by Mel Odom
Even Raithen went forward.
The light in the cavern dimmed as the men abandoned or lost their lanterns and torches. Darrick struggled to see clearly.
Raithen kept his sword at hand as he walked toward the demon. There was no way out of the cavern. Skeletons of his men blocked the path back to the tunnel. And even if he got past them, there were the carnivorous insects to deal with.
But Raithen wasn’t a man to surrender. As soon as he was close enough, one hand extended in obeisance for the demon to take, he struck with the sword, plunging it deep into the demon’s abdomen. Jewels gleamed in the hilt and the blade, and Darrick knew the sword possessed some magic. He thought just for a moment that it was a lucky thing he’d not crossed blades with the man aboard Barracuda. Even a small wound from an enchanted weapon could wreak havoc with a man if the blade held poison.
Raithen’s blade held fire. As soon as the sword plunged into the demon’s body, flames lashed out from the wound, scorching the flesh.
Kabraxis howled in pain and staggered back, clutching at the wound in his stomach. Not to be denied, Raithen stepped after the creature, twisting his sword cruelly to open the demon’s stomach farther.
“You’ll die, demon,” Raithen snarled, but Darrick heard the panic in the man’s voice. Perhaps the pirate captain thought he’d had no choice but to attack, but once committed, he had no choice but to continue.
Demons died on men’s blades and by spells learned by human mages, Darrick knew, but demons could be reborn, and it took a hell of a lot to kill them. Most of the time, humans only succeeded in banishing demons from the human planes for a time, and even centuries were nothing to the demons. They always returned to prey on men again.
Raithen attacked again, plunging his sword deep into the demon’s stomach. Fire belched forth again, but Kabraxis showed only signs of discomfort, not distress. Flinging out one giant hand, the demon wrapped all three fingers around Raithen’s head before he could escape.
Kabraxis spoke again, and an inferno whirled to life in his hand fitted over Raithen’s head and shoulders. The pirate captain never managed to scream as his body went stiff. When the demon released the pirate captain, flames had consumed Raithen’s upper body, leaving a charred and blackened husk where a powerfully built man had once stood. Orange coals still gleamed in Raithen’s body, and smoke rose from the smoldering burns. The pirate captain’s mouth was open in a silent scream that would never be heard.
“Darrick,” Mat whispered hoarsely, tugging on his friend’s arm again.
Bone rasped against rock behind Darrick, alerting him to other dangers waiting in the shadows around him. He glanced up, spotting the skeleton behind Mat that lifted its short sword and aimed at Mat’s back.
Darrick fisted Mat’s shirt with one hand as he stood and lifted his cutlass. Yanking Mat from the skeleton, Darrick parried the short sword then snap-kicked the skeleton’s skull. The undead thing’s lower jaw tore loose, and broken teeth flew in all directions. The skeleton staggered back and tried to lift the sword again.
Mat swung his sword at the skeleton. The heavy blade caught the skeleton’s neck and snapped the skull off.
“Get those men,” the demon roared farther down in the main cavern.
“Go,” Darrick yelled, pushing Mat before him. They ran together, avoiding the slow-moving skeletons that had been roused by the demon’s unholy magic. Darrick had fought skeletons before, and a man could usually outrun one if he outpaced them. However, if a pack of skeletons came upon a man, they wore him down in numbers, taking hellish beatings before they were finally too damaged to continue.
The droning buzz of the insects filled the cavern behind them, then the tunnel as they zipped into that. Other skeletons rose before Darrick and Mat as they ran through the tunnels beneath the dead city. Some of the skeletons had drying blood covering the white ivory of bone, but others wore tatters of clothing that had gone out of fashion a hundred years ago. Tauruk’s Port had been home to innumerable dead, and they were all coming back at the demon’s call.
Darrick ran, driving his feet hard, breath whistling against the back of his throat, ignoring the pain and fatigue that filled him, fueling himself with the primordial fear that thrilled through him. “Run!” he yelled to Mat. “Run, damn it, or they’ll take you!”
