and stiff with shock. The Justicar kissed her softly just behind the jaw.
Intelligence came back, quick and clear, into Escalla’s eye. She looked at Jus’ broken ribs.
“Jus?”
“I’m with you.”
“Jus, where are we?”
She was hoarse. Jus’ helmet served as a cup. He helped the snake to drink as he spoke.
“About twelve miles from the town.”
“Is… is it the same day?”
“You’ve been unconscious for two hours.”
With one hand, Jus threw his tunic onto the hot rock, where it sizzled and steamed. Cinders’ flames had finally given out, and the hound lay exhausted, panting.
Escalla quietly regarded the Justicar. “You… you ran for two hours with … broken ribs?”
“You needed me to.”
Escalla collapsed, weak with pain. She looked at Jus as she lay in his hands. “You have got to be the dumbest, most heroic bastard on the Flanaess.”
The snake closed its mouth and went still—tensed—then shimmered in a magic field. An instant later its shape writhed, and Escalla turned back to her own form. The little woman lay gasping and absolutely shocked with pain. Her injuries took on a savage new life.
She had been burned by acid all over one leg, her hip, and back. Her wings hung limp and half melted. Giving her no hint of her desperate state, the Justicar carefully patted the burns dry. His healing spells had closed the deepest parts of the wounds, but the rest of the burns were livid and raw.
The burns were already badly infected. Escalla shivered, a fever starting to take her.
“Is it bad?”
Jus adoringly caressed her wet hair back from her face. “It’ll do.”
“Warriors for justice can’t lie for crap.”
Escalla reached out to Enid. Anxiously cradling the big snake, Henry moved Enid closer. Escalla shook with effort, framed a spell, and canceled the magic she had cast over Enid’s body. The huge snake shimmered, then bunched and expanded to become a full grown gynosphinx.
Enid was burned across her back where she had shielded Escalla. The little faerie lay weak and shaking in Jus’ arms, looking in horror at Enid’s wounds.
“It was some… kind of… acid or something. It shot out of a drinking horn.”
“Shhh. It’s all right now.” Jus carefully slid her off his lap. “Henry, keep them both warm. I need to give someone a W-A-S-H.”
Cinders gave a yelp and a wail, thrashing his tail and howling like a dog chased by a horde of scorpions. It was to no avail. With his flames run down, he had no chance to protest as he was dunked in the river, washed, scrubbed, wrung out—then sniffed, washed and dried again. Jus deposited him on the hot rock, where his fur steamed and seethed. Sulking, Cinders glared at the Justicar.
Not funny!
“Had to be done.”
Cinders sneezed. His nose was stuffed with water, and his sense of smell would be muddled for hours.
W-A-S-H means bath. Cinders remember.
“Sorry, Cinders. We need you clean and dry.”
Cinders forgives you. The hound ceased sulking. Help pretty faerie and nice cat-lady to be warm.
“That’s the way.”
Jus collected bull rush roots and pounded them in his helmet with Benelux’s pommel. He crushed the juice out of the pulp with a massive squeeze of his hand, the tendons standing out as he wrung every last drop out of the mess.
“Henry, empty the portable hole and wash it out. Check the stuff we had stored in there. We should have a box of clean bandages.”
Enid lay on her side, her face pale, and her eyes never leaving Henry as he worked. Jus salvaged a few sealed boxes—Escalla’s wedding dress, a bag of coins, spare clothes—and found the bandages. He steeped the cloth in bull rush juice and lay bandages gently over Escalla’s wounds. He tended to Enid carefully, dabbing the juice into the burns before softly covering them with cloth. Henry held Enid’s paw, looking sick and worried as the big sphinx went pale with pain.
When he had finished, Jus measured out a little lotus syrup for both the girls against the pain. Escalla drank, made a face, and then relaxed slowly, looking sadly over at Henry and the sphinx. She watched them together and suddenly felt so very old and wise.
“I know something I didn’t before.”
Henry cradled Enid’s face, looking at her with such love as he stroked her hair. Embarrassed, Jus cleared his throat and looked away.
“The lotus will make you sleep.”
“Um-hmm.”
