by GARY DARBY
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“None other than his royal pukeyness in person,” Amil growls low. “As if things weren’t bad enough, he has to show up and crash the party.”
“But what is that he’s doing?” Cara questions.
I watch intently as Bazyl, standing on a rocky protuberance that juts out over the sweltering lake, reaches out and up with one clawed hand. The sleeve of his black robe slips down his scaled arm as he rolls his fingers over and over.
For a moment, nothing happens and then, leaping up from the molten lake is a winged creature. “It’s one of Bazyl’s Fire Birds!” I hiss.
Those of us who’ve met the creatures before tense up, expecting Bazyl to bring forth a horde of the things from the brimstone. Instead, the fire creature hovers over Bazyl for a moment before the demon guides it over to what appears to be a large metal vat.
“What is he doing?” Cara whispers.
“Whatever it is,” Amil growls, “he’s up to no good for sure and for certain.”
The flaming bird hangs in the air for a moment and then Bazyl whips his arm down. The fiery creature dives into the slag-covered tub and instantly turns into a molten pool.
Bazyl strides over, raises both hands high and then, talons spread wide, thrusts his hands down at the vat. My eyes go wide as from Bazyl’s hands stream what looks like pure ice. It hits the container and a massive cloud of steam hisses upward.
For a moment, I can’t see anything through the cloud but then it melts away leaving me wide-eyed as I see a pair of dwarves, their shoulders and heads only a bit taller than the lid of the metal vat, shuffle over with a set of tongs between them. They reach into the tank with the pincers and remove what was once searing molten rock but is now frozen solid.
“That’s not possible!” Talia gasps.
“Trust me,” Alonya answers, “with Bazyl the Conjugator, it’s possible.”
“But why?” Cara persists.
“Hold on, lass,” Amil whispers, “methinks you’re about to get the answer to your question.”
With the block held between them, they march over to a heavy, black anvil where another dwarf waits with a huge double-faced hammer that seems much too big for him to handle. The two dwarves set their burden on the anvil and with a mighty swipe of his mallet, the dwarf begins to pound at the frozen block.
Glowing shards and embers fountain upward as the dwarf lands blow upon blow on the now misshapen piece. The dwarf’s long, curly beard, the color of fire, swings this way and that with the rhythm of his pounding. His sweat-covered neck muscles glisten and bulge with each massive strike.
Over his russet-colored tunic and pants the dwarf wears a leather apron tied around his neck and waist. With each hard blow to the block, sparks spatter the apron but the dwarf ignores them and keeps pounding away.
With each hit, the block glows brighter and brighter as if the fire that was frozen within is now being released. It doesn’t take long before the misshapen chunk begins to take shape. “He’s making some sort of shield,” I whisper.
“Aye,” Amil answers beside me, “and that one over there is putting the finishing touches to a sword.”
“Same as the one on the far end,” Tavin adds.
“Weapons of war,” Alonya mutters. “They’re making weapons out of frozen rock. How can that be?”
“The dwarves are master crafters,” Tavin replies in a low voice, “think of it. Their expertise and Bazyl’s magic imbues those weapons with a power that no ordinary sword or shield could withstand.”
“They’re making weapons for Bazyl’s army,” Pim states.
“But what sort of army?” I ask.
“Think of it, Hooper,” Tavin responds. “What if the Wilders or drogs had such weapons?”
“Who could stand against them?” Amil growls.
“Not only that,” Cara declares, “what if they wore Meile armor?”
There is a long moment of silence before Tavin says in a flat voice, “No army on Erdron, no Dragon Legion could stand against such a force.”
Snag motions downward and asks, “I count seven dwarves down there, is that all of them? I was under the impression that there would be more.”
At that, we all turn our eyes to the scene below. “Snag’s right,” Amil agrees, “I see only seven. Where are the others?”
“Perhaps there is another forge elsewhere?” Talia questions.
“If so,” Tavin replies, “it will be as heavily guarded and—”
“They’ll know of our attack here,” I finish, “which may not bode well for the captives.”
“I’m not so sure that they would harm them,” Tavin counters, “after all, these are precious captives. There are none in the world who can match their handiwork.”
