Her third blow sliced across his ankle. He staggered, but the wounds were healing. Voratome Drake’s gift, Folt thought, he blessed me greatly for all the curses I carry in his name.
He added all his weight behind the blade and shoved Suya back, weapon to weapon. She kept herself on guard despite skating toward the flames. Folt gritted his teeth.
Suya shrugged her shoulders. She moved loosely, but not as loosely as a warrior should.
“I need to know, why did you do this?”
“I serve a master who gave me everything I have,” said Folt, “Though I regret it's come to this between us.”
“Who is your master?” said Suya. “Tell me.”
Folt shrugged.
“Voratome Drake,” he said, “the greater demon commands my loyalty.”
Suya’s eyes widened.
“The black fire,” she said.
Folt nodded.
“The fire is his. He gave it to me. In exchange, I eat for him.”
“He shares your stomach? Your mouth?”
“He can’t put words in my mouth,” said Folt, “but I nourish him with every bite I take.” He held his mouth open, showing his teeth. “Don't worry, Suya. I won't bite you.”
Suya grimaced. She gripped her sword in both hands. Kelt extinguished some of the ordinary fire by drawing water from the channel with his oar-sprites. The black demon, Hilos, elongated sharp fingers toward Rina, keeping her at bay in the air.
Folt pressed the attack. He lunged at Suya once more. She parried. He feinted. She cut at him in a counter-attack at his arm. The same gash opened once more, but it sealed again almost as quickly. He shot fire at her feet. She jumped back. They danced back and forth. Soon she would be out of space. His fire would consume the entire vessel. Folt would be able to meet Havindas perfectly. I must win.
He hammered all the muscular force he held into one blow, striking towards Suya once more. She blocked, staggering backward at the impact. Her sword flew from her hands.
Suya retreated. Her reinforced blade buried its point in the deck. She grimaced, still looking confident. The governor held out her blade of office, and then tossed it to Suya. The sword servant caught the weapon’s hilt in both hands.
She twirled the blade to face Folt.
“If you work for the demon, then you have to fall.”
“We all work for demons,” said Folt. “Remember Mother Mercy.”
“Mother Mercy is no demon,” said Suya. She thrust the new sword at Folt. He retreated from her onslaught, then took up guard by the bow. Flame engulfed large parts of the deck, climbing along the mast and devouring the sail with ease.
Kelt fought the flames with water, but not hard enough. As the man scooped up more water using his the sprites focused in his oar, Folt heard the empowered water, sprites singing through every gallon with detached sprites. Such sprites might even extinguish bane fire. Folt snarled.
He shot flames directly at the man with the oar.
Suya cast out a ward. The edge of her blade deflected some of Folt’s fiery breath. However, a lance a black flame shot straight at Kelt, slicing across his arm and setting his back alight. He fell to the deck rolling, against the rail and dropping his oar. He burned. The stench of his charred flesh began to rise quickly.
He staggered to his feet and dropped over the side into the river. Kelt landed in the water. Folt snarled and pressed Suya. Suya cut at him again. Her superior sword skills gave her the advantage. His strength and fire would soon exhaust her. Tears ran from her eyes.
Her fear, evident behind those eyes, along with her desperation, made her face more beautiful than Folt had ever seen. However, he hated to see her distress.
“How dare you,” said Suya. She fenced Folt against the bow. He hit the rail at the front of the ship.
“He might live,” said Folt, “but if he does, he won't be happy about it.”
She screamed and thrust her blade straight at them. The blade parted a gash in his chest. The weapon pinned him to the bow.
“Rina,” Folt called, holding Suya’s sword, by the blade to keep it from slicing upward and finishing off.
The Charinien fisher girl flew toward them. Her tail lashed out, smashing Suya from her grip on the blade. The sword fell from Folt’s wound and clattered to the deck. Suya went sprawling. Folt sank to his knees, bleeding from his chest wound. He snarled as he looked at the governor.
