Castle Raiders

by Max Anthony

  Something came through the gap. It was fifteen feet tall, with red skin that was so dark it might have almost been black. It was bipedal, with thickly muscular arms and legs, covered in wiry hair. It had a barrel chest and narrow waist. The demon lord’s horned head was bald and slightly too small for its body. Viddo looked into its face and saw cruelty beyond measure – glowing red eyes that had seen an infinity and a snout that could not hide the fangs within. Well I never, thought Viddo, slowly backing away towards the doorway he’d come in through.

  All at once, the room exploded with activity. The men who had seemed like nothing more than bored guardsmen sprang to their feet. Their bodies changed and swelled, crackling and popping as joints broke and were reformed. Hair sprouted and faces stretched, even as muscle tissue multiplied in mass across the rest of their bodies.

  The demon didn’t wait patiently. It had needed a few moments to get its bearings, having travelled an unimaginable distance between the planes. Now, all it wanted to do was kill, and it swung one arm at the closest werewolf, which was still mid-way through its transformation. Viddo saw that the demon had three-feet serrated claws growing from the backs of its knuckles and these ripped the werewolf into pieces, sending a shower of blood a dozen feet across the room. The demon opened its mouth and uttered a bellowing laugh of delight.

  After that, it was bedlam. The first of the werewolves leapt at the demon, springing at it from several directions. The demon sliced two of them out of the air, whilst a third and fourth opened up deep wounds across its back. The demon was not slow and it reached over one shoulder and plucked a fifth werewolf away, which it threw easily at another group of the beasts, knocking several from their feet.

  Both parties seemed to relish the confrontation and joined the fray without fear or hesitation. Soon, the demon was covered in a writhing mass of lycanthropes, which ripped great slices through its red flesh. Far from roaring in pain, the demon laughed, kicking the werewolves away as if seven feet of muscle was as nothing to its strength. Where they made contact with demon flesh, the werewolves found their fur shrivelling away, and the flesh beneath split and tore as the dark magics of the demon’s body assailed them.

  All the while, the werewolves continued to attack unabated. The air seemed to be constantly filled with a spray of blood or body parts and the tremendous strength of the demon shattered bones and bodies with each swing of its arms.

  Viddo was now most of the way towards the exit, as yet unseen. He was beneath another of the tables and could see the tattered skin of the demon’s back, chest and arms. Black ichor leaked freely from its body, dripping and smoking. Where it landed on the werewolves, they howled in pain and anger as the demonic blood burned through their skin and bone alike.

  Within minutes it was over. There had once been over fifty werewolves in this room and now there were none. To the last they had attempted to bring down the demon, throwing themselves at it with undiminished rage, even when only a few of them had remained. Their bodies were everywhere, shrinking, writhing and returning to the shapes of men.

  Above them all stood the demon. Its red skin was a mess of several hundred minor wounds, but its mouth was twisted into a sneer of triumph. It wobbled slightly on its feet and then seemed to strengthen itself by an exertion of willpower and hatred. Twenty-five yards away, Viddo crept from the room without being noticed.

  11

  “What do you mean there was a fight between a demon lord and nearly sixty werewolves?” demanded Rasmus. “More importantly, why didn’t you tell us so that we could come and watch?”

  “It didn’t seem like the most appropriate moment to come and find you,” said Viddo. He was sympathetic, since he’d have been upset to have missed such a spectacle as the one he’d just witnessed. “The good news is, we’ll get to fight this demon lord, since it prevailed over the werewolves.”

  “That’s good news?” asked Jera. The doubt was palpable.

  “It is very much weakened by its recent confrontation,” enthused Viddo. “We should finish the creature off without delay, before its wounds close.”

  “Is there anything I should be aware of before I engage with it?” asked Jera. The doubt hadn’t gone.

  “Don’t let it strike you, is what I would say,” confided Rasmus, as though he were letting her in on an adventurer’s best-kept secret. “They tend to hit quite hard.”

  Jera took a deep breath. “Stop right there!” she said, putting her metaphorical foot firmly down onto the floor. “If you think I’m going to stand in front of a demon lord and insult its grandmother without a better plan than ‘don’t let it strike you’, then you have another thing coming!”