“What can you tell me about crystal balls?”
Already drooping, Escalla sighed.
“Tielle has one.” Escalla blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to think. “It… can see images, but can’t hear. Blocked by… by shifting…to a different plane. Blocked by… thick metal. Heavy spells…”
She was falling asleep. Enid would be wilting too, and a quarter of a ton of sleeping sphinx would be impossible to move. Naked and holding his sword, Jus stood and walked over to the portable hole, levering himself down inside.
The hole was a tube ten feet deep and ten feet wide, the walls smooth, black, and slightly stretchy to the touch. Inside the hole there was a ladder, boxes waiting for equipment to fill them, and sealed tubes of scrolls for Enid’s private library. Gravity always seemed stable, no matter what happened to the hole entrance outside. Wet and reeking like wet socks, Polk was busily mopping out the corners of the hole. Polk finished his work, carried his mops of dried grass out of the hole, then stuck his head back inside and frowned.
“Son, you’re hurt! Did someone lay a glove on you?”
“Yes.”
Jus tilted the hole back to its usual orientation, threw in grass and bracken to make beds for the ill. He jumped down, wincing as the impact jolted his broken ribs. He made a bed for Escalla, a larger one for Enid, then stowed their scanty boxes of possessions. They had no food and no water except the little that Jus and Henry could carry in their canteens. The woods were empty of animals—probably scoured clean by Lolth’s own foraging parties over the last few weeks. Still, they would make do. Jus emerged from the hole, heaving himself over the rim, stonefaced with the pain from his ribs. He found Henry and Polk turning Cinders like a pancake on the hot rock, bringing great clouds of steam out of his fur. Jus squatted down beside them and retrieved his clothes.
“Let’s get the girls back into the portable hole. We have to move away from the stream. It gives a landmark a crystal ball can fix on.” He fetched clothes still damp and steaming hot. “We’ll roll the hot rock into the hole to keep the girls warm.”
Polk bustled over, long strips of bandage trailing from his mouth.
“First things first, son. We need to care for our assets. Protect the stock! Keep our ship in trim.” Polk waved a paw. “Your ribs are broken, son. Henry here will tie them up.”
The Justicar tried not to wince as he moved. “It’s not the first priority, Polk.”
I agree. This is appalling! Benelux’s blade shimmered. Get him a loincloth before the sphinx sees!
Henry came to the rescue. He passed bandages around the Justicar’s huge chest, bracketing the broken ribs, and pulled the straps tight. Tomorrow, there might be magic to heal the hurts, but for now, there was neither power nor time. The boy tied off the bandages, then fetched his own clothes.
“Sir, will you be all right?”
“I’ll live.” Jus put a hand on the injury, angry at the pain. “I can walk.”
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“I’ll do it.” Henry awkwardly pulled on his scuffed, worn boots. “You should rest inside the hole. I’ll take a turn.”
“I can’t leave you out here alone.”
“Then I’ll accompany you.” Henry looked stubborn. His expression was a cross between Escalla and the Justicar’s. “Polk can stay in the hole.”
Jus was too worn with worry to argue. He pulled out the last piece of snack coal from their baggage and stuck it inside Cinders’ mouth, and the hell hound sucked avidly, trying to restore his flames. Jus allowed himself to be helped into his armor, scowling as Henry stopped to tie Jus’ boots onto his feet.
“Henry, I’m fine!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just get the hot rock rolled into the portable hole and get Enid in there before she falls asleep. We have to leave!”
Henry rose to attend to it. As soon as his back was turned, Jus leaned heavily on his sword, eyes closed, feeling sick with pain.
Polk towed Cinders off the hot rock and cast a sharp glance at the Justicar. “Son, you all right?”
“I’m fine!” Jus fastened on his helmet. He turned and stared about the stream, blinking, and unsettled. “Come on, we’ll get moving.”
“Son, if Escalla’s in the portable hole, then she can’t be tracked by a crystal ball!”
“The rest of us can, Polk. We have to move into terrain that can’t be recognized. Something that gives no clue as to where we are.”
“Hmph!” Polk sat up, liking the idea. “Sounds easy.”