“It's over,” said Rina. “Except for the demon, we beat them all.”
Suya glared at Folt. Intense hatred he never dreamed he’d see fill those eyes directed at him. She feared and despised him. She knew him, and they had once cared for each other more than either of them could ever have said.
Now, all that is gone.
He fought to stand up and then lurched toward her. He still gripped his sword with bloody fingers.
He kicked the governor blade away. The glittering weapon rolled to the edge of the burning rail.
Folt struggled toward her.
“Suya,” he said, “please.”
She lashed out with a kick, desperate, fueled by fury. Her blow struck Folt’s knee. He staggered back. Hilos’ black demon form appeared, jumping over the black flames. His fingers slashed at Rina, cutting across her elongated fisher’s tail.
Rina screeched and flew into the air, trailing blood.
Folt decided the battle on the ship was over. He climbed up the bow, clutching his bleeding chest. The wound would heal over in seconds. For the moment he remained vulnerable. He held the sword at arms-length, trying his best to keep Hilos back. Hilos ran to Suya’s side, lifting her along the governor’s sword. He leapt over the flames, moving to rescue the governor as crew scattered, abandoning ship.
Folt snarled.
“Well done, old man!”
He jumped from the bow and landed at the bottom of the escarpment.
The air grew hot above him. The mass of the governor’s ship collapsed on itself. The entire vessel would be destroyed soon. Folt told himself that destruction was enough.
Folt lurched back toward the ancient sewage gateway. The bars covering the tunnel’s end gleamed black, sparkling with spray, still sealed. He inhaled as deep as he can. The pain in his chest increased. Folt spewed hungry black flames at the bars of the ancient gateway. The burning bane fire seared, then melted through the bars. The bars of the sewage gate fell away. Folt staggered toward the tunnel. The ancient door stood open at last. He’d won for his master. No one else remained, no one but him.
The burning end of a charred oar slammed on him from above. The blow smashed into his back and drove him to the uneven slope of the escarpment’s stones. His sword flew from his hand. Folt slid and rolled onto his back and landed in shallow water.
His blood mingled in the shallows.
Kelt stood over him. Dark fire sizzled on his back. The water neutralized most of the bane fire. The sailor grunted.
“You counted me out. Wrong.”
Folt grimaced. He’d lost his sword. Now, he was unarmed, except for his fire. He surged toward Kelt, tackling the man about the waist. Folt rolled with him into the water. They fought in the surf. Wrestling, punching, grappling. Kelt raised a dagger. His oar floated in the water nearby. He stabbed into Folt’s chest. The blade opened the same wound as the other one.
Blood speckled Kelt's face. Folt grimaced at the sharp pain. He dropped to his knees in the water. Kelt rushed toward him, knife bloody and jabbing.
Folt swung drunkenly with both arms. He battered the knife from his opponent’s grip. His other fist lashed out and smashed against Kelt’s temple. The sailor mage spiraled into the water. Folt charged after him, dragging back toward the riverbank. He smashed the man's head into the unyielding stone of the escarpment. Kelt went still.
Blood pooled in the water around them. Most of the red tincture billowing in the water once belonged to Folt.
He limped up the escarpment, dragging himself toward the gate. Finally, he climbed to the top of the en
tryway. Staring into the darkness of the tunnel, he saw the shape, pallid except for the dark void of his face, a face, lit by countless stars. Havindas carried the shape of the cocoon, a human-sized cocoon heavy enough to make even the powerful Maladrite drag his feet. He moved slowly.
Folt was not the only one who had faced adversity in the past few moments. Havindas approached Folt. The two of them stood at the edge of the gateway.
“You did it,” said Folt. “You got him.”
Havindas shrugged.
“Where's the rowboat?”
Folt pointed at the swamped vessel, no doubt cracked and leaking where Kelt had struck it.
“We need to get the ship some other way.”
Havindas grimaced. With his pale mouth and lack of face, he looked like the wrath of night itself.
“Nothing is simple on this mission,” he said.
Folt grunted.
“Where is Zalklith.”
“Holding the tunnel,” said Havindas. “We were being pursued.”
“Can you get to the ship? How far can you leap?”
Havindas shook his head.
“Not that far away while carrying our charge. We need to move further out.”
Folt’s gaze turned toward the fortress ship. The governor’s vessel began to sink into the river, still burning in places. None of the other fortress ships shifted made it this far upriver.
Damn it, he thought. I thought the maladrite could assist our escape.
Havindas growled. Folt turned to him.
“Give me the scion.”
“Hand a mortal man Voratome Drake’s very child?” said Havindas, “How dare you make such a request of me?”
Folt gritted his teeth.
“Don't be ridiculous, Havindas, we are both getting out of here and the scion with us.”
Havindas grimaced.
“Of course we will. Just find me some other way to get further over the water. We only need to row a few dozen hands out and I can leap.”
“You can't get there in your insubstantial form?”
“I can't carry him in my insubstantial form,” said Havindas. “It’s up to you.”
Folt nodded.
Leave it to the monster to take the glory and make the mortal do the work.
He started searching for something to take them over the water. He made up his mind. Folt lurched to the water and dragged the remains of the dinghy to them. It would not float for long. He hoped Havindas would find it useful. Despite it being crashed almost in half by Kelt’s swinging oar, Folt supposed it should be able to hold the shape long enough for Havindas to spring off it.
He explained the idea to his maladrite companion.
Havindas nodded.
“I will try it,” he said. “A little water won't hurt me anyway.”
Folt grimaced.
“I'll find a way back myself,” he said.
“Course,” said Havindas, “you always do.”
Folt shook his head.
“Don't be so sure,” he said. “Most of my team is gone.”
“Most? Or all?” said Havindas.
Folt grimaced.
“I don't know where any of them are now, except for Rena. She's fleeing into the city.”
Havindas shook his head.
“They’re gone now.”
“I understand,” said Folt. “We must escape ourselves, and as fast as possible.”
He turned and looked into the depths of the sewage tunnel. Behind them, and within the darkness, there came the sounds of battle.
Melissa
She felled the second royal guard with a strike from her spear. The weapon’s reinforced point pierced reptilian scales with ease. Melissa grunted with effort.
The vakari warrior crumpled to the tunnel floor ahead of Melissa. Deckard faced the King of Nassio further down the passage, nearing the light. The king continued to retreat. Melissa grimaced.
No matter how much she fought, she could not bring back those already lost. She thought of Niu’s broken body. My comrade. My friend.
Melissa drew her spear back and began to spin it as best she could within the tunnel. Now or never, she thought. She needed to find a way to help Deckard defeat the king. The leader of the vakari wore a sacra form. The chain he wielded pushed Deckard back bit by bit.
The shape of smooth metallic limbs, the swish of the chain, every action appeared calculated as well as powerful and confident.
Melissa drove herself forward. She wielded her spear in both hands. She focused on Zalklith and the words in her sacra scroll Even without the physical scroll, a sacra form could be awakened from memory.
She achieved a pinpoint precision with her movements. The spear and the seals written on it blurred in the air. Ripples of light formed around her.
She focused even deeper, intensifying her gaze. She drew out her iron bane. The weakness in her knees and her wounds throbbed, almost making her collapse as she moved the bane to her hand. With the iron bane beside the twirling spear, she focused as best she could through a haze of pain and weariness.
She finally drew the demon near. His face, her face, whichever, for Fanhedon’s expressionless head was a dome of metallic steel, glared at Melissa with eyelids intensity.
“What do you want?”
“I need your aid,” said Melissa. “Help me.”
“I can do more than help,” said Fanhedon.
“Please,” said Melissa, “I can't lose another today.”
“Grief,” said Fanhedon, “is useless.”
“Will you help?”
“You have drawn me out. I will take this opportunity to live again.”
Melissa felt the coldness of steel in her arms. The dome formed in place around her head, armor covering her very spirit. She achieved the form of the demon. Her spear, now reinforced by the iron bane she’d drawn out of her palm remained in her hand.
She charged toward Deckard and Zalklith. The two older beings waged war in a manner fit for a poem. They clashed back and forth. They darted here and there in the passage. Then, Melissa used Fanhedon’s voice to break the silence of their struggle.
“Deckard, out of the way.”
Deckard did not miss an instant. He darted aside, shooting out sprite lines to entangle Zalklith. The vakari king leapt backward, avoiding the entangling strings. Melissa’s spear struck his sacra form’s hide. The reinforced weapon powered by demonic muscle smashed the king backward. His tough, demonic skin held.
“You are a tough one.” These words came not from Melissa, but the demon. Fanhedon bellowed a laugh.
“This time, you won't survive.”
“This time,” said the sacra form worn by the king of Nassio. “We are both already dead.”
“Oh, you have a long way to fall yet.”
The king of the Nassio whipped the chain of his demon form out from behind him. He tossed the end of it over Fanhedon’s shoulder. Melissa willed her demon to move. The chain splashed backward gouging at stone. It's razor edge cut a groove in the passage floor.
Deckard skirted the king at the side of the passage. He shot more darts and strings at the king. One pierced the arm of the sacra form, drawing black blood. Deckard pulled the dart back on its line. He drew the king's arm out of aim.
The chain flew off course.
Melissa and Deckard converged on the king, Deckard from one side and Melissa from the front. Deckard's darkened sprite strings entangled the king's entire arm. The king roared and swatted him backward, but Deckard dragged Zalklith along behind him.
He hit the wall feet first and bounced. He landed on it on the stone below. Melissa’s spear crashed against the king’s polished hide once more. Demon skin broke. The demon's chest plate flew apart, revealing a bloody interior. His heart hammered, exposed to her eyes.
“No!” The king’s voice came out as a desperate croak.
Melissa drew back. The king flailed at her. She darted away from the blow. Her spear flew out of reach of a lethal strike.
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Deckard settled to his knees.
“Oh,’ said the king. “Worn down are we, immortal?”
Deckard said nothing.
Zalklith Once Broken stepped forward. He glowered down at Hadrian.
“Deckard,” Melissa said. “You can't give up.”
Deckard said nothing. He looked completely broken. Something must have broken within when he hit the wall.
Melissa raced toward the king, lowering her spear in the charge. The king swung out with his hand. Smashing her from her path to a deadly strike.
She spun and kicked him with all her demon's force. A sharp heel connected with his shoulder. He reeled, off-balance.
Deckard scrambled upright. Two bane darts shot from his fingers and through the king's exposed heart.
The king choked in mid-motion. Blood gushed from the wound in his chest.
“You,” said the king, “You deceived me.”
Deckard closed his eyes.
“Goodbye, my friend.” His eyes flashed open.
He struck the king. Zalklith Once Broken fell and the sacra form faded from his wizened reptilian body. Melissa marched past, leaving behind not a demon, but the body of a fallen vakari warrior.
Saben
Saben forged his way along the edge of the river near the escarpment. He struggled to the wall in the shallows, dodging falling debris from the burning vessel the governor had brought to the fight.
Folt struggled to right the remains of a dinghy in the shallows, trying to make it float.
Zalklith was nowhere in sight, but at the entrance of the tunnel, a bright shape turned, A starry face, dark with void around the pinpricks of light smirked at Saben.
“I finally got you.” Saben raised his sword. He put all his sprite’s strength into his legs and jumped. He sailed out of the water and into the air. The demon turned, revealing a cocoon of almost humanoid shape held in his arms.
He stepped back into the passage beyond the ancient gateway. Saben’s blow struck the stone of the floor and smashed it. Cracks formed in the supports of the old sewer way. The blade rang with reverberations from the impact. His hands shook. He whirled and swung once more at the maladrite.
Demon Scroll Page 37