  “I have a spell,” said Rasmus. “A very powerful spell that I intend using against it.”

  “The detonation spell?” asked Viddo.

  “Yes, the detonation spell. As you know, it only works when a creature is very low on health.”

  “It was wobbling,” confirmed Viddo. “Definitely a bit shaky. We might only need to hit it a few times before it becomes vulnerable.”

  “There, you see?” said Rasmus soothingly. “Dodge a couple of its attacks and Viddo will do the necessary damage until the time is right for me to cast my spell.”

  With that, Jera found herself half-dragged from the room and along the passage until they were crouched to one side of the entrance to the foyer. The demon hadn’t moved since Viddo had left it just a few minutes earlier. It was still ragged with wounds, but was looking almost imperceptibly haler and heartier already.

  “It’s a bit bigger than I was expecting,” said Jera.

  “Nonsense, it’s just a little tiddler,” said Rasmus, giving her a helpful push through the doorway. “Hit it a couple of times and then we’ll join you as soon as you have it fully occupied.”

  “But I…” said Jera in a whisper over her shoulder. It was too late. Her semi-willing arrival into the entrance hall had attracted the attention of the demon lord. It turned to face her slowly and a smile of pure delight appeared on its face. It laughed at the puny warrior before it, an act which inflamed Jera to a great and unexpected anger.

  “I see you’ve met my aunty’s poodles,” she asked it disdainfully, marching across towards it with her shield high. The creature did not have eyebrows and therefore it was not capable of raising one inquisitively at this insult.

  “I bet you enjoyed them humping your leg,” Jera continued. The demon was ancient when measured in human terms, yet even the wisest creature of chaos does not like to be verbally abused. Nor do they like to be struck in the kneecap with a hammer, which is what Jera did to the demon the moment she arrived. It felt as if she’d hit something incredibly strong and heavy, which, of course, she had.

  The demon lord growled and threw a punch at Jera. She was ready for it and jumped out of the way, causing the swinging fist to miss by a wide margin. The serrated blades on its knuckles missed by something of a narrower margin and one of the bony extrusions scraped across the surface of Jera’s shield. She hit the blade with her hammer, splintering a chunk of it away onto the floor. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rasmus peering around the doorway. Of Viddo there was no sign.

  Jera quickly found herself hard-pressed to stay alive, let alone land any more hammer blows on the demon in order to anger it enough to keep attacking her. The creature kicked at her twice – fast, unexpected swings of its foot that were almost impossible to completely avoid. The first one caught her shield at an angle, knocking her to one side and the second caught her more firmly in the middle of the shield. Jera stumbled away and it took all of her fighter’s balance to remain on her feet. The demon looked like it was enjoying itself. It closed in, taking one stride to Jera’s four, and punched at her again. If she’d had to rely on her arm alone, Jera would have been killed at that moment, but the magic of the shield dragged her arm into position at the very last moment. The demon’s fist struck the shield with a crunching blow while Jera turtled underneath. There was a sound
of crumpling metal.

  It's broken my shield, thought Jera in dismay, taking four more quick steps backwards. The floor was littered with broken tables, chairs and was still slimy with blood. She skidded and nearly fell. Looming above her, the demon sneered an unmistakeable sneer and kicked out again, catching Jera with the tip of its clawed foot. There was another sound of tortured metal and Jera was thrown several feet away, wondering if she’d have to use the last defensive power that Goosty the Placid had taught her.

  A flicker of movement appeared next to the demon – a shadow felt, rather than clearly seen. The demon roared – the sound one of anger. It looked at Jera for half a second and then it turned its attention away, kicking out behind it to try and catch whatever had just stabbed it in the lower back. Jera struggled to her feet and was able to see Viddo roll to one side in order to escape a kick and then a punch.

  Feeling calm and focused, Jera threw her hammer at the demon, striking it firmly on the temple. The weapon fell to the ground at its feet, the magic evidently not yet recharged enough to return it to her hand. The blow was an injurious one, sufficient to drag the demon lord’s attention once more to Jera as she stood without a weapon and without a shield. Of defiance she had plenty, though not in the quantities required to kill a powerful demon. It took a stride towards her.