“We can’t stay up here just watching,” Cara urges. “We have to do something.”
“And quickly,” Alonya urges, “there is still Phigby to consider.”
Heads and eyes turn toward me. I think for a moment and then nod. “Four archers, up here. Spread out and wait for the rest of us to get down there then unleash everything you have. We want chaos, pandemonium. That’ll give us a chance to get to the dwarves and send them back here to the tunnel.”
“And then?” Alonya asks.
“We make our way back and hope the dragons are waiting.”
“And if they’re not?” Amil questions.
“Let’s cross one bridge at a time, shall we?”
“Good plan,” Amil nods, “chaos, pandemonium, absolute uncertainty for us, and only one bridge at a time to cross.”
“Got a better idea?” I retort.
“Nope,” Amil smiles. “As I said, I like it.”
I turn to the pixies who ride Alonya’s shoulders. “We’ll need you three down there too so mount up.”
Pip jumps up, holding onto Alonya’s braid for balance, and jabs a finger upward. “Up, up to the sky and beyond!”
“Up, up to the sky and beyond!” Kyr and Sim join in.
“Yes, well,” I remind them, “just remember, don’t do anything until the rest of us are set.”
“You betcha we not do nothing until you say so,” Pip replies.
“We good at doing nothing,” Kyr nods.
“We best at doing nothing,” Sim adds and hooks a thumb to his chest, “so if you want nothing done, just let us know.”
Just then, the sprites wing up to hover in front of Alonya and she takes each pixie and drops him on the appropriate sprite.
“All right, let’s go,” I order and start to turn but Cara grabs my arm. “You be careful down there.”
“You do the same up here.”
Scamper starts chittering at me, but I clamp a hand around his mouth. “Shhh! Not so loud, and no, you’re not coming. You and Silky stay here and help Cara and the others find their targets. Your sharp eyes are used better here than down there.”
Arrrwww, he replies to which I respond, “Grump all you want but no arguments on this one.”
With a nod to Amil and the others going with me, I turn and slip over the edge to drop less than a sword’s length to the uneven rocky floor. I dive behind a set of craggy boulders and press my back against the stone facing. A moment later, Amil, Pim, Snag, and Talia join me.
“Wait for the archers,” I whisper, “then we make our rush.”
“Bazyl?” Amil grunts.
“Mine,” I answer. “The rest of you get the dwarves out.”
“Hooper—” Pim begins in a fierce whisper but I cut her off, “No, Pim, without your lance you stand no chance against Bazyl. At least I have Galondraig.”
Her face clouds up and for a moment I think she’s going to fight me on this, but she gives me a sharp, quick nod.
I glance up and just for an instant, I see Cara’s face outlined against the black before our eyes meet for an instant. I give her a quick nod telling her we’re ready and she jerks her head back. Moments later, instead of the thrum of bowstrings and the swish of arrows, I
hear Pip calling out, “Yippee, up, up, up to the sky!”
“Up, up, up to the sky!” Kyr and Sim echo.
A moment later, from the grotto’s dark entrance two sprites dart straight out, Ember and Dazzle, while Twinkle follows behind, swinging and slipping this way and that. An instant later, all three burst into balls of fire that roll through the air before dropping on a crowd of Blackguards.
Guttural braying and high-pitched shrieks sound over the dull rumbling of the churning lake as the sprites’ and pixies’ fire, hotter than the molten rock, scorch exposed skin. Then, arrows fly through the air and slice into their intended targets. “Now!” I shout to my companions.
We dart around the boulders and I find myself facing a startled Blackguard. His surprise lasts but a moment as my sword rips through his stomach. He jerks his horned head up and a gurgling comes from his mouth before he slumps forward. His Fire Hound takes a running leap at me but I jump to one side and bring Galondraig down full force. The hound’s shriek is cut off as my blade separates his head from body.
The dull thud of hooves causes me swing around just in time to see a whip tip flash through the air toward me. The glowing strip wraps around Galondraig but only for a moment as I yank my blade backward. The edge, the finest honed in all of Erdron slices through the cord as if it were soft butter.
The Blackguard and Fire Hound charge at me but before they reach me, Snag pierces the Blackguard through and through with his spear while Talia jams her trident into the hound’s open mouth. Both beasts die quivering on the rocky floor.
“Thanks!” I yell as more arrows fly over our heads, catching Blackguards and hounds alike. “Get to the dwarves!” I order and just as they whirl away, another Blackguard, minus a hound, charges at me.
He lowers his head, his horns aimed straight at me. I stand my ground and just before he reaches me, I thrust Galondraig straight at his head. My blade sinks halfway to the hilt into his horn-crowned skull and for a moment the creature’s forward thrust causes me to skid backward before the beast falls face-first to the ground, dead.
At howls and yipping, I whirl around to face two Fire Hounds racing at me. They open their mouths and fire streams outward straight toward me. I do the only thing I can think of and just before the flow of flames reach me, I bring Galondraig straight down into the fire.
My blade splits the stream, forcing it to each side and for a moment, I’m standing in the middle of the fire which is so close that I dare not move lest the flames sear my skin. The fire dies but the hounds launch themselves into the air, their mouths open in savage snarls, their clawed paws outstretched ready to rip into me.
I swing Galondraig in a vicious backhand that catches one hound in the throat but go down under the second. The thing is like a deadweight and I fight against it only to realize after a few moments that the beast is dead, Alonya’s arrow through its neck.
With a wrenching heave, I push the thing to one side and clamber to my feet. I raise my sword in salute to Alonya who acknowledges me with a wave before she swings her bow around seeking another victim.
The sprites and pixies zip this way and that and wherever they touch, Blackguards jerk their heads up from the scorching pain. Some stampede over their fallen companions and still-alive Fire Hounds in a mad rush to get away from the blistering pixies and sprites.
My companion’s swords, trident, and ax take a toll as do the archers from up above. The rocks echo the sounds of the dying and those who still live, if but for the moment.
Braying Blackguards run in every direction, their hounds keeping close as if they’re confused at suddenly having the enemy in their midst. One Blackguard runs past, seemingly oblivious to my presence, but he pays for his inattention.
“If it’s chaos you wanted, Hooper,” I mutter, “you got it.”
Spinning around, I try to find the dwarves to lead them to safety, but to my astonishment, I see three of them, broadswords and shields in hand, standing next to Amil. They’re wreaking havoc as they slash and stab, adding to the pile of Blackguard and hound bodies that lie at their feet.
Two more stand back to back, their blades a blur in the hot, dense air as they take on a knot of Blackguards. I swing around, trying to find the other two, but in the scurrying crush of bodies, I can’t spot them.
Then, over the din of battle, I hear, “Hooper!”
I jerk my head up to find Cara standing in the tunnel’s opening and pointing toward the heaving, churning lake of fire. I whirl around and for an instant, I’m frozen in place.
It’s Pim. She’s facing off against Bazyl who has his black sword out, a leer on his face. Pim, whose lance is dead but whose hatred drives her forward doesn’t back off but bravely faces Bazyl.
I start running, shouting, “Pim! Get away!” but I know I’m too far away, can’t save Pim against Bazyl’s magic-infused sword. Then, I see movement to one side of Vay’s demon and before I can yell out, Silky launches himself straight at Bazyl. The brave little beast lands squarely on Bazyl’s shoulder and with one swipe of his claws, rakes Bazyl’s face.
The fiend’s yell, full of rage, drowns out all other sounds as he reaches up and before Pim’s little friend can get away grabs Silky by the neck. He holds the squirming, raging mouse-cat high and before either Pim or I can scream, “No!’ Bazyl slams Silky to the ground.
He holds Silky down by one hand which suddenly turns into a gleaming sheath of ice that spreads across Silky as he struggles in vain to escape Bazyl’s death grip. A moment later, our brave friend is solid ice, his little face frozen and his lips drawn back in a defiant snarl to the very end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Pim’s wail of shock and anger drowns out my “No!” as we rush at the sneering demon. Pim reaches the fiend first, charging at him with her lance aimed straight at his belly. Bazyl laughs and in a mocking, casual sort of way, flicks his sword up, sending Pim staggering backward from the blow.
The Dyrfolken maiden spins, swings her lance at Bazyl’s head as if she would slice it off his shoulders, but the brute again deftly blocks her blow. He too then whirls, his cloak fluttering and snapping and with a vicious backhand knocks Pim’s lance out of her hands to send it bouncing and clattering across the rocky ground. The blow knocks Pim off her feet and she sprawls on the rocks.
But instead of dealing a death blow to Pim, the demon takes a step away, his cruel, thin lips draw back, revealing his boarlike fangs as he brings his black sword up over his horned head. I realize in an instant his callous intentions. He’s going to smash Silky’s body to bits with one savage blow from his blade.
I’m not sure how I did it—all I know is that on the run I launch myself through the air, Galondraig outstretched as far as I can. Bazyl’s sword slashes down, but at the last moment, just before it strikes Silky’s frozen body, and with a shock that momentarily numbs my hand and arm, our blades clash together, sending green and black embers fountaining up and over the two of us.
I hit the ground, roll, and whirl around, Galondraig up and ready for Bazyl’s next thrust.
The fiend doesn’t waste a moment as his sword slices through the air and connects with Galondraig. His savage blow sends me lurching backward and Bazyl grins wide. “Puny one, there is only one Gem Guardian and you face him. I’ll give you one chance at life. Flee before your master and I promise, I won’t follow to deliver you to the fires of Hades.”
I flick my eyes toward the heaving fire lake. “Really? And here I thought we were already there. This is your home, is it not?”
Wrinkling my nose, I grunt, “From the foul stench, it sure smells like it. Of course, it could be just you—you know, that maggot meat and putrid turnip aroma that announces your presence.”
Bazyl growls in rage and charges, his boar tusks chomping together as if he were imagining sinking his fangs deep into my neck. His ebony sword slams down and I parry with Galondraig but the blow staggers me and I must retreat. Bazyl’s blade becomes a black blur in the air as he rains
down blow after vicious blow.
I’m forced to give way with each pounding jolt as I’m no match for his strength. Bazyl spins, his black cloak fluttering in the air as he sweeps his sword around. I barely manage to catch his edge on Galondraig but the force behind his thrust sends me sprawling dangerously close to the ledge overlooking the brimstone lake.
I can feel the searing heat on my neck and know that one misstep will send me plunging downward into the red-hot basin.
Bazyl pounces, bringing his blade down in a two-handed blow. I flip Galondraig up and stop his blade, but the force pushes my sword so close to my face that the tip of my nose feels Galondraig’s cool emerald surface.
I’m all but bent over backward from Bazyl’s weight as the demon leans forward, pressing down on his evil weapon. My arms start to tremble from the strain of keeping his edge away but ever so slightly, his blade draws closer and closer.
“If you won’t flee, then I give you one more chance,” he hisses in my face. “Surrender, Hooper Menvoran, and serve my mistress and you shall live. Otherwise . . .”
He leaves the dire thought hanging in the air, but I have no doubt what he means. His sword will gut me and before I’m dead, he’ll heave me into the molten rock.
His sword slips closer and closer and I can feel my strength grow weaker and weaker. For an instant, but only for an instant, the dark thought of surrender flashes through my head. As Bazyl’s sword bears down on me and death could be but moments away, I have to admit the thought flashes through my mind.
I don’t want to die. I admit the idea terrifies me. But then I think of Master Boren and Wind Rover, of Loda and Shine, and of course, little Silky, who gave his life to protect Pim. I’m sure they didn’t want to die but they gave their lives in trying to save another.
Silky? He didn’t give in at the last moment, did he? No. He was fighting to the very end and never gave up. Could I do less? Give up? Surrender to Bazyl, become a traitor and Vay’s wretched minion to fight against my beloved comrades?
No!
“Did anyone ever tell you,” I grind out between clenched teeth, “that your breath is even worse than your body odor. What is that smell anyway? Rotten onions with a dash of two-day-old pig slop?”