And if they do, it will be my fault. The thought haunted Darrick, echoed inside his skull faster even than his feet drummed the stone floor of the tunnel. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have let the boy talk me into this. And I should have had Mat clear of this.
“They’re goin’ to catch us,” Mat wheezed, glancing back.
“Don’t look back,” Darrick ordered. “Keep your eyes facing front. If you trip, you’ll never get back up again in time.” Still, he couldn’t resist ignoring his own advice and looking over his shoulder.
The skeletons pounded after them, weapons upraised to attack. Their bony feet slapped the stone floor with hollow clacks. As Darrick watched, toes snapped off the skeletons’ feet, bouncing crazily through the tunnel. But the insects buzzed by them, the drone growing louder in Darrick’s ears.
They easily avoided most of the skeletons that stepped out of the shadows in front of them. The undead creatures were slow, and there was room enough, but a few of them had to be physically countered. Darrick used his sword, unable to utilize the weapon with much skill while running at full tilt, but it allowed him to turn aside swords and spears the skeletons wielded. But each contact cost him precious inches that were damned hard to replace.
How far is it to the river? Darrick tried to remember and couldn’t. Now, it suddenly seemed like forever.
The buzzing grew louder, thunderous.
“They’re goin’ to get us,” Mat said.
“No,” Darrick said, forcing the words out and knowing he couldn’t spare the breath it took. “No, damn it. I didn’t bring you here to die, Mat. You keep running.”
Suddenly, the mouth of the tunnel was before them, around a turn that Darrick had thought would be their last. Jagged streaks of white-hot lightning seared the sky and clawed away long strips of night for a moment. Hope spurred them both on. He saw it in Mat’s face and took heart in it himself. Fewer skeletons darted out of the shadows at them now.
“Just a little farther,” Darrick said.
“An’ then that long run to the river, ye mean.” Mat gasped for breath. He was always the better runner of them, always more agile and quick, almost as at home as Caron in the ship’s rigging.
Darrick wondered if his friend was holding back, not running at full speed. The thought angered him. Mat should have left with the other sailors, who were long gone from the tunnels.
Miraculously, they reached the final incline to the mouth of the tunnel leading into the ruins of Tauruk’s Port. The carnivorous insects stayed so close now that Darrick saw their pale green coloring out of the corner of his eye as he ran.
Outside the tunnel’s mouth, as he emerged into a sudden squall of wind and rain, a stray piece of stone slithered out from under Mat’s foot. With a startled yelp, he fell sliding and flailing through the clutter and debris that had tumbled from the ruins.
“Mat!” Darrick watched in horror, stopping his own headlong pace with difficulty. The rain was almost blinding, stinging his face and arms. The storm wasn’t a normal one, and he wondered how much the demon’s arrival in the cavern below had affected the weather. The ground had already turned mushy underfoot from all the rain in the last several minutes.
“Don’t ye stop!” Mat yelled, trying desperately to get up. He spat rainwater from his mouth, the sleeve Darrick had given him to mask out the dust below hanging around his neck. “Don’t ye dare stop on account of me, Darrick Lang! I’ll not have your death on me head!”
“And I’m not about to let you die alone,” Darrick replied, coming to a halt and taking a two-handed grip on the cutlass. The rain cascaded down his body. He was already drenched. The cold water ran into his
mouth, carrying a rancid taste he’d never experienced before. Or maybe it was his own fear he tasted.
Then the insects were on them. Mat was to his feet but could only start to run as the cloud of insects closed in for the kill.
Darrick swiped at the insects with his sword, knowing it was ineffectual. The keen blade sliced through two of the fat-bodied demonic bugs, leaving smears of green blood across the steel that washed away almost immediately in the pouring rain. In the next instant, the insects vanished in liquid pops of emerald fire that left a sulfuric stench behind.
Staring, Darrick watched as the rest of the insects lost their corporeal existence in the same fashion. They continued flying at him, the haze of green flames getting so thick it became a wall of color.
“Those foul creatures, they have trouble existin’ on this plane,” Mat said in awe.