Jus pulled Cinders over his helm and let the hot hell hound pelt stream down his back.
“She’s not an idiot, Polk. Once the sun starts to go down, she can look at the shadows and know which direction we’re walking in.”
The badger thought about it. “That’s clever, son! Did you think of that?”
“I was taught it, Polk. I’ve done it before.” Jus jerked his chin at the dense bushes and trees. “We’ve been sticking to thick scrub between hills. Overhead cover in case she has flying spies.” Jus sheathed his sword and turned away. “We keep moving, we regroup, then we attack. That’s the way we get the job done.”
The sword flash came hard and fast—a red streak ripping dragon scales and flesh. The Justicar spun, blood flying from his flank as a huge scarlet blade twisted from the stream. Dense clouds of mist choked the air.
Henry stared, and then a mad, hissing shape shot from the water, the ground smoking at its feet as it trod toward the Justicar, who lay fallen by the streambed.
Henry screamed. The Justicar was down—his armor torn and a red blade whipping through the fog to hack him down. Henry moved, but Jus had hit the ground rolling, his white sword streaking from its sheath to parry the incoming cut behind his back. Sparks flew like a fountain as blade met blade, both weapons screaming.
Jus whipped about, hacking at his enemy’s feet. The red blade parried, cut, was parried and kicked aside. Jus thrust, rising from the ground, his anger huge and terrifying. Like a massive black bear he raged forward, his sword crashing down in a blow that could have severed a tree. The enemy caught the blow in a lightning fast block, twisting and cutting at Jus’ neck. Jus parried fast and hard, hammered three sharp blows at his enemy in a rage.
The blades rang and howled, meeting each other time and time again. Steam filled the air, emanating from the monster still standing in a cloud of icy fog. Only its screaming skull was visible, and the blood-red gleam of its blade.
Jus parried a blow and dealt the creature a kick powerful enough to shatter stone. He missed as the monster somersaulted backward, landing a dozen feet away and sinking into a crisp, deadly fighting pose.
The Justicar faced the creature with his huge sword ready. The enemy stirred, swirling its blade in an identical pattern to Jus.
The mists cleared. Snarling at his opponent, Jus faltered, and then suddenly wavered.
A golden eagle helm snarled at him: a helm made by Grass Runner artisans untold decades before. The armor was rusted and discolored, but he knew it inch by inch. In the dim past before he had a true name, the Justicar had slept, woken, fought, and bled with that armor beside him. The corpse inside the metal suit still bore traces of long, lank hair. The withered skin was scrawled with the traceries of Grass Runner tattoos.
Jus turned ashen, like a boy faced with the anger of a long lost father. “Master Recca?”
The corpses head jerked up at the name, and eyes of blue flame searched the Justicar. The hand and foot that Jus had cut off with his own sword were back—bleeding, pale flesh stolen from fresh bodies. Jus’ old master had risen from the grave. The cadaver opened its mouth in a wild hiss, then leaped with blinding speed to crash its sword toward Jus’ skull.
But Jus was no longer there. He slid sideways, his sword catching the attack and ripping past the corpse. The eagle-armored monster jumped over the blow, barely touched by the blade. As the creature landed behind the Justicar, it struck. Jus parried sharp and hard, spun—only to find the corpse had already leaped away. A red blade clanged from his helm, cutting Cinders, then the hissing monster turned sideways as Jus beat its blade aside and lunged with his own sword.
The corpse stood ten feet away, snarling. It bore two wounds—long, shallow cuts that burned from contact with Benelux. The wounds stopped burning slowly and reluctantly, then began to heal as a fetid green blood oozed forth to cover them.
Jus staggered from a long narrow cut along his thigh, spreading a pall of ashen grey. It was as though the blood had been sucked out of the limb. Ten feet away, the undead monster swirled its sword, the blade glowing with an internal light of blood.
The monster spied Henry, the hole, Polk, and Enid. It sidled toward them, hissing slyly as Jus moved to block its way. Appalled, Henry lifted his sword and came forward to help.
The Justicar swiftly threw up a hand. “No!”