  To the rear of the demon, Viddo had found to his dismay that his single remaining magic dagger had not been sufficiently well-enchanted to prevent it corroding immediately that it came into contact with demon ichor. Consequently, he’d only managed one strike and was now left holding a smoking hilt. He drew his longsword with one hand and snapped off a shot with his hand crossbow from the other. The highly magical bolt flew unerringly into the demon’s ear-hole, in a repeat of a shot he’d recently pulled off against an undead dragon. The demon continued to ignore him and kicked a pile of heavy, broken wood at Jera. The top of a table caught her in the stomach, knocking her over.

  Come on Razzo, thought Viddo grimly. He spared a glance over at the doorway. Rasmus had emerged and was in the process of sending several volleys of arcane energy at the demon. The wizard caught Viddo’s gaze and shook his head. It won’t work yet, said the look.

  Viddo could see that Jera’s life was in great jeopardy. Her armour was battered and dented and she was having difficulty getting to her feet, let alone escaping the advancing demon. With little time for possible future regret, Viddo executed a nimble leap into the air, with his sword held in both hands. He didn’t get to the height he’d wished, but it was enough for him to drive the tip of his sword deeply into the broad back of the demon lord, slightly to one side of its thick spine. Aided by a thief’s ability to find an opponent’s weakest spots, the blade sank deeply within, penetrating as smoothly as if he’d stabbed it into a block of butter. Viddo pulled the blade free quickly. It was already blackened and smoking along much of its length. The demon lord clearly flinched at this new injury, yet it was determined that it would kill the warrior who had defied it, before turning its attention on her companions. Ahead of it, Jera staggered towards the nearest of the stone pillars. She was going to be too late – an enormous fist was raised into the air, ready to descend and pummel her into a bloody pulp. The fist did not land upon her.

  “Quick! Run!” shouted Viddo. He sprinted towards Jera and pulled her upright. Rasmus appeared to her other side and between them, they hauled the dazed Jera over the debris-strewn floor, towards the pillar. Just before she was dragged around it, Jera managed to look over her shoulder at what was behind. The demon lord was frozen in mid-punch. Its entire body trembled slightly as if in the grip of an irresistible force and its eyes glowed with the knowledge of what was coming. The creature tried to resist the magic of Rasmus’ spell, using the strength of its body and mind. It was not enough and just when the adventurers disappeared from sight, the demon exploded.

  Crouched behind the wide pillar, the trio heard a grumbling, creaking thump, accompanied by a tearing and crackling sound. Black fluid and lumps of red flesh flew past them at a tremendous speed, splattering large areas of the room with demonic ichor, along with glistening tubes, pipes and chunks of ruptured organs. When the fountain had subsided, they emerged from the safety of the pillar, taking great care to avoid standing in any of the smoking fluid that was liberally smeared in the vicinity. Where a demon lord had once been standing, now all that remained was a pair of feet, upright and with shards of yellow bone pointing at the ceiling. Greasy vapour rose from the ankles.

  “Everyone intact?” asked Rasmus.

  “I think so,” said Jera. She was wheezing still, having had the air knocked from her lungs. “Any sign of my hammer?” she asked.

  “I think it’s over there somewhere. Under that wobbling pile of something-or-other that you can see to the left of that lung.”

  “Ah,” said Jera. “I shan’t be getting it back in a hurry.” She looked at her shield, which was still strapped to her arm. It was buckled on one side and cracked on the other. She lifted it as if to block an imaginary blow. It felt as leaden and heavy as a two-silver shield from a blacksmith’s apprentice. She tugged it free and dropped it to the ground with a clunk and a heavy heart. Her breastplate had seen better days as well – it had several dings, a number of dents and a series of puncture marks. She touched and prodded gently at the areas where it had been struck. Underneath, there’d be a lot of bruising, but her ribs weren’t broken. The armour had done its duty in that respect at least.

  “I am now without a weapon, apart from this hand crossbow,” said Viddo cheerfully. “And our warrior is without a weapon and a shield.”