Darrick didn’t know. Of the two of them, Mat had more use for the stories of mages and legendary things. But the insects continued their assault, dying by the droves only inches from their intended victims. The cloud thinned out, and the color died down in the space of a drawn breath.
That was when Darrick saw the first of the skeletons race through the tunnel mouth, war ax uplifted. Darrick dodged the ax blow and kicked out, tripping the skeleton. The skeleton fell and slid across the mounds of muddy debris like a stone skipping across a pond, then smashed against the side of a building.
“Go!” Darrick yelled, grabbing Mat and getting him started again.
They ran, sprinting toward the river again. And the skeletons poured after them, soundless as ghosts except for the thud of feet against the rain-drenched land.
Having no reason to hide anymore, certain that any pirates who might remain between them and the river wouldn’t stick around long enough to engage them, Darrick fled through the center of the disheveled city. The ragged lightning that tore at the purple sky made the terrain uncertain and tricky. But the thing that got them in the end was that they were human and fatigued. Darrick and Mat slowed, their hearts and lungs and legs no longer able to keep up with the demand. The inexorable rush of the skeletons did not waver, did not slow.
Darrick glanced over his shoulder and saw only death behind them. Black spots swam in his vision, and every drawn breath felt empty of air, as if it was all motion and nothing of substance. The rain-filled wind made it hard to breathe and slashed at his face.
Mat slowed, and they were only a hundred yards or less from the river’s edge. If they could make the edge, Darrick thought, and throw themselves into the water—somehow survive the plunge without smashing up against the stone bottom of the riverbed—perhaps they had a chance. The river was deep, and skeletons couldn’t swim because they had no flesh to help them remain buoyant.
Darrick ran, throwing down his cutlass, only then recognizing that it was dead weight and was slowing him. Survival didn’t lie in fighting; it lay in flight. He ran another ten yards, somehow stretched into another twenty, and kept lifting his knees, driving his numbed feet against the ground even though he didn’t trust his footing.
And then, all at once it seemed, they were at the edge. Mat was at his side, face pale from being winded and hurting for far too long. Then, just when Darrick felt certain he could almost throw himself into the air and trust his momentum to carry him over the edge and into the Dyre River beyond, something grabbed his foot. He fell. Senses swimming already, he nearly blacked out from his chin’s impact against the ground.
“Get up, Darrick!” Mat yelled, grabbing his arm.
Instinctively, driven by fear, Darrick kicked out, freeing himself from the skeleton that had leapt at him and caught up his foot. The rest of them came on, tightly together like a rat pack.
Mat dragged Darrick to the edge, only just avoiding the outstretched hands and fingers of the skeletons. Without pause, Mat flung Darrick over the edge, then readied himself to jump.
Darrick saw all of that as he began the long fall to the whitecapped river so far below. And he saw the skeleton that leapt and caught Mat before he could get clear of the cliff.
“No!” Darrick shouted, instinctively reaching for Mat although he knew he was too far away to do anything.
But the skeleton’s rush succeeded in knocking Mat over the cliff. They fell, embraced in death, and bounced from the cliffside no more than ten feet from the river’s surface.
Bone crunched, and the sound reached Darrick’s ears just before he plunged into the icy river. In just moments since the storm had started, the river current had picked up. What had once been a steady flow out toward the Gulf of Westmarch now became a torrent. He kicked out, his arms and legs feeling like lead, certain that he’d never break the river’s surface before he filled his lungs with water.
Lightning flashed across the sky, bringing the sky sandwiched between the cliffsides out in bold relief for a moment. The intensity was almost blinding.
Mat! Darrick looked around in the water, trying desperately to find his friend. His lungs burned as he swam, pushing himself toward the surface. Then he was through, his vision wavering, and he sucked in a great draught of air.
The river’s surface was lathered with whitecaps that washed over him. The fog was thicker now, swirling through the canyon between the mountains. Darrick shook the water from his eyes, searching frantically for Mat. The skeleton had gone in with Mat. Had it dragged him down?