“Jus!” Henry came to an anxious halt. “Sir!”
“Back! Stay there!” The Justicar held a hand to keep Henry away. “Put Escalla and Enid in the hole and run! Keep running! Remember what I’ve taught you.”
“Sir?”
“Do it!”
Recca had lost none of his old speed, none of his blinding skill. Undead and immune to pain, fatigue, and pity, the cadaver screeched as it stalked the Justicar.
“Henry, go!”
Henry turned and tipped Enid down into the portable hole. The undead swordmaster attacked, and Jus fought back, matching speed for speed, and pitting his vast strength against the corpse’s shocking agility.
They fought, blades ringing, Benelux crying out in anger and agony as she struck. The swords moved fast—so fast that Henry could only stare in shock. The Justicar attacked with terrifying savagery, spinning and kicking at an opponent that blocked every blow. Punches rained but were slammed and parried aside by the undead warlord, who returned his own swift strikes.
Jus crashed his elbow into the dead face, broke its arm, and in return took a kick delivered by a shocking handspring that sent him reeling away. His broken ribs had been hit again, and his left arm hung drained of blood. He blocked a blow to his head, the two swords ringing, then staggered aside, dazed.
His left arm hung numb and useless. One leg could barely move. The Justicar snarled and staggered, managing to get his blade up to take another rain of blows. He had to fight long enough to let Henry get well clear.
Recca. Recca had taught the Justicar the sword—had always mocked his students rocklike style. As the cadaver shifted its weight, Jus knew exactly where the next lunge would come, and he caught the blow, already making a riposte, his huge sword clumsy when used in a single hand.
The Justicar had once been outmatched by his teacher, but ten years of hard fighting had taught the student vicious new tricks. Jus smashed his helmeted forehead into the corpse’s skull, breaking teeth and knocking the creature back. He saw his opening and roared, lunging forward with his sword in a blow that would impale the monster through its spine.
He saw a red flash beneath his guard and twisted as he lunged. Benelux rammed into the monster’s chest, and there was an intense blast of pain in Jus’ side. The Justicar ran the monster through, his sword blasting out through its shoulder, but below Benelux, the corpse’s red blade bit into his own flesh.
Jus screamed and hammered Recca back with his fist, sending the corpse flying. He staggered back, the red blade protruding from the bottom of his ribs. The evil sword sucked blood, drinking like a vampire. The undead swordsman lurched to its feet. Hissing in triumph, it lunged for the Justicar with its claws, suddenly fell spinning to the ground.
Polk spat out the monster’s human foot just as Henry ripped the red blade out of the Justicar and crashed into the ranger with an impact that plunged both of them into the portable hole. Polk ran, snatched one edge of the portable hole in his jaws, and sped swiftly off into the grass.
Floundering on the dirt behind them, the undead monster snarled. Head down and running, Polk charged onward as fast as four clawed feet could run.
* * *
They had run far into the dark—first Polk, then Henry—each pounding onward in a dazed fatigue. Cinders clung about Henry’s neck, trying to steer the boy past obstacles and trees. Luna, the greater moon, had not yet risen, her handmaiden Celene was only the barest blue crescent in the sky, and the night was black as pitch. Polk slammed into tree roots and bloodied his snout. Henry had tripped over rocks and crashed through brambles until he was running with blood. Somewhere behind them, the undead corpse was tracking them, and Tielle was staring into a crystal ball, watching each twist and turn. Mad with panic, Polk and Henry sped on and on until they finally collapsed into a gully filled with rocks.
Henry had done what he could. The inside of the portable hole was smothered in blood. The Justicar had been run through, the blade going through his right side beneath his ribs. In a panic, Henry had bandaged him—and he tried to remember all the healing lore Jus had taut him over patient evenings in camp. The blade must have missed Jus’ lung. The man wasn’t coughing blood but was breathing shallowly and in immense pain, and Jus was pale—shockingly pale. The blood seemed to have been sucked out of him by the terrible red sword, and he might still be bleeding internally. Henry made Jus drink, kept pressure on the wounds, and when he handed over to Polk, the boy ran in a daze.
Queen of the Demonweb Pits Page 10