  “Items sacrificed in a titanic battle against the evil of a demon lord,” said Rasmus, equally cheerfully. “Here, you had best take this,” he said, offering Jera the broken end of the lich’s staff. “It’s really quite sharp.”

  Jera reached out and took the jagged metal bar. It was hard to image a less effective weapon. “We should leave here,” she said. “This smoke is giving me a headache.” She was not in the least bit surprised to find Rasmus and Viddo looking at the doorways which led deeper into the castle, instead of towards the way out. Just then, she saw movement.

  Twenty or more yards away, a group of fifteen men entered the foyer through a wide arch. They looked alert, as if they’d been far away and had come to investigate the sound of a detonating demon lord. The men saw the adventurers at once and the expressions which came to their faces were not friendly. The lead man tried to talk, though the words were unintelligible, as though he’d been a werewolf for so long that it was now a struggle to speak his mother tongue.

  “What now?” whispered Jera, reaching for the metal bar at her belt. She felt woefully underprepared.

  The answer was not long coming. Rasmus uttered two or three syllables. Viddo was sensitive to these things and felt the air vibrate with the power. A simple fireball spell did not cause the same effect and the thief knew that something big was coming. High up in the arches of the ceiling, a seven-feet diameter ball of dull grey-orange molten rock appeared. Without warning, it raced down at blinding speed, smashing completely through one of the ceiling support pillars and landing with a catastrophically loud crash amongst the group of men. When it landed, the rock flattened and expanded, covering an area more than twenty yards across, splattering both floor and nearby walls with an orange magma. From above, the stones of the pillar cascaded in the area, crunching against the flagstones of the floor. The group of werewolves was gone – utterly smashed and destroyed beneath the rock.

  Jera looked at Rasmus with a new respect. She didn’t know of him by reputation – in fact, she’d never heard of him at all until they’d met in an underground world only a few week ago. In many ways, he appeared to be almost lackadaisical in his approach to adventuring. Not quite bumbling, but rarely giving things his full focus. Jera was beginning to realise why that was – his magic was so powerful, he could afford to take it easy sometimes.

  “Did you really ne
ed a meteor strike for that little group of werewolves?” asked Viddo, knowing that the wizard had just cast a top-drawer spell.

  “Something smaller might have worked,” admitted Rasmus. “It’s just that I had the spell sitting there in my mind and I thought to myself that I might not see another room large enough to cast it. It’s more of an outdoor spell, really.”

  “Perhaps we should go,” said Viddo. “Before our wizard friend here either brings the castle down around our ears, or summons every creature within its walls.”

  “Which way?” asked Rasmus, not taking the thief’s judgement at all seriously.

  “I was hoping to leave through yonder exit, behind that molten pile of rock,” said Viddo. “However, in the circumstances, it might be wise if we chose an alternative route.”

  The demonic ichor continued to smoke, though much less profusely now. The mounds of organs had begun to shrivel and harden, as though they decayed at a tremendous speed. Jera spotted what remained of her hammer – the head glowed brightly, undamaged by the corrosive ichor. The shaft, on the other hand, was completely gone. She considered retrieving the part which remained. Instead, she shrugged to herself and left it where it lay. Her companions were a few yards away from her – heading towards a narrow exit off to one side. She followed them, taking care with the atrocious conditions underfoot. As she approached the doorway, the heat from the still-glowing magma beat against her unprotected skin. She made haste away from it and joined the others on the far side of the doorway.

  12

  If these adventurers had hoped to gain some respite in which they could gather themselves, they were shortly to be disappointed. On the other side of the door was a passage, grey and unlit. They allowed themselves a brief pause, during which Rasmus conjured up some wizardly light. In an unexpected flash, he remembered that he was wearing a ring of minor dodging, which he had found some weeks previously. This he gave to Jera, in expectation that she might need it more than him. She took the item without argument and put it over a finger on one hand. The other hand was already wearing a ring of spell reflection and it was well-known that only two magical rings would function at any one time. Rasmus was also wearing a gossamer cloak of mirroring, which he’d have happily given to Jera, except for the fact that it was only operational when worn by a wizard or a thief.