Thunder split the night. A moment later, projectiles started plummeting into the river. Tracking the movement, Darrick saw the skeletons hurling themselves from the cliffside. They smashed into the water nearly thirty feet upriver from him, and that was when he realized how much he had moved since he’d entered the water.
He watched the surface for a moment, wondering if the skeletons had been given an ability to swim. He’d never heard of such a thing, but he’d never seen a demon before tonight, either.
Mat!
Something bumped against Darrick’s leg. His immediate gut reaction was to push back from it and get away. Then one of Mat’s arms floated through the water by him.
“Mat!” Darrick yelled, grabbing for the arm and pulling the other man up. Lightning seared the sky again as he held Mat’s back against his chest and fought to keep both their heads above water. The waves slapped him constantly in the face. A moment later, a skeleton’s head popped up in the river, letting Darrick know it still had hold of Mat’s leg.
Darrick kicked at the undead thing as the river current caught them more securely in its grasp. The cliffsides holding the river on course swept by at greater speed and Mat’s weight combined with the weight of the skeleton was enough to keep Darrick under most of the time. He only came up behind Mat’s back for a quick gulp or two of air, then submerged again to keep up the fight to keep Mat’s head out of the water. By the Light, please give me the strength to do this!
Twice, as the current roiled and changed, Mat was nearly torn from Darrick’s grip. The water was cold enough to numb his hands, and the exhaustion he felt turned him weak.
“Mat!” he screamed in his friend’s ear, then went down again. He managed to call out to Mat twice more as they raced down the river but didn’t get any reaction. Mat remained dead weight in his arms.
Lightning strobed the sky again, and this time Darrick thought he spotted blood on his elbow. It wasn’t his blood, and he knew it had to have come from Mat. But when the next wave hit him and he resurfaced, the blood wasn’t there, and he couldn’t be sure if it ever was.
“Darrick!”
Maldrin’s voice came out of the night without warning.
Darrick tried to turn his head, but the effort sent him plunging below the waterline again. He kicked the water fiercely, keeping Mat elevated. When he rose again, thunder boomed.
“—rick!” Maldrin squalled again in his huge voice that could reach the top of the rigging or empty a tavern of sailors that crewed aboard Lonesome Star.
“Here!” Darrick yelled, spluttering, spitting water. “Here, Maldrin!” He
sank, then fought his way up again. Each time was getting harder. The skeleton remained clinging to Mat’s leg, and twice Darrick had to kick free of its embrace. “Hang on, Mat. Please hang on. It’s only a little longer now. Maldrin’s—” The current took him down again, and this time he spotted light from a lantern on his port side.
“—see them!” Maldrin roared. “Hold this damn boat, lads!”
Darrick came up again, seeing a thick black shadow rising up from behind him, then lightning split the sky and reflected from the dark water, illuminating Maldrin’s homely features for a moment.
“I got ye, skipper!” Maldrin yelled above the storm. “I got ye. Just ye come back on ahead to ol’ Maldrin, an’ let me take some of that weight from ye.”
For a moment, Darrick feared that the mate was going to miss him. Then he felt Maldrin take hold of his hair—the easiest part of a drowning victim to grab hold of—and would have screamed with agony if he hadn’t been choking on water. Then, incredibly, Maldrin pulled him back toward the longboat they’d arrived in.
“Give a hand!” Maldrin yelled.
Tomas reached down and hooked his hands under Mat’s arms, then leaned back and started pulling him into the longboat. “I’ve got him, Darrick. Let him go.”
Freed from Mat’s weight, Darrick’s arms slid away limply. If it hadn’t been for Maldrin holding him, he was sure he would have been swept away by the current. He fought to help Maldrin pull him on board, catching a glimpse of the boy, Lhex, wrapped in a blanket that was already soaked through from the rain.
“We waited for ye, skipper,” Maldrin said as he pulled. “Held steady to our course ’cause we knew ye’d be here. Hadn’t ever been a time ye didn’t make it, no matter how bollixed up things looked like they was a-gettin’.” He slapped Darrick on the shoulder. “An’ ye done us proud again. We’ll have stories to tell after this ’un. I’ll swear to ye on